Ten Favorite Books - Part 1

Books I've read appear, in retrospect, in two orthogonal dimensions to me. One, as a pointer in time - it brings together the year-season-state of mind of the reading period as a unified packet to the present day. This aspect is often overwhelming for its non-discrete and strongly associative nature. That I had seen a then popular movie two days before reading 'Tintin in the Congo' and a particular part of the omelette had too much salt in it as I reached the last page would never otherwise be correlated other than the book reference. A madeleine helped Proust remembrance of smells past and write a very long book. For most others, a particular book often uncovers remembrance of a slice of past - comfortably zipped like a well-behaving benign set of computer files. Two, in a more direct way, we keep becoming an average of the books we read. 'Education of a Value Investor' may leave permanent neuronal bonding in us that refuses to jump in to buy the latest fad stock, while John Wright's 'Indian Summers' may forever make us want to discover 'who was the character he did not name on page 38'. This way, books get enfleshed into what we dream, abuse and think when we drive longer than few hours. 

When I chose the "Top Ten" Books - I made three conscious choice criteria.

1. For past 15 years or so, I've almost exclusively read english. But for the decades before that, I almost exclusively read Bengali books. So, I will create two sets of "Top 10".

2. My list would be as much about the goodness of the books as about the importance of the period the book points to. I suspect the latter criterion inevitably would have crept up irrespective and bloat ranking of an otherwise potboiler, I just wanted to be cognizant of it. 

3. I've excluded "academic" or "career" books even though a few I would happily rescan if I am sitting idle. Though I massively enjoyed some of these otherwise perceived "boring" tomes and financially benefitted from it, I doubt it merits mixing it within a global view of literature.

Here goes my "Top 10 English Books" (in parenthesis is the year I read it) with a brief "why" for each -

1. The Road (2012) - I was interested to read McCarthy after learning that he never uses quotation marks (as a computer programmer, minimal ink per page principle fascinates me). Immediately after, our local bookstore was offering a british paperback edition for $1.99 on the sale rack and I dutifully picked it up. As it happened, we were expecting our first child a few months later and I was mostly agnostic to the phase transition to parenthood. This book, that I originally had put high on my reading priority list because it technically belongs to 'post-apocalyptic genre' and is a thin one at that too, left me completely shaken and often into tears of helplessness. Before I finished first 30 pages or so my life revolved around myself. After finishing, I just wished my kid would be lucky to sip into a cold can of Coke when I am gone. I was also never more impatient and perhaps more ready to welcome him. 'The Road' is indeed a definitive guide to fatherhood, not the "how", but the "what" parts of it.
2. A Fine Balance (2006) - This Russian novel like wide structural narrative accompanied me to get over a somewhat serious illness. Trying to reign over strong medicines and depressingly lit bedside lamp, I was looking forward to vicariously share a life in 1970s India. I quickly read each of Rohinton Mistry's other books and while mostly enjoyed them, 'Fine Balance' was far and above of anything I'd ever read about India.
3. Thinking, Fast and Slow (2011) - Scott Adams once wrote an insightful article on 'How to get a Real Education' and listed 'Learn Persuasion' as a key domain. We follow the classic Greco-Roman partitioning of education and have mostly refrained from introducing anything newer (conceptualized in past 50-ish years) to middle-education. Also, there is very high domain-specificity for recent subjects, e.g., 'Bugs of our Mind' is mostly appropriated by business education. Thinking, Fast and Slow should be a prerequisite reading, and again, for everyone. It is enjoyable, does not read at all written by an academic and puts a big light on the darkest fuzzy areas of our minds. This is as close to a "Manual for Human Thinking" as I could find within 400 pages or so.
4. The Walking Dead: Compendium One & Two (2010) - Perhaps the only time I "read" 1000+ pages within 24 hours. What a series! How could someone better a story with many multi-dimensional characters in black & white graphic surviving reactively in a zombie-infested world? It could also be a supplementary material for "Evolution" class in Biology, I guess.
5. Book of Lists: The Original Compendium of Curious Information (1994) - This book led me to consume a very large number of books supplying trivial knowledge. In hindsight, addiction to this genre could also be seen as the only non-competitive - like walking - way to gain knowledge. Particle Physics knowledge and such is associative with a formal method of evaluation, but who on the world would rank the knowledge of "Everyone who knows '5 Celebrities who Spotted Elvis after Death''?
6. Stumbling on Happiness (2008) - In summary - all human woes could be attributed to our pursuit of transitory assets disguised as 'happiness'. Like 'Thinking...', this book is a very readable "Manual to an OK Life". Some of the concepts from this book, like quantifying commute in context of active life, have baselined in my decision-making heuristics.
7. Conspiracy of Fools (2013) - I cheat, I actually haven't read this one. But I listened to the audio book over two weeks of commute. The real-life narrative of Enron collapse and the ubiquitous randomized executive decision-making environment of any high-flying public entities hit the spot. It is not easy to explain concrete details of 'accounting fraud' and rivet the reader's/listener's attention that the author managed to do such effortlessly.
8. Team of Rivals (2010) - The only reason I purchased this book was its brand new condition in a $1 used-book sale! A few weeks later as I casually started scanning it was difficult to stop. Any politician, especially an elected President of a monolithic republic, mostly loses mass interest after a few weeks in power. It speaks enough of Lincoln's that he grows more interesting with each passing century. This particular tome led to a series of history binge-reading that only was traded at a "Stop Loss" while buying into 'Walking Dead'!
9. At Home (2012) - If Bill Bryson speaks as he writes, I could buy drinks for him every afternoon just to listen to him. Who else could sneak in Queen Elizabeth's silverware stealing habit in a very enjoyable ride through history of home? The key thing about Bryson is his uniform high quality of writing across 10+ books. I considered at least three of his books for this list.
10. Phaidon Design Classics (2013) - Originally consulted a volume of the book for a talk I was giving, I purchased the ebook for iPad. The hardcover volumes total 5 lbs each and are difficult to handle. The iPad version is beautifully designed and easily navigable as you would expect for an anthology of 1000 beautiful functional design. Who knew the cap of Bic pen has a hole to comply with an international design standard to reduce accidental choking! 

The Avatar Experience

One. I opened the REAL-D glass at exactly five minutes into the movie to see things look without. Screen looked exactly like how Doordarshan did back in 80s when a strong afternoon wind moved the rooftop antenna from its perfect alignment with the "tower". Two or three able bodied men would immediately rush to the roof, one person with better eyesight than imagination would keep staring at the screen down. There would be back and forth communication between the two groups till the exact alignment is restored, evident from a 'good picture'. Only if we had these cool 3-d glasses back then.

Two. The major problem with a perfectly shot 3D movie is the new way to deal with who I call the popcorn pirates. These folks probably have perpetually bad toilet at home and find theater popcorn more gourmet than anything at French Laundry. In normal movies you can strategically maneuver your legs as they pass through the tiny isle to hurt them real bad. In such well executed 3D, it's indeed confusing to figure out whether these creatures in front are Popcorn Pirates or just a few oversized folks from a different planet.

Three. My wife keeps stalking Abhishek Bachchan in Twitter et al. She'd told me Abhishek thinks Avatar is a lot like Hindi movies. I was still looking for a Johnny Lever among Na'vis who would ape humans, or a veteran Omprakash - modern Aloknath type Na'vi who would want to hand over the planet to humans with no axe to grind. Hint: Na'vis were mostly arboreal. Not Na'vi as in Navi Mumbai!

Four. Stephen Lang (the nasty colonel) is 57. Seriously? Or, his muscles came from the same data center Na'vis' tails did?

Five. During the climactic fight, I was literally Wii-ing my hands to punch the colonel or take out a couple of planes. It was, to paraphrase Gulshan Grover, 'a bit more than games, a bit less than classic'.

Kevin Khekra et al

How about who all I am talking about? Extra credits if you name the movies along.

1. Heera Singh
2. Kesariya Vilaayti
3. Tapasvi Gunjal
4. Bob 'Odzhora'
5. Tyson
6. Sir Juda
7. Kali Babu
8. Inspector Sher Singh (this, I have to give movie name -- "Cheetah". Inspector Sher Singh in Cheetah. Ha ha)
9. Kevin Khekra
10. Dost Khan

(Courtesy: Filmfare, Oct 14, 2009)

Snowflakes on the Bald Tree

Moment 1

1995. A bunch of thin, clueless and boasting Engineering students keep bunking all classes. During the college fest, suddenly they enroll to a "Computer Training" to learn Unix and C. Two evenings every week. He would be there the first every evening. While the instructor waits frustratingly for others to arrive from different joints within the city, he would open his tiffin box and munch things in extreme peace with himself. The instructor does not look too happy when others show up. Finally.

