Rendezvous with the Ice Maiden

Through the glass it looked beautiful,

The picturesque city drenched in the first rains.

The setting went well with his mood,

His mind flashed a thousand images.

Turning, he looked at her again.

On the cold floor she lay

Staring blankly at the ceiling.

 She was cold too. 

He knelt down beside her

Running his fingers up her arm 

Until he reached her neck. 

He stopped to glance at her necklace.

It was a present from him.

He remembered that fateful day.

Roses decked up her house

While she sat with him on the couch

And he knelt down and then looked at her.Then, he gave her that.

A sudden noise brought him back

And he smiled at her.

A smile not of a sinner, but of a lover

Honest and true.

 Then a look so menacing,

Rarely did a lover look so.

He clasped the pendant once again

And ripped it off.

An emotion of calmness then set upon his face,

As if it were a job swell done.

He got up and walked across the room

And heaved himself upon a chair.

There, he slept till morning.

Ere the big ball of fire rose again.

The rays struck his eyes to bring

Him back to the world again.

And then, he glanced at her once again.

A heavenly face so pristine,

He fell in love with her

Once again and over.

He then got up from his throne

And walked up to the ice maiden.

There, he dropped his gun

And turned to leave.

Just then, he stopped.

Turning, he went back again. 

Kneeling, he took out his knife

And struck it six times.

Finally he got up to go

And his phone rang. 

'Are you coming, honey?' said the voice.

'In a minute!' As he wiped his knife.

Euphoria

His right hand was dead,

Blood oozing out through his vein;

He felt numb 

And contented. 

His whole life flashed by 

In euphoria unparalleled.

The long walks down the dimly lit lane,

The fleeing when time had crossed its bounds.

The graffiti on his arms he cherished. The smile,

Breath-taking to say the least. He believed

She and he were meant to be.

Together and forever.

And then, he came back, 

To the world that now knew no pain.

By and by, he shut his eyes

Never to open again.

Yet, his heart still beat,

For the woman for whom he paved a bed

Of a colour richer than a Marshal Niel.

He remembered that day.

The fireworks shone brilliantly,

Welcoming a new year to oneself.

And this was a new year that'd be the worst 

For all the hopes he'd piled on, were shattered.

And he had not the courage to build them again.

Days post, they met again, her smile

Lit him up. An emotion

So strange it were

To cry and smile together.

A week that'd been the most magnificient of all, 

And yet on the day it was last, she broke him

Her heart was for someone else: the person 

She loved. And he stood there, yet again, dumbstruck.

Tears rolled down his eyes as 

A smile he braved for her

To be happy was all he'd hoped 

For her.

Since then his eyes and heart

Craved for once a sight of hers.

A futile wish, he knew, for

She didn't care at all for him.

And thus, his wrist bleeds

A red that's not just his blood

But an ocean of emotions and pain engulfed.

He shuts his eyes for ever.

The Value of Unimportance

The day isn't at all different. 

He gets up, like he always does,

From the dilapidated sheet of plastic

And stares. 

There's a brilliant spark in his eyes, 

A bottomless ocean of many

Experiences, memoirs and happiness. 

Men and women walk by in apparel,

Bright.

The weather suits his mood. 

He is happy, for new clothes shall he wear

The tattered old rags. 

Drums beat with an unsual mix of rhythm and raucousness.

The music brought by the cool winds

That kiss his beardless cheek,

A cold, yet pleasant kiss.

And then, he stares

Into moments of time faded into oblivion.

Happier times, perhaps, they are

History, we wish,

But illusion, alas!

He stares, yet, eyes fixed

On a memory that existed, Or

Probably never did.

And then, he thinks of other things, 

Memories he shall not like to recall. 

They're events and circumstances that have led to this futile life,

Humiliation and shame filling the void of the soul.

A hand so soft, then touches his face.

A touch so heavenly that takes him to a world unknown

Yet, wished for, in his dreams.

The nimble fingers wipe off something from his cheeks

As drops of dew fall on his cold, weak arms.

