A few days ago, I found a few days-old pup mewling in a box, under a thyalagari, in the darkness while coming home. I like animals etc, like most people do, and I am not completely in love with dogs etc, though I really like them, and would actually like one if K and I set up house some day. I am generally greatly buoyed in this wish by K’s obvious rather more obvious wish for a dog. He talks of their pet Daschund Shabitri (they called him Shaboo, Shabi bhalobeshe), who would, (well, isn’t this a darling?) when the boy was a mewling infant, guard him when he had been given his oil massage and apparently left to sun on the dining table.
I brought the thing home somewhat instinctively. I was also curious, and probably a little glad to have such a young thing on my hands, even if just for the time being. I called PFA the next thing, because I knew they would take him, and that would mean that he would live.
Well yadda yadda, I brought him up to our flat, ma fed him, I got over my squeamishness and held him up by the scruff of his neck (it was flailing its miniscule paws) and put him in a clean shoe box. Frantic calls to people, to K, who suggested making him a bed of rags. When I did it, he promptly dug inside and buried himself underneath and fell asleep. The people who received my calls were all kind. Then, the PFA guy came and took him away.
He’s at their hospital, I went and saw him today, and people are asking to bring him home, or else she (it’s a she) might have a reduced chance of survival cause germs/infections abound in the hospital. Ma has thrown a fit after being told I want to bring her, she doesn’t know that I am so doubtful about it. But well, once again, it’s a wish, and a bit of curiosity, to have her, to play with her, to feed her and stuff. How hard can it be? It’s not so much guilt as dreaming how nice it will be.
I dunno what I’ll do, I might not even bring her. It will be an instinctive decision, probably. It was such a spirited thing, mane she didn’t have her mum, but she wasn’t scared, y’know, she was ever so inquisitive: think, she couldn’t even see, but she’d managed to stick her head out of that box, extricated herself out of it, and was going out for a small exploration of her surroundings when I came to her enclosure. I mean, I dunno, but this one certainly feels like it’ll live if there are people to love her, even if she doesn’t have the immunity you get from mother’s milk.

(And it was easy for one person to say it was a hasty decision to give her away to PFA. To not bother about infrastructure and pass judgement.)

i was going to feel really angry about k. i saw today's pages and they are really empty and lots of stories, and i saw the stories that are going, and most of them i like very much, and it seems like a handful of a good day's work. it might not be that enjoyable for those who have to sub it, but if you look at the pages now, you can't help but feel satisfied.
and yes, there are problems galore.
also, i am going to bishnupur this weekend or the next. haven't figured out a companion yet. i guess i can say people are welcome to join.

days that come to an end

O leaves on Tuesday. I have little idea of what to do after.

about trees

following the thread in https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28397684&postID=5381586477227978588&pli=1

i thought of that too, that if it were being done with the permission of the authorities, you couldn't really do much, could you? but a) you have to let people know what is really happening, and what the rules are. and that rules are being grossly violated. most of us see trees with branches trimmed in so many places that we pass, but we don't know that there is actually part of an organised racket in the city. b) about taking action about it. when the tree outside my flat was being hacked off, i called up a reporter in my office who has been working this field and knows people high-enough in the hierarchy that he could make some calls to people who would ensure that the hacking was stopped. but i found that the guy who'd asked for it to be cut, had approached the local cpm goonda turned political honcho for permission and he's been given it.

the police came and eventually the forest dept officials too. but i recognise that they did it to begin with, because of the reporter's contacts. of course, none of this would have happened if i hadn't pushed both my reporter, and another actually: the guy who covers the area i live in and knew the thanar OC, to help me out. i haven't figured out yet what it will come to if the tree came in way of, say the politician honcho's real estate interests and he had to have the tree removed.

one effective tool that i see is to get it to the media. the media does only as much as it serves its own immediate interests, but this is one kind of story that papers still carry, as opposed to the version of events that people who've visited Singur will tell you.

and meanwhile, i do think we can go far by letting as many people as we can know about it.

and madhura, do you really care if people think you are overreacting? would you not do what you had to do cause people thought you were overreacting, or any other term they had for it?

Here

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

I was reading Supriya di's Novel and Modernity blog. It was extremely calming, the seamless flow of words about people in a book. Is it that in today's world, you have to learn to be happy by yourself, and never otherwise, the fragmented nature of modern existence etc..
I am listening to Indian Ocean, stuff that RIM had given me. Feels like I didn't hear before. Although it is more beautiful than not, my ear is aching a little from listening to it as loudly as I am. Yet that's the only way to listen to full-throated song, this one, anyway. I am hoping that sometime not very far into the late eve - early night, I'll tire myself out and feel at peace.

To begin with, may I say that Rock On is a horrible film. People often have reasons for liking a movie that have nothing to do with its merits. The film echoes things I remember, but well, that makes no difference. The story is, may I say, pathetic. Farhan Akhtar can act, and I loved the songs, but is it cause I nurture hidden wishes of being a groupie. Seen in the crowd of apparently ecstatic people in the audience were disenchantedly clapping extras. Heh.

