Six more months

“Six more months, not a second less,” proclaimed the biopsy report. Patient repeated the affirmation quite a number of times like a hymn. Doctor was exasperated for the first time. He detested this patient’s lament. He was used to such cases. In fact, he was the only gastroenterologist of Midnapore municipal hospital. Colon cancers are ‘in’. It renders the affected a distinct historic value. So why is this creature crooning? Death is the cardinal truth of life. Evasions are impossible. Therefore, no point cribbing. Coming back to the Doctor, being a prodigy does not guarantee you a satisfactory life. Moreover, he was an anachronism of the bygone era. A period in the history of homo sapiens, when people preferred service to money. They held themselves responsible for the betterment of society. His disarrayed thoughts took him back to his reflective pension.

“….brightest of the lot,” ended Professor Munshi, then H.O.D of the Doctor. Munshi was the most profound admirer of him. He was especially impressed by his dogmatic approach. He was determined to join a government hospital and be posted in some forsaken village. This sort of behavior would definitely be termed as “ersatz” in this mechanized ambience. His retrospective parentage could not justify such vehement discrepancy in his character. They tried a bit of retardation technicalities citing examples of poverty. The never-yielding soul refuted. He renounced his luxuries and off went to Sundarban. Only objective was to serve the people, desperately in need.

A peal of thunder inaugurated a new phase in the Doctor’s life. His absentmindedness had gained another dimension. The patient was gone and he did not even notice. He was relieved. Once again, he drifted away.

Sunderbans was harsh as expected. A span of three months, which rusted his ironical youth. The youth, which could have been utilized in, amassing as much as possible and establishing a happy materialistic family. Yes, it is true. He had a lover. A love-lust amalgamation. The girl too is a doctor. She preferred a branded hospital. Repulsion. The sole complication was one missed period, which was an outcome of an unprepared night. Anyway, He paid for the abortion. Being the only son of a competent stock-broker has its own set of pros(and cons). That was the only sin, he dared to commit. The last time he saw the girl was in the hospital, post-abortion. The mixed stare of disgust, detestation, disgrace and the most effective love. He camouflaged his share of emotions.

A phone ring helped the Doctor regain his senses. He refused to answer. Gulped in some water and started for his car. The swanking second-hand-decade-old Maruti 800.

After serving Sunderbans, he was transferred to Midnapore. A township where people know the market price of an M.D. This helped him earn a lot of respect. He transcended the hospital single-handedly. The amount of funds rose considerably. He refrained from getting addicted to extravagances. Thereby, he used to donate a lump sum portion of his salary and stuck to a bare minimum. It took four years and an ocean of compassion to reach the pedestal of a ‘demigod’.

The Doctor netted the ball. He was detached, in this forsaken land. Faraway from the maddening crowd. The patient rekindled some of his extinguished emotions. Today, he craved for a bit of recklessness. Felt the dash and balm of his lover’s stare. Beyond the veneer of vanity and economy, a girl wailed for him. A desperate crippled lover, whose feeble pleas were specious enough for this humanitarian to ignore. Today, he wanted to relish that love. The nincompoop father failing to recognize his son’s broadmindedness. The demigod’s final ride through the most intimate causeway of his mind manufactured a few tiny droplets, which trickled down his wrinkled cheek. The death of his mother happened when he was eight. He blamed the money-thirsty hounds who are better known as “doctors”. His father pledged to accumulate an immense fortune, which would last three generations. On a contrary, he did just the opposite. That incident shaped up his altruism and a voluntary visage. His stoic cocoon was now shedding. The cancer-inflicted patient has stirred up his forlorn spirit.

Next morn, another rendezvous with the same pessimistic patient. Uneasiness crept in. The ruddy eyes of the patient hinted at his insomnia. Their face-off would have been a bit more drastic if the patient wouldn’t have asked the most foolhardy question, “Just six months! “.

This statement was like a medium to attain a state of incredulous tears. The façade has evaporated. Just then, his father called. The infuriating 10 digits always led to a fit of supreme professionalism. Today, an unconventional zeal manifested the obscured-humanity in the otherwise stoned baritone.

“Hello father, I was about to give you a call….just to say…..I have six more months, not a second less”

"Tola"

The enigma of this word is unmistakably obscured for the non-bengalis. The meaning is grafted into the minds of gluttonous individuals for whom single hood is hunger. The quantity and quality of fodder is relative though. The deprived is glutted with frustration. The virtual vacancy is not given due worth by the birds(read fairies/cindrella/snow-white/rapunzal/…). In such cases follow Techno chronicles.

