Essays/ Travelogues/ Poetry/ Ramblings

Note from the hills #3: Mussoorie and Landour, Feb 22-24, 2018

A couple of years has passed since my last note from the hills. I have mostly lived in two Indian metropolises Delhi and Calcutta this entire time and haven’t seen any mountain range, which means there has been no pine tree, no fir, no winding road up the hill sky, no blue day sky, no clear starry night sky and no fresh unpolluted air for quite a long time. Not that I am complaining, I am dead serious about my job now and that kind of work can’t really be done from up in the mountains. But nature was a part of my everyday life when I was in Berkeley and I did miss nature a lot in the big Indian cities, which made me do this escape to the hills for a couple of days.

Right now I am sitting at the outdoors of a cafe high up on the mountains with  a cup of coffee and writing this note. The place is called Landour. My table faces the pine trees that have covered the entire slope of the mountain. The cookie that the server gave me on a plate with the coffee didn’t last long though. A monkey came and grabbed it, triggering a shock wave among the people chilling at the cafe including myself.

This place and these trees are particularly significant to me. An hour hike from the touristy hill station called Mussorie nestled high up on the edge of the Himalayas, this small but busy town called Landour is the place where one of my favorite authors, Ruskin Bond, lives and writes from. The trees I am facing right now are essentially the same ones that inspired a lot of his writings. These are the trees that constantly watch him as he sits at his desk next to the window of his house and writes. The sounds of whisper through the woods that he describes in his writings essentially originate from these trees. A large reason for me to choose Mussoorie of all the hill stations to take this much needed break from my work in Delhi was the temptation to visit Ruskin Bond’s town.

I got to Mussorie yesterday afternoon and spent the evening walking along the relatively quiet Camel’s Back Road and enjoying the view of the valley from there. This morning, after an arduous walk through a narrow but busy road uphill from Mussorie, I reached Landour. At once I was greeted by the portrait of Ruskin Bond painted on the walls. Other than Tagore’s paintings on walls all over Calcutta, I have never really seen an author’s portrait on the walls of an  Indian town or city. As I walked further up, I enquired the local people about the exact location of Mr. Bond’s house. In this process, I also met a fellow Ruskin Bond fan from Bombay, who is also visiting Landour for the same reason as me- to locate Mr. Bond’s house. Together we strolled around the neighborhood and eventually located his abode, next to a very colorfully painted Domo’s cafe.

The house looked exactly like he described in his books. The red staircase was there, the famous window was there, and also the corrugated tin roof. A dog was sleeping on the staircase. We stood in front of the house, across the road, for a long time and chatted, with the midday sun caressing us. We mostly talked about what were the chances of someone establishing oneself as a writer in today’s age. If either of us moved to the hills and started writing as good as Bond sahab, would we be able to sell our books too?  As the chat got more interesting and turned more into a debate, the dog woke up and in order to find a more sunny spot walked up to us. We had to make room for him to lie down as a result. Usually I am quite scared of dogs but this dog seemed overtly chill and friendly. It was Ruskin Bond’s stray-dog after all. My new friend suggested that the dog should be called Rusty.

After a while we decided to leave Rusty alone and walked further up to a place called Char Dukaan, which had a bunch of restaurants and cafes, one of them being Cafe Ivy, where we are sitting in right now. The cafe is particularly fancy with elegant furniture and lighting, and proper blues music being played on the audio system. If only the server made us alert of the monkey threat!

A lot has happened in the last couple of years, since my last visit to the hills, which was Shimla. Things really  went south after that- further loneliness at work,  confusion regarding what to do next in my career, that insane moment early morning one day when I got up from sleep, looked at the walls around me of my almost empty bedroom in my new house and didn’t even know who I was for a good few seconds. All my pursuit of truth through the science lessons in Berkeley, the intense relationships with Diggy and Polo, the experimentation with spirituality, the loneliness in Delhi- had finally turned successful. I didn’t realize it right away at that moment but later as I pulled myself through all the toll that that experience itself and everything that preceded it for the last few years on my mind, I realized it.

I had essentially solved the “hard problem of consciousness”- at least to my own satisfaction. The problem, as framed by academician David Chalmers. I refuse to use the word “philosopher” for researchers sitting in Philosophy departments of universities writing essays on philosophy for a living and calling themselves philosophers. To me, all human beings who think about the world around and reflect on their lives are philosophers. Why should only researchers in Philosophy departments get the privilege to call themselves so!  In any case, David Chalmers  essentially tries to explore the subjective nature of reality by calling it the “hard problem of consciousness”. The reality as we perceive it through our minds always has a subjective aspect to it. The problem lies in explaining what it actually is.

