Enough is Enough

 

This is just a guy, like a lot of people saying enough is enough. I for one will NOT stand for this

 

The newspapers these days are starting to resemble horror stories. The only problem is they are not stories they are real. Those monsters your mother told you about when you were a child are real and they are running loose. For those of you wondering, I am referring to the rape cases that are taking place in this country.

Just day before yesterday a few friends came over from the other side of Kolkata and we hung out. They left my house at around 7.30 in the evening. One of them was a girl and her phone had been buzzing with calls from her home for quite a while. She reached home OK but my other friend had an encounter with a pickpocket and got home with a bleeding hand.

Such incidents are becoming common these days, what with the police turning a blind eye to the rising crime rate. It’s almost as if they are non-existent! I can see no other reason for the headlines of late. A gang rape here, a triple murder here and some father forcing himself on his 12 year old daughter. What the hell are we coming to?

Then there’s the victim. Quite often, if the law is to be believed that is, it’s her own fault she got raped. Apparently, women should pay attention to the tightness of their jeans in order to avoid being raped. I have never heard something more ridiculous in my life. The fact of the matter is that society needs to teach it’s sons to behave instead of teaching it’s daughters how to dress. Furthermore, someone who has raped a woman should be castrated and left with the victim’s family for half an hour. The remains can then be burnt in public. Such animals, and I insult animals by calling these lowlifes that have no place in society or in the world today.

Someone needs to tell our gracious government that just because some one has money, it doesn't give him the right to do whatever the hell he wants to. A set of laws (though they are the biggest farce in this country) are there to keep us safe, not to make us feel threatened and insecure every time we step out of our houses.

This has gone on for long enough, and it needs to STOP. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. If you can’t do it, we will find someone who can.

But you know what people? Nothing will happen, because at the end of the day, I am just a voice, in a sea of voices, screaming to be heard.  Will we ever be heard?

I’m not signing this post, because this isn't Bilge. It’s a very serious, very ugly side of society that has reared it’s head. But, it isn’t a side that can't be obliterated. One simply has to have the gall to do something.

That Bittersweet Tang

 

A pulse of memory

A new day

Please stay, there’s a lot to see

Or is it just me?

A few secrets, some home truths

Heaven and hell forsooth!

Perhaps the flavour could do with a bang?

Give it some of that bittersweet tang

Breathe in breathe out,

Echo of a dream

Sunshine, rain, happiness and pain

Yesterday gone for a six, tomorrow’s hit and miss

Today has the flavour

That bittersweet tang

Hey y’know I’m meeting the gang,

Could you pack me a bit of that bittersweet tang?

 

The Bilge Master

The General Dilemma

Ankur Roshan is back and has written about the career woes he had to face recently, with a cricketing twist. Read on people!

I just encountered the biggest dilemma of my life. What I want to be? What's going to be the source of my livelihood? I don’t want to brag, but I am the skipper of the Cricket Academy of Bihar, so have played a bit of cricket, I opted for PCM in 12th from where most students are expected to join engineering courses. Almost all my friends are either opting for B.Tech or joining their Dad's business. I am an avid cricket fan but never thought of it as a profession. I am good at physics, chemistry and maths too, but I never relished learning these subjects.

One fine day, Dad came to me and asked me what I want to do? I was just jiggling around so my obvious reply was "Engineering dad." Dad was like "Are you sure?" I shrugged. I know it wasn't my cup of tea. Actually tea was also not my cup of tea, I like coffee. Ok, that was a drab PJ. Coming back to the point, the thought sent shivers down my body and for the first time in my life I was actually feeling concerned about my future. I took a shower and said to myself “Troll God”, you just grew up!”  You just grow up to realize, life is not as simple as sly comments and sarcasm. When you grow up you realize that there isn't really any Santa but the monsters are still around. If only they were big and hairy; now they're just dark and amorphous, and they're no longer afraid of the light. Sometimes they're the guy who climbs in the window and takes your television. And sometimes they're the guy who walks out the front door with your heart in his hand and never comes back. And sometimes they're the job or the bank or the wife or the boss or just that sort of dark heavy feeling that sits between your shoulder blades like a backpack. There are always terrible things waiting to grab you by the ankle, to pull you under, to get you with their long horrible arms. And you lie in bed and look at the shadows on the ceiling and feel, under the covers, just for a moment, like you're safe.

I wasn't this philosophical by birth, life made me one. My career.  My life’s goal. Now, random thoughts started to strike me. And then it was like the  two parts of my mind  started quarrelling.  Picture one of those Angel/Devil convos if you will. Part1- Optimist Ankur Colour-white, Part2- Pessimist Ankur Colour- Black. 

The conversation goes as

Optimist Ankur- Be a cricketer. You're the captain of state team. That’s really cool.

Pessimist Ankur- Your state doesn't even have any Ranji team; less scope- terrible life

Optimist Ankur- Be a writer, “Bilge Master” once said, you're good at that

Pessimist Ankur- That’s just your hobby, not passion mate!

Optimist Ankur- Be an engineer, dad, mom, and your teachers- everyone would be happy. Go with the flow!