I am so depressed, at the complete lack of flight, nothing, rien: it’s as if the world might not have existed and no difference would have been made either by living or dying. How can another person do so, do this? I could not have existed and the world would have been the same. And my room felt so dirty, unwelcoming for anyone except me, or anyone who would make it his/ her own. Where to from here, where can I escape?

Which fantasy, where inside my head, when all the fantasies have been explored and feel like ashes?? I wish I could take myself away to someplace where I would not have known myself.

In real life, the Adityas who go away as far as they can from what they loved don’t find it again so easily. I wish I could become another me like Aditya.

I feel so completely alone, I wish I could go away, go away.

I was awake through the night, after a three-hour sleep till 2. It’s 5.30 now, and light has awakened. In the nights, I feel free. I was watching Seven Years in Tibet, and thinking about, well, so many things.. It felt so light, and completely untied to any obligations. Why do people need drugs? For a fix of this? It was as if there was nothing you couldn’t do, nothing you couldn’t imagine, anyway. Dropped my plate of dinner, ma came along so kindly and took it away, and gave me whatever rice was left, I felt so broken at another thing going wrong in the course of the day. It was so nice, to be comforted like that, and the space to let one be: she didn’t yell at me cause I’d dropped food.
We had a fight of sorts, K and I, and I was indulging in all sorts of possibilities, of going away etc, combined with work ambitions, wishes if you like. And while contemplating dire possibilities, following them through, I thought, you know, that it was too much of a good thing to let go for this, at least. Not unless something happened that I had no control over.
The night gave over to morning, and I didn’t worry that I didn’t have enough sleep to see me through the next day, cause I didn’t have to go anyplace. That’s such a liberating knowledge. And looking at Brad Pitt as Heinrich Harrer walking down Lhasa streets in a distant shot, and of clothes, customs, and the stories about the Forbidden City that they seemed to talk about, I wondered if I would find myself doing that too.. that is, leaving what I was doing cause I didn’t like it, without something to fall back on, and look for something to do. I probably won’t, I might. I hope I do, without better back cover, though. In the mountains, there you feel free. There is something to this solitude, the knowledge of having nothing, or rather, of not having exactly that which you longed greatly for, that sets you free. There’s nothing to anticipate, and all experience comes without strings attached, implications.
And Heinrich Harrer found peace in a young boy, did he? Who was as much a reflection of his own self, as the son who he could not meet? It’s a curious tale, cause heroes are rarely so imperfect..
If I were to go far away, to indulge in those thoughts of mine again, would I welcome K back into my arms when I returned, and more importantly, would he?
It’s a beautiful morning, all the nicer cause I was awake as it came alive. I wish I didn’t have to sleep, that I could go on being awake. I want to sit down to a good bout of reading.

"I couldn't stop thinking. My body was exhausted, and my mind was still going," Ledger said. He confided to the reporter that he took a prescription sleeping pill and, when that failed, took another.


I think he was lovely.

My horror world

It was peopled with the corpse of my father, my actual father, who was sick with his last illness, bending down to help me get something from the rotting body of the dead one. And a slit eyed wizened man who tried to kill with a chop of the hand, and whispering to someone in a hunched cupboard while trying to soak a thin book in water to make myself heard: that was a transient one. Nightmares within nightmares, knowing that I had to get through one to extricate myself from the other.
The nightmares of the awake life: believing things will be alright, dealing with silences like a wall, bloodied striking yourself against it repeatedly and pretending at the best of times that it’s nothing. God, I didn’t want to live like a grown-up this way. For the fear of loneliness, of leaving things behind….. P told me about a girl in New York State who calls up R asking him to talk to her for 10 minutes.
Will I marry in this belief, and the rest of life will be spent trying to unshackle myself and being afraid to walk away? It is so tempting at such moments to turn to him whose nirashokti you fear: to have your fears lovingly turned away.
P wrote a long time back that it was time I let myself fly, for it is time. I feel too afraid, believe me. I had hoped that someone would give me a push. And I have stood poised at the brink, waiting for years and years and years to take the final plunge…
And to see how things are, it seems like I could stand forever and become petrified in this eternal wait and nobody could care. Yes, we know nobody does care, but I don’t believe it, really.
I am afraid I will be the kind that will be unable to find peace with another. Cause none of the baubles of civilization seems to satisfy. Listen to me, yes. But if you’ve seen what flavour of happiness you like, once, nothing else will do.


I am afraid to leave, the city, this job, the trappings of this life, cause I don’t know if I will be good enough to make another. Also cause dunno if he will come there with me. Won’t. So am trying to stay as long as I can. Also hoping that some day I will find this festering compromise with life too unbearable and venture forth in desperation. I am hoping for my own desperation.

I was watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and I thought of memories that were ordinary, trivial, that would surely be lost if I didn’t keep them away somewhere. This is of an afternoon just days ago when the boy lay on me, and he shifted his weight so that I gasped with absolute certainty, ebar ami more jabo. The boy is tall, you know, and I am just a midget.

