Ray

I'm remembering unforgettable moments of Satyajit Ray's profoundly brilliant work, on the anniversary of his leave from Earth. He is so much a part of my being...and the part of so many, the world over. One of the very first conversations I Remember registering as a child, was one in which my parents were passionately discussing the beautiful Pather Panchali, the first of the Apu Trilogy...the train hurtling through the rural midst, the Kash flowers, the poignant death scenes, one of the quiet l scenes towards the end, which remains with me, where Apu throws an ornament belonging to Durga into the water...as I grew up , I grew into the realm of Ray...the exquisitely subtle romantic exchanges in 'Apur Sansar,' specially when Apu, in all earnestness, asks Aparna, 'tomar chokkhe ki achhe bolo toh?' and she replies 'Kajol...' simply, meaningfully. Growing up with Feluda, Soumitra playing the role to the hilt, getting excited every time one of the movies was screened on the telly. How we thrilled to the wonder of 'Shonar Kella,' without fail, Everytime we watched it...the magic of Ray's Rajasthan casting its faithful spell on us, how we surrendered in eager abandonment to the splendour of Varanasi, captured like no other director could or can, in Joy Baba Felunath.' in grateful understanding of the intelligent symbolism, always so subtle in movies like 'Mahangar,' and 'Jana Aranya...' feeling passionate emotion and with 'Devi...' in which Ray deals with how easily we confuse superstition with spirituality and the gender politics which accompany this...and my eternal favourite, 'Charulata,' which we studied at the excellent Jadavpur University Department of Film, ( Mrinalini Ghosh :)))....where the sheer layers of nuanced analysis stimulated the mind beyond comprehension ...to say nothing of his marvellous short stories which I could read and re read at any given hour and his interviews which are sharp and articulate ...and to think that I have touched upon only a few of his films and indeed only a very few aspects of his multi faceted artistic genius

...

The more I swim In the sea of love, I see The complex beauty of Vulnerability. As I drift away From the world’s commotion Into that remote Microcosm of devotion, I marvel at the perplexing depth Of this limitless ocean Of the baffling range of emotion. I learn to give That which I never knew Reposed within… The ebb and flow With which we begin, The searching and finding, The mysterious binding, Of soul to soul, Of heart to heart, Where does it all start? I receive your gifts Of Time and Care, They give me a glimpse Of a sight so rare, So pure is your warmth, So clean is your soul, That it makes my scattered world, Assemble into a whole. So deep are your eyes, When they are locked in mine, So earnest, so searching, I feel like merging Myself with you on so many levels… How does one preserve This pulsating intensity? How does one maintain The passionate density Of feeling packed with feeling, Without reeling Away, into a realm Of indifferent dismay? How does one avoid Slipping into apathy, With the passing of time? Indifference, to me Is an irreversible crime. How best to evade The dilution of feeling, With each changing clime? How can one retain The early notes of Love, So tentative, so tender? How does one learn to treasure And remember, The thrill of each unfurling sensation, The strength of every emerging foundation, On which a relationship learns to stand? Shakily, steadily, like a sailor back on land, Pulling himself through the slippery sand, (After a long and lonely voyage Until Solitude disbands) How do two identities, Each so distinct, Amalgamate in unity, In moments of harmony? In sudden resonance, Despite spells of dissonance? These answers I seek not I had rather let, Love’s river carry me, to a land Where I may never forget That Life is too short To lose love in regret.

Post following an evening stroll around NTU, Campus revisited

Once in every fleeting while, if one happens to revisit places of the past, chance upon unexpected flowers and familiar routes, take in the mandatory change and sameness, and look up at the transitional sky, and realise how different situations seem with lapses of time, with changes in relationships, indeed with diurnal and seasonal variation, one can actually surrender in wonder to life's constant vicissitudes, one can remember without stings of pain, one can laugh at that which may have once hurt, one can consciously forget and unconsciously smile without quite knowing why...sigh...contentment lies in company of the self and the special others

A poem by P. Janya

It was not in the night that the darkness evolved, For darkness is not a being but a mere state. The state of being and not, For it evades the lightened heart. We walk through the past, present and the future times, Hand in hand, soul in soul.... We relive the happened times, for we live again through the days of yore, We live through the sorest of disdain, as people evolve with the passing times, The times were bad but the smiles were real, And we live again and again.... As we smile at the darkness that evolves into a glorious dawn." ~ P Janya.

