Life has been displaying some prominent teaching moments for me lately.I am realizing that it demands a fair share of acting to survive. In order for everyday things to function smoothly, it's best if I do NOT be myself. In other words, the more I do not speak my mind, or do not bother to disagree, the more acceptable I am. People do not want to know my thoughts; when they ask for my opinion, they wish to hear...well, what they want to hear. Subjectivity of thoughts is alright, apparently, unless you dare to express it. So then, what now? I do not have the art of a cynic...the attitide of an iconoclast...or the strength of a rebel....
Is the only option then to be invisible? Be a part of the dumb, still but "pleasant" air that people do not see or hear or feel, or are even aware that it exists...

Or maybe, just bust their a$$$...be hated...have extremely few (read none) friends, and not care...at all! I guess, the right answer is as usual somewhere in the middle. It will take some while for me to get there. I hope it doesn't take one whole lifetime...phew....

Parota-alu for brunch; a nice cosy siesta for the lazy afternoon; kachori and bed tea for the quiet, beautiful evening; a game or two of billiards with him while sipping wine, munching cheese and crackers, and soaking in jazz.... To top it off, there's the relief of knowing that I have two whole weeks of winter vacation left. The only important thing on my agenda for the week is getting a luxuriating facial massage. Now this is what I call a good Sunday.

Anything for the first time is memorable. Here goes my first time of writing a poddo (a short poem) in Bangla...



শীতের সকালের রোদ্দুর
যেন ফুলকো লুচি আর খেজুর গুড়
দুপুরে ছাতে বন্ধুরা আর কুলের আচার
কার নতুন কি affair, share হোক সব সমাচার!
গরম আড্ডায় দিয়ে চায়ের চুমুক
চুটকিতে উড়ে যায় ঠান্ডার আভাস
লেপের ভেতরে ঢুকে ঘুম ঘুম চোখে
পড়তেই হবে, কি দুঃক্ষ ...
নইলে কাল school যাব কোন মুখে ?
শুতে গিয়ে বোনের সাথে লেপ টানাটানি
শেষ উপায় -একে অপরকে পুরো দমে
ঠান্ডা পায়ের ছেঁকা
ঠিক তখনই “এবার চুপ কর দুজনে ”
ভেসে আসে মায়ের নরম কড়া বকা...



সেইসব দিন আজ খুব মনে পরে
তাই তো শীতের মধ্যে স্মৃতির উষ্ণতা কে
আঁকড়ে রেখেছি প্রাণ ভরে .

The ocean air embraces me, whispers “smile” in my ear
The unspoilt, virgin dawn kisses me on my forehead.
The roaring, powerful ocean reassures me-
“I'm here, will be here, undauting and timeless”.
The rising morning star,
Amidst the streaks of grey
Reminds me- “This is life...
This is how it will be...
There will be clouds in your way
But don't let your purpose sway
Your glory will be seen through
Don't worry, the clouds will give way...
Some day...”

I inhale the morning one more time,
This time thankfully.
Life has so much to offer
The dawn, the sunshine, the ocean, the rain,
The one who wraps his coat around me..

There are reasons to live, to smile,
And to come back to the morning ocean
For lessons of life and love
Again and again.

This article has also been posted on ECTA'S website.The play from an actor's (yours truly's) perspective-

“Musical Chair” intricately weaves the lives of five women who are in the game for winning something more than the prize. Life has dished out a fair slice of unfairness to each one of them, and today they are prepared to get even with it. They are all very different- different when it comes to their age and their social, economic, and intellectual stature; however, one thing is common to all five- their battle with insecurities. So be it a gnawing fear of fading youth and degeneration, or the constant throttling of spririt by an overbearing husband, or the disloyalty and rejection by a fickle partner, they are all victims of circumstances beyond their control. And this despair and dejection lashes out in a passion to win the “chair”. The “chair” ofcourse means different things to each of them. While one sees in it the path to beat the young and to takeover, the other sees in it a medium to regain her lost self-esteem. Two of them even see the chair as their object of desire, as an answer to their power-struggle over one man. But the best part is that the picture of all these struggles and battles is painted hilariously, and that the characters are extremely real. One can identify a Konkona, Malini or a Suchismita in every social group. Coming back to the game and the chair, round and round the characters walk, eyeing the chair closely, and waiting for the music to stop. The chair is ruthless, just like Life. Only the fittest person will survive...