That morning when I woke up from my sleep I had no understanding of who I was for a good few seconds. It was just a body lying on the bed- and I was just looking at it. No, I wasn’t under the influence of any psychedelic. Just by living in a new city for months where I couldn’t connect with anyone personally, by simply talking about only science and mathematics with colleagues at work and by never really doing anything simple and fun like reading fun story books or watching some dumb show on cable TV as opposed to reading existential philosophy, I had started getting detached from all my memories of living like a normal human being. There is something eerie about workplaces- people never connect with each other personally and emotionally, they are always throwing facts at each other and talking of stuff in a strange impersonal way such that you get to know nothing about them even if you meet them at workplace for months, as if there is nothing to life other than facts and logic and deliverables. All that got into me- I forgot to laugh, forgot to smile, forgot to feel, as insane as that sounds.

And all that led to a strange detachment from memories of my past- memories of childhood, high school, Berkeley, Polo, Diggy, parents. There is a subtle difference between forgetting things and being detached from things- I still remembered all these things and people, it’s just that I forgot the feelings associated with my experience of these things and people, which led to this sense of detachment. And that resulted in dreams vanishing from my sleep slowly- the science and mathematics you discuss at work don’t make your dreams, what makes your dreams is the feeling and emotion you attach to them when you discuss them at work with other fellows- you voicing your aspiration to be a top researcher or a heated debate with your colleague about how a certain thing works- that’s what dreams are made of along with other things like good and bad memories you make during the day,  the longings you have for your loved ones- practically all sorts of emotions. Since all emotions were going out of me living in this strange work environment in this new place, my dreams were vanishing too until that morning when I woke up from my sleep with a completely blank mind.

Careful reflection on that moment probably explains the subjective nature of experience, and hence the hard problem of consciousness. At any given moment in time, our experience of the world has two components to it- the external world that is sending signals to our brain through different stimuli perceived by our sense and motor organs, and the memory of our past moments that is embedded in our brain. The subjective nature of reality that we perceive or rather subjective nature of our experience is essentially a calibration between the incoming signal from the external world and some pre-existing signal/ memory already embedded in our brain. Without this calibration, we can perceive the external world as it is as I did that morning when I woke up- I just saw the walls, the bed, my body the way they were without relating them with anything  I had pre-conceived about them. Finally after all these years I was probably able to “live”in the moment”.

But then given that I experienced a moment just the way it was, why couldn’t I just live like that? What was so scary about it? The reason for the scare was the fear of death- somehow death reveals its scary face in a such a moment, as I had also felt in the past during my entire spiritual pursuit. It actually makes sense now that I think about it – what really makes us continue our lives is this will to do something, to achieve something, to realize our own potential. If we experience the world around just the way it is independent of us and you even look at our own bodies that way, and we don not have any sort of attachment to the past or aspiration for the future, we may just do anything to ourselves at that point. What stops us then from jumping off a building or coming in the way of a car and getting ourselves run over. I earlier used to think lonely people commit suicide out of sadness, out of the desire to terminate some kind of pain, but now I realize it’s not necessarily so. People can commit suicide simply because they experience moments when they have lost all attachment to their memories and aspirations, and they just get obsessed with some idea that can hurt them, but they don’t care and they simply just do it.

Moments like that were happening to me very frequently around that time, and after that morning, they started happening even more. Suddenly I would see a small object like cap of a bottle and would want to swallow it and choke myself. As I would walk on the pavement of the road, I would see a car coming in front of me at high speed and I would feel like jumping in front of it. It was a strange gripping obsession, where I wanted to do such a thing not because I was pained by my existence and wanted to terminate it, but rather I simply just wanted to do such a thing and see what it felt like.

The mind was an absolute void other than that thought- no memory of the past, no aspiration, nothing!!!

I realized I had to pull myself out of it- otherwise I would kill myself. I told myself – this was enough, I wouldn’t think about anything “existential” or “philosophical” from then on, I would just do light stuff and not think about anything deep until I pull myself out of this situation! And the people who you would largely depend on to pull yourself from such a situation were your parents- too people who would always be there for you at any cost. I decided to go to Calcutta for an indefinite period and stay with parents until I got well. If that meant losing my job, so be it! I am a smart guy with the best qualifications in the world, I will be able to find another decent job for sure!

So within a couple of days from that morning, I took a flight from Delhi to Calcutta. I still remember when the plane landed at the Calcutta airport and we got down from the plane to walk into the airport bus that would take us from the run-way to the airport, I touched the ground with the tip of my fingers and then kissed my fingers. I needed to get back the calibration in my mind I had lost- I needed to feel grounded again- and what better way to feel that than reconnecting with the city I spent in my childhood in, where my parents lived and where I had some of the best memories of my life.

To be continued. 












