Hello me. Its me again. You can subdue, but never tame me


23rd June 2016. 19:23  

Eight months later

This is awkward. Kind of. When i had started to blog it was to make sure i could type perfectly and spontaneously. You could say I was getting ready to prepare myself for the TOEFL. just another rung of the ladder for reaching where I have reached at present. Ok, since this is a personal blog, let me give you a few updates now !

This is July 20th 2011. Wednesday. 11.38 a.m.

Eight months ago I was slowly but surely falling in love.

Seven months ago i was studying hard for my exams, absolutely sure i would do well in them.

Six months ago I was sitting in an exam hall, wondering why i hadnt studied as much was required.

Five months ago I was writing a letter to Her, professing my love for her. I also promised her that i would come close to her. And that was difficult because she was/is living in a land far far away.

Four months ago i was again studying for my exams. I was also studying for her exams. Thankfully both of them went well. i passed with honours. She, err.... well she passed !!

Three months back I came to know that I was granted a scholarship. That basically took care of my aspirations and my career. My personal life, as i could be close to Her, and my professional life, as I could finally get a foreign degree.

Two months and fifteen days ago I quit my job. i thank my employers for hiring me, but I had always wanted to study. No salary could keep me away from it.

I said goodbye to Jadavpur University two months back. I finished my course and graduated with honours.

A month and fifteen days ago i had an accident and had twenty stitches on my foot. I am recuperating from the same.

A month back mosquitoes started infesting my room. They bite me as i speak.

A fortnight back She came to my home. It was such a relief to see her. Not exactly the way I imagined it, but nevertheless it was fulfilling.

A week ago I had my twenty second birthday. I spent it with three of the most important people of my life. mom, Dad, and Her.

Four days ago I received my residence card. So now i just have to board the flight and I'll reach there. No frills attached.

Yesterday I installed Linux Mint.

Today my mom cleaned my wound and applied medicine.

Four hours ago I woke up.

Now I must scratch myself in places you shouldnt venture alone at night.

Unbiased and unpersonal

Learning has alays been an important aspect of our human lives. Classroom learning is a time-tested methodology for imparting education. In the present times, where technology enables us to enrol freely in distance learning and online computer classes where students can take classes and study at their own convenience. Yet, if we consider replacing classroom learning with the latter, I will not support the idea. And I wont, because of the following reasons.

Firstly, the lack of equipment is an issue. Learning is a right to each and every child, to each and every student in the world. And learning through online computer classes requires a computer, and an internet connection. Statistics from all over the world indicate that millions of families do not own a home, have no access to telephones or electricity. There cannot be a substitute for classroom learning, which costs more and gives the same intended output, knowledge.

Moreover, people with the education imparted through distance and online learning courses, often score lesser on the employability scale when compared to their classroom learning counterparts. The reason for this observation is that companies and businesses are, by inherent composition, preferably looking for traditionally educated people. Their businesses are headed by such people and in all likelihood they prefer people like themselves in the company.

Which brings us to the fact that many of these distance and online learning courses are actually not having any accreditation with central regulatory boards of education. With internet fraud being a very common-place incident nowadays, the certification of the courses , and the people teaching them, is certainly an issue. And in practice, this is one area where the distance or online learning courses fail to make the cut. Classroom learning is structured, and it follows a much more rigorous program of selecting teachers. More competent teachers mean better teaching. And better teaching entails better learning opportunities for students.

Finally we focus on the learning experience that a classroom entitles one to. When one is part of a classroom not only does he interact with the teacher, but also with his fellow students. He can interact with them, forming personal as well as professional bonds which may last a lifetime. He also gets the opportunity to discuss about the topics to be learnt and hence shares his knowledge with others, and in return gets a helping of whatever the others have grasped.

