The Life of Pi and my stories..

The first tears appeared when the young boy was shouting in joy experiencing a terrible thunderstorm..I was feeling like shouting in joy by myself..the joy in danger, walks along with the journey.. The apparently unknown boy lost everything at the Pacific ocean.. And it was a beginning of the unknown world.When groups a fishes attacked him,my eyes saw the shadow of a door which she tried to open in order to find an escape route at the midnight city. When the son of the same master, a man eater roared in full energy, my ears heard a deafening sound, with thousand flashes.. The red carpet movie theater had some exit doors..but can the doors take me there, where I want to go? where i need to go.. I want to shout..yes, I want to cry..because I want my life back..once more, I want to live..

a 'Bangal' conversation and beyond

Two popular Bangla T.V. serials are now using bangal (The speech of East Bengal, traditionally)variety of speech in the script and thus attracting two major chunks of viewers.Firstly, people from Bangladesh who are extremely fond of Calcutta-based serials, and secondly, the 'once upon a time refugee bangals' who are now well settled in West Bengal and cherish the bangal speech varieties. 'They are not using bangal speech properly', says my father, while watching the serial 'Chirosathi' in Star Jalsha. The serial, based on Muktijuddho kaleen Bangladesh is using bangal speech, which resembles the speech variety of Barisal.I tried to convince my father that the variety spoken in Barisal today is quite different from what we speak at home. A family who had left Bangladesh during partition and still using bangal speech for daily conversation is, in fact, archiving the Barisal variety of Bangla which was spoken in 1940s in undivided Bengal.But, today Barisal variety is influenced by the Dhaka Standard Bangla, which is, again influenced by Kolkata Bangla. So, my family does not know how the Barisal-based bangal variety spoken today is different from what we speak at home! An unique example of language maintenance can be heard in the speech of my granduncle, my father and my uncle. They have left everything behind, but they still own their language, which is their valuable possession form their ancestral place. The usual waves of language change has not touched these people of my family. So, we are carrying the old forms, and simultaneously it is really difficult for them to believe that what we speak today is not spoken at Barisal now. Boundaries and distances can do so much for our language,and some of us have never thought about it,perhaps..

tomake chai

'tomake chai' kuri bochore pa dilo. bangla ganer ekti onyotomo biplob, amra jara tar shakkhi thekechi tader aj ek rongeen din. aj sei shoroter sokaler kotha mone porche, jedin bhorbela moshari khulei dekhlam pujor jonyo notun cassette esheche, denimer shirt pore ek bhodrolok hate ekta guitar niye boshe achen. sumanke chinlam, sumaner gan ke chinlam. ar sumaner gan chenate shekhalo onyo ek jogot. suman inspiration dilen somor sen porbar, suman shekhalen biplob ar premer obichchedyo songya. tomake chai shunei bodhoy shoishob theke koishore uttoron hoyechilo ekti projonmer.solil chowdhury-ke notun kore chiniye dilen suman, himanshu dutter nam notun kore anka holo tnar-i sure. notun projonmo tnar ganer line diye poster likhlo,prempotro likhlo ar likhlo jiboner onyo ek bhasha. samyobader gan ghume jagorone tochnoch kore dilo kolkatar nobin akash. mone ache sumaner lekha prothom boita kinte boimelay line deoya,'tomake chai' -er srostar hoye otha ganer golpo, prokasher din i copy-ta songroho kore jotno kore molat lagano hoyechilo. 'tomake chai' bolechilo premer sathe guitar-er ekta kothay jano dibbi sundor somporko ache.je sumaner gan bhalobashe na, ami konodin tar preme pori ni. koishore onek class-er fnake bondhuder geye shuniyechi 'boishakhi jhore ami tomake chai'.onek asharer megh-ke soriye diyeche tomake chai.'tomake chai' hoye uthechilo amar prothom cell phone-er welcome note. aj, ekti ganer jonmodine ei lekhata likhte boshe mone holo, e ganer jonmo amader jobonkei ekta notun jonmo diyeche.ekta gan palte dite pare etokichu? aj arekbar fire dekha, shune neoya sei gan-ke.ar socchar hoye eksathe bole otha-sesh porjonto tomake chai.

My journey with myself..

One little girl traveled these roads years ago, holding the hands of her parents. Today she is traveling alone, but her memories are indicating her ways. The building with a big garden is known to her, which she had drawn in her drawing book, using the new wood pencil from mussoorie. And the balcony of the ashrama, which was her drawing studio once upon a time, is almost unchanged!

