Preserved!

High and low,

And below

Can’t you see, it is deep in me!

Now your smile,

Shines a mile

Your skin aglow, fireflies on show!

Sparkling eyes,

Draw me on

Your lips can’t reach, plump as peach!

Want to touch,

Hold and hug

But the glass you see, is keeping me!

All the love,

Lost above

Preserved inside, formaldehyde!

Boiled EGGS!

The station smelled like boiled potatoes, before it has been smothered in butter, pepper and salt. Also the sudden urge to eat a boiled egg was overwhelming Somnath. It was a decidedly weird feeling.

Also slightly funny in retrospect!

Although Somnath had left home about three hours ago, it had been on a full stomach of rice, ghee, fish fry and dal, courtsey Mitro Mashima from the flat below. He was not, should not be hungry. Was he?

Pushing aside thoughts of food, Somnath stepped into the swarm of people trying to wade out of the metro station. As he got jostled by the crowd towards the exit, Somnath thought of the mutton roll he had had yesterday at Robi's Chops 'n Rolls. Spicy with a hint of tangyness, he thought as his mouth started to salivate. 

And then again the desire to pop an entire boiled egg came to his mind. "Weird," Somnath thought aloud, which brought a dirty stare from the pretty young thing, talking on her BlackBerry, as she hurried past.

Somnath had not had eggs for the past three days. Friday had been Shiva pujo so all vegetarian, Saturdays was always a strictly veg day and on Sunday when Somnath had gone to get eggs from Bancha’s shop he had found it closed. Bancha’s eldest was not well, so he had taken the kid to the doctor and would not open the shop that day.

Today being Monday and Somnath had to leave home early, before shops opened, so he had not been able to buy any eggs.

Boiled eggs, boiled potatoes mashed with chillies and a little shorshe tel, rice and ghee. This was Somnath’s favourite meal and most days he had the same menu for dinner, which he prepared himself on the small stove kept over the old study table, near the window.

'Pickels,' sniffed Somnath. Aloo paratha, paneer bhurji, bread jam, karela-begun, biryani, the smells overpowered Sonmath's olfactory senses, as office-goers streamed from various metro coaches armed with tiffin-boxes and a determination to hold fort till the clock struck lunch hour. He could, however, not detect any boiled eggs. Such was fate!

Somnath felt depressed. Life was a huge burden he no longer wanted to carry, specially without the company of eggs, boiled or otherwise.

He dragged leg over feet to reach his office and plopped himself behind the desk.
'Nomoskar dada, cha-coffee,' asked the office boy. 'Na,' said a dejected Somnath, which was surprising for Rogho, the office-boy, as Somnath was constantly ordering cha-coffee!

The next three hours were spent in checking emails and facebook updates, as Somnath waited for lunch hour. However, when the clock struck 1, his mood did not lift. All the restaurants around his office were 'strictly vegetarian' and for once Somnath did not have the heart to eat unless there was some omelete!

Arijit, Shudeep and Shankar joined Mukherji-da at his table for the usual lunch and adda. 'Aie, Somnath wouldn't you eat," asked Mukherji-da.

Somnath recultantly walked across to the gathering. 'Have not ordered today,' he said. 'That's alright we have enough,'said Shankar as they all started to open their tiffin boxes.

Somnath was least interested in the contents of those boxes, but as each lid was lifted the smells made him curious to take a peak inside.

Deviled-egg, egg-curry, egg-biryani and even egg bhurji. Somnath could not utter another word, but the satisfied smile on his lips and the twinkle in his eyes said it all.

Day1: Boy meet Girl!

Robin looked inattentively at Mrs Patranobis. She was in no mood to understand the Pythagoras theorem. It had been drizzling for the last twenty minutes of the math class and Robin longed for the lecture to end so that she could run out. Couldn’t they see they were missing out on the beauty of nature, stuck within these four walls?

Robin wanted to feel the soft drops of water caressing her skin, getting entangled in her curls and nibbling at her lips, just like John had last Saturday when they went for the dance.

Robin smiled at the thought and Mrs Patranobis took that very moment to look in her direction and address a question. "Yes, Robin what is the answer?” Robin kept smiling, impervious to the stern stare of Mrs Patranobis and the gentle nudge of Silvia. "Robin!" shouted Mrs Patranobis in her shrill voice, making her jump. “We are waiting for your answer” "Yes, ma’am,” blurted Robin, not knowing what the question was.