Pessimist Ankur- you never fell in love with these Science subjects my friend, you  don't want to work 9-6 and comeback home with 25k-pm. do you?

Optimist Ankur- Join your dad's business.

Pessimist Ankur- Construction is not my thing, guvnor

After awhile, I got tired of this stuff and really irritated, so I did what I love most- watch cricket.

India v England. Sehwag on strike.  Gonna be fun! Graeme Swann , coming over the stumps to the right hander. Dropped one on good length not that full, it was a top spinner, angled on the base of off stump, which would go on and hit the top of middle stump. As a cricketer you know when it’s a typical first day test wicket, the best thing to do is, stretch your front  leg, get behind the line of ball and  without dropping your arm block it, with still head.  But Viru  being Viru, left the safety of his crease and bang! The ball sailed over the mid on, he go on to make his 1st century after 2yrs in test cricket! I sat back and said, “Whoa! Champion!”

 The area of the pitch we're supposed to land it on against Sehwag is about two millimeters by two millimeters  A fraction full: expect to be driven for four. A fraction short: expect to be punched off the back foot for four. That's Virender Sehwag for you.

Viru's instinct sweeps him away, and it is what makes him an attacking batsman. At a basic level, he must sense that instinct is swifter and more accurate than thought. Thought gets in the way. When batsmen are playing well, everyone goes by instinct, but Viru had that coupled with intrinsic fearlessness. It doesn't matter what the game situation is, who is bowling, what the wicket is doing. He sees the ball and he hits it - for four if he can .Isn't that, surely, a central component of a "good technique"? Yes, Rahul Dravid and Sachin Tendulkar developed more sophisticated techniques that could adapt to difficult pitches. And adaptability, of course, is the ultimate gauge of the ideal all-round technique. But in terms of a technique that makes the best possible contact with a ball flying in a straight line at 85mph, I do not think I've seen a better one than Sehwag's. God-given talent alone - a good eye and fast hands - will not allow you to hit that many balls for four.

The man moved me. It was a big inspiration. I thought about my instinct, my need my passion and what  I need from my life and came up  with a career option, and now I am very determined and sure about what I  want to be- Investment Banker. See you at Wall Street, London in 6 years time. 

And just as I had come to this conclusion, in came Dad. This is what he has to say- “Do you want to go with the flow and be ordinary like everyone else, or do you want to take a chance and be famous?” Guess only time will tell eh?

The Kids Are Alright

It’s Children’s Day here in India today folks! It may seem odd that I am writing about this day, seeing as it’s just a normal day for me. But it isn’t one for them you see…

A Diwali pic I clicked. The one on the right is by my friend Suvra Shankar Basu Roy (phew!) or SSBR for short













Which brings me to what Children’s day means to me. When I was a kid, not so many years ago, it used to mean movies on TV and functions at school. Our teachers used to dress up and perform or they used to take us out to amusement parks. At home, sometimes mum used to give me a chocolate. One thing that was very much on the cards was a day off from studies, although nowadays, that has sort of hit the back burner. Somehow even though it’s been a while since I attended a function or switched on the telly on C-day, I always feel a little happier today. Methinks I should buy myself a chocolate today.

Tomorrow, I’ll be the guy who wants to get into college, with an epic certificate exam result.

Today, I’m a KID!

Oh , that brings me to this lovely advertisement that Hero Motor Corp have made. The song is called “Hum Mein Hain Hero” which means “There’s a Hero in all of Us”. It’s sung by AR Rahman, who I guess needs no intro. Happy Children’s Day folks!


The Bilge Master
                                                                                                                               

Trick or Treat?

 

“Let us talk, you and I. Let us talk about fear.”

Stephen King

Halloween. That one time of the year when all manner of spooky things come crawling out of the woodwork and up your front porch, a smile on their face quipping the line “Trick or Treat?” For your sake, you had better have some candy in the house, coz you know that these guys can get nasty!

Today just happens to be one of my favourite days of the year, as you must have guessed from the way I have started this post. I have always been a fan of the macabre, those spine chilling things that you somehow discover while you are growing up. Funnily enough, my father’s pretty into the daily dose of horror and so is my mum. Howzzat!

                               

Then of course there’s the myriad amount of fiction and lore on this topic. Take Stephen King, HP Lovecraft, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. The list is endless. But you know the best part of a horrific experience? Curling up in bed, after you’ve seen a horror movie or read a particularly descriptive tome and trying to convince yourself that the rustling you hear is just the wind and not a werewolf sneaking up to dismember you. Or checking multiple times for a monster under your bed, sometimes employing your mom to do so, because you are too scared.

So folks, what’s it gonna be? Trick? Or Treat?

 

The Bilge Master

Until Next Year

 

Wake up, toast the bread

Feed the dog, make your bed

Last few days, a blur in my head,

That’s what happens when God’s in your home I guess,

The wanderer in me wanted to be fed,

I couldn’t help but accede to the request,

A new pair of jeans, father’s new camera,

Off I set to capture her tiara,

She’d come with her family, crowned in glory,

And I just watched dumbstruck, like a child being told a story,

My legs they stood by me, even when I got lost,

A bottle of water was what I most sought,

Now I sit, see those pictures of her face,

Until next year when she’ll come here again

 

The Bilge Master

“Nothing is Perfect”

Meet Ankur Roshan who has kindly written the following article on Virat Kohli. He is 17 years old, from Patna and likes his PJ’s shaken not stirred. He is a self proclaimed “geek” and goes out of his way to keep up with the technological times.