The universe he now belongs to is above

And beyond all that man hath perceived. 

You and I shall never know

Realisation might never dawn

Was it God or Nature 

That took pity on this unimportant creature

And released him from a life so used to humiliation and torture?

The little boy remains there, holding on to the man

Father, he called. Streams of realisation flow down his tanned cheeks

Of loneliness dawning. 

The man now looks not towards the Heavens,

Or the life of the Chanel clad lady in red.

Yet, there's a smile unparallel. An expression

Truly worth this futile life.

An ode to the Unsung Hero

Draped in a white sari she looks

A lifeless glimmer in her eyes. 

She sits on the sidewalk as thousands

Of feet pass her.

Today is a special day, she recalls

A day that changed the world. 

The eye has turned chaste, years of memories

She recollects.

She remembers the day she felt

Worthwhile for once.

Having fled from a husband abusive

She sat by the street.

That day it poured, as if

Heavens seemed in accordance with her.

The first rain of the year, a concoction

Of happiness and grief.

Exhilarated as she was, quite obvious the emotion,

 She named the child Jim.

The sound of tears that made her smile

Was a sound unforgotten.

On and on years passed by,

The first words he spoke.

Her elation knew no bounds when

 'Maa,' she had heard.

Henceforth life went on,

To school the little boy went.

Yet, the mother stayed back on that pavement

To make him his lunch.

And then came the day that changed

The lives of both these beings.

A letter from a boss that took

Jim away and afar.

Hurt she had been, yet took immense pride

At her son's successes and the beginning of a new stride.

She dabbed her moist eye with the tunic

As she bid him goodbye.

Since then, years have passed,

Life has moved on. 

She has been asked to leave 

The room she called home.

Today as she remembers her son's birthday bright

Deep down, she hopes that he would

Once at least call on

A mother missing the glimmer of her son's eyes.

She still recalls his darkish skin,

Hair rough and eyes light a brown.

And today as she keeps his birthday,

It's a sea of emotions that fill

A tear drop from her eyes.

Noukadubi: A Review

Noukadubi - Rituparno Ghosh has and can do a lot better. An immense let down on his part.

          Noukadubi is essentially a story of love between individuals borne out of mistaken identity. A boat wreck leads to two people, absolutely unknown to each other, living together as man and wife, thinking that they are indeed with the one they got married to. How the two main characters realise that mistake and how it affects not just them but also the man's prospective lover and the woman's actual husband forms the crux of the story.
         

         Noukadubi, as by Tagore, was from Kamala (the part essayed by Riya Sen)'s point of view. I don't know WHAT happened to him that made him twist the plot to turn it into Ramesh (Jisshu Sengupta)'s perspective. That kind of injected all the romanticism out of the plot.

         It does not work because once you switch the plot to fit the perspective of Ramesh, a LAWYER, of all people, the very tenderness and romance and fondness is missing. It would have worked had it been from the perspective of Kamala, a village belle. She's someone who'd work on the nuances well and they'd come out naturally, simply because sincerity and conviction on her part would have been better noticed which would have brought about the things that I stated out. I'm not saying that they were underplayed. They were missing from the story. That made it fall flat.

        There are, in addition to this, a few technical glitches that annoyed me at times. Picture them.

One. Were Tagore's pictures ABSOLUTELY necessary? They did not help in any way. That just made me believe that it wasn't something based in the 1930s (Noukadubi was based in the 1920s) but rather, today.
Two. The SAME newspaper was used on two different dates. HOW is that possible?
Three. The manner in which Kamala faints and falls ill is very repetitive. Same applies for when she lands up on the banks of the rivers.

CHARACTERS: 

As Ramesh, Jisshu Sengupta is very convincing and sincere, but I wished he emoted a little more, especially when in conversation with the woman he loves, Hemnalini.

As Kamala, Riya Sen too, does a good job. What a relief to know that she can actually act! However, when in a scene with someone else, it's the other character that rules celluloid and not her. One's eyes shift away from her very easily.

