Showing posts with label Art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Art. Show all posts

Friday, 30 September 2016

Badly Bengali


Hello dear chums! How are we today? Did we have good breakfast? Good! Now let’s continue with my rants, because it is all about me… isn’t it! Of course it is! It’s my blog! So let us proceed!

With Durga Puja beginning with Mahalaya today, I sat down thinking, am I a true Bengali? I ask this question rather often, because of the following;

  • I never feel the feeling of Pujo (All the days are same for me, no special get-together/fun time for those days)
  • I do not care much for Kolkata street food (because I’ve never tasted any)
  • I am not well versed with Robindro Sangeet (I cannot sing, not even to save my life)
  • Pandal hopping is not as enjoyable as before (too much crowd & too many screaming elated Bengali aunties hitting the highest possible octave while they chit chat)
  • Political chats do not entice me at all (I detest the futile chit chat about what which politician should do and should not)
  • I am not much of a Tea person (I am more of a coffee person).
  • I have zero understanding of art (especially paintings and poetry)

After racking my brains and memories (read my previous article to see how difficult it is for me to play through my memories) for a long time, I have decided I am as Bengali as I can get and I am proud of it.

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Like any true Bengali person, I have a steady supply of Boroline, Gelusil and Aqua ptychotis syrup with me.

We do use a Guptopress Ponjika (a book of auspicious dates, horoscope for the year, constellation placements throughout the year etc) at home.

I love bhapa ilish, shukto, aaloo bhaaja and mochar ghonto (and other lip smacking Bengali dishes as well)

I am a big fan of Soumitra Chatterjee (a total dude of the Golden Age of Bengali cinema & my 1st favorite Feluda) and have watched and re watched almost all of his movies (not all though).

I may not be well versed with Robindro Sangeet but I have devoured books of Sharadindu Bandyopadhyay, Leela Majumdar, Sunil Ganguli, Satyajit Ray (and the likes of them)

Amidst all my favorite fictional detectives from all over the world, Feluda and Byomkesh Bakshi come in first 5 alongside Sherlock Holmes, Tintin – the reporter and Chief Inspector Jacques Clouseau.

Oh and yes… I am the proud owner of the complete Tintin and Asterix series.

Most importantly I can proudly say that thanks to my grandma, I am well versed with the spoken and written language, something that not many Probashi Bengali (a term used for a Bengali living outside Bengal) can say. 

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My friends would know that I make fun of the Bengali accent and certain stereotypes that are there (like in every other culture), but no ‘non-bengalis’ can do that in front of me and get away with it.  I am proud to be a Bengali no matter which state I stay in!


Monday, 30 May 2016

Words of No Value



Once upon a time, in a land not very far away, there lived a prolific writer who was so prolific that everything she wrote made sense and was loved by millions. She had words for every situation, no matter how grave or happy the occasion was, she was ready with her quill and parchment and would scribble away to create the perfect piece of writing!

In the same village lived a voracious orator. He was so voracious that if he could, he would, move mountains with his baritone voice and eloquent speech. Ladies would swoon when he spoke and gents would be filled with impotent jealousy heaving sighs wishing if only they could speak like him. People in need of instant motivation would reach out to him and he would break into impromptu impetus sermons that would move the masses.

Everything was perfect in this not-so-far-away-land until one day the prolific writer bumped into the voracious orator in the market place. The world stood still and all the noise faded away; they looked deep into each other’s eyes and to everyone’s surprise, no words were exchanged.

The prolific writer and the voracious orator walked away from each other in profound silence as they had no words or voice to describe what they felt. Words seemed hollow and voices seemed useless because… and that’s when they realized… they had fallen in love!

Slowly the village folks started noticing that no more new stories were written or no more tenacious speeches were ever heard, they realized how love had screwed up two perfect people and ruined their art!

Not that it mattered to the prolific writer or the voracious orator, because now she wrote for him and he spoke for her and in their own little world they were pleased as punch!!!