Moment 2

1997. The bunch of thin, clueless and boasting Engineering students are chatting inside the 'pavilion'. As it happens at such times, people are cutting each other with random sentences. One of his was (obviously translated) - "The most important thing is where we will be in another ten years. First five years, I want to get out of this coding business. After another five years, I want to get into Management. Coding sucks." People laugh. He was damn serious.

Moment 3

1998. He just started 'seeing' someone in his first job. A friend visits Bombay from Chennai. Three of us meet to plan to go to Khandala / Pune for a couple of days and just drink throughout. He bailed out seriously pissing off both of them. Did not even come for the drink session that evening. His reason? "Borivali te national park ache. Rate bagh beroy. Oke bari chere dite hobe.' (Tigers sometime come out from National Park and roam around in open after dark. I have to drop her to her place).

Moment 4

1999. He is in Canada for work. Spends several thousands of dollars in a month to call his wife (the same one he escorted home).

Moment 5

2001. He shows up at Amber Calcutta every Saturday usually direct from a shoe sale. Or, clothing sale. Or, some shop. He loves to buy. And to eat too.

Moment 6

2003. He and a couple other friends would phone conference during the world cup and analyze the games. The analysis often ran for hours, with no seeming stoppage of liberal opinions on non-performers.

Moment 7

August, 2009. He calls up a friend, this one in fact. Practically ambushes him on why he does not "keep in touch" anymore. He also mocks at the lame excuse of "recession, boss" at any serious questions he asks. Talks about Madhuri Dixit sightings in Denver; Mamata Banerjee's accent; Subhash Bhowmick's Coaching camps; Fate of aging programmers in US; State of the Economy - and especially a few companies he and his friend knows about; the not-so-funny moments of home-ownership and a whole bunch of other topics. While doing so he also kept a close eye on his 5 yr old daughter playing in park. As she finished playing, he keeps the phone promising to call back. Soon.

When someone leaves, he leaves a lot of moments behind. His social networking site "Title" reads -- "enjoy every moment of life". He surely did. His activities read - "getting limited day by day :)". We saw him coming to college on bike, almost every day. Unsurprisingly, his favourite movie list starts with "Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar". His fashion sense reads -- and shows as he sips into a cool cocktail in the profile pic -- "trendy". Some guy even wrote in his page "abe woh phot change kar... kudiyon ko phasa raha hai... abhi tu buda ho gaya.." Another close friend commented - "uuf, gola chhobi to re...pechhone line diye meyera nacha nachi korle aro bhalo hoto".

One of his professional recommendations ends with -- "He will be a good asset to wherever he goes!"

He is not here anymore. Only The Good Die Young.

Terrible PJ

(Please do not read further this unless you can take awful pun that could ruin your day OR unless you have been following the connection between Pradeep Rawat and Aamir Khan over last decade! I could dare publish it because only three people ever care to read my blog.)

Just came back watching Ghajini. As Aamir was beating the shit out of Pradeep Rawat, one thought came to mind. In the original Ghajini (Tamil) Pradeep had a twin brother. Rawat also played the role of Aswathama in B.R.Chopra's Mahabharat. So - HUGE SPOILER ALERT -after Aamir Khan kills him, does Ziah Khan whisper to his effervescent memory - "Aswathama hata(h) (iti Ghajini)"?

Lost Worlds - What have We Lost & Where Did it Go? - Part 1

(Idea shamelessly copied from this paperback - definitely worth a read. A lot of the following references would not be obvious -- just like fragments from another scattered life.)

Here is my list -

1. VCR Rental Nights. VHS (not) rewind fine.
   
   
2. Morning newspaper delivery - the "thud" on the balcony.
   
   
3. Nylon back "Easy Chair"
   
   
4. Borolene. Not the cream - but the the most wonderful program to ever air -- "Borolene-er Sonsar".
   
   
5. TV Box - so the TV screen can be "locked". Close second - phone padlocks.
   
   
6. "Niruddes Sonkranto Ghoshona" (Announcement on Missing Persons) before 7:30PM Bengali news - Me and my brother used to play guessing game on the age. One had to guess the correct age in the 3 seconds between the appearance of the photo and the utterance of the details. Later, I even started "Guess the name" contest. One had to be really fast to even aim that.
   
   
7. Bryan Adams in a Pizza Shop / Scoop - welcome adulthood!
   
   
8. Anil Grover column in "The Telegraph" magazine.
   
   
9. Leaving "Adarsha Hindu Hotel" unfinished on one evening as the rest of the hostelites came back from their stupid football game.
   
   
10. Watching "Rani Rasmoni" on open air screen with 350 other boys who just stepped into teens.
    
    
11. Anandamela Pujabarshiki before 1992. Especially, Shailen Ghosh's first five years and Sanjeev Chattopadhyay's middle two!
    
    
12. First road trip in US. Yes, it was Niagara and we stopped at McDonald's at 3AM!
    
    
13. Used magazine purchase from train "hawkers" before the train picked up full speed.
    
    
14. Comparing notes about "phone card charges" with fellow first-timers in US.
    
    
15. Dulal Chandra Bhar's Taal MichDi ads on right newspaper ear. The distinction between it and Dulal Bhar's was as ethereal as that between "Kuwari Dulhan" and "Kunwari Dulhan" (worth a full separate post!).
    
    
16. Reading Panjika on a lazy summer vacation afternoon.
    
    
17. Reading "Bharoter Sadhok" (Sages of India) on another lazy summer vacation afternoon as there was literally nothing else to read.
    
    
18. First sexual "awakening" as Heike Dreschler long jumped for the gold in World Championships 1987. This was the exact photograph, BTW, printed on one amazingly used page of Anandabazar Patrika. I saw this photo of her's first time today, however.
    
    
19. First drink at New Cathey Restaurant. It was Gin and Lime.
    
    
20. Sarodiyo Khela. Especially the best ever sports series called "Utko Sangbadiker Diary"
    
    
21. Sportstar Posters! Need I say more?
    
    
22. ATN. Where did it go? Why did it go? Could someone one day do a comparative analysis between ATN and CVO at their peaks?
    
    
23. Park Street Cemetery - St Xavier's would never be the same without the very dead Sahibs relaxing so close by. Smoking anywhere else would never be the same again.
    
    
24. "Rubber Deuce" ball. Any bozo and his uncle can play first-class cricket. Surviving 7 balls or more with those red tiny things that changed its shape, contour, speed and even horizontal path within a whole 18 yards separated men from sissies. BTW, has anyone else ever felt that someone always seems to carry rubber deuce ball very until it hits the bat? Otherwise, why the hell it NEVER really attains a circular shape on its trajectory!
    
    
25. Reading comics at relatives house. Why does comics feel so much better when someone else buys it and when there is a tight time line you have to finish it within?!

Six Unspectacular Quirks

This is the first time someone has "tagged" me. I feel the same excitement I felt when my parents had bought me a cool "Omega" pencil box replacing the bland "Camel" one.

Here goes the list -

1. I can burp the words - "I love you". Seriously, ask my wife. However, I only resort to perform the trick when my wife complains I am not "romantic enough".

2. I am somewhat scared to fly. The fact that I was scheduled to be in airspace on 09/11/2001 does not help. So much so that even though my job requires a wee bit of travel, I always drive. This is not a quirk though. The mentionable fact is I am highly fond of plane crash movies. I have watched all of them. Yes, "Final Destination 1" plane crash is the best of 'em all. Bordering obsession, I have extensively researched all major air crashes and even read the FAA reports and deep engineering analysis of most of it!

3. I have watched each and every one of Shilpa Shirodkar's movies. "Bhrastachar" was the best; "Raghuveer" - I watched twice as I was in Ghatshila for a month and nothing else was running.

4. I wear a watch where I can measure heartbeats per second. During numerous meetings, I measure the pulse. If it goes above 90, I try my best to not speak.

While buying that watch, I got tax break from US Government. That's the most productive career tool I ever owned.

5. Much earlier, after all the beers I drank in a session, I could write my full name - including surname - on the urinal wall. These days, I could only do my "daak naam" (pet name) that has about five letters.

6. I very strongly believe that intelligence is over-hyped. Stemming from a faux-confidence intelligent people make the worst kind of mistake. Leaders and top Managers should have a little less brainpower than their followers. That would at least make it possible for them to consult smarter people. We have seen the best educated people putting us in the present economic mess we are in. Now we should put common folks at the helm and see why exactly top formal education is worthless. My friends, that's why, I have contributed to John McCain's campaign.

