মহালয়া: অকপট স্বীকারোক্তি

চল্লিশ বছর বয়স হল।

বাজে, মিথ্যে ইমেজ বানিয়ে চলারও প্রায় সাঁইত্রিশ-আটত্রিশ বছর হল বৈকি।

ঠিক করেছি এবার ঢপ্‌বাজি বন্ধ করে কয়েকটা টুকটাক স্বীকারোক্তি করব। এটা প্রথম। গ্যারান্টি দিচ্ছি না আরও থাকবে, কিন্তু এটা থাকবেই।

মহালয়া নিয়ে ন্যাকাপনা আমি ছোটবেলা থেকে করে এসেছি। ভোর চারটের সময় অ্যালার্ম দিয়ে উঠেছি। প্রচুর লোককে বলেছি আমার দারুণ ভাল লাগে, গায়ে কাঁটা দেয়, নিজেকে বাঙালি মনে হয়, দেবীপক্ষ নিয়ে একটা বেশ শিহরণ জাগে এটসেট্রা এটসেট্রা। 

যারা ওঠেনি তাদের নির্লজ্জের মত হ্যাটা করেছি “বাঙালি হওয়ার যোগ্যতা নেই, নাকউঁচু, ট্যাঁশ” ইত্যাদি বলে।

আসলে হিপোক্রিসি করেছি, কারণ আমার মহালয়া শুনতে রীতিমত খারাপ লাগত। বরাবর।

মাইরি বলছি, বছরের পর বছর ভোর চারটের সময় উঠছি, আর কোনওবার সোয়া চারটে অবধি টানতে পারিনি। ঐ আলোর বেণুটেনু দুয়েকটা কোট করতে শিখে গেছিলাম, কিন্তু ঐটুকুই।

আমি নিশাচর প্রাণী, ভাবতাম ভোরে উঠতে কষ্ট হয় বলে হয়ত মহালয়া শোনার বিশেষ প্রভাব পড়েনি।

কিন্তু তারপর দুটো কেস স্টাডি করলাম, তাও কয়েক বছর ধরে।

১) ভোরে উঠে কোনওকিছু শুনলে কি আদৌ আমার গায়ে কাঁটা দেয়? নাকি ঘুম ব্যাপারটা এতটাই শক্তিশালী যে কোনওকিছুই বিরিয়ানি মনে হয় না?

উত্তর। বীরেন্দ্রকৃষ্ণের গলা শুনে আজ অবধি গায়ে কাঁটা দেয়নি। কিন্তু তার মাস দু’তিন পর দিত, ভোরে, রিচি বেনোর গলা শুনে, তাও অনেক পরে। তদ্দিনে মহালয়ার ঢপ্‌টা দেওয়া বন্ধ করে দিয়েছি।

বেনোও গেছেন। ভোরও গেছে।

২) মহালয়া কি দিনের অন্য সময়ে শুনলে গায়ে কাঁটা দেবে?

উত্তর। এমপিথ্রির আমলে চেষ্টা করেছি। না বস্‌। আমার জন্য নয়। ঐ আলোর বেণু অবধিই টানা মুশকিল হচ্ছিল।

আমার জন্য মহালয়া নয়। তাই এবার থেকে আর শুনছি না।

কী করব, ভেতর থেকে তাগিদটাই এল না যে!

আপনারা যারা শোনেন, ভালবাসেন, শুনতে ও বাসতে থাকুন, প্লিজ। বাংলা ও বাঙালির ভবিষ্যৎ আপনাদের হাতে। আমার দ্বারা আর হবে না।

হিপোক্রিসি করতে করতে আসলে বড্ড হাঁপিয়ে গেছি।

It was not my fault that I went absconding

It has been over forty days since I have not written a blog post. Forty. That is the number of thieves Alibaba had to encounter. Forty days is also 1/45 of what Salman Khan’s original sentence was, and 192 times the duration he had to spend in jail or lock-up or wherever they imprison drunk drivers who kill black bucks, an animal whose name reminds me of unregistered money.

It was not my fault that I went absconding. There was, to begin with, India ka teohar (which translates to “a six-week festival when Sony MAX does not show Sooryavansham”). Following India ka teohar is a part of my profession. I basked in the festivities.

I watched lots of pre-match interviews live from grounds. In one of them I heard Sunil Gavaskar, supposedly India’s greatest opening batsman, asking Virat Kohli, India’s finest contemporary batsman, whether the latter’s girlfriend was present at the ground. We rewinded and replayed it at the newsroom. It was true. I wish the girlfriend had pulled off an NH-10 act soon afterwards.

