The Floating Room

Now that Kolkata’s famous monsoons have set in, the view outside the window has undergone some significant changes. No traces remain of the lively neighborhood made bright by the white, blazing streets of Mangalam Park. Instead there lay a dim world dripping with moisture, which might be considered anything between romantic and dull, depending on your mood.

Here, I should give some credit to the peculiar position of my window. The entire scene outside is bisected by the compound wall into two equal halves- a typical Behala slum on the left, and Mangalam Park on the right. In fact, the wall would’ve run right through us, had it not swerved left at the last moment, to accommodate our building into the compound premises. Any viewer from here would get a god-like perception, being able to supervise two worlds that can’t see or interact with each other, thanks to the nine feet high divider (and other reasons).

The slum lanes, though obsolete, are populated at all times. On rainy days, several lazy hours go by observing the slum people wading up and down through knee-deep water, mostly cursing each other. The well-drained streets of the complex, however, usually remain vacant, except for few cars and occasional raincoat/umbrella clad pedestrians, for the rains are usually avoided.

Sometimes on seeing people walk by under the protection of an umbrella, I can’t help but wonder how fun it would be to snipe them through the mock shield. Oh well.

Several times in this year, the rain has been heavy enough to limit one’s eyesight within a small radius. Gazing out into endless torrential rain gives nothing short of a euphoric feeling. Everything’s smudged with the downpour and its resultant mist which hovers over every possible obstacle. The spray-layered earth seems distant and faded, and almost identical to the overcast sky. As the rain grows heavier still, the panes need to be shut to restrict the water. The surroundings disappear, and nothing remains in the endless watery universe of diffused light. Except you and your floating room.

Piano Man

Author: Billy Joel

It's nine o'clock on a Saturday,

The Regular crowd shuffles in,

There's an old man sitting next to me,

Makin' love to his tonic and gin.

He says, "Son, can you play me a memory,

I'm not really sure how it goes,

But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete,

When I wore a younger man's clothes."

Sing us a song, you're the piano man,

Sing us a song tonight,

Well, we're all in the mood for a melody,

And you've got us feelin' alright.

Now John at the bar is a friend of mine,

He gets me my drinks for free,

And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke,

But there's someplace that he'd rather be.

He says, "Bill, I believe this is killing me",

As the smile ran away from his face,

"Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star,

If I could get out of this place".

Now Paul is a real estate novelist,

Who never had time for a wife,

And he's talkin' with Davy, who's still in the Navy,

And probably will be for life.

And the waitress is practicing politics,

As the businessmen slowly get stoned,

Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness,

But it's better than drinkin' alone.

Sing us a song you're the piano man,

Sing us a song tonight,

Well we're all in the mood for a melody,

And you got us feeling alright.

It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday,

And the manager gives me a smile,

'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see,

To forget about life for a while.

And the piano, it sounds like a carnival,

And the microphone smells like a beer,

And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar,

And say, "Man, what are you doin' here?".

Sing us a song you're the piano man,

Sing us a song tonight,

Well we're all in the mood for a melody,

And you got us feeling alright.

Very funny, huh?

This Nabami, a large group had gathered, and we were having discussions about supernatural stuff. Things were getting quite creepy. The elder guys were telling real life stories about few strange things that they’ve witnessed. We heard about a worker, who fell through a lift shaft while Mangalam Park was being built, and got barbequed on a rod below. We heard the story of strange noises on A2’s terrace at night. We heard about celebrity ghosts caught on tape. And many more.

Abesh da came up with an incident which really gave me chills, for the first time in the entire conversation. Believing it is up to the reader. I’ll narrate his words--

When I was in fourth year of Medical College, a strange happening was published in the college’s weekly editorial. It was about ragging, which was pretty common in our hostel. The seniors would make the girls do embarrassing stuff like erotic dancing, smoking etc. One girl came, who was kind of a daredevil. She openly refused to do as the senior guys said. Because she was a girl, the seniors could not beat her up, as they would’ve done in case of a boy. So, they planned something else.

Unlike the boys, the girls had single rooms for themselves. The seniors obtained a severed hand from the lab and kept it under her bed sheet. When she entered her room at night, the guys bolted her from outside and switched off the main power supply of the hostel. After few minutes, she started banging the door desperately from inside at first. She must’ve discovered the hand. The guys went off laughing and returned in about fifteen minutes. The banging had stopped. Finally, they unbolted the door and asked her to come out. But there was no reply.

They got scared.

She might’ve got a heart attack or something. They scanned the dark room with torches. But it was empty. The bed sheets were on the ground and the room was in a mess with books thrown all over the floor. She must’ve jumped from the window. They were discussing whether to look down, when someone’s torch fell on the almirah.

She was crouching there, on top of the almirah, chewing the hand.

That's what frightful shocks can do to you. She had to be taken to a mental hospital.

