A farewell note!!

Parle marie!

Nobody apart from the weirdest of us
wants to put up with this maxima of fuss
to write an entree : What infernal cad
could I mean when I use legal ruled pad?
Why would I ape the ape
and in rhythmic poesy drape
what now is sure to turn out
as far-worse lines than ‘Little Johnny Stout’?
But, my dear H.-D., you forget the scheme too soon,
I have always obliged to play the buffoon.
Its just me to do this, when I could have written sense,
to cause you to plough through this drivel and repense.
Poetic meter really doesn’t suit me
“Use the hexameter; but never touch the three!”
“Blah and bull!”, I dare spout
“But I resort to this to get a fourth short of 4 sheets to fill out.”
“Much-o ado about nothing!”, I hear you say.
“SRC, where’s the cold edge, where is the flay?
Where’s the swoop-in-&-kill, where’s the cuttin’ comment?
Where indeed now is the exaggerated lament?”
“H.-D.”, I cut in, “Isn’t this too much talk
before one has time to get down to the real stock?
You mean well, I can see.
But give it a little time, plee’?”
“I may not be a Dahl”, I add, “I may not be a Grass.
But surely there is no reason to think I’ll write so crass.
Come on now, old chum, I‘ll show you the works.
Bring out the judge, the jury and the critic that lurks.”
“We have had hot air now for quite some time.
You had us wrapped up in your useless rhyme.
Stop ditherin’ now, I give you warnin’ fair.
For your tomfoolery, I have little care.”
Thus spake you and my blood did boil,
“H.-D., you ass, can’t you guess my inner turmoil?
Much as you weren’t like me, for this little amount of time
I really wanted you to be a lunch-mate of mine.
You weren’t ‘in’, I knew, but I wasn’t looking for that.
And well, round is a shape - but I rather call you fat.
But 2nd year had taught me that appearances are deceptive:
To cha and adda, I had guessed you would be receptive.
How was I to know, now, that this burden would be so light -
two mutton dosa, and a bottle of Sprite?
Getting together without pre-forged links
for what in your local slang was “Ekta cold drinks!”
On second thoughts, did we cluster up to scavenge that food?
Or were we scrounging for something else – may be a prelude?
To things and people we were hence to meet
I guess a pre-ordination to share more than a D-school seat.
I wasn’t the best enunciator; I spoke too fast.
But one ear to the ground, you heard me out to the last.
H.-D. – a brilliant man in too simple a trapping
But come lunch, and no more d-orbital mapping.”
“Enough said, bondhoo!”, you butt in, “You make me rummy!
I had no clue you too felt we were so chummy.
All this touchy-feely business is making me sneezy.
Not watery, mind you – that would be too easy!”
But I insist, “Comrade, I too share some insight.
Though I admit your ‘My bed is ready’ gave me quite a fright.
But I was circumspect; you well might have been gay
But of all the corny lines, you couldn’t have found this to say.
I soon put it down to typographical error,
evidently a case where the logic, your words could not mirror
But what were mere words to the man who could think
I smelled bad when he was the one with chronic foot-stink?
And who indeed would forget his Ranji-esque late cut
under lights where one couldn’t make out the ball from his butt?
Then again, the courtesy of insisting on sleeping on the floor;
and then nodding off lightly: the chatter quickly became a bore.
Everything said and done – it wasn’t all fluff.
Between ourselves we did talk quite a bit of the heavy stuff.
But I guess the fun part was when Coffee came in with her vapor
and all the bourgeois talk and spirals on tissue-paper.
Crosswords withCoffee, and the methylorange beaker.
But wait, do we have to put a sticker
on what we said and what we didn’?
I vote we keep some unspoken talk hidden.
It was good while it was – all this what started on a hunch;
Me asking you and you agreeing to lunch.
Can I say now, or will you still linger?
For the last time, to you H.-D., the salute of the middle finger!”


That's the founding editor{of a 'sometimely' journal - "Untitled"}'s farewell message to an individual, two years ago!!

For people who are unaware... that's Sourav Roy Chowdhury at his uncanny best!!

Best,

Carbide

An Epicurean delight

It's been quite some time since I last went gaga over vegetarian food, but then one has to visit authentic joints in some quiet nook of the city to get a taste of utter delight. It was on a quest like this, that I had first set out on exploring the Central Tiffin Room (popularly known as CTR) on 7th Cross, Malleswaram (R.K. Narayan had been inspired by Malleswaram and Basavagudi for the much celebrated 'Malgudi' Days). And it wouldn't be a hyperbole to say that my taste buds were more than rewarded!

