Sudipta's Life

A colonial master expects absolute loyalty from his serfs. The feudal lord is not so easy to please. You must bow whenever he passes while you toil away in the field. And you must graciously accept whatever he gives to you. Thank him before everything you do, thank him when you wake up, thank him when you go to sleep. The lands, the air, the water — he owns them all.You must consider your great luck and blessings every time you get the minutest help. Your son got better from fever? Thank you, master. Did you just eat a hearty meal? Thank you, master. And don't you dare complain that your son got ill because there were mosquitoes around. Isn't it enought that your son is still alive? It could have been much worse! Thank your master for that. So what if the master never took care enough to clean the drains and stop the mosquitoes from breeding? Or the fact that he could have given you good food every day so that the only day of the month you get to eat one full meal, you don

Found this marvellous video on ted. The second song is as beautiful and touching as the first one has humour, which of course, begins with "Feminists have no sense of humour":

Manas and I have started a new blog some time back, called the hack list . Basically every now and then we find a cool trick to make something work, or a little hack that allows you to fix a nagging problem. But we forget it after a while. On this blog, we're trying to just quickly note down whatever we find so that if we remember later on, we can go back and look. For those interested - its http://thehacklist.blogspot.com . Enjoy! :)

When I was a kid, I was a fan/supporter/follower of anything my dad would support. I honestly had no idea of why to support or not to support someone. My rule was pretty simple -- if my father supported and/or cheered for a team, I was going to support it too. So during the India-West Indies test series my uncles would root for Vengsarkar or Javagal Srinath, and my father would laugh at them when Clive Lloyd or Gordon Greenidge would butcher them apart. It was friendly banter, of course, but as far as I was concerned, this was absolute fun as a four-year-old to be cheering louder than anybody else every time a wicket fell or a six was belted. Naturally, by default, I became a "supporter" of Mohun Bagan because my father was one. And by supporter, I mean I was happy when I got news of them winning, especially over arch rival East Bengal. But beyond that - who were the strikers playing in the next match, which little known all-Maharashtra tournament did they win recently, wha