"My fickle friend - the summer wind"

Dear summer,

I apologise for the delay in putting this up, but we all go through our little transition periods when we tend to be busy.
You weave in and out, haunting calenders every year. I return from college and go back.
It's pretty much the same, really.

So here that I am finally stringing my thoughts together, I'd just like to thank you for yet another season's worth of episodes. Though I must admit, I'm beginning to grow more fond of you after passing out of school, just like a lot of things I used to carelessly brush aside then, be it sentiments, bus tickets or even jhaal-muri, but that's food for another blog-post.

Whats important here is, I just had two of the best fucking months of my life.

South city-Le Chakka- Aaliya Cinema-Raavan-Grub Club-Chatters Point-Lake-TD-Inception-Rohan-Boating !!-City Centre-Classic-South City-food court- FIFA World Cup- Presidency-Maths Chaad-Ritwik-"Cntn"-Shahana-doggy hi5-Mcdonalds-Kalikapur-Avi no patta-Ruby-Oly-Chida !!-south city-manisquare-Oly-St.James' School-founders day-Oly-Kartik's Balcony-Udita Modh- Bhutta- Terrace-Metro-Rabindra Sarobar-Adrija-firefly- Menoka-Utsav-South City-Egg Rolls-Rajneeti- Momos -Lijo's lighter- Forum -Subholina/Rohan Cake- I Hate Luv Stories - Prince of Persia - Taste maker-Jodhpur Park Lake-Kartik- Park Street-Shrek 4 - pimple on nose due to motherfucker 3D glasses- Awww paru-udang Garam-Grub club-South City - Grub Club - Protik- Mani square-City Centre-School Reunion - Puza port wine-Food station - Puri - Driving License - Sameer's Place - Lijo puking - Mikey faggot-Kartik/Kalhan after a year -Sealdah- Budge Budge- Bye Bye - Howrah-Coromandel-Aranya-Shutter Island- Chennai Central- GFK- Mofo T.T.E.- fine-Katpaddi- Mikey faggot -Mangalore-Udupi- Manipal-*sigh*.

But as monsoon's unfailing nagging finally gets to you as June blinds into July, we're in the same boat on that one. Only, it gets to me AFTER I head back. We are all too familiar with raging hormones, and the coastal clouds here are no different - some water theme park adventure my life becomes.
I swear the 'boat' was unintended.

And during the course of this carnival, I did many things I hoped I never would, many I didn't know I could, and many I always adamantly believed I wouldn't be able to.

You just can't talk 'summer' without the nostalgia bug biting you. And so, I remember sitting in that tiny classroom by the canteen, attending my earliest Bangla classes. Just like you have your solstice once a year, I had my own. Which came in the form of a "Grishho kaal-er opor Rochona Lekho" line, duly instructed by our teacher. My "grishher" kahini hardly changed as i grew up, but I guess the best things in life are those which do that, or should i say, don't.

If you ask me, the fastest route from your end of the spectrum to the colder side, is college, and being here already, I know winter will be here before you know it. I will have fun then, and write all about it, but worry not. For if not for the coldest of winter nights, you my fair-weathered friend would have no meaning.(The reverse holds true too, but thats strictly for winter's obituary).

I won't see some people for quite a while now.
Some for an even longer while.
And others for a lot more than that.
That really really bites, just like a cold winter wind.

But at the end of the day, people hardly notice whether it's summer or winter, as long as they're happy.

I remember how my aforesaid rochona's in school used to end, unfailingly, year after year. No matter what.

"Grishho kaal amar shob theke priyo ritu. aami ei grishho kaal-e khub moja anondo or phurti korechhe, aar ekhon dhoirjyo dhore boshe achhi abar aagami grishho kaal-er jonye."

Looks like some things really do never change.

Amen.

Yours sentimentally,

The Autumn Wind.

...

*yawn*

I like my template.
When you are as organized as the Kumbh Mela - you learn to appreciate un-cluttered things, be it warehouses, Animal Planet or simplistic blog templates.

I think I've reached 9/10th Calcutta Saturation Point.
The summer-honeymoon was over a while back.
Then the euphoria began to die down, friends started to leave, and blog posts are being churned out.

I miss college, a bit - but more than anything else, I'm pretty tired of not having anything constructive to do here.
Basically, Im shifting the blame from the city to my life, or the lack of any.