Someone I never (really) disagreed with

Our sweetest moments always coincide with unexpected success. Kapil's Devils' 83; myself scoring a 25/25 in "Gaan" class with Prabhatda -who looked like Hemanta - in Narendrapur; myself - again - cracking the JEE in 1993 and so on. As I, Prantik, Partha and BeNte (Aniruddha) met a couple of days after JEE results were out, celebrating the much expected demise of our Math coaching class on Saturday evening in Golpark -- Prantik bore his trade-smirk and warned me in his very "I know you will be disappointed if you cut this tomato for Omelette" tone that one of his schoolmates would probably be in my Engineering class considering our pretty close ranks. I was 315, the weird named unknown folk talked about was 310. While expecting Partha's mother would bring another round of Bourbon biscuits to dip into very sweet and lukewarm evening tea, I mumbled a feeble "so?". I was already being told about "characters" I would meet in Jadavpur University by rank and file, somehow letting me fantasize of the chaotic life ahead where I could somehow redefine anarchy with the help of so and so.

Jumpcut. July, 1997. The orientation was just over. It rained. As I was about to pay the princely sum of about Rs. 181.50 for the "registration" in Mechanical Engineering, I realized I just had a few hundreds. Always a believer of conspiracy theory and still not coming to terms with me being there, I was scared that I may lose the seat if the clerk does not have a change. Some other Electrical Engineering dude may come ahead with the change and swap. As hard as getting a change was, I broke into cold sweat thinking what would happen if I could not get it in 10 minutes or so. I may have to decide for Printing Technology in REC, Suratkal.

This spectacled and aloof guy was standing nearby with his father. I hid my desperation and asked if they have change. I even took out my most creasefree bill to try lure them. His father, without speaking much and definitely not looking at my bait, took out his wallet, handed me change for a 100 and took the shiny bill from me. We chatted for a moment or two. I shook hands, thanked them profusely and was convinced that Prantik never really understands people the way I do.

Jumpcut. Zoom to first semester. Our roll numbers were adjacent. We both were trying our best to be as blue collar as we can fake to be. We were together in things that are top in every 18 year old's mind - wood working, metal fitting workshop, foundry, forging etc. Worse - him and I were grouped together. I do not know about him, but I started fantasizing I am Robinson Crusoe as I had to take the (literally) hot iron and put it inside a mud-hole. He was not of much help. In the very few classes that required a pen, I saw him - often - doing crosswords. In the ones that required a book, he was omnipresent with "First Among Equals". We started talking more. As I recall September, 1993 was the epiphany. As I proudly walked in with the latest Stardust issue - was very hard to get if you remember what was on the cover BTW - he lost no time in grabbing it. I saw a faint glimmer of appreciation, heartfelt, in his eyes. I liked him. I was about to mention about her sister, the one who was on cover - trying to aim at a juicy conversation. He gave me a sterner look and just mumbled the words "Mithila?". At that point, if Prantik - despite his very unpopular SFI "background - asked for my vote, I would have given it. He was right. Damn right.

Months passed by. Years too. When a senior professor suddenly died and classes were called off, a big group went to watch "Four Weddings and a Funeral". Mainly pushed by him, some of us watched a few Spielberg movies in New Empire. Films were his passion - even my type of films. We spent hours talking about "Tehelka", even about "Vansh" that we both agreed was a masterpiece. I was so proud that someone who reads about Satyajit Ray in English would also read his "Ebaro Baro". The same person who would push for "Citizen Kane" in our newly formed "Film Club" would not mind when I tell him how much I enjoyed "Tilak" the other night. In fact, I too enjoyed the screening of "Rashomon". I really liked it. I still remember the day Dipta paid for the Pepsi and did not ask me back for Rs 8. I remember it so well because it happened just twice. I envied his vast collection of books - even some Bengali ones. However, I do think no one could beat me there. On one summer I was so out of bengali reading material, I finished thirteen volumes of "Bharater Sadhok" (The Saints of India). He did never smoke, most of rest of us did. He almost rarely drank, most of rest of us reveled in that. He was the Vinod Khanna of quizzing circuit. People did not know he was the best because he did not want them to. His academics did not improve much, mine deteriorated a lot. But I took great pleasure when, once, he asked me something about "Fluid Mechanics". I felt so proud someone asked me something "technical", I tried re-branding myself as a "Fluid Expert" and starting to break ongoing conversations about how I think it will be really tough to crack "Fluid 2". He was never much into dramatics and when we went together for the Viva, he was extremely conservative and not very forthcoming. Since he was not, and he was very sincere, he could speak three entirely disjointed and irrelevant sentences together as answer and still would somehow give a 7/10 performance. My theatrics could either earn me an "Alpha Double Plus" (rare, actually just once) or a plain "You disappoint me. Your father tries to stop crime, and you do crime" (frequent). Sadly, that blurb reminded him of Shakti, I could tell it from his eyes he was watching me run through a runway.

As we broke into our final year, something I was not much expecting to, I decided that I was cut made for MBA. He was scoring the prep tests like Greame Smith scored in counties. It was unbelievable. I tried to focus on the "strategic preparation" part and tried to chip in with theories like - in CAT, they may print a 4 page long "Reading Comprehension" passage. As you go through it reading fast and finish it, you may see there is no question asked on it. My proudest moment in JU came in form of only two of us making the final round of HCL (Marketing) interview. I mostly copied from his analyticals for the elimination round however. As he came back from TELCO interview somewhat glum, we watched "Showgirls" without speaking much. He also could not stop talking about the book he read on the way back in train.

We spoke everyday morning over phone *before* we got to college. Usually, I will tune down "Chitralok" (a program another of our friend loves) and talk about the things that we would talk later in the day and on. These days, one of the first things I do is check his blog in the morning. I do not really miss our conversation all that much. He mostly keeps writing about it, even after so many years.

Keep writing, my friend.

The Parent Trap

Behold. I now know why India is not a proportionate sporting nation. It is not lack of infrastructure, it is not over-abundance of Cricket, neither it is our very average physical traits. The reason we suck - sports for us is a warm-fuzzy-cuddly-forcefully emotive thing like a Sukhen Das movie. Sports for us is not a cold Gladiator fighting for his life in Arena. Sports for us is all about our parents - players', spectators' and even commentators'. And then, if lucky, the obligatory congratulatory call from usually ailing President of India.

As much truly delighted as I am after Abhinav Bindra's success, it was genuinely funny to see NDTV qoute his parents - within half-an-hour of him winning - "it was not easy at all". Anandabazar Patrika had a quarter-page article titled "Maa Perechi" (Mom, I did it). Apparently, Bindra called from Beijing and uttered just those two words or five, depending on whether he was speaking Bengali or Jaath dialect. Just that, and not complaining or being asked about the heat, humidity, food issues or even a request to buy some quality China-made umbrellas for home. According to Sapan Sarkar, who apparently reported this from Chandigarh, the Bindras are throwing such a great party that "nimeshe uDe jachhe kg kg laddu-r baxo". That is one thing, I hope, Jr Bindra is not allowed to have. Magically enough, Anandabazar not only knew details of last three phone calls between Bindra and his folks, it somehow published the content in a unique Bong-Hindi transcript.

I do not know who to trust. According to rediff, a tearful Babli Bindra had actually sent a SMS to her son.

Newschannels were too busy to offer a slot to interview of the obligatory "childhood coach". I remembered Deshpran Azad and hoped I would not have to listen to another pathetic story about Bindra's tremendous lactose tolerance level. Even Bindra's sister, last I checked, was too busy teaching everyone the difference between "trap" and "10m air rifle".

Dhoni's brother-in-law, Goni's (step?) mom, Sourav's wife (wifely hinted how Dada could still accept captaincy, only selectors ignored it) - we have managed to make serious sports an evening episode of "Humlog". As I was reading, also in Anandabazar, how Milkha Singh thinks Bindra "merely picked up the Gold that had fallen from his hand" - I was reminded of avuncular Dadamoni coming after the episode and making sure we are fine. Except, Milkha's was more like Johny Lever mimicking Dadamoni from behind a cardboard cut TV shaped box in Jalwa.

To do an objective comparison, I did some research on how Michael Phelps' parents would be feeling. I found the two divorced in 1994, perhaps saving at least one of them cost of "kgs and kgs of Laddu".