As Nalinaksha, with the very small role that Prosenjit Chatterjee has is commendable and he performs it to the T. In every scene that he is in, whether as the singer who brilliantly performs Sanga Chadma or the doctor who goes around prescribing medicines even when not called for, he is excellent and is completely convincing in his role. The icing on the cake is when his mother cries and the way he tells his mother 'khete dao'. That is just awe-striking. 

But, by far, the best is Raima Sen as Hemnalini. The sophisticated Bengali is brilliantly essayed by her and every emotion is perfectly conveyed across to the audience. The little warmth that is there in the movie is largely due to her performance. When on screen, she is in control, even if the character accompanying her is none but Prosenjit. She gives him a run for his money, especially when the scene about the 6 steps and not taking the seventh one happens, or the way she comes to meet Nalinaksha's mother (reminded me of Chigusa's role in the Japanese Wife) is breath-taking. Whether low and dejected or cheerful and high-spirited, she is convincing from one frame to the other.

All in all, Noukadubi is an average film. Rituparno's ode to the Bengali Bard isn't as up-heaving as it should have been.

Rating: 3/5 (Average)

Strange Land, Stranger People

Truly, when one thinks of India, does one really think of Incredible India? I'd rather say they think of a few basics:
1. The 'Common-wealth games'
2. Food and Money
3. Naxalites

The Commonwealth or Common-wealth Games 2010
CWG 2006, Melbourne: A dainty Aishwarya Rai performs an eleven minute dance sequence as she welcomes the world to witness the Commonwealth Games 2010 to be held in India's national capital, New Delhi. 4 years since, and let's have a look at the exquisite condition the stadia are in with just 31 days to go before India rolls out the red carpet for her guests for the Commonwealth Games 2010. Well, let's just hope so.
Indira Gandhi Stadium and Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium: Do these places even look like stadia that are due to host a series of international events in just about 30 days? I'd rather say, and I'm very sure many would agree, that they look pretty much like Canning House and Dalhousie House and other such warehouses flanking the Strand Road in Calcutta.
Commonwealth Games truly seem to have turned into a Game to loot the Common's Wealth. All hail Suresh Kalmadi, officially, indeed; and unofficially, the many top bureaucrats, who, along with Mr. Kalmadi, sometime or other, have been part of this wonderful act we term as 'under-the-table conversation.'
Some Rupees 40,000.00 spent on hiring toilet paper and umbrellas? Honestly, I had never even heard of 're-usable' toilet paper until our honourable Government decided to invest 5 grands per roll renting it. Well, let's just hope 'Atithi Devo Bhawa' lives up to serving it's guests from the Commonwealth of Nations and other countries and is not corrupt too.

Food and Money
Madame Tussuad should have considered opening up a museum here in India too, considering the fact that we have prestigious jewels whom we can immortalize for ever, and one of them is our food and agriculture Minister, Mr. Sharad Pawar
What have not heard about this marvel? First, his link ups with the IPL scam, and now this - the height of 'responsibility' on his front when it comes to the people of India. He is a Cabinet Minister, holding a key portfolio that precedes every portfolio, as man cannot munch on currency notes.
Tonnes of food grain have been wasted over the past decade, and an approximate value of Rupees 50 crore is spent every year in order to protect these food crops from damage.
According to the guidelines laid down by the Government of India, every Indian family below the poverty line is liable for 450 kgs of ration a year. I doubt whether they even receive 4.5 kgs of it in a year. Most people are dying of hunger, and the food which is produced for them is damaged and destroyed thanks to the poor preservation methods. Where exactly is the money going then? Are we really dumb enough to believe that we spend so much over food protection only so that all of it goes down the drain? I think not.
Where is it all going then? Well, it's all draining, but into pockets - pockets of the rich and 'honest' citizens of India who aspire to lead us 'unto light from darkness,' while Mr. Sharad Pawar gleefully states that he has to 'look into the Supreme Court order to check whether he is allowed to distribute the damaged food crops at times of drought like these.'
And then, we talk of price inflation. Not of daily articles, however, but our Members of Parliament. Areas of Bengal are drought stricken. The 3rd farmer suicide took place in two weeks on Tuesday, 31st August, 2010. How are we( the MPs) bothered? All we need is our money and whether we come to Parliament or not, whether we 'serve' the nation and her people or not, is absolutely optional; and often voted against. So much for 'Satyamev Jayate.'
When people across the country are dying due to lack of finances and lack of food, our MPs storm the Parliament and cause its adjournment numerous times a day, all in thought of the 'servants' of the country - our politicians. As if a 300% pay hike was not enough, they need 200% more, excluding all allowances. Agreed that our MPs still receive a lot less as compared to international standards, but aren't they wise and sensible enough to realise that at a time like this, when one's own brothers are killing themselves, one should atleast be considerate enough to be termed human? Well, I don't think such sensibility will ever dawn upon our 'men who lead from the front.'

