When things (finally) fall in place!

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ALERT: Bad pic quality

Isn’t it a wonderful feeling when things fall in place for you, after a long, long time? Isn’t it so friggin’ relieving when you do not have to bear the cross of defeat on your shoulder anymore?

You doubt your own good fortunes, because good fortunes and you are not exactly on good terms! You do tend to think that it is only a lull before a new storm ravages your life, all over again. 

People who have failed many times have a hard time believing that they have finally succeeded. Isn’t that also a little saddening, when instead of celebrating their long-fought victory, they are vigilant, waiting for the next big heart-attack?

Yet, success is a beautiful thing, and I pray that all should get to taste its intoxicating flavor, but yet never get too drunk on it, for it is but, a transient state. More than the success, may all get to feel the sweet sweat of hard work on their brow.

When they go home after a long day’s work, may they feel immensely proud. May their chest swell with pride at the tiniest of jobs well-done. May good work become the final destination of many, instead of the adulation.
Meanwhile, I thank my Father above, and wait in anticipation for the next big heart-attack. Can’t let my guard down, can I? 

 

2013 in review — Better late than never

Okay! I know WordPress was late in doing my annual report, but its not my fault! So, here’s my report of 2013!!

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 14,000 times in 2013. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 5 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

Leaving home…

I am finally going to leave home at the crack of dawn tomorrow. Agreed – it comes a few years late compared to my friends who did their first degree from other cities. Nevertheless, the day has come. I am stoked. It is a promotion and an enhanced job role that is taking me to a different city.

I am excited to tackle all the challenges that come my way. Honestly, I can’t wait.

leaving-home

I can’t wait to see the house that I shall turn into a home.

But, then again, I am sad, for I am leaving family and love behind. That is a void that no big city or professional success can fill. The people I love the most are not going to be with me. That is a big blow to me.

No matter how much of an “adventurous-and-ready-to-check-out-new-places” guy I seem to be, I am also someone who wilts like a rose in the evening when there’s no one to go back home to, when there’s no one to  watch silly sentimental Bollywood movies with, when there’s no  whose hands I could hold while walking.

What is home without loved ones?

Damn! Why can’t some decisions be easy, like for instance, to be happy or to feel sad?

PS: Happy new year friends!

Image courtesy: www.mendosa.com

It’s raining tonight. . .

It’s raining tonight. Cold December rain.

It isn’t raining cats and dogs, though. Just the low humming rain that keeps falling incessantly.

It has rained after quite some time today. There is this smell emanating from the soil — that characteristic smell that accompanies monsoons.

It should be winter now in Guwahati, technically. But the weather’s changed. Global warming, I presume. It is not as cold as it used to be in Decembers when I was growing up.

Yet this rain, the smells and the sounds, the light blanket, and this dark night bring back memories of familiar winter nights spent many years ago at my grandfather’s place.

It is a small town called Coochbehar – a town that has always fascinated me. My best moments while growing up were spent there.

I remember how cold it used to be back then. How I would lie under the blanket and listen to the rain in the dark of the night. How the familiar smell would entice. How the night watchman would come right up to the house and frighten me with his blood curdling whistle. How I would hear his footsteps as he walked away from the house. How the cold winter wind would creep in through crevices of the wooden house.

Those were the best winters. Now the winter fog is no longer there. Things have changed.

Both of my maternal grandparents were alive back. I don’t feel any great sense of loss for them, to be honest. But a loss has been often experienced.

A loss of environment, warmth. Certain people have a certain aura and make sure that the places they inhabit emanate the same. The place has never been the same after they left for their abode up above.

Now as I lay in bed and type on my phone, I hear the low hum of the fridge, the wall clock ticking away. Mechanical sounds. There’s no warmth. No emotion. No sense of adventure. No cold wind creeping in. It’s a concrete house.

There’s no watchman here.

Why do familiar smells and sounds bring nostalgia? Why does it feel that things were always better in the past, when they actually weren’t? What is this mystery?

The story so far

There was a time I fought with the world. I fought everyday but I could not win.

I complained. I hated all.

The world seemed like an unequal place. I revolted against authority, and followed my heart. Half-hearted efforts yielded little. With my feet in two different boats, the journey was destined to be rocky.

Was I a rebel though? I think I was. A rebel without a cause, then? No! My cause was to prove to them that there existed a different kind of life. I needed to show them there was a life that was much, much better than just safely following the herd. I spoke to them. They were unconvinced. They said I spoke too much and delivered too little. They said I was a loser.

