tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25573969559802799592024-03-14T07:58:49.551+05:30Speechless!My thoughts do the coloring...
When the picture is in my mind!!!
My fingers do the talking...
When words are hard to find!!!Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.comBlogger132125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-7184722377681650292018-07-23T16:59:00.001+05:302018-07-23T19:58:20.429+05:30Tenth Anniversary<p dir="ltr">July marks the tenth anniversary of Speechless. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I was full of ideas and words when I began scribbling on blogger, but ten years later today, as i sit down to dedicate a post on completing 10 years together, I feel waves of overwhelming emotions sweeping over me. Words are the beginning, words ensure the detailing but when you rise way above the details and a hundred thousand event plays in your mind, even paintings get blurred and words fall short in doing justice to all that I am feeling right now.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Speechless was born from the workstation of my first job, while I was already 2 years working with an online greeting card company, the rest is a lot of told and untold stories. </p>
<p dir="ltr">September 2008, I wrote a post on some random questions that I answered. Interestingly the 10th question and its answer was:<br>
"<b>10) How would you see yourself in ten years time?</b><br>
With the same eyes, still without any spects...okay..seriously.. Mother of two adorable kids and wife of a loving husband..."</p>
<p dir="ltr"><b>Reality check</b>: <br>
Still dont wear glasses.<br>
God has given me a very loving husband.<br>
Yesterday, even before realising this anniversary and while returning from a weekend trip to Jhargram Rajbari, I told my husband, that" Ray", that's what we call our second car (the first being "Appu" , which we had during our 2 years' stay in Bangkok) looks like the son who has returned home after playing in the soil while it rained. So in a very nice little way, I am a mother to two adorable kids. </p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-21310692290857455312018-03-29T00:29:00.001+05:302018-03-29T00:53:36.743+05:30True happiness<p dir="ltr">1) Being around:<br>
     Babies/ toddlers<br>
     Pets<br>
     Very old people</p>
<p dir="ltr">2) Doing simple but good things to/ for people and random strangers:<br>
     Smiling and greeting a passerby. <br>
     Holding a door open for the person  behind you.<br>
     Saying "Thank you" and "Sorry". <br>
     Pitching in for an over burdened colleague or friend on your own. <br>
     Bringing coffee or snacks for the colleague having a rough day. <br>
     Talking nicely to a roadside beggar or a eunuch on the street. Remember they are not spoken well with (in many countries), which explains their natural distrust towards strangers. </p>
<p dir="ltr">3) Nurturing:<br>
     An indoor plant. <br>
     A hobby</p>
<p dir="ltr">Ps: I shall happily embrace just additions to the above list :) </p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-29885906434480616872018-02-15T03:13:00.001+05:302018-02-16T04:59:51.590+05:30Jatishwar lyrics - Suman Chattopadhyay<p dir="ltr">অমরত্বের প্রত্যাশা নেই নেই কোন দাবী দাওয়া<br>
এই নশ্বর জীবনের মানে শুধু তোমাকে চাওয়া।</p>
<p dir="ltr">মুহূর্ত যায় জন্মের মতো অন্ধ জাতিস্মর<br>
গত জন্মের ভুলে যাওয়া স্মৃতি বিস্মৃত অক্ষর<br>
ছেঁড়া তাল পাতা পুঁথির পাতায় নিঃশ্বাস ফেলে হাওয়া<br>
এই নশ্বর জীবনের মানে শুধু তোমাকেই চাওয়া।<br>
কাল-কেউটের ফনায় নাচছে লখিন্দরের স্মৃতি<br>
বেহুলা কখনো বিধবা হয় না এটা বাংলার রীতি<br>
ভেসে যায় ভেলা এবেলা ওবেলা একই শবদেহ নিয়ে<br>
আগেও মরেছি আবার মরবো প্রেমের দিব্যি দিয়ে।</p>
<p dir="ltr">জন্মেছি আমি আগেও অনেক মরেছি তোমারই কোলে<br>
মুক্তি পাইনি শুধু তোমাকে আবার দেখবো বলে<br>
বার বার ফিরে এসেছি আমরা এই পৃথিবীর টানে<br>
কখনো গাঙর কখনো কোপাই কপোতাক্ষর গানে।<br>
গাঙর হয়েছে কখনো কাবেরী কখনো বা মিসিসিপি<br>
কখনো রাইন কখনো কঙ্গো নদীদের স্বরলিপি<br>
স্বরলিপি আমি আগেও লিখিনি এখনও লিখিনা তাই<br>
মুখে মুখে ফেরা মানুষের গানে শুধু তোমাকেই চাই।</p>
<p dir="ltr">তোমাকে চেয়েছি ছিলাম যখন অনেক জন্ম আগে<br>
তথাগত তার নিঃসঙ্গতা দিলেন অস্তরাগে<br>
তারই করুনায় ভিখারিনী তুমি হয়েছিলে একা একা<br>
আমিও কাঙাল হলাম আরেক কাঙালের পেতে দেখা।</p>
<p dir="ltr">নতজানু হয়ে ছিলাম তখন এখনো যেমন আছি<br>
মাধুকরী হও নয়নমোহিনী স্বপ্নের কাছাকাছি<br>
ঠোঁটে ঠোঁট রেখে ব্যারিকেড কর প্রেমের পদ্যটাই<br>
বিদ্রোহ আর চুমুর দিব্যি শুধু তোমাকেই চাই।<br>
আমার স্বপ্নে বিভোর হয়েই জন্মেছ বহুবার<br>
আমি ছিলাম তোমার কামনা বিদ্রোহ চিৎকার<br>
দুঃখ পেয়েছ যতবার জেনো আমায় পেয়েছো তুমি<br>
আমি তোমার পুরুষ আমি তোমার জন্মভূমি।</p>
<p dir="ltr">যতবার তুমি জননী হয়েছ ততবার আমি পিতা<br>
কতো সন্তান জ্বালালো প্রেয়সী তোমার আমার চিতা<br>
বার বার আসি আমরা দুজন বার বার ফিরে যাই<br>
আবার আসবো আবার বলবো শুধু তোমাকেই চাই।</p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-728470189729767502018-02-13T03:30:00.001+05:302018-02-15T15:21:06.004+05:30Rahu Mahadasha<p dir="ltr">I must tell you at the start that I'm not an astrologer, therefore cannot assist you with any technical questions.<br>
I choose to write about this as i have myself gone through this difficult phase and would be happy to ease the pain of others who are now under the scanner of Rahu.</p>
<p dir="ltr">18 years is no joke, but always remember, no matter how difficult or painful it gets,  Rahu will only take you to the edge of the cliff, give you a push and when you are almost certain of the inevitable, he will immediately pull you back to safety. </p>
<p dir="ltr">What to expect:</p>
<p dir="ltr">1) Lack of light around, no matter how many sources of light you may have in the house. <br>
2) Insects and pests increase in the house. <br>
3) Frequently malfunctioning pipes, leakage. <br>
4) Being dishonoured by lowly people or people from a very low lineage.<br>
5) Theft or loss of valuables.<br>
6) Break in education or career.<br>
7) Unrest and lack of mental peace.<br>
8) Family discord.<br>
9) Travel and stay abroad. <br>
10) Higher studies. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Your good relationship with your father or a father figure is extremely crucial for a smoother Rahu period.</p>
<p dir="ltr">What to completely avoid:</p>
<p dir="ltr">1) Crab meat.<br>
2) Alcohol and cigarettes. <br>
3) Disrespecting and hurting parents (because Guru Mahadasha that follows Rahu is all about how you have treated your parents. Parents are your greatest guru. How pious they are will also determine how your Guru Mahadasha will be).</p>