There should be a separate calendar of Indian festivals for people living in countries climatically so different from India. It was very "un-Holi-ish" (if I may) to witness Holika-dahan or participate in "abir" smearing or even feel Holi-ish with temperatures in the lower forties topped with sleeting rain and a bashing cold wind. Holi is supposed to be a celebration of Spring, and as much as Keats might insist, the truth is Spring CAN be very far behind this year. Even the most optimistic of meteorologists are sighing about the possible late and uncertain onset of Spring. I know I might never again experience some of the things that Holi brought with her- the maddening fragrance of "Mahua" blossom in the air,the huge stash of laddus collected while visiting neighborhood aunties, watching mom and her friends becoming kids for that one day of the year while playing with colors, the full moon in the evening beaming and grinning at the bad singers in the open-air local function, and the unreplicable taste of puas, dahibaras, and gujiyas. Nobody has to give me those things back; but can I at least have it at a time when it feels like Spring were somewhere there in the corner? How irrational would it be after all? As it is, we hardly celebrate any festival on the day assigned by the Hindu "panjika"; we schedule it over a weekend; preferably on a Sunday when people will be free from work and from throwing or attending parties. Moreover, we don't even have our days and nights at the same time as India does. So why not change the schedule a tad more and take the climactic factors into account this time? I'm sure our Nature-worshiper forefathers would not mind. And then "change" is a big word too these days; a mantra for fixing and undoing several bad choices.

Don't be alarmed, dear reader.

And wipe off that judgmental curve from your forehead. When taken in appropriate quantities (dosage should be at the sole discretion of ones conscience), it sure does taste sweet. Not cloying sweet, but water-sweet. Just how water tastes to a panting throat after a mile or two of breathless sprinting. I can't believe I waited for thirty-some years to taste this! Never felt the need, never had the urge. But today afternoon, it crept surreptitiously into my mind, contemplated for the right move, and slowly dug its fangs into the victim. Don't be horrified, dear reader. The damage done would be very trivial. Not at all commensurate with the harm rendered day-after-day with a shameless facade from the other side. My conscience (which is always very hard on me) along with Ashes (whom I consider the mirror of my conscience) let me indulge in this wee bit of guilty pleasure; and I will shamelessly admit, I enjoyed every bite of it. I will celebrate this with some savory chicken-curry now. After all, spice goes well after sweet...

2009 bid goodbye amidst strings of confetti, streamers, balloons,champagne, laughter, shrieks,a hall full of friends, and what not. It was a good year after all, and it deserved a decent farewell. We had made a resolution last year- to move out of Milwaukee before another depressing winter sets in; and had followed it through. A visit to Europe, a nice group of friends in the new city- 2009 realized these and then some.

With stay-over guests, partying, and preparing for the forthcoming India trip, I had very little time to even realize it's already 2010, leave alone making resolutions and planning. But this is another new, and as every new gives birth to fresh hopes, ideas, and aspirations, I am going to wish that there is less bloodshed in the world this year and there is less people dying of ignorant, fanatic, hateful causes. So here's to this new, wishing that there are many reasons to laugh, love,and be grateful about!
Cheers!
Jayeeta

1. People writing about their own self in third person; like Jayeeta writing "Jayeeta will have non-fat milk for a month now as her doctor had advised Jayeeta to lose some of those stubborn pounds. Jayeeta is unhappy-:(" - urrrghhh
For no apparent reason, this style drives me nuts.

2. I don't want to know 95 per cent of the things people say there. Unimportant, crazy, pretentious information that no one could do any good with. Even crazier are the comments people make, and the stuff people approve and admit they like. Who wants to know if you have taken a shower, or if you are wearing your underwear three days in a row??? Apparently everybody; plus many actually like your post and offer stories of their own wretched underwear.

3. Wise, witty, and insightful people who you wish did talk more are actually the back benchers. Hard to get them to offer anything, Of course, the empty, annoying vessels chatter away to glory quite ostentatiously.

4. People sending a dozen Farmville ploughing, watering, and planting requests everyday; well, nowadays there are additional aquarium requests too. Dude, what you do with your turkey in your farm is nobody's business but yours. Worse, they don't get the message when you ignore their requests. They are like telemarketing callers; except, you can't say "NO Engleees" and hang up in this case.

Why I joined then, you ask.? Obviously because I wanted to know about the whereabouts of friends and acquaintances and keep in touch with them! But there is too much touch and closeness ...I mean information... than you want sometimes. I need some space! Need to open a Spacebook where people can mingle and then breathe freely at the same time.

Such was the bold caption on our tickets to a concert by the trio at Mc Carter Theatre in Princeton. Zakir Hussein on the tabla, Bela Fleck on the banjo, and Edward Meyer on the cello. It was good. Not crazy good, but quite good. Some notes were mesmerizing; like the one named "Bubbles". For some unknown reason, the music kept on taking me to images from our recent Europe trip. Specially to the train rides through the rolling meadows and the heavenly countryside of Europe. That means it was good music, right? I had some odd thoughts too. Like, I recalled some crazy dialogs from the episodes of Seinfeld  and King of Queens. I also made a random observation, and was amused by it. It was something like- A cello is a grumpier version of the violin. I remember having smiled to myself at the word "grumpier".