Essays/ Travelogues/ Poetry/ Ramblings

Note from the hills #2 : Shimla, Jan 26-29, 2017

I am writing this note sitting at a cafe in Mall- Shimla’s center-place. It’s a nice and sunny morning out here with a lot of tourists crowding the place. The main hub of all these Indian hillstations is called Mall; Darjeeling’s hub, from where parts of the previous note was written, had the same name. Right around the time of writing that note I thought of writing the next letter from Shimla because I was moving to North India after a month and I couldn’t come up with a better place to follow up on the letter from Darjeeling other than Shimla. It’s funny how I  construct a narrative of what is going on in my life in the plains for a period of a month and then take a train or a bus or a shared taxi to reach the mountains and simply write it all out. 

I know that these crowded neighborhoods up in the mountains, thronged by tourists, probably do not compare with the idea of mountains for an adventurous free spirit living in California. For that person, mountains probably mean traveling to some desolate spots, doing some crazy hikes and camping in the wilderness in the lap of the Sierras or the Rockies. But I find some unique charm in visiting these Indian hill stations from the colonial era nestled on the edge of the mountains. If a city like Berkeley, with all its houses, clubs, schools, hospitals and people, is located right next to Lake Tahoe, it may probably look like these hill stations. Thanks to the Britishers they were built and thanks to India’s heavy population they are thriving. 

Both Shimla and Darjeeling and probably other hill stations in India have a common layout. The bus stand and the railway stations are located lower down the hills. After reaching there on a bus or train from the plains, one has to climb up a lot of stairs or walk up really steep roads, with houses and markets built on the slope of the hill on both sides. Some hotels are constructed in a very interesting fashion. The reception is probably on the fourth floor of the hotel and the rooms are on the first three floors. This is because the hotel opens up to the road on the top floor and lower floors are all constructed by ripping up the hills. For example, a hotel walked in to last night looking for a room, has most of its rooms in the basement. As a result those rooms are devoid of windows. 

I guess there are similar hotels in Darjeeling as well- the two places resemble each other a lot  in their colonial heritage – beautiful churches, majestic government office buildings, toy trains, fancy restaurants and cafes. Though I missed the toy train experience in Darjeeling I got here by toy train, which was much more of a regular train than a toy train. It was a six hour journey from Kalka to Shimla. I was in a crowded noisy general class unreserved compartment with local families and college kids as opposed to the calmer reserved boggies with urban tourists from the plains, covered up in sweaters and blankets. I met a nice family with a one year old kid who lives in Kanderghat- half way between Kalka and Shimla, an elderly gentleman who grew up in Shimla but now lives in Bombay, and a guy from Indore who works in some management company. That guy befriended me right away, bought food for me a couple of times and was clinging to me even when we got to Shimla. Probably he wanted to share the hotel room that night with me and do a  touristy conducted bus or car tour of Shimla and Kufri the next day with me in order to save money. I love talking to people, but the moment they start sticking to me and trying to push me into something I want to get rid of them. I got rid of this guy too last night using a little diplomacy. This is a thing I am noticing about India. I never lived in India as an adult before and so I never noticed this. In US strangers talk to each other and exchange ideas because the ideas interest them. In India, strangers only seem to talk to me when they have some kind of interest, mostly monetary. This saddens me a bit. 

Though the colonial aspects of Shimla and Darjeeling are similar, from this morning’s experience, I feel Shimla has far less number of passages to the 9 – 3/4 th platform compared to Darjeeling. Those crazy Buddhist monasteries and the Lama culture are missing here. As opposed to that there is a lot more mainstream Indianness  here which isn’t really a bad thing. Indian flag flies high in the mall. Statues of former political leaders of India and  Indian commando base in the vicinity are quite in contrast to the Gorkha dominated Darjeeling trying to separate itself from West Bengal and getting its own state called Gorkhaland. 

Monkeys are playing around me in the cafe while I write this. Hopefully they don’t admire coffee and have their eyes on the coffee pot and cup on the table. Earlier today at the Mall a really funny thing happened connected to monkeys. A couple was sitting on one of the park benches. The guy was holding an ice cream cone in his hand, but was engrossed in talking to the girl. Suddenly a monkey sat next to him, snatched the ice cream cone from his hand holding it just like a human being will hold it and ran away. Being close to humans, these hill station monkeys have probably evolved more than their counterparts in the woods!

I think the feeling of ultimate bliss that I experienced in Berkeley lasted in all its perfection till I wrote the last note in Darjeeling. As I understand it, the cause of the bliss was largely the romantic feelings followed by the spiritual exercises with the beloved. Usually a romance this deep ends in the two people being together for a large chunk of their lives, but thanks to the symmetry breaking, for me it ended up in the realization that a conventional union isn’t possible in this case. But instead of being heart broken about this I decided to seek some kind of spiritual union with the best friend and the beloved, which got me into all the spiritual exercises. All that led to an out of the world feeling- a feeling of ultimate bliss- that lasted for months. The best word I can think of to describe those months in Berkeley is “cornucopia” . 