In the mood for...?

First and foremost, I am in the mood to write...Thunder is rumbling in the far off sky, my staff room has this sleepy, cold and yet somehow soothing feel to it today...or is the feeling of calm within, a sense of reconciliation with the self and the world, with its abundant goodness and necessary obstacles? I have been having deep conversations with people very close to me, off late, a treat indeed...and the other day I was just thinking of how one of my favourite books, (in fact, quite a universal classic) ended...I'm speaking of 'To Kill a Mockingbird,' where Atticus, lawyer, father, but most of all human, passes on a gem of wisdom to his children...of how the best way to understand people is to walk into and creep around in their skins, how, when and if we do that, we can't possibly label ANYONE bad...and someone extremely close to me offered his views on looking at things from a range of perspectives and how that sometimes deters him from taking extreme stands...this ackowledgement of multiple truths, co-existing in, often divisive subjectivies, can ironically help to unite us...I read Harper Lee's work when I was 14, but it seems to be just yesterday when my father, who would talk about the book all the time when I was growing up, deemed me old enough to read it... At that point in our lives, his mother was suffering from cancer, and it was trying, emotionally, spiritually and physically...and he took me out one day and said that I was ready to read the book...I didn't realise until after I read it that my father didn't buy it for me earlier as the book dealt with the topic of sexual transgression, (No spoilers) around which the court case Atticus fights on behalf on Tom Robinson revolves. I've always been in awe of people who fight for those who are denied a voice, for people who are not afraid to speak up against perceived 'wrongs,' without a heed for their self-interest...and for Atticus to conclude that it is difficult to label people 'bad,' after the slew of experiences he and his family go through, after the jaw-dropping denial of justice and truth, at least on a legal scale, after the physical assault on his innocent son, for him to say that, is one of the most heightened processes of ethical evolution and acceptance of the world I have or will possibly ever see...I think Atticus could serve as a role model for all the parents of the world, and the genius of the book lies in Lee's choice of Lens---she narrates this story of complexity, racism, inherent prejudice and coming to terms with the world,people and situations through the eyes of a five yea rold child, Atticus's little girl, Scout. And this takes me back to another man whom I admire so immensely...Abraham Lincoln, who, for me, is the example of one of the finest models of humanity...as I mentioned earlier, I have and will immensely admire hosts of people who have fought for the deliberately down-trodden, have taken firm stands against oppression and injustice...be it Dr. Ambedkar, Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Touissant L'overture to Martin Luther King...but here we have a White President, undermining, disregarding his position of privilege as a White, as positions of privilege often breed indifference towards the plight of the 'other,'because those in this seat of comfort are not active sufferers, but silent, sometimes distantly sympathetic observers, when they are not the perpetrators...Lincoln, who uses his position of power, the seat of the President, to implement a necessary change,even if it means ruffling and throwing into disorder his immediate context, who is so committed to the notion of universalising the concept of his Gettysburg Address, that he risks his nation to the grip of Civil War, believing that it will once again be united through a common notion of humanity and according human rights to the unfairly treated, and isn't afraid to overturn the status quo...in his desire for the abolition of slavery... Moving on, I need to dwell on the four letter word which is loaded with lineage and legacy...LOVE...the more I experience it, in its various forms, in its infinite potential and glorious epiphany, the more I witness it, the more it rises, like a transcendental balloon, hovering over the reach of all, until one makes a concerted and active effort, to reach out...what is love? The quiet sacrifices parents make over years, from simple deeds like watching over their children eat, feeling full when they are fed, feeling rested when they sleep soundly, feeling happy when they succeed, feeling wronged if they are hurt, scolding them into self-rectification? Is love the emotion which makes you crave for a lot more than can be fit in to the temporal constraints of 24 hours a day, when saying goodbye to your partner, for a couple of hours makes you inexplicably yearn? Is it the calm assurance of holding the other's hand, deriving from that clasp physical and emotional comfort? Is it the way in which you begin to shape and fashion your identity in relation to someone else's, holding on to certain necessary independent beliefs, but willingly merging on others? Is it the burning feeling of wishing to be connected at all levels, at all times, in all ways, and trying to figure out how it was that you managed to survive on your own all these years without feeling the need to have always been with this other half of your whole? Of giving some part of your soul to another, which you didn't even realise existed? Of being half afraid that the dream will stir, that one might have to carry him/herself back to that state of loneliness which he/she had/have gotten used to, but will never, like Theseus's Ship, quite be the same, after love has taken one apart from that self...one can't be forced into a semblance of his/her former shadow... Is Love, then like a compass which gives one direction, but what leads us to that compass? Choices?Destiny? Divine Intervention? Human Intervention? Epiphanic inspiration? Intelligence? Common Sense?