Curiosity

Curiosity killed the cat. And Diptyajit as well. Sometimes truth is so harsh, you want to turn back and can’t fathom it. Have a difficult time accepting it. But now you must decide. Between restraints of your emotions amounting to withdrawal in your shell as you have done in the past. And actually facing it for the first time in your life, knowing fully well the associated perils and anguish its likely to incite. You must contemplate between forgetting your own words including pretending nothing happened. And on the contrary, actually backing up your words with actions. Spend a real “sleepless night”. Thinking, weighing, deciding and facing your fears.

Uncertainity is probably what drives the curious soul. Uncertainity in electronic circuits, uncertainity in flying a helicopter, uncertainity of actually getting what you want. Drives your curiousity to the brink of an important decision. One that you must make with significant influence on your present and the future. It’s easy to “ not be bothered about the past”. Difficult to face it when it stares you down the eye.

There are really just two choices. One to finally learn and be an important person. One to refer to being important during sporadic conversations. The latter involving slow withdrawal, be it against your will to a state where you enquire about well being and studies. Being reduced to someone who only met you in university , or travelled with in a bus. Or a train. The former involving much more. Much more than just be worried about a chipped toe nail or a cold, which one catches while biking on a high cold wind. Much more than choosing electives for courses and being entwined with memories involving rain, inception, spring rolls, Deutschland and random conversations encompassing every thought and issue on the planet.

Four hours staring at the fan on the ceiling. A cup of tea. Pacing up and down the balcony, oblivious to the sounds created by urban chaos. Drowned in thought and decision. Finally sits down on the computer to write and vent out all what he’s been thinking. Decides to actually be there. Actually. Decides that he has to do this. Not by duty or by force, just has to. Has made the one feel again. Has made the one feel alive again. Invigorated the one with the one’s life, the one’s goals, the one’s preferences. The same things without which the one cannot be whole again. He will not back down. He will face his own fears , and the one’s as well.

Wears the sacred thread he was endowed with. Remembers rituals he was taught long ago. Worships the sun, and powers beyond his comprehension. Asks for strength for the times to come. Even though he is sure he has it. Reassures himself. Reassures the one. Will plunge now. Go deeper as ever.

Batten down the hatches! Sound the retreat. Here comes the cavalry !!

“ All in the valley of death .. rode the six hundred”

Butterflies

I haven't written in quite some time. I lacked the drive. Someone told me to write again. I am making that person the drive.

Life in general is pretty tiring

With problems, assignments and deadlines

Every night you end up perspiring

Still entangled within the same endless vines

While you work, and while you toil

Carelessly you stumble on someone else

Someone who sprout from the same soil

On the beach, collecting the same shells

Life in general is then pretty nice

Every morning you wake up with sunshine

Exploring all the virtue and vice

Utilising all the energy that you can mine

This person it seems was sent from heaven

Who never agrees and always sees

YOU, as you were since you were seven

Who always criticises the colour of your tees

Life in general blossoms in the spring

All your ideas now become possible whims

With that person, even you sprout a wing

Dive off the cliff just to see how the One swims

You make it a point to talk every moment

And the ones you dont is spent in thought

You let yourself be carried by the torrent

Never thinking twice whether you ought

Life in general isnt pretty fair

One day its time for the One to go

Somewhere you cant display your flair

And there isnt a boat you can row

Then the small things matter, then they become big

And all the thoughts and emotions reverb

Cause you cannot ever snap off this twig

The One lives in your city, in the farthest suburb

Life in general now becomes a quest

A means by which you shall reach the end

And the roads might not be to your taste

Yet you're sure you will not bend

When promise and opportunity both together

Strike at the same time on your door

You know you will brave any weather

To be with the One always, to settle the score

LAST WISHES

Mr.Banerjee found himself behind iron gates. The

old corrugated ones one may find in the so-called

collapsible gates. The back of his skull was aching.

As he helped himself onto his feet, he slowly

started to recall the events of the last hour. He

looked at his grey tuxedo, which was now soiled

with some grime. He recalled looking at his

reflection in the mirror of the liquor store

bathroom. He had ordered a scotch, and was slowly

gulping his drink on a cold January evening in one

of the premier bars in the Park Street Sir Hog’s

market. He was interrupted by a man. He was tall,

judging by the length of his dark brown trench

coat . It was not the habit of a retired high court

judge to trust strangers, but something about the

man was striking. Soon, Mr.Banerjee and the person

were talking. He even bought a drink for the

elderly man, remembered Mr.Banerjee.