If only her best friend and class partner, Rita was here, she would have whispered the question and the answer. But Rita had not turned up for class today. That was another thought troubling Robin, apart from the fact that Mrs Patranobis was now giving her the stare which made you feel small and incompetent.

The next few seconds passed in silence and then the bell rang. All the girls yelped in joy as they rushed out for lunch. "Phew! Saved in the nick of time,” thought Robin as she rushed out towards the canteen.

"Robin, the principal is looking for you," Miss Primrose called out as Robin skidded past her.

“What? Oh lord, not the Princy. If this is Mrs Patranobis’ doing, she is in for a rude shock in her next lecture,” thought Robin as she huffed away to the Principals office.

She knocked twice before the stern voice of Madame Mahapatra called her in.

“Please take a seat Robin,” said Mrs Mahapatra. Robin detected a faint softness in her usually firm voice, which was surprising. "Robin, your classmate Rita is unwell and has been asking for you. So I am giving you the rest of the day off to go visit her. This young boy here is Rita’s family member and will accompany you to her home. Please convey our good wishes to her," said Mrs Mahapatra as she gave a small smile and a little nod to indicate that we could leave.

Robin gaped at the Principal. “What? Rita unwell, how serious is she, what happened,” Robin wanted to ask, but could only look shocked. “Now go on dear, I am sure everything would be fine,” the Principal said, closing her office door.

Robin walked out towards the main entrance. She was still in daze, when a male voice said "Rita is not exactly ill. This entire sham is just to get you out of school"

Robin twirled around to see that the source of the voice was a tall, good looking man wearing a dark suit and aviators who also had a mocking smile on his face. “Young boy indeed,” though Robin, “He would be at least ten years my senior”.

“What do you mean Rita is not unwell. So what was the Princy saying and who are you anyway?” charged Robin, even as she got more and more uncomfortable under the stare of his deep dark penetrating eyes.

“Wow! So many questions,” said the man. Well okay young man and also kind of cute, if only he would stop looking at her so keenly as if she was a piece of puzzle he wanted to solve, thought Robin.

“Why don't you come with me young lady and let me explain,” he said, giving her another of those mocking smiles. “I am Rita's brother's friend, Roy,” he said as he led her towards the parking lot. “Rita has a mild flu, nothing serious, but she knew how much you would love to bunk school so we planned to get you out,” explained Roy and then burst out into a hearty laugh.

Robin was first relieved to hear that Rita was not serious and then she turned red thinking that everybody including this cute, yet arrogant young man thought she was a class bunker.

Robin did not know how she had reached the conclusion that Roy was arrogant, he just seemed like that!

Falling, in love?

Common perception is that one has no control over falling in love. It is fate, destiny or whatever you may that brings that one special person in your life and you trip. That simple, right? Well, maybe not!

Maybe there is a choice and you can control who you fall in love with. The idea came to me after reading a short play by Alex Broun called Fate's Steady Hands.

In the play, at one point the protagonist is describing a moment after he met someone when he knows there is a possibility, a potential that he could fall in love. And if he keeps meeting that person, keeps interacting, keeps communicating, the inevitable head over heels would happen!

The protagonist says:
"...at the start there is a moment where you can actually feel yourself falling in love. The heart gives you a choice -- accept or deny?"

So if you don't increase the intensity of interactions, the intense emotion of love will not show its face. Right?

Wrong again! A little thinking revealed that you would not know if you do love or don't love a person unless you interact with him or her over a considerable period of time. And then either you do 'fall' or don't, either way it is way too late to change the course fate has taken.

We have also heard of love at first sight, but that's just pure fantasy.

Coming back to the choice of falling in love, I remember this guy I was dating once. He was cute! Anyhow, one evening, after spending a rather nice time chatting over coffee, he held my hands and said, "sweetheart I am trying to fall in love with you"..????.

I couldn't say much except smile, cos I thought I had not heard him correct. "Trying to fall in love" is that ever possible?

You just do, I mean fall in love. There is no choice. No control over when and with who and why. It is a weird reaction to that special person. Or is it?

If it is reciprocated, wonderful. If not, you carry on with the pain of unrequitted love searing your heart, till your eyes meet that other special person you are destined to be with...or so 'they' say!

I am still clueless!!

Last man standing!