Naxal Problems
The Media talks of and to the Maoists. We see footage of them on our television sets and pictures in the newspapers. Despite that, our Government cannot track them.
The Home Minister, Mr. P. Chidambaram tries his best to arrange for a conference with the Chief Ministers of all the states undergoing Operation Green Hunt, but some of them just don't seem to turn up.
The Minister of Railways, who is touted to be the next Chief Minister, puts forward her ideas, "There are no Maoists in India."
So basically, the problem lies in  the fact that as usual, we are divided in opinion, and that is quite natural.
The Chief Minister of Bihar has always sided with the Maoists and as a result, 2/3rd of Bihar is under Maoist control. The Chief Minister of Jharkhand never bothers to turn up for meetings with the Minister of Home. His reasons are valid enough, he himself is touted to be one of the Maoists.
The people want the Army in, the politicians don't. Why would they? After all, switching on the local news channel would give them unending entertainment.
The Maoists have open jan-adalats in the forests. A prominent news channel even telecast a live session of a jan-adalat on their prime time, and still our politicians are fighting over their very existence.
What more do they need? Thousands of police massacred in the long run, trying to regain democratic control over the Maoist areas; four police men nabbed from Bihar this morning, and they are still waiting for more. The only thing that they can do is pose with their picture-perfect faces with the cliché statement: "The situation is under control." Obviously, it is under control - the security forces are under control.
"Money, Money, Money, It's a rich man's world!"

-Rrivu Banerjee

A PASCHionate month indeed!

Often we come across the phrase 'Once in a lifetime.' What does this actually mean? Does it mean any opportunity that comes across our way? No, it doesn't. It's an opportunity that comes your way only once, and never knocks at your door again if you reject it it. That is exactly what being PASCHionate is all about. One month of extensive German class, wonderful teachers, great new 'friends', the Fussball, Domino's, Azad Hind, 'Langsam' - all of this made up Berlin Klassenzimmer for me. Today, as I entered Berlin for the last time, I was choc-a-bloc with memories of the wonderful time I had spent here. Here's an ode to the people who made me, Me during the past one month. As I think of 20th June, and then 10th July, I really wonder what I'll do without you. We'll probably meet once in a while, but the closeness we shared will be lost, unfortunately. Thank You guys, once again!

 Bidisha Dasgupta

The princess of sarcasm. Quite a witty personae, I must say. Bidisha, the girl who doesn't talk much, is someone who will make life miserable for you if you rub shoulders with her the wrong way. She is the girl who doesn't give a damn about how she speaks to someone as long as she believes in herself. The girl, who'll hold her cell phone in the weirdest manner and say, "Shyamal da, apni ki eshe gechen?" is the girl who rarely smiles, and when she does, it's worth an applause!
Srija Ghosh

The sweet, gentle girl, who is pretty good with her vocab too. One of the two women you can approach if you're in need of consoling is Srija. The lady I've christened as Wolverine (credit: her 6-inch nails) is also someone who's cold blooded (courtesy: her ice cold hands). A girl who believes that a smile and gentle words can fix all, she sent chills down the spine of one of our friends (we all know who!!) Thanks Wolverine for being one of my closest friends at PASCH 2010.
Devyani Sarda

