Day Trippers

Any good chef will tell you, often vehemently, that the secret to a good recipe lies in the ingredients you put in it. That’s quite correct. It’s quite rewarding when something you and your friends do together turns into a ravishing success. The ingredients are few in such cases, but they all amalgamate to make a memory that lasts a long time.

 

Take the recent trip our gang made to Marble Palace and Princep Ghat, both of which are locations in Kolkata, dubbed the “City of Joy”. I must confess that I had no idea that there were such beautiful places in my city, though I’ve been living here all my life (crazy as it is).

 

Marble Palace was a revelation. One got a sense of awe there and it was really breathtaking, seeing floor-to-ceiling mirrors in each room, flawless white marble pillars, the odd painting or statue of a Greek god or Indian princess and of course the immense statue of Queen Victoria carved out of rosewood, which is kept in the main hall. That place truly had it all- those hard to believe things you read in history- sprawling grounds, places to sit in and chandeliers. Walking through the place, one’s mind kept wondering about the many events that could have occurred there. My friends and I were debating marrying into this sort of a family, just to live in a house like this. Funnily enough, I guess part of the royalty’s respect was drawn from their palaces. Imagine a place you can get lost  in, amplify it by about 5 and you get Marble Palace.

 

But the highlight of the day was another bus ride away. Princep Ghat, by the riverside. Needless to say the first thing we kids did there was grab some junk food (Yes mom, I know it’s bad for me. Now shoo!). Munching sprouts, we headed down to the waterline, where we snagged a rather disgruntled boatman and went for a half hour row on the water. I wish I had more than words to describe the serenity of the water. It wasn’t too hot, not too cold. Just right. Leaning back on a boat, gently rocking to the mild current, with the sun making it seem like there was liquid gold in the water and the friendly smell of that tangy air, while up above your head the city rumbles on. We didn’t talk much really, at least I didn’t. I just drank in the view. The water seemed to stretch on forever never ending or pausing, seeming to have a life and mind of it’s own. Yet again, that feeling of nostalgic awe swept over me and I could understand what Lennon was talking about when he wrote “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”.

 

In retrospect, every second of that day was totally worth it! Even the part where we got slightly drenched in the rain, and started cracking PJ’s under a giant pink umbrella. I wonder when we’ll do it again? What say guys?

 

The Bilge Master

 

>>>>> Pic credit goes to Arnav

Psychosocial

“Do we even know who we are?
Living like all life is forfeit?
Like we could just go redefine it, regardless what we broke?”
Poets of the Fall

So, this time last week I had finished reading a book called “The Fountainhead” written by Ayn Rand. It was one of the most interesting books I had read. It was also by far the most out of the box one I had read. For those of you who haven’t read it, let me tell you just this much- it’s about a man called Howard Roark and what he makes of his life as an architect. It’s basically the story of Howard Roark, architect. At the start of the book, in an interview with the Dean of his college, Roark merely asks why it is that they are encouraged to make copies of buildings made of wood in marble and then follow that up by copies of the marble buildings in steel and concrete. He wants to know where the originality is in the architecture he is being taught here. Roark ends up being expelled. Throughout the book, Howard Roark is criticized for trying to be original, for trying to give a building more than just an exoskeleton, for trying to give it a soul.


This got me thinking. Clearly, I was reading about a man who had reached the zenith of his chosen profession. Not only did he understand the principles of architecture but also the purpose of it, the meaning of it. He also wanted to build on those principles, to create something new. By wanting to do that, the entire society he lived in regarded Roark as a threat. They thought he was a freak. They felt he was a criminal.

Where have we heard this story before? Let us look at Socrates. His only crime was he was a homosexual. Leonardo Da Vinci, one of the most brilliant minds of the century, was shunned. Vincent Van Gogh, who is one of the greatest painters in the world, could not sell a single one in his entire life. His paintings are now sold in the millions. Galileo was drawn and quartered for suggesting and later proving that the Earth revolved around the Sun and not the other way around. Because of that breakthrough, so many eons ago, we are able to explore the realms of space today, sending men to the Moon, and rovers to map out Mars.

Doesn’t this strike you as funny? I mean, from day one we are encouraged to set a high target for ourselves, to live by one standard alone- that of perfection. We are pushed hard to get to the very peak of our ability. What happens once we do that? Society sticks a label on our heads, dubs us as freaks and walks off into the sunset. Is that what perfection is? A ticket to eternal snobbing from the world around us?
Of course not.