“Then what?”, Mr.Banerjee could not remember

anything after that. Now that he finally had got up,

he looked around himself, trying to understand

where he was at the current instant of time. All he

could see was darkness. The pale moonlight of a

1935 winter night came in through the only outlet

for air in the vicinity. Those iron gates. The

smell of roaches and stacked rubbish made the air

detestable, if not unsuitable, for breathing.

Slowly, he made his way towards the streaks of

light which were visible, hoping to catch a breath

of fresh air, as well as make his way out from

wherever this place was. “Darn it! These gates are

locked.” Mr.Banerjee was puzzled.

He held onto the iron contraptions. Rusty, un-oiled,

creaky metallic jingles arose from the same.

Shaking them with the utmost energy he could muster,

he roared “Let me out! You scoundrel! let me out

right now !”

Not a soul answered. Ten minutes later, Mr.Banerjee

was still in the same place. His roar had grown

into a meeker “Help!”, and the dose of adrenaline

his body had managed to secrete , was no longer

working. For the first time in life, he felt

trapped and alone. And he could do nothing about it.

He turned around and now realized where he was. He

was somewhere in Hog’s market. Somewhere in the

labyrinth of shops and lanes and by-lanes. The

smell around him must be from the remains of the

farm produce sold during the entire day.

“ But how did I get here? Didn’t anyone

notice ?” pondered Mr.Banerjee. he found it

illogical to believe that he was , actually inside

a deserted market which was closed and shut down

for the night. And the fact that no-one had noticed

him, not even the night guard when he would have

closed the gates, seemed unlikely. “Then again,

” he said to himself “ If I was lying there

beside that heap, and in the dark corner , it is

reasonable that no-one might see me.” Satisfied

with is logical conclusion, Mr.Banerjee decided to

wait for a few more hours till the shops re-opened.

“Then I will see to it that the watchmen of this

place are taken to task!” he murmured in his mind.

A logical argument failed to calm his nerves.

Mr.Banerjee was not as composed as he wanted

himself to be. The knowledge that he was the only

living soul within a hundred paces of this place

didn’t allow him to be totally carefree. Solitude

wasn’t a thing which Mr.Banerjee was not

acquainted with. But solitude in a dark chilly

alley, with no food or water , and little access to

air and light was surely something he didn’t like.

A muffled slam was suddenly heard. As if somewhere

in the labyrinth, some door had been flung open.

Mr.Banerjee could feel his hair standing upon the

back of his neck. “What was that?” the more he

pondered the more illogical his thoughts became. He

reached a point where he didn’t want to know the

cause of the sound. Even in the cold, his forehead

had small beads of sweat. A definite surge of

adrenaline in his body made his heart beat faster.

There was silence, which lasted for two agonizing

minutes. Then again something could be heard.

A heavy repetitive thud: not too loud. Emanating

from somewhere in the far end of the alley in which

Mr.Banerjee found himself. The wooden floor and the

chilly winter air added a dimension to the element.

The wood adding echoes to the sound and the air

making it sound clearer. “ Who goes there ?”,

deep in his heart , Mr.Banerjee was , actually,

afraid.

A figure was approaching, with a slow and

measured step. The figure was leaning on a stick.

“ Impossible …………”

FLASHBACK

“ The High Court of Calcutta is at session for the

trial of the notorious ‘Gentleman’. Let the

prosecution begin”, Justice Banerjee announced in

a solemn voice.

“ My Lord”, the public prosecutor began, “this

person standing here is a criminal of the highest

degree. His crimes , when summed up, remain the

most brutal and serial homicidal acts in the

history of a hundred years of British Calcutta.”