It is easy to talk about Virat Kohli's attitude. He is young, successful and from Delhi, a city where brash is known to go with the former two attributes. He has everything a regular 23-year old would only dream of. He is the vice captain of the Indian cricket team, a World Cup winner, an IPL star and currently in the form of his life. And he makes sure you know all that the way he swaggers around with what can only be termed as the “Don't-touch-me-I'm-Virat” look. All of this can be easily seen and easier to speak about. What is not seen largely due to Kohli's outward manifestations is the way the man goes about his game. Making centuries seems a cakewalk for him But you aint aware of the sheer determination behind those bombastic tons. Yuvraj Singh has said he wished he had Kohli's work ethic when he was young, and you can see during practice what made Yuvraj say that. I got the perfect answer to this question last year, on my visit to Kolkata, known as “The City of Joy” for giving KVPY Olympiad. It's a beautiful place to be at. This visit was a day before the T20 match at Eden Gardens, against England. The 2 hours spend at the" Mecca of Indian Cricket" made me give a second thought to the popular saying "Nothing is perfect".

If Gautam Gambhir's eyes drip intensity and Rahul Dravid's stance shows his determination, Kohli's entire being exudes a rare combination of precision and passion during practice.

Kohli's precision is not the mere cold calculation of doing exactly what is required to be done; it seems so natural it's almost surreal. He bats with precision, he takes catches with precision, he does fitness drills with precision, and he even gives throwdowns to team-mates with precision; all the while appearing completely natural!

Kohli's passion is not the uncontrollable childlike enthusiasm of a youngster. He will take several blinders at point during training and go down with a contorted face full of disappointment if he misses even one. There are many in this side that would not even go for such catches in the first place. Kohli gives the impression he really wants to be there, doing what he is doing, playing cricket for India.

He starts by thumping the spinners in the nets. There are a couple of local net bowlers and the three specialist India spinners - R Ashwin, Pragyan Ojha and Rahul Sharma. Kohli hardly differentiates between them. He charges out and carts them over the boundary. He lofts them into the stands. He crashes them off the back foot. Even from a distance of tens of metres, the sight is brutal. Not in the display of power, as MS Dhoni shows later, but in the relentlessness of it.

He moves on to taking high catches on the boundary. He takes them all. He leaps and takes them inches from the rope. He runs several yards in front to take them. He drops none. At no point does he appear to be straining himself. Is this man for real?

Now he takes those sharp ones at point. Virender Sehwag joins in for a few minutes, then walks away. Kohli continues to throw himself around. He goes with both hands, he goes with one hand. Suddenly, he drops one. And goes down as is he's dropped it in a World Cup final. Say what you will about the man's behaviour, but surely he can't be overdoing this reaction.

He now takes over the duty of hitting those high catches to his team-mates. And does it with gusto. Dhoni, who is among those taking the catches, asks for one close to the rope. The next ball promptly arrives where the captain wants it. thats shows that man's character as a person

Ah, he is done, finally. Surely, now he will show that he is tired. At least a deep breath? Not coming. The swagger is back in place as Kohli walks to the dressing room. He even poses for some photographs with a group of Indian fans. Did he smile broadly at the camera? Of course not. He's Virat. He is "Perfect".

At Peace

 

At last I have come full circle,

And the cycle concludes,

The air I have breathed dissipates at last,

Back from whence it came,

As I shed my shell,

I am weary, I have lived my life

Had my share of joys and my pinch of strife,

My love, do not cry,

I have not gone very far,

You will find me here,

We are not really apart,

But for now, let me be laid,

Listen to what the voices said,

I sleep in Mother’s embrace,

And am at peace,

So let me ascend,

Let me ascend

And let me be…..

 

This is the feeling I got as I was walking through the Park Street Cemetary today…..maybe, just maybe it’s true?

 

The Bilge Master

18 Till I Die

 

OK wow! Where did the time go? I mean just yesterday, I was screaming the house down and in three odd days, I’m gonna turn 18!

Brief moment’s pause to allow it to sink in. Naah hasn’t sunk in yet!

And my mother is is still calling me her “chotto chele” (Little kid for those who dont know Bengali.) Some things never change eh people?

So I was originally gonna write this little bit of nonsense after I had turned 18, gotten stoned and thrown up multiple times in the toilet, but why wait? No time like the present eh? Case in point, what the hell am I gonna say? I mean there’s just so many things going on in my head right now!  OK, deep breath!

First off, round of applause for my parents who have been putting up with nine kinds of crazy for as long as they can remember. Refer pic below to meet these two seemingly immortal people.

Ok so the pics are a little old. SUE ME! (PS, hope you get what I mean bout the nine kinds of crazy. Refer pic on right.)

