A page

The morn light didn't wake her up
Yet time perhaps drove her sharp,
She opened the casement to greet the day
And it was all cloudy and she missed the warmth of sun ray.

To begin the day, she thought to sketch
A landscape of spring perhaps,
To leave some impression on a piece of paper
Of the art that The Artist left on the canvas of nature.

And she drew a piece of petal of an unknown flower
That whispered in her ear of some untold song of sudden shower
In evening, that drenched its heart and honey was born
The night sailed like a delightful dream till morn.

The hand went on and some unmindful strokes
Floating smiles of unknowns on paper broke,
But suddenly it was dark all around
Heavy wind gushed in and whipping rain covered surround.

Startled she wanted to smell the rain
But lightning and storm hindered in vain,
And ruthless sound of clouds got her self to disappear
Helpless she wanted to cling to something peer.

The night of discord unlike day of accord
Crawls slowly, she thought, a better claim perhaps she couldn't afford,
River of thoughts she sailed in boat of hope alone
That drove past night finally into the sunlit morn.

Almost fallen, the heart being broken, torn petals of flower
On road, that accompanied her other day but the chilly shower
Ruined tiny dreams leaving behind the sorrowful shade
Of taste of nothingness on the journey ahead.

Shout!

With some leisure and state of mind to spend time on action less thoughts, I tried to figure out on couple of occasions how to vent out the situational steam that generates with whatsoever reason on almost every occasion owing to unavoidable ever complicating relationships around, given the situation that we need to follow up certain social gestures.

It's a constrained optimization problem, I somehow figured out with a subtle realization that the feasible region for solution of this problem unquestionably contracts as we work on to act in a more civilized way. Is there always an unwritten constitution that we need to adhere to the way others always expect us to do how tiny might be the domain of concern? Can't we just release these stress at our own will that somebody else has dumped on us ruthlessly?

"Ignorance is bliss when you do not know something"......I somehow doubted the adage for some uncanny reasons......what about if it's not abstract algebra which may be a potential domain of ignorance but a visible, tangible and willfully ignorance of a trivia. I observed one of my friends to shout suddenly with a sarcastic face making and upon asking why did he do that, he benignly said he just released "fission products"!

Looks weird? I ignored his attribute of looking at it may be because I didn't buy that idea or I had less vision to understand his view point nonetheless if someone could stretch his imagination enough beyond the sensible horizon, there may be a probability of gaining divine eye sight that allows to feel that mass of human patience slowly decays like the heavy atoms, and fission product of stress accumulates, and coming back to real world again,when this accumulation crosses the threshold limit of humbleness, something erupts!!

Again it baffles me what kind of eruption is better..... an implosion or explosion! Going back to the root of our culture that explicitly teaches us to be tolerant to whatever be the situation, an implosion seems to be more culture oriented approach however never witnessed it around.
And the latter one we do not need to exaggerate upon....it's pretty ubiquitous.

I still remember the gentleman who benignly advised me on one occasion this art of living...
"The first thing that you need to do after entering the office... shout at all your sub-ordinates...why?? because someone else above you will do that anyway...and that was again anyway the dutifully paid EMI of what you swallowed yesterday evening before leaving the office...do not keep any debt..interest rate of such principal compounds exponentially....we all need to survive right!"

On a deeper note he additionally advised upon my humble question of "if it's not possible then?"
...to go for a long drive in lone countryside and tear off the silence of valley with a soul deep shout!!

Floating thoughts..

"Floating thoughts......." that's what Rituparna di wrote on my diary. I left the diary in the bus absentmindedly..... never thought it'd be in the hands of someone. Later she handed over it to me and told something that I do not exactly remember now.

"Actually I didn't mean those thoughts were incoherent by "floating thoughts"...there was passion...but lacked some definite direction", she clarified 10 years later.

They did indeed, I knew without any internal conflict. What has been instrumental in forming thoughts would perhaps lead to many doctrines not enough interesting to pen down. Subliminally there are always some kind of patterns which every living element of nature follows and I guess individual thought process is not an exception either. How these patterns originated, I have no clue, however an existence of an invisible thread can neither be denied that seems to have liaison with some weird things.