<p dir="ltr">What to do:</p>
<p dir="ltr">1) Plant trees. <br>
2) Pray to Goddess Durga or Chandi regularly. <br>
3) Meditate daily (it will be EXTREMELY difficult with the total absence of mental peace, but it is essential that you try). <br>
4) Visit temples with peaceful surroundings where you can meditate.<br>
5) Read "The Secret" by Rhonda Byrne. An extremely potent and powerful tool to see you through the mighty storms.<br>
6) Practice positivity.<br>
7) Don't expect people to make you happy, or don't wait for others to support you. Do that to yourself. <br>
8) Spend most of your time around kids, pets or the elderly.<br>
9) Refrain from discussing or thinking about traumatic incidents. <br>
10) Take active part in solo artforms. <br>
11) When nothing seems to work, fall asleep. It always helps.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Remind yourself everyday that the wonderful Guru Mahadasha is just round the corner. Hold on till then!</p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-15167992162009660312018-02-04T02:45:00.001+05:302018-02-11T19:15:01.876+05:30কিসে সমস্য৷?<p dir="ltr">আমার প্রথম চাকরিতে বছরখানেক হয়ে গেছে। আমাদের টিম লীড ইংরাজীতে খুব কাঁচা না হলেও অনিচ্ছা বসত কিছু কিছু ভূল বলত। যথা - ফ্য৷য়সল বলে আমাদের টীমে একটি মাত্র ছেলে ছিল, বাকি আমরা পাঁচজন মেয়ে। অরিজীত দা ফ্য৷য়সল কে খুঁজে না পেলেই বলত, <br>
"ফ্য৷সল কোথায়, ওয়্য৷র ইজ্ শী?"<br>
আমরা এটা প্র৷য় প্রত্যহ শুনে শুনে বোর হয়ে গেছিলাম। আগে কখনও বিরক্ত হয়ে আমাদের মধ্যে কেউ কেউ অরিজীত দা কে শুধরে দিতাম, পরের দিকে আর সেটাও করতাম না।</p>
<p dir="ltr">একদিন দুপুর নাগাদ আমাদের খুব কাজের চাপ চলছে, কারুর কীবোর্ড থেকে মাথা তোলার অবকাশ নেই, এমন সময় ফ্য৷য়সল অনুপস্থিত এবং অরিজীত দা'র সেই এক উক্তি।<br>
আমি কাজ করতে করতে, অন্যমনষ্ক ভাবে অরিজীত দ৷'র উদ্দে‌শ্যে একটা কথা বললাম। পরক্ষণেই একটা ধপ্ আওয়াজ হয়াতে পাশে তাকিয়ে দেখি, দেবোনীলা চেয়ার থেকে মাটিতে পড়ে গেছে এবং পেট চেপে ধরে খিল্ খিল্ করে হাসছে। অরিজীত দা দেখলাম মুখ লাল, ঘাড় নীচু ও মাথা নাড়তে নাড়তে চেয়ার ছেড়ে উঠে বাইরে বেরিয়ে যাচ্ছে, আর বাকি সবাই ভীষণ কষ্টে হাসি চেপে আমার দিকে তাকিয়ে আছে। <br>
অরিজীত দা'র ঘর থেকে বেরিয়ে যাওয়ার সাথে সাথেই আমরা কেউই আর হাসি ধরে রাখতে পারিনি।</p>
<p dir="ltr">আমি খুব বিরক্তি সহকারে, তবে অন্যমনষ্ক ভাবে সেদিন সবার সামনে বলে ফেলেছিলাম,<br>
"উফ্ অরিজীত দা, তোমার না, "হিশী" তে সমস্য৷ আছে"।</p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-34354547598809114372018-02-03T13:39:00.001+05:302018-02-03T16:09:52.270+05:30Remember, to remember<p dir="ltr">Have you noticed the randomness around recently, in Calcutta?<br>
I went to Hyderabad last to last year, it was even worse. <br>
Pedestrians are omnipresent, they cross roads as if they are going from one big room in their house to the next, totally ignoring vehicles or traffic signals. People drive depending on their horns, such that if anyone comes in front, they will be honked (read petrified or stunned), well, even if no one comes in the way, they will still keep bellowing horns declaring their presence. Walkways are absent or occupied. </p>
<p dir="ltr">People are eager to fight and snap at one another. Couped up with the burden of multiple frustrations. </p>
<p dir="ltr">From a distance it looks like a huge pile of dry grass, waiting to receive a tiny spark of fire or should i say, a dry parched patch of land awaiting the monsoon clouds. <br>
Hoping for destruction or redemption. Easier to destroy, where one small spark would suffice but more difficult to save, where several monsoons would fall short. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Ours is a time where light will not come from an external source. We will not have a righteous leader or teacher, who the mass can follow and get redeemed. Ours is a time where we have to find the tiny spark of fire or that first drop of rain inside us. We really have to look within ourselves. He has sent us great leaders, teachers, preachers and have time and again showed us how it's done. Destroying the hopelessness and despair and rejuvenating the love and well being.</p>
<p dir="ltr">All we have to do is remember! </p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-23792046325183449632018-01-31T21:14:00.001+05:302018-04-10T16:58:57.207+05:30Pratima<p dir="ltr">An aged lady was walking on the road, bent due to her age and bent further due to the weight she was carrying - an iron bucket filled with water. She was bringing home, drinking water from the roadside tubewell about two hundred metres away. </p>
<p dir="ltr">A black Austin car silently parked. The chauffer got down, took the lady's load and carried it the distance for her. Upon returning, he saw her engaged in a happy conversation with the occupant seated next to her in the rear seat - the ten year old beautiful daughter of his mistress, upon whose request he just completed his latest task. Pratima, lived with her parents in a big mansion on the same street, four houses after the lady's. Theirs was the only big mansion on this street. Pratima's father owned several such mansions all over the state, hailing from a family of <u>zamindars</u>. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Pratima was the only child of Vibhutinath and Supriya Roy and was not only extremely beautiful but also tremendously caring and merciful for her age. On her birthday each year since she was five, her parents arranged for a free clinical camp within their grounds and opened their gates to one and all. She observed their house physician take charge of the event and strolled with her parents and sometimes alone, affectionately asking people sweet questions, which transformed into more meaningful and relevant ones with each passing year. Last month on her birthday this year, she even worked errands for Dr. Sanyal, following the footsteps of her equally caring and efficient parents at the camp. The Roys' were influential people and had several men and women working for them, however they did not believe in just ordering others around while relaxing themselves. Both Vibhutinath and Supriya were hands-on and active. Pratima was growing up well trained by both her parents - hard working, honest, kind and caring.