Fun with dick and name

A lot of people have asked me over the years why I was given a girl's name: Sudipta. Actually, in Bengali you pronounce it as Sudipto, but the correct translation from Sanskrit is Sudipta. Sort of like you call Ram as Rama, सुदीप्त gets written as Sudipta. In the US, almost everyone struggles to pronounce my name. So I ease it for them, by saying "Call me Su". I am told there is also a song that goes by that name, but we're digressing here.

The fun with having a name that spells like that of a girl is that a lot of people also assume that you're a girl when they haven't met you. This includes email groups, mailing lists, potential employers, pen-pals... the list goes on. Some people are heartbroken when they come to know about this: one dude from Bangalore even added me on his IM, called me via Google Talk, and then upon hearing my voice decided to commit suicide (well, almost). :D On the other hand, when girls interact with me, they assume that I'm a girl. And then they come to know the truth, they are very surprised (and I always pray to God that they should be 'pleasantly' surprised). But I don't know whether that adjective applies.

So when I am bored, once or twice a year I log into a Yahoo chat room. My yahoo id begins with 'sudipta', so it is usually a lot of fun getting into these chat rooms. You wouldn't believe the incredible amount of pick-up lines I've learned by visiting them. As soon as I enter, about 10-12 windows open up within a couple of minutes. The usual ones go as "22/m/mumbai" or "hi, wanna chat?". But there are some extreme lameass shayaris such as "Aap aaye to jaise is chatroom mein chand aa gaya" (When you joined the chatroom, it was as if the moon shone here). And of course, there are some slimy gropers who begin with "Hey baby what are you wearing today?". :D I am usually grinning when these IMs pop up, but it is fun playing along and then shattering their mental image in the end. One guy, however, even in the end of the chat refused to believe me, until I had to release a barrage of words we used in engineering hostels to express ourselves. He was very convinced after that :D And don't even get me started on the way the queen's language is sodomized in such conversations.

One of these days, I was extremely bored, and I mean extremely bored. So I joined a chat room in Kolkata which had enough members. Pretty soon, a lot of IM windows popped up. After explaining to a few people that I wasn't interested, one guy seemed particularly desperate to chat: part sleazy messages, some random shayari, some emoticons of roses, etc.. It became a torture answering the interrogation: where do I live, what do I study, how many siblings do I have. And the guy wouldn't go away.

Now I had this brilliant idea... what cannot be cured must be endured! I became the cute-eyed damsel in distress and told him that I am new to the whole chatting thing. I had just come there because someone suggested this for some personal help I needed: some private counselling. Needless to say, this guy was very interested. Within 5 minutes he divulged everything about himself: such and such college, 4th year, living in hostel, home in this place, etc. He was even prepared to come down to meet me! Now he was very curious about what private and personal counselling I needed. So I explained:

- I'm 26 years old, and my parents have fixed my marriage.
- oh you don want arranged married? Wanna love marriage?
- Not exactly... I don't know anything about sex.
- o.k. I can tell you everything! Pretend that I'm your husband and it is the suhag raat
. . .
. . .

What followed was a complete description of what you can imagine. While I rolled about on my bed laughing, this guy proceeded to explain the intricate details of what clothings look like, et cetera. Every once in a while, I would interrupt by saying, "You cannot do that!" or "No, I will not allow it..." and he would proceed at length to explain why it should be 'allowed'. And while he was at it, I was laughing... I think I even fell off the bed in glee once. :D Finally, when it was time for him to show his assets, it became too much for me to handle. As a guy, as long as someone is describing female features, it is okay: but otherwise it gets a little nauseating. I suddenly typed in all caps: "OMG YOUR DICK IS SO SMALL -- ONLY 2 INCHES!!'. The guy was scandalized. He tried to convince me so earnestly, "No no no ... it is really long". And at this time I was almost in tears while laughing. And I did the best thing I could imagine -- I suddenly logged off. :D

এক কথায়

I was just able to finalize the settings of my Bengali blog, called Ek Kothai (এক কথায়). For those unfamiliar with the language, it means, "in short" or "in one word". Please visit or bookmark it -- I wish to make that my own Twitter, to record the snippets from my life.

Also, you might need to hit Control-Plus a few times to get it to a readable font size.