But over the last month, since the trip to Darjeeling, as I spent a week in Calcutta trying to fit in to my home, or rather my parents’ home in Calcutta, the feeling of “cornucopia” seemed to slowly go away.  It’s interesting, I had visited my parents’ one year back around this time and felt perfectly at home, but this time I felt so out of place. So much happened to me or rather my mind between the last time in India and this- my mind went so far away, in some beautiful alien land, through all the meditations and the chants and the bhakti songs and of course the romance. And it just stayed there for months while I was staring at the starry night sky of Berkeley with the best friend, hugging the trees and singing Tagore songs addressed to the divine and hanging out with all the hippies, that live on vans in our college toen and make their livelihood cutting weed higher up in the hills. And after all that, fitting into an elderly domestic Bengali scene with all its mundane conversations about the daily produce at the market, the taste of the food cooked in the kitchen and all those melodramatic Bengali mega serials that go on cable TV became so difficult. 

That week with my family was followed by three weeks in Delhi, in a new city, in a new job, where I lived all by myself and knew no one around.  The uneventful days of work, where I could befriend no one, were followed by lonely nights  in the apartment. In the shivering cold, I would wrap myself up in a shawl, turn off all the lights in the room, play some spiritual song on my cell phone and try to focus on the thought of the divine. But as more days passed the divine seemed to be leaving me. I think the lover, the beloved and the divine form a golden triangle, where when there is a separation between the lover and the beloved as has happened in this case – a physical separation of ten, thousand miles- the whole triangle collapses. As a result the connection between the lover and the divine starts getting lost and the feeling of “cornucopia” slowly starts deserting the lover. 

But I don’t think the feeling has left me altogether. As I sip the coffee here at this table I look at the Mall, flocked with tourists- couples in warm clothes taking selfies and kids on backs of mules. I turn around and look down the valley, dotted with pine trees reminiscent of Berkeley and multi-storeyed concrete houses not reminiscent of Berkeley. The sun shines on my sweater and scarf and me in all its strength and I still feel pretty blissful, like I felt in Darjeeling. The perfection of the moment is probably in the healthiness of that moment, and in looking back at the past with fondness and without regret and looking forward to the future with hope and without worry, rather than just focussing on the moment which a lot of spirituality lessons emphasise upon. As long as the circumstances around me are such that they trigger this feeling I guess everything is fine. But then the entire idea of spirituality, as I understand is, is probably to retain this feeling independent of circumstances, which will be complete nirvana. In that quest I have been living in the solitude of my apartment in Delhi, devoid of everything I cared about but food, clothes and a roof on the top of me at night. But I need to be careful about this. Indulging in this solitude too much can lead to an eerie feeling of loneliness and depression. Thanks to this trip up the hill, I have avoided this trajectory for now but once I go back to the plains and get back to the same routine as the last few weeks and don’t get any friend there,  depression is inevitable. Question is how long can I avoid it!

Earlier in the morning I took a walk along the famous Shimla Walkway that goes from the Mall to Vice Regal lodge as the green signboard says on the roadside. During the walk, on the right side of the road I spotted a guy displaying books written by a famous Indian monk and a climb of stairs went down the slope next to him, leading to something that looked like an ashram. I walked down the stairs, lined by pine trees on either side. These tall pine trees became such a big part of my life in Berkeley. But since I got back to India I have only seen them twice- first in Darjeeling and now in Shimla. Something I noticed in Darjeeling and here too is that a direct access to the trees that has been denied to the people using fences. In Berkeley those trees were growing on a relatively flat land while here they are growing on really steep slopes next to public walkways. So the fences must be erected for the safety of the people, and this has created this barrier between the people and the trees. 

But I really wanted to hug a tree. So I crossed the fence and walked down the fairly steep slope very cautiously. After a little struggle I managed to walk all the way to a pine tree and surrendered myself to the benevolence of the tree, letting it absorb the fear within me from the climb. Perhaps this barrier between the pines and the humans in Indian hill stations is symbolic of all the barriers I am encountering here in India between me and happiness. After living six years in US it is so hard to get used to this. People don’t know how to enjoy their lives here, they are mostly living with their families, confined to their houses and repeating the same routine every day. For example, as I walk along a busy road in Delhi, there is no live musician on the pavement playing some cool riff on the guitar or blowing into the saxophone to elicit a soulful melody- something that was so common in Berkeley or San Francisco. The popular