"The ones that love us never really leave us"

"Do you miss your son?"

"Yes". 

In the beginning,
she said yes because her son was murdered overseas at a place where she could not protect him. 

She said yes, because your son isn't supposed to go before you, that's just not the way life is supposed to happen.

She said yes, because Tom was a brave kid, so daring, so young. 

She said yes, because her son had gone, never to come back, until the haunting memories of his funeral would obscure her dreams.

She said yes maybe a thousand times as millions of people, lovers and strangers thronged her house over and over again. Her house was stocked with so much food that would last her the whole of the year. Or maybe two.  She had flowers so many that she didn't know what to do with them. Cards expressing love, sadness and memories of the fondest kind. She even had awkward conversations with the kids that lived on her street, their mothers forcing them to check up on her every other day. 

Then came the day of the funeral. The first time she had cried in the stillness of the night as she had set the time for the memorial pretty late; telling no one of the secret memorial she performed at the quaint, shady spot at the nearby park. Somewhere where Tom would be blessed with knowledge, somewhere where she could silently tiptoe to talk sweet nothings to all that was left of him. An aesthetically engraved stone of his name and a patch of green filled with white daises he had always loved.

Time passed as she slowly turned older. Every year she would reach that same spot she picked out for him with a bunch of wild daises in hand. One more year accomplished. One more year set. One more year of solitude, seclusion, isolation.

Years have passed since. One last time she was asked by the local newspaper reporting of Tom's unexpected death 20 years back. For the final time, "Do you miss your son?" A silent pause followed by a silent denial.

In the end,
She said no; because her son was murdered overseas at a place where she could not protect him, he had gone knowing what to expect, doing a job he had loved.

She said no; because even if your kid isn't supposed to go first but you have to trust them and let then go because you know he had been young, happy, brave and strong while he was at the ends of his life.

She said no; because her son had not gone at all. What all remained of him was not only that little spot at the park by her house, it wasn't only the books and pictures she had left of him. It was so much more than the inanimate objects around the house she kept close to her fearing they would somehow vanish. She didn't need a Polaroid of Tom tucked in her hand purse, she didn't need to stare at her desktop background till tears flooded her tired eyes. She had learnt to carry him in her heart.

After so many years she finally understood "The ones that love us never really leave us, You can always find them cradling deep inside our heart".

~Sam B
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is written for Ruhani's Mindbowing May.

Firstly, I feel the writing could have been better had I paid a little more effort, went through it a little too hastily. Other than that, I feel a little sad at the weak response for Mindblowing May, not many bloggers are actually joining in like they did during Fantabulous February, I know people are busy and all but it feels so nice to see 10 more people write on the same topic.I hope Ru's amazing efforts bring a lot many people to join in because she's doing such a good job. I love love the inspirations this time. So variant and fun. And yes Harry Potter FTW. Join in all you creative heads out there!

Dadu

I’ve never lost someone before you. So yes, seeing you leave was a complete new turn in life. Had you left any last note bidding your last goodbye, I would have never left but held you close in my arms until your body would turn cold and lifeless like it did. It’s strange how we never understand how much a person means to us once he’s in our life; they say we take people for granted. Yes, I never really thought you would turn into a piece of my memory, someone I would think about in indiscriminate moments, tear up at times and escape into the comfort of ma’s hugs. It doesn’t feel the same in Korunamoyee anymore, like when I don’t see you huddled up in bed talking about how the left front has changed from the old times, how you had huge tiffs with dida on the silliest of things; the way me and tito would cuddle with you and listen about your journeys through Europe and awe at every little detail, how we’d make fun of your girlfriends long back then and dida would awkwardly smile shooing us off. And how about the times when you’d show us your vast coin collection, a magnifying glass in hand we’d go through coins as old as our great-great grandfather’s. Dadu, I haven’t talked to you in a long time, so long that it breaks my heart to even write this down. Frankly speaking, I didn’t feel that sad when I saw you covered in white, crammed into a van with flowers covering the whole of your body, a peaceful aura throughout your face, being carried away to the burning ghats. It clearly didn’t register then. That moment seeing people breaking down to their feet, it didn’t make sense as to why they felt so, weren’t they happy to see you at relief from all the pain cancer would cause?

