Hello lads and ladies!
This man who has been writing all the silly posts on this blog for some time now has something to say to you all. Lend him your ears for another moment, if you will, as you have done so in the past. Or else you stand a chance to call him a broken-hearted man. I’m sure you wouldn’t like that. All he asks of you is to pay him a little attention. That’s it, nothing more. Of course, you people are kind-hearted; I must be busted for assuming anything otherwise.
The fella says he will be away for a month or two. He deems it is necessary to let you know where he is going, for he cares for you, for he wants to keep his readership on this blog active, and when he comes back and writes some more silly posts he wishes to see the amazing people, as he has seen so far, come and embellish the blog as much as they can.
So, where is the fella going anyway? He has been craving to see and hug his parents. He wants to spend some time – some memorable time that he can cherish forever – with them. It has been a long time that he is keeping away from them. It is the nature of his work that forces him to stay away from them; it is not something that he wishes for, but he knows life calls for many kinds of compromises.
He makes you a promise and he means it: it won’t be long before he comes back and once again write some more silly posts. His intention is, and always has been, to entertain you, if not to enlighten you. He plans to explore some famous parts of Northeast India, Nagaland and Assam most preferably, which he calls home. He intends to visit the Kaziranga National Park and click some photos of everything wild and beautiful. Not just that, he would, in fact, click photos of anything and everything that interests him. He hopes his Eastman Kodak Camera would justify the clarity of the photos. He completely trusts his camera in that matter!
So, dear readers, fellow-bloggers, and anonymous visitors do stay tuned. Your friend will be back sooner rather than later.
Copyright © 2013 RAMU DAS
Drained of energy, yet she took the pain all alone;
Guarded me against all odds and faced months’ struggle;
Carried me in so much pain, but she her pain did muffle.
She knew and felt me, when to the world was I unknown.
Then from her into the world I popped out.
Still in pain she lay, yet her eyes glistene’d,
With joy; with my babbling she was smitten’d.
Ah, the first word Ma came out of my mouth.
She Makes me happy, and wipes my tears
She eats less and feeds me more
Much love have I got in all these years.
What more could I ever ask for!
A song let me sing praising my mother’s angel like face
Never have I seen such a beauty!
She who is the epitome of unparalleled grace,
Has infused in me love and taught me my duty.
Mother, my mother, oh, how I love you!
How I miss you mother, my mother!
No matter how I try, I can never pay the due
For the drops of milk you fed me, oh mother.
Away from you I am three-thousand kilometers.
But the distance from you I can no longer bear.
I long to be with you mother, my dear mother.
Soon I shall be with you crossing all the barriers.
I shall come to ease all your pain my mother.
I care for you in my own way.
A word of prayer let me say.
You be hale and hearty every day.
I beseech you mother never to worry any further.
Mother, oh mother, you’re God incarnate.
When the world understands everyone but me,
Mother, sweet mother, you’re the only one I see.
I loved you and shall love you till my death.
PS: I tried hard not to shed a single drop of tear from my eyes as I was writing this poem, but tears are tears, I could not resist them and they just rolled down my cheek as freely as they could. Just after finishing the poem I started reading it, thereupon, I cried a little more. I cried not only for the things I have written in this poem (that’s jejune, I know), but because of various other reasons, which I can never express in words. Anyway, you might as well like a wonderfully written poem by Rudyard Kipling; it is called “Mother O’ Mine”.
Copyright © 2013 RAMU DAS
When death to the world everyone is,
You awake and yawn and arise,
To rob the weak no chance you miss.
Yet, all you have for them is malice.
Take away your filthy money!
I desire none of your riches.
Wish more, make merry, oh honey,
But tomorrow find only ashes.
From the slumber when the weak awake,
Then hesitatingly you’ll amendments make.
What will you do for your sustenance?
For question will they your very existence.
Copyright © 2013 RAMU DAS
The month is May and yet not a single droplet of rain fell from up above the blue sky in this area, namely: Mumbai. In Mumbai rain falls late but when it falls, it falls ferociously. Oh rain, c’mon now, fall!
In other parts of the country, mostly the eastern parts, I have got the news that the sky incessantly growls and roars with all its might. Heavy rain pours down the earth; touches the body of men, wealthy and poor all alike; seeps through the roofs; finds its way down the lane; goes beneath the land and fills all the hollow places. My parents – who are in the eastern part of the country – had words with me over the phone today, as we do every day, they remarked that the lightning and thundering startles them; it makes them feel uncomfortable. I told them they cannot defy nature.