What happens in Kolkata, stays in Kolkata

I know, Kolkata ain't Vegas. A lot of wonderful comments came in when I declared that I will be visiting USEFI for a guest lecture. Which was all fine, until Shreya suggested that I reveal the details, and I thought about the incident again. So, here's the story:

It was I who had initiated the process in the first place. I had emailed the coordinator at USEFI Kolkata asking if he could arrange a short gathering where two of us at www.edulix.com could come and spread the word about the website. As soon as he said yes, I did not waste a single moment in publicizing this. Family knew first: my mom was of course thrilled to know this. I started dropping hints 'subtly' to my friends:
- "Hey, I'm going home this December. You need anything from Kolkata?"
- "Umm... not really... but wait! You don't live there, do you?"
- "Naah, but you know, I have been invited to give a guest lecture at USEFI, Kolkata"
- "Oh really? Cool!"

Or here's a better way of bringing up the topic with relatives living in or around Kolkata:
- "Hey, can you tell me how I reach this USEFI center at Kolkata?"
- "Err... why do you need to go there?"
- "Oh I've been invited there for a guest lecture" [in the most offhand dismissive fashion I could muster]

From a self-initiated blabber out of the blue, I was already invited to be a guest lecturer at the place. I found a million other excuses to bring up the topic whenever the word 'Kolkata' was uttered. When people asked me about my itinerary at home, I would blabber it all out, except the date when I was supposed to be at the center. They would inevitably ask, "And what are you doing that day?" So, it was they who wanted to know about it, not me spreading the word. Heh... heh... heh.

The co-ordinators at USEFI then decided to tie the event into the itinerary of a day-long expo at the center, concluding with a panel discussion on what to expect as life in the US as a student. This was where I was supposed to come in, and some other speakers were invited to be on the panel as well. When I came to know of this, here is how I presented it to people: "You know, since I'm giving a guest lecture there, they have scheduled a day-long event around it!". Never mind mentioning that it was a panel discussion and not a guest lecture; and that I will not be the only person giving the lecture that day. Hehe... like they say, never let the truth come in the way of a good story. :D

On the day, I made sure I dressed like a cool dude. Even though there was a nip in the January afternoon air, I wore just a T-shirt that proudly proclaimed "Texas", a cool denim, shaved myself prim and proper, put on a lot of deodorant, and reached there about 30-40 mins earlier. When no-one really knows you, it is never a good idea to be late. I asked them since I was early, if I could stroll through the USEFI library. I was allowed in with special privileges: you generally need a membership card to go in. "He's on the panel today: please let him in" :)

And then the discussion began. Given a chance to brag about the university, you don't really need to pull your punches, and that too about a top-10 CS department. A lot of 'interesting' ladies were there in the audience, and so after I said that I am working in the field of Artificial Intelligence, I also added, "3-4 years down the line, I would be one of those mad scientists making evil robots" :D. People knew right away that I had a great sense of humour!

Afterwards, all of us on the panel were asked to take up different parts of the room so that people with any questions could come and ask us any individual questions. After initially disclaiming that I didn't know anything beyond CS, and that too beyond much of Machine Learning and Natural Language Processing, people still had questions about every field. So, I proceeded to enlighten people about everything from Business Schools in Los Angeles to how to arrange for funds if you're planning to study Astronomy and Radio Physics. Man, I felt so important when even after I stepped out, people (and that includes pretty girls) kept asking for my email address. :D

So now you know, what happens in Kolkata, stays in Kolkata. :)

What was wrong with the system - II

A lot of things seem strange, when you think about it at a point of time 10 years later. The trouble with this way of chewing the cud is that you didn't learn how to tell apart the straw from the gold then.

One of the bigger things that come to mind as I think about the days at the hostel there was the food. A good way of looking at it is that given the kind of food I used to have there, the food at any other place after that has seemed heavenly. People lost 5-10 kilos as soon as they joined our engineering college in the first year. I, on the other hand, gained a kilo or two. The reason was I had seen so much bad food while I was in my first boarding school that the food at the college tasted heavenly. I'll explain why. All curries in the school tasted the same -- you had to ask what was cooked when: you wouldn't know until you were told. We used to wonder how someone could cut fish into such small pieces, how 2 tiny pieces of chicken once a week was supposed to be enough, and why the yellow colored water served on each table was called 'dal'. And if you were going to be late by even 2 minutes on the chicken night (which was conveniently kept to the Tuesdays or Thursdays), you will not get to see your pieces. The fun part, of course, was the regularity with which broken pieces of glass, nails, etc used to turn up in the curry or the rice: we used to keep count who was winning in the current season. Our lunch on every school day was served at 9:30-10:00 in the morning: you could eat your full at that time. Afternoon snack would be one slice of pineapple or one guava, around 1:30. Then another little snack consisting of 2 pieces of bread around 5:00 before playtime. And god help you if you were caught stealing an extra slice of bread at this time -- no matter how hungry you were. Dinner was served at 8:30 or 9:00, with the same indiscernible food. Endless speeches by monks and other dignitaries during the special days regularly saw some or the other student fainting off and dropping on the pavement due to the sun and under-nutrition. We accepted this as part of life: hehe, funny it was. Of course the monks there had nice clean white rice, 2-3 large pieces of fish, good thick dal, etc. at every meal. They sat at a different table right in front of us during mealtimes. Who were we to complain?