My journey to Rishikesh-Mussoorie-Haridwar was a very special journey for me, because I traveled here with the shadow of a little girl. My childhood roadmap was showing my ways.

The journey began from Anand Vihar ISBT at almost midnight, when I boarded a roadways bus for Haridwar.I had to change the bus at Haridwar early in the morning and reached Rishikesh at around 7 a.m. I found myself among the crowd of Bengali and Tamil pilgrims. The old Bengali lady, who perhaps has come for the pilgrimage with a very little money which she has saved was crossing the Shivananda Ram Jhula-the hanging bridge over the Ganges with me. The familiar language was heard at almost every corner of the small town, which was making me very nostalgic. The woman who has come a long way to travel this pilgrimage is perhaps of my age. But it is probably very difficult for her to accept that one Bengali woman is traveling alone. And when you are wearing a bindi and a dupatta, you are never alone in a north Indian road travel.

I wanted to stay at the 'Banprastha Ashram' where I had stayed years ago. But the ashrama does not allow single persons. So I booked a cheap room at the Paramarth Niketan Ashram. I spotted a fantastically located restaurant on the Ganges which has a spectacular view of the river.spending hours there.A sudden storm changed the colour of the river and the whole frame of picture. A took a long walk through the bank of Ganges at reached Laxmanjhula. On the way I met a nun who is actively involved with the Save Ganges Campaign. The primary target at Laxmanjhula was the German Bakery where I had an amazing apple famble.Came back to Rishikesh by an auto and spent some more time with the calmness of the river.

Rishikesh to Mussoorie was a journey of almost 3 hours.I took a local bus from Rishikesh and changed another bus from Dehradun-the capital of Uttarakhand. The old British-styled buildings are a typical feature of Dehradun city, though the city now has a number of branded shops. Woodlands, Cafe Coffee Day and Spykar Jeans showrooms have changed the cityscape.

Our bus moved through the hilly roads, and the cold breeze brought the news that the 'queen of the hill' is not far. I had booked a room at the Youth Hostel which is 6 k.m distant from the Mussoorie town.But the area is not crowded like the Mussoorie bazar area and has a nice view of green mountains. I dumped my luggage at the hostel and rushed to the main Mussoorie bazar by a roadways bus. I was terribly hungry, so I reached my favourite Tibetan food joint Kalsung and ordered a plate of fried momo and a bowl of thukpa. Reached hostel around 6 p.m.and spent a silent evening with green and black mountains.

The next morning, I had planned a wonderful trek. Trek route of course destined Landour, which is my favourite part of mussoorie.I walked through Landour bazar,I entered a few of my favourite old antique shops. I walked to the famous 'char dukan' (the four shops and the Landour church. While walking down, I stopped for linch at the Chhaya Cafe-chicken pot pie and the chocolate cake was absolutely mouthwatering.I walked down till Mussoorie bazar and took a rope way ride. When the rope way reached the view point at gun hill, it started raining heavily. Rain at the hill top, and the dark green pine and devdar trees. It was amazing.

I was supposed to take a night bus for Delhi, but I suddenly changed my plans. Took a bus to Haridwar.Already booked a hotel over phone, but I was amazed to see the wonderful location of the hotel.

The last morning of the trip was taking a walk at the bank of Ganges near the Har ki Pauri ghat.I have written some part of it sitting at a ghat, from where I have also floated a flower and lamp boat.Early lunch at the famous 'Dada Boudir hotel' reminded me again of my childhood.

The roadways bus for Delhi left Haridwar at 12 noon. I got a front seat at the bus. The return journey brought many thoughts.My journey with the shadow of the little girl never brought a feeling of loneliness. My footsteps followed the mental map of my childhood journey. I tried to recall my journey on the rope way, my sharing of lunch from my mother's plate.

The journey was like a pink page fairy tale, the clouds, the stream of the river and the lush green mountains never allowed me to feel alone. And the little girl did not wave her hands to me when I started my return journey. She started nesting inside me after the journey...to my surprise..

Feeling Blue..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7AGyNPkXF4

Chena Ochena Ramkinkar

Dilli shohorer konkriter deoyale ramkinkorer chena ar ochena rong..
jolronger bhubondanga kimba shillong pahar..neel-sobujer fnake ghorbari..