It isn't the same magical, mystical Calcutta wrapped in memories of Egg-Rolls,Park Street, Kal-boishakhis, Eden Gardens, and B.B.D. Bag buses and tied up in nostalgic flashes of friends, school, adda, jhal-muri and all that jazz - which I long for, dream about, and allow myself to be drowned in regular bouts of homesick-ness over, when in college.

The buffer between the 9/10th and 10/10th - is family, and some last few good times Im looking forward to sign off with.

I want to run back to college, so that I can run back here in winter, refueled with that magic.
I'm basically longing to long for Calcutta, which I am not, presently - even though I know I'm going to be a sentimental and overly depressed retard 2 weeks later, as my time here draws to an end - or very possibly even sooner.
I just don't get it.

But I will never tire of the Egg-Rolls.
Never ever.
Shotti.

*yawn*

Good morning.
Im off to bed.

"No mean feet"

Through the grass, and a visit to the Zoo,
Down the river, in a red canoe.
To the market, or back to school,
You buy the costumes, while I chase the fool.

The path less travelled or the common man's road,
I figure the signals, while they handle the load.
I dont cycle by choice and I can sense the grin,
The soles seem colourful, but they're known to sin.

When the path is murky, the steps reassure,
Choosing one while closing many a door.
One leg calls it luck, while the other yells fate,
If only them toes pointed straight.

I wish the job ended with deft touches on sand,
But having come thus far, it's not mine to demand:
---
But still, why not the road which led to Rome?
Or the one where shoes come free?
The one down which the well-fed kings strode?
Why not my very own yellow brick road?
---

Comes, say the Great Flood, to drown us all,
Lose your dry heels, but lose not your mark.
The pair of you, like rabbits and geese,
Shall find a place in my very own ark.

But the regrets and mistakes shall never drown,
Nor will the dark lanes you led me down.
They'll linger around for years, again,
Waiting for some more shoes to stain.

If life were a game, then blame is my ball,
Yours to catch, or trip over and fall.
Now take the next left, for I must go on,
Untie my laces, but then be gone.
---------------------------------------------

Who am I kidding, my life's mine to complete,
For I have no excuses, I control my own feet.

Neon

Thirty Four Hundred, and Forty four,
How much higher would it go ?
------------------------------------------

The lonely boots dragged along the dust
As the Colonel made his way.
Along with him, a small boy did walk,
As he had, for many a day

The leeches clung on, and crickets sang, But
what cleansed them was blood and gore,
For the forest hadn't been too kind on them
And neither had the war.

This war they said, like any other before,
Would for long, linger around
And while the colonel moved slow, unsure of fate,
The death toll did leap and bound.

Hardly had they stepped across the border,
When their heart did skip a beat,
They'd been taught to hide, to aim, to shoot,
But they hadnt learnt to retreat.

And though the new land did say hello,
Greetings didn't quite seem right,
For in wars like these, only death had a place,
As did dear sorrow's plight.

The enemy's land did always thrill,
and tempt the colonel's delight,
But all was well until they saw
What seemed nothing but 'them lights'

Them lights, them lights, them neon lights
Wouldn't ever hurt a kid,
Yet still these harmless neon lights,
Had a mind of their own, they did.

And soon the old man's thoughts, not eyes
Were blinded by the light.
Though, With questions, his disbelieving mind did flirt
inevitably, reality did bite.

The lights, joined by voices, soon everywhere,
Sounds of feet shuffling in the sand,
And as darkness, violated, did complain,
The colonel clutched the young boy's hand

Them lights, them lights, them neon lights
Wouldn't hurt a kid,
Yet still these harmless neon lights,
Had a mind of their own, they did.

There weren't such things as formalities,
With those across 'the line',
And sure enough, the gunshots rang,
As blood, with contempt did sign.

The two shadowy figures, then did aimlessly slump,
The grasp slowly loosened, once tight
Then silence did speak, as darkness lunged,
Waving goodbye neon lights.
-----------------------------------------------------------

Them lights, them lights, them neon lights
Never failed to fix,
A life or two-The enemy's,but so what ?
Thirty Four Hundred, and Forty six.

Who's kidding?

Twelve generations tried and failed.
This one will too, I'm sure.
But I will feed and nurture it with extra care, and try to keep it alive.
I promise I will.
I really will.

Yeah, right.