Something else that has been strikingly curious about Vidyapith is the number of students who developed Appendicitis or Epilepsy every year. Take any random school in West Bengal. In 2-3 years, at most maybe one student will develop Appendicitis and be taken away for an appendectomy (although I really doubt that). How many would have epilepsy? Maybe one in every 2-3 years again? Among all students from Vidyapith, at least 10 students developed Appendicitis every year, and at least 2 students fell down frothing from their mouths with epilepsy every year or two. It seems strange, how none of us bothered to think why this rate was so high in the school. What was wrong with the diet? We used to have vague rumours about why you shouldn't eat the fish's head -- it can cause epilepsy. Or that eating the half-boiled unpeeled potatoes could cause appendicitis. But it would be all rumours -- no official bothered to find out why the rates of these were so high in this school.

Finally, some random stuff were very confusing. Special coaching was arranged for the top 20 students of each batch after the pre-board exams were over, in order to enhance the chances of the school securing better ranks at the final board exams. And this was way earlier than the last 3 months of special coaching was arranged for the rest of the students. I never understood why the top 20 students needed special coaching ahead of the other students. Prize distribution ceremonies had a lot of money, courtesy the alumni. However, all the money was used to give away books preaching the gospel of the Holy Trinity or some books about them. I understand that they all had good words in them... but I refuse to believe that they should be the limit of imagination and outside knowledge of teenagers. What about the classics of Bengali literature, English literature, etc? What about books of puzzles? What about books exploring the wild? About different countries? Rare, very rare -- if any at all. There was this one brilliant boy in our batch who had open disdain for all these books and preachings. He was kinda isolated by the rest of us -- he seemed to be violating everything sacred taught there. In retrospect, I think he was one of the best examples I've seen of someone living by the ideals of Swami Vivekananda, although he rarely read any of his books.

What was wrong with the system - I

I have been meaning to start this series of posts on what I believe has been wrong with various educational institutions which I've studied in. I might stir up a hornet's nest by posting these, and therefore I need to ask you to go and read the disclaimer before you start suing anybody else. Also, the reason this dirty linen needs to be washed in public is that it will get enough attention. In systems where accountability is almost zero, external pressure can sometimes work wonders. Let me clarify at the very outset as well, that each of these places have been very valuable in my life: I've learned a lot in each of these. But sometimes you need to call a spade a spade, and the time is ripe that I should give up pretensions and get public what the scene behind the goody-goody curtain was.

Ramakrishna Mission Vidyapith, Purulia. Set in a very remote place almost without good city comforts and very poor road/rail access (as opposed to a major city), it was an ideal setting for reinforcing the ideals taught by (in fact, lived out by) the likes of Swami Vivekananda. Most of us passing out of there were and still are very well versed in his quotations, but I really doubt how much we all could put to practice.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Bengali culture, it is a great honour reserved exclusively for Brahmin couples to be the godfather and godmother during a child's sacred thread ceremony. Typically, the first woman to give him alms is called the "Bhikkhemaa", and she almost becomes like a second mother to you. Sri Ramakrishna insisted, in order to break caste boundaries, that an sudra ("untouchable") woman be granted the honour, who had been the midwife during His birth. We at Purulia were supposed to live by this code: of equality and humanity. Guess what... unless you were a Brahmin, you weren't allowed to be the priest in the temple in the campus. Just in case you are wondering, a friend of mine from our batch who wasn't a Brahmin did go to ask our chief hostel warden (a monk), and he was turned down. During Kali Puja, during certain ceremonies all the non-Brahmins were asked to leave: they apparently were not too "pure" to be present there. Says who? I have carried the news once myself to my non-Brahmin friends.

It was a place where we, as students of Class 7, were lightly caned on our palms if we admitted to mixing with girls during vacations or watching any TV. Of course most of us watched the TV at home, but the culture demanded that we lie to the monk who administered this discipline. From Class 4-10, it was blasphemy to speak of any film stars to anyone. To store any posters or cut-outs of these people from newspapers?! Blah.. you were better off dead. I was convinced during Class 9-10 that watching any movie of any kind was as good as poisoning myself. You watched a woman dance on the screen? Oh my god... you were opening the doorway to hell! It was deemed poison, and that we should protect ourselves against all the evil influences of the world outside the campus by being a complete mantra-spelling gospel-spreading teenager. No movies, no songs from them either. Never mind that Swami Vivekananda had himself ran back to apologize to a court nautchni and singer at the Maharaja of Khetri's palace, after he had condemned her and left the court: he came back and worshipped the Holy Mother in her. We spoke with awe of the seniors and some monks, who, when they were young, walked on the other side of the road if a woman was walking on that side. I still wonder how they believed that we would stick to this mindset after passing out of there.