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The more we press sand inside our hands the more it slips through. Some souls just visit us for spreading love and light and leave us behind before their time is done, the harshness of it all making us question the very existence of God. Pratima was adored and admired wherever she went. It was in September, 1958, when Pratima was diagnosed with Malaria, a life threatening disease which forever silenced her sweet pearls of laughter and stole the light from her merciful eyes. What it couldn't take away from her, however, was the love she was leaving behind, the seeds to which, she very carefully planted deep in the hearts of all those she met and touched with her affection. An invisible shroud of muteness covered not just the mansion but the entire area. The receding monsoons stopped to let the sun peek from behind the gloomyness of the clouds. Both man and nature hushed that day to give farewell to a beautiful eleven year old girl, a lovely sculpture, Pratima, decked up in wedding fineries - a bright red Benarasi saree, gold jewelry,  her hair tied in two thick, long plaits that rested on both her sides Over two hundred people accompanied her on her last journey to the crematorium that afternoon. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It rained incessantly that night for one final time that year. After returning home from the crematory services, Vibhutinath,  in a fit of madness thrashed and beat Supriya till he collapsed senseless on the floor. Supriya, bruised, battered and dazed like a lifeless statue, closed the door to their room and sat by her husband's bed, affectionately tending to him and to their loss just like Pratima would have done had she been there. </p>
<p dir="ltr">-------------------------------------------------------------------</p>
<p dir="ltr">Vibhutinath and Supriya a couple of months later, gave away the mansion and relocated to the countryside, never to be heard of or seen again.</p>
<p dir="ltr">-------------------------------------------------------------------</p>
<p dir="ltr"><b>(</b><b>B</b><b>ased on a true story.)</b></p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-21878984845594228102018-01-27T01:06:00.001+05:302018-01-27T12:36:04.825+05:30Calling<p dir="ltr">The stream was a beautiful shade of green and wherever the waters tripped on rocks, it bled white.<br>
Polo drank from it to his heart's content and rested by its side. Around him were hills covered in a lush green carpet of grass. The soft touch of slumber snoozed his eyelids shut and drifted him to a peaceful nap. <br>
A week ago, Polo had run away from his house with a bag containing some food, two sets of clothes and bare minimum money. He was always the quiet kind with a mind, full of questions. All of fourteen,  Polo thought about the source of life, of happiness and sorrow, the extremes - of people having food, money or a complete lack of it. <br>
When he woke up, the daylight had already faded. Far away, on the other side of the stream was a mountain and the sky above it was subtly lit. Confused about the source of light he stayed still and kept gazing. Moments later, to his surprise at first, followed by delight, a beautiful off-white colored full moon peeked from behind the mountain. He witnessed a moon-rise for the first time and sipped with his heart and soul, the ethereal scene.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Weeks later, Polo's lamenting parents, who belonged to a hill tribe and of limited means, visited a monastery. They had received word from this religious abode; word about their only son. After waiting for several minutes in the open courtyard, within the monastery, they finally saw him. His mother kneeled on the ground before him, wrapping her arms around his knees; weeping. His father took his hand to his forehead and cried uncontrollably. They found Polo, only to lose him forever.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Polo stood before them; head shaven, wearing saffron robes and a calm smile. Tears trickling down his cheeks. <br>
Tears of joy and of his divine calling - Monkhood.</p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-21811085086974384042018-01-25T00:31:00.001+05:302018-01-27T03:29:18.621+05:30The silence, that follows the cacophony. <p dir="ltr">Look into yourself, at some plane you are unhappy, complaining and vindictive.<br>
Look at the person you are closest to, you will see the same.</p>
<p dir="ltr">We are all complaining and claim to have been wronged the most, none of us are ready to listen.. Those of us who do listen, unfortunately do not know how to guide the other into peaceful silence. There's a reason for that.</p>
<p dir="ltr">A poet, that creates resonance in his/her reader, they say, is formed out of a person who has faced unhappiness in life.</p>
<p dir="ltr">When we are in pain and are unable to do anything about it, we complain, to whoever is ready to listen or half-listen. When we are chatting with friends, we discuss other friends, mostly in a non-constructive manner. While watching K-Serials, we listen to the characters discontentedly grumbling, accusing and quarreling. We have, with time, programmed our lives with so much of this cacophony, that it seems alright and even self-consoling.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I recently visited Bali, Indonesia and noticed something very interesting. All places of worship, including statues and priests wore the same black and white checkered clotharound their waist. Upon asking they said, (there is a much deeper interpratation, but speaking loosely) good and bad traits reside in a mesh within every person.</p>
<p dir="ltr">We have to slowly train our minds to think positive. To forgive those that wronged us. To think of our misfortune as our own Karma and move on with acceptance. It's like exercise, the more we practice the sooner we experience the results of positivity in our lives.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The silence that follows a period of cacophony is of a heavenly nature. Once you've lived it first hand, please assist others who are going through similar dissonance in their lives. During the silence we realize that the bad was not entirely bad and that there was always a "method in the madness". </p>