Then, one day, everything changed! I was destined to prove them wrong. I chose a life — no, a life was thrust upon me by my circumstances. Circumstances which at first had seemed hostile to me. I complained. I fought with an imaginary God. I cried.

I asked, “Why me, of all the people in the world?”

My imaginary God smiled and whispered, “Because you are special!”

Days changed into weeks, weeks into months. The curse turned to a boon. And I realised – I was happy. For the first friggin’ time in many many years, I was happy! By jove, that was the only thing that mattered. That happiness and that satisfaction was the only thing in the entire world that mattered to me.

Today, months later, I feel like I have created my own little island of “all that is right” in the vast ocean of “all that is not”.

island
In this island of mine, there is no hatred, no grief, no sadness, no regrets. There’s only happiness and good old fashioned hard work. Like a karma yogi, I work. And the consequent satisfaction is the biggest reward.
The mockers and haters are very far from my island. I don’t need them anymore.

In this island, I am happy. That is the only thing that matters. This is my story so far.

Thank you for reading!

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Thank you for reading! A performer is nothing without an audience. A writer is nothing without a reader.

I had started writing under different circumstances altogether, hoping to just pursue it as a hobby, as some kind of a respite from the moronic  life of a Math Honors student.

But, circumstances have changed in the course of the last two years. For the better, too! Life has been kind, for not everyone gets a second shot at re-starting life, wiping out all previous mistakes and regrets. Not everyone has a job where one’s natural talents are put to use.

I am happy today, after a long time. The written word means a lot to me. This blog means a LOT to me._DSC0054


(I have been super busy for the last month, which explains the irregularity in posting. Also, not having an internet connection at the apartment where I am holed up for this month truly sucks! But, I will back be home pretty soon. Hope to start writing regularly again. Before I sign off, once again, thanks for the reading)

On not-drinking & not-smoking

Something about me that upsets and perplexes people at the same time is that I am not able to give them company for a smoke or a drink.

I do not understand how my personal choices can upset or perplex people. But, it does!

Sometimes, the reactions are plain hilarious.

“You don’t drink?” often said with a raised eyebrow.

“Wait, how old are you? 22? 23? And you don’t drink?” said with as disdain as disbelief.

It is as if there is some unwritten societal norm somewhere that a person of a certain age has to subscribe to either of these two habits, especially the one of the liquid variety!

But, what stings is how easily the image of a party-pooper is associated with someone who turns these benevolent offers down humbly. Let me get facts straight. I am not a party-pooper!

If my abstentions from these acts make me a boring person, wait till you see me dance. Not that I dance too well, but I can keep a party alive for some hours at a stretch!

I tried gelling with people by breaking my own boundaries and joining them for a drink.

The results were not too encouraging. After a few turns, I was the only sober guy still left. Some fell asleep; others acted drunk and spoke incoherent bullshit. All of their life’s sorrows foImageund outlets after a few drinks!

I couldn’t help but wonder if it is just an act that they put together or if the being-drunk part is genuine, because I having partaken of the same quantity could still think straight!

Also, one of the popular notions is that for male bonding to happen, it is essential a person drinks or smokes. Absolute rubbish, I say!

How about bonding over a trekking episode, or a swim, or a biking trip? Why does it have to be over smoke and funny liquid? 

Also, please realise that it is wise to not give people trouble over their personal choices, as long as they do not put you in harm’s way in any manner. Like your drinking, or smoking is not put under the scanner, please do not put somebody’s not-drinking or not-smoking under probe!

Thank you for respecting my boundaries!

To be pampered

Being pampered is a great thing, age no bar. One is reminded that some things won’t last a lifetime, and as long as they do, it is wise to enjoy them.

So, what if you’re a 23-year old man, but your Dad still thinks you are a twelve year old, scared of stepping out into the big bad world outside?  Image

Let him worry for you; let him ask you about the same thing ten times. Don’t get irritated, even if it makes you feel like a kid.

That guy isn’t going to last forever, and who knows, you might one day miss this pampering.

You will get enough time to worry about the world, all by yourself. You will be the BIG man you’ve always wanted to be, someday. You will roam the world all alone. There’s enough time for that.

Let your old man pamper you if it makes him feel good. Sometimes making others happy is priceless.

Life is good! The little gifts it showers upon an otherwise mundane existence, which is committed to chasing wild butterflies, are special.

These gifts cost nothing, but are invaluable.

This post is a reminder to me and to all those whom it may concern – a reminder that the good things in life will run out faster than you can imagine.

Hold on to them, while you can!  Image

A note: I won’t be posting till the 30th. Will be travelling. I expect to be back by 31st Oct.