The road less traveled always invokes some interest but there's some kind of tangible tax which is uniformly levied on whosoever wishes to pave it. So the abstract cost incurred in paving the unusual, gets reflected essentially in some debit account book of the weirdo in form of some gloomy scribbles!

Time flies leaving new to old....old to older....oldest to vanish.....

"And it retains countless fathoms away

As night in June from harsh winter,

As things of desire remain untouched

And one to move and move on however bitter!

I bade goodbye to whatever pale and gray

In my closet while cleaning and they did the same,

Leaving me alone in the heaps of pallid remembrance

Deserted I felt but the moments move and I can't blame.

Only a castle now it seems made in air

Boisterously a pack of cards rather,

In a sudden blow that looses existence yet they deny

The taste of nothingness fearing dreams might shatter.

What on earth they'd possess

Had they even been eternal!

Things alter and altering is life

Change thus there, things are mortal!"

Easy to grab, hard enough to digest.....

Thus I never sank, never flew.....I just floated!

S&G and Me!

"I am just a poor boy and my storys seldom told
Ive squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises
All lies and jest, still the man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest, hmmmm..."

-----Simon Garfunkel (Boxer)

I first listened to S&G back in 2001 during my stay in BARC training school,Mumbai. Thanks to Partho, who passively introduced me to S&G. I got acquainted with one of the maestros of 60's revolutionary period...tasted them..they were just awesome! They spoke right from bottom of their heart and it touched people across the globe.

"When I left my home and my family, I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station, runnin scared
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters, where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know...."



They told a story...a story that more or less match with those who form the crowd....something that exists without a face.

"Asking only workmans wages, I come lookin for a job, but I get no offers
Just a comeon from the whores on 7th avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there..."

We've come to the world in mortal form...we're no god...virtue & vice goes hand in hand....b'coz if "head" is life then "tail" is too..!!

"Now the years are rolling by me, they are rockin even me
I am older than I once was, and younger than Ill be, thats not unusual
No it isnt strange, after changes upon changes, we are more or less the same
After changes we are more or less the same..."


Change is the order of life and to comply with is called wisdom.

"And Im laying out my winter clothes, wishing I was gone, goin home
Where the new york city winters aren't bleeding me, leading me to go home

In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him
til he cried out in his anger and his shame
I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains
Yes he still remains"


There's life all that praised to be beautiful in the pen of poet...there's odd suffering too..but suffering with head held high is boxer's spirit. There's a little piece of boxer perhaps in all of us. Isn't it!

Wise or otherwise!