When will there be a time when that afternoon will be lost, merged with countless afternoons past, and those made later? Will there be a time? The boy is beautiful, you know, quite like the Joel Barish of Clementine Krzinski.

I watched Stand by Me, and I can't wait to read the book by Stephen King. Oh god o god I want to watch My Own Private Idaho. And River Phoenix I love.

I am home, and today seems to have greater vestige of normalcy than yesterday. I was watching Wonder Years (all thanks to B), and the episode itself spoke about regularity, humdrumness. I thought of R in office, whose father died when he was a tiny kid. I thought of A and me, a bit of martyrs, consciously bearing our scars, and I thought what it must be like for him. His and his mum’s hardships must have been greater, and his sadnesses different, cause did he know what it was to have one, a dad, at all. What would it be like for his mother, to have lived alone all her life, bringing up her son the biggest thing she did: it seems an awfully long life when without the person to share it with, and yet, how do I know what it is for such women. It must be a different frame in which they recognize their happinesses. And R speaks of those times like telling a fairytale, asking us to imagine, what it must have been like. He speaks of a lovely, pampered, delicate boy, and a mother who did everything so he could have all he wanted, and well, actually pulled it through. He told me, us about all this a long time back, but I think, y’know, his happinesses would have been no different, from say, that of Kevin, as he sat around the dinner table, the sanctuary of home, with the securedness of what came after.

I am not quite sure why I am trying my damnedest to make myself crash.

It's gonna be 5 and I haven't slept. The back, I think I am pushing too far. I am, was working hard. I should rest, but it irritates me to no end to be told what I should do cause it's good for me, I want to be left alone, given what I want, and have the space to recover my rhythm at my own pace, not with dire threats of what will happen to me in the future if I don't do all that is good for me. And it doesn't matter, it's random, and it'll pass. Excuse me if I sound like Calvin.
There's little joy in this wilfulness, but it's as if one thing leads to another, and when things are not at peace, many things happen which you wouldn't want otherwise. It's just irritating, and it seems so soon that night has ended and it's light again. The past few hours went by so fast, it seems. And tomorrow, wake up feeling peeved, bathe, eat and run. Don't do anything you remotely like.

Met Shantanu after a long time. Pleasantest meeting with him if I may say so. Found him agreeing to things, and he looks comfortable for the first time, though he is bloated. He seems to be doing well for the first time, and the self -possessedness that comes of working hard came from him. He had to leave, too soon, it seemed. He takes good photographs, quite instinctively, it seemed to me. Not like he was conscious of using craft, which I liked.

What I really wanted to write

i went to subir dutta laboratory, then walked along lenin sarani to sealdah, looked in wistfully at all the old houses that now have squatters in them, starting from lawrence d souza home. there was a tiny tiny kid crawling on the street, lawrence d souza r adjoining barir shamne anekta khola jayga, an old man played football with three young ones. ratey jokhon phirchhilam, past the book fair that was shutting shop, there was the jilipi man counting up sales, and another cooking for the group, another washing up utensils. i wanted to sit around them. tokhon mone holo nothing would give me as much peace as sitting around them and listening to what they spoke. and there was this kid, he mans the ghugni stall, he was being sarcastic at his mother: sharadin dokaner shamne dariye thako, tarpor dekhbo. koto hajar hajar taka sales hochhe, and i wondered that he caled it dokan. for him, it was. and then, well, that he would move on to the next fair. did i wish i also went from place to place, that home was where i hung my hat?

Hello Goodbye reminds of college, towards the end, when I felt free, completely unencumbered.

I was walking through Lenin Sarani today. My camera was not working, so eventually I felt criminal. And I felt, perhaps for the first time, realized that what I was seeing today and couldn’t keep pictures of, I won’t see again, though I’ll pass the same houses, people even. But what I see won’t be the same, my mind, with that happiness, won’t be. The urgency I felt was the first, I do think.
And I went for Ironman, eventually. I am seeing Robert Downey Junior post-Zodiac, so I can’t help but like him a lot, really. But the movie was not really great as superheroes go. But never mind, I only went to see what RDJ was doing..
And then eventually having dinner of a sort with A, I felt so lonely, I dunno why. That life stretched out interminably, and that the dreams would not happen. It was so sad, like being grown up, as if. This kind of grown-up I don’t want to be, that takes occasional vacations with kids, and is fat and eating out at a pizza joint with nothing before or beyond it. That nothing stood for anything, didn’t lead to other things, like a complete limbo. I am glad to be home.

Central Calcutta was so beautiful today, and it was like it would never want to come and inhabit my heart, that was what I felt saddest about: about the stagnancy of passing the same place everybody, and it not making a difference to you, ever. It seems as if that is being grown up. And that grown up I don’t wish to be.

I am addicted to the Net. Not funny.

I went to get the trouser made today. The one taking the measurements asked where I’d gotten the material from. I told him the place, but not the shop or the price. He told me it was of very good quality, that you did not get this kind anymore.
I felt very sad, for the shop that will no longer be there, your sadness, all of yours, at its loss, and of what I fear might be lost to me too.