I can go on, but maybe in another post. The point is that a lot of things have been plaguing the organization from within. I may be a weak instrument, and the Mission at Purulia might be doing a great deal of good work, but I still don't think they are excuses enough to leave some of the best minds of the state burdened with a mentality and crippled with an apologetic mindset that would take us years to shake off the yoke.

The name's Bond

About a year and a half back, I participated in a clinical research trial that paid me $350 for taking out my wisdom tooth: which was paining pretty badly at that time. I figured that instead of paying a dentist $200, I'd rather get this done for free and get some money with that as well. They were developing a pain medication and wanted to test the drug on patients. It went fine... I was pretty impressed with the drug since my pain dropped from 8/10 just after the surgery to 2/10 in an hour or two. I forgot all about it until they sent me a letter this Saturday thanking me for participating. The next paragraph in that letter told me that I was given a placebo: no actual painkillers. Meaning, I practically got my wisdom tooth extracted without any anesthetic. You only have to convince me that the job is possible: the rest is always mind over matter. Like I said, the name's Bond. :)

P.S. - For those of you who thought the Hum Tum style "Bond, James Bond" way of introducing yourself to a girl on an aeroplane is stupid, you wouldn't believe how tempting it is when you're in that situation. I was traveling back this December when the lady on the next seat turned out to be a Bengali lady traveling back home all the way till Kolkata. It was soo.... sooo tempting! But had to settle for my real nice name. And before all ye smirky fellas begin to extrapolate, she was going home to get married the next day. Oh yes, within 16 hours of first meeting me, she did swear to kill me! By the way, the other problem with the James Bond introduction is that you might end up being called Dentarthurdent.

From the hearth of time

From Swami Vivekananda's letter to Shashi (Swami Ramakrishnanda), 19th March, 1884:

[...] I now see it all. Brother, यत्र नार्यस्तु पूज्यन्ते रमन्ते तत्र देवता :- "The gods are pleased where the women are held in esteem" -- says the old Manu. We are horrible sinners, and our degradation is due to our calling women "despicable worms", "gateways to hell", and so forth. Goodness gracious! There is all the difference between heaven and hell! यथातथ्यत्योर्थान व्यद्घात -- "He adjudges gifts according to the merits of the case." Is the Lord to be hoodwinked by idle talk? The Lord has said, त्व स्त्री त्व पुमानसी त्वं कुमार उत वा कुमारी -- "Thou art the woman, Thou art the man, Thou art the boy and the girl as well." (Shwetashwatara Upa.) And we on our part are crying, दुराम्परापसर रे चंडाल -- "Be off, thou outcaste!" केनैषा नीर्मिता नारी मोहिनी etc. -- "By whom was made the bewitching woman?" My brother, what experiences I have had in the South, of the upper classes torturing the lower! What Bacchanalian orgies within the temples! Is it a religion that fails to remove the misery of the poor and turn men into gods! Do you think our religion is worth the name? Ours is only Don't-touchism, only "Touch me not", "Touch me not". Good heavens! A country, the big leaders of which have for the last two thousand years been only discussing whether to take food with the right hand or the left, whether to take water from the right-hand side or the left, ... if such a country does not go to ruin what other will? कालः सुप्तेषु जागर्ति कालो हि दुरतिक्रमः -- "Time keeps wide awake when all else sleeps. Time is invincible indeed!" He knows it; who is there to throw dust in His eyes, my friend?

Strange, isn't it... what this man had said 125 years ago still applies so much? He is still my hero!

I am from Pluto

Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, and I am from Pluto. From the book:

How it usually goes:
For example, Mary comes home from an exhausting day. She wants and needs to share her feelings about the day.
She says, “There is so much to do; I don’t have any time for myself.”
Tom says, “You should quit that job. You don’t have to work so hard. Find something you like to do.”
Mary says, “But I like my job. They just expect me to change everything at a moment’s notice.”
Tom says, “Don’t listen to them. Just do what you can do.”
Mary says, “I am! I can’t believe I completely forgot to call my aunt today.”
Tom says, “Don’t worry about it, she’ll understand.”
Mary says, “Do you know what she is going through? She needs me.”
Tom says, “You worry too much, that’s why you’re so unhappy.”
Mary angrily says, “I am not always unhappy. Can’t you just listen to me?”
Tom says, “I am listening.”
Mary says, “Why do I even bother?”

