The Gull

The gull looks into the crimson dusk,

With outstretched wings he motions
To permit the distant Sun to drown,
Into the bosom of the ocean.


Content with pride, accomplishment in stride;
Making tridents on the servile sand,
He picks a twig, firm in his beak
And waves to the skies like a wand.

Like a monarch he strolls, on the sands of time
With élan he glides yonder
As swift as the wind, as strong as the sea
With wings outstretched asunder.

This banal land, is most stale
Like Ulysses he wishes to sail,
To see what lies beyond the Sun
To see from where comes gale

Off he sets, for eternity
With ambition on fluttery plumes
Notwithstanding life's limitations,
Notwithstanding doom.

Cleaving through the nebulous mist
Searing through the skeptic waves
In search of the truth, that has made mockery
Of the mighty and the brave.

Through endless days, and abysmal nights
He races with his own reflection
Using stratagems and guile to get the better
Yet none delivering fruition.

In search of the Promised Land he sails
Where bliss is commonplace;
Where ambition retires, where happiness plays
Where time must pause to exhale.

What mortal has won the race
When the elements participate ?
Yet on weakening wings and a mighty heart
The gull marches straight.

The sea seems nearer, and the rival closer
As if to discuss a truce;
Like Caesar betrayed by one of his own
He splashes on the surface devoid of ruth.

Rising up yet again!
Like a phoenix refusing the end;
He looks ahead to see the land
Which eons before he left.

That banal land that was most stale
From where he had set sail
Where like a monarch he had once strolled
Where all ambitions must fail.

To the bosom of that land, the gull sails
Wounded ,defeated and pale
Not in search of the sun or the gale
But for solace that's stale.

Those lieutenant wings can pull no long
Those plumes can toil no more
The mighty gull plummets one last time
Setting his eyes on the shore.

For an eternity; there's silence around;
Till his eyes open
To see the twig that was once a wand
To see the tridents on the sand.

With broken wings, outstretched;
On quivering toes he stands;
Those eyes that once had fire in them
Are calm, they understand;

Prostrate on the sand, he falls
Embracing his motherland.

A Time of my Life: Part 1

Time to make this blog look less morbid.

This is one of those incidents i have always wanted to write down somewhere ... not to be lost in time, but to be made timeless. The characters are original, their names unchanged and there is nothing coincidental. In time, these people may become famous and be embarrassed at reading this post and even threaten to sue me for blasphemy. Nonetheless i will take the risk.

It was one of those weeks in 2002 when we had just come back from Kolkata to our hostel in Shimoga (Yes, there is such a place on earth !), Karnataka, after a semester break. Everyone had their bags filled with something from home, but mostly that resource would run out during the 2 day train journey. Some wise men however hid their treasures in the darkest corners of their bags.

GB (Girish Binani.... though the abbreviation has stood stoically for a lot of other names over a torturous span of 4 years) was one such wise man. He always brought home-made 'parathas' and sweets to be shared with us for the train journey, but, this time things were different. Unconfirmed reports had it that his bhabi (his elder brother had recently got married) had sent with him a huge cache of dry fruits cashews and almonds. GB, being much thinner than he is today, understandably had plans to consume this stuff over a period of the ensuing semester and hoped to put on some much needed weight. Over a span of two days GB kept a hawk eye on his luggage.

Needless to say, there were miscreants around. Let me introduce you to some of them.

Sujo(a)y Banerejee. He did not like the 'o' his parents gave, so decided on changing it to 'a'. GB suspected him the most; But if you ask me, Sujoy really wasnt the reason he should have been worried. In every team there is a scapegoat. Sujoy was ours.

Sutanu Mandal. Now we are treading into dangerous territory. One of those benevolent-looking-slow-starting dangerous unstoppable monsters. Like a fission reaction, it was not a big deal to get him going but to contain him.

Pratik Gupta (Mota). Neither benevolent-looking nor slow-starting .. but decetpively quiet and more dangerous.

Varun Vashisht. One of the few trusted confidants of GB. Always ready to help with inside info about him.

Soumya (.. thats not a girl as many of you from the deccan would suspect.... In Bengali his name is spelt 'shoummo'). An inert member of the group who would lay supine all his way through the most intense fights and the most docile times around him.

Saptarshi Moitra. That's me. Many would have you believe that I am not as innocent as I am. But the most important point is that GB believes (or at least he believed in 2002) me to be innocent.