Sometime in 2003, don't recollect properly, I was going to kolkata from mysore via chennai. It was around 8.30 am in the morning, I came down from the waiting room upstairs at chennai central station to find out my coach in koromondal express which was already stationed at the platform. "Excuse me!", the call from behind caught my attention which most of the time I prefer to lose! There was a boy with a bag on back and some luggage in hand and most noticeably a wary look on the face. I tried to recollect whether I've met him before and then dropped the idea of worthless soul-searching thinking that he might be asking some trivial help or so. "I'm in some sort of trouble. Could you please help me out?", he seemed to be panicky nonetheless thought that he might ask for some absurd help that might drive myself panicky! "What's the issue?", I was bit perplexed. "I'm Shivakumar, an engineering student. I'm heading towards Vijayawada. I've something to carry along with me which needs to go as parcel however I don't have enough money left with me.", he was surely seemed to be nervous. Now there's a crux. Most of the problems in this mortal domain begin and end with money and inevitably paralyze whatever humane thing could have been done for sake of help if someone insists! Fortunately or unfortunately, I never had habit of carrying excess money with me, something that came to me naturally in the journey I rode, tortuous perhaps in certain aspects. I had 180 bucks left in my torn wallet which I thought sufficient to return home comfortably! "How much you need?", I was hesitating a bit before extending my meager stock of support. "It would be fine if you can give me 200. I'd positively return every penny once I get down at Vijayawada. My uncle would be there at platform. For the time being, you can keep my watch as security deposit, if you wish." That sounded like a money lender,a word or stuff whatever, I detest most. "I don't have that much, take 150, that's all I have now and please do return at vijayawada. Otherwise I'd in trouble." "Thanksss!! Thanks a lot!!!",just acquainted Shivakumar was seeming pretty happy on his trouble being shoot out! "I'm in S10 coach, seat no 27..will see you at vijaywada!",he threw the words in air while rushing towards the parcel office. I had my reservation in S3.Reservation list was already pasted near the door of the coach. Train was scheduled to depart at 9 am. Having found some time, I decided to check out the reservation list of S10 to ensure existence of Shivakumar. How does that sound! Useless thinking after I'd already leaped,huh! Seat no 27, of S10 reservation list dutifully said the seat belonged to Mr.Das, in fact every reservation of S10 denied existence of Shivakumar. Not very much surprised,I'd to do some menial tasks of rigorous cost optimization in order to survive coming 30 hrs on 30 bucks! It was a little bit different journey, with a hopeless counting of time at vijayada hoping Shivakumar might pop up! Nothing happened of that sort although thus giving enough room for the skeptics to question the fathoming of reality. Wisdom to me has ever been remained a little bit foggy stuff and in that sense I hardly could declare to witness a wise man except my English Sir, who benignly taught me "Gift of Magi" with explanation of wisdom and since then on I preferred to walk on the "Otherwise" track.

Again & again!

"Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky."

--Rilke

Man who knew some mathematics

Pranab babu is no more. He was one of those very few men whom I’d the opportunity to meet, learn and remember timelessly. He was my teacher. Perhaps that suffices at least to me to figure him out completely. It was early 2009 evening, I heard the news when I was in Mumbai and was just making a usual call to my mother back at kolkata. “There’s a bad news”, Maa was hesitating. “What’s it maa?” “You remember Pranab babu, your mathematics teacher?” “Of course I do. What’s wrong maa!” I was feeling little bewildered. “He passed away yesterday.” I didn’t feel like talking. Some moments leave people mesmerized for so many reasons. Some lets out inundated emotions, some seek for solace. I searched for some silence. He left this little bit confused world a little early rather less predictably. I read somewhere “to whom world exists without any reason and who himself exists without any reason, to him God exists.” Invariably, God existed to him in an inexplicable form which was less visible to us. To him, God was mathematics and mathematics was the only “Mantra” to worship God.

I liked math but 11^th std. onwards, Mathematics just started to appear in a bit different size and shape to me till incidentally I met him. An introduction with a sum, how’s that! He was not in the list of those who gets impressed prima facie. Nonetheless a quick answer on a percentage calculation made him thinking of me rather differently and voluntarily he offered me to teach math. When God started making this universe presumably it was not all that in good shape otherwise He would not have to try hard to get this world in the shape that we see today. Nevertheless His hard work isn’t well documented except the natural evolution process in disguise that took its own course of action and made things what they are today. I guess he also tried to edifice something out of possibly nothing but with an intuition of some possibility as well. And to shape up this possibility, I had to toil too much to cope up with his pace of thinking and action to be at par with his effort of bringing me up to his expectation.

What happens to one if he realizes that earth is rotating on its own axis? He once asked this question once pausing for a while over an incomplete sum. I knew the rotational speed of earth and also knew the fact. What I didn’t know was the difference between understanding & realization. I remained bemused searching for an answer which perhaps was not easy for a novice to whom mystery of real world had just started to unfold. There’s a transition when someone leaves real domain of logic and extends his thought to something metaphysical in pursuit of something which is little inexplicable as understanding doesn’t depends on facts and figures anymore but on a sense of serene realization that’s more divine in nature. “He dies”, Pranab babu told rather expressionlessly which shoot my eagerness to the top of Eiffel Tower! “Actually…”, while working out some furious steps of the unsolved problem (unsolved problems always seemed to him like an incomplete battle which must be won) while still maintaining a pristine calmness in voice, he went on explaining, “when someone being on the surface of earth feels the speed at which earth rotates, he unknowingly detaches himself from the poor heaps of material domain and synchronizes himself with the fundamentals of the system that mother nature prefers to keep aloof from us. He thus no more remains part of this visible mortal domain and attains nirvana, in other word, merges himself with the supreme soul, or the origin itself, if any.”