Lets not exaggerate on the negative aspect. Optimism says how you should execute this “tola” operation. Firstly, flood your network providers with as much fortune as your guardian’s profession allows you to. Mere gratitude towards the heavenly towers. The construction of the cage would have been impossible otherwise. Once she recoils, retreat. Attitude, they say. The lubrication / catalysis step. Next, quote famous rock-heads(whether they follow or not, they are bound to take severe interest). Perfect fillers. Garnish with masked sycophancy. The most delicate mechanism. Triumph will ensure endurance.

The aforesaid paragraphs can be further diluted. Distortions occur at times so apply at your own risk. For further details contact the blogger.

P.S : Experience brings expertise. Vice-versa is not-applicable.

Et tu Brute

The story starts with a mid-day detestation towards an attitude-drenched lad. The then-lanky “dude” was hero-worshipped by aspiring pacers. The top-order was a piece of “Kookie-jar” chocolate cake to him. Gobbled it up in a split-second. Then the “Diwali dhamaka”. Finally some 2 years back, I came across the actual person. People who say I am bad at judging others are proved wrong. I am the worst decipherer of the intrinsic behavioral patterns. A professor in making. He solved WBJEE stuff supersonically. To top it all, ego couldn’t even book the remotest of houses in one of the obscure broadways of his mind. That’s my departing-friend in short. The neighborhood found it difficult to guess our flat numbers. I wouldn’t be awestruck if someone said that the boy belonged to A-22/8.

One fine morning he jubilantly produces his cell and displays the infrastructure of his new abode. Gallantly, I approved his notions. Deep down an uncanny something pricked.
A few days later a frustrated figure says “ I m leaving on the 28th of October”.

The shifting process terminated today. Sraboni (the housing complex in which I stay for the ignorant), has always been exasperating. So shall it remain……….

No more 5 km long walks. No more cribbing about the way different damsels look. No more balcony-room conversations. No one to patronize Manchester United. No more whole day FIFA’08.

New Garia is not far-away. Maybe it’s just the spirit of A-20/5 that has been distilled out and refrigerated. Delicacy for another gloomy mid-day. :)

Stranded

Now this time, air was not my sole companion. Maddox was blushing with all the cozy compliments it received from the twosomes. I failed to concur. Well the complaint vanished in thin air as we criticized the sparkling beauty of the society. Few did abscond from our candid appreciation. Limit tended towards nullity. We evaded the dazzle and took refuge in a money-sucking-vault. A banner read - “Café Coffee Day”. Followed by- “Here comes the rain again to drain out my bliss again”. Confidentiality eroded. It wasn’t quite possible to escape the clutches of antipathy. The snobby pugs maintained a constant decibel level. We failed to interact. Congruency played its part. Words were not required. Exaggeration may be the theme of this piece but there are no other means to accentuate the vivacity. An hour passed by. I stared passionately towards the pork sandwich(maybe it was something else). Firmly evading the glance. The authenticity of this statement is questionable. Its better to mention one point – the chatterbox flavour was not what I wanted. Wish fulfillment. The digital printout read 298. Fooling around is not acceptable at some joints. Finally we moved out, quite entertained by the economy-blessed dolts and their mobile-phone gibberish. My last act did give them a reason to laugh(I could not muster up the courage to put it down). A kilometer long walk. Reached another famous focus of human concentration. Deshopriya Park – they say. As the name suggests, the place is indeed loved by the “Desh-bashi”s. The ultimate cab ride. The penultimate one was not that soothing as the K-550i bearer was quite messy. CCD and Maddox had already pissed us off. Though the day ended at a different note.

P.S: Its better not to draw conclusions as it’s a general ordinary narrative piece.

Stallion & Clay

The raven stallion gazed wearily
A half-chance is all he prays for
Bonded to the salient stable
Comfort endless, only lack – soul

Have you ever seen a fist-full of clay
Un-watered for days after days
Until it, develops fracture and snaps
The specter of fertility – unwanted

Defying the countless obstacles
The stallion breaks free and flees
Into the serenity of the woods
Bliss dances in rhythm – apprehensive

Adequate water resurrects the clay
Ready for the daffodil to grow
The weed invades to spoil the show
Conclusion to be drawn - unknown

Cameo & Nuliet

Act I Scene I

Location: Haldirams, Exide on St. Valentine’s day

Cameo(with an impish smile) : What would you prefer?

Nulliet (blatantly) : Raw meat. As if, you didn’t know.

Cameo (a bingo grin) : Adulterated, I surmise.

Nulliet (whining) : You regard me as a contaminant. Is this my position? Its as if I am
your harlot and not your girl

Cameo (frustrated) : Why does it always happen that you take my joke a as an
insinuation? Even chopped chicken is meat. Therefore, I was being
a bit more accurate.

Nulliet (wrenches out the words required for the quarrel) : Chopped chicken lacks life and is digestable.