 

(This work by Subhabrata Dasgupta is licensed under  Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.)

                                                                                                                                           

For the “broken”

I have never done posts based on daily posts. It is because inspirations have to come from within for the posts to read well. But, from time to time, I have kept an eye out for interesting daily posts, more so, on a day lacking in motivation to write.

Today however, the guys at The Daily Post have for me a trigger I couldn’t resist.

Today’s post reads:

Tell us about a habit you’d like to break. Is there any way it can play a positive role in your life?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us BROKEN.

I am obsessed with “broken”. I have always felt a strange pull towards broken people, ever ready to take them under my wing, and heal them. A sob story never fails to move me, to an extent that this trait has been used to take undue advantages.

Never mind, though!

Helping people has been such an overwhelming passion. Learning to say “no” is a lifetime project.

About broken – I have a different take. What happens when something breaks?download (1)

It is no longer like its previous self. Its shape has changed, there’s probably a crack somewhere too. But why would you call it disfigured?

Why won’t you credit it as a new shape, with its own characteristics?  Why wouldn’t you rather acknowledge its own independent features – admittedly not like its previous self, but of course something totally anew?

It has its own purpose, and identity.

Similar is the case with people. Broken people attract me because I realise that the kind of empathy, sensitivity, and goodwill broken people can learn to build is far greater than most whole people. It is just a matter of converting the pain to something beautiful. One just has to discover a passion where all their energies can be poured.

How often have you heard of people losing a loved one to some illness, later on going on to build support groups, hospitals, knowledge centres for others who suffer from the same illness?

Me? I have heard them tales too often.

A “break” can be transformed into immense positive energy. It doesn’t have to be always drugs and alcohol.images

Broken people also tend to take utmost care to not hurt people, or to “break” them in any manner. They tend to become healing centres.

What is so bad with being broken?                                                           

I want to explore why the general notion is so negative about broken people. They are the ones who are avoided and considered to be holding unnecessary “baggage”.

But is anyone really whole?

Truth is the world breaks everyone. No one escapes without a blemish. Some are just good at hiding it too well, and for too long. But, hiding has its own negative effects too.

Some wear it as badge, more like the scars of a war!

But, as a general rule, we are all broken. There’s nothing wrong with it.

Use your “break” proudly!

(This work by Subhabrata Dasgupta is licensed under  Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.)

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Writing “personally”!

One of the few pieces of criticism about my writing on this blog has been that some of the pieces are too personal.

A very good question posed was “Why would a reader who doesn’t know you be interested in reading about what goes on in your life?”

A valid question, I thought.

I didn’t have any answer at that point.

While ideating a personal post, it has never been my concern if the reader would be interested in reading what I am about to write. Of course, when attempting fiction, humour, and other forms, it has been a concern.

Oftentimes, whether or not a reader would like a post, or the way it I approach it has dictated terms. I am fine with it.

But, coming to personal posts, I have never cared if anybody would like them. The primary and overpowering concern has been to get the load off my head, and trust me, there’s nothing as easy as writing a load off.

The personal posts are written because I need to write them to feel better.Image

The readership, likes, comments come later.

An argument that arises out of this is why I would go write about my personal problems on a blog that is open to public. I don’t exactly know why.

I do have a personal space – my personal diary. I have been writing a personal diary since the age of eleven.

So, I wonder why instead of choosing that personal space, I often choose the blog.

Perhaps, it has got something to do with the fact that I am more comfortable about sharing my life on the internet than most people. Does that make me a dirty-linen-washer-in-public?

I wonder if it does.

 Well, even if it does, is that a bad thing?

A man has got to vent somewhere. I am not as likely to tell my ‘real’ world about my intimate personal issues.

Nobody takes the risk of being judged.

Here, on the internet, even if you judge me, I wouldn’t know. You are less likely to shoot off an e-mail telling me how you felt about a post. Even if you cringe at the amount of personal details divulged in a post, you are less likely to comment and tell me off.

Also, writing about personal problems has earned me some blog friends for life. Allwin is one of them. We bonded over a post written on personal failure. I wonder if few of you would still be reading my blog had we not bonded over personal posts.

Writing about myself has largely been a good thing for me.

The most negative thing that can happen is I can piss a reader off by the over-emphasis on myself. That is a bad thing to happen. But, I need to vent somewhere.

The internet is really useful, in more ways than I had imagined.

How comfortable are you sharing your life as it is on the internet? How likely are to write a load-off? Also, while reading posts do you prefer the ones that have a personal touch, or do you love a detached approach?

 

(This work by Subhabrata Dasgupta is licensed under  Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.)