Some other tertiary observations -

(1) I genuinely like Abhinav Bindra. The fact that he did not cry. The fact that he very calmly explained how a combination of many momentary factors could swing one's rank from 1 to 20 in a fraction of second in 10-m air rifle. Make no mistake, he is my hero.

(2) Big B, Amir already "hailed" Bindra's feat. Who will Shahrukh choose? Rathore already crashed out of the competition.

(3) Even though I am a huge fan of tabloid journalism, I was not highly amused at the following suggestive photo followed by an equally suggestive Anandabazar title. "Map paalte dichhe Abhinabo Khela". That bong phrase loosely translates to "International Khiladi No 1". She is his coach for God's sake!

I was smirking. Indian media is one sensationalizer.

But then I checked out CNN.

"Bush hugs bikini-clad US Olympians"

Ten Things I learnt from Jodhaa-Akbar

(1) "Arranged" marriages eventually work out to be just fine. It just takes an awful long time to consummate, however.

(2) If your name is Hemu, you should at least always sport plastic sunglasses.

(3) If your name is Hemu, and you have over 100 (literally) decorated elephants, and you are fighting for your life- you send 99 of them to another direction. Then you head along to the thick segment of the opponent army alone.

(4) Surendra Paul is alive!!! He still does noncommittally bombastic characters like Dronacharya.

(5) If you have an orphaned nephew with attitude, think twice before helping him.

(6) A Hindu wife does not utter her husband's name, unless she is married to a Muslim.

(7) Poonam Sinha is a huge vacuum with a smile, the shape and form of which do not change irrespective of whether her on-screen son was just hit by a poisonous arrow or her daughter-in-law steps into her home the very first time.

(8) Even though the newly wed Princess was given what surely would have been the largest suite one could have seen, every single word of her prayer could still be heard by just about everyone in the (technically) far-off royal court for commons (Diwan-e-Aam). Perhaps another reason the marriage was not consummated sooner.

(9) If you had a fight with your wife, and she heads for her parents', and once you are there she clearly does not want to see your body hair --- the first thing you should do in the morning after waking up is to invite her to a sword fight.

(10) This is the first-time after "Joshilaay" Rajesh Vivek rode a horse.

Ten Years I am Living Next Door - Part 5

The Sins

"You are never drunk enough till you stop realizing that what is coming out of your bladder is not only drowning thousands of little annoying black ants around Olypub urinals, but could make a few of them intoxicated too."

-Late 80's Calcutta Proverb


My grandmother, the best ever omelette maker in the universe, passed away at a time Shakti Samata, the then Censor board chairman was busy reviewing various Karishma Kapoor gyrations and we were being introduced to Gyroscopes - the Guttenberg Bible for Mechanical Engineers - at college. It was Summer, 1994. Even the last Kiran More-from-behind-the-wicket-shout "RaaaajoooooooooWwww" was heard more than four months ago. Life was like an 'Only Vimal' shirt sticking to the itchy skin within a crowded mini-bus - one could just feel it without too much optimism or joy. Narsimha Rao's speeches in parliament were shorter than Dilip Kumar's grunts in "Yehudi" and were less appealing than a waxed trio of Chunkey Pandey-Naseeruddin Shah-Aditya Pancholi cavorting as teenage chicks in "Tehelka". Even "Fantasy" magazine - the one that promised to ram hard into "Debonair" heights and whose old copies typically sold for more than the printed price because an entire generation was trying to figure out how a nubile Delhi 'lawyer' could look without, say, her robes -was losing its sheen. So I accompanied my family to a road trip to my grandmom's place for her funeral. I had to come back soon, though. I had an all important class test on Maths 2J. My parents and brother stayed back for about a week more.

Preparation

Back to Calcutta, my first action was to rush to JU. Between the time I set foot and another samosa was sold from Nathuda's canteen, everyone around knew I was "home alone". More importantly, my parents left me with a good sum of money to last a week. Details escape me today, but the next day -- May 10, 1994 - was declared a "Chao" (from chaos) day at my place. Rumors have it that cyclostyled handbills were distributed at two of the three university gates telling people about the occasion. It was unanimously decided that booze will be purchased the very same day - 2 big bottles (known as "750" for their volume) of every type of spirits - and brands thereof - containing more than 42% alcohol.

However, it was also discovered that my mother had locked the VCR inside before leaving. Having a functional VCR on such a home alone day is as essential as watching sunrise from Tiger Hill on your first Darjeeling visit, and I was almost lynched by a rough crowd as I breached the unavailability of a cubical aluminum box that can rotate tapes that are as wide as Silk Smita's love handles. As someone had said, if life was a VCR, Dimple Kapadia would have had only one frame at it - the one where Juhu breeze would prove to be a too worthy competitor to a "Bombay Dying" towel.

There comes a character in every generation that - like Ghonada -goes unsung, but changes the lives and times of everyone around him. He was the one Wright brothers looked to when the plane was ready but perhaps a permit was needed to not keep both feet on the ground. He would be the one who -- seeing Hrithik has six fingers -- ask him not to ever accelerate too fast on a motorcycle. He could be the one who wrote a letter to Archimedes that had the word 'Eureka' seven times in it before the bald guy found he could float on a bathtub. So, I turned to Sudhha to resolve VCR issue. The way the problem was solved would put the biggest jail breaks to shame! He would simply lift their VCR from his home when his father is not there, wrap it in a towel, put a couple of thick, old pujabarshikis where the VCR were till then, cover it with another towel, take a taxi and deliver it to me. Suddha, like all true visionaries, however has a bit of problem understanding the context of mundane everyday things.

On May 10 morning - when many people were slowly entering for classes - thus a yellow taxi screeched to stop in front of Mechanical engineering building. A tall, unshaven and unknown youth carrying a cubical thing wrapped in yellow bath-towel (still somewhat wet!) surreptitiously came out. Paid the fare to the cabbie. Carefully flipped a zippo lighter and lit a 555 and started ascending the four stories. I was in my first class of the day, and was waiting for it to get over so I could go home and collect the VCR. Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door. Without waiting for any reply whatsoever from inside, Suddha's stubbly face peeked in and - in front of the teacher and about fifty odd people inside, and some curious onlookers outside - boomed- "VCR enechi" (Got the VCR). It was, perhaps, just a wee bit less declarative than Rembrant's "Moses with the Tablets". But then the tablets were not exactly wrapped in some smelly bath towels either!


Gupta, Dasgupta

Jadavpur P.S. was also Jadavpur B.S. (bus stop). It is the pinnacle of secularism, as Prince Anwar Shah Road starts off at a right angle to a Raja S.C.Mullick Road. As one walks away from the thana, towards North, on the left side - after a few yards - would be a certain shop named "Dasgupta". Like other liquor shops in Calcutta, a cast iron grill over quite tall reinforced concrete pillar separated the substance from the abusers. Still, one had to step up couple of stairs, and stretch the legs a bit, just to get over to the lower part of the grill to order. Once ordered, the helper inside would fetch the bottle, wrap it with the seventh page of a month old "The Statesman", open a drawer that the buyer could not see from the other side of the grill, take out a pitch black plastic bag, put the bottle inside the bag and with a swift but accurate motion would get the bottle out through one of the two holes on the grill used to exchange money and soon to be Puke. Apparently, the idea behind the newspaper and black plastic was to hide the fact that even people wearing trousers could belittle themselves to fetch their alcohol. Problem was - no other substance in at least a 52 mile radius ever was packed in that kind of black plastic bag. In fact, I guess the black plastic bags too were manufactured by Shaw Wallace etc.

Our shopping list was something like -

(unit in 750s - large bottles) -

2 Vodkas -Smirnoff had just arrived.
2 Gin - London Lime was popular.
8 or 9 Beer

(unit in 375s - small bottles) -

2 Whiskeys - A particular brand used to give "free" drinking glasses. That was the motivation.
4 rums -


The shopper - a non-local - was explicitly told before taking off from my home to only go and buy things like Kurkure etc if and only if all these can be purchased first. We were not sure how many will eventually turn up, but there were about nine people to start with. My neighbors - who knew very well my parents were away - must have been thinking we have a tough exam ahead to see so many of us quietly slipping into my place at a ripe 2PM.

Another friend, let's call him AD, was sent to scour for a certain video cassette starting from Four Star Video (nested well inside Jodhpur Park) to Gupta Video (Golpark, just below the gaze of a charged Swami Vivekananda). Someone brought the news that "top Pakistani stars" did something very, very interesting in some super-clandestine party in London and the video was a raze in places like Dubai. The premise was promising, but the problem was the title of the video. We heard it was "code named", perhaps to avoid customs and crazy cops as it was smuggled within the country, "NUDE MUJRAS IN LONDON"!!