Next up, it’s my cousins, with whom I have had a wild time, since I was about maybe 2 feet tall?

That cake is SO doomed!!!!!

Let’s not forget my dog, who is at this moment drooling on my slippers.

And then there’s these guys.

My first and second loves. Music and books. Am listening to a song right now!

And finally, all my friends. If I start naming them, this post is gonna resemble one of those never ending epics that humans seem to have written when they had nothing better to do than get bored out of their skulls.

So, this is me as of now, no strings attached.

PEEK-A-BOO!!!!!

Yes the spex are a little old. I’m kind of feeling a bit lazy right now. Once again, you are welcome to sue me!

I guess I should get a little serious now so I am gonna be leaving you with a poem from “The Lord of the Rings”

The Road goes ever on and on
down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
and I must follow, if I can,
pursuing it with eager feet, until it joins some larger way
where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say......

 

The Bilge Master

The Opinion of the Bard on the Settee

“To be or not to be”,
A question phrased by the bard on the settee,
Through the lips of a prince caught in a quandary,
Try as he might, his mother would not agree,
That his uncle was the wrong un of the family….
Having killed his father previously!
In life too, this is an oft encountered phase,
Our parents insist we study,
Yet studies contradict and say that it’s a sin to use trees,
That give the paper in our copies!
At such times, my mind reflects on the opinion,
Of the bard on the settee,
Who did but inquire humbly, is it “To be or not to be?”
My friends, can you enlighten me?

The Bilge Master

So Long and Thanks for All the Fish

 

The last few hours have been exhilarating. I feel like really happy now and just cannot stop grinning like the Cheshire Cat!

The thing is I had my maths exam today.

Anticlimactic right?

Maths for me has always been a bit of a setback. For some reason, I never did do well in it. Things just kept getting worse, to tell you the truth. I used to see a sum and freak out. As a result of that, the paper inadvertently went to hell. This happened in class nine, during my ten boards and continued through to last year. Last year, I hit my all time low with my initial score being 14/100 to the score in my final being 9/100.

But not this time.

I might have mentioned that I’ve joined a new tutorial and the person who teaches me is amazing. She doesn’t only make you do sums you see, she makes you understand them. Yeah she has a low tolerance for nonsense but is quite a nice person. I guess attending the classes have knocked some sense into my otherwise nonsensical upper story! Full credit and heartfelt thanks to Ma'am! It’s 99% her and 1% me! 

I find that I am actually enjoying solving sums and somehow I am not getting scared of them anymore. That is what happened in todays paper. I took a stab at the first sum and then just started solving and having fun along the way. I managed to complete the paper with over 45 minutes to go, so I checked the sums and they were all correct! There’s just this ONE sum, a trig simplification that I couldn't get my head around. Ah well, there’s always the next exam to look forward to.

Yeah I said look forward to. Oh and the funniest bit. My old phobia did rear it’s head midway through the paper, like it’s done all these years. Unfortunately, I was differentiating a rather complex implicit function, so I really didn't want to play.

So, sorry man, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to find another guy’s head to mess with. I am not scared of maths anymore. That doesn't mean that I’m going to like ace every exam. That would be like stupid and arrogant.

Mind you, I didn't get as much as I was supposed to. But, no worries. After all, the next exam’s never really too far off! So all I’ve gotta do is

“Keep Calm and FIGHT THE FAIRIES!”

Now excuse me while I tackle my next exam. Communicative English to be precise.

Until next time

The Bilge Master

 

 

Tell me a Story

 

Tell me a story,

Spin me a yarn,

Take me back again

“Once upon a time”,

Soothe these flayed nerves,

With a little rhyme,

Or perhaps you might guide me to

The lands before time?

Around me here, people stare,

Some divide, others rule,

Some choose to ignore and are called fools,

Tell me a story,

Spin me a yarn,

Grow me a garden,

Bubbling with charm,

Let me listen,

To swansong, and give me wings

To rise above this din

Tell me a story,

Spin me a yarn,

Take me back again

“Once upon a time”

This is how I feel, after that night, when my dreams came true. 28.8.2012, Thank you!

 

The Bilge Master

 

So, I dub thee “Unforgiven”

This is a random bunch of entries I had made a long time ago in a diary. I chanced upon them yesterday. I guess you could call it a short story. The title is part of the refrain of “The Unforgiven” by Metallica

5th July
The day my life took a u-turn of sorts. I had come home from work. God knows how I had a job, what with the unemployment rampant due to the war going on. I had barely entered when I saw the letter. I had been drafted. Chosen to fight for my country. The letter gave details as to where and when I was to report for training and ordered that I leave the very next day. My mother tried to restrain me by pointing out that the risk I was taking was immense. I was in my prime, had a job. Why throw it all away, like Father had? She pointed to his portrait gesticulating wildly. I wouldn't listen. I was too excited, high on adrenaline.

7th July

I’m on my way to the army camp. Boarded the train at 7am. Should reach there sometime in the next 4 hours. Feeling nervous, excited and also elated. After all, it IS an honour to serve your country. Am I worth it?