It was not my fault that I went absconding. I visited Kolkata to show off that I have not turned into a non-residential creature. Yet. I met several relatives and friends, which meant I had, for once, a social life.

It was not my fault that I went absconding.  I met those lovely people from Coup D'East (two of them for the first time) at Au Bon Pain (I mentioned the venue deliberately, to accommodate two French proper nouns in the same sentence).

I had beef at Mocambo with Amritorupa and bought Bengali books from College Street with Amritorupa, on the same day. I was also spared the effort of making my own coffee every morning. Given the benefits, enduring Bengali soaps was an acceptable castigation. I lived to tell the tale.

I also met Shakuntala, a 37-year-old man’s equivalent of what used to be a “best friend” at school, after two years. She will not be flattered, for she seldom reads what I write. I went to her place, acquired whatever she had got for me from USA, and dozed off immediately.

It was not my fault that I went absconding. During my Kolkata trip I was up against an earthquake, a fire at New Market (I was not present), hailstorms, an election, political riots, and a strike. The earthquake was particularly serious, for I marked myself safe on Facebook while watching a Test between England and West Indies at night. 

The strike was also serious, because I had an afternoon snack at home, followed by a “high-tea” with Sayantani, followed by coffee, sandwiches, and inane conversations with friends from a cricket group, followed by a heavy dinner at home.

It was not my fault that I went absconding. I took time to get used to the brutal humidity of Navi Mumbai. Check weather.com screenshot below as an example. This is certainly not the kind of weather under which quality bloggers thrive.

  

It was not my fault that I went absconding. I have been discussing Harry Potter (for she has started a wonderful book-by-book series on the epic) over the phone and on chat with Amritorupa. There have been calls where we got to know that our service providers automatically disconnect calls after long, long conversations.

Following these inane discussions, she penned down eagerly-anticipated blog posts, one for each book (she would have done the same without the discussions as well).

It was not my fault that I went absconding. I watched Piku, one of the most heart-warming movies I have ever seen. Deepika Padukone used to be an actor I associated with her anti-depression stance. Piku took her to the next level, where she overshadowed Amitabh Bachchan easily (my heart breaks to admit this, but he went way, way overboard with his stereotypes) and Irrfan, with some effort.

Piku deserves special mention, for I cried in the end. I also wondered how a Konkani lady managed to look so Bengali (more than some Bengalis: Bipasha Basu, for example). I dissected her looks, trying to compare her with other Bengali

Courtesy: Somewhere on the internet

Bengalis, and found out the amazing job done by the makeup artist: they did the eyebrows a bit, did not do anything to the lips, and made her already awesome eyes more prominent with a dash of kajol or mascara or whatever mysterious thing it is that women use.

  

They also added the ubiquitous tip (bindi). The tip (Shilpa or otherwise) is possibly as Bengali as anything I have seen, adorning foreheads or mirrors for centuries. Most importantly, Deepika mastered the Bengali accent the way few from outside the state have. At least she does not say KOLKOTA.

It was not my fault that I went absconding. I also watched Bombay Velvet, a movie that the world has disliked for some odd reason. The script was taut, the music enthralling, the sets mind-blowing, and the performances impressive. The movie also featured Raveena Tandon, of whom I got to know two things: first, she is called Raveena Tandon Thadani these days, and second, she will never age.

It was not my fault that I went absconding. There was the birthday-fest of Sachin Tendulkar, Satyajit Ray, and Rabindranath Tagore, which is nothing short of a fortnightly celebration for Bengalis. I lived up to the occasion by deleting WhatsApp-delivered images marking the same. Exactly why WhatsApp memes spread through images and not text is something I have never been able to fathom.

It was not my fault that I went absconding. I watched Gupt thrice (or four times) over this period of time, and the more I watch it, the more I realize that the world has produced few whodunits to match its quality.

Note: In case you have not watched Gupt yet, I do not even know why you exist. Go and watch it. Till the end you will never be able to guess that Kajol is the killer.

It was not my fault that I went absconding. I bought toothpaste. I changed my Facebook cover picture twice a day. I became a Baba Sehgal fan all over again. I kept fighting a lost battle against adamant bed-sheets that refuse to get tucked under mattresses. I worked soft and partied softer. I went from CST to Dadar, changed trains, and went to Kurla — in the evening.

Most importantly, I used the word “thamba” to stop a Navi Mumbai auto-rickshaw successfully.

You see, it was not my fault that I went absconding. After all, this was also the month when I met my daughter. After ages.

Friendship, tuberculosis, shuddh Hindi, and apology

The ubiquitous tuberculosis patient. Courtesy: Telugu One

I have a friend. She lives in NCR. I live in NM.