Pranab babu was versatile. Literature, philosophy and mathematics used to merge in a common entity when he used talk taking some short breaks in between. Mathematics, he used to went on elaborating, is like any other language that you come across everyday except that very few of us understand that to use properly to communicate with nature. Life’s beautiful because of literature which is in every sense is an elixir, life is meaningful because there’s philosophy and of course life’s workable on the canvas of nature because of mathematics!

Nice journey it was with him, but no nice thing survives eternally.

Off the class!

BARC training school-2001


Nuclear Chemical Engineering or NC paper was like just another trivial event except that it was related little bit more to Chemical Engineering with whom I slept straight four years. May be because of that obligation, I was somehow worked up for the paper. No! I didn’t burn my midnight oil for that which I promised not to spend like a spendthrift in this institution. I was just on time to have my breakfast downstairs unlike other days when I had to rush to bus with half bread hanging out of mouth like an unsupported cantilever beam. Hi Subhasish! How’s the preparation, Sachin Rastogi inquired beamingly. It meant he was awake all night for this bullshit paper and prepared everything possible leaving nothing to the remotest imagination of the paper-setter to trap him! Great, I tried to be serious just to see expression on his face. Did you work up all the problems that Professor Puranik handed out in the last lecture? What! This time I had the boomerang lashing on my face. But like other similar occasions when I stood the same, I didn’t react. Ya, they’re done, working hard to wipe off the tinge of frustrations from shimmering wrinkles that unknowingly took possessions on my face. Screwed up again! Where I was when these were being distributed? I couldn’t resist my anger on the half torn jammed bread and flung it on the plate. It tasted like leather and so was the day.

The paper is an easy one, assured Mr Puranik distributing papers in the class. You would find whatever we’ve discussed. It’s going to be tough like hell then, I murmured, I had never been a part of those elitist discussion in the class at all. Don’t get scared, I patted on my shoulder virtually. If I don’t serve as a base, what basis these smart guys would have to build up scientific miracles! Stopper once again, I was sure even before scribbling when I saw three problems each of 8 marks are to be worked out at the last section of the paper. Sachin must be at top of the world, I guessed. He probably had been mentioning these problems in the morning. I looked around and found everybody head-drowned into the paper as if something delicious had been served. Everybody was at top of the world, I believed, given that the speed with which they were venturing page after page rapaciously was not an eye wash. Everything tasted bitter. It was not an unusual event to me at all throughout the year in this institute. I got accustomed to many things that I hardly tasted earlier. Incessant flow of irrelevant thoughts and NCE halted abruptly when Mr. Puranik announced Time is up. My pen stopped like a trained dog and to my surprise, I managed to scribble three pages. Mr. Puranik collected the papers in a hurry so that no one uses extra time. I'd try to finish these up in two weeks time. Mr. Puranik was determined to see the outcome of his teaching capability. He would really be bogged down with my answer sheet, I felt pity for him. Rajnish was still writing as fast as he could hoping to work out few more marks. How much he would manage to milk in last few cursed seconds, I wondered. But people do not leave the opportunity of extracting last few drops of juice out of hardly recognizable skeleton of sugar cane bunch either! How was the paper! A scintillating Mousumi could not resist herself to throw that shrapnel at me. Definitely she had done it nicely. Some people are really bad enough to show up at wrong time at wrong place with wrong person. Don’t ask me any invalid question. I threw up an irritating look and left.