<p dir="ltr">There is no coincidence. Everything happens for a reason. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Trust in His plan and if you find yourself failing in life, ask Him for help. He will send you angels.</p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-3892609035752287732018-01-12T23:49:00.001+05:302018-01-12T23:49:41.360+05:30Superfluous<p dir="ltr">No matter what i think of blogging about has already been written a thousand times everywhere. The sense of purpose and of originality goes for a toss; unless of course I'm writing a story or a poem. None of which i seem to succeed in doing either. <br>
So what do i blog?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Speechless: Remember to observe like you did before and remind yourself to be the best listener that you once were. </p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-14461242475025051942017-07-07T00:30:00.000+05:302017-07-07T00:30:31.916+05:30The Buddha Smile<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Pom's parents believed him to be a miracle child, a gift from Lord Buddha himself, a blessing they received after seventeen years' of marriage. They pledged to provide the very best to him. </div>
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However meager their means, their strength of purpose always shone through. Pom was sent to an International School. </div>
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Pom turned into a beautiful and humble boy. He had a peaceful and calm demeanor and his smile was as pure as Buddha himself. By the time he finished high school, both his parents turned old and weak. Pom refused to enroll into college, completed a course in IT and started looking for jobs. With his impeccable English, in a country where their mother tongue and national language was all that the majority could speak, he didn't have to try too hard to find an IT job with one of the MNCs in the capital.</div>
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Before Pom could gain any experience, both his parents fell ill and the Global Meltdown struck...</div>
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Aditi was irritated; her parents and in laws were clicking pictures at the Suvarnabhumi Airport and Bharat, her husband went shopping liquor at the duty free. She was battling to calm her yelling toddler all by herself, but whatever she tried only resulted in more chaos. </div>
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They stood at the meter taxi line. Bharat put his <i>King Power</i> packets on the pram.</div>
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Aditi decided to sit in front of the cab, next to the driver. They had lived in Bangkok for two years soon after their marriage and Aditi had picked up some Thai. She started giving directions to the driver in her elementary Thai. The driver seemed amused with the whimpering toddler sitting next to him and placed his hand on his little forehead. Much to Aditi's surprise, the whimpering turned into peaceful laughter. Their forty five minute drive to The Grand Centara Hotel was mostly silent, with the people at the back sleeping to their heart's content. The only two people who spoke were the driver and her toddler.</div>
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On reaching their destination, Aditi thanked the driver and asked how he spoke such wonderful English. </div>
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With his calm Buddha-like smile, Pom replied, "I learnt it from the movies".</div>
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Intrigued by his answer, Aditi watched as Pom drove away in his hot-pink Bangkok taxi.</div>
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Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-65554162258031086852016-11-26T00:56:00.001+05:302016-11-26T00:56:41.428+05:30I celebrate you!<p dir="ltr">My stint with an online greeting card company, at the beginning of my career, made me appreciate the need to celebrate special days; to celebrate people, to celebrate us. A day for the mother, the father, a day for love, for sisters and brothers, and then days for merrymaking socially on festivals. There’s a day for everyone and everything. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Imagine (please) if you celebrated your birthday every day, would it remain special; if Christmas came once every week or Durga Puja once every month, would it still cause the exhilaration and celebration it brings and takes with it.</p>
<p dir="ltr">In the course of our journey, we come across people who are neither family nor spouse, with whom we have never shared the blood and the bone – but they still choose to tower; sheltering us, nurturing us during times when our dear ones are unavailable, times when they could have easily chosen not to, times when our kin are hesitant or unsure of the course.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It is incredible how these people step out of the dust and the storm, brandishing sword, galloping into our war zone, rescuing us, and then disappearing into the quiet after making the valiant effort.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I have been lucky to know a handful of such knights in shining armor; some brilliant ladies and gents.</p>
<p dir="ltr">This Thanksgiving, I celebrate you, all of you!</p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-45826061995340355672016-05-06T22:46:00.001+05:302017-11-09T22:34:19.344+05:30Domestic Helps - Angels or Humans<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My grandfather's house (paternal father) in Burnpur covers a total area of 24 catahs, the garden behind the house alone stands upon about 7 catahs of land (some of my short story attempts have been centred around this house). Dadu had a gardener whose wife was the domestic help at the house until she was very old and later her daughter, Umi didi replaced her from a very young age. Umi didi is roughly 55 years old today. All the kids in the house have been extremely fond of her.</div>
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I remember following her where she had her lunch and sat through her entire lunch watching her eat the mountain like quantity of rice in utter amazement. She first drilled a hole at the peak of the mountain, poured her daal, then everything else into the hole thus formed and like an active volcano, coloured the rice slopes yellow and brown or green depending upon what she was eating and slowly ate her way towards the base of the rice hill and the edge of the plate. I followed her all around the huge house, to the local fish market, to the aata chakki, to my eldest sister's bungalow nearby. I was, like all the other kids before and after me, very fond of her.<br />