Okay, fine. She lives in Greater Delhi. I live in Greater Mumbai. Etc.

She lived in the same city two years back. I lived in Mumbai. Not Navi Mumbai. Mumbai. On the other side of toll naka. 

She worked at a place that sounded fun. I worked at a place where a person who sat three seats away from me hummed "o mere papa the great" throughout the day.

We talked every weekday on email, mostly in Hindi, a language we were equally proficient at. Some of these emails were slightly non-trivial.

Here is a sample:

***

Me:

Aap kaisi ho jee? Aur aapka woh kaisa hai?

Friend:

Achche hai hum. Woh better hain. Mild petbyatha chhod ke baki sab thik. Aaj pet specialist daktar dikhaya, who has suspected one of the following:

1. Intestinal tuberculosis

2. Crohn's disease

3.Salmonella infection

Kalke ekgada test, colonoscopy karne jayega. Agar number 3 nikla, toh thik hai. 1 ya 2 nikla toh chaap ho sakta hai. Sigh.

Tumhara kya khabar?

Me:

Humen bhi tuberculosis hua tha kabhi. Usi avastha mein humne BSc Part I diya tha. Aur pass bhi kiya tha. Par woh intestine mein nahin, gale ke gland mein tha. Naw mahine tak chikitsa mein magn the hum.

Friend:

Gale ke gland mein tuberculosis kaise hota hai mairi?

Me:

Haan mairi. Yakshma jism ke jagah jagah mein hota hai. Aur aajkal Deoghar jana bhi nahin padhta hai.

Friend:

Humne thoda bahaut Google kiya abhi. 1 aur 2 ek hi sikke ka epith-opith hai. 3 safe hai. 1 ya 2 hua to maamla thoda sangeen hai.

Kitna strange hai. Mere papa ko bhi intestinal tuberculosis hua tha jab woh college mein padhte the. Six months laga tha thik hone mein. Operate bhi karna para tha.

Par aap ko gale mein TB kaise hua? Thanda lag ke?

Me:

Nahin. Abohawa ka dushan se. Gale ka gland ful gaya tha. Dhnok gilne mein takleef hota tha. Phir ENT ko dikhaya. Usne kaha biopsy karwane ke liye. Phir pata chala ke yakshma hai. Phir nau mahine tak dawaai khaya. 

Friend: 

Yakshma hua aur kaasha nahin, black and white Bengali film ka hissa nahin bana, toh kya kiya?

Me:

Nahin, kaasha tha, bahaut kaasha tha. Dhnok gilne mein jab takleef hota tha, tab bahaut kaasha karta tha. Par rakt-bomi nahin hua tha kabhi, jo hona chahiye tha.

Friend:

Hna. Phir poshchim jana tha, hawa badalne ke liye. Phir ek poshchimi mohila ka premey parna tha, jo tumhe nurse back to health karta. Roj sokale tum chhota bihari town ke outskirts ke chhota bungalow ke bahar chhota garden mein chair paat ke mithe roddur pohata aur kobita likhta, (punjabi, payjama, aur chador pehen ke) aur woh aake tumhe peyala bhorti bedanar rosh peelata. :D

Me:

Phir main Kolkata laut aake shushil patri se shaadi karta, aur poshchima ladki ko bhool jaata. Poshchima ladki ko biroho hota, aur ajibon kunwari rehti, aur porikkha deke collector banti. Aur phir kabhi train mein safar karte hue mera poribarke saath ek hi kamre mein jaati. Aur phir bahaut double-meaning-wala bakyobinimoy hota.

Friend:

Hna. Tum family man hota, mired in family troubles. Woh free-spirited career woman hoti. Mota kalo framer choshma pehenti. Aur simple sutir saree.

Me:

Train mein hum "tiffin-carry" kholta. Meri biwi use luchi-mangsho offer karti. Mere mukh phoshke nikal jaata "woh nirimish khati hai". Phir ghoralo poristhiti hota.

Friend:

Nahin. Nirimish se utna gondogol nahin hota. One of your myriad kids usey tang karti, aur tum bolte, "use chhod do, usey migraine ka problem hain." Phir godo godo ho ke jigyesh karte, "abhi bhi chaaye mein ek sugar leti ho?" Isi moment mein tumhari biwi bathroom se wapas aa jaati aur tumhe cold looks deti.

Me:

Phir meri biwi ek kitaab leke baith jaati, aur bachchon par okarone chillati. Poshchima ladki choshma utaarke so jaati. Main na-honewala menage-a-trois ka khwaab dekhta rehta.