In a chess game, when the pawn -- the weakest of all chessmen -- reaches the other end of the board, it gets promoted into the queen --- the strongest piece on the board.

In the corporate boardroom, as on the chessboard, pawns regularly get promoted to the top, if they stay long enough in the rat race and make enough sacrifices.

And sometimes these sacrifices include your principles, your honesty and genuine relationships.

"There is, however, always a choice," says Partha Sarathi Basu, whose latest fiction 'With or Without You' dwells on the choices that executives make every day to create a balance between blind ambition and genuine drive to achieve success.

Sometimes the choice can prove to be fatal, like for the protagonist of 'With or Without You' - Aarav - who succumbs to deceit, convenient suspension of integrity, and smear campaigns to grab the top spot in his company, only to realise his true position as being 'just a pawn' in the hands of the management and almost losing the love of his life -- his wife!

"Choice is the mental process of judging the merits of multiple options and selecting one of them and 'With or Without You' is for all those who have struggled (due to their choices) to keep their jobs from ruining their lives," says Basu.

As the chief financial officer of AkzoNoble India (makers of Dulux Paints), Basu, has a flair for juggling with numbers. However, with his latest book, he has proved that he can play with words with equal panache.

Published by Penguin Books India under its Metro Reads series, the narrative is fast paced and the language lucid enough for the city reader, who has neither the time nor the inclination to dwell into heavy literature.

"I wrote in a story-telling fashion in an attempt to send the message across easily to the reader," says Basu, who has been heavily influenced by Paulo Coelho's style of writing.

Like Coelho, Basu spends little time with scene-setting, and gives readers only the minute, necessary details, concentrating more on his story's message.

Having worked with top corporations including Coca-Cola, Whirlpool, IFB Group, Tata Group, and Spicejet, Basu has dipped into personal experience and stories heard through the grapevine when creating the situations dealing with boardroom politics.

However, Basu is quick to defend his profession, "...corporate India is not that complex or murky. This story only emphasises the importance of knowing the difference between various professional choices. For the new executive the story may help him know which pitfalls to avoid, while for the experienced corporate honcho this may act as the jolt required to realise and revise his priorities".

Basu, who believes that life is the greatest teacher, advises everyone to be open and receptive as "one can learn valuable lessons from people around us — our children, colleagues, strangers ....even enemies".

He himself gets ideas and concepts for his stories from everyday life. "Days when I am moved by a particular experience or meet an interesting person, I would introspect on what I learnt from that experience and write it down in a journal...when I started on 'With or Without You' I went back to my personal journal to draw ideas."

While Basu will not leave his corporate profession to take up writing as a full time career, he admits that "writing is the best way to express oneself".

He has already started working on a collection of collection of short stories based on that complex emotion - love.

A stickler for punctuality and time management, Basu says these two traits have helped him find time to pen his book, despite hectic work schedules. "Time management is a crucial element that enables one to have a balanced life and increase productivity," says Basu, who usually writes during his long business flights.

Basu's first non-fiction management book 'Why not…! Racing Ahead with Mentors', published by UBSPD in 2008 is recommended reading in many management institutes.

Why Not! talks about the characteristics needed by the management trainee to rise up the corporate ladder.

Born and brought up at Maddox Square in Calcutta, Basu now lives with his wife and kids in Gurgaon. He is a graduate from St. Xavier's College and did his MBA from the Indian Institute of Management Calcutta.
 
 
This is not my first author profile, but definitly the first on my blog. I enjoyed reading the book and coming up with the connection with a chess game!

Midnight wanderings of the mind

"Hello there," I called. "Anybody home?" I looked through the windows and knocked on the main door. There was no answer. Where was everybody!

Wait a minute, where was I? What was this place? Whose house and who was I looking for? It seemed very strange as I couldn't remember what I was doing before coming here.

I woke up with a jolt. Only a sliver of light could be seen coming from a crevice on the floor.

Disoriented, I looked to my right. Bugsy, the glow toy, whom I had had for the last 25 years, was giving out a very faint but warm light from the corner of the bookcase. I was in my room.

Relief flooded through my body. I got up, switched on the lights and reached for a glass of water.

While drinking I looked around my small, yet comfortable room. The study table, overflowing with books, sat motionless on the corner, while the bookcase was trying not to crumble under the load of yet many more books that I had managed to stuff into it.