She still works at our house and none of us or the extended family have ever seen her develop any arrogance (or lyaj as we might refer to the attitude in bangla). "The arrogance or Lyaj includes every kind of attrocity you can think of directed to the immediate or the extended family".</div>
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At my maternal grandfather's house, in south Kolkata (Mudiali), there was a domestic help, who I addressed as Paban Mama. He grew up there since he was a small child from Sunderbans as a family member. My Dadu educated him and later helped him financially to start off his own business. He started doing well in his business, Dadu helped him move out to begin his own life, he then got married and eventually had two kids. Paban mama, untimely passed on to his eternal abode due to heart attack at about 50 years of age, last year. Never seen him <u>develop</u> arrogance (or lyaj as we might refer to the attitude in bangla). "The arrogance or Lyaj includes every kind of attrocity you can think of directed to the immediate or the extended family".</div>
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In case you have employed long term domestic helps, who treat your loved ones bad, may be you should stop, take some time off and ponder on the simple fact that they are all human beings and come with flaws and no matter how trustworthy they have been, may be something is seriously wrong. More so if all your extended family members are also telling you to do the same. Not all domestic helps are good.</div>
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Not everyone installs CCTV cameras to check on what they actually do and what they say they do..... "to and with your loved ones."</div>
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It is sad that your loved ones have to even ask you to look into it. Or may be your loved ones are mistaken to call themselves your "loved ones".</div>
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Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-7789998669123095632016-04-22T00:45:00.001+05:302018-11-17T13:32:33.634+05:30Precious<p dir="ltr">It was a huge property, walled and surrounded by a big garden. The bungalow in the centre could be seen from the other side of the fifteen feet high iron gate.<br>
Mr. Alok Kumar Ray tried to visualise his property while sitting on the lower berth of a train several miles away, in a different country. The place where his property <u>still</u> stands has two things to talk of today - an IIT and a railway platform, but Mr. Ray's fondness for the place was beyond everything else.<br>
He didn't realise when a big drop of tear, unrestrained by his thinned and grey eyelashes fell on the wrinkles of his hand. <br>
On the eve of his eightieth birthday, he just gave away his bungalow.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Mr. Ray wiped the teardrop off his right hand and held it closer to his face. The hand had performed some very difficult tasks in the last few weeks.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He met her when he was twenty five and still doesn't seem to know if it was her golden perms, her pearly white teeth, the nape of her neck, her slender waist, deep blue eyes or her kindness that he first fell in love with. All he knew was that, they were meant to be together from that day forth to all the days that was there till eternity.</p>
<p dir="ltr">She looked beautiful on her wedding day, as he recalled pecking her lips after the minister said "You may now kiss the bride".</p>
<p dir="ltr">As they both walked out of the church, hand in hand, he was completely unaware as to how, Edwina, his German bride would one day learn to speak bits of bengali, would make the perfect rasogollas and tomato chutney that he was so fond of. He didn't know how much she would sacrifice for him while they were both at Germany for buying that property in Kharagpur, a place that meant nothing to her but everything to him and his parents.<br>
Edwina and Alok were married for thirty eight years after which they separated. They never had a child and Alok shifted base to Thailand post his retirement from Germany. Living out of their respective pensions, they always remained in touch and never fell out of love. The distance made their hearts grow fonder and they met twice a year, every year. Their decision to get separated never made any sense to them.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Alok's tears were no longer coming out as drops, they now formed a steady stream on his face. As he looked at his right hand one last time before taking it to the searing pain on his left chest, Edwina's wedding ring glistened around his little finger. He felt his left side go numb, there was darkness everywhere. </p>
<p dir="ltr">He was returning <i>home</i> after burying two of his most precious possessions on earth, Edwina - to heart attack and the Bungalow - to charity.</p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-14999291637275769562016-04-03T02:58:00.001+05:302016-04-03T03:04:15.442+05:30The 7/11 girl<p dir="ltr">Yellow skin..yellow teeth...yellowish streaks...<br>
Sometimes she greets..Sometimes she's working,<br>
Sometimes she notices... but not for once stops smiling.<br>
There's a ting and a ling when she talks and a ting and a ling when she giggles...<br>
She's so perfectly in-tune...</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Aaa(N)h cheeeese...no have...yes!?!" and yet you find her smile and you notice you're smiling back too.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Noon or nigh..behind the counter or relaxing on the chair...she chatters and chirps but not for once stops smiling...</p>
<p dir="ltr">Such a smile is contagious, such a smile stays with you for a while...<br>
Just like the moon, that peek-a-boos at you on a journey at night...</p>
<p dir="ltr">Here's wishing the yellow moon shines throughout the day and that no glaring sun ever take her tunefulness away...</p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com0Bangkok, Bangkok13.7563305 100.50176tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-18890585522413605242015-10-28T00:21:00.003+05:302015-10-28T00:21:57.516+05:30Writer's Block<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Writer: Tapoja Roy writes on "Music"<br />
