tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8406151466989777352024-02-08T03:29:42.152+08:00A Canvas Full of DreamsImagination is as powerful as knowledge.Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.comBlogger496125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-31479588843754192002023-12-31T21:07:00.000+08:002023-12-31T21:07:11.116+08:00With the Warm Sun on My Back<p><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Life, why do you
wander?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Life, why do you sigh?
<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Come rest-a-while,<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>For the only thing
you do is try!<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>The warm sun on my
back,<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>How I wish you were
here!<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>The pain of not being
with you,<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Life, it’s just not
fair!<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>The gingerbread man
is broken,<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Life, you never gave
him a chance.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>With a broken leg and
a cuppa,<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Look at him dance,
look at him dance!<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Where are you my love?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Where did you go
away?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Stay with me for while,<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Stay till the words
have their sway.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>I wander around,
quiet and calm,<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>There’s a storm
brewing inside.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Life why do you
smile?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>I took everything in
my stride.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Where do the sparrows
go?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Where do the songbirds
lie?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>They never had a
chance I feel,<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Once concrete hearts
willed them to die.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Songs and birds and mahogany
stools,<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>The steel breathes
fire every day.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Help me my love, my
life.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>I can no longer find
my way.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>The song and laughter
is all I have,<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Will you steal them from
me?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>All I want from life
it seems,<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>A chance to love
free.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>It fades, it fades,
it fades.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Memories come and go
at will.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>I wait and look at
the setting sun,<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>My chin resting on
the windowsill.</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-46767443512750999832022-05-16T20:42:00.000+08:002022-05-16T20:42:03.691+08:00Wars vs. Trek and the Man that Settled It for me in 2022<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There had to be a day when I had to throw my ring into the hat and give
my opinion. The truth is no one asked for it but the First Episode of Star
trek- Picard reminded me I needed to do it. The reality is that the debate
between Star Wars vs. Star Trek is a manufactured one by the legions of fans who
will always have their reasons. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Let us start with the obvious. Star Wars is a classic fantasy and
adventure. Imagine a Western in a completely new world. It creates a world
never seen before in a galaxy far far away. But take it away and set it in
Ancient Mesopotamia and Mesopotamia Wars would not be out of character. It is
probably one of the greatest stories ever written encompassing every story arc ever
known. In fact, the story arcs became so powerful even George Lucas had to become
a revisionist and give rise to the debate of whether Han Solo shot first! He did
by the way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And with Disney taking over, the Star Wars universe just becomes grander
and bigger than ever. It is as close to a modern Epic that we will ever get.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Star Trek on the other hand was science fiction at its purest and at its best.
Look at the progression of their storylines. Look at the details of the technology
being discussed. What’s shown in Star Trek today might as well be technology of
the future. But there’s more to that. It’s a story of humanity’s never-ending
search for meaning till one day it will lead to our self-destruction.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Star Trek also differs from Star Wars on one critical aspect. Star Wars
is about a battle between Good and Evil. It is about empires battling each
other for what they believe is right. Imagine Star Wars is The Iliad. And that
makes Star Trek The Odyssey. It is about exploring; it is about the journey. It
is about finding home at the end.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And therefore, when held at a gunpoint facing the Wrath of Khan I would
always choose Star Trek. Unless of course Yoda appears and gives me the Force.
Who wouldn’t want to feel the Source? Unless of course you are a Man in the Wheel
of Time World and touching the source will only drive you to madness. (I deliberately
threw it in to show how cool I am)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But now let us get back to Star Trek – Picard. There probably is no other
series </span>equaling<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> it today on streaming that can match it in terms of
storytelling and complexity. I was always a bit put off by the reboot of the
movie franchisee from 2009 onwards but Picard takes Star Trek back to what it
always stood for. Science Fiction at its purest form. And I know there had to
be a season 2 and that’s why Picard lives at the end. And probably that is the
only place where Luke beats Picard. His bowing out of his world was
spectacular. And will always remain so.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But Watch Star Trek Picard. The world of streaming will see a cash crunch
soon (That’s my business acumen speaking) So enjoy perhaps the greatest moment
in the history of content creation. One day into the future, this will be
considered the Golden Age of Content.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-90725784762921513992021-12-31T23:41:00.006+08:002021-12-31T23:41:55.715+08:00The Hope Eternal<p style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-size: 12pt;">Our species
is a strange one. It likes to believe that all will be well in the long run. As
the sun flies through the universe with its tiny little blue planet, the even
tinier us like to believe that we are invincible, that we are not a
happenstance but part of a larger design and a larger plan.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Even our
most outrageous stories which dare to explore the concept of chaos, end up
bringing the world to an order. Look at our popular culture icons over the last
couple of decades. For every Joker, we find our batman, every time an Evil-Lyn embraces
chaos and wants to let it loose, a Teela rises up to being order. Even our
games call chaos Magic and asks mages and witchers to control them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In our worldview
order is good. Order gets things done. Ordre is the natural form of life and
hence when cataclysmic events completely turn our worlds upside down, we get
afraid of Armageddon. The Hindu pantheon calls upon Vishnu to preserve after
Shiva’s Tandava destroys everything.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If you have
managed to read through some of the older posts, you might see that the
questions that troubled Siddhartha troubles me as well. He however became The
Buddha and I just read about his journey and his teachings. The three biggest
sources of suffering illness, old age, death starts taking new meaning in a
world that we live in today. With everything up in the air, mortality has come
closer to home. Age crept up while we masked up and illnesses became many with
treatments becoming more and more expensive.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2020 was the
year of survival. 2021 was the year of reassessment. How 2022 will turn out is
anyone’s guess but as we have seen over and over again throughout our history,
hope is eternal. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And as
Bollywood puts it beautifully, “If the ending is not happy, it just means the
film is not over yet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So there it
is – another year goes by and when we look back fondly many years from now, we
will remember how we survived on hope and prayers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Because all
will be well in the end.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p>Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-429238233761486692020-12-31T21:49:00.000+08:002020-12-31T21:49:52.675+08:00The New Stages of Grief<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This is the year of strangeness. A year back no one would have imagined
the position they find themselves in. But beyond everything else, there is hope
that lingers on. Because hope is what makes us human. That and worrying about a
future we know nothing about. Amongst our closest ancestors and relatives, we
probably are the only species that worry so much about what the future holds
for us. The big primates seldom do. And that is an evolutionary marvel that
probably allowed the homo sapiens to race through and become masters of the
world around. All that we do is with an eye on the future. Even “Carpe Diem” that
tells us to seize the day loses its sheen after a few glorious years. Because if
something is an absolute in this world, it’s regret.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There are events in world history that change a lot of our daily lives.
Let’s take margarine for example – first thought of as a butter substitute for
the French Army and the poorer sections of the society it became the saviour as
World War II ravaged the world. And then it fell from grace again as the world
attained prosperity. Often, it’s all about being at the right place and the
right time but more often than not, it is about missed chances.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The strangest things however were playing out in our minds and the phases
of grief were playing out in a completely different order. In the beginning of
the year there was disorganization and despair all around. Information was
scarce, the hubris of the human race was at full display and we were winging it
in the true sense of the word. Then came the shock and numbness when we couldn’t
meet family, things went from bad to worse and there would be a glimmer of hope
which would then die down. But we picked ourselves up and moved on to yearn and
search for meaning between never ending calls, the need to head back to work
even though things were not quite the same. Some of us were luckier than the rest
and this was the year I felt we finally began the see the invisible hands that
moved every economy. There were people out there braving the virus while we
kept safe at our homes. We are now in the reorganization and recovery phase with
the hope of a vaccine helping us go through the process to get back to
normalcy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">At your workplace too, you truly realize who you are. This was a year
when the usual stressors at work were mostly at bay because something gigantic
had usurped their places as our key irritant. This was a year when you needed
to find our who you are – at home and at work.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But the truth also is that if you didn’t bother to find that out, it’s all
good. By the time the year was halfway through, Linkedin posts almost made you
feel that everyone on the world had gotten a minimum of two PhDs with all the
time they had in the world. Thankfully for me, I had mentors who told me it’s ok.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So here we are, having survived 2020 with a story we can tell our
grandchildren. And probably given the strangeness of it all, instead of ringing
in 2021 at the stroke of midnight hour, maybe we should pause and observe a
moment of silence for all those who we had to leave behind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">See you in 2021.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">PS: Stages of Grief is an amazing concept. If you want to read further, I
recommend starting with the book On Death and Dying by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross.