Now it feels very empty all of a sudden, it took me 2 years to actually realize the effect of your existence. I picture your face as I write this and I see you smiling down at me and saying those usual words, “ titir tui boro hobi ar boro scientist hobi”; the way you’d go over to a stranger and completely embarrass me by proudly explaining how good I am in my academics and how I did this and did that and how I even play soccer with boys and then how I’d run away self consciously and shout at you later  every time; but you’d never listen.

Each week as we drive down to Kolkata; the city feels new. I miss being the person I was with you. I miss your Einstein like air, carelessly white flying around, your rupa frontline vest with small holes all over it which you’d never leave, I miss the kisses on your forehead, the way you’d go about doing every little knick knack in the house, the way you’d look at dida and would make us believe that ultimate love did exist, 50 years of marriage paid true evidence of that.

Dadu, if I could call someone to be a higher power, someone up there looking out for me, that’d be you. Everything else feels so lame now that you’ve gone. I know how hard it is for ma, for dida, for paul mama, for little tito. We love you so much, it’s stupid to even note that down once again, but like I was telling dida we hope you are finally dancing away with hot chicks in the beaches of Hawaii like you always wanted to. ;)

Dadu, For you a thousand times over.

Titir/Sam B/ Your rebellious little natni :)

-----------------------------------------------------------------

This is written for Ruhani's Mindbowing May, check out you'll! 

Thank you for inspiring me in such a different level all together. You have been doing an amazing job being so out-of-the -box with the inspirations. 

Anyway, dadu is my mum's dad, dadu in bengali, dida being my mum's mum. He was one very special person for me and he's without doubt someone I adore, respect, love, value the most if I could say so for an individual

. 2 years has been hard but life goes on. Anyway, it's been a leettle beet too emotional today but Dadu, I know you've got God on the run, quite a perky man you are :*

The random one liner post!

17 year old in 2 hrs.....bursting from inside happy!!! Is it normal to feel so elated on one's own birthday? Call me crazy! No big parties this time, keeping it low I guess. LOADS of BnR, food, coke and the best of people. Oh and CAKEEEEEE

Happy BDAY meeeee, 17 kisses to you!

SAM B

Summer on the Sea

Chapter 1

The rusty bell rang announcing the arrival of yet another girl from the foreign lands trying to merge into the Indian populace. Wearing that ever famous Kurti with a jhola, the quintessential Gayatri Mantra weaved in red throughout the fibers and with that an attempt of carrying the bindi on her pale white forehead. And that very same air of adventure; of living life on her own terms; Of not giving a fuck.  The thousands of such people outnumbering the Goan man are an intriguing batch of people; I bet you feel the same; or else why look at them intently when they cross paths?

I hopped off my rusty high stool, walking through the circle of smoke I’d specialized through years of practice, hurried over to the door. Outside the area marked with pristine white canopies was flapping madly in the wind. The sun was out, a glint of the sea obscuring my sight. The doors of “Baga Café” were open to one and all. Obviously she was new to the place and waited for her turn to enter into the blood red walls of paradise. Yes, this is what Baga was. The minute you enter, you encounter this waft of marijuana, the intoxicating Goan beer, of white shrimp sauce and eggs tossed over in sizzling pans and a whole lot of sweat, sand and the sea. The brilliant red color pouring out of the walls wakes you up in a trance. You enter, and it takes a while for the eyes to somber down.  Amidst the chaos, is the everyday crowd of rookies, lazying around, aimlessly cooing to the hearty tunes of the big guy, Fernandez.  A Goan man with a paunch the size of his loud mouth but a heart even bigger.  With a ukulele in his hands Fernandez was the life behind our café, millions pouring into the place just to see him smile, jitter from stool to stool, and contemplate over his music ranging from the Beatles, the carpenters to my favorite Goan song, yaya mayyaya. Not one person is left seated as the whole cafe swings into groups celebrating life as it is. All in all, Fernandez could beat the crap out of any wannabe soul singer gaining fame out of reality television.