The orange rug on the floor, which had a tear right down its middle, was looking up at me with morose eyes. It now looked more brown than orange which totally defeated the purpose for which it was bought. To bring some cheer into the drab room with gray fraying curtains, a camp bed and damp walls.

The little table clock showed 2 a.m. "I should get some sleep," I said aloud, to on one in particular.
My voice sounded funny in the stillness of the night. There was no sound, when you thought of it. No night birds or crickets or the small creaks and groans of a house one generally hears in the middle of the night. It was absolutely quite. Pin drop silence, as some would say.

Silence never bothers me. I don't even notice it on most days. But tonight, the fact that it was there and I had noticed it, mildly disturbed me.

It would have been nice if Roxy, my neighbour, was hosting one of his night-long booze parties with blaring music and shouts from drunken merry men and women! Usually, on such nights I would curse Roxy and drown two sleeping pills to get some shut eye. Tonight I missed the noise. If there is any such thing.

I switched off the light and climbed into my bed, which usually creaks to express its discomfort at being burdened with a heavy load. Tonight, however, it made no protests.

I turned and tossed around, just to irritate it into squeaking, but of no avail. It seemed not to bother.
So a bed I never cared for, never cleaned and seldom changed the sheets had now stopped caring about me. 'Serves me right,' I thought as I drifted back into the space between being awake and asleep.

I was back at the abandoned, empty house, shouting myself hoarse, even though I knew there was nobody home.

I woke up with a jolt again. This is going to be a difficult night, I thought. 2:15 said the bedside clock. Funny, I couldn’t hear the seconds arm ticking. One can always hear clocks ticking extra loud in the middle of the night, right?

I needed those pills. I got out of the bed, switched on the lights and looked around the room. I had no idea where the bottle of sleeping pills was hiding, again! The pills were always hiding from me, scared of my touch maybe. I don’t know I loved them so much.

“Where are you dearies?” I whispered, as I moved another pile of moth eaten books to get a better look at all the possible secret crevices in the bookshelf. 

Behind Hemingway and beside a rotting apple sat the bottle. It gave a distinctly dirty look at me, not happy at all at being found. “Aha! Found you”. I yanked the top and shook the contents onto my palm. Only nothing fell out. The bottle was empty. I threw it down with frustration, yet happy in the knowledge that it would hit the floor with a loud crash. Only it fell on the rug and without even a whimper rolled underneath the bed.

2:45 said the clock, as the seconds hand moved noiselessly over its face, like the soothing hands of a lover caressing the worries of her beloved.

Sleep was out of question. I looked out of the window. A thick cloak of blackness hung over everything. All I could see were my sleep deprived eyes reflected in the glass pane.

The bulb in my room flickered. Once, twice! I imagined it going out, plunging the room into pitch darkness and then a cold skeletal hand stretching out towards my throat. I gave a hollow laugh, which made my reflection look creepy. I turned away from the window. The bulb continued to glow, although its intensity had dimmed.

I don’t remember how long I paced the space between the bookshelf and the door. Ten paces to the door, ten paces back. The clock now said 4.30 am. I walked towards the bookshelf again in a zig-zag manner and bumped into the table as I crossed the eighth step. I did not notice the glass of water standing at the corner of the table loose it balance and topple over. I did not notice as it crashed on the floor. I noticed it only when I turned around to walk back towards the door and my naked feet stepped on the broken glass. I jumped just in time to prevent the glass from cutting into the skin.

Weird, I thought. Why didn’t I hear the glass breaking? But I was lost in my thoughts and so had missed out on the luxury of catching the sound of a breaking glass. It is a luxury, when everything is so quiet. Why did I miss it? I was annoyed with myself at losing an opportunity to catch some noise. 

I could always scream to create some noise of my own. But the neighbours would hear and I would get into trouble.

The silence was becoming heavy now. It mutely clutched at my throat, suffocating me. A tiny little sound would help me escape.

I bounced on the bed. Nothing! I pushed a pile of books onto the floor. Nothing! I brought the clock near my ears. Nothing! It was becoming difficult to breathe.

I opened my mouth. “Hello?” I said, but couldn’t hear anything as long hours of not speaking had probably constricted the voice in my throat.

I cleared my throat, took in a deep breath and shouted, “Hello, there”. Nothing. “Anybody home,” I screamed. Still nothing!