It was written in the late sixties so modern scientific understanding has
really taken this forward.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-25002434048433110132020-03-15T23:12:00.000+08:002020-03-15T23:12:09.142+08:00My Favourite Girl<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />Didima’s no more. Today morning at around 7:30 am while the world was wondering what to have for breakfast or where to find their next sanitizers, Didima said her au revoir and off she went. And it’s an au revoir and never a goodbye.<br /><br /><br /><i>vasamsi jirnani yatha vihaya<br />navani grhnati naro 'parani<br />tatha sarirani vihaya jirnany<br />anyani samyati navani dehi</i><br /><br />Almost every child growing up in an Indian household would have heard these lines somewhere irrespective of his or her religious affiliations. It’s a verse from the Bhagavad Gita Chapter 2 Verse 22 and one of the most famous.<br /><br /> <br />It says as a person puts on new clothes, discarding the old, the soul too gives up the old and useless body and accepts a new.<br /><br /> <br />The soul in Hindu scripture is indestructible and I would want to believe that the purest soul that I have ever met would come back to this world. For suddenly today the world seems a little more barren and a little more colourless. Little Girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice, so goes the nursery rhyme. Didima was made of Pure Love. I have never found anyone so full of love for everyone. I have never found anyone so forgiving, so selfless and so full of life. I have never seen anyone with such curiosity about everything in life with a true desire to learn. I have never seen anyone so diplomatic and yet stern and I know it was because her love was unconditional. Everyone she met, she made them feel special. She made them feel that they were the most important person in the room and they loved her back. My friends from childhood remember her, my mom’s friends came down to meet her for one last time. The world stopped for her.<br /><br /><br />Didima was my most favourite person in the whole world and I probably was her fifth (after the 3 children she brought into this world and her amazing husband). And as my Filipino friends had taught me, being in the Top 5 is always a great thing.<br /><br /><br />She gave me some of my earliest books. She gave me some of my most treasured gifts. But most important of all, she gave me the gift of writing. Anything I have ever written is because of her. My parents believe that I got my writing genes from her. People called her up asking her to write something for their children’s birthdays, weddings and sometimes even funerals and she could break into verse anytime.<br /><br /><br />During my teenage rebellious years, I had said I perhaps put Sukanta Bhattacharya as a poet higher than Tagore because of his realism. And I, a veteran of many school debates had been brought to my knees, my arguments demolished, without making me feel bad about it.<br /><br /><br />So here’s Tagore for you – <i>“ami Mrityu cheye boro, ei kotha bole jabo ami chole.”</i><div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“I am larger than death, saying this I will leave”. (From Mrityunjoy – The conqueror of death) <div>
<br /> <br />There are few people in this world who find God. I think she did it. She had such faith in Jesus that she believed in earnest that all that she would ask for will be given. And in her I found the true embodiment of secularism in India – a practising Hindu finding her personal God in Christ. Since childhood I have seen her straddle the boats of Krishna and Christ. My grandfather’s family came from Navadweep, the heart of the Vaishnavite movement in Bengal and her own family Deity as a child was Raghunath – an incarnation of Vishnu while her children went to Catholic Missionary Schools.<br /> <br /><br />Often I have been asked at work why do I rarely say a no to a challenge? I think the answer lies with Didima. I have never seen her say a no to anything that life threw at her. She faced it, found a way to solve it and moved on. With a smile.<br /> <br /> <br />Exactly a year back, <a href="http://madban.blogspot.com/2019/02/the-life-well-lived.html">dadu had passed away</a>. And I always knew that this day would come and she chose a Sunday. The entire world she had touched landed at her house. She caused no disturbance to anybody and off she went on the ides of March. Julius Caesar was her and my Dadu’s favourite Shakespeare.<br /><br /><br /> <br />Can an exit be more poetic?<br /><br /><br /> <br />And can memories be more beautiful?</div>
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Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-11473568269394802212019-08-27T12:50:00.000+08:002019-08-27T12:50:03.239+08:00Nalin Sarkar Street<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This year has been the year of
losses and they seem to keep piling up with heart wrenching regularity. Around a
month back Choddidima, my grandmom’s younger sister passed away. I was in
office when the news came and it just did not make sense. Slowly ties to my
past were weakening and growing up was seeming a lot tougher than I had assumed
it would be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Choddidima was an outstanding lady.
I still remember I was in college and I had called up. After enquiring after my
health, her first question was had I heard of this young writer called Chetan
Bhagat. I hadn’t. She had. And within a few years all of India had heard about
him. She lived to learn. There was not a single news item in our daily
newspaper that missed her hawk eyes. And she loved to get to the bottom of
things. Like most people in my grandma’s generation, she could quote Tagore at
will and there would be always the right song that she would burst out singing
and it was difficult to keep up with her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She was one of those who supported
wholeheartedly my decision to head out of Calcutta for college. She was way
ahead of her times and yet when it came down to checking the right ways to
conduct a religious function at anyone’s house, she was the ultimate authority.
I have heard so many of my uncles and aunts just pick up the phone and call
choddidima before they performed any form of worship, lest they offend the
Gods. It was always safer to call her and be sure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My favourite memories of her
however were through the movies. We discussed movies over the phone and when I
used to come home for vacations, we would go together and watch movies of Shah Rukh
Khan, her favourite young actor. I remember watching Swades with her, skipping
a college reunion. It just seemed the more fun thing to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I grew up and started working
outside Calcutta, our meetings became infrequent. Telephone calls would have to
do. However, I did try to meet her every time I landed in Calcutta at her house
in Nalin Sarkar Street because of her stories. Her stories were a connection to
our family’s past. India has a long tradition of oral history. She was my
historian. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Like all good Bengali boys, I have
numerous nicknames given to me at various stages of life by the large joint
family I come from. She called me Ganguram. And after today, no one will. I
guess that’s how life is. One less person to pamper you when you head home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Will miss you loads<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yours Ganguram<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-17948251619838508382019-08-26T01:45:00.000+08:002019-08-26T01:45:54.058+08:00Finding your song<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There are few areas in life where
raw talent can burst forth suddenly and mesmerize everyone around. Intellect is
not one of them. Rarely do you dazzle someone with your brilliance. Impressing
the world through your capability in Sports is possible but then you need a
stage. But Music…. Music is something that can break out from the crowd, a voice
rises above the din of the millions and transcends you to a world beyond the ordinary.
You don’t require a stage, you don’t require an audience, all you need is your
voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Perhaps that explains the never-ending
popularity of American Idol or its Indian counterpart – the Indian Idol. And while
every reality show has its share of dreamy eyed contestants perhaps none is
more universal than a Singing Reality Show. Today was the Mumbai audition of Indian
Idol at a school near my apartment. And since morning the hopefuls had gathered
around, waiting for their chance at glory. At the end of the day, there would
be only one idol. But today everyone believed in the dream, believed that they
could be the idol.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The lines were long and serpentine.
It drizzled a bit, long enough to make the umbrellas come out, the sun kept
playing hide and seek. But every now and then, there would be a group that
would suddenly burst into a song. The world suddenly felt a bit more bearable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In every field in this world,
there comes a point of time when you hit the outer limits of your talent. You suddenly
realize that there are others far more talented than you, others who are not as
talented but way more hardworking than you and finally others who are just
luckier than you. In showbiz this happens in far scarier proportions than any
other. Even the best fade away after winning the show. Bands become one hit
wonders. A Music Director never manages to get the accolades of her debut
album.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But when you stand in the line for
a chance at becoming an idol, you know that your grades don’t matter, your
status, your background does not matter, you still believe in your own talent
and you wait for your moment of glory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I saw the young aspirants line
up outside the gates, full of hope and trepidation, I knew that in their love
for life, music would play on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-14779488806602533402019-02-01T22:46:00.000+08:002019-02-01T22:46:55.833+08:00The Life Well Lived<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-GB">Today morning
Didi called up at around 6 am. She’s the elder and the more mature one in the
family. And the favourite. So she was told first. Dadu, my grandpa was no more.