Ramkinkorer jolronger chobi amake khub beshi kore tane. ami ankte pari na,kintu koyekta ronger chop obornoniyo bhabe rongin hoye othe kolponay.

National Gallery of Modern Art-e Ramkinkor Retrospective dekhte eshe Gallery-r auditorium theke bheshe asha chena ganer sur shune doure chole gechi dorjar pashe..bishal screen-e natyoghorer samner rastata- bristidhoya sobuj. Kalo bari ar kalabhaban chottorke porday dekhte peye hothat ki bhalo je laglo..

Neel jol ronger somudro, sobuje-anka pahar, shada-kaloy anka beral ar jyamitik nokshay boshonter chobi dekhe thomke dnariyechi. amar priyo buddher murtir ekta bishal chobi ar kalo barir bishal photograph dekhe hothat jano santiniketoner jonyo khub mon kharap kore uthlo.

dilli shohore ekhon boshonto. kintu ramkinkorer jolronger polash je boshonter bhasha jane, take kothay khnuje pabo byasto ei shohore?


tobu bhalo lage. eka eka gallery-r rasta diye hnatte hnatte ghasher opor jhore pora palaguloke hothat khub rongeen mone hoy..

ami chobi ankte pari na..kintu ronger bhasha porte pari..jolronger polash tai je boshonter kache amake niye jete chay, ami je tar theke onek dure..nijer moner modhye tai amio enke niy amar oboyobheen boshonter chobi,lak polash jege thake shei chobir patay patay..

I was trying to write my own 'story of the road' (pOther PNacali) for a long time. Words were not helping me. So, it was becoming a difficult task.On the way to Kolkata suddenly I felt an urge to write on my travel story, Story of the country, the countryside which were known to me- but I have never been there,not even my father.

My early childhood experience of story-telling happened with my grandfather (dada), grandmother (Dadin) and Granduncle (Fuchi). The sources of the story was also a blue-covered notebook whcih was actually owned by my great grandfather but I used to see the notebook in my grandfather's old trunk.

The source of the story was a green village, a few small ponds and a village house.The photographs of the house is kept in the village album. My journey began, destination-the little house of my nischindipur.

I and my friends- Ishani, Anumitra, Ishita, Bidisha and Deepro were exited when a local bus journey was being conducted by lots of international regulations. After hectic immigration tasks, baggage checking, we crossed the no man's land and entered Bangladesh.

I claim myself as a non-religious person. While having tea from a roadside tea stall at Benapole,a sudden comment from a tiny boy, 'Oh! Lokk at the Hindu lady' was absolutely shocking. I can easily say thet a similar comment is not rare in West Bengal for a Muslim lady. But is it Bangladesh? Which fought for 'Bengali' identity? We entered Bangladesh on 16th December, 2011- and the day was celebrated as the 40th anniversary of Muktijuddho.

We crossed the known roads whcih has never been traveled by us.The local bus journey was revealing more wonders.When our bus was crossing Padma through the berge, we discovered that there is a restaurant at the ferry, and it is frying fresh Ilish fishes, the delicious evening snacks welcomed us.

Almost three days in Dhaka was very hectic with paper presentations, adda at Dhaka university's famous Madhuda's canteen, reading beautifully written posters and banners at the campus, eating pulao-kabab-biriyani with the curd drink borhani, a number of rickshaw rides at Dhaka jam, tasting pithes etc.

One memorable event in Dhaka was visiting Rafik jethu-my father's friend. The renowned Tagore-specialist was chairing a session at the conference, when I introduced myself after the session, I was surprised that he remembers my nickname. The next day, when I and Ishita made a visit to his house, I was surprised that he remembers the song which I sang when he visited our house in Calcutta almost ten year ago! We got a surprise lunch at Rafik jethu's place, he also gifted us some books written by him.Rafik jethu has donated all his earnings to the Tagore research institute of Dhaka University and now lives in a small rented flat, still busy with writings.

Another memorable visit was the Bhasha Shahid minar when our friend Sujoy's brothers Rajan adn Gobindo accompanied us.The monument whcih is famous for the garland-decorated photos on 'Ekushe' is not at all well maintained, to our surprise.
For some reason,visit to the national temple Dhakeswari Kali Bari was constantly reminding me that I am a member of the religious minority group of the country.This feeling was a completely new feeling which I never had.The name of the temple is still carried by the famous saree store in Calcutta, but this is the first time we are visiting the familiar temple!