9th August – Base Camp 0500hrs

Two months later, I can hardly recognize myself. I’m fitter, faster and can shoot to kill. I am a soldier. And the icing on the cake is; I have been assigned to my father’s regiment. I sent a few letters during the course of these days to my mother, but she rarely replied. She is still begging me to come home.
Our camp is about 4 miles from the front. It’s a bloodbath out here. We are entrenched and have machine guns covering the perimeter. But nothing protects us from air raids carried out by the enemy. I killed my first man yesterday. Man? He was in his teens. My hands were shaking. I don't know why, I felt a surge of pity. I sort of froze, and he aimed his gun at me. I shot him in the chest and had run on to join my squad. Happened in a heartbeat.

11th August- Base Camp 0700hrs

Trouble sleeping these days. Keep having nightmares. I see that kid’s face. The sarge says it’s just first kill nerves. The camp is under siege and we are trapped. Repeated raids by the enemy. We buried five men yesterday. The hill just opposite our perimeter is our target for now and we plan on laying siege to it. My squadmates and Captain Reily presiding over us to “keep us in line”.  I felt like those soldiers in Tennyson’s poem as I ran up the hill. Our attack didnt work out. They’ve got Panzer tanks covering the area. Once agian we are entrenched. Trapped. We need air support or else all of us are dead.

12th August- Entrenchment 0645hrs

Air support is here. Dropped some much needed medication. People are dropping like flies and our camp is beginning to resemble a cemetary. We lost the Sarge so Reily is now the C.O.
The good news is that the Panzer tanks are blown to bits. We might be able to counter attack now. Waiting for Reily’s signal. Is it just me, or is our C.O. getting cold feet?

13th August- Entrenchment 0700hrs
We are making our move today. We are going to hit those guys with all we got. I’m loading my carbine now as I sip the muck they call coffee around here.

17th August- Hospital in unknown location Time unknown

I do not know what happened. The last thing I remember is charging up that hill with the squad, facing a hailstorm of bullets and wondering if I am going to live to tell the tale. Now I find myself in hospital. The doctor said I took a grenade to the face and have shrapnel in my face. I am now scarred for life. I have also lost sight in one eye. I do not know how I came to be here, or how many of us survived that attack. I hope we managed to secure the sector.

20th August- Hospital 1000hrs

I’m going home. Useless it seems in the state I am in. Got word that we did secure that sector. Some consolation. Reily died but. How many have we lost? I cant remember.

1st September-Home

It’s hell. Everyone looks at me like I am some sort of freak. A disgrace. They wont look me in the eye. Mr. Bracken called me a coward just the other day. They all seem to have forgotten I took a grenade to the face. Hypocrites.
My mother has taken this the hardest. She keeps crying. “Look at what they did to you”, she said when I walked through the door.  All I got now, is that bottle of Scotch. Then they will accuse me of being a drunk.

They all say it’s an honour to fight for your country. They tell you tales when you are young, of the heroes who fell and the battles, conquests. The guts, the glory.

No one tells you what a war does to your mind. That hole it leaves in you.  No one tells you of the fingers they point. I guess, it must be all a “part of the plan”. No one tells you what an utter waste a war is, or how stupid the reason for one is.

Never mind my scars, or that half my face is gone. The real thing is, how do I wash off all that blood on my hands? How do I forget? Will the mothers of those people I killed ever forgive me?

I guess that’s why it’s been a long time since I prayed last……


The Bilge Master

The Joke is on Me

My friend Siddharth Sinha recently sat for the entrance test at Jadavpur University and he showed me the question paper. There was an essay topic there which was something like “True humour originates from sorrow” It got me thinking, and I am going to give the essay a shot.

True Humour Originates from Sorrow

“Life is full of tragedy and therein lies it’s comedy” This was a chance remark I made to my mother just this morning. We have all heard the anecdote about the man who slipped on a banana peel. Our first instinct should be to help him but instead we laugh at him. His pain. Why? It’s because we have all been there. By that I mean we have all been in pain and laughed it off. I guess that is where the term “Grin and bear it” comes from.

Think about this for a second. Why do we laugh when Tom tries to blow up Jerry’s mouse hole and fails or his bowl gets upset by the aforementioned mouse? All the elaborate schemes that Wile-e Coyote hatches to catch the Roadrunner inadvertently end up with him falling into his own trap. All of us have been in splits whenever we see these cartoons haven’t we?

Permit me one more example. There was this serial in the 1970’s called M*A*S*H which was short for Mobile Army Surgical Hospital. It was about a team of doctors stationed 3 miles from the warfront. Each day, ambulances, helicopters and jeeps used to flock to their unit containing mutilated bodies. Soldiers who had been wounded. The doctors would operate for days, “meatball surgery” as they called it, desperately trying to save as many of the soldiers as they could. Their unit was nothing but a bunch of 5 odd tents. They had to be ready to move at anytime because there was no telling when the enemy would begin bombing. No proper sanitation, cockroaches, lice, dysentery and of course death all around. In the midst of all this, some of the best one-liners and other jokes I have heard.
Once again, we find this sorrow playing out before us funny. We can identify with it. All of us have our inner demons, fears and struggles to go through in our lives. That’s why we humans need a little something to keep that sorrow at bay. Call it a necessity, or just our instinct of self preservation. You see, humor is not just your friend cracking a joke about something or the other. Even when the joke is on you. Humor is a weapon, programmed into us that helps us forget the troubles, the pain, the loss and just makes us let it go. It prepares us to face the next downslide. Humour builds up a wall, a dam protecting us from sorrow.