***

Her woh had nothing serious, and got cured in double-quick time. She got married to him a couple of days back. I had promised her I would attend her wedding in Kolkata. I failed her. The gift will follow, but kid, this post is it for now.

I have tried to "pitch" the story to a few others (without any purpose), but nobody else appreciated it, let alone be impressed by my suave Hindi. This may have included you. Or you. Or you. Or, for that matter, you.

There are friends, outrageously good ones, but none like you.

Have a super life. Beam.

Alia re!

Courtesy: Google Images

This post is going to be a small one. A remarkably small one, in fact.

This one is about Alia Bhatt. Had flaring of nostrils been an Olympic event, Alia would have won a couple of gold medals to make our nation proud (is flaring of nostrils a doubles event?).

This post does not involve flaring of nostrils, or any activity regarding them; for that matter, it does not involve any part of her nose that had turned out to be the a salient feature of Highway.

I was a bit late to catch up with the Koffee With Karan episode on social network. What had she been thinking? Varun Dhawan ended up responding with Manmohan Singh, which was not unexpected: champion quizzers have lost nerves and have come up with answers very close to the correct one.

Alia, as we know, had taken things to a different plane.

Before she knew, internet was flooded with Alia Bhatt jokes (some of them were outstanding, and I loved them more than Alok Nath, Nirupa Roy, or Yami Gautam jokes — though not as much as Neil Nitin Mukesh jokes). #AliaBhattJokes started trending on Twitter.

***

All India Bakchod had come up with a video to “troll” Alia a year and a half back after the path-breaking number Ishqwala love. Just like almost any AIB video, it is approaching the million-views mark. Alia herself had appeared in the video, but it was merely a dig at the ridiculous lyrics of a horrible song.

Then AIB did it in collaboration with Alia. They trolled her again, but with a difference. This time they decided to go big: they roped in Mahesh Bhatt, Karan Johar, Arjun Kapoor, and Parineeti Chopra (sigh), but most significantly — they got Alia as well. Again.

AIB did a wonderful job yet again, but I was blown off by Alia. She hails from the same country where a certain chief minister had issued an arrest order for a reasonably harmless (ill-made) cartoon; and yet, she laughed, and most importantly, she laughed at herself.

Sense of humour is an intriguing concept. People close to me are perhaps aware of the fact that I keep on brooding that humour is not offered as a major.

The other aspect that I am ashamed of admitting is the fact that sense of humour has certainly not been strongest point of Indians. We have tried to be funny, but few would rank among the world’s finest humorists.

There is a reason for this: we do not know how to laugh at or make fun of ourselves. Our bloated egos do not allow us to do the same. We end up making fun of others, taking jibes at them in public, and flooding Twitter with 140-character one-liners.

Alia Bhatt did none of the above. She made no smart-aleck comments on the internet; she did not retaliate on social media (pardon my limited knowledge if she has).

Instead, she responded in the best possible way: with a bit of help from others (which includes Parineeti, the finest of the young lot) she made us laugh at herself; and feel guilty; and feel like slapping ourselves.

We had made fun of her. She combated with humour, and won the battle, because however hard you try to defeat and strangle it, humour always comes out victorious in the end.

Kudos, Alia. If only we had mastered the art of laughing at ourselves as well. If only I could do at 37 what you could at 21. Stay well, girl, and whatever you do in life, do not give up the ability to laugh at yourself.

Apology

This is an apology.

I have sinned - sinned against a human being who has never done anything wrong to me.

He has always minded his own business. It has been me who has written about him - rather harshly - on my blog. Multiple times. Far more than any normal individual could tolerate.

Lesser men might have reacted. But he is no ordinary person: he absorbed the entire humiliation alone, and did not argue. He did not resort to the abysmal depths of being as foul-mouthed as I have been.

For days, months, even years - I was under the impression that he had been taking things in his stride, accepting everything in a good-humoured fashion. Little did I realise that the entire issue of my being rude to him on my blog has been hurting him on a persistent basis.

Being the great man that he is, he has decided to move out of the filthy proximity of my blog, to a location where fewer people would recognise him on the nooks and corners of his new habitat and utter "look, he's that man from Abhishek's Blog!"

He's gone. Possibly for good.

And it has all been for me. For the way I had been arrogant as I had droned on about him in endless posts.

As I write this, my heart is laden with the unmistakable burden of guilt. My eyes are almost moist, my soul is heavy, and I cannot forgive myself.

My apologies, mate. I know this will not hold you back and you would not change your decision, but an apology is the least I can do.

Stay well, away from this murk.

Sorry again.