I remember you telling me about the new hammock you had bought. A new addition to your amazing home which is without any doubt one of my favorite places in this campus of ours. Set in the backyard midst the trees, it was quite a charming little nook.
Weren't we excited the initial summer days when it was set up? Imaginary games on the hammock, laying down in twos while the leaves above played lovely shadows on our faces. The silly contests of picking up clips from the ground while swinging to and fro on the hammock. How the ropes would weigh down after a long nap on the hammock and would take sometime for the whole ensemble to resemble its former taut self.
It was a peaceful happy time, no routine, no aim in life, just swinging to the silent periodic sound coming from the ropes conflicting with the termite infested tree trunk.
It's been ages that we've not put up the hammock, I would sprint out of my chair with no pretense what-so-ever if we decide to put it up today, on this hot summer day. Somehow the summers have an immediate association to little things like these.
Maybe the rising temperatures today, makes me think about things in the past summer when I wouldn't busy myself cribbing about the immense heat and humidity and how this is the hottest summer in the history of Kharagpur.
With hopes of a hammock ride in a week's time ( Take note YOU!),
Sam B
1. The post on "dadu" (http://samrandomrants.blogspot.in/2012/05/dadu.html) got featured! And I know for some of you it might seem like such a- normal-everyday-thing but I am totally on cloud nine thousand. :P Anyway, check out the organization who were so kind as to feature my post. Aamoksh One Eighty looks like such an amazing retirement home based on the foothills of the ever beautiful Kodaikanal, catering to the needs of the elderly and retired people. The site even has a picture of the cutest grandpas playing a game of soccer on the beach. Now that is one retirement home I'd love to go visit.
2. An awesomespice thanks to Kirti from http://versesfrommyheart.blogspot.in/ for the versatile blogger award. This is one blog you don't want to miss stalking. Go check out her amazing blog full of short stories, randomness and music.
Now as per the rules, 1. Create a new post 2. Thank the lovely person who nominated you for the award. 3. Pass it on to your fellow bloggers. 4. State 7 random facts about you. 5.Claim and post the award pic.
Moving on to rule 4,
7 random facts:
1. I have finally gotten back to practicing Bharatanatyam after a year long gap. Feels good to dance along to the amazing Carnatic tunes and the rhythmic sound of the Ghungrus. 2. Have been reading a lot of books lately which makes me feel really good about myself. 3. I am hugely fascinated by dark alleys, rugged doors and black and white tiled floors. 4. Pinterest is currently the best thing on the WWW. 5. I really like doing math. 6. I hate the fact that I cycle less these days and am on the scooty more often. 7. Cannot wait for the Pujos to start. They are somehow the best days of the year.
As per passing on the award, I swear I'll do that later due to the time constraint at the moment. SCHOOL NIGHT *sigh* Anyway other than that, I have been pinning all day long over here : http://pinterest.com/shambhobi/ Has totally taken over my sanityyyyy. :/ Any of you guys on pinterest?! If not GO LOG IN and get drugged. Some pinterest lowe your way,
Midst the twisting streets, buzzing motor scooters, leaf-shaded cafes, faded roof tiles, cigarette smoke, ancient buildings he sat on a patch of sidewalk his belongings haphazardly strewn all around him.
A vagabond artist noted for a life of travel between festivals, Franz solely lived from the coins tossed next to his drawings by foreign tourists in awe of his masterpieces.
He sat alone in his own bubble tracing lines to match the cathedral round the corner he was attempting to replicate. His board hitched on the cobbled street just beside the city square, his palette colored bright today he was living out dreams on a sheet.
Long forgotten were the fights with Martha over the scanty money he produced yesterday, the begging eyes of his two little sons craving for a loaf of bread to fill their empty stomachs. Today he didn’t have a care in the world about the self imposed deadlines, the marketing, the need to produce good art for his existence.
As the colors started to bend, he slaved away on the canvas perfecting every line, smoothening out the edges, darkening the shadowed parts. High accolades from the crowd filled the square as more and more tourists thronged around Franz staring at the impossible, murmurs of “how he did it?” Some taking photographs to show to their friends and family. Some sympathized, others just stood in awe of him.
People were more interested in seeing the cathedral through his oil and pastel rather than through the sanctity of their naked eyes. With the rattling of coins, they sure did guarantee a safe escape from the painful words Martha never failed to spit out at him.
As the last rays of light scanned over the place, he hustled away from his usual spot, cleaning up the mess of paint and hurried over to his den.
On the way he stopped by the local bakery, tugging along a warm loaf of bread with his baggage of tools. The warm bread felt heavier than even the sturdy wooden board, bet the kids would rush over to their papa with shouts of joy.
As he walked past the dark waters of the Seine, his mind wandered off to the days when life was so much easier.
All he now knew was that the night was to be a good one, a lot like they used to be before the night when he lost one eye.
Yes, tonight he would sleep in peace, he would glimpse his angels savor the bread, he would kiss Martha good night and rock her to sleep, tonight he would be intoxicated by memories and feelings, a very rare event in his two dimensional life of a struggling artist.
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This is written for Ruhani's Mindbowing May DAY 16!, check out you'll!
I started off with the first inspiration; the second inspiration just happened to find its place somewhere in between. Yes I be total coolness B)
Anyway SOME BIG STUFF happened in the past few days blog-wise. More on that later, maybe on my next post here.
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!
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. ;)
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 :*
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