To close, let me ask you a question. What if one day, you woke up and found that all the humour in the world was gone? You would be able to see the sun, read the newspaper, tell black from white.

But, would you be alive? Would you be….sane?

The Bilge Master

Insomnia

She watches the day slip away,

And as the shadows draw in, part of her knows
That it will be time soon….
A wraith she stands, while around her everyone sleeps
She can see what they dream of…..
The banker, waiting to go home
The teenager’s baseball spinning past her….
The homeless guy, squatting on the grass
And the watchman with his whistle….
We sleep, when she awakens,
Standing witness, in a cloak of shadows…
Listen well, for she will be there, each day
Watching, protecting, avenging
So make merry, say your prayers….
And when she beckons obey the call…..
For she is the Night, and in her embrace you will see no light…..
But you will be shown a rare sight…..

The Bilge Master

You’ve Got Mail!
“Inbox (17)”
That’s what greeted me when I opened the up my mail today. I was like “Phew!” Then I spent the next few minutes checking every one with a fine tooth comb (or mouse comb if you prefer). Funny things letters. We don’t really pay them much heed. But, they have their own charm.
A father bids his son a good journey. He is off to Darjeeling to study at a top school. No cell phones, no Facebook, no laptops or Skype allowed. What’s the first thing the father packed? A bunch of envelopes and lots of paper I bet. And thereby hangs a tale…..
 Think of the olden days. The father of the girl hates your guts. So you woo her through rolls of parchment, that you stuff into tiny envelopes and send off either by hand or carrier pigeon. She gets them, replies and those letters, tiny sheets of paper, they mean the world to you.
You’ve just completed college and gone to a major MNC for a job. After a gruelling interview, they send you home saying they’ll be in touch. Somehow things are not the same till that letter arrives telling you that you’ve been approved. Hey presto! The blues are gone, you hit the town, you mom tells Mrs Singh, who brings the whole neighbourhood over to shake you by the hand.

Remember Shikari Ali? He was this man in a chapter I read in class eight. Ali was old and was desperately waiting for a letter from his daughter. Everyday he used to go to the post office and wait for his name to be called. He died, but his spirit used to come to the office for his letter. And one day, the letter came. And Ali was at peace.
Let’s not forget how Harry got to know about magic now. A letter of course! Odd isn’t it? The power a little page of paper with some words on it has?


The Bilge Master

Riding with Vampires in Volvos

When I walked into school on the first day of the session way back in July 2010, the first thing I heard was the word “Twilight”. Homing in on the source of this word, I stumbled across a group of four, who were praising it. Later that week, I found “Twilight” in our library, amidst many other dust covered tomes. (Paradise for a bookworm like me). This is my honest opinion of Stephanie Meyer’s first book in the saga.
A little footnote. I did not like the book all that much, so I did not finish the saga. I don’t know if I have missed something by doing that, but “Twilight” was an unusual read.
The story opens well enough with the protagonist Bella (short for Isabella) arriving in Forks to live with her father. She joins school, but all about there is a sense that all isn't well. I liked the way Meyer described the town of Forks. I could almost see it in my mind’s eye, as if I were walking in Bella’s shoes.
In school Bella meets Edward who at first seems friendly, but has unusual eyes. Gold I think they were. Pardon the lack of memory, but I read said novel a long time back. Edward, at first is quite likeable. He behaves like a regular teen and has this air of overdone self confidence about him. But the one subject that sort of sends him into a trance is his family. He doesn't talk much about them. In fact he doesn't talk about them AT ALL, though they are studying in the same school! (Cliché number one).
Then somehow, Bella finds out that Edward isn't human. He is a vampire. A killing machine who pretty much has humans with cups of Earl Grey tea in the morning and fine vintage port near a warm fire at night. Is she scared? Does she try to defend herself against this? Maybe make a run for it? No. She tells herself that she’s in love with a vampire and goes peacefully off to Dreamland. (Cliché number two).
As the story progresses, we get to meet the Cullen family and my favourite character in the book, Carlisle Cullen. I liked the back story that Meyer gave on him, and in my opinion he is the most deeply researched character in the book. We also have Alice, Eddie’s sister who can tell the future, Jasper, who can control feelings and Emmet who is a giant, with a very soft core. (Kind of loveable really). Another thing is Edward’s music collection which I found odd for a guy who is rumoured to be at least two centuries old.
Edward and Bella get closer, despite Carlisle warning them that their liaison is not one without it’s perils. (Yeah I mean, your boyfriend likes to eat your species!). Thankfully (or not), nothing like that happens and they are by far the perfect couple. We then discover that instead of burning up in the Sun, Edward is immune to it and sparkles. (At this point in the tale, I had to fight the urge to throw some thing at the wall).