What they said, however, made me slightly jealous. For I have been waiting for rain to hit me, touch me, caress me, ease the heat a little, but it seems only in vain, for the past two months. Here the sun glows with all its glory, glows to the extent of burning everything that is fragile. We humans – made of liquid and flesh – are fragile. I pity all other creatures that are frail by nature and envy the Rhinoceros for possessing such tough skin. Bloody, rowdy Rhino!
I want to sniff the scent when the rain touches the earth and just afterwards. I like that smell. I find that pleasing, I don’t know why. I like the tip, tip, tip sound of rain as it falls directly to the ground. And to the same proportion I like the thudding sound as rain falls down in great measure from the rooftop.
As a child, I used to dance in the rain with my comrades; the child in me is still alive. When you are ill your parent’s affection for you grows by leaps and bounds. I tried, as much as I could, to get ill, to catch fever or something, by letting rain water flow through my body for hours. I know that was a stupid thing to do, but I didn’t know that at that time.
Now, rainy days and nights allow me to stay inside the four walls of my room; gives me an excuse to do nothing.
I hear a woman (or maybe women) sing a melodious song on the radio. The lyric goes something like this: “It’s raining men, hallelujah; it’s raining men, amen”. I want to join them – I have no problem in doing that, the music is just fine – as they sing the lovely song, but it isn’t raining here dear lady or women, hallelujah, amen.
Well, I, I, I is all I’m saying, and you think I’m being selfish, eh? Okay, then, I’ll write but not just for me or about me. Let me write about the fishes. Yes, the fishes. Sometimes back, my heart used to leap up at the sight of those sexy, shiny, dexterous fishes in the pond, and now I behold but not a single fish. The pond where I used to throw breads and biscuits so the fishes could gobble them up is now dry. Almost all the fish are dead. Only the skeleton remains.
The swan fly from a distant land and stop only to be disappointed: there is no water in the pond where previously they could plunge themselves; nor are there any fishes or frogs to satisfy their appetite. The herons and the kingfishers look no lesser desperate.
As I walk by the creek, I see the water level has gone down and the crabs keep loitering here and there. If you wish to see scores of crabs, all you have to do is walk by Marine Drive, or sit in the beach or by the side of some boulders of the splendid Arabian Sea.
If you happen to pass the streets of this place, you will realize the dust in the air may as well choke you to death. Let the wind blow in a somewhat violent manner and the dust will surely engulf you. Even the bay, the streams, the rivers, the lakes are becoming dry. All you have is mud and sand, and, to a lesser degree, pebbles.
Have you heard about snow-skating? Well, here you can do that, however, there is no snow here, but what do you need snow for when you have a marshy surface like this, ha!
The gardeners are tired of watering the plants, filling their buckets or barrels from their taps and carrying it to the garden. “I’m fucking exhausted!” grumbled a neighbour a few minutes earlier. Of course she’s watched a lot of American movies; why else would she blow the ‘f’ bomb for anything and everything. Mind you, she does it all the time. Water is limited in supply, only two hours a day for most people here.
Some farmers have been worshiping the Rain God for some time now. The fishermen have realized that it is time to pull up their socks and are thus exploring some deeper waters in the sea where they might, with some stroke of luck, find some – perhaps many – fishes and anything else that maybe salable. After all, they have to make ends meet.
Copyright © 2013 RAMU DAS
Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing here?
The side effects of exams are horrible. The essays I read during the exam are still dancing in my head, and possibly they will continue to do the same for few more days. Can someone please come and hit me hard in the head with a hammer or some such other tools so that I can find answers to the above questions.
Ah! Not so hard! It pains. Nevertheless, it seems to work, thank you. My senses are back to their designated places and I have got my answers.
Alright, before I say anything more, I must say I’m happy to be alive. How about you all?
In my last post I mentioned about my exams. Well, it is over. For the first time in three years I’m a little happy about my performance in the exam, some of you had wished me luck before the exam, hence the credit is all yours.
But, I could have been the happiest person on earth had the invigilator allowed me some extra time to write, considering the fact that I’m a slowpoke when it comes to writing. I never reproduce the same answers as in the books I read, I make my own answers. Physically, I’m not defective by any chance, and this is apparent to the invigilators. The invigilator, I suppose, is not at liberty to show me any special preference. But the fact, which I can never hide, is that I am the slowest writer on earth, and I don’t mind taking own sweet time. And I always forget: time waits, but not for me.
