Ruchira's Ramblings

Is it really the end of December? Where did all the months go? The year seems to have started only yesterday! Like every other year, of course! I am having a mixed time this season, happy with friends, frustrated with university and I hope the New Year may prove more enjoyable for me as well as all of you! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all of you! Wash your socks and clean the chimney,'cause Sana Claus is coming to town!

I had a friend in Mumbai. Thankfully she was safe and we could contact her. Others were not so lucky. And I saw a white pigeon flying by the burning Taj, flying for safety, perhaps. Looked a Prometheun fool to me. I was also wondering where the self-styled protectors of 'Marathi' Mumbai were- hiding, possibly, as 'Indian' commandoes and soldiers gambled their lives to save others. And when would our politicians wake up- after the whole country is taken over?

Nothing hot and happening, really, except the weather. Its either very hot, or it rains so badly that I have to swim in the streets. Well, College Street is flooded anyway if there's a wispy cloud in the sky, I suppose I just have to get used to it. University sucks. Just thought I would wish you all a Happy Durga Puja and Eid Mubarak as well. Live happy. Live well.

It's an extended weekend, guys, so enjoy yourselves. If you can manage it between Ranbir Kapoor and his three girls, do hoist the triocolour on your roof. And yeah, you are supposed to bring it down before sunset, I have a neighbour who keeps the poor flag up for two or three days, sometimes a whole week every January and August- its very patriotic of him, no doubt, but that's not quite the proper way to show it. Then of course I will pray that India gets better politicians who do not disgrace the country at the parliament by behaving like English football fans, and that we get better roads, and that elections be no longer held along the lines of cast, sub-caste and ethnicity, that all the children of India can go to school, that we get more medals at the Olympics, that there be no more bandhs and strikes, that there may be peace in Kashmir and the rest of the country...and when I've finished praying, I'll go back to surfing and telly-watching. Happy Independence Day to...

Sometimes, not so often, but regularly yet The colors disappear. On rain-soaked evenings or cloudy noons My story-telling mind lets me down. And all my selves that never were- All those colorful powerful happening selves I gave myself cease to excite me. The bleakness makes her presence felt Like the constant dripping sound of water Running down an overworked tap. I grope around in the blank grayness To regain my lost fantasies. Am I insane or ill? Why can’t I live as I am? I fear me sometimes- I fear my dreams. And I fear the illusory happiness I run after, My idle imaginations-if they engulf me Or worse: melt away when the future comes- The future of all the extra-ordinary happenings Which I have kept at bay over the years, When it at last arrives and the dreams shatter, Will I be able to live and love? When I finally out-grow my wishful fairy-tales Will I be able to fill in the blanks? P.S: The accompanying picture is a landscape painting by Tim Postell

There was a hospital here, gentlemen. Two hundred beds, eight doctors, twenty nurses. Each single one and all the patients were killed. That’s what an atomic bomb does.” - Professor Tsusuki, a leading surgeon in Japanese surgeon while showing Hiroshima to a team of the Red Cross. “The supreme value of human life and human blood has been forgotten, and human dignity too.” – General MacAruthur, Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in the 2nd World War. Quoted from The First Atom Bomb by Marcel Junod. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ You can’t really trust any notions of behaviour these days. No civil or even humane norms, no responsibility or feeling of duty, no nothing. If terrorists bombing a hospital wasn’t enough- (a boy who went there to learn cycling from his father, a hospital staff, has lost his legs and his fighting for his life, while his dad is missing. And there were other patients too,) our political lead...

This is about the already much discussed Indo-US Nuclear deal. I don't pretend to be a nuclear expert, I do not claim to have sufficient knowledge or expertise to express my opinion on the subject, but as a citizen of the country, I have a right to ask questions on the manner in which the decision on such an important issue was taken. The Government said this was in the interest of the country. The pact was needed for India's energy requirements. Good. But did anybody tell us what would be India's energy requirement in the next twenty years and how much of that would be met by this pact? Did anybody think of telling us why it couldn't be met by India's own resources? Did anybody consult the Indian scientists to ask if we could generate our own nuclear energy? What about the thorium reserve in Ladakh? The Leftists opposed this pact simply because the USA is their ideological enemy. Some others said this pact was anti-Muslim. Now what on earth was that about? If the ...