Moral of the story: All tricks are not funny.

Pujas at Mangalam Park

Pujas at Mangalam Park are always special. Partly because I get to see my complex mates only during festivals. Durga Puja provides the best five days of the year. Yes, I do have to face ridicules from school mates and relatives for not going pandal hopping or on trips. But these ridicules bring a strange pleasure, the kind of pleasure you get while being mocked for listening to The Beatles, while others are praised for loving Miley.

This year was the best and the last. Our group was not as lively without Vishu, but we enjoyed nevertheless. And I can feel people around me maturing. The change is just too intense to be ignored, especially in people whom you meet after a gap of 365 days. Well, I have enough reasons to miss MP after I leave, and I’m glad about it. =)

Down the fantasy lane

It’s astonishing how my dreams and realities find a way to merge themselves at the back of my head. This is due to my strange memory, to some extent. When I suddenly fish out old, deserted memories, I often find myself confused whether it’s a real one. It has happened numerous times, but never as commandingly as the story I’m going to share.

When I was in class 10, I had a sudden urge to continue my coin collection, which I had given up due to boredom. I found the dusty pouch of foreign coins at a corner of my shelf. I emptied its contents on the bed to survey what I already had. Two small, golden coins caught my eye. They were coupled together with a rubber band, which had turned into a molten, gooey mass due to the heat of confinement. I could have sworn I had never seen them before.

‘Royal Government of Bhutan’ – I observed after getting rid of the messy band. I remembered, vaguely at first, and then clearly, as if it were yesterday.

We had gone to Bhutan in 8th grade, I think. Another family had accompanied us. Uncle Arun, his wife, and Leena (his daughter) who was a year younger than me, and who looked a hell lot like Ankana. Uncle Arun was Dad’s colleague at work.

I had just started my coin collection back then, and was quite obsessed with it. I decided to bring back one specimen of every Bhutanese coin available. But I was highly disappointed when I found that only one variety of coins was available – 1 Ngultrum. I could get a thousand of those (in fact I brought back dozens), but not a single different model. People mostly used notes.

One evening, Leena and I were left waiting at a restaurant for some reason. Our parents were away somewhere. I noticed an young European sitting alone at a table. He was slowly stirring a spoon in his coffee absent mindedly. He seemed to be the timid type and after a great deal of hesitation, I approached him, dragging along Leena with me.

“Sir…I…I collect coins. Can you…um…give me any coin of your country?” I have issues with spoken English at times when it really counts.
He smiled apologetically and said, “I’m carrying only Bhutanese currency at this moment. Foreign money is no use here.”
“Oh…it’s fine”, I said disappointed.
“But sit down. I have something interesting for you”, he said gesturing at two seats facing him.

Foreigners, especially Western people, have this extraordinary ability to develop short, enjoyable acquaintances, which most Indians miserably lack. I have noticed this every time I’ve interacted with them.

We sat down. He took out his wallet and produced two golden coins. “You might not have these. They’re not very common.” he said.

Both coins were identical in all respects. One side had an abstract pattern which looked like two dumbbells overlapping at right angles. On the other side, an intricate design was engraved, which showed two fish kissing each other, with silky strings spiraling around them, holding them together in a tight embrace. Inscribed near the circumference in small letters were- Twenty five Chhetrum, Royal Government of Bhutan, 1979, and few words in Bhutanese language.

“I have a small story behind this”, the European said, smiling, “Care to listen?”
“Yes… tell us.”
“Ah…” he cleared his throat and began. “I’ll brief it. Two years ago, I got married. We came to Bhutan for our honeymoon. My wife took a fancy in these…” he said indicating the coins.
“These are supposed to be symbols of love. She made me keep one in my purse, and she kept one in her handbag. That way we were supposed to be eternally bonded” he chuckled, as if mocking the silliness of his own words.
“We went back home. The eternal bond lasted a year and half.” he stressed on the words ‘eternal bond’ sarcastically; “We developed some problems and got divorced. And her parting gift was her damned coin,” there was a hint of anger in his voice. Then he burst out laughing again. I was beginning to feel scared. He must’ve been mad with grief to be laughing at something like that.
Finally stopping his laughter, he concluded calmly, “Well, the point is, I’d like to get rid of them. In fact, I am re-visiting Bhutan for the very purpose. Take ‘em.”
“Thank you. We’ll pay when dad…” He stopped me with a gesture of his hand.
“You’re doing me a favor, kid” he said with a playful wink, “Have a nice day.”