3 days of illness and he was gone. Poof. Never to be seen, never to be heard.<u1:p></u1:p></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-IN; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">He was 92. And
as the call from Didi slowly sunk in, I realized I was not in pain. I was sad,
yes definitely but I was definitely not melancholic. Dadu you see was a
superhero in our eyes. He was driving all around Calcutta even when he was well
above 80. When he was 70, he took my cousin’s bicycle and went for a trip
around our locality while Mom kept pacing up and down, angry with her Dad for
behaving like a child. But I know for a fact that secretly she was super proud.
I mean who wouldn’t be proud after having a cool dad like that.<u1:p></u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">He was from a
different generation of Bengalis. Probably the last of our Golden Generation.
True he was born in a colonized India, yet to gain independence. But he was the
generation that saw a new country being born. And probably that made him
different from all the rest of people I know.<u1:p></u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I surprisingly
have none of the qualities that made him an amazing superhero. But from him I
have learnt how to live life to the fullest. I have learnt how to be the most
devoted husband and a doting father and a loving patriarch to a gaggle of
grandkids. <u1:p></u1:p>Whether I will be one I do not know. I hope I do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;">We Bengalis are no longer known to be
very entrepreneurial. He was one. Tried, failed, picked himself up, figured out
what else he should be doing and did it. He could have tried again and
succeeded but he chose family. I remember as we were growing up, on a Sunday
morning we would suddenly hear a car honking on the road outside our house and
it would be Dadu having driven over because he was missing his daughter. And he
got us the potato fritters we so loved. So Didi and I attacked the fritters
while mom behaved like a kid seeing her dad.<u1:p></u1:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;">One of my cousins had married and
moved to the US and she had this strange love of Mutton Samosas, (very
Calcuttan I know!) So when she came back for the first time Dadu had ensured
that the Mutton Samosas were waiting for her when she landed. Every. Single.
Time.<u1:p></u1:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;">My mom was his favourite. She tells
me how they would play with their dogs together. How she would wait till Daddy
came home so that she would no longer have to study and how on a moment’s
notice they would just take the car and head down to the Maidan on an evening
trip out with family. Because for Dadu it was all about living in
the moment.<u1:p></u1:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;">In between he ensured he and his wife
(with or without the kids in tow) travelled everywhere. Last few years they
have not been able to travel; but in their 70 years of marriage they have
travelled all across India. Grandma keeps reciting one of the ancient hymns of
the Vedic texts which the ancients believed made the water in their palms
represent the holy rivers of India<u1:p></u1:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;">Gangge Ca Yamune Caiva Godaavari
Sarasvati |<u1:p></u1:p></span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;">Narmade Sindhu Kaaveri Jalesmin
Sannidhim Kuru ||<u1:p></u1:p></span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;">Anyway, her sense of pride was that
together they had seen all the sacred rivers of India. They always felt bad
about missing out on visiting Indus (now in Pakistan). I hope Dadu wherever you
are you can see all the rivers from up above.<u1:p></u1:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;">He loved Grandma. Actually, I am sure
he still loves her from above. Their love is what makes me believe in life,
family and love itself. I have seen the silent admiration for her in his eyes
so many times. In fact, I think the sense of admiration for his wife never left
him. She’s a poetess, can break into a Tagore poem anytime. She’s written so
much, it’s probably hard to ever replicate. And he preferred to stay in the
shadows. But as we grew up we realized what a powerhouse of talent he was.<u1:p></u1:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;">Have you ever seen the BBC production
of Merchant of Venice? I think Dadu could have done a better Portia or Shylock
than any of the accomplished actors. When he recited “Quality of Mercy” we
listened, in stunned silence travelling from his house in North Calcutta to the
court in Venice.<u1:p></u1:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;">One of Tagore’s best work is his
version of the dialogue between 2 mythical characters Kach and Debjani. And
when Dadu and Didima performed it, you could sense the power, passion and love.
They completed each other like few I have known.<u1:p></u1:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;">I met him last in December. His food
intake had been controlled and my o my, was he unhappy about that!!! Poor
grandma and aunt of mine had to be strict. But he wouldn’t listen. How could
he! Like all true Bengalis he ensured that he never scrounged on finding the
best quality of food. I sometimes believe if he was born in today’s age, he
would have been a food critic, albeit a benevolent one. I blame him a lot for
my love of Mishti, he made my taste buds that way.<u1:p></u1:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;">So I came to office today and am here
still reading my research reports, giving my POVs on packaging because I
guessed that’s what he would have liked me to do. Live life as if there’s no
tomorrow. Do what you love doing. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;">There’s a quote by Pope Paul VI (I
guess) <i>Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that
we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day.
Do it! I say. Whatever you want to do, do it now! There are only so many
tomorrows.<u1:p></u1:p></i></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;"><br /></span></div>
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I think Dadu could have very well
written it. Love you Maharaj!</div>
<br /><br />
<br />
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-33468205641624310552018-12-31T22:06:00.000+08:002018-12-31T22:06:10.989+08:00The Dad-aroo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I am reading Sapiens and
getting really sad about how my ancestors destroyed the Australian Megafauna
and how we are probably the worst species in the world and then suddenly I
realized I love marsupials. Effectively that means I love the Kangaroo because
it carries the baby in a pouch. When I was a kid, I thought being a Kangaroo
kid was quite cool. Imagine living in a pouch, being carried around by mom
everywhere. Jumping around peacefully was all that I dreamt off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So the last one year, where despite
many promises of being regular on this blog, I have been absconding, there has
been a real reason. I was undergoing a major transformation. Not satisfied with
just being a Sapien, I decide to become part of a new species – the Dad-aroos.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Dad-aroos are marsupial Sapiens,
tracing their psychological makeup to sea horses. They are found typically in
parks and malls, strangely attired very similarly in T shirt and shorts. The
sometimes carry an additional pouch on their backs full of cotton harvested
around the year. They carry the young in a pouch in front of them. The young,
known to be completely disrespectful to authority, listens only to one voice –
that of the Mama-roo. Hence it is lucky, that when the Dad-aroo walks, he is
able to initiate a motion that resembles the young one’s time in the womb and
if the young one allows, he can perfect the art of constantly moving up and down
the clothes aisles in a crowded departmental store.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Dad-aroos are quite harmless. They
nod to each other, only pausing to eye the make of the pouches. There exists a
pouch snobbery inherent in the species. Sometimes they also pause to gauge
future parents in laws of their peacefully sleeping infants. But mostly they
keep on looking for the Mama-roo to have her at arm’s length even if there is
the slightest chance of the kid waking up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I spent the last year being a
Dad-aroo and I was quite good at it. Unfortunately, the young grows up, outgrows
the pouch and I already have a feeling how it feels when the bird will finally
leave the nest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So that was that. 2018. The year I
turned into a full fledged Dad-aroo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-71974802902936226502017-12-31T19:30:00.000+08:002018-01-01T00:21:24.668+08:00The Long and Short of It<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">More than 18 months back, in a
quiet seaside beach on the Western fringes of India, I had sat down and wished
hard for miracles to happen. But first I needed to know that there exists magic
in this world. Because sometimes for miracles, you first need to believe in magic.