The hotel, more than forty years of glory already under its cap, resembles a petite French bistro from outside. As one enters, what strikes you first is the fact that the place is perpetually crowded, thanks to a large number of loyal customers who keep returning! An old Grandfather clock on the wall, Bhagavad Gita inscriptions around, a menu chart scripted only in Kannada and diyas on the cash counter add to the antediluvian charm of the place.

The Benne Masal Dose (Butter Masala Dosa) in CTR is like manna from heaven. Period. Crisp on the outside, soft on the inside; the golden brown dosa cooked in a generous helping of butter and potato palya is the right flavor to set your mood after a busy day of routine work. Besides their signature dish, also on the offer are rava idlis, Mangalore bhajji, aloo poori and many other delicacies. What sets aside CTR from a dozen other good eateries in and around the city is the authentic chutneys they serve, not to mention the piping hot coffee, thick and bitter, served in the traditional South indian style of a tumbler in a katori. Post meal, the waiters serve small cuttings from old newspapers thats serve as hand wipers!

After a sumptous finger-licking meal, with a song on my lips...pet pujo complete, I headed back to the familiar campus. And started counting days till I would visit CTR again! :-)

Hats off Bill!!

I wish we realize it someday...

Carbide

Insomnia...

It has now been close to 4 months since I came to this beautiful university town called Ithaca. Tonight is the first one when it reminded me of the hill stations, I have been to in my country.
Bubbles have fascinated me since childhood. Their ephemeral yet beautiful existence, the infinitesimally small timescale that separates the glorious gossamer from oblivion has appealed to me. I often fantasize life to be comprised of a string of bubbles having an ephemeral existence, as beautifully outlined in 'Change' by Platinum.
Post dinner, I had to walk back to my laboratory to wind up a few experiments. Prior to my experimental sojourn, I wished to have my share of insomnia, tonight. Its really delectable!! Insomnia is a chain of stores which serve yummy cookies in a handful of US universities. I grabbed for myself a triple chocolate cookie. Walked out of the store and cookie in hand, I searched for a bench for the two of us - myself and the feeling (I have come to know as my more significant half). A zephyr blew, downtown was lit up, I could hear a timid "Hello" at the other end, we took our first bite into the cookie - the bubble dissolved into thin air.

Carbide

The feeling of 'Nothingness'

I dunno whether 'nothingness' is a word...actually I cant really think of a better word at this moment in my fourth and fifth dimensions - time and life!!

Today is close to a fortnight after my motherland was scarred in excess of 4100 times in the last 34 years!! And it has evoked a wide spectrum of reactions from her denizens. However the first and the eventual one would have a high consensus among all classes of Indians. To begin with, most of us were awestruck and in the long run most of us shall let time get the better of us. It would only be confined to a dusty magazine cover and for a handful - that of their heart.
I have sat back to brood about the proceedings that has been occurring in my motherland and my search for answers has always brought me to the same place where I had embarked on my sojourn. Nothing else but 'nothingness' prevails there, currently.

The milieu comprises - the feelings of a friend who had his better half minutes away from the gunshots which got conveyed miles across to this antipode, thanks to advances in telecommunication; distantly knowing the Indian doctor who treated one of the injured miscreants, having most of my near ones in that land and having a mixed bag of highly opinionated individuals around. The people closest to the site of action (or inaction initially, as opposition parties would slur) had a sense of urgency - trying their best to reverse the course of things. People like me at a distance had lesser urgency and hence more time to delve into the deluge of thought processes.

We as individuals always look for solutions to problems. Some of us want to strategically eliminate some of the places where these miscreants are trained, some of us want to mount the international pressure on the state that houses these people, some of us are trying hard to keep Mumbai as normal as possible in order to pay homage to the demised individuals, some of us think that a lot has been taken for granted as the spirit of Mumbai, some of us earnestly look up to the sky and sigh in our quest for answers, some of us choose to ignore the proceedings becoz we didnt lose a friend or a family member and then there are some of us who are trying to gain political mileage out of it, some who are surmising the future of South Asia and then again there are some of us who are planning our next strike!!

The definition of 'us' is so contorted and limited to some of us - human beings, that we not only fail to identify our problems but severely cripple our approaches to solve it.

At this point, I lose it all and turn back to my gramophone -

"...You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one"


Carbide