What an irony it is, I’m a Management Student yet I have not learnt time management. Never in the past three years could I ever keep pace with the limited time in the exam hall and write all the answers, I know the answers, it is not something out of the books, and even if it is out of the books nothing can stop me from attempting them. The limited time has never failed to add to my confusion and my word jumbles and I end up writing incoherently, which otherwise I could have written elegantly had it not been the exam hour.
Academically, I have always been an average guy. The closest to being called a bright student was the time when I was in the 12th standard, when my name came out in the papers, for there were not many competitors and very easily I could score the highest marks in certain subjects in our state. My teachers as well as my parents were delighted to see my name in print. And though my friends’ praises were faint to the extent of nothing at all, I was happy with their faint praises nonetheless.
Anyway, I’m pretty sure, when the results come out, I’ll get a first-class, like I did the last time. The paper setters of Mumbai University had been very kind in setting the question papers. Even a layman could answers the questions. Hope they will check the answers leniently.
Copyright © 2013 RAMU DAS
Tick-tock, tick-tock moves the handle of the clock
“Wait,” you implore, “just a second, please.”
You keep pleading; of you time will make a mock
The handle moves on, no matter you are that or this.
I’m trying not to trifle away my last few days of college life. They are precious. The lecturers keep shouting and screaming all the time that the students need to read, read and read a little more. I read all the time, but everything apart from the college textbooks. And this doesn’t go well with the lecturers. My parents have no clue of what I do. They are happy with everything I do. But, it is high time that I put aside all those books unrelated to my curriculum and do something about the upcoming exam that I’m going to face.
Every time I look at my bookcase, I feel pity for the untouched textbooks prescribed by the University of Mumbai. The books are now catching my eyes, poor things. They are dying for the want of a reader. If they had life in them and mouth to speak, I’m sure they would have threatened me for being a bad owner and for not taking proper care of them. The dust accumulated in their covers can surely be used to block a river.
My friends in the college believe in consuming all the details of such books as though the books were some energy drink for them. At least for a short time, I think, I should follow their path and be a part of the rat race. I have to, as long as I’m a college student. My life in the present college is going to end shortly.
Dear fellow-bloggers, this is not good-bye, I shall be back by the first week of May. My parents always say: “Never say goodbye”. Say: “see you”. Therefore, dear friends, I will catch up with your posts once I’m back, till then, happy blogging. See you all!
Copyright © 2013 RAMU DAS
Dear Lady CR,
Ah! Don’t worry; I’m not writing to complain again (like I did in the past). You know, I’ve much better things to do apart from complaining all the time. Believe you me, ah ha, I’m writing this letter because I want to express my appreciation for all the things you have done for me. Only for me, he-he-he! There is not much time left for us together in the college, and I don’t want to delay writing this further. It is now or never.
How kind you are Milady. No matter what people call you to your face or behind your face. What do they call you, anyway? ‘Fat?’ And do they describe you with some other words like: enormous, massive, large, mammoth, etc? Well, they might be right but I don’t agree with them fully. The thing is they overlook the huge heart you have beneath your exterior. And that is, indeed, a matter of grave concern. But wait, does the word ‘fat’ really apply to you. I mean, you know, fat is bad. We don’t say ‘fat as a tiger’, we say ‘fat as a pig’. Now, pig is an ugly creature. Milady, you are not ugly. I would say you are powerful, well yes, powerful like the elephant.
When someone says you are weighty, I would not say they are wrong. Apparently, yes, you are. However, the word ‘fat’ is really not for you. I have observed – Did I say I’m a good observer? – how deftly you move your fingers. And you do carry your mass gracefully just like Lady Gaga (She has a funny name though. GAGA), and what with the mental quickness, and the agility of your body; you can sing and dance better than most other girls your age, jog some mile every morning.
When you have so many unfat qualities, it is wrong to say you are fat. They are all goddamned fools who call you fat. Believe you me, keh keh keh!
Anyway, I’m so thankful to you! My happiness knows no bound even as I type this letter, and that’s only because of you. I think my first letter – which I wrote a few months back – had a profound effect on you. I’m extremely pleased with your kind words, and the personal service you have provided me. You have also informed me about all the happenings in the college, about the companies coming to the college for placement.
But, my bad luck. I was not keeping well at that time. And when I was a little better I did come to the college to sit for the placement. But there, to my dismay, the Fernandez girl spoiled it all. Neither was she selected nor was I. Kiddies always do such nonsense things. Anyway, I can forgive her, she is a kid after all, and she is a good girl, her papa’s child. Though to the world she might be full of attitude and all that, but she is just fine with me.