You see, the thing is very simple. Genius is something we cannot comprehend or appreciate. Genius knows the full range of application of a particular thing, and ensures that it is applied in that fashion. By that act alone the Genius, becomes not a man to be respected, but a threat that needs to be eliminated. A problem, that needs to be nipped in the bud. I guess what I am trying to say is that Society is full to the brim with one class and one class of people only- Hypocrites. They won’t hesitate to exploit you, then all they will do is abuse you. Push yourself they will say. Achieve. Once you do, you are a threat. This is what Ms Rand was trying to say through the book. No surprise then that the book is shunned.

Narrow minded, stupid hypocrites. That's what we share our planet with. Howard Roark realized this a long time ago. He still knew what he wanted to do, focused on it and devil may care about what the world outside thought. That’s the way I look at life. I am what I am, I might not know yet where I will end up, but I will try to use my intellect, instead of mugging up thousands of facts and going through the grinder. Because at the end of the day, as Bon Jovi put it so aptly, “It’s my life, it’s now or never, And I ain’t gonna live forever”.

The Bilge Master

Why Don’t People Just Think?

So I just finished watching the unaired pilot of the serial “Sherlock”. I’m impressed. Not because a fool has taken awful liberties, infact committed sacrilege by even thinking of taking a classic by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and giving it his own, shall we say “modernized view”? you see there are some things that aren’t meant to be changed in any way shape or form whatsoever. William Shakespeare is one of those things. You can have a girl in jeans and a blazer playing Juliet or a man in a tweed coat re-enacting Macbeth, but you cannot have that man insert even a sentence of his own in even a single one of Macbeth’s speeches. Modernizing a classic should be done keeping the story, the dialog and the punctuation right down to the last full stop in place.

Call me a purist. There’s no need to actually, because I AM a purist. While I was watching the episode the purist in me wanted to scream blue murder and there was one point where I considered shutting it off and deleting the rest of it from my PC. But I was curious to see it to the end, give it a chance. Now maybe I have forgotten my Holmes, as I read it a long time ago (and will read it again soon) but I do not recall Dr. Watson having a limp, nor do I remember his brother being alive. Last I checked, his brother was an alcoholic who had died a bachelor. Here however, he has a sister. In the book, Sherlock Holmes figures out these facts by looking at a key. Here the phone suffices. Watson was outraged in the book. He is impressed here.

That’s where I realized what this guy had done. He didn’t intend to modernize Sherlock Holmes at all. What I was seeing was in no way shape or form connected to the detective who sat with a needle jabbed in his arm in a room full of books talking about detection to Watson. What I was seeing was a man, a genius no doubt with superb detecting skills, solving cases. We ALL know that Sherlock Holmes was much much more than just that.

Benedict Cumerbatch’s Holmes comes across as a cynical egotist who is primarily a loner, and is dubbed a psychopath by those of the police force who work (or rather refuse to work) with him. Yes if you want to argue, the modern things are there. Watson has a blog instead of a planner, he has a modern 9mm gun, he uses cabs and an iPhone, while “Sherlock Holmes” uses the Internet, texts, is up to date with technology as it is today. But that’s it.


What this director seems to have forgotten is that the techniques that Conan Doyle wrote about were breakthroughs in his time, that are used by police today. In that context, the question of comparing the Holmes in the books to the one brought to life by Cumerbatch doesn’t arise. This serial is in no way a modern take on Sherlock Holmes. If it was intended to be, it has failed superbly. However, it is an interesting crime series and one that’s worth a watch. It’s just that there are so many of them out there, that I doubt this one will stay with you for very long.

The Bilge Master

Thank Heaven for Insomnia!

 

Weird right I mean who wants to stay up nights? Simple. I do. Why would I wanna do that you ask? Well, thereby hangs a tale. Come, let me tell you a story.

 

It’s been a long day and there’s an even longer walk awaiting you to your bus stop. A long journey from there to where you stay. Well all of this cumulates in you feeling worn out by the time you get home, lacking the energy to do anything but hit the hay. I’m sure many professionals will sympathize with me on this. However, consider this. What happens in each of the three stages of your journey? Do you notice the kids playing in the parks? Do you hear the televisions in the houses? do you realize you are being followed by a dog? Do you understand that as the day fades, your senses heighten, because you feel slightly threatened by the things you can’t see? Have you ever considered opening your eyes and looking into the darkness, dilated pupils straining to make out if the weird shadow in front of you is a tree or the Loch Ness Monster? There, now are you scratching your head? Wondering, “what the heck is this kid blabbering on about? Who has time for these silly games? I just wanna go home dammit!” Well, tell me, isn’t it a better way to kill time while you are waiting for your bus?