Cameo (surrenders to the lady’s high intelligence quotient) : Oh baby. Why do we fight?
You are my girl. I am your man. That’s what matters. No more
issues. Lets get out. Its valentine’s day after all.

Nulliet (could not reconcile to the fact that Cameo has accepted defeat) : Its over? I don’t
believe my ears. (Not dragging the episode) Lets go.

Cameo (the baazigar) : We will take a bus to Park Street.

That’s the beauty of this duet. They are so much in “love” . Their ethereal “love” just doesn’t let them go.

Act I Scene II

Location : the mid-day streets, flooded with vendors. The swanking couples in lemon yellow and stinking red.

Nulliet (enthusiastically, examines a fake-emerald ring) : Wouldn’t this be a perfect vday
gift?

Cameo (bewildered at this creature’s idiosyncrasy) : Are you off your chump? Why the hell do you need this plastic toy? (followed by the wry smile)

Nulliet (embarrassed ) : Leave it. (starts walking)

Cameo (petrified) : Pardon me sugar. I never meant to hurt you. It was a genuine remark.
(as usual, he is screwed. He craved for a time- machine)

Nulliet (furious, was waiting for this second) : That’s perfectly understood. This is what I receive as a gift from the person I love (love love love alone. Ladies and gentlemen mark the word) the most. I should have listened to Juliet. I mistook her concern for vilification. Alas……………(I don’t have the requisite faculty to explain the varied gestures of heart-ache via words)
(Juliet is Nulliet’s long lost friend. She was dead against Cameo.)

Cameo (the abrasive mode) : Romeo called you a bitch. Wish I could have trusted him.
(Romeo is Cameo’s dead brother). Its impossible to drill something into your pigeon-head.

Nulliet (in the perfect James Hetfield patch) : And its impossible to extract out romanticism from your soul. You can only gobble. You cant chew. Body Body Body (each with an increasing frequency).

(The pedestrians were not much surprised. They are used to such stuff. That’s the “vday” crowd)

Cameo (strategic mention of his dead brother didn’t work. Plan B. Modulating his tone) : Baby, we are drifting away. (Two droplets of croc-tears) I am really really really sorry. (On his knees) I beg of your forgiveness. I ought to be stuffed with nails. Please honey. Give me last chance.

Nulliet (duel effect of the sun and Cameo’s maneuver melts her) : We should move off to Elliot Park. (holding Cameo’s hand and giving it a jolt. Cameo springs up. In a sugary sweet snotty pitch) Why do you say such things? You know na I love you sooooo……. Much. You are my shona….. (sorry comrades, I was not blessed enough to catch the rest of it)

Cameo (the vampirish glare) : You are irresistible today.

Nulliet (the blush, finally) : Dushtu…

To be continued…

Monogamy - A social evil

The day starts with the mobile alarm crooning at its best. Pouring out every electron of its damned emotion (the protons are coupled with neutrons). As if, wailing for its demon-lover. Followed by, the sugary yelling of his most beloved. That’s what marks the commonest of days. A solitary bath where he experiences the sound of silence. “Perfect music”. An egg-poach with two toasts, buttered with trans-fat-free “Amul butter delight”. A soothing bus or auto ride. Car preferred in case of a wealthier dolt. Barring Boredom,everything prevalent is abstract. That’s what life tends to become when you step into your forties. Sorry folks, I forgot to mention the Napolean-like-rebellious brats. They spark at the slightest friction. Even if you ask them “How was your day ?”. They snap back with such ground-breaking answers that jams your jaw for the rest of the day. Flabbergasted, you refrain from uttering any further words. Actually you get intimidated. You lack the essential faculty to evaluate the fuel-content of the next sentence you speak out. Therefore “ Chacha apna jan bacha”.

Dwelling in this abysmal pool of frustration, a hope still lingers in the forsaken airways of mind.
A latent aridity which can only be satisfied with a little warmth(no pun intended). Day-dreaming about the girl-next-door who is just about to get married may suffice. Frustration would then take its toll.

What if your 20 yr old love did not end up in this identity-crisis. What if every drop of protoplasm still fought for the partial passion, that has accidentally endured. Your lack of enthuse stealthily creeps in. Acidity.

Comrades, this is the problem with the society. We are prejudiced. Forced by the exasperated dogmas of the knowledgeable. Monogamy is a social evil. With the increment in the number of "istiris", the stagnation in every "swami"'s life is likely to flee. Not one but many faces to fascinate about. No requirement to throw tantrums at your peers in the place-of-pilgrimage. Just keep one fact in mind - "Women are in no way inferior. They are by far superior to the race of men. Thereby the are not to be confined. They too have the right to earn". I hope this will keep you out of any "forecasted" financial crisis.