How it is supposed to go:
Mary says, “There is so much to do. I have no time for me.”
Tom takes a deep breath, relaxes on the exhale, and says, “Humph, sounds like you had a hard day.”
Mary says, “They expect me to change everything at a moment’s notice. I don’t know what to do.”
Tom pauses and then says, “Hmmm.”
Mary says, “I even forgot to call my aunt.”
Tom says with a slightly wrinkled brow, “Oh, no.”
Mary says, “She needs me so much right now. I feel so bad.”
Tom says, “You are such a loving person. Come here, let me give you a hug.”
Tom gives Mary a hug and she relaxes in his arms with a big sigh of relief.
She then says, “I love talking with you. You make me really happy. Thanks for listening. I feel much better.”

How it will go if I was involved:
Mary says, “There is so much to do. I have no time for me.”
Sudipta says, “Hehehe... people fall sick at times, you know! *wink* *wink*"
Mary says, “They expect me to change everything at a moment’s notice. I don’t know what to do.”
Sudipta says, “Well, you could just switch your boss's strong coffee with decaf! Sleeping boss, sleeping office --- loads of time to do things for yourself!"
Mary says, “I even forgot to call my aunt.”
Sudipta says, "Oh her? You should have told me! I love teasing her about the new dude who moved into her colony last month! I could easily keep her entertained for 15 minutes."
Mary says, “She needs me so much right now. I feel so bad.”
Sudipta says, “Are you sure a hot 'massage' can't cheer you up? *nudge-nudge*"? :D

QUESTION: What does Mary say/do next?

Holi in an engineering college

The kind of Holi celebrations I've seen outside my engineering college, I would say, are really tame compared to what used to happen within. At home and the colony around us, it was a sort of tame affair with the womenfolk mostly remaining away from the guys or at least refraining from playing with strangers. The occasional adventurous dude who decided to propose on this day by putting a red sindoor mark on the girl's forehead was usually beaten up badly, whether by his own friends in congratulations or by the girl's brother in retaliation is another story. The situation here in the US is entirely different. With the creeps outnumbered by far and a more vociferous female populace, the percentage of females coming out for the university Holi celebrations is much higher and the occasion is therefore understandably a lot more fun. The exact middle ground of this was in our engineering college: with everybody an adventurous dude and no females at all.

In Gujarat, Holi celebrations start at least a week ahead, at least the colorless variety. Bunches of home-made water balloons (and packets of mineral water from the wealthier folks) routinely find their way on to the heads of passers-by during this time. The engineering college remains kind of tame during this time -- nobody actually wants to spoil the fun that is coming. The events were unofficially kicked off once in our batch by pouring a bucket full of water on the dozing night guard exactly at midnight. The profusely swearing gentleman (who many had a bet could not hurt a cow) almost woke up the entire hostel in the ruckus that followed: but the perpetrators were found in the deepest slumber and blissfully unaware of what had happened. One of them actually went up to ask why he had bathed with his full clothes on, that too at midnight.

On this night, people usually made sure they packed all clothes and books inside cupboards. Computers were duly covered and/or sealed off into their original boxes. And then the fun used to begin early next morning. Groups of junta, usually the all-nighters, would come armed with buckets full of water and wake you up with a "little" splash. Some people, of course, found this just a little disturbing for their sleep. They would wake up, shout and abuse the enthusiastic people, then dry themselves off with a towel, and promptly go to sleep again. Colorful celebrations kicked off when some people decided enough was enough and mixed a handful of colors in a bucket of water and poured it on the next unsuspecting victim to come down from the stairs. All hell would break loose at this time, and anybody who can grab any kind of color (including swabfuls from others' faces or a little concentrate accumulated in that dirty corner of the railing) -- everyone would proceed to smear everyone else with their own personal colors. And then of course people would proceed to some common chowk to thus spread happiness, serenity and joy to juniors and seniors, in that order.

I hope many of you are aware of the flesh-for-beads custom of Mardi Gras. Basically, women go about collecting beads/necklaces from men for volunteering to show a little flesh. Holi in the engineering college has a similar custom, except the fact that a) there are no women involved, b) it is not voluntary to get your flesh exposed, c) people actually take parts or strips of your clothes as trophies -- flesh once uncovered will remain so and d) sorry: you don't get any beads for getting your clothes torn off. Hoards of people in different groups would meet each other at these chowks and proceed to tear off clothes like there is no tomorrow. I remember having seen one particularly lanky guy literally suspended in mid-air by the 5 people trying to tear off his shirt at the same time from different directions: the poor thing's Lee t-shirt was finally torn open when someone got a blade. Once you have a strip, you either tie it around your head as a trophy or just fling it atop the nearest tree -- the day after Holi you might be staring agape at the multi-colored pieces of cloth on almost every tree on the road. And of course, some unlucky fella would happen to be dragged into a muddy pool and 'colored' differently, who would promptly volunteer afterwards to find the next unlucky guy.