Next time try to listen to the night. The next time insomnia hits you like a tow truck, make yourself a cup of coffee and sit by an open window or on your front porch. Everyday, we are told a new story by Mother Nature. Listen. If you listen, you’ll realize what magic is. You’ll be enchanted, enthralled and the graphics will blow you away.

 

The Bilge Master

Skyskapes

Day fades slowly these days,

Basking in the warmth of twilight

I allow my thoughts to wonder,

In the blink of an eye I am a thousand miles away,

Having left my messy tangled up room behind,

Intoxication sweeps over me as I gaze across a ravine,

Hearing the howls of the wolves and watching the gazelles flee,

Slowly, the scene changes and I am aboard a ship, headed for uncharted land,

Not knowing what awaits there, I can feel a pleasant cocktail of fear and excitement

All this happens in the turn of a page,

While my mom wants to engage me in conversation,

On the patio sipping a cup of coffee

And wondering if Frodo’s gonna destroy the Ring or not!

 

The Bilge Master

Holes

Hello Stranger, will you have a little wine?

I want to tell you about this hole of mine,

It’s on a hillside where the sun doesn’t shine,

Flowers do not bloom there,

And the house nearby is covered with vines,

A lady used to dwell there,

Her beauty was divine,

Her skin was snow white, her hair like summer moonshine,

I never knew a lady more fine,

But this story is about a hole; do have some more wine,

It’s six feet deep, and six feet wide,

Filled with earth and twigs and twine,

In it I’ve kept a long box with nails,

And everyday I stop there in that little vale,

And look upon the words etched on a stone,

My only wish is that I could somehow atone,

Tell me is it a sin to want her forevermore?

Come now stranger, let me tell you some more,

About the hole in my heart, that I’ve carried since yesterday and must again tomorrow

The Bilge Master

A Letter

This article is yet another in what seems to me to be a long chain of articles being written about rapes. I know it must be tiresome for you readers to be reading the rants of an eighteen year old boy, but nevertheless, this is what I feel.

 

I read an article this morning about how it’s always the woman’s fault that she gets raped. Apparently, her crimes are numerous. She drinks. She smokes. She speaks her mind on matters which are important to her. She’s got a boyfriend and hangs out with a group that has both men and women in it. She gets up in the morning and dresses in jeans to go to college or to work in a skirt. These are the crimes that have one punishment. Rape. I suppose the times have changed and we must adapt to this growing trend of ours with as much haste as possible.

 

The most recent rape case, no that’s too harsh. The most recent meting out of this lawful punishment was to a five year old girl, who was later tortured. I am told the accused, her “saviour” was later arrested, but doesn’t that make him a martyr to his most noble profession? I mean come on, we must be very thankful to the rapist. After all, he could spend so much of his time getting a job or studying so he might do his parents and relatives proud. He’s truly a great man for being unable to see the women of today  become so characterless and is truly a freedom fighter, using his “manhood” as his weapon in his crusade against women.

 

Wake up my dear policeman and officers who are supposed to uphold the law. You people are there to protect us not to let these animals escape. You have the right to kill in the line of duty. You do not have the right to make a mockery out of a woman who has come to report that her honour has been looted through no fault of her own. But no, I’m incorrect. I must be, or else why would I be reading in the newspapers about how judges in courts make victims of rape recount the trauma, word for word, blow by blow. “Did he fondle you?” “Did he have an erection? He did. Would you say the shortness of your dress was the cause of this erection? Now tell the court if you please, what time it was that he was done with you.” “You say the ambulance drivers argued about whose jurisdiction it was. Can you prove without a shadow of a doubt that you were actually raped?”

Is this for real? I feel like I’m writing a horror story right now. But you know what, that’s the tragedy. This is very real, it’s very much out there and nothing is being done about it. I wish I knew what I am going to tell my daughter when she comes and asks me the meaning of rape. Am I going to tell her that it’s the modern way for society to punish her for being born a woman? A, I going to tell her that it’s a social stigma she’s inherited, by virtue of her sex? Or am I going to tell her the truth, that rape is one of the most heinous crimes that a person can commit. It is a sin worse than murder and the person who does it is not fit to be called a human being? Either way, I'm definitely teaching her to defend herself, because it is clear to me that the people my father pays taxes to protect her will not do their job. I will teach her to keep an open mind, be frank and  to wear whatever the hell she wants to. She has that right. The right to be free. And Society, that’s the fact that you need to accept, instead of this futile drive to convert Kolkata into London.

 

With warmest regards

 

Ashesh Mitra