Is there any Subhasish in Chemical dept? The clerk at TSH reception table asked from behind when I was heading to ground floor lift after my regular campus stroll at ~ 10 pm. Huh! It’s me eventually, wondering what he had to tell me that too at this time. Mr. Puranik wanted you to meet him, he left his telephone number with a message for you to meet him tomorrow at 10 am in the morning at CEL – 5, he handed over a torn piece of paper with a telephone number written on it. I was completely baffled. It was almost two weeks since his paper and answer sheets were still pending for distribution in the class. I must have shattered his impression and I now owe him a good scold. But why is he calling me at his office? Even if I did miserably in his paper, he could have washed it off just by a disgusting glare at me while distributing the answer sheets. Did he say anything? I was anxious. Just wanted you to see him, the clerk surfaced from the unfathomed depth of Maharastra Times. He doesn’t have any clue but me neither. Thanks anyway, I headed towards the lift. The clerk was lost in the pool of news by then unaware of that I thanked him. Sometimes, it is a relief to be lost in something that has little to do with than something around that has to do a lot. My Saturday was gone; I cursed myself reaching my room. Weekends were special to me. I couldn’t sacrifice them for some good for nothing reasons. There should be some time which you need to keep in your possessions spending them at your own will and way. Now I’ve to listen to some indigestible lectures for hours in the morning, I grumbled. I didn’t have any plan by any luck to waste my Saturday morning under this head. Who cares! I flopped down on my chair and turn on the FM. Sweet melody of saxophone filled the room. It was Kenny G, my savior who brought me in symphony out of numerous cacophony that hauled around almost all the time.

I was not late reaching CEL-5 in the morning. It took around 20 minutes from North Gate by walking. In weekends, the environment inside this part of the campus is terribly peaceful. People enjoy the benefits of being government employee to the fullest on weekends. Barely people are visible except few countable on fingers who are either still in illusion that they could change the stand of India in global platform by their innovative research or those who dutifully attend library to impress boss as a part of job which is otherwise difficult to manage in weekdays. It was so quiet inside that I could distinctly hear the chirping of birds and even the rattling sound of falling leaves around. Perhaps I’m the only soul in this marooned place this morning, I couldn’t help cursing myself. The CEL-5 laboratory had an awful look. It simply looked like a haunted house even in the morning. Terribly old and distinguishably shabby! This laboratory boastfully houses big honchos from Training School, I heard. I felt pity for it for violating the tradition this morning!

I had to wait for sometime at the second floor corridor before Mr Puranik arrived hastily with Mr. Ajit Mahendra, discussing something very much abstract. Though busy, Mr. Puranik gestured to me to have a seat in his room. The discussion went on. Mr. Ajit Mahendra was trying to explain specialty of a solver which would minimize the time required for iterations. Suddenly Mr. Mahendra turned his head towards me most probably trying to reason my very much physical presence in their abstract discussion. “What are you doing here?”, he hardly could suppress his exasperation. “Sir called me.”, I could not be more indifferent. “He left some of the questions in my paper. I thought to give him a second chance”, Mr. Puranik intervened. “Sir is great. Utilize this opportunity to lift yourself”, Mr. Mahendra was always perfect at hitting bull’s eye. “Ajit, I’ll discuss this in detail with you later”, Mr. Puranik stood up. “Ok Sir. Try to be more attentive boy”, Mr.Mahendra left the room swinging the door behind.