Magic demands pain, Magic needs patience but more than anything else Magic requires
sacrifice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This Blog stopped after talking
about the western sentinel. The pain started. The harsh sun beat down on
everything beneath it. Mirages sprung up and vanished into thin air and yet there
was the belief in Magic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sometimes Magic can work in wonderful
ways. We do not comprehend fully how it works. At times it has form, at other
times it is just a thought. Sometimes it comes from the North East and is
called Ishaan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sometimes Magic makes a person
disappear. The third leg of a tripod gets broken. The other two wait for its
return. And in a world of 24X7 social media a person just vanishes. Miss you
Bro. Find your peace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Magic from North East is all
powerful. It drains away sorrow, bitterness and pain with toothless babbles.
And yet it can give me the most excruciating pain, never experienced before. It
demands attention, more importantly it demands what’s most precious – Time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2017 was the year when Time became
the most valued commodity. Time even for ‘us’ was hard to come by. But then
when the tired traveller finds his pillar of strength, he knows that Magic
continues to weave its wonders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When pressed into a corner, the
mind works in wonderous ways. For a brief period it went back years, nay decades
when sarcasm was considered the high priestess of wit. But then sense and sensibility
took over. But the joy, oh the joy of sarcastic wit!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Magic also makes you strong,
showing you what you are capable of, making you push your boundaries. Sometimes
there’s a battle for your soul and then you win. It’s majestic. It’s grand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As the year passes on to the next,
John Updike tell me, “Dreams come true; without that possibility, nature would
not incite us to have them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-83975215750448424422016-09-26T01:43:00.000+08:002016-09-26T01:43:37.431+08:00The Western Sentinel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; tab-stops: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Far away
from the dusty, tired roads of Mumbai, is the home of the Western Sentinel. The
Guardian God of the West sits on his mountainous abode, looking into the west,
a fact rarely heard of in Indian Temple Architecture. Our Gods look to the
east; to look at the rising sun, to welcome a new day. In Ganpatipule however,
he looks to the west, looking intently at the sea, perhaps aware of the dangers
that could come our way; once again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; tab-stops: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; tab-stops: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When you
land here, you can feel the world slow down around you. Even the train station
has none of the urgency one can think of. Straight from an R. K. Narayan novel,
the station wakes up to welcome the trains and then go back to sleep again. At
Ratnagiri, you can find the last memories of a forgotten Burmese King, held by
the British, never to see his homeland again. Bit by bit, over the years in
exile, he tried to recreate a piece of his home but it was never the same
again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; tab-stops: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; tab-stops: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The sea is
treacherous around here; but beautiful. The beaches are quiet; devoid of humans
and therefore of filth. It quietly rolls over the sands and within kilometres
you can see the colours change from pristine white to jet black. Time moves
slowly, allowing you to embrace it and feel every moment caress your cheek as
it passes you by. The sea is calm and rolls incessantly into the night, playing
music that can only be heard in silence. The stars come out in the night,
visible without the incessant cover of smog over Mumbai.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; tab-stops: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; tab-stops: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
mangoes are everywhere. You can feel their presence as you drive by and the
price does not frighten you off. The food feels distant and different from what
you would have expected but then this is how cuisines develop locally and if
you can find those small restaurants where the proprietors still make the day’s
serving, you know you are in good hands. The most famous place to stay is the
MTDC hotel and like most Government hotels the rooms are large and spacious and
there ends the story. But the view remains outstanding from every single room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; tab-stops: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; tab-stops: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But
everything revolves around him. Everything, even the name itself, reminds one
of the existence of the hamlet. He is not one who has the riches of his week-long
avatars of Mumbai, neither does he have the imposing architecture of the Northern
and the Southern Gods. He sits patiently, listening to the bells and to the
sea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; tab-stops: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; tab-stops: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Ganpatipule
is not for the movers and shakers, it’s not for the throngs of followers. It’s
for those who want to pause, even if for a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; tab-stops: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com1Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.595793699999998 72.232208900000032 19.5561737 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-23712128764950617012016-08-14T17:36:00.002+08:002016-08-14T17:36:57.057+08:00Punch in the Gut<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When we were in school, a lot of
lessons were learnt during the lunch break in the large playground of Don
Bosco. Fighting for honour was common, so was fighting with honour. You never
fought to break anyone’s bones but you fought to prove a point. Today after so
many years, what we fought on is lost in the shadows of memory, what remains
are the lessons learnt from them. We were an all-boys school so the lessons
seem from another day and age where chivalry, honour and loyalty were all that
mattered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There was rarely a hit to face.
The marks were the most visible and definitely the ones which would get the
opponent at the receiving end into trouble when he goes back home. You also
never hit the groins. The pain is unbearable and everyone knew it. That’s the
first thing you learn when you play cricket and mistime a shot. The kick to the
shin was acceptable and I do not know why because now that I am saner I know
how scary that can be. But then now of us had the speed of the Premier League Players.
We desperately wanted to play rugby but given that no one knew the rules and
there was a lack of equipment, it never really took off. But what we managed
was the shoulder shove, a highly effective manoeuvre that can come to use in
both football and basketball. In the basketball games, it was brutal because of
the hard surface. In the football matches, it was terrifying as the green grass
left the signs for all (read moms) to see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But the favourite by far was the
punch in the gut. Never utilized on the games field, it was reserved for the
one on ones that rarely happened, but if they did, they were always scheduled
after school hours. It was the equivalent of a duel with a loaded pistol. Both
shoot, but the one with the more accurate aim is bound to win. The punch in the
gut was just that. Everyone knew that the one who could connect first would be
the winner. It made one see the stars and the pain was only fractionally lower
than a kick in the groins. The one who threw the punch always won, at least
that bout. And then he helped the fallen man stand up on his feet. There was
honour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But the man who had fallen also
learnt a mighty lesson. He learnt to take on whatever the world threw at him,
embrace the pain, maybe double over if required but then find his own feet and
get up. The punch in the gut made him stronger, over and over again till one
day his own punch would land exactly where it was meant to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And as long as he had learnt how
to pick himself up and become stronger, there was not a thing in this world that
could keep him down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.595793699999998 72.232208900000032 19.5561737 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-73523089388806017002016-06-28T13:30:00.000+08:002016-06-28T13:30:05.804+08:00Superheroes and the Dumb Down Concept<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It was just one more weekend; but
more importantly one more maddeningly frustrating date with a Superhero movie.
Batman vs. Superman promised so much and yet it failed so miserably. And today
as I was reading about heroes, I realized the importance they have in our
lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One of the basic tenets of any
story ever told in the world starts with a hero. And as the world around us
become complex, we realize that heroes are rarely without flaws. Yet we
struggle to find one who is incorruptible; who is steadfast and the one who
will ultimately do the right thing. The question always remains what ‘right’
and ‘wrong’ mean to people who face off each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Superman is perhaps the best
example of a superhero who can do no wrong and Batman is one who like us is
full of self doubts, limitations and is above all, very very human. Superman
therefore has always been a superhero who follows a straight path to glory and
often martyrdom. Batman is a vigilante. Superman follows the law as only he can
agree to follow laws set by others; Batman rarely has few such moral qualms.
His is a more dangerous territory; that of an outcast whose sense of justice
might not be something you can agree with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When these two superheroes face
off, you expect a moral dilemma; a cinematic masterpiece which shows how the
world and its twisted truths pull apart both men who claim to be on the side of
right. And what you are left behind with is a lot of CG and mind numbing action
sequences.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It could have been a great
treatise on the internal conflict of ones blessed (or cursed) with abilities to
impact the lives of those around and yet that never forms the centre point of
the narrative. Even movies like Eye in the Sky with a predictable end could
showcase the conflicts that pull morals apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I think I feel more betrayed by
the fact that this came after the outstanding Batman franchise reboot by Nolan.