Now, those of you who never have been around Golpark around 3PM-ish would never know what a strong crowd of school or "South Point" returned kids and their moms get back to their homes at that hour. Also, a very sizable portion of that crowd often enters "Mouchak" and caters themselves to sweet relishes and sometimes picks up likes of "Bambi", "Lion King" or even "Gupi Gyne, Bagha Byne" from "Gupta Video" for the evening. When AD was met with blank stares at the whispering mention of the video title at "Four Star Video", he got on to an Auto rickshaw and went to Golpark. Once inside "Gupta Video", he realized the ratio between kids and adults in the shop would have been exactly ONE, had it not been for himself and the two mustached, spectacled, stony faced owners.

Most of the kids, just like in any other days, were apparently with their moms or grand parents. When it was AD's turn to ask for what he wants, he took his face down and mumbled something. The elder brother of the owners did not even bat an eyelid. He asked - in a super normal tone - "What is the name again"? AD perhaps tried a different tone and it did not work. The other guy on that side of the counter now got a bit impatient seeing so many kids are waiting in queue. He asked -- from quite a distance -- "Kon boita chai dada?" (What movie it was again?). AD, already feeling an enormous time pressure, blurted - with enough velocity and pitch in his baritone to carry the words across the room to the other guy - "N.U.D.E. MUJRAS IN LONDON". Legend has it while there was a pin-drop silence in the room as the mothers and grandparents tried to either hide or rush away from the shop, the counter guy coolly told his brother "Shelf 12, number 3". AD was then asked his name - so they could enter the VHS in the register. AD was carrying my membership card. He magnanimously retained the same decibel level to say MY name! From that day, I never ever went to Golpark with anything that could distinguish me.

Celebrations XXX

Get no hint, please. That is the name of a good rum brand.

Back in my place, there was a shortage of glasses. Someone suggested Sudhha be given a baalti (bucket) to drink from. He was hurt and did not drink at all and left soon. Since I was the host, I decided to drink straight from a long bottle of Vodka. Drinking sessions were going on in three rooms. The living room, by then, had the VCR running. The first bedroom had one future award winning scientist dishing out one romantic song after another gazal. The second bedroom had a couple of folks generally chatting easily with drinks and smoking. Every room had at least 4-5 people, except the room with the VCR where people lost all counts. After a while, I stopped trying to figure out if I knew this guy at all or he was just a party crasher. ST was sitting about an inch away from our ONIDA tv blocking the exit from the room. As SG, after a bit of drinking, tried to exit to the bathroom -- ST attacked SG. ST demanded "do whatever you want to do HERE"!! I was by the middle of the Vodka and already got so bored to leave that and start the Whiskey's or may be the Rum's - don't remember.

After a while I woke up in absolute silence. Oh sorry - there was the so-called "Pakistani Stars" moaning next room. I was in one of the bedrooms, royally spread over the entire bed as a whole bunch of onlookers were - very anxiously - staring at me from near the door. I pulled myself up and started throwing up on the left side of the bed. By the time I stopped the moaning did too.

Next time I woke up I saw fewer people in the room. But they were busy cleaning up the left side of the bed with one holding a bucket, another a broom and another trying to figure out where else to remove stain from. I did not want to waste their effort. This time I threw up on the right side. Just before passing out I heard some loud knocks on our door.

What happened then defined a big part of how I would be known among my relatives. I of course heard and later pieced it together as it had happened. Hearing the knocks our would-be scientist peeped through the hole and saw a bunch of my relatives standing outside the main door. He was after 4th or 5th shot of Rum, and for some odd reason considered himself to be in "control". Coming back to the living room - very next to the main door - he whispered to everyone watching the "movie" - to go and hide in the farthest bedroom. My relatives standing outside were hearing feeble moans that turned into thuds of about fifteen or so people trying to scuttle away on concrete floor - some of them falling on various furniture in the ensuing melee. My relatives, concerned, knocked again. My scientist friend opened the door ajar and just took out his face, that smelt VERY strongly of cheap rum, to announce that I was feeling ill and cannot see them right then. My relatives came to see if I was doing OK without my parents. After all they heard from outside and after being told by a fluffy, drunken, unknown face from inside *my* house that I am not well, they somehow did not insist to see me anymore. They left. One of them did not even show up for my wedding more than a decade later.

When I gained consciousness hours later, except a bit of stuffy smell I could not tell if anything happened in the house. With my true friends overzealousness even the old dishes I ate the night before were clean. Someone apparently was more drunk than I was! I still had over two hundred rupees left. I still had four more days. And I had to think, fast, of a good spin for the entire event that day for folks at college, my relatives, my neighbors and for my father's friend who actually saw a guy exiting from our place with many empty liquor bottles and dumping it in the trash area! Feeling the tremendous pressure and hating everything that was happening to my body, I passed out again.



Series Link -

Part 1 - The Beginning
Part 2 
Part 3 - Teachers
Part 4 - The Language
Part 5 - The Curricula
Part 6 - The Career 

Ten Years I am Living Next Door - Part 4

Language

In Bengali, all 'F' words that matter start with 'B'.

The transitive factor between comedy and tragedy, when one could masturbate and yet below 21, is solely the awareness of whether he is talking to a friend of same sex or someone he is trying to chase. Most Engineering male students have an indescribable urge to prove themselves cool perverts who could drink to the end of the world. I have been in hostel and the bit about guys always compare their you-know-what's size with roommates and in shower room is the biggest urban legend! Only two things could earn your real admiration for another fellow dude -

• more foulmouth than the thinnest guy in the classroom. Somehow thin people, at least the ones I met in my life, are amazingly resourceful with cuss words. Hell, thin people can do cross words of cuss words at New York Times for 10 years without repeating themselves!
  
  
• the amount of shit crazy stuff one did after drinking without throwing up. Not making this up - I've seen a guy taking out a nip of Rum somewhere from his jeans and gulping a sizable volume. If you need a cue, he was playing carom inside the Union room and was hitting for a red.
  

Bengali equivalent of 'f#$k' is a certain 5 lettered word that starts with B. Most of us used it in all sentences - sometimes both to start and end it. There were folks whose whole range of expression -- from extreme shock to exhilarating joy (usually at exam getting postponed) -- would be just a single, distinct utterance of the word with - may be - some facial muscle movement.



"B&*^a, birthday naki" (with a thud in the back. In case you were wearing a shirt that you had not worn the day before.)

It was used to convey best wishes.


"B&^%a....."

It was used to appreciate at a good banter. Or a good shot at Cricket. Or to a friend who suddenly offered to pay for the 'Pepsi'.

"B&^%a, na korlei hoto"

It was also used to express fear and very distant, almost unbelievable remorse, after the exam hall invigilator caught the carefully prepared 'Harmonium' - a thin paper with useful things written the night before exam and having more than 18 folds that resembles a part of the isotopic musical instrument. Harmonium was JU's (one) inconvenient truth. With less papers used, it surely played a big part to reduce global warming.

Our classmate Venkatraman apparently had to prove his Bengali skills. Dipta, his neighbor, vows to have seen him mugging "Learn Tamil in 21 days" more than once. Aside, his adjectives seemed to have been inherited directly from Bankimchandra, but other parts of speech from Gariahat. Thus after getting a rare 39 out of 45, in mid 90s, he would say to me -

"Ki protaap er sathe pass korli re".

In another occassion, when Venkat's mother was saying something to him in Tamil, our friend Dipta was looking at Venkat's mom's feet. Hoping there would be a sub-title flowing. But after "Roja" and more P.K.Mishra 'translated' Hindi lyrics from Tamil, I knew it too well to replace any unintelligible Dravidian word with gems like "chinimini", "machindar" etc.

Every college has its brand words. B.E. College had a couple. "Cas" (for casual) and "daabi". So when I met them, usually to devour the cheapest beef on the other side of Hoogly river, I would liberally intersperse the conversation with those two words. Misguided that those two words have seeped into the JU territory they would even pay for my beef, special smoke and McDowells. "Daabi" has very interesting usage. If someone's girlfriend wants more time - it is - of course - onek daabi ache; sudden load shedding - 'daabi ta ki?' etc etc. Cas is pretty much same as cool, only tilting to the other side of legality. Like "Metro te ticket na kete cas dhuke porlam".

"Byatha" was another word that transcended the college boundaries. You might have been in Presi(dency), JU or R Ahmed Dental college -- but "byatha" (pain) meant a (often serious) crush, that perhaps was tangentially broached upon but met with a super-negative reaction from the girl. While watching Satya, I chanced upon a similar word - equally powerful in Marathi -- "Chaavi".