Who really disheartened me is the Krishnan girl, that old queen, you know. Oh, what I thought of her! Oh how I liked her! But, dear Lady CR, that old queen is good at beguiling all men’s heart with her smooth talk. But, actually, she is a cold-hearted woman. She cursed me, and lo, I had a boil on my bum, and I suffered from numerous illnesses: cold chest, runny nose, high temperature, jaundice, and whatnot.
You see, dear Lady CR, I have become so skinny; lost more than eight kilos of my flesh, and that’s all because of that old queen. Yet, she is so full of attitude, didn’t even ask me how I was. Peace be upon her. I wouldn’t wish her a boil on her bum, that’s very painful; I can’t see her in pain. But I do wish her boyfriend a big boil on his bum. I don’t know if she has an imaginary boyfriend or a real one. Ha… ha…ha!
Now, you must be wondering why I have not mentioned anything about your counterpart. I have this philosophy: things of lesser importance should be done at the end.
What was the word I used to describe him the last time I wrote an open letter to you, dear Lady CR? You see, I have a really poor memory when it comes to lesser important things. I think it was a slang word or something like that. Anyway, that’s not important; however, the word seemed to have offended your counterpart very much. A few months back he saw me in the college. I smiled he did not smile back. Instead, he gritted his teeth, shuddered his shoulder unnecessarily (just to imply how strong he was, I guessed), curled his fingers in his palm, made them into a fist as if to punch me hard in the face and quench his anger. But no, I was wrong. I learnt later that he does such acts when he has to go to the loo. When I asked why he does that, no one could explain the reason, not even his closest friends. Strange activity!
Another day, I saw him in the corridor. I thought I should approach and talk to him and bury all kind of grudges, if any, he had against me. His strange activity once again baffled me: he started dancing, rocking and rolling just like Prabhu Deva. Perhaps he had seen the movie “Any body can dance” and could not contain himself, I thought. Oh no, that was not the reason. He saw some pretty girls passing by, and, thus, was showing off his dancing skills. The girls seemed really impressed. Now, after knowing how talented he is, I’m his friend, or perhaps he would consider me his big fan.
“Hi,” I greeted him with a smiling face. I admit that was just a pretentious smile. Ni-ha-ha-ha!
“Don’t talk to me,” he grumbled. The past incident was bothering him. I had to make things light.
“It’s ok man. Take it easy. I’m your big fan.” He seemed very pleased with the last remark. He started smiling. However, the past incident once again bothered him and his smile faded away. I decided to flatter him a little more if that was the only solution. “Oh man, you are really talented. You score such good marks in the exams, and, I believe, even Terence Lewis cannot compete with you in dancing.” By this time his smile came back to his face, and I added one more sentence: “How do you do these wonderful things?”
“I don’t share my secrets, do you understand?” He replied, boastfully.
“I see. Dance man dance. You are made for it.” I thought he needed some encouragement.
He looked at me as though I were an alien, and asked, very grimly, “Did you say ‘dance monkey dance?’”
“Oh no, I can never say such a thing to a great person like you.” I answered promptly, lest the great person should be angry.
“But you did write a letter where you used a malicious word for me.” I knew he would come to this.
“Oh my! That was just for fun,” I assured.
“No funny business with me, do you understand?” He bellowed.
“Yes, sir, I get you.” I was being as humble as I could be.
“No. That won’t do,” he said somewhat abruptly and added, “I want a lollipop.”
There we go! He was acting just like that Menon girl and that Fernandez girl whom I consider newborn babies. “Alright, here you are,” I said and threw a lollipop at him. He caught it just like Yuvraj Singh, the great fielder of Indian cricket team.
“Now I want a lozenge!” He demanded.
“There you go,” I gave him a lozenge. His catch was better than the first.
“Now a Pizza,” he said. Pizzas don’t come cheap, so I hesitated a little. His demand started becoming aggressive, “I will tell my father,” he said, “and my father will inform his friend who is in the police, and you would be screwed for writing that letter publicly.”
I had no other choice but to empty my purse and order a pizza for the great person.
Dear Lady CR, I think you must have grown tired by reading this letter of mine. So let me stop here, and this, I promise, is my last letter to you, unless situation demands. Tee! hee! hee!
I remain, ever yours,
Copyright © 2013 RAMU DAS