There was always a concern about Synder helming this but then Man of Steel
again had to make do with the strait-laced characterization of Superman. And
there was little that Marvel’s Civil War could do to fare any better. They
typically have the most straight forward storyline you can ever imagine. But
then, hope remained, solely because of Captain America. But then you make
superhero movies to dumb down your audiences, rather than to question and to
debate. And the final dumbing down happened with X Men Apocalypse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Comic Book lovers know about the
concept of alternate universes. I wished after the 3 movies that these
universes had not collided. But more importantly I feel we need to demand for
better cinema, if for nothing else but for the love of cinema.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.5957917 72.232208900000032 19.556175699999997 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-80741684859915716472016-06-26T20:09:00.001+08:002016-06-26T20:09:36.052+08:00On the Other Side of my Song<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Few years back a certain TV serial
took Bengali Satellite TV viewers by storm. It had all the elements in place
for the Bengali intellectual; the ones taking their last breath in a century
that’s completely alien to their philosophy of life. The serial was called
Gaaner Opare. It was a clash between the old and the new; traditions and
modernity; almost the same things that every Bengali Soap is made of (if not about
the members of the extended family trying to kill each other). But it had one
major difference; the context of Gaaner Opare was Rabindrasangeet. The male
protagonist was the dream of every teenager going to JU or Presi (Jadavpur
University or Presidency College for the uninitiated). He was a rock singer trying
to redefine Tagore. That’s explosive and he had the drop dead intellectual
looks of his dad; the second most loved “Feluda”. The female protagonist on the
other hand was someone who every mother in Bengal wanted as her daughter in
law. Independent yet upholding tradition; wearing the most gorgeous Sari in the
day and age of Jeans and T shirts and a voice of gold singing Rabindrasangeet
in just the right way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Cutting a long story short; the
show ended as well; thankfully without trying to extend it’s runtime. But
Gaaner Opare left a mark. A few days back a friend with a strong connection to
Calcutta suddenly pinged me asking me about the true meaning of this song. And
I was dumbfounded. Probably one of the most esoteric of Tagore’s songs; like
many of his later works it masquerades as a love song in the grey area between spirituality
and platonic, unfulfilled love. And therefore as the rains lash Mumbai forcing
me inside my house and on my bean bag; here’s an attempt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Original Bengali Genius<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Dariye acho tumi aamar gaaner oparey
x 2<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Amar shurguli paay choron, ami pai
ne tomare.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Dariye acho tumi aamar gaaner
oparey.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Batash bohey mori mori, aar bedhe
rekho na tori. x 2<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Esho esho paar hoye mor hridoy
majhare.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Dariye acho tumi aamar gaaner
oparey.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Tomar saathey gaaner khela duurer
khela je,<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Bedonate baanshi bajay shokol bela
je.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Kobey niye aamar baanshi bajabe go
apni ashi; x2<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Anondomoy nirob raater nibir
aandharey.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Dariye acho tumi aamar gaaner
oparey.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Amar shurguli paay choron, ami pai
ne tomare.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Dariye acho tumi aamar gaaner
oparey.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My English Transliteration Attempt<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>You stand beyond the realms of my
song x2<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Probably my tunes reach you in
their trembling steps; <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>but I have never been able to get
to you<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>As you stand beyond the realms of
my song<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>The winds blow; oh how
beautifully; do not hold your boat back
x2<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Come cross over to the very centre
of my heart<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>And yet you stand beyond the
realms of my song.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Singing a song with you; is
celebrating the song of distances<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>The pain of it emanates from my
flute all day long;<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>When will you take my flute to
play your beauteous tunes? X2<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>In the darkness of the night
filled with unspeakable happiness?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>You stand beyond the realms of my
song<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Probably my tunes reach you in
their trembling steps; <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>but I have never been able to get
to you<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>As you stand beyond the realms of
my song</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com3Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.5957917 72.232208900000032 19.556175699999997 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-73587555482179369612016-03-27T18:52:00.001+08:002016-03-27T18:52:41.339+08:00The Silence of the Stones<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It was mid day and the sun was
bright, directly throwing his warm winter light on us. We were halfway through
our journey and yet it felt we had seen nothing, observed nothing. High above
the mountains of Ajanta, we stood looking at some of the best examples of art
in Indian history. Ajanta is magnificent. And there is no other word that
better describes the rock cut temples of Aurangabad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Often you will find people telling
you that travelling to Ajanta and Ellora is a day’s journey. They could not be
more wrong. Every cave temple has wonders that you can stare at for hours. The
paintings that you see in front of you are one of the greatest treasures of art
in India. Year after year, craftsmen made these caves come alive with the most
primitive of equipment, fuelled only by their passion to create.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Start your trip with Ajanta walk
up the hills, the tourist guides and guidebooks will tell you that the best
displays are in the first few caves. Do not believe them, rather take the
entire journey and explore every cave. Understand the frustrations of the
carvers of stone as they kept making the stones come alive. Listen in to their
hushed silences still trapped in the stones. Listen to their dying footsteps as
the royal patronage trickled to a close forcing them to leave the caves
unfinished. Hear the faint noise of the religious chants as three religions
coexisted for centuries. Look for the intricacies of the carvings; the
brightness of the colours still remaining and try to imagine the interlinkages
between the religions. Forget the babble of tourists and feel yourself
transcend into a world of quiet scholarly studies and self-imposed mendicancy
of monkhood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Next day travel to Ellora. Start
at Kailasa; for nothing else matters. Imagine a giant boulder. Men and women
such as us will look at it in wonder and even if an inspiration seizes us, we
will start chiselling away starting from the front. But imagine cutting through
the rock from above and creating the abode of Lord Shiva on earth. Kailasa
tells us of our own perfection; of the grandeur we were once capable of; of
human triumph in pursuit of God or ungodly vanity of kings. Look at how
Shivaism and Vaishnavism coexists under the same canopy. Once you have made
your peace with the feeling of insignificance make your way to the left or
right. The ancient rocks will tell you untold stories of Jainism and Buddhism.
Look up at the Tirthankaras and the Bodhisatwas. They will smile down upon you
and show you how their facial features changed with centuries.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As you walk away, tired but
fulfilled, remember to leave the places clean. You owe it to your own future
generations for Ajanta and Ellora need to remind us for our triumphs and our
impermanence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.5957917 72.232208900000032 19.556175699999997 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-21230719261948989072016-03-20T20:05:00.000+08:002016-03-20T20:05:04.798+08:00The Brotherhood of the Waiting Men<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We wait; silently. We nod at each
other at times. We know we do not have anything against each other but we also
do know that at a moment’s notice we would be our fiercest adversaries. We are
soldiers, following orders, ready to plunge into the chaos at the slightest nod
from the overlords but we respect each other as we all have been there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We know the young eager ones from
the old time tested ones. We know the ones like me who have been bloodied in
the battles and have laboured on. We relish the moments when we see someone
mess it up so badly that there will be hell for the poor lad when he reaches
the trenches at night. It’s a complex manoeuvre that takes years to hone skills
in and the young ferrets never seem to get that. We respectfully step aside
when the generals march in; their eyes full of contempt at the mere sight of
enemy soldiers standing near the common grounds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The gadgets in our hands give us
some respite. It tells us about the world outside. A world full of red bulls,
footballs and cricket bats. A world where one day we will return after the call
of duty has been answered. But the gadgets often fail when raw muscle power is
required to snatch another soldier’s hopes before his own eyes; my downcast
gaze silently apologizing before returning with the trophy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Handing it over to the general; I
wait slowly taking in the silent admirations of the enemy soldiers around who
have failed to find their exact shades of pink, purple or lilac.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We all wait praying for each other
so that this visit to the trial room is the last in this outlet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.5957917 72.232208900000032 19.556175699999997 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-71002142508102219962016-02-07T09:24:00.000+08:002016-02-07T09:24:18.060+08:00The Goodbye<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Long Long
ago, in the Summer of 2007 to be precise, four little mice had boarded a ship.