He paused to catch his breath. Justice Banerjee

flinched in his chair. His powdered wig needed

change , he thought to himself.

The prosecutor continued, “ This man , Richard

Alphonso Wicker , also known as ‘Gentleman’ is

hereby charged with the murder of thirteen servants

of Indian origin throughout a period of six

months.” Justice Banerjee looked at the man. He

was a man with a sickly constitution. Greyed hair.

Eyes which were sunken deep inside their sockets.

Unshaved cheeks. Marked characteristics of alcohol

abuse. His hands were crooked and every aspect of

him made one feel detestation. He stood in a eased

fashion , leaning to a side, as if calmly composed

about his surroundings. The prosecutor continued,

“The mode of murder was grotesque. That was the

murder weapon ,” , he said, pointing to a stick.

Justice Banerjee looked carefully at the object of

interest. It was made from strong ebony , and was

perfectly black. The handle was made with silver.

Heavy and sturdy. “No doubt that this was an

effective murder weapon”, thought Justice Banerjee.

“Does the defendant have anything to say ?”

A meek wry smile formed on the lips of Gentleman.

“ just one thing. There were fifteen. Fifteen

servants who had entered in my service and suffered

death at my hands.”

With eyebrows raised , amidst a shocked courthouse,

Justice Banerjee managed to mumble “Anything

else ?”

“yes, every native I can lay hands upon will

survive a similar fate. You too will die you dog.

Kala kuta !”

With such a cry he jumped, and dashed at Justice

Banerjee. The federal marshals were quicker though.

They apprehended him. And then subdued him.

An hour later, Justice Banerjee was speaking again.

“ By the power vested in me by Her Majesty, the

queen , I hereby find you Richard Alphonso Wicker

guilty of murder of fifteen helpless individuals.

And hereby I condemn you to be hanged to death. To

be hanged, till Death.”

PERIOD

“It can’t be!”, logic agreed with Mr.Banerjee. a

dead man couldn’t walk, and if he had broken out

of prison, Mr.Banerjee would have come to know. The

alley wasn’t as long as Mr.Banerjee had thought it

to be. But there was no mistake. There was the same

back heavy wood stick with the same silver embossed

tip. The same gait Mr.Banerjee recalled from that

day when the court marshals had led him away.

Thirty five years of being a high court judge, and

he had sent only one man to the gallows. It made

Mr.Banerjee spend many a sleepless night before.

But this night was not something he imagined that

would happen.

A muffled hiss like voice could be heard. Now

Mr.Banerjee noticed that this was the same attire

that the tall man in the bar had wore.

“I told u cur, that u would die ….” Jeered the

voice.

“No. this is madness ……………..”

A loud sharp thud. Ripples of the same sound echoed

in the passage: followed by a fainter sound of

something collapsing. Then everything was silent

again.

“This isn’t possible. How does the murderer

manage to bring the dead body in here ?” the

police inspector told the other man. He too was

dressed in the same attire. “Grotesque , if u ask

me” , replied the other, “well something

challenging for you huh ?” the former managed a

smile. All that ranting about monotony, in the

restroom of the police cafeteria, was going to be

tested , this time.

“Wait what’s that !” he exclaimed as he pointed

to a thing. A thin long piece of black wood with a

silver embossed handle lay at the side, as if

someone had tossed it in the corner. He recognized

it immediately. At the academy , every police cadet

had studied that case. Without wasting an instant,

he set out for the correctional facility. He

accessed the records with his own hands. He found

it.

Richard Alphonso Wicker 1930 November 5th

DEATH BY HANGING

Ordered by

Justice K.Banerjee

Status: Carried out as instructed

thanks for the words i love to hear

You make magic with words

simple and simpler words

that catch the reflection of stars

All along they glow

Like a river flows between our hearts

Dancing to the tune i love to hear.

i always love to feel

Magic is real

Just like moment in the way it is

wash away all that aches

since the nights i hear the train

As cold ,forever, is

Draw me a moment of the sky, with your words

Simple and simpler words

copyright belongs to Charbak