As soon as we were out of his audible range, Leena turned to me.
“What did he say?” she asked. Then, seeing the incredulous look developing on my face, she added in a matter-of-fact way, “Couldn’t understand his accent.”
“Good for you.” I replied, completely bored.
“He gave you two. Give me one.”
She extended her palm, expecting me to hand over a coin, as if it were candy. ‘You don’t know the first thing about coins’, I wanted to scream. However, I controlled myself.
“I can’t do that.” I stated solemnly.
“Why not?”
“Because they are love coins. He said a man gives one to the woman he loves, and keeps the other.”
“Oh! Never mind!” she said, snatching away her hand and blushing violently.
* Winks at readers. ^_~ *

A mentioned earlier, this memory came back to me in class 10. I told everyone about the incident, and didn’t forget it again. Now, 2 years later, while I was cleaning my bookshelf, I found a pocket diary. It was a record of the Bhutan trip. I had totally forgotten about its existence. I went through it and made a strange discovery.

From the diary -

14th November 2006: bla…bla…bla… Today I finally got a new variety of coin. A guy at the temple gave them to me for free. Leena couldn’t understand his accent…bla…bla…bla…

15th November 2006: bla...bla…bla… I had a strange dream last night. I saw that the coins I got were love coins with a past attached to them. In the dream, the same guy from yesterday gave me the coins, but in a restaurant. He told a story of him getting divorced and all. It’s silly really. By the way,..bla…bla…bla…

So you see what I mean? I had been living with a fake memory for two complete years. But fake or not, they’ll be love coins to me. And I will give one to that special person. ^__^

Sikha and Tina

“We are really boring you, right Riju?”

I looked up from my cell to see the three of them staring at me with pretended seriousness. I was at my cousin, Kornica’s place. She, two of her schoolmates, and I were sitting on a divan melting in the summer heat. Till then, the trio was gossiping away to glory, while I was busy texting (yeah, I’m really rude).

“Absolutely not”, I lied.
“Okay, we are doing all the jabbering. Now you say something”, Tina said.

‘Now you say something’- that’s the best way to put a quiet person like me in a false situation.

“Umm…” I tried to think of a topic while they kept their large, expectant eyes fixed on me, as if children in a circus waiting for the monkey to perform. “How’s life?” Thirty secs, and that’s all I came up with. =|

“Ooh, life’s great! What about you? Can you dance?” – Sikha

What the hell! Where does dancing come from in here?

“No. I hate dancing.” – Me
“C’mon, show us some bhangra steps.” – Tina
“Yes yes, show us some.” – Kornica

I wondered how people would react if they found a Riju-shaped hole in the adjacent wall. [-_-]

“Sure, come back in 200 years.” – Me

The conversation followed smoothly after that. It wasn’t boring at all, like it is with most other girls. In fact, we bonded quite well. We exchanged numbers, talked about our love lives, school, and all other crap. The point is, they were successful in making me open my mouth.

Sikha is the more sarcastic one. Nice sense of humor. Cracking jokes all the time and an expert at putting on an innocent face by doing the puppy-eyes thing (her large eyes compliment the action). Tina is a little more sedate, having an accented Bengali, seemed to be a good observer and a person of some profundity.

One of them, I must say, is noticeably pretty. [Name withheld so that I don’t become a quarry of the other] The latter has decent looks as well. =)

Finally, after spending the day together, it was time to say goodbye.

“Do remember us” Tina said while leaving.
“I will” – Me

And this is my way of ensuring the fulfillment of the promise.

Akash

There are very few people whose personalities I actually admire. And ya, Akash is one of them. Reasons:-

• He is smart
• Calm, not short-tempered
• Careful observer
• Humorous
• Probably the only person who can digest my sarcasm and jokes (ok ok, they’re a bit harsh sometimes)

First meeting: Class 10, in maths class.

Class 11. Sourav sir changed my place (policy of divide and rule).

“Find a seat for yourself beside Akash”, he said.

“There’s only ONE seat beside him, sir” I would have liked to shout back.

Ok, so here’s a guy, with whom I’ve never conversed before, but whom I’ve known for almost 1 year. Apparently he seemed timid and quite. But soon… he he… sir had to change my place again. ^_^

Place change? Phuh! Even the section change in class 12 hardly bothered us. \m/

Most of the time we do nothing but fooling around. Here’s a sample.

Sms chat :-

Me: online aye

Akash: khachchi

Me: menu?

Akash: bhat, dal and chicken pieces

Me: yuck. Amio khacchi. Amar menu better

Akash: ki?

Me: fresh air. From my ceiling fan

Akash: I’m jealous

Me: dekhbi ar jolbi, ruti r moto fulbi (popular dialog by maths sir)

Akash: amar fan ta fresh air dey na. oke tor fan er bpare bol

Me: amar fan er toothpaste e namak ache

Akash: you’re like the breath of fresh air, you don’t move, you rotate… I love you…

Me: don’t try to woo my fan. She’s mine. Besides I can’t change her name to i10. I already did that with the living room fan.

Akash: khawa sesh. Online aschi

Did that make sense? No? That’s the point. :)