Once this habit of trying to adapt the latest college lingo almost put me into serious trouble. Dipta and I were coming down from the Nandan - upper level after watching Buddhadeb Dasgupta's "Uttara". Honestly, I found the imagery of a very Bengali-urbane-plump Tapas Pal playing a hindustani wrestler extremely funny. Still, I referred to the film as "biBhotsho" while talking to Dipta. Literally meaning more negative, the word could be colloquially used in both extreme senses - good or bad. At least so I thought. A very serious looking, spectacled, bearded, punjabi wearing folk -- who never ever farted outside Nandan-Academy quad -- charged at me. How dare I brand something from Dasgupta as "bibhotsHo". The irony is, I too was not sure whether he liked the movie or not! So I vaguely tried to defend myself. In front of scores of people about to line up at the Sulabh urinals, he lambasted me for wearing "jeans and sneakers" and yet try to fathom the depths of the mind of a bi-sexual, middle-aged railway signalman who perhaps wanted a threesome with his wife and his wrestling buddy.

I wanted to scream I too was a founder member of a "Film Club" and before some member impulsively rented "Nude Mujras in London" (a whole other story) for one screening we had been religiously watching flicks like "Citizen Kane", "King and I" (Yul Bryner) and likes of it.

Next - Vices

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Diwali Bumper Draw

I think Rohan Gavaskar, Abhishek Bachchan, Martin Luther King Jr II, Soha Ali Khan -- all had to endure it. No late cut from Gavaskar Jr could ever escape a comparison with his dad's. Abhishek's lack of dancing skills was always carefully analyzed with his dad's. Martin Luther King Jr II was surely asked whether he had a nice dream or nightmare the night before. Neighbors might even had watched Ishmael to see whether he, like his dad, would sacrifice his son too. A famous parent's offspring not only has to go through the comparison and the judgment, but also through expectations to emulate some of his / her parent's defining characteristics.

Thus, the first time I saw "Sawaariya" promo, the question I could not utter in front of a roomful viewers was not only whether Sonam Kapoor too is as hairy as her dad, but also - whether Ranbir Kapoor - just in case - has manboobs so big that there is no way he could zip of a leather jacket all the way up to his neck!


As I watched them in promo after promo, and in TV show after TV show, those two questions lingered in my mind like the thought of the great leftover food at your friend's place that you were offered to take home, but refused. Being brought up in a Bengali family that spends 13% of its lifetime in analyzing whether a newborn -- all crinkled, wrinkled - even on skull -- looks like his / her father or mother -- I also could not escape the thought that even if Neetu Kapoor had actually married Haji Mastan, Ranbir Kapoor could not have looked any different. He is a Neetu Singh that, against the wishes of the guy population this time, has exposed his derrière.


I will not watch Saawariya. I guess no one will. One last observation from having to watch so many promos - time has been really kind to Neetu Singh. In fact, what is going on with all the 70s actors? Jeetendra again started looking 37 years younger than he really is, Hema Malini has started corrupting dreams of an entirely different generation. Neetu Singh - let the comment be reserved for my close friends. Looks like 70s is suddenly back.

So OSO has a natural edge over the Kapoors.

Except, Shahrukh has started looking like Michael Jackson day by day. And that's so 80s. 80s with Robot Dance. 80s with wet Smita Patil, 80s with Bappida. I had a glimpse of what's been touted as a "six pack" at my local video store. To me that's a UNICEF or PETA looking poster. It looked like Madam Tussaud museum had a power breakdown on an unusually warm day in London, and its started affecting the statue.

Making a spoof is much more difficult than making a serious movie. Just like a circus clown has to do all the regular trapeze acts *and* make people laugh, a good spoof should do everything a good movie otherwise does, and yet make fun of everything it's doing. Tough. But I do know that Farah Khan did get some inputs from her brother.

On ending notes, no one has started judging Deepika Padukone. Badminton was a sport invented to help pregnant lady exercise - and as a vehicle of one of the most prominent songs filmed in history so lovingly described here. So not many know about Prakash, except the fact that he was almost as coveted as Imran Khan down south by the ladies.

My wife interrupted one of my most important meetings this week to let me know that Ranbir Kapoor apparently still gets a "pocket money" from his parents. My reaction to that was "Someone's luck is not changing. He has to continue to thrive on pocket money even after "Sawaariya"". Last month, she called in during my one-on-one with my director to pass on the critically important information that Farah Khan is pregnant with a triplet. I could not say it in front of my director, as he asked me "Is everything OK?" after I picked up the phone and did look surprised at this gem of info. But I did wish the triplets will be named Amar-Akbar-Anthony or Ganga-Jamuna-Saraswati as the case mandates.

Happy Diwali folks. Drink responsibly.

Ten Years I am Living Next Door - Part 3

The Teachers

Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach him how to fish and your profession as fisherman is at high risk!

- Old Jungle Proverb

Once P K Banerjee came to our school's annual sports as the 'Chief Guest'. I was thirteen years old. After two long days of watching people who are bigger than me winning, we all attended the prize distribution ceremony. PK started his Chief Guest speech around 3:30. After two decades, I remember Platini was not just a footballer, he was Napoleon - his free kick was not just a kick at a ball but a try to salvage the pride of a hurt nation by taking its bravest people across an icy Alps during harsh winter. Lothar Mattheus was no less than representing Goethe, and Charlemagne too. There was a reference to Carpathian Mountains, as PK raised his hands to give us an idea of the heights of the range, and then to brush away beads of sweat from his unusually large forehead. I don't anymore remember why - but the hardships in the lives of Mongolian nomad; Mesozoic era formations; Altamira cave; Wright Brothers' first flight and the actual yardage it flew before crashing -- all were mentioned. After he finished, sun was well set. My blood was boiling - it was as if someone has put some Codeine in a very strong brew of fresh coffee and made a squirrel drink it. I did not know what, but as he finished all I wanted to go out and fight someone. I did not care why, I did not care who, I did not even care how. But I had to take all these energy away from my little synaptic joints as soon as I could. For next 2 minutes and half, I could even have taken Daley Thompson (whose breakfast menu -- and severe childhood struggle -- too was elaborately described by PK) in Decathlon.

But about three minutes after he finished, I felt dizzy and extremely weak, and a bit nauseous too. All that free adrenaline in my system - without finding any vent, and the fact that I had just an Orange, shared with 3 others, in the last 6 hours, made me almost sick. It was very hallucinogenic however. From that day till now, I carefully 'mute' the TV set as soon as PK shows up to analyze a football match -- and I try my best to avoid people who are otherwise known as good teachers.

If you are a hiring manager, and want to hire someone who can do "out of the box thinking" - just try to find out how many classes did he/she attend in his first year of Engineering. The lesser, the better. On the other hand, if you are running a perfectly running business and don't want to risk it -- get someone who not only attended all, but took copious notes even in tangential subjects like "Sociology".

When we were in second year though, and this is why I started off with PK, we had a teacher who shared the same initials with him. Even the loquaciousness was very comparable. For example, when he regularly showed up at least 2 hours late in those 4 hour long "Engineering Drawing" classes, he used to launch a tirade against our lazy ideas and lack of initiative as we were just waiting for him and did not "design" something in that free thinking time we had. Soon the talk will peep into the design "vault" of Maruti and how - like Coca Cola - formula, earth shattering designs for components like Maruti cam shafts and an industry unusual 3/32" bolts were kept secret from nosy competitors. Venkat, a gawky fellow like most of us those days, would get his face so far away from his neck hearing these and other conspiracy and Engineering espionage stories, we were scared that Prabhu Deva may soon come there and kick his only serious competitor's ass!

There was another teacher, one of the very few who used to wear a belt *and* tuck his shirts inside *and* shave regularly, who once tried to demonstrate the "welding" process.

"And as you start welding, you will hear ...a long gap to try to find the English equivalent of the sound ...phot phot phot".

The same teacher had an unusual tactic in Viva. He would get two of the students to appear at the same time and let one student ask another question. The question should not be easy (then the questioner loses points), but if it cannot be replied the answerer loses. Diptakirti and I were roll-joined twins. His was 93094 and mine was 93093. So, I had to ask Dipta a question on Metallography. One of the subjects I doubt he knew existed the day before!