Source: Terribly Tiny Tales</div>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-7792181289680407922015-06-30T14:32:00.001+05:302018-04-10T12:18:29.042+05:30The tiny joys<p dir="ltr"><br>
Discovering a forgotten bar of Five Star in the bag</p>
<p dir="ltr">Longing for a Money Plant and suddenly finding it in a vase on the dining table</p>
<p dir="ltr">The ‘page view’ of Speechless crossing 100,000, inspite of having ignored her for ages</p>
<p dir="ltr">Not me but my fellow blogger friend noticing it for me</p>
<p dir="ltr">Getting drenched by the time the umbrella could be taken out (totally unintentional)</p>
<p dir="ltr">Collecting my stationery in office then giving the pink coloured pen to Sid (my neighbour at office) and of course seeing him stare at the bright “pink-ness” of the gift in disbelief!</p>
<p dir="ltr">Quitting Facebook and Whatsapp to return to Speechless, in other words, clearing out the junk for some me space</p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-32100774231344128442015-04-02T22:52:00.001+05:302016-02-04T21:10:27.521+05:30Slow but steady as a TURTLE...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I was not doing good....was not keeping well...had lots of questions in my mind and was very sad...</div>
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Didn't have anyone to talk to...never have been a good talker...</div>
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Was aimlessly roaming around at a certain shopping mall....with blurred eyes...a heavy heart and an empty head...</div>
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...when I came across a certain hoarding of sorts with a lot written on it...</div>
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Something stood out from the hoarding</div>
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SLOW UP</div>
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I literally slowed up and began reading through it..<br />
By the time I came towards the last line...I was crying...oblivious to the fact that I was being stared at...<br />
Why?? Because the questions knocking at the walls of my cranium were being answered...just like that...as if (although I didn't have anyone to talk to) someone was watching over and was listening to me all this while..</div>
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The snap below was my 4th attempt at my mobile's camera because I was trembling so...</div>
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What the questions and answers were, are beyond the scope of Dear Speechless...</div>
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The board was placed outside the TURTLE showroom (hence the title)...</div>
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<i>You are fast.</i><br />
<i>So fast that you stop for nothing.</i><br />
<i>You whiz past the world,</i><br />
<i>The Sunsets, Street Musicians, a Monet,</i><br />
<i>Whipped cream cupcakes,</i><br />
<i>New Bookstores, Old friends, Sandpipers on the beach, stand up Comedians and empty highways.</i><br />
<i>Everything is a blur.</i><br />
<i>You are stuck in fast forward.</i><br />
<i>An ultimate rushaholic. Success seeker</i><br />
<i>Going through his emotions.</i><br />
<i>Racing through life rather than actually living it.</i><br />
<i>And suddenly its all over.</i></div>
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<i>SLOW UP</i></div>
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<i>Break away from the breakneck pace.</i><br />
<i>Uncomplicate. Untie. Unwind.</i><br />
<i style="background-color: yellow;">Find time to find yourself.</i><br />
<i>Breathe, don't just inhale. Feel.</i><br />
<i>Don't just touch.</i><br />
<i>Find, don't just look.</i><br />
<i>Live every second, don't just count them.</i><br />
<i>Stand in a rushin</i><i>g stream rather than rush hour traffic. </i><br />
<i>Give a genuine response rather than a quick answer.</i><br />
<i>Seek a real connection rather than a mere plug point.</i><br />
<i>Slow up. Because the earth took billions of years to form.</i><br />
<i>And you took nine months to come to being.</i></div>
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<i>Slow up. <span style="background-color: yellow;">Because</span></i><span style="background-color: yellow;"> <i>the best things in life take their own sweet time.</i></span></div>
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Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-25160978729506214662015-03-29T02:34:00.001+05:302015-03-29T03:04:37.582+05:30Even so....Remember me...<p dir="ltr"><i>DaaNriye achho tumi amar ganer opare...</i><br>
<i>Amar shur guli paye choron...</i><br>
<i>Ami pai </i><i>ne tomare....</i></p><div class="separator" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;clear: both; "><i><br></i></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;clear: both; "><i>Photo courtesy: Wrik</i></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;clear: both; "><i><br></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-eS1UHVgktCw/VRcXQiwQigI/AAAAAAAALCE/Y4k_UHIqpkU/s1600/2015-03-29%25252002.18.04.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-eS1UHVgktCw/VRcXQiwQigI/AAAAAAAALCE/Y4k_UHIqpkU/s640/2015-03-29%25252002.18.04.png"> </a> </div>Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-64573373306958048572015-03-26T23:06:00.001+05:302015-03-26T23:11:24.519+05:30Gatum..<p dir="ltr">That is what I call our car -<i> Gatum</i>.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I learnt how to drive way back in 2009 but obviously remembered none of it because we didnt have a car back then.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Ever since <i>Gatum</i> has entered our lives...poor car's control has been taken over by various drivers at different times, the worst of the lot obviously being the blogger.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Location - Howrah<br>
Occasion - My cousin sister's wedding</p>
<p dir="ltr"><i>Gatum</i> was supposed to be driven around and used there at the wedding by some driver that my cousin's folks would arrange. The driver did'nt turn up. They badly needed a replacement and got hold of me as a desperate last (and only) resort. I knew how to work upon the gears (the first and the second gears that is) and the ABC.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The best part was i had fever. They woke me up very early next morning, gave me a cup of tea, two biscuits and a Paracetamol. Then asked me to take a whole lot to the river Ganga for <i>jol-showa.</i><br>
