Thursday, July 20, 2006

UK and Code Red

The life of ease suddenly takes a turn and ends up in a complete mess...and most of the time it does so its your stupidity that plays a major role behind that...

Now that is not something Confuscious wrote...and neither is that something Socrates told his disciples after much contemplation....It was a hard fact that I learnt in the last few months that I have been in UK.

Now UK has nothing to do about it. Nor does BT as the underlying link in the title might suggest. Its only that in UK it happened and it happened with BT. I am working on an assignment with BT now a days. Not that I am doing something high fundoo and my stupidity ended in putting BT in a big mess...

No darling I am not that big a fish who can do that... I did a stupid mistake of taking up a project and which ended putting my own life into shit. Spring as we love to(or hate to ) call it is the name of the project which is probably the most talking point in BT now a days. And as we are running late on some part the ppl in authority got afraid and they whipped a code red.

Now many ppl will ask what is a code red...especially my fellow Bongs will definitely feel that I am talking about the great Red Revolution that BT might have put into to get everything moving...as affter all only communism moves things...

Well that is not the case at all...on the contrary they gave a chance to complete autocracy.

more to come...

Da Vinci Code....

This movie disappointed me. Many will be startled, many will look back at me stating who da hell you are to say about a movie which is loved by millions and hated by billions. and at the end watched by 1001 million!!

Well definitely a minnow like me should not comment in public about a figure like Ron Howard. Much much larger looms his shadow than life over anyones mind whoever is watching. We always remember that we are infact watching a RH movie...which if you are not a blasphemious bastard like I am will have to like........

But still with all those giants shadows fallingover me and covering me with darkness......still with feeble voice I shout that Oh Jesus ...... if this movie was supposed to be like this then they should've written outside the movie hall that viewers please be warned that if you have read the book and have some original thoughts in place how this movie will destroy those and that's where you will be disappointed first time.....

Let's come down to the point why I was disappointed with the movie.

First of all the quality of editing….I hated it when it had to adjust the storyline to make it a 2 hour movie rather than a 4 hour one. And so radical was it that it almost ignored some sane points what the book doesn’t overlook but the movie does. Like in the airport when they board the flight …None stops them actually. That’s stupid.

Also Tom Hanks doesn’t look convincing in a symbol specialist’s role. There is nothing apart from the first few minutes where he can establish that he was a symbol spec.

Next is the history behind the brawl of the girl and her grandfather. Why they were not so much in touch none tells us properly. That’s a shame to omit that part as that is the part which tells us about pagan religions.

Saturday, July 01, 2006

Calcutta Book Fair

Book fair could not be put into words more aptly........read on ...Quoted a post in greatbong.net

I am neither religious nor a big bibliophile. And yet the things I miss most about Calcutta and my old life , without doubt, are Durga Puja and the Calcutta Book Fair.
That is because Durga Puja is not only about religion. Just like the Book Fair isn’t merely about books.
People. Yes both of them are also about people. And the essence of Calcutta—my favoritest city in the whole wide world.
When I close my eyes and think of Book Fair, the sound of shehenai on the public-address system comes warbling back to me—through the many years that have passed. I am flooded by memories—the puddles of water on the Maidan, the discarded bamboo poles lying about, the dust everywhere stirred up by the peripatetic peregrinations of millions, the tattered newspapers flying around in a midafternoon vortex of air, the smell of freshly-printed books, the sense of peaceful hustle-and-bustle all around. All was well with the world.
Make no mistake. The Book Fair is about books. Only not just about it.