No matter how good a friend he were, there were serious numbers at stake. Numbers that could make the huge difference between a D and a C at the end of the semester. But I could not have offended him either - he won't lend me his mother's collection of bound early 70's volumes of Stardust (till then only promised, not delivered) in that case! So I asked him "What are the axes defining Carbon Steel's strength on a two-dimensional Carbon-Temperature plane?"

He could answer. Plus cool phrases like "Carbon Steel", "axes", "two dimensional plane" were mentioned in front of this Anglophile at large - and I too got "Alpha Double Plus"!

I never understood why, but teachers' initials would always be Bangla-fied, i.e., the teacher would get the name as the Bengali word when the initials are pronounced together. Thus, GD would be "gada", MM would be "mama" , and TKS would be a kiddish "tokas". The one known as "konchee" (a thin stick) was an amazing example how even such a random stuff could often produce something so topically relevant! He was rumored to have amazing depth of knowledge, but we were not sure he could carry his umbrella. As it always happens with people whom you need to inflate 30 inches, at least, in every dimension to walk on the ramp -- he was amazingly brave, risk-taking and full of positive attitudes. Not a single student had the audacity of asking him to clarify something again.

There were non-departmental teachers in the first couple of years - trying to put sense to us on subjects as important as English, 3 papers of Physics, 5 of Maths, Electronics, Electrical, Sociology and Economics too! People were least bothered with "Fluid Mechanics" taught by 'baba' (whose son was our senior, incidentally) , so one can easily imagine the fate of these peripheral subjects.

However, one of the Maths papers was taught by an exchange professor (Indian) who used to teach in some US Engineering College. She once casually told her daughter was 16. That's it - not a word more, not a word less. Hearing that bit only, one guy - cannot name, currently married with kids - not only started attending her classes, but started seating in the front bench, take notes, ask stupid interrupting questions hoping one of it would impress her, and even asking her for as ridiculous advice as what book to 'consult' apart from the - he mentioned the 3 books he could find in departmental library in a hurried search! He was in deep love with the Maths Madam's 16 year old daughter. His first one.

The same guy, was a literal genius of copying in exams (a deservedly separate topic) and in one occasion actually shaved just one of his legs - all the way down from the right knee - so as to transcribe some formula and stuff on his shaved n' Borolene-d skin. He later clarified it was not that he did not have time to shave both the legs, but he just did not have enough material to copy on.

One teacher, however, we all loved and faux-feared at the same time. He remembered the roll numbers, class test results, and other important details like what brand of Cigarette one smoked for all students for the past 13 years he had been teaching there! He also was a genuinely nice person who always liked his students *but* never showed any of it. Each of his classes would start and possibly end with dire threats like "In this Semester, Executive Council has asked us to take real test of your grasp of Machine Design. Last time we did it 73 people flunked and they never ever got any job anywhere. Everyone from L&T to Sriram Motors had a list, and these guys would never get a job in their life"....The only hope, of course, was to attend his classes and take notes.

There were even more ridiculous threats from him, like "next class test will be a spot, undeclared test". Yeah, right. Last we knew, we got class tests postponed that were scheduled months ahead for reasons as strong as it's too warm outside, someone's bus was running late, the building's fuse has just failed, there were two other class tests that day that we need time to postpone and so cannot really take this test.

If there was one single cause in my life that I unequivocally supported over a reasonable period of time, it is - efficiency is more important than conforming to discipline. The second one was, postponing a class test is ALWAYS worth it.

Another teacher once visited Canada to attend some technical conference and evidently was quite proud of it. One of us, when failing to answer even the simplest of the questions in a Viva, randomly brought up the lack of scope of Engineering work in India, compared to, say, Canada. Next 17 people that day all got "A" and were pleasantly surprised!

Another one was rumored to have designed the nose-tip for the INSAT series of Rockets. As always, the nose-tip was the most important design element of the whole package and a Bengali could never stoop down so low to work on the lesser important stuff like the heat insulators bla bla.

Somewhere else, while teaching "Engineering Mechanics" to Electronics' folks, our Head of the Dept was apparently pissed off at the raucous they were trying to make, but failed miserably for lack of man-power. Having witnessed such a sad case of erectile dysfunction, he apparently mouthed some really nasty, choicest Bengali cuss words that every one in the class room could hear. There was a stunned silence in the royal, sophisticated fourth floor classroom of Electronics department hearing all these. Words, and behavior, like these were alien to them. Not to us. When other departments finished the only mandatory "fitting" lab - where one has to build a T-joint with cheap wood pieces, we still had 17 more left where temperatures of burning metals could often exceed 500 degrees. Only other "labs" from rest of the departments had either chemicals or computers with as much RAM as 8MB. The main mechanical lab had, and still do, a Wesson lathe machine - always reverently garlanded on the day of Viswakarma Puja. Try that with your jar of Sulphuric Acid, Chemical!

Every time we meet we also talk about the one who used to carry 9 ball point pents tucked to his pink shirt's pocket. He poked a lot of fun at the "10,000 Rs jobs in AC rooms" and tried ridiculing the idea of things like being able to speak English, or read business section in dailies. Last time I checked, no one among us was drilling lathe.

I personally feel a teacher's duty in the mid-level professional education is to evoke a subtle sense of fear and inculcate correct quantification of real tasks among the students. JU teachers failed at the former, but succeeded with "Alpha Double Plus" with the later. Now I realize those last minute hurriedly copied, but copied well in order to pass, lab sheets and the ability to precisely quantify that a solid stack of 33 pages, no more and no less, of both-sided photocopied notes is all I would have to cover at one night to pass tomorrow's exam - are all the skills from my college that I, or most, need for any job.

Fear is important some bozo could get seriously eff-ed up to try to draw hero worship from his peers. Precisely, and minimally, quantifying the "to do" list -- as much possibly done by others -- required to not fail at something is an absolute and primal skill. That's what pretty much 99% or more would do later to get an above average annual raise and a good bonus. For skeptics, this is nothing new. Most important invention of mankind could very well be the wheel, but the very fact that some wise guy in a cave had encouraged some beefed up stupids to fight Woolly Mammoths and Sabre-toothed Tigers actually made that invention possible. Not failing at anything is way more important than anything else, including getting straight A's throughout. Ask an Engineering student why.

Today, when confronted with tightest deadlines - I always can smile and say "Yeah, fine with me. It will easily be done!". In corporate, ALWAYS somewhere else, someone else is stupid enough to fail before others. One just has to find the weakest link in the chain and position oneself just a tad higher than that. Rest, as they say, is all about how you define the gap between yourself and Mr Weakest Link in the annual review. After the initial positioning, it's all about creating perceptions. Looking back, education at JU was perfectly successful in imparting all these supreme life-lessons. Totally unprepared, as slowly walking to the department building with a hangover *and* an empty stomach, with no money left to buy used copies of"Debonair", all but one of us knew that nothing that we are unprepared for would be done today. We were better than the worst, and in Engineering, as well as in real life, that very valuable position itself is sufficient to live well. That is assuming you write your annual reports with care.

Next - The Language

Ten Years I am Living Next Door - Part 2

Second Round at The Game


There were three logical entrances to the Engineering Faculty. One was near the station - people who came in train or the ones who would return from 'that' shanty after buying funny things to smoke would enter from here. "8B" entrance - named after, like many other things, a state-run bus terminus opposite - that would take one in next to the slightly deserted Electrical building. Then there was the "middle" entrance - leading straight to the Main Library building and thus, used only during Sanskriti, TechFair or to go out to eat "Jhaal Muri" from the vendor just outside the gate. His Jhaal Muri had best of the breed stuff, but clearly, like most Bengalis, he severely lacked any business sense judging by his location.

Compare him to Rajinder, the phuchkawallah near Dakshinapon, and you will understand why. Rajinder is Calcutta's 3rd richest phuchkawallah. The guy who seats opposite to Hindustan Sweets in New Alipore is the Laxmi Mittal of the phuchkawallahs. I once saw (ok, heard! But from very reliable source) Sourav Ganguly rushing there with two commandos just the evening before his departure to World Cup in South Africa. The third entrance would also be used by folks who lived in Salt Lake. They would eat a thoNga of Jhaal Muri (Rs 4/-), catch the S-19 (that too would only brake in the least popular bus stands) and refuse to pay the regal fare of Rs 2.20/- to Salt Lake.