The final touch of the celebrations, of course, would be to form a procession and march towards the girls' hostel. Semi clad, fully black-and-blue faces and armed with absolutely outrageous accessories such as huge red buckets, cardboard placards that say "Down with Imperialism" or something to that effect, etc. -- such a group of about 100-200 students would form a procession (usually with 2-3 people supposedly playing drums by beating the crap out of a dustbin tin someone might have picked up). Since this was in the teachers' colony, it was always a little risky to be too brash: but even then the girls usually stopped playing among themselves and watched the show quietly. The level of excitement surrounding this momentous occasion used to be great, since you yourself were nearly undressed and yet unrecognizable in the crowd. An awkward silence usually followed when the drums stopped for a moment, and inevitably someone would point and declare in a loud voice: "Kisi ko mat bolna ki ye X hai!! (Don't tell anybody this is X)". And the said dude X would run for cover as suddenly nearly 300 eyes would be glued onto him: 200 of them laughing out and about to do the ROTFL, while the rest of them (the girls, usually) smiling or shaking their heads in disapproval. Suddenly everyone would be happy that a scapegoat had been found, and drums would start roaring again, and people would proceed back towards their respective hostels while the guard at the girls' hostel would keep giving them absolutely dirty looks.

But the best part was the free food that I usually managed to garner at the end of the day. Bengalis have a tradition by which we usually touch the feet of our elders at dusk on Holi and then are usually given sweets, etc. Now, during the time that I was in my first and second years at the college, our principal was also a Bengali gentleman. On both these years, I dutifully gathered a group of about 10 and turned up unannounced and uncalled at his house, touched his feet, exchanged a few words in Bengali and then focused my attention on gobbling the sweets that his wife would bring us while I would leave the responsibility of chit chat and small talk to the rest ;) But they were a nice and sweet couple, and this man was one of those rare men I've seen with a strong moral backbone and complete selfless dedication to the college. And of course, the expressions of the teachers as they walked in the next day staring at blue, green and red faces peeping out of clean white shirts was priceless! :D

Sleep like a log

People say, ideally, you should sleep like a log. What they fail to tell you is when exactly you begin to sleep like a dead man and not like a log. Or, more importantly, when sleeping "like" a dead man can make you one.

So I was at my uncle's place about 3-4 years ago during one of my breaks in the college. It was winter, and we were sleeping under thick quilts. Mosquito coils were lit around the house because there weren't too many mosquitoes anyway. So my uncle and aunt were in their bedroom, and my aunt's brother and I were sleeping in the guestroom. Point to be noted: I was definitely fast asleep.

Late into the night sometime, the tip of the quilt I was under touched the mosquito coil and caught fire. Not exactly the flaming inferno fire, but the gradual one that creeps up and eats away. I did not know when this happened -- I was sleeping. So the fire gradually climbed up and most of the quilt was burnt till my feet, but I was still fast asleep. The room was full of smoke; the other person in the room woke up and so did my uncle and aunt. I was still sleeping, very much fast asleep. They looked at me: my feet had turned red and there were brown marks on my skin from the burning cotton of the quilt. I was still sleeping, like a dead man.

They shook me and woke me up. They put water on the quilt and doused the flames. And I was standing there, confused. I asked, "What happened?"
- "The quilt caught fire... your feet were in the fire. Are you okay?"
- "Uh huh.."
- "Step away from there."
- "Uh huh... then what do I do?"
- "Go into that room and sleep"

So I calmly walked into the other room and went to sleep. Like a dead man. :D

Sister

My sister went away to her in-laws house today. The wedding went fine: minus the usual glitches of managing a hundred people everyday: I need soap, Mr. X who's on that sofa wants some tea, etc. It is always fun meeting relatives who I had last met twelve years ago. Everyone tells me how little I was when they had seen me last, and then they're surprised to see me all grown up. Some people would attest to the fact that I haven't; but thats a different story. ;)

All these days it has been hectic. And the more difficult part, I found, was telling elders in some cases what was to be done. I completely know that they're guests in my house and they aren't supposed to know where the market is or where to find the scissors, but still directing people and asking them to go and drop off three kids at another place was kind-of awkward. But I got over it, and accepted it as part of the job.