When I was a kid, eons ago Book Fair was The event. It was where I got to spend my birthday money and set sail for imaginary worlds where I would encounter the antics of Satyajit Ray’s Feluda and Professor Shanku, the tall tales of Narayan Gangopadhyay’s Teni-da, the spooky charm of “World’s Best Ghost Stories”, the adventures of Tintin and the surreal comedy of Bantul the Great and the naughty Nonte-Phonte.
My memories of these early days constitute strikingly fresh images of a small boy going wide-eyed into the huge pavilions holding his father’s hand tight lest he get lost in the crowd. And his father reaching up the shelves and then looking down and saying—this book is good for you. Let’s buy this.
I also remember the feeling of irritation and impotent desperation as this aforementioned father took his sweet time going through heavy books in the boring Oxford book stall while the horrid book agent (who used to sell books at Indian Institute of Management) kept on showing him one new arrival after another. Aghast at the time being wasted on this futile activity, the small boy, with a strand of freshly-eaten pink cotton candy hanging from his nose, kept on pulling at his other hand —reminding him that the Rupa bookstall was filling up. And the “Limca Book of Records” was flying off the shelves like hot cakes.
Samuelson could wait. The man with the longest moustache could not.
As I grew older, things became different. Baba would come on his day and me on mine. Of course there was one family day—Baba , Ma and me. But bookhunting became more personal.
I never liked coming with friends to the Book Fair—I preferred solitude . It was easier to get lost in the crowd while being alone. Also my friends were too much into question papers, GRE big book, competitive exams and VC++ Unleashed —which to me was too much work. And quite against the spirit of the whole thing. I had nothing against GRE test papers and did a fair amount of mugging too—-but thinking of the corporeal world at the Book fair was to me like entering a temple with shoes on. In short, anathema.
Just as much a cosmic disturbance as forsaking the pakoras and coffee at the Coffee House stall for the chicken kababs and roast legs from the Arambagh Hatcheries cubicle.
Okay I confess. I ate all of them. Because one should never book-hunt on an empty stomach. Or discriminate between the Coffee House laddoo, the Rollick ice cream, the Fish Fry from Benfish and the Paan from Mantu’s.
One of the principal attractions of the fair was being able to physically leaf through the books —an experience we seem to be gradually losing in the world of Amazon and Barnes and Noble. And the books that were ideal for leafing through were those lavishly photographed expensive picture books which you would never see anywhere else—-the World War encyclopedias, the National Geographic’s anniversary collection, a collection of greatest pictures from Life magazine.
And also those pictorial Kamasutra and erotic massage books —-furtively going over a page or two before a disapproving stare from an older person would lead me to quickly reach for the Complete Gardening and Home Improvement book reclining next to it.
Every year of course there was one hyped-up, must-do thing at the Book Fair. Once Jacques Derrida was the special guest[sorry my mistake: not Saki as I initially typed] and a lot of people turned up just because he was “heavy”(or because of the reassuring “da” at the end ). Another time, Shobha De came to promote one of her steamy KLPD novels and a minor riot broke out to see her. Another year the hottest selling book and topic of conversation was , hold your breath, Arindam Chaudhuri’s Chicken and Egg book. I remember asking the popcorn guy to put more butter on my popcorn while he discussed with his mate this great new “management” guy (yes he used the word) whom he had seen in a book-signing session nearby and how he looked like a mahamanush (great man). And was a Bengali too.
The magic of books. And the ponytail to provide an aura of intellectualism.
However I was not the one to be taken in by the hype. Okay maybe a few times. But in general, I never found the big stores particularly appealing–most of them were just like the other. And I could go to these places any time of the year.
However what was unique to me at the Bookfair was the little stalls. They were the lifeblood of the event–totally bereft of commercialization, selling books noone could possibly sell in an economically viable way. Some were motivated by a belief—the Ananda Margis, some by a cause—punish the Rajakars (the Pakistani collaborators during Bangladesh’s war of independence), and some by a dream that had passed them by—old emaciated men peddling thick tomes of Marx and Engels.
Then there were the amusing ones—stalls for selling Yoga books by the Ironman of Bengal where one could get weighed for free if one bought one of their books.
And finally the foot-soldiers of the fair–those peddling “Little Magazines”—printed versions of what we would nowadays call blogs—poems, small bits of prose, humor, satire, rants–all sold at bargain basement prices. And what’s more the authors were themselves selling it, engaging you in a conversation that sometimes intentionally, as part of their salesmanship was escalated to a heated debate and then asking..no compelling.. you to buy the “Little Magazine” for prices that ranged from Rs 2 upwards.
Sometimes the magic of the bookfair lay in sitting down on the ground and just observing people. Because those who love books are as fascinating as the books themselves. The young intellectual–bearded, jhola in hand and a faded kurta. The struggling artist—peddling his pictures and small sculptures. The bald-headed, thick-glassed bibliophile wending his way to Subarnarekha–the stall that sold rare, out-of-print books. The family out for an evening of fun with the packet of shrimp bought from the Benfish stall being the principal purchase. A group of college kids talking and laughing. A couple holding hands, lost in themselves.
And me sitting, a bag of fast-disappearing pop corn in my hand leafing through the book of life. Free of cost.
In conclusion, my abiding memory of Book Fair would be this man we met a long time ago. My father and I were sitting on the grass. Poverty writ large on his face and his faded, threadbare shirt, he came and started reciting a poem. And then asked my father whether he would like to buy a poem for 10 paisa. (His punch line was ” a poem for 10 paisa”).
He had in his hand several printed copies of a small leaflet—each of which had 10 poems written by him. And he was selling it for Re 1 a pamphlet.
My father asked him what he did for a living. Smiling shyly, the man said that he is a poet. He lives far away in a remote village in North Bengal and all through the year he goes to different fairs all over West Bengal—mostly village melas where he recites and sells his leaflets. He also proudly pointed out that every few months he comes up with new material.
When my father asked him where he stayed during the Book Fair, he smiled enigmatically and the poetic, dignified silence left no doubt as to the fact that he possibly slept on a footpath.
My father bought one of his leaflets and after he had gone read a few of them. They were of middling quality—a jewel in the dust this man surely was not.
But therein lay the beauty of it. The beauty of conviction. The beauty of dreams. The fact that this man believes that one day he will make it as a poet . And what’s inspiring is that despite the odds he faces every day, he still manages to radiate enthusiasm for his craft—a luminant joi de vivre that comes from believing in what he does.
That sales pitch of “a poem for 10 paisa” accompanied with the boisterous recitation—he must be doing this routine about hundreds of times every day, mostly to people who are irritated by his presence (I saw another group on the grass who basically told him to f*** off) and just want this nuisance to leave them alone. Looking at him going about his work, I realized that not once during his numerous sales pitches does his enthusiasm or self-belief waver, nor does he ever sell his poverty and ask for sympathy—not when insulted, not when rebuffed and not when sleeping on the footpath on a cold Calcutta night.
That , my friend, is the mark of a true artist.
And the Book Fair is where you find him.