I was at the wheels, but all of us were driving (if you know what I mean). A truck driver was screamed at for coming from the right side (the correct side I mean). A bus that was backing up was instructed by 4 ladies from the rear of a tiny car to wait while <i>Gatum </i>could pass first, etc.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The distance from the house to the venue was also being covered by the new-found driver. There was a manned crossing near the venue and each time the traffic police saw me closing in, he would stop the entire traffic and allowed me the first passage with a frown at first which later changed to a cordial smile by the end of the evening.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The bride in all her fineries was sitting at the back of the car. The groom had already reached the venue. The <i>pandit </i>was enquiring about the bride, but the poor lady was still sitting at the back seat of <i>Gatum </i>waiting at the railway signal because I could not take her the other way round (a short cut) which would have required me to climb a flyover. What if there was a signal and I had to stop at the incline. Brrrrrrr....<br>
So there we were, waiting for the goods train to pass and get the two souls wedded.</p>
<p dir="ltr">All went well, I still get applauded for that day and that's how I started driving around with Dear <i>Gatum</i>.</p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-39607361365533875852015-03-26T00:53:00.001+05:302015-03-29T10:49:39.468+05:30My Angels...<p dir="ltr">Some people are just plain awesome.</p>
<p dir="ltr">We have all come across them and they have never left us...</p>
<p dir="ltr">As for me:-</p>
<p dir="ltr">I have made mistakes...they have covered up for me...<br>
I have been absconding...they proxied...<br>
I was applauded....they stood right behind and smiled...<br>
I talked (I cannot talk well but)...they patiently listened...<br>
I did not want to talk...they made me sing a song...write a poem..cook up a dish...or just let me hang around...and sometimes made me laugh...</p>
<p dir="ltr">My Angel#1 once told me : God after sending you to earth, realized his blunder which is why he quickly sent me after you to clean up and take care of his mess... :p</p>
<p dir="ltr">* Kaadchhish keno? Gaaner programme kharap hoyechhe? Hotei pare..Sachin ki roj khelte neme Century kore? (Ami Sachin noi...amio jani shey o jane...kintu oi shomoy hashate perechhilo)...<br>
*Tor dike angul tule kotha bolechhe? Agey angul ta bhang tarpor ami dekhe nichhi. (Na..ami angul bhangini...o mean o kore ni...kintu support korechhilo...tate ami ei pipilikar moton cheharay akta chhoto haati te porinoto hoyechhilam)</p>
<p dir="ltr">My Angel#2 once told me: This is your house, you are free to come here as and when you please...shudhu gaan ta chharish na...<br>
Uni nije jibone khub khub kharap shomoy er moddhe diye gachhen aar amar kachhe bhogobaner che kichhu kom non...</p>
<p dir="ltr">My Angel #3 once : Prevented our friendship from geting over and has always been around through thick and thin...She is about to reach a very important milestone in life and my prayers and good wishes are always with her...<br>
What she did at my wedding is unthinkable. She probably substituted for an elder sister that I never had....</p>
<p dir="ltr">None of these people are my relatives...but they are my Angels and I love them...Thank you for being there... </p>
<p dir="ltr">It is beacuse of you guys that I am able to survive the lonely dark times...karon bhalo shomoy e toh shobai thake..</p>
Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-24152577553587057592014-05-17T01:48:00.001+05:302014-05-17T01:52:27.111+05:30Paneer CG...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P4aQMvULFzc/U3ZrSXs5diI/AAAAAAAAHbw/TQmxZUXgYtg/s1600/IMG_20140514_172821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P4aQMvULFzc/U3ZrSXs5diI/AAAAAAAAHbw/TQmxZUXgYtg/s1600/IMG_20140514_172821.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Post Jaipur I have become so lazy that I hardly feel like cooking or doing anything constructive or creative. Recently quite a few things have changed and changed all at the same time. Interestingly, my "I-give-up-coz-it-doesn't-matter-disposition" is also intrigued and is making me do things which I would not have done otherwise. As an example, I have cooked a Paneer preparation for my team at office. Haven't been doing more of it recently hence did not remember taking a snap of the dish. What I do have is the snap (above) of my team posing with the tiffin box.</div>
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Sharing the recipe below for you (please use your own quantity for each of the ingredients):-</div>
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Ingredients -</div>
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Paneer</div>
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Spring Onions</div>
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Green chillies (slit from the top)</div>
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Vegetable Oil</div>
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Garlic (crushed)</div>
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Turmeric powder</div>
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Coriander powder + Jeera powder</div>
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Fresh tomatoes</div>
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Red chilly powder</div>
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Garam Masala powder</div>
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Salt</div>
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Cream (I used milk as I did not have cream)</div>
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Procedure -</div>
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Churn the following in a food processor into a fine paste - Tomatoes, Onion, Garlic, Turmeric powder, Coriander+Jeera powder, Red chilly powder.</div>
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Heat oil in a pan and into it pour the pureed paste and also the green chillies.</div>