The part that was unacceptable was that my sister was getting married. I always thought I wouldn't be bothered: I'll come, do my duties and get back to my life. I believed she was just there as another person in the house -- social customs and rituals were just a wrapper for the real event of a man and woman starting a new family. Strange as it seemed, I was feeling fiercely protective about her all this time. I knew that this was a love marriage, I knew that they liked and loved each other, and I knew that the pair had our parents' total heartfelt blessings. But still I wasn't happy: I sometimes felt I'd dare anybody, any-damn-body, even her husband, to dare harm her in any way. But I didn't have time to think about this: it was just a nagging thought throughout the time when I was running errands.

Bengali weddings have a ceremony when we bless the bride before her actual wedding with gifts that she takes with her to her new home. I discovered how much I loved her on this day. All these years that I've been in hostels, I've been able to meet or interact with her very rarely. As such, I had believed, I wouldn't really miss her after her wedding: she would still be a phone call away and the brief meetings would be there anyway. But somehow my heart grew heavy. All those lewd jokes I used to pass with her, all those teasings about how her husband has a secret ringworm infection which she'll come to know when the time comes, all those times when I had been angry with her for not even putting an empty cup of tea she'd had into the basin -- they all appeared so childish compared to what treasure was about to go away.

Last evening, and very late into the night, the wedding ceremony got over finally. We were told about some more rituals from the groom's side, and therefore she had to be sent away early in the morning. I stayed up all through the night, and soon it was time for the actual "yatra" in the car. It happened just like in the movies. Everyone around me was crying and weeping. My dad was inconsolable: I had to hold him steady and take him through it all. I had told myself I wouldn't shed a tear, and I did not. I was consoling everyone else and lending them my chest to cry on. I was issuing orders and taking care of the logistics: who sits where in what car, find that missing driver, make sure that the last minute rituals went smoothly. I was finding something funny -- it was just like in the movies and was thus apparently making an effort to keep a long face. Then they went away. The car moved out of sight gradually and everyone silently went in. I took my dad to the bed and then walked around a dead silent home for some time. I went back to the gate, and as I stared out towards the road, a little tear tricked out. Something broke inside me. I howled and wept. I didn't understand why myself: I never thought I will cry over this. But I couldn't stop. My grief was my own private sorrow, I didn't need anybody -- I held on to a tree for support. Then someone saw me and took me inside, let me sit on a bed and cry my heart out. I suppose it takes me a little time to grasp the importance of everything in life.

I don't know why I'm recording this private feeling on this blog: maybe I shouldn't do this. But this has become a diary of sorts, and this feeling right now even as I type it twenty hours later is something I want to record. It is sad, but it is beautiful as well. Fare well, my sister -- your brother will watch over you.

Personal space and excuse me-s

When I had first arrived in the US, a lot of things were new. The people, especially, were very friendly and open. If you're walking along the road on the way to the university, total strangers will nod and smile, and even greet you with a "Good morning!". Soon, I learned to reciprocate: like the other day I passed this old lady who was walking with difficulty because of a cast around her knee; I wished her, "Get well soon", and she beamed at me and said, "Thank you!". People are genuinely appreciative with their comments, and if you are even of the slightest help to someone, they will make sure that you understand their gratitude, especially with the classical "Appreciate it".

Something else also struck me as a newcomer: the concept of a personal space. In India, if you're in a queue lets say to pay the electric bill or at a railway reservation counter, everyone is almost breathing down the neck of the guy in front of him. We don't mind others peeking around us from all sides trying to see what the guy behind the counter is doing. You need to keep your elbows and feet strategically placed so that if the next guy tries to slip around you, you can create a physical barrier. Things suddenly appeared totally different here in the US. People would stand at least at an arms length from each other in any queue. Even if you're standing in a queue to see Hillary Clinton (she and Barack Obama were on our campus recently :) ), only friends would stand close together and talk: another group would be a little apart in the same queue. On the bus, people prefer standing rather than sitting next to a guy who is on the window seat of a twin-seater, unless the bus is crowded and you "have" to push in to others to board it.