Monday, May 08, 2006

Mission Impossible:III

MI 3….. deliveres

MI-3 deliveres although this is definitely not the one movie you can put in the same row as THE ROCK. But its sleek, and its tense. That’s where the movie wins actually. Lets go into the tits and bits of the movie…

Story:-

Ethan Hunt our protagonist is an agent for IMF…one of those many top secret agencies of America. He is getting married this summer. His love is beautiful Julia. But he has this last mission to complete … and that is Mission Impossible the third of the trilogy. But this time things are more complicated and there are rats inside his own agency….and his opponent is a deadly and sadistic villain…Owen Davie.

PLUSS:-

The movie as I said is sleek. Like the two other MIs. And it has got good strong acting support from Tom Cruise. Also not to forget the famous Morpheus: Laurence Fishburne in a cameo. more to come on this.......

Friday, March 24, 2006

Life now..........

Once more I am writing after such a loooong gap...thought I would never have the pain that I had started to love. Thought never ever I will feel the loneliness which kept my pen going on and on. Thought never again I would write about hearts content as I have already got someone who will understand what lies beneath before I have to actually say it.


Things change but one thing remains constant my love towards pain. That’s why my destiny will pull me towards something which will b painful and odd.

I am missing you too much. Every night and every day its like a sitting on a pin cushion. I don’t know whether the simili is correct or not. But that’s what the case is here. And when you feel that the same fire is not present on the other side over the seas, the pain increases like never before. I do not know when I reach the UK things might become brighter. But I hardly fore see that. I do not know I am jealous that someone can talk to my girl which actually is good as she can always get a person to speak in Bengali. But I am helplessly feeling jealous. Don’t know whether I am right or wrong in this. But that’s what I am feeling right now.

I wonder why I am not the slightest excited about going to UK. For the first time in my life I am moving out abroad and I can’t feel anything in my bloodstreams making me excited. Probably I need some kick to get up from this awful low week. Next week my parents are coming so expecting a better time ahead. Who knows………..

All the loneliness is my companion right now. All the worries of losing her. Don’t know why………But my heart says I am losing her. Oh god please help me……I talk to her twice a day. I keep on sending her mails. Still nothing happens the gloomy loneliness persists. The life becomes dark to darker.,…….

Monday, October 24, 2005

Hell Of a Time!!

Don't know what am I doing right now! The studies seems to be f***** up. Life is full of trouble. My look out for some Management Institute is not going to end this time also and its quite certain. I am not giving it up. But something in my mind tells me unless I do something wonderful in this last few days for English I am gone. All my friends are better off than me. All... I am the only one screwing with my own future. I wanted to study... At the same time I am doing all sort of things which will not allow me to study also. Dunno what to do about those. I hope I had someone who could solve my problem. Someone whom I could make all these understand and work out a solution for me.