By far, my best friend (second to Sneha, though!), Devyani is a person who is all set to dive into anything. The other woman who is very good at helping people out, MA'AM is a great tennis player. Her maturity is spell-binding, and is someone who almost set a record for NEVER EATING during the PAUSE, but she didn't make it. She ate today (7 June). Well, you're still one of my best friends, so please remain like that ever more. Thanks Devyani!
Nivedita Todi

The first word that crosses your mind when you see her is 'LANGSAM!' Nivedita is a person who brings the class to life, and quite literally, leaves it breathless too. The girl who can at times get on your nerves with her constant questions is an entertainment factor at PASCH, or as she puts it 'entertainment QUOTIENT.' The only girl who gets into a game of ball as full spirited as the rest of the guys, excluding Kevin, is Nivedita. So, Todi....go girl, even though we've told you at all times that you're a pathetic singer, you're not, and I mean it.
Sanyam Dugar

"Rrivu, hum pass hoga na?"-this is one question he NEVER gets tired of, and frankly, neither do I. One of the very few guys who's modesty knows no bounds. The guy who literally taught me how to catch (yes, I was PATHETIC at it), a day without Sanyam in class 'IST SEHR LANGWEILIG" The 'KLEIN HUND" of our group, he is anything but a 'hund.' His endless 'gyan' on everything he knows and doesn't know of is worth a thousand memories. Finally, his choice of the 'Best Song of 2010' that spans over EVERY SONG he listens to, whether it's the R.D. Burman classic 'Mehbooba', A.R. Rahman's 'Behne De' or K'naan's 'Wavin' Flag'. Dude, never change!
Abhishek Mohta

Having mentioned the KLEIN HUND, how can you miss the GROSS HUND. The gentle giant of PASCH, crack all the jokes you want, and he won't mind. The guy who is friends with EVERYONE, is a true gem. Actions speak louder than words, dude, so will keep it till here, without speaking much.
Umang Mavani

The silent assassin of the group, I've never come to face the fact as to how a guy can speak on the phone for 45 minutes at length. And I thought I was the talkative one!!! The brainy kid of the group, Umang is great at FUSSBALL and brilliant with his academics too. I guess someone (Todi) should learn that shouting out rubbish at times is not the solution!!
Rohit Ladrasia

Well, can't tell much about him apart from the fact that he's great with Deutsch too, and is a great teacher. He gives Devyani and Srija a run for their money. The guy who loves wearing badges on his uniform, is a quiet guy who beats all at whatever he lays his hands on.
Gaurav Jain

The guy with the ENORMOUS epiglottis, Gaurav's jinxes with Kevin lead us into splits! The guy who is 16 and has a driving license, Gaurav loves the corner bench, chatting and driving. The guy who looks a little snobbish initially, isn't that bad afterall.
Trishala Kanakia

Well, I call her Trish. The girl who appeared to be extremely snobbish and arrogant(Ya, I know, "look who's talking!") isn't that bad after all. Agreed, that she wasn't interested in the course earlier, but she's got the hang of it now, and we're sure she'll manage. We're all just praying Kevin chooses not to boast his German skills and cause her to fail.
Rachit, Manav and Kevin

Nothing to say about these guys. have known them all my life. So, just wanna say thank you for the wonderful experience.
Rudraya Gupta

This is a special mention. Rudraya is one of my closest friends from PASCH. Though he had to leave three weeks into the course, he was a guy who etched memories into all our lives for eons to come and pass by. Have missed you throughout, and will miss you forever. Thanks for being my friend.

Lastly, I want to thank all of you once again. Thank You for making this a wonderful experience. Thank You, Anita Ma'am, Stefan Sir, Amrit Ma'am, Amrita Ma'am and everyone else for your utmost support even when we literally brought Berlin down.