So far so good. But what strikes me as odd is the way people tend to apologize for the slightest things. You're on your way out of a door and she was momentarily in front of the entrance when she notices you and steps away: she'll still burst into an "Oh I'm sorry, excuse me". I'm walking towards a building across an open stretch, and I slightly change direction to allow this lady coming from the other direction to pass, and yet she will turn and say, "Excuse me". She apologized to me even though I was in her path! Initially I used to imagine myself as a village idiot fresh off the boat who had no manners at all . Asking to be excused in such trivial situations never crossed my mind. But nowadays it just appears pathetic to me. What the hell if you had to just brush by me? I don't care... I'm not offended. So I don't apologize for these things any more: it a real extreme! And the funny part is, when this happens between two people from here, they seem to apologize to each other, no matter whose "fault" it was. I have fun when I am one of them. If I was on someone's path and had to step away to let her pass, she will inevitably apologize for my "inconvenience" of taking a step. I always nod with a gesture that says, "Apology accepted!" :)

Them romantic ones

I read this post recently on Blogbharti, and it brought back a particularly confusing memory regarding girls and their fascination for the Mills and Boons books. I remember seeing one such link from Desipundit as well, sometime ago. Apparently, they all go gaga over these books, and from experience I know that. But I also find it incredibly bewildering about the how and the why. For those who are interested about the "from experience" part above, let me explain.

A long time ago, my sisters had been gleefully poring over some book. I am a voracious reader (I re-read through Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows last night at one go in eight hours), and so something so interesting for my sisters definitely caught my attention. My sisters told me, "This isn't something that guys should read", which got me all the more interested. On a fine wintry afternoon, post-lunch, I took a folding cot out in the sun. Armed with a pillow and a snug little bedsheet, I started reading this book. And all my enthusiasm about the book vanished within 20-30 pages of the book I had smuggled out. There was this caretaker guy of some god-forsaken house who went to cut wood in a nearby forest. And here was this daughter of some rich fat guy who had come to spend a week alone by herself. She keeps standing on the balcony and listening intently to the feeble sound of some dead tree being chopped. She can't even see the guy most of the time in the book, even around the house. And there are sudden descriptions of how lovely her laces were on the dress, how the sky turned dark, how this man has biceps, and how pigs got wings! (Err okay I made that last phrase up... but I wouldn't be surprised to find that there.) And then one fine evening, she falls in love with him, and they start kissing and making out! Why on earth?! And how??!!

That book formed my idea of how bad a novel can get -- I knew the bottom of all creative writing had been reached by mankind. The plot of the book, the characters, the scenery -- they all seemed like some divine conspiracy to kill brain cells; to make you stupider, word by word. Okay, so Hindi movies show people changing clothes in the blink of an eye, singing and running around flowers in circles, and then suddenly babies pop out, apparently due to cross-pollination. But this??! No talk, no interaction, no sharing of feelings, nothing for the life of it? Oh dear Lord, what did mankind do to deserve this? I'll tell you, the world was too perfect until Lord Shiva decided to introduce chaos into the universe, and these books are the first idea that popped into His "divine" head -- I always knew that guy Kama had aimed his arrow at the wrong person at the wrong place: must've hit his head right then! I completely know how the Munis and Rishis came up with "Tamaso Mah Jyotir-Gamayah" -- they were trying to save humans from the future doom, known as Mills and Boons!

Arjuna speaks

Why do I have to do this? Why, why why? Why can't life be simpler? Why do I have to kill, maim and destroy? Why can't we just sit down and get this over with? Tell me, O Krishna, is that little piece of land called Indraprastha really worth all this?

Look at them, dear friend, look at them. That old man you see there, thats Bheeshma: I used to play in his lap as a child. He helped me stand on my feet as a kid, taught me how to hold a bow and an arrow. Today you want me to shoot at him? See those bunch of people my age yonder? They are the brothers of Duyodhana. We used to play in the orchards together. That small guy there, he used to run and hide behind me when he was afraid, I used to protect him from the bullies. And today you ask me to go and stab him in his face. How can I do it? I still see in his face the child I used to protect. Today you ask me to butcher a child?

I don't want it, I don't want any of this! How can I forget the love, how can I forget the feeling of safety and comfort I felt in their presence? It kills me from within to even raise the bow. At one time I would have gladly given my life for them, any of them! And look at me today: I am prepared to take their lives! Oh what shame, what shame! How will I be able to live? How can someone ever feel safe in my presence? They would know that even though I protect them today, tomorrow I'll just go there and murder them in cold blood. Nobody can trust me ever again. I'll lose face before even myself, I will never be able to trust myself.

And all this, to get hold of some useless piece of land whose thousandth part will be enough to cremate me. Isn't there enough land on this planet? Do I really need to kill them for that little one? Look at me, for all I have learned, with all the skills Dronacharya there has taught me, I am about to turn against him and shoot to kill. I am standing in a battle of which I want no part... I am here because of circumstances! I am not to blame, and yet I have to shoot. Why, why, Sir, must I fight? Against whom am I fighting? What will I gain? Is it really worth the loss? Tell me, O Lord, why shouldn't I just lay down my arms and let them kill me? At least then I would die happy that I kept my word, I loved them till my last breath.

Thought of the day

If you aren't a blogger, at least marry one!