Now you’ve seated yourself far away from the disorder, opting for a quiet spot overlooking the blue waters. Your stare is calm and composed as if you’ve found out your niche in this place and have sunk in. You look somehow washed out; clearly having a hard time dealing with the parched Goan summer. A minute later you are flipping through the soiled papers of our printed menu seldom used by the usual customer. Thank God I made it a point to leave some for circumstances like these. Enjoying myself, I see you worry yourself from head to toe over the array of omelets served here. On a usual day I would have walked over recommending the Spanish omelet, by far the crowd favorite; but seeing you cringe and fret over such irrelevant details catered for sadistic pleasure in my heart. I smiled. Leaning over the bar, I looked around as sepia toned pictures of my own alcove animated through my mind. For that moment, I felt like yes things were right, that I sure had grown from being the aimless bloke, who had his life served in a silver platter, a person who would be stereotyped as a  ‘snob’. The minute dad died, me in my second year in college; it had to stop. The partying, the booze, the girls, the cars, the bikes, the living on the money from dad’s big-time company.  What came was responsibility of my family, taking a stand as the only male left in the family, caring for my little sisters and my inconsolable mother, but mainly what was left was this massive guilt of doing nothing throughout my life then. Of having no dreams, no aim, no vision, no experience to boast of. I felt incomplete and not the usual handsome stud I was made to feel, who could get around with whatever he wanted, do whatever he felt like. Not thinking through, I had bought a ticket to Goa, running away from my traumatized family, I had hid inside my friend’s house in the heart of Panaji. With hopes that the sea would provide me a new home, a place to clear my mind out, to set off to a new start. Hence commenced my summer on the sea.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here goes something I've been writing. About the sea, the sand, the sun, of new beginnings. Awaiting your feedback like always! 

Sam B

"And the only way to get rid of a shadow is to turn off the lights, to stop running from the darkness and face what you fear, head on."

Taken at my very close friend's drama recital. Took my camera out after a long long time. Kind of went OTT with the picture capturing. Might have seen most of the play through the lens but none the less, a really good evening spent there. Have some more pictures to post. This one here might be my favorite among all of the 800 pictures. ( I told you I had gone crazy!) I love the lighting, the Ramayana feel to it,  and the fact that it reminded me of this quote I had hearted a year back.

Guess who's getting all three of the hunger games books? ME ME ME *wink wink* I cannot wait to get that big brown package mashed around with that well known flipkart tape with a lovely "handle with care" sign carefully put on because obviously there's bloody important stuff inside. 

And then I hear the books look lovely and there's supposed to be a hunger games t shirt too inside. What are you kidding me? 3 more days. The bloody perks of people who live in the metros and get books in 2-3 days and people like me just have to wait and tick of dates on calendars. :( 

Anyway BIG BLOGGY shout-out to Peebeaaaaa! Thank you for telling me. I had lost all hope on getting the books in a reasonable parents-not-giving-me-the-look price. :P

Will tell you when they reach our place, and I am officially out of facebook again. ( Done that before. Didn't work out to say the least. Had my butt back on the very next day. Here's to trying once again. Bleh!)

Sam B

Questionnaire

This is from http://talkingchapattis.blogspot.in/2012/04/day-2.html. Would be uber cool if you guys could stick it out and answer a few!

Here is my response.

1) What is your favourite word?............................Serendipity and supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (It's funny and I go to sing song mode thinking about it)
2) What is your least favourite word?.....................no words in specific, hate acronyms, they don't really say much but pretend to do so.
3) What turns you on creatively, emotionally or spiritually?......................... Humor
4) What turns you off?........................routine life
5) What is your favourite curse word....................... the usual f word. :/
6) What sound or noise do you love?....................... Rain, Coldplay
7) What sound or noise do you hate?....................... The phone ringing.
8) What profession would you like to attempt?....................Soccer player, shack/cafe owner, dancer, LAZING AROUND could be considered a profession?, World traveler on the lines of Samantha Brown.
9) What profession would you not like to do?.........................anything associated with a timetable and routine.
10) If heaven exists, what would you like god to say when you arrive at the pearly gates?.............................Hell you were one tough cookie :P

Send me your links if you guys do this. I'm tagging whoever is interested and I might have said that before. Other than that, class 12 has started and it's been pretty darn boring.
Sam B