Realities...

A thought has been nibbling quietly, in a secluded corner of my mind over the past few days, nay weeks, and I haven't given it as much thought as I should have, though it has steadfastly been calling out to me for a moment or two of reflection. It is to do with the changing nature of our "realities," at different points in our lives...for example, what might seem to be an indispensable part of our immediate lives at one moment, might be relinquished to the realm of that which "will never more be seen," at some point in the distant, or indeed near future... One can start at the level of the most minutely micro-cosmic...if I dwell upon the bone shaped pillow I sleep on at night, the grating phone alarm which tears me away from my tryst with Morpheus's land of sleep every early morning, the wooden floor which I drag my feet across in the early morning hours, the blue walls which blankly greet me everytime I look around at the walls, the sliding windows opening on to the Buddhist temple adjacent to our block, the old age home which my window looks upon...these are the immediate realitites, the absolute truths I open and close my eyes to every morning...these are the few things I can count on to remain the same, the realities which I can depend upon...for now... There might be days when I cannot predict the nature of my own moods, the content of the days events, whether I will receive a much awaited phone call, or have time to longingly meet some much awaited people...but this expectation which builds up is also a building block of the temporal reality of my present situation... When I am out with, for instance, a particular person, and we go out for a meal...his/her, (okay using one's is easier), one's side profile, the slant of one's face, the size of one's shirt, the scents of the day, the way in which one eats, indeed what one eats, the look in the person's eyes on seeing you, the hour at which one has to to part from the other and say goodbye, where one parts, (train stations, bus stops, below housing estates),all become part of our unquestionable though temporary realities...and I can't help but think that a day will come when these situations might change...for instance, if a point is reached, rather, when a point is reached when we decide to have meals in our homes, which was the case with my friends and loved ones in Kolkata, back home, we might sit together very differently...not in a semi-formal setting of a restaurant...we might sit across one another, on sofas, on mats on the floor, on the terrace...and the steady reality of having to eat out at restaurants in a foreign land will yield to another kind...when deadlines and time restrictions will slowly give way to new ones, before they too, change... The reality of my present moment constitues meeting the myriad job deadlines, making sure I make time for my loved ones, getting sufficient rest, negotiating fatigue, managing my time, coaxing myself into pursuing a few of the hobbies I held very dear...but these are so different from the everyday realities of my past...as a Uni student, my life was inundated with a deluge of rehearsal schedules for theatre, socialising with friends by watching intense films, studying for our ubiquitous tests and exams, attending lectures and seminars with unwavering enthusiasm (honest!) waking up later than I do now, diligently (umm, mostly...LOL) attending yoga sessions till the face of my instructor became excessively familiar, till our patterns of breathing matched, till our bodies resonated with the same rhythm... My reality then was just waking up and seeing my mother smile into my eyes every morning, kissing her blessed face, my father tuning us all into Rabindrashangeet, driving me to some very early French classes, waiting for my grandmother's early morning call, conjugating French verbs in my head while singing along to our car radio, and getting very confused in the process...of talking to certain friends daily, of the realitites of their rooms, of them in my room, of our endless threads of continued conversation, our sustained interests... Which again, was so different from the reality of my school days, when routine dictated me to board our school bus, bearing the number of 6162, of me watching out anxiously, hoping I didn't miss it...that number was uber important then , but 