On 19th December evening we started our journey to Barisal-the place where our ancestral house is located. Deepro and Ishita was accompanying me. We rushed to the ferry ghat on Buriganga to board the staemer. Steamer journey was a very familir story for me, so I knew the route, the deck of the steamer was also seemed familar to my surprise! In our small cabin at the steamer, the T.V. was showing a 'Indian Bengali' movie.Dinner was served in the cabin.Early next morning, we reached the Barisal river port on Kirtankhola river.

We took a small e-rickshaw to reach the Ramakrishna Mission where we were planning to stay. After getting our rooms at the mission, we started our journey to explore the town. Barisal Natun Bazar is a busy market place with fish stalls, shops for the famous Balam rice, sweet shops and bakeries.I went to the Shankar Math temple near the famous B.M. college where my Baroma's (great grandfather's sister) name is still curved. We had a grand lunch at the Bismilla Hotel where the rice, subzi, shol fish curry and tha dal was almost identical with my home cooked food. Ishita was surprised that dal is served as the last food item, me and Deepro explained that it is a typically Barisali ritual.

After linch we went to Deepro's grandmother's house.Next to Bibir pukur, a well-maintained pond at Barisal's busy area- the house is now a hospital.The owner, Deepro's granduncle's friend welcomed us and we had a nice chat with him.A reporter from Bangladesh Television clicked our photograph there as they wanted to tell others that the new generation has come here in search of their roots.

Our next destination was najirer pole, a small bridge where our ancestral house and also Deepro's grandfather's house is located.I could easily figure out our house and we got a grand welcome from the owners. My great grandfather sold the house to a friend, but our furniture and utensils are still there with the family.I clicked a photograph sitting on my favourite granduncle fuchi's cot. Nani, Jamil bhai, bhabi, their father and the little boy requested us to have dinner with them. I went to our garden where the old coconut trees are still there (they gifted me some coconuts, the small ghat which I have seen in a number of family photographs is unchanged.I went to the roof. The family still cooks food at my Baroma's kitchen.

Jamil bhai helped Deepro to find out his grandfather's house which has become a vested property now. And at night again we went to our house to have dinner where the pulao, chicken-n-egg stew, prawn, fish and boroi(a fruit which is generally called kul in Bangla) chutney was absolutely delicious.

Next moring, I started the journey to our village Goila, which is a part of Agoiljhara sub-zila now. The village of famous Bijoy Gupta of Manasha Mangal kabyo is a small and green village. On the way, I saw Manasha mandir, my grandfather's school, Goila bazar. To my surprise, I have found that some of my family members and still there in the village. I met Robin Piplai-my cousin brother who took us to see our land.

I saw the ponds which are familiar to me because I have heard of them in the childhood stories. The khirkir pukur still has the ghat. And our house is almost identical in structure with our present house in Calcutta- the doors and windows, the balcony and the design of the roof. I could not enter the house, but visited our neighbour Das' house where the old grandma became extremely nostalgic when she saw me.

I could finally reach the little house. I could actually see the ponds of my grandfather's story. The journey was fruitful.

That was not the end of the journey. We also went to Jibanananda Das's house at Barisal town, the kalibari of Mukundadas near Barisal busstand and started our journey towards khulna that night.

It was not difficult for me to find out my grandmother's house at Khulna town. I remembered she told me how she had left the house without taking her sarees and dolls lying at the house.I also visited her school the 'Coronation High School' and the ghat of the Rupsha river.

Finally moving towards the Benapole border, crossed the border by foot and took an auto for Bongaon railway station. Could not believe that a railway station which is a little far from the border has direct trains for Calcutta.

This is for the first time in my life I had realized that boundaries can create so much distance.This is for the first time in my life I had felt a feeling of losing something big while leaving a place. That was nothing but my childhood tale. But I am sure that I can reach there any moment in my dream, I know.

Bhanga rastay pore ache polash phul.kolkata shohorer chena rasta, ebhabe hnata hoyni onek bochor.dhuloy mishe jaoya polash phuler rong tobu dhulidhushor hoye jay ni..

kolkatar rong hothat onnorokom lage.chokher berongin frame-e koyek tukro lal polash.chena rastar mor theke eka eka hnatte thaki.abcha surer resh poth dekhay.notun kore hothat bnachte icche kore,amar shohore..