Then, though the exact reason for it is unclear, the reader is told that a vampire pack is in town, cutting through the Cullen family’s backyard. And the punch line is that the Cullens and Bella just stand there while these guys march in cool as a few cucumbers and threaten to kill Bella. (Edward of course does nothing. None of them do anything. Why? We will never know. Cliché number three!).
Oh and in between this vampire human love story, there’s the werewolf pack who live on the outskirts of Forks. Jacob Black and his family loathe the Cullens, but they have some sort of treaty worked out. Hence there is peace. Jacob takes this as a license to check out Bella whenever he can, and ask her out too. Bella is cool with this. (Edward once again has no comment on the matter. DUDE. Your girlfriend is getting hit on by another guy. DO something!!!!! Cliché number four.)
I could go on like this forever, but it would not really be fair on my readers, or to fans of the saga if I kept badmouthing the books.
Suffice to say, that as a supernatural love story, “Twilight” is an epic disaster of mammoth proportions. As a love story, it hits most of the right notes. A little passion, a little pain and a lot of problems. It is written well, though the execution of the core idea is very bad. The characters could have done with a little research. In the end it leaves you a little wanting. “Could be loads better” a friend said to me. I agree.
To wrap up, in all honesty, I am not impressed with the book. It strikes me as one of those ancient B’wood rom-coms. You know the ones I mean. The old Anil Kapoor, or Salman Khan starrers. You like to watch them, but you don’t really wanna keep them……
Well, that’s it then. Until next time people.

The Bilge Master

A Century Behind My Time
I remember two stories I read in English class. One was called “The Letter” by Dhumaketu. The other was “Lost Spring” by Anees Jung. I am studying the latter now in the twelfth standard. The former story had a line which went somewhat like “the frail old man walking by, a century behind his time.” The title is a misquote of the line. Let me tell you of a little trip I took today and of what I saw…which makes me say that I too am a century behind my time.
I had to pick up a demand draft for my school fees from Dad’s office today. After that I needed to travel down to AJC Bose Road to give the car for some much needed repairs. I think it was something to do with the brake disks. So, accompanied by the driver I set off on this quest. Dad’s office welcomed me as usual. They had seen me grow up after all! The same for when I dropped the car off at the garage. Naturally, we had to depend on the public transport to return home to Salt Lake. Here’s where it gets interesting…..
Getting hold of a bus involved crossing the roads and making our way to the appropriate bus stop. A footnote worth adding here is that it was around one in the afternoon and as usual the streets were packed with pedestrians. That was why we cut through a local market just off the main footpaths. Let me describe it. There were these small stalls with black tarpaulin stretched over them. Some were selling cheap plastic toys, others cheaper food. Street food, cooked out in the open. I noticed some vegetable curry at one shop. Just a stone’s throw away a man was waiting at a table. Table? It was just a set of planks, nailed to the wall with some dirty stools. On these stools, people sat with platters of food, eating. I thought of the hot lunch awaiting me back home. The new episode of Supernatural I would watch while I ate. The 13800 rupees cheque for my school fees in my back pocket. And I looked at the man who had a small sheaf of notes in his hands. He wore a deep blue shirt. Was it blue? Or had it been made so due to the carbon fumes there? I looked at the little kids, tending to the stoves while their mothers fanned themselves and chopped vegetables. I wondered where their fathers were. Could this man be one of them?
I wanted to stay there. I wanted to help them. I wanted to….I dont know! What? I’ll tell you what I did though. I looked for my driver amidst the crowd and hurried to him. We boarded a bus and we left. And here I am blogging away. And there the man is. Waiting three tables.
Wasting away.

The Bilge Master

Wherever I may Roam

 

I make sure my sneakers are laced up and hitch my slacks up slightly. And then I slip out the gate when everyone is fast asleep and am off!

Pardon me, you must have thought I am running away or something! The above is an apt description of what happens in the wee seconds before I head out for a walk. Walking happens to be the only outdoor activity I indulge in. I used to play in the parks nearby but that got tiring after awhile, plus I had a reputation of biting off more than I could chew. (Read breaking all world records for misplacing bats and balls and what not).

I simply adore walking. The wind in my hair and all the noise of the city seeping in. The wacko drivers who I need to look out for, the weird looking cop who throws me a dirty look because I happen to be jaywalking. But most of all it’s the slow and steady rush of sweat down one side of the body and the steady buildup of adrenaline on the other end. Y’know the feeling.

 

There’s the unpredictability as well! You don’t really know what to expect when you get going for your walk now do you? You might walk in broad daylight with the sun shining down on you. Then again the sun might suddenly get encased in  a penumbra of gray clouds and a steady torrent of rain might fall, drenching you. You might meet a nice old man out for a stroll, or randomly stumble across an old friend by the next traffic signal.

I like to walk till my legs feel they’re gonna collapse. Then when my heart is hammering in my chest and I’m all out of breath, I turn around and find a new path…one that leads me back home. That’s how I always end my walks. Irrespective of the route I took to get from point A to B, the route back to A will be brand new. A new way to get back to square one, so I can start all over again the next day! Call it a small idiosyncrasy people.