No one from Salt Lake ever paid full fare to any of the buses. They would shout, grease, protest, threaten, network and sometimes even plead lack of preparation for the day's exam to avoid paying fare. It not only worked, Salt Lake buses were - and are, till date - the best maintained and most punctually running buses in the entire city. The actual rate from Jadavpur to Salt Lake that our students used to pay "cash" to the conductor was about Rs 1, unless there is a class test or interview on the day. In the later cases, our folks would just refuse to talk to the conductor, be engulfed in photocopied class notes and could even shout at him if he comes and asks for the ticket twice. Folklore was, some of those bus conductors and drivers - who would get a hefty commission too - purchased land next to the New Alipore phuchkawalla.

The fourth entrance to the faculty was as revered as the fourth estate. It was the 'arts' gate'. No one would take that route within five days after a haircut. Otherwise, it was a long walk - but very pleasant, if one could time the entrance to the breaks in the first building. We detested the guys who were always there in front of that building - usually with a rundown guitar hidden behind thick pale of Charminar smoke - the same way Sreesanth detests Andrew Symonds these days.

No matter which entrance you choose to come in to Engineering Faculty, the big green ground will welcome you as the strategic center of the hexagonal shaped faculty. Mechanical Engineering real estates defined two arms of the shape! Electrical another - albeit much shorter; two smaller - but heavier in terms of score - departments Electronics and Comp Sc would define another; another arm was Chemical slightly pushed to the side by a "Staff Canteen" and a mysteriously named KMR building. The last arm would have Nathuda's canteen trying to balance between the SFI-dominated Science Club and blink-and-you-could-miss and very cutesy Metallurgy dept. Nathuda was a portly middle-aged man who never said a thing to anyone that did not have a cash word in it.

-How are you Nathuda?
- Good. But Pepsi is dos taka. Be careful with the bottle if you are taking it out.

Nathuda's wife - boudi - was rather friendly, and just as much squint as it requires for teenagers to not be 'too cool' with her. In mid-90s, probably to curb on smoking, Reserve Bank of India was not printing any more 2 rupee bills. Gresham's law postulates how bad money drives good money out of circulation. What he missed was - bad money drives *everything* out. The poor Rs 2 bills mandated we were never lending money to our friends; not paying for anyone else's Thums Up even after his sincerest promise to pay back; we were even trying to buy full beer bottles with a stack of Rs 2. "Black Label" was Rs. 36. Still, the bad currency was probably good business for the waiters at Olypub since every patron was desperate to get rid of it. However, I remember once I left the elderly one with a few Rs 2 bills that even the populace at the nearby Park Street old cemetery would not accept anymore!

So, once someone was paying for the famous G-4 (burger named so in the canteen) with a couple of Rs 2/ notes. Boudi grudged, and gave the bills back saying -

- Eta cholbe na. (This is no good)

Our man, sorry I cannot name him at such a public forum, shot back -

- Boudi, Nathuda chole gelo aar ei du takar note cholbe na!?

This is as untranslatable as Kapil Dev's English- in his pre-Rapidex days, or the lyrics of "Coffee Houser Sei Adda ta aaj aar nei" - so I am not even trying!

Even though we had a somewhat nicely maintained green field, it was mostly enjoyed by satellite groups to gossip and watch other satellite groups sitting nearby. On the side farthest from Mechanical building one could even see some callows to have the audacity to sit with their 'girl friends'. But when the Auction Bridge mania engulfed us - me particularly - in the 2nd year, even those rarities were given a pass by. Like a true Bengali does with any sport, I turned a blind eye to the Skills and Stamina components and just focussed on the "strategy" bit. To a Bengali- any game, including outdoor ones, is always won by just strategy. Stamina, particularly, - like someone running around the entire field to score a goal - is highly looked down upon as a stupid imbecile element. Hey, he can always produce on nifty bicycle kick to score a goal, why waste energy running?

Thus, a few months ago when East Bengal arranged a benefit match for Parimal Dey (Jangla) footballers recounted his great days by regaling how Jangla-da used to recite Rabindranath just before the Santosh Trophy matches. No one mentioned a word about his training schedules - assuming he had one. However, Subhash Bhowmick mentioned how once Jangla-da replaced someone just a couple of minutes before the final whistle and produced a stunning equalizer against Iran's top club. The very fact that he had not originally taken the field for some stupid ego reason -feigning injury- was conveniently forgotten. We Bengalis do not necessarily look at a sport bi-focally - thus Gopal Bose has remained the opener Bombay lobby could not have afforded to let in lest Gavaskar had to carry drinks. Snehasis Ganguly had always had much more talent than his younger brother. Pele apparently touched Chuni Goswami's feet. Ambar Roy drank scotch for the entire night and then went out to score a century against Bombay. Krishanu Dey spent entire weekend eating luchis, and yet could produce a pass that would ashame a sudden lighting on an empty sky. To a Bengali, success is not as important as almost-success. Even better is a romantic failure that has a touch of art and absolutely no physical attribute to the cause. When I read Pankaj Roy's "Khelte Khelte" first time - I was convinced every West Indian fast bowler thinks first thing in the morning whether he will be Roy's breakfast that day. It was not the time he spent at crease that would be highlighted, it was always that shot that earned a pat. We were designed to live for a moment of glory, not necessarily followed a wild fest of stupid success.

To develop bridge "strategy", I was running to British Council Library and finished at least 6 books on bridge. Very soon I was dispensing free advice to anyone who cared and started analyzing the world series matches that Harsh Bhogle could only dream of! Even after flunking the Engineering Mechanics - I, the second part of the subject was royally ignored. No one - in our group - even talked about the other papers.

When I failed to get into big Cricket teams earlier in school despite my weird - and confusing - bowling action where both hands rotate at the same time, I decided to become a left-hander batsman. Strategy again! How come a left-hander -- good or bad -- be kept outside the team! A left-right combo means - in a Bengali context - the opponent fielders have to switch places more! They would huff and puff after the 3rd ball. Even though my average dropped to lower single-digits, I garnered enough eyeballs. Once, one of my proudest moments on field, I managed to hook some bad delivery for a four. The guy who stood first in Higher Secondary in our batch, clapped and shouted "Good Shot". Getting recognized by the topper was always good, even in strictly non-academic matters.

I like Twenty20 cricket a lot these days. One of the common perceptions is Twenty20 requires much more fitness and agility -- and youth-- than the longer versions of the game. In JU, we proved 'Law of Diminishing Returns' by inventing 5-a-side cricket, that requires no physical stamina whatsoever! This was always played inside a basketball court, with most regular rules applied. Except, if the ball goes outside without a drop within the court - batsman gets out. Ohh, there were no runs if it goes behind -- Nathuda's utensils and dishes were lying nearby, waiting to get washed. Mechanical was undoubtedly the Campus' best 5-a-side team.

But we had two disadvantages.

1. We were like South Africa. There were too many talents around - and we always barfed at the tournament finals ostensibly to "Phy Ed" -- muscular people who were in some annual vocational training to qualify for PT teachers in middle-schools. These people hated to lose in any game, and once they physically beat some of us up after losing a particular mainline Cricket match, we were quite happy to concede a little match here and there to them.

2. I usually captained the side. In one Final I remember, we had to score just about 8 runs or so in last over. A cinch of a task within a basketball court. I looked into the Phy Ed bowler whom I could not see anything behind. I was at my defensive best and was rather looking toward watching "Muhafiz" that weekend with friends. We lost!

Oh! 5-a-side also had a 12 run shot. One had to hit the basket to get 12. To the best of my knowledge, only one member from our team could ever score that feat in the entire campus.

One of our major strengths was Diptakirti as our official umpire. I have never seen a more vile, dishonest, corrupt and blatant subversion of power than his umpiring in those five-a-side games.

Once Avik Roy, our Class Rep and an enormously responsible folk, took me aside and wanted to know why I did not show same level of passion (I clearly remember that word since "passion", to me, was something that's aroused after watching "Lake Consequence" late night at Star TV) in studies or something more useful than the stupid 5-a-side cricket. Again, to a Bengali nothing can be a bigger complement than "You could have done this. Only if you wanted!"

I was so proud that day. It's better to flunk by not studying than to admit you studied your ass hard, and did so! We all tried to be wilder the next day. Because everyone else has a story to tell - if one had no mentionable repartee or exchange with a teacher to recount, one could have seriously been depressed. But in reality, teachers enjoy tremendous power. More so since no one attended most of the classes and there was a significant percentage of total score calculated just from class attendance! This peer pressure made the uninterrupted flow of ridiculous "Viva" stories from Engineering students possible. Viva is mostly one-to-one situation and no one outside the room has a way to know what went on inside. So it's easy to be hero when you come out. People will believe anything from you that they think put the teacher in a tight spot. Thus, every year several Viva legends are born in every Engineering college. Ours was no exception.

Next - The Teachers