Things were clearer to me. “Subhasish, I checked your answer script. You simply did not attempt the last few problems. Why it’s so? Didn’t have you enough time or didn’t you prepare well for the paper?” he pulled out my paper from the drawer. “Time was not an issue sir, neither the preparation. I didn’t feel like working them out”, I replied somewhat indifferently. “Why? Is there any problem?”, he could not suppress his curiosity. “Nothing in particular sir, just don’t like much these continuous classes and rat race type exams”, I first time got an opportunity to vomit out the annoyance inside which was long overdue. “See that’s how the system works. Keep yourself happy by doing other activities to divert your mind from getting overloaded. You get reasonable amount of stipend with which you can enjoy movie, good foods in the restaurant outside. All these would help you to concentrate more on the studies.”, Mr Puranik looked eagerly at me to gauge my reaction. “Yes Sir”, I didn’t attempt to explain further. It’s not of much use to discuss on something unless both stand on the same platform. One can either pull other up or down to equalize his own stand point. I dropped the idea of doing anything except keeping silence. “I went through your answer sheet and found few of the answers interesting. It seems that you know the subject but somehow were not keen enough to complete the paper. I thought you need some punishment for not being attentive and punishment is that you would complete all the left out problems now here itself”, Mr Puranik gave his verdict and looked at me expecting my wordless loyalty to his out of the world offer. My batch mates back at TSH would have died if they come to know this; I was trying really hard to conceal a laughter outburst. How much these tiny marks would help me to climb the unfathomed depth where I’ve already submerged! “This won’t be fair sir. I can’t take credit of performing in the paper off the class,” I tried to show my ethics at my best. “’Don’t worry on that ground. And you are compensating by completing all the problems which were optional in the paper. Do them. Here’s the calculator”, Mr. Puranik stood up. “There’s no time limit however be exam spirited to finish them in one hour time. Keep the paper in my drawer once you are done. All the best.”, he walked off the cabin.

Sometimes we do things which are important to us, sometimes we do things which ain’t important to us, sometimes we do things which others think important to us nevertheless it’s not, nonetheless it’s complicated to understand and make others understood too. I spent one hour in the third quadrant and left the door flying behind to drink the left out weekend to the lees.

A different morning

The morning of 1st September, 2001 was not very different from other days except that I would begin my career in Bhabha Atomic Research Centre, Mumbai as Scientific Officer and would never stay in the New Calcutta lodge after this morning which had been my shelter in Mumbai for last two days. Fortunately, I had the address of this lodge with me when the ESIC guest house caretaker at Colaba refused to provide accommodation on unavailability ground even after showing him the request letter which I had from my Boropisi. She was an employee with the ESIC, Kolkata office and gave me the guest house booking letter earlier as well when I came to Mumbai first time in June’01. With a suitcase in hand and a bag on back, I stared at the sky above. It looked different and smelled salty. Suddenly, I recalled that I had a hotel address in diary inside my bag and managed to get myself in New Calcutta Lodge near Crawford market. I took my baggage and came downstairs biding goodbye to my tiny abode. The morning in Mumbai is perhaps the busiest compared to its contemporaries. Streets are crowded since early dawn and everybody rushes towards all possible directions which remind me of the significance of ten different geographic directions over the popular four that we’re taught in early days. Why people rush so much here, I remembered asking myself when I came to this city for the first time with my father to attend my first successful interview at Nuclear Power Corporation of India Ltd. I never had seen such madness in Kolkata except when local trains arrive at Sealdah or Howrah stations carrying loads of people from adjacent districts! Is there a Goldrush here too! To earn a square meal, I soliloquized absentmindedly; I’m not an exception either. VT station was not far off from New Calcutta lodge. Last two days, I used to come here to have a boiled egg in the evening from an aged masi. Even the trivial things woo a lot outside home, I thought but how someone makes both ends meet in this expensive place on such futile earning, I became little bit philosophical but Masi seemed to be unmoved on this thought at backdrop. Numerous lines on her wrinkled face proclaimed in silence to have well surpassed such insignificant thoughts dwelling with deepest intricacies of life in metro like Mumbai. The PANVEL local from platform no 1 was scheduled to depart at 8:30 am. Trains are very punctual and frequent in this city. If local train service goes off for a single day, the whole city would be paralyzed. If people expect public transport system should be well engineered, they need to take care of it as well. I had seen people here religiously buying ticket without getting vexed standing in a long queue. Nonetheless they would definitely run towards the train after getting the ticket from counter, I assumed, calculating quantum of time they would like to compensate, spent in the queue! It took about fifty minutes to reach MANKHURD, nearest station of BARC. I searched for an auto at the station but none understood in spite of my repeated efforts that I wanted to go to BARC (I spelt it out like bark). Only when I read it letter by letter, they promptly understood and I learnt a lesson that few letters put together are not always intended for a unique meaning!