Somehow GB made it to the hostel where his treasure lay ensconced in a locked cupboard. he used to stay with Varun, Soumya and Sujoy. Dont ask me how Sujoy and GB managed to coexist. GB must have had sleepless nights protecting his treasure from white fangs.. so, one day he decided to become philanthropic.

I used to visit Tunga 105 (GB's room) quite often. On this fine afternoon, after having lunch at the gourmet George's i went to 105. (Co)incidentally i was joined by Sutanu and Mota (also Kaushik whom i forgot to mention in the gang). Everyone coaxed GB to share with us his treasure; but, he refused. Then someone (I think Sujoy) asked GB to at least give a share of his treasure to me (my reputation being higher than the rest). The wise man thought for a while and then acceded to the demand. And then it all happened.

I still remember the scene vividly and probably will for many years to come. GB took his cupboard key from under his pillow and threw it towards me.. the idea being only to authorize me to have a share of his treasure and give the keys back to him. Like a circuit-breaker the key bunch landed safely in my hand ... and immediately the hostel lights went off... This was sheer serendipity for us.... and bad luck for GB.

I can remember myself opening the cupboard in the dark and immediately feeling numerous hands groping in the darkness. The big fat ones which would block all of GB s 'dubbas' was Mota's. From the typical odour emanating from behind my shoulders I figured that Sutanu was behind me deperately tryin his luck too. Kaushik, Varun .. they were all there.

GB in his moment of desperation went for the match-box. Dont ask me why. Probably he wanted to see the carnage... just hearing wasnt enough. I can remember GB jumping from bed to bed tryin to light a match and Sujoy following close, dutifully blowing each one off . Something like the Tom& Jerry chase. So engrossed was GB with this 'let-there-be-light' thing that he ran out of the room in the dark corridor in search of a torch. This was a fatal mistake. Sujoy simply latched the door from inside. In the darkness we could hear GB yell from outside. Torchlight could be spotted from the ventilator above the door, meaning GB was now back with a torch.. but locked out in the corridor.

And then there was Light.

Mota's mouth was on the verge of exploding, and so were his pockets. Sutanu grinned at me and a couple of cashew nut fell off from his overstuffed mouth. Kaushik never talked much.. even now he was keeping his mouth closed. Sujoy was so happy to have screwed Gb that he had forgotten about the loot. Now he was begging Mota and the others for his share. I still had GB's keys in my hand. We decided to open the door and let GB in.

I dont recall what exactly happened after that, perhaps, because we were laughing our brains out and I think this story propagated through the other corridors of Tunga, and soon GB had visitors like Vishal Sagar Mayank and KK from the other wings.

When I read 'Five Point Someone' by Chetan Bhagat I often wondered if we had more fun and more stories to tell about our college days. May be we never cared to pen them down and with time, those sweet memories faded, or were replaced with life's pragmatism. Nonetheless, here's my try to keep them alive.

Yes I will survive !

Yes, this is why I had decided to start the blog. To leave the footmarks of my life.

I am going through the toughest phase of my life (till date) and I think it needs to be documented, lest I forget what I went through when the times are good. More than 2 years back I took a decision I ll never regret. I came to the US to do my MS. It was a dream I wanted to live.. and i lived it through the thick and thin. There was only one little problem. I chose to graduate in the middle of the worst global recession of the century. Some timing ! I spend days and nights applying for positions online.. several times to the same positions, never getting a reply. I keep calling people for help only to end up empathizing with their predicaments.

This is January 2009 and there are only two kinds of people living in the US. Ones who have jobs ... and others who dont. The ones with jobs are scared. They can feel the impending guillotine hanging over their head. Entire teams are getting fired, many re-organized, some retained, only till the next meeting. They are even scared to mourn the layoffs for there are high chances the next pink slip may have their names on it. The common talk is to go back to India where things are not 'this bad'.. like all common talks nobody is serious about this one.

Then there is this other kind of people.. they dont have jobs .. so they dont worry about layoffs! They dont belong to teams .. so they dont worry about reorgs. They dont get pay slips.. so why worry about pink slips.. they have only one small worry .... Survival ! I belong to this multitude.

Have you ever dreamt of falling in a dark abysmal well? I have.. nowadays its so recurring i actually enjoy the ride. The only problem is that I am dragging quite a few people with me who really dont need this excitement.

These are times which may be chronicled in history lessons and there'll be dark facts peeping out of books for future generations to see. people will say in a matter-of-fact way .. 'yes those were bad times' without knowing how it really was. I'll know.. and i will remember how it was.. and i will look up from that book and take a deep breath and say .. Yes I survived !