The docks were silent, the night was still and the moon played hide and seek
behind the clouds. The ship set sail into the unknown and before one knew, the
stars above realigned and the four little mice saw each other. Each different
from the rest but they soon realized they were all the same in being different
from the rest of the animals on the ship. But that is a story everyone knows!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The mice
charted different courses within the ship till one day one of them set sail,
then another and finally even the third. The last remaining mouse looked on as
their boats sailed further and further away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
airwaves carried their squeaks to him, faint and yet conveying the different
emotions that swept over them. Trepidation, anger, joy, love, hatred,
frustration, fear, ecstasy and sometimes even indifference. The world was
unforgiving, sometimes all it let the mice have were memories of a life less
complicated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The last
mouse remains. And he hopes and prays for Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to
be true. Let the mice indeed be the most intelligent species on Earth. For each
have made their choices and some day each will need to say goodbye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.5957917 72.232208900000032 19.556175699999997 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-87600986978129277952015-12-31T19:40:00.001+08:002015-12-31T19:40:57.343+08:00The Recap<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This year started with a promise
to be more regular with my blog and apart from the bursts of a creative itch
once in a while, the promise remained just that; a promise; shamefully
unfulfilled. But this year was strange in the way it shaped up. Imagine an
inverted bell curve and January and December being its end. Starting on a high,
falling down the slope and then as the end of the year approached, pulling
oneself up to feel nice about the world around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This year has been a year of
learning humility. It was also the year of farewells. Invincibility took a
beating; friends said goodbye. And somewhere in the middle of the year; life
became mechanical. Imagine yourself as a firefighter and noticing the hidden
flames all around you. Will you have time to go and water the seeds you had
planted in your garden? 2015 taught me not to lose the woods for the trees, to
let go off battles not worth fighting for and not allow one’s own self to get
hurt by actions of others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2015 was not the easiest of years
but suddenly somewhere inspiration came up. You realize that when you are
looking at the bottom of the barrel; it’s up to only you to pull yourself up.
Strangely help came from unknown quarters. A little bird made her nest in our
balcony and she refused to give in to the daily efforts of 2 adult humans who
kept guarding their turf and before we knew there was a birth. She never moved.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It taught me to overcome my fears and
focus on the task at hand. And somehow, things started moving at a more
interesting pace. Once you cease being afraid, a lot of changes start happening
to your life. And suddenly you feel free.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2015 was also the year when I took
the bull by the horns and started driving. Inspired by memories of NFS in Budh Front,
I decided it was time to go for an automatic vehicle. However, Kherani Road
taught me that NFS is not exactly replicable in real life and dents on your car
costs actual money to repair. Sadly no one seems to be paying me for a drift well-made
or a sharp turn on 2 wheels! And more importantly the one who always rides shot
gun if she is not at the wheels refuses to allow even the least transgression while
driving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Most importantly I managed to
read. I realized that the number of books I read in a year was going down in
sync with the number of blog posts I upload. 2015 changed that. 30 books along
with numerous articles and treatises on marketing and strategy is not a bad way
to sum up the year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2016 will be tough as well. And that’s
how Life will be for us in our thirty somethings. The occasional memories of
the future that could have been will tug at heart strings but the war will rage
on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Going in one more round when you don’t think you can – that’s what makes
all the difference in your life.” – Rocky Balboa<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></i></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com1Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.5957917 72.232208900000032 19.556175699999997 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-34756920968463339582015-12-24T20:25:00.000+08:002015-12-31T19:43:22.829+08:00Silent Night<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It’s a few hours till Christmas;
arguably the second on my all-time favourite festival list. And yet, this
Christmas feels strange. For the first time in years, Mumbai has cooled down to
take me back to my growing years in Calcutta. Bru Café has launched the
Christmas Plum cake. And a lot of bakeries are trying hard to make me forget
the taste and nostalgia of Nahoum. But I still am not jolly. And on Christmas,
without fail, you need to be jolly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I probably will miss going to a
midnight mass this year. I probably will miss listening to Christmas carols.
There are a list of ads I need to see before the day is out and I shut down my
laptop. It’s almost six and I should be shutting it down and watch the sun set
over Mumbai. Long long ago, it is believed that a star was seen in the sky. I
should be searching for that star tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I sit, I can hear the singing
in the mosque nearby celebrating the birth of another prophet. The world always
celebrates life; never death. It celebrates in birth; mourns in death and yet
between the cycle of life and death we play our small games; day in and day
out. Sometimes the futility of it all is striking. A friend recently said, “gain
experiences.” Noble thoughts but what are experiences but a display of
showmanship when advertised on social media?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The sun is a brilliant hue of orange,
the birds are returning home. Somewhere a bard may still be strumming his
guitar for a new song. It’s Christmas and I want to pause. And reflect and yes
have my plum cake. But those seem futile when your mind keeps humming
discordant notes. Is there light somewhere, anywhere?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Saviour and King, they tell me, was born in a manger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.5957917 72.232208900000032 19.556175699999997 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-3887802965747058432015-09-18T16:12:00.000+08:002015-09-18T16:12:11.726+08:0010 Years of IIMB<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Somehow, unknown to me, a life
event passed by, silently, without much fanfare I associate with such dates.
Sometime back it was the 10<sup>th</sup> anniversary of a fresh graduate
stepping into the strange world of management education. The call was to study
for two more years. The call was also to postpone the inevitable employment for
two more years. But what IIMB did to me was more than just that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Don Bosco and Calcutta had given
me my moral fibre and the very foundation of who I am - with my idiosyncrasies,
my mannerisms, my accent and maybe even my ideologies. BITS Pilani took all of
that, took me as a person and threw me into a cultural cauldron, something I
had never witnessed before. I embraced it and before I knew it, it made me
ready for the world outside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But IIMB? IIMB was different. IIMB
made me find my love. And like all true love, it did not come easy. I spent a
year searching for what made me happy, till one day, while attending a lecture
I knew I had found it. I really believe in the “Conspiracy of Universe” Theory
and therefore what happened in the second year at IIMB would not be any less
exciting than a fairy tale. While Year 1 was about surviving with the help of
phone calls from Pilani and Bangalore, year 2 was all about taking the devil by
its horns and facing it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And the only thing I took away
from college? Never stop learning. It sounds grandiose but it’s true. The
biggest bane of anyone in the marketing industry is the curse of the
“know-it-all”. I call it at times the “been there done that” syndrome. It
essentially attacks as you grow older, when you believe that you have seen it
all! The tragedy is that situations repeat and yet they are never the same.
It’s critical therefore to ensure that you know your basics and never forget
them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If I have been invited to a
college to speak, I cringe when I hear wrong definitions of basic marketing
terms. I feign ignorance when asked to decide between two decidedly wrong
theories. I apparently fainted when evaluating case studies recently submitted
in a competition. But then they are still better than the consultant friend who
calls whenever he has a client with a marketing challenge<i>. “Dude. Still selling soap? Ha Ha Ha. Listen have a marketing query. I
am recommending XYZ. Should I call it a line extension or a brand extension?
You marketing guys. Love to make things complicated. Ha ha ha” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Whenever caught in any of these
situations, the only things that keep running in my mind is either “Schiffman
Kanuk, Schiffman Kanuk”, or “Kumar Kumar Kumar”. It’s like performing an
exorcism on myself to defend against the demons of incomplete knowledge. And
then I go home and read a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You may call me weird but I have
often found a hard bound copy of Aaker to be more therapeutic than banging my
head against my desk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Anyway, you might have got the
gist. I love my job. I love creating stories. I get angry when someone makes
better stories than me. And then I applaud and get down to work even harder.
That’s what IIMB gave me. I think often people in my situation get the creation
bug. And they become entrepreneurs. In the last 8 years or so, I have created
three stories. While the credit for that is not just IIMB but my organization
(SNDU in case you have forgotten – Sabun, Nakhun and Datun Unlimited) too, the
genesis has to be IIMB.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2017 would be my 10<sup>th</sup>
employment anniversary and also the 10<sup>th</sup> anniversary of the Class of
2007. It would be a good time to pause and reflect. Today I can just be
thankful for the opportunity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Schiffman, Kanuk, Kumar. Om Shantih
Shantih Shantih”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com1Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.5957917 72.232208900000032 19.556175699999997 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-14616845412571388392015-09-05T21:34:00.003+08:002015-09-05T21:34:54.275+08:00Despise the Bully<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I was in school, I had been
taught “Hate the sin, not the sinner.” Years of studying the Bible taught me
never to throw stones at others, as none of us could claim to have not sinned.