But I am afraid those angels of fire are long bygone from my life. I am living an alien life here. Doing nothing to add value to my resume and doing nothing to make my big dreams true. God has only given me the power to imagine and dream and he didn't teach me how to make them true.

I am very much frustrated right now. So I am righting this in my open blog. I know people will read this and probably laugh about it. A man must not get depressed. A man must not cry even with dry eyes.

But what pain it is only a man understands when he stands on this vast desert alone, woonded but sees no place to recline or to die peacefully.

I am not crying as I forgot how to. I am not dying as I don't know how to. I am only trying and trying.... as life taught me only one thing in this 23 years of my life: "Never Say Die"

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

AIRFRAME


This is an outstanding book! That's all is coming to my mind...Michael Crichton as usual has delivered it again.

But then I would say its not for the non-tech or not-even-interested-to-tech guys... you have to be a techie to understand the flow of the book. There are few aspects which makes this book great.

1. The detailed technicalities of an aircraft. How the hell mikey got those I don know...but that is really an applausible effort.

2.The way he picutrises the engineers...they are all kids. They still play with the toys...ofcourse big complicated toys. And anyone who is grown up is not allowed in their world. They won't simply allow it. Too often when i was a young blood I used to dream to be like one......

3. The story is also a gripping one. A fatal aircraft accident. Crushing pressure from the media. Union against the management. One Incident Review Team and mounting pressure on them. How a single women solves all and brings the airframe company to solid ground that's the story. Its fabulously written. and the suspense will also chase you to finish off the book at a single run.

With all its grand qualities still however the book fails to climb the steps from a normal thriller to a literature. Because the science and technicalities just take up the importance from the humane side of the stories. Apart from the main protagonist Casey no other character is displayed in the full view mirror and so the villains also remains in the shed with their motives vaguely known to the reader.

But overall I would say this book I liked as this is not intended to be a world classic but its got its own genre in which it should be called a masterpiece like Timeline and Jurassic Park.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Change The Change...and My View on Decision Taking

Within a week the whole thing changed………..the whole thing means life project and everything…..got a new responsibility which I don’t know how well I be fulfilling…But no doubt I will try…..so became the new lead of my team…with all those friends with whom I have worked the whole of last year now I will have to lead them..tough job…..not technically but a complete new job in which I am not experienced at all….but you have to start sometimes……..

A lot more of the changes are there…..almost all seniors are leaving….and some like us are getting the chance of being seniors and handle the responsibility….handling the testing team is one of the toughest jobs I guess…because unlike the other teams here we do some work……. Not to demean the other teams though…but really it’s a hectic work and probably the most hectic as it can be in our project…

Its fine to see people happy…and its not so fine to see them not. Some have got their desired changes and happy to the full……and some haven’t but still with full morale trying hard to make themselves a fuller so that in the next run they can have the change for the better….and some like me are not so sure whether the change was for better or for worse….Life is like this…you can never guess what it has got in store for you…even that day in the morning I didn’t know that I will become the lead and I will have to take a decision of choosing the role or demise…and I did take the decision.

Taking a decision is one work which I have found always hard. Probably because all the time I didn’t work out on the decision practically…sometimes I have taken a decision just like that and did not take the pain to think about the situation that I’m in ……and what exactly the situation is going to be when I take this decision and what it will be when I do the other thing. This causal analysis makes things really easy. You should always be in a position to take interest what is happening all around you and decide depending on that. Its never a gambling game. And gambling never makes a man rich. Only thinking hard and thinking practically is going to help you out when you are in a situation where you can not make out what is going to be your next step.

I have been taken decisions like this before. My parents even in my early life also left the decision taking part on my shoulders only. Which college to study in and which subject to study all these decisions were taken by me only and I can tell you not all of them turned out to be a wise decision neither were they any well thought decisions. But whatever decision you take its only upto you to make them seem right by your actions. Like I did not get a govt college while passing my 12th standard. So I had to take a decision between waiting for another year or joining some private institution then and there. I chose the latter and I did make it seem like this was the right decision as even if I joined a reputed college after passing out I would be doing this same scrap work in some or the other IT company with the same efficiency with only one plus thing that is a year plus to my age.

So I made it there. This can be done in other fields also. I seriously feel that its in your hands how bad or good the situation turns out to be!!