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Add sugar and salt to taste, garam masala powder, fry till the oil surfaces and then add in the cream (if you do not have cream, you can use milk but then no water would be required). Once done, add some water. Simmer for 4 minutes. Put in the paneer cubes and the spring onions. Cook covered for 5 minutes.</div>
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Share with others, do remember to take a picture and most definitely give me your feedback :)</div>
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Happy cooking!!</div>
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Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-19474933054103888832014-05-16T22:43:00.000+05:302014-05-17T00:36:02.125+05:30Priyo amar ogo priyo...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"....Kebol tumi ki go...emni bhabe..<br />
Rangiye morey paliye jabe...<br />
Tumi shaadh kore naath...dhora diye...<br />
Amaro rong bokkhe niyo...<br />
Ei hridkomoler ranga renu rangabe oi uttoriyo...<br />
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Aha tomar shonge praaner khela...<br />
Priyo amar ogo priyo.."<br />
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<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="25" scrolling="no" src="https://www.opendrive.com/listen/87363696_EK5ga" style="border: 0;" width="297"></iframe>
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Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-89262123746962119712014-02-03T15:15:00.000+05:302014-02-03T17:17:58.248+05:30Didibhai....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Akkebare bhule gele?...</td></tr>
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Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2557396955980279959.post-44139347631295582852014-01-04T22:31:00.000+05:302014-01-04T22:33:23.040+05:30Some mountain in Africa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="text-align: justify;">0/15, that was what I scored in my first Physics Vector test in Class XI. I remember sticking that answer sheet inside my closet for a number of days to remind me that bad days were near and also to help me forget the proficiency certificate I received a few days back in a prize distribution ceremony for my class X.</span><br />
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Mr. Kamaleshwar Mukherjee - Sir, Meghe dhaka taara is past tense and you have scored a zero out of hundred for all Chander Pahar enthusiasts. We were banking on you to pass the test for us.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e6PzDNZ3jm4/Usg52DH1JNI/AAAAAAAAGws/XTvofdaSNC0/s1600/IMG_20131226_122718.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="115" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e6PzDNZ3jm4/Usg52DH1JNI/AAAAAAAAGws/XTvofdaSNC0/s320/IMG_20131226_122718.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is the ticket of a movie that could have easily been called "Challenge nibi na Africa", but they unfortunately made a last minute decision of altering that to "Chander Pahar" and I plan to keep this ticket as a token of the torture that lasted for two and half hours this (date of the draft not that of the post) morning.</div>
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I could end up weeping, if I go on to write what went wrong in the film but I would still duel myself in trying not to.</div>
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Dev - the handsome actor (who is still trying to act) could have easily smiled in front of the Bunyip or have danced with the Matabil tribes and "Challenge nibi na Africa" would have been a lot more tolerable.</div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;">Narration - Today's audience is used to hearing a certain Amitabh Bacchan or Naseeruddin Shah mesmerize people through movies just by their voice. This certainly was your movie Sir, but it was "our" story. You could have let a better narrator tell it to us.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Dialogues - The few dialogues that were spoken throughout the movie were either incomprehensible or looked like they were created impromptu by the not-so-convincing actors. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Editing - Each time Shankar was shown reflecting over his recent journey from the Salisbury hotel, he had this calm, satisfied look about him which probably Tirumal Appa could have had while dreaming about his fiance back home in India. Shankar was shown with this look in some of the oddest and most tensed up moments during the story telling. Could have been avoided.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Locations - The second half was about a dense rain forest and not some arid landscape (doesn't matter to me if the book was wrong). It caused me a lot of pain to witness Diego and Shankar walk through barren, brown and yellow African plains, because it was really supposed to be green, dense and dark.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Shankar and Diego, the two most important characters from the book shared a very special bonding which was not built properly and hence the parting of the two through Diego's death did not touch hearts. I remember going on mute-mode when I read this.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">The bunyip in this movie had a huge orang-ish exopthalmic goitre, a tail and horns. It crawled like a lizard and its three-toed pug marks were shown so close to each other on the wet mud as if someone had tied both its legs togeher for such an act. </li>
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Mr. Mukherjee played safe with this film on a business-perspective and the 15 crores doesn't look too far away. He would probably get his money's worth. Columnists have tirelessly written good things about this production. The first of its kind movie in Tollywood, no questions asked.</div>
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In a recent television program, a renowned singer performed a Lata Mangeshkar Gazal; she was brilliant in her rendition. After finishing, she smiled (a very pretty one indeed) and said, "<i>You may have liked this, but please make sure to listen to the original after tuning off, that's the master piece</i>!!"</div>
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Sunritahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09121051372938077035noreply@blogger.com0