When you grow up reading religious texts, mythologies and a spattering
philosophical discourses, you realize the world is grey and not a simple
tapestry of black and white.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But since the day I had stepped into
school, I knew one thing instinctively in my heart, when you see a bully, “TAKE
NO PRISONERS.” Two things helped. First, relative size was an automatic
deterrent. Second, being the teacher’s pet, class monitor and the first boy
ensured that I had a voice. And when you have a voice, you exercise it. It’s a
duty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The problem with duty is that
other factors come into play making the choices really really difficult. Morality,
friendship all get entangled into a mishmash of right and wrong. And you start making
the choices. I have been incredibly lucky to have teachers who accepted my
choices and taught me to live with them and face their consequences. It also
helped that mom knew everything. But more about that, some other day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In school handling bullies became
easier as I grew up. It took guts to stand up to the boys in the Senior School
but once you do that, there’s no stopping back. Once you take a stand, it’s
final and maybe lose a few friends in the process. But the fact, that you have
the gumption to take a stand slowly steels you to your very core.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I went to college, bullying
had reached new levels. For the first time I saw class distinctions being used
to bully. Supposed Intellectual superiority (based on things as flimsy as
knowing the name of a particular author) was used to bully. Regional Majority
came through as group bullying. That’s the reason why I have always been
sceptical of ragging. Ragging forces discipline through hierarchy, ragging forces
social bonding through conformity and therefore ragging is no better than
bullying. And it pained when later I heard juniors who had been saved from
bullies, turn into the very same monsters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Bullies are cowards, bullies are
weak, bullies suffer from an inferiority complex. And the funniest part?
Bullies NEVER have the gall to punch above their weight. I have never seen a
self-assured individual ever resort to bullying those under him or her. It has
always been someone who feels that a point has to be made, someone who knows
his/her inferiority in relation to others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">All through my life, whenever I
have faced bullies, I have taken a stance against them, all but one. And every
time I remember the incident, I know how that moment of indecision had failed
to stop further instances. I was scared. I had been bullied. And then I had
made a commitment – never again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The reason I feel compelled to
write this is because I see so many profiles of proud parents with their kids
on my social media page. My nephews and nieces are growing up and have faced
bullies as early as in kindergarten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">All I want to say is that we have
choices – not to be bullied and neither become one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hate is a strong emotion. I know I
am not capable of something as strong. But if you can, every single time you
meet one, despise the bully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.5957917 72.232208900000032 19.556175699999997 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-69265006072905919662015-09-03T14:33:00.000+08:002015-09-03T14:33:50.062+08:00The Train<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I love travelling in the train.
Cars make me sleepy and worried about the driver sleeping off. Planes make me
feel squishy and uncomfortable and pray for a boom in the deodorant industry.
Trains, on the other hand, are cool. Well yes, the bathrooms could have been
better, the seats could have been more comfortable and most importantly the co
passengers a little quieter but trains give me something which no other mode of
transport can provide at the cost – a time to think, reflect and eat. As I write
this, I am crossing a station called Gondal. I do not think Life will ever
bring me again to Gondal, but the fact is today I am here, at this moment at
Gondal. Maybe the last time when Gondal was mentioned so many times in an
article was when the kids at the school in Gondal were asked to write an essay
on Gondal. (Btw Google told me later that Gondal was once a princely state)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Now enough of Gondal. I checked
already, the food at the station was nothing great to bring to the wife
sleeping on the bunk above.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Our fascination with trains
started in Europe, where strangely we got flight tickets at a much cheaper cost
than train tickets and suddenly had a new found respect for trains. A failed
attempt to board the Palace on Wheels made our resolve even stronger. And then
we fell off the social ladder and from being NRIs became your average Indian,
two amongst our 1.2 bn. And we Indians, we love our trains, so much so that we
paint the sides of every single coach red, with our Beatle leaf stains.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After 2 years of jet setting
around Europe and South East Asia, we realized that we needed slower holidays.
Ones where you could stop at a countryside in Punjab and do the DDLJ pose
(still pending) without worrying about missing the bus or an amused shaking of
the head of a French taxi driver. Another thing cropped up during a debate on
our next destination. We figured that while we have admired the Thai Buddhist
monuments, neither of us have ever seen Bodhgaya. That started the “See India”
movement in the family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Thanks to the distances between
Mumbai and the really off the road places that we pick to visit, one of the
world’s largest rail network is often the only way to reach. Even otherwise,
trains might take longer but at our stage in life, the journey is as much a
part of travel as the destination itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Trains show me the Indian
countryside. The flamboyance of greenery, the ruggedness of the dry, arid
mountains, the squalor of the small towns, the prosperity of the villages, the
children heading to school on their cycles, the farmer tilling his lands,
everything makes me connect to an India that I want to know and yet feel far
away from. And once you know where to look, you get to see the differences in
the greenery, you get to read the body language of the people waiting at an
unmanned crossing, you see the hope for the future of your nation, you also see
the pitfalls. And you learn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Neither of us are picky. We travel
light and therefore we jump on any compartment we get our hands on, rather
IRCTC allows us on. So we have sat elbowing our way in a sleeper to get a cup
of tea to the first class coupe where a banquet was spread out for us. And that
allows us to meet people. No research reports make you understand SECs better
than travelling in a train. In my honest opinion, a 12 hour train journey can
be as rewarding as an in depth qualitative research. The train journeys help me
understand India better than sitting at my desk. It shows me what Indians (if
such a generalized term exists) are thinking, how they are speaking, what they
are eating (always) or reading (rarely these days as they are always playing a
version of temple run on their phones) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We have met exciting characters.
Drunk Jats who want to discuss politics, angry Tamilians abusing every specimen
of North Indian food, Gujjus who have bought enough food to feed the whole
train and the occasional bong who will come and speak to you as soon as he
hears a syllable of his mother tongue. Honestly, this is where you can grab the
pulse of the nation – something the Indian tweeteratti will never know; at
least not yet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There’s another reason I love
travelling on a train. It is the food I find at the stations. The best vadapav
for example is found in stations just before you enter Goa and not in Mumbai as
you would imagine. The chole kulche of Kanpur and Bareilly Stations still
linger on in my mouth and the veg patties at the small halt en route to Shimla
in the quaintest of stations can give any bakery in a metro a run for their
money. The only places where I have felt cheated are at Burdhwan in Bengal
where the famous Sitabhog and Mihidana found at the station is almost always
sub-par and. But then Bengali sweets are the most delicate food items after
sushi. The second is Ahmedabad. I just don’t understand why Ahmedabad can’t
have good food. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Anyway, I wait for Rajkot as I
write. The dhoklas at the station can be quite amazing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.5957917 72.232208900000032 19.556175699999997 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-60194740062295649132015-07-26T20:27:00.001+08:002015-07-26T20:27:50.319+08:00#LikeaGirl<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Over the years, I have worked
extensively with kids both as a professional requirement when I was developing
products that would be right for the kids and as a volunteer when we went about
teaching basic tenets of hygiene to kids.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Every single time I had walked
into a consumer group, or in a classroom, one thing always amazed me. The girls
outshone the boys. Every single time. When I visit the crèche at our office
during the evenings; often to get away from the incessant emails and relive my
childhood; I find the girls totally taking control. And it looks amazing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">However, as they grow up something
happens. Often in countries like India, it is economical. The ‘future bread
winner’, the ‘son’ continues his education while the daughter is asked to stay
at home. And the bright sparks slowly die out. That is easily corrected and I
am sure will be corrected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But as I worked in other markets
outside India, I saw this trend too. At times, I thought that bullies were to
blame. And because of genetics, bullies usually would be boys. (Remember Calvin?