6162 just reposes, sleeps silently in my mind's corner, rendered useless unless in the realm of memory, until I stir it for a bit, before letting it rest again...of those assemblies at the Calcutta International School's 18 Lee Road porch, (which in its present day reality has been converted to a monstrous parking lot for a hideous shopping mall), Back in those days, 9 y-10 years ago, the reality of our school's court case with the owner of the shopping mall who wished to take over our space loomed big and large...of me of worrying about performing well on tests and exams, but mostly enjoying the process of learning, of exploring education to its extreme extent...my realities then were my HUGE, red coloured Biological Science text book, my yellow, (put me to sleep) Physics text book, a thumbed copy of Tennessee Williams's A Streetcar Named Desire, Mrs. Chatterjee's unique handwriting flooding my essays with comments, my electronic calculator which I needed for integration and trigonometry, the apple green colour of Barium's flame test, the swivelling motion of my hand as I performed titration experiments, the readings on the meniscus, the horror of handling a vernier calliper?(is that how you even spell it?)...I couldn't do without these...without these contents, my life would be rendered impossible to live...but now, I don't even possess a calculator, which was stowed away once the desired grades were received... But the realities of my mind, my priorities have also changed...from being the kind of person who moaned in despair if I got even a mark less than I had expected to, of always wishing to perform and excel, yes, indeed I believe that spirit of competition which used to rage (haha, well, maybe flicker) within me, has changed to one which is far less so...of one which is happy to just contribute to the trying to help others, to measure success in terms of touching lives is the aim I'm trying hard to work towards, and I have a long way to go ...a long marathon looms... I have touched upon, perhaps, just a tip of the tip of the ice-berg...but perhaps one could note that each indispensable reality, will in time, be replaced by a slew of others...it is all very dependent on one's sitaution...temporal and spatial...one reality will soon become a memory...near or distant...and the more one remembers, the more real the things which are out of our reach now, perhaps forvermore, will seem...if only for a brief moment or two...fleeting...fleeting...so I wished to photograph some of my remembrances in words...and I am taking in my present surroundings, my cubicle, with its sheets of marking, with my name etched over it for now, (which too will change once I leave, being replaced with the name of an unknown other, who I might never meet, though we will have occupied the same seat),the faces of my colleagues, the green cup of green tea by my side...

...

Sometimes I wish I could wake up to the sound of morning dew instead of my raucous alarm...to open my eyes to the beauty of Creation in the middle of the night, and blink up at the winking stars, their suffused, mellow light greeting me from a far off land though we have never crossed paths...to breathe in the smell of rain on the grass, to try and spot that fleeting transitional moment, wehen Evening pulls off her many hued garment, painted a soothing pink and purple, and dons the black garb of night...to wish upon the Orion, with Someone lying beside me, breathing evenly next to me, validating my existence by listening to the sounds of Night with me...to decipher the steady murmur of the insects, to yield in abandonment to the Quietness of the world, to the Stillness of our bodies and our minds, to the quiet Dynamism of the processes of the Universe which we take for granted...to consciously inhale the mix of air we do, the essential Oxygen and the non-essential ones, mingling in harmony with the aromas of our surroundings...our chests rising and falling to the rhythm of our lungs, as the internal body processes tirelessly, ceaselessly, go about their duty, while we live...the outer runnings of the Universe, the inner workings of the human body, the continuous and wavering streams of thought in our minds...the vivid nature of Creation, within and without, encapsulating us in its tight embrace yet liberating us with its evolving push forward.