 

The Bilge Master

Burning the Books

Atticus Finch used to say that to know a person, you have to walk around in their shoes. I have done that, yet I still can't understand him. And, now I just don't have to, nor do I care to.

You must be wondering what in blazes I am talking about. Who's he? Well guys, I'm talking about my (ex) maternal grandparents. Emphasis on the ex.

Let me take you a few years back. My boards had ended and we had shifted in with my MG'S. (you have any idea how long it takes to type the whole thing). Things were fine. Until October when their ex maid arrived with her son, whose parentage and lineage are both a subject of confusion. But, me being me I made friends with him quite easily. I think I scolded him once, while we were eating fish curry. You see he was blabbing and there was a risk of a fishbone getting stuck in his throat. Hence, I told him to shut up and eat and then chat with me if he wanted. When Dad returned from office, he was told that I had abused the kid and after that had also abused my MG'S.

At that point, I was trying to get my head around the fact that a guy who used to clean my puke off the floor, always have a chocolate waiting for me, put me on his knees and tell me fairytales, could actually be a cold hearted bastard.

So, I stopped talking to him for a month, and made him wilt. He had a flaming row with Dad on the subject of my upbringing. That was after I had smashed the front door with my bare hands. You see, my MG'S are used to being kings of the castle and now they had a problem. Me. More importantly, I saw my MG'S without their masks, revealed in all their glory. However, I wasn't surprised because I realized that I had seen through them a long time ago. A few more incidents later, we shifted house and that chapter remains closed. So why did I write this? I guess I'm burning the book. And to them I would like to quote these lines from a poem by Anwesha Chattopadhay, a friend of mine-

“I have found, that I like walking in the rain,

Just me, myself, and I.

I have found, that I like reading a good book,

Alone. By a warm fire.

When I wake up, I like knowing,

That I’m Here. Ticking inside.

I like having dreams, and plans,

That I neither have to share, nor divide.

Perhaps, One day, that will change.

And I shall welcome a bond, a tie.

But, for now, I’m glad to be free.

And I’m very glad that you said goodbye.”

Yesterday Once More

"I never wanna grow up!"

That there's the tagline of Peter Pan by JM Barrie, after reading which I guess almost everyone feels the same way...I mean what could be cooler than singing, meeting Red Indians, fighting pirates and in general living in Neverland? I remember after I finished the book, I got myself a set of clothes pegs and fashioned a hook, then went around brandishing a wooden ruler...those were the days! I mean look at them...waking your mum at 3am coz you've wet the bed (again), watching Cartoon Network all day, or walking around with a towel round your neck bashing up some imaginary bad guys just like Jackie Chan

Then you enter your teens, the best and worst times of your life. You gotta deal with mood swings, the expectations everyone dumps on you, not caring about what you want to do, the fact that your crush in school's dating, the thrill of hurling abuses at your friends, reading adult fiction when you're supposed to be doing differentiation, forging friendships and saying goodbye.

Your first jeans, that Swiss Army knife your father got you for your 16th. The Boys Night/Girls Night, crying your heart out at the end of Gone With The Wind...

Then you grow up fully, find what you wanna do and do it.

And then one fine morning, you're walking your dog along the pavement, when a little kid of 4 points at him and goes "Doggie!" and just then you remember that YOU were four once, wetting beds and creating chaos. And that smile that flits across your face....THAT'S what growing up's all about...

I guess Chris Daughtry must be referring to growing up in these lines

"Of all the things that I still remember

Summers never looked the same

The years go by and time just seems to fly

But the memories remain

In the middle of September

We still played out in the rain

Nothing to lose

And everything to gain"

The Bilge Master

Exceeds Expectations

 

I started writing at a very young age after having read a murder mystery for the first time. I think it was a short story by Christie. I remember that Mum used to have these classes for students in classes XI and XII at home and I used to be allowed to sit and stay silent, i.e. to be seen and not heard. Then one day, Mum set me an essay on anything I felt like. Since then I guess I didn’t look back.

 

I had copies that I would fill with all sorts of random stuff. Autobiography of an ice cream, the queen bee, almost anything and everything that came to mind I would calmly jot down. Almost all of it has been left unfinished, owing to my impatience. Mind you I am talking like 12 or 13 years ago, so I must have been what 6? I remember that I went through a phase where I wrote my own detective stories. They were half a page long and my weapon of choice was arsenic or cyanide.

Pardon the nostalgia people. It’s just that when I checked the blog today, it had 1000 views and it blew my mind. I never expected that anyone would read it aside from family. That too I had a feeling that I would have to stuff it down their throats! I am just overwhelmed today and I guess I am taking it out by writing about it. Well, I guess I underestimated myself. However, the real person behind all of this would be you guys for checking your emails or checking the URL once in a while. So to wrap up I just wanna say THANK YOU, to everyone who took some time out to glance through the posts here. And on that note, I also want to add that I will keep on writing this and supplying you with more “bilge” to feast on!

Until next time

The Bilge Master