Last week we drove from Kolkata to Bhubaneshwar – my parents drove, i.e., while I watched the way from the backseat. Sometimes I think that’s my role in life- the backseat – always passive, never taking a direction, just allowing myself to be carried away or drifted with the tide – but let’s leave that aside for now. We started at the crack of dawn- at around 5.20am. It was a wet day, the sky was gloomy and my parents who were taking turns to drive found it rather inconvenient. As for me- I enjoyed the show. Speeding across deserted streets that would be choked in traffic snarls in a few hours’ time, watching the old metropolis waking up to another day, we made it from one end to the other of the city in unbelievable time – half an hour, to be precise. There was the great sacred river with yellow lights twinkling on its banks as a light drizzle grazed its surface. And then finding the Bombay road – National Highway 6, then 60 – long straight roads flanked by green paddy fields, frequen...

The moon was quiet that night As it bathed the snow in beauteous light The mighty peak seemed holier than it had at day- Silent, omnipotent under the starry sky. The houses slept, enchanted as if by the silver wand. Staring through the dreamy sheen I groped for words and failed to think What magic or power had touched the earth, Some eternal poetry in forgotten script Was alive at that hour; throughout ages From prehistoric times.

The moment she walked onto the grounds she knew she shouldn’t have come. But it was too late for regret. She had been hearing about Connections from the first day of college. She had heard about it in school too, about this coolest college-fest in town, but it was a distant thing then. In college, it was an all-pervasive presence. Everybody grew more and more obsessed with Connections as December approached but her family had already planned a vacation to the seaside. The next year, the fest was postponed to January, just before their exams. No questions of coming, of course. When the final year fest came around, she was struggling with a terrible cold and was also feeling quite lazy about the whole thing. She thought about her sore throat and what the outside wind could do to it, and she thought about the crowded evening buses. And then she decided to go. It took a while to find her friends in the fully packed ground, what with the band on the stage at the far end of the ground and ...

Wanting to ask you something, I groped around my dusty days And found I had no questions. Wishing greatly to speak to you, I searched the pages of the book And learnt there was nothing to say. I ran through the entire phonebook: All names were yours and you were nowhere. I deleted the message I’d typed for you. And all my words have lost their way Into some indifferent black-hole.

I know someone weeps within this house. I have often felt her silent cry In careless moments as I wandered by. She has haunted me at happy times Like a vague morning dream. I hear her sigh on evening walks As I search for my fairyland, I hear her whisper with the wind The magic words she writes on sand. She follows me on lonely roads. I hear her singing in the rain. But still I know not how she looks, The story of her secret pain. Meeting an old friend at the street The other day, I stopped to talk. We stopped there long and laughed and talked Till I was on my own again. And then I felt her watching me, I felt her anguished tears as mine, But when I turned around to see Her shadow had slipped past from behind. What is the sorrow that makes her cry? What is the tale that she can’t tell? Why stays she lonely in that house? I knock the door but no reply.

Children that never were, How many years must you wait still? How many of my own lit dreams Must float along towards your shore Before your million years have passed? In what age will the reverie be true? Must all unfulfilled dreams Of Poets forever remain so? Their words haunt me as Time rushes on, Trapping me tighter everyday. In what age shall I break free?

Disjointed Thoughts on New Year’s Eve Time moves. It runs. It races. It flies past. Only I stand still waiting. No crashing meteor comes. Perhaps I too move a little, Say a bus stop or two. Why do I care anyway? Insignificant creature that I am, Why should I care which face of this planet Faces the sun’s same face again? And people sing and dance, The same moves, the same steps, Same words, the same old tired smiles- Cell-phones all over the world Trying and failing to connect. And tomorrow the sun will rise again! I wonder sometimes: Does even the sun care? Orbit Our dear old girl is once more done Her yearly tour around the sun. Falling stars did fall too close But the old girl still safely goes In the same old beaten path. To drink her health we meet tonight. We sing, we dance, we turn off light And cheer her for a future bright. And when the party ends at dawn, We’ll return home and carry on In the same old beaten...