For all intents and purposes, in my mind, Calvin was a bully). But that idea
did not bear fruit. Young girls figure out the bully in the gang and often
ensure they are taught a lesson. So it could not be that genetically stronger boys
bully girls in school which make girls change their behaviour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There had to be something else. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I started reading up on
psychology. Some patterns emerged. Societal stereotypes often make kids choose
their calling. The colours pink and blue are a classic example. There are no
pink shorts for boys and only the rare blue frock for girls when you go shopping.
The balloons in the birthday party are always gender coloured. As a result, we
start conditioning kids at an early age. Some of it also is genetic. One of
them is the natural caregiver, the other is ‘supposed to be’ the gatherer.
Therefore there are careers where one would be suited perfectly based on
gender. But then, that’s a generalization. And more importantly, generations of
conditioning allows the caregiver to be the provider but rarely vice-versa. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yesterday I found perhaps one of
the most plausible explanations for this change. Puberty. And it fits my own
observations for the past 8 years. Stereotypes come into play even more than
they ever did and slowly kids who never thought that they were any different
than boys, begin to act differently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Watch the <a href="https://youtu.be/XjJQBjWYDTs" target="_blank">video</a>, it’s really
interesting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And remember to tell your
daughters, nieces, any kid you might know that’s it’s awesome to be #LikeaGirl<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.5957917 72.232208900000032 19.556175699999997 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-82396012022280327862015-06-13T22:58:00.000+08:002015-06-13T22:58:28.207+08:00The Supremacy Debate<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Over the years, the debate has
been on. Which is the best mango around the world. India loves her mangoes. We
produce the world’s highest number of mangoes and export as little as we can
since we just eat up most of our produce. I love such passion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">No one can be more passionate
about mangoes than Bengalis. And Bengal knows her mangoes. Any true Bengali
will tell you that only 2 districts in this world produce the world’s best
mangoes. Malda and Murshidabad. Everyone else is just a hopeful imposter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Ever since I was a child, I have
been well trained to identify mangoes and their unique tastes. Even though we
fall in the category of the “Mango People” or the commoners, in terms of mango
we developed rich and cultivated tastes. Every year we would start in early
May, getting irritated with every bite of the first batch of mangoes that would
come to Calcutta. Suddenly, people would remember long lost relatives in
Murshidabad and Malda. In fact legend has it that I was given away in marriage
after strong evidence of Ze Wife’s Grandma’s outstanding culinary skills in
making mango pickle. Though this theory is strongly refuted by all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And that’s not surprising. I
remember the day when I was sent off to far away Muzaffarpur, both my grandmas
called me up to say that I was going to the land of litchis!!! No farewell, No “take
care of yourself”, not even, “Don’t get married without letting us know!”.
Plain and simple I was told of litchis. Only later while I had worked on Foods
for a long period of time, I realized the importance of provenance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I grew up in the summer months of
Calcutta eating everything possible that can be made of mangoes in various
stages of ripeness. Apart from the whole mangoes, there were pickles, chutneys,
sherbets, sweets, puddings, custards and even lentils!!! It was perhaps the
only time a self-respecting Bong Household would serve something other than
Rosogolla and Fish Fry when people came unannounced.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And as a child, every single year I
waited for the Himsagar to arrive!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Last year was the first year of my
life when I did not have Himsagar. Maybe it was work, maybe it was an effort to
like Alphonsos and treat Badami with some respect that made me wait for
Himsagar till I found the entire West of India has not even heard of them. In
fact, Langras are also a rarity. Then one day, I found this one vendor from Bihar
who said, “Sir, aap jaisa aam ke samajhdaar kahan milte hain aajkal? Yahan log
sirf yahan ke aam hi khate hain” He did sell me litchis at a fleecing price of
10 USD per KG but then if you are called a connoisseur, you end up paying!!! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Ze Wife has the bloodline to
understand mangoes. So with her for the last few years we have gone ahead and
tasted mangoes from outside India. And we feel today like the protagonist of
The Alchemist! The Thai mangoes are good only with the sticky Jasmine rice. The
ones from Cebu (in the Philippines) are passable at best, and the lesser said
about the Chinese varieties, the better. Today my sister started crying on FB
saying my niece has to satisfy her love for mangoes with Mexican mangoes which
are pretty sour. Can you beat that? Mexican? I am still in shock. So after travelling
around the world, and eating almost everything of note except the Spanish
mangoes, I have decided it is Himasagar that my heart desires.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Even after this realization, this
year, we took it upon ourselves to try every variety of mangoes available in
Mumbai but nothing seems to satisfy. Lalbag, Totapuri, Alphonsos, Badami,
Kesar, Dasheri, nothing!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Today we finally found some decent
langras. And as we were biting into the softness and the sweetness, the evil
plan was hatched. Do you know which is the only district that can come close to
Malda when it comes to Himasagar? The answer my friend is Rajshahi. And I shall
say no more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com2Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.5957917 72.232208900000032 19.556175699999997 73.52310290000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-840615146698977735.post-32476191522349192892015-05-25T11:45:00.000+08:002015-05-25T11:45:07.398+08:00The Beginning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It is said that every beginning
starts with an inspiration – sometimes human, sometimes divine. And probably
this beginning required a divine one. Somewhere in the hills of Himachal, I
suddenly realized that it was perhaps time to write more about travel.
Himachal, the abode of the Gods, made me realize how travelling makes one a
better human being, how travelling together makes you love one another even
more. Sometimes, travelling is all the succour a parched soul needs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Himachal is breathtakingly
beautiful. The walks through the villages, the silence of the apple orchards,
the cakes from the bakeries that call themselves ‘German’ all add to the quaint
beauty of Himachal. From the touristy mall road of Shimla to the quiet of
Mashobra, from the snowy caps of Solang Valley, to the roaring waters of the
Beas. Himachal beckons you with all the glory of nature.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">However, nature can also be
devastatingly beautiful. For us, Manali would be always be remembered for the
fury of nature at her full glory. As we rafted down the rapids of the Beas, the
clouds broke and Beas reciprocated in full. She was angry and her anger grew as
she tossed and turned the puny humans trying to keep their raft afloat on her
current. When we finally got to the shore, nature had taught us a lesson we
would never forget.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Himachal is at the cusp of a
change. Civilization is slowly catching up and the green of the valleys slowly
are giving way to more and more real estates. The appetite of Delhi for a
second home is slowly beginning to spread to both Himachal and Uttarakhand and
as the number of tourists increase, so does the trampling of nature by those
who for generations had kept it safe. The Palace of the Kullu kings showcase
how you can be one with nature and yet build something substantial. But no
longer. The palace is now a hotel, while the administrative capital has shifted
to Shimla.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">New roads, new dams, electricity,
schools all spring up as they should. So does new hotels, guest houses and summer
residences. And often without a second thought about nature herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It does feel at times that more
than anything else, Himachal is about Gods. Hindu mythology comes alive in
every pebble and every stream that flows through the mountains. The sages of
Hindu scriptures have all left their marks across the springs and often you
wonder if the seven immortals of Hinduism will suddenly come forth from behind
the ageless trees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The hills and villages have their
own travelling Gods and they move from village to village ensuring that no harm
comes to the villages. The Mega Gods of Hinduism are revered as well but what
sets Himachal apart are these unique Gods. The Village Gods sit in council as
well and take a decision based on what’s best for the villages. And then they
travel back. At times, there are no roads to these villages and the Gods sit on
their own unique ropeways and travel upwards to their destination while their
bearers trudge the tricky mountainous terrains.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Shimla herself has the Bengali
Kali Bari and the Shimla Church. Ages ago, two communities had made Himachal
their home. The Bengalis worshipped the Mother Goddess and the British
worshipped Mother Mary in their summer residences. And when you walk in to
their hallowed halls you can hear history whispering into your ears. And then
far away from Bengal if you miss your food of home, just walk down the steps of
the Kali Bari where even today a Bengali can find his heart’s desire of home
cooked food.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Close to the Himalayas, you are
never away from the divine.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Madhurjya (Banjo) Banerjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07601876150654024911noreply@blogger.com0Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.87765590000003618.5957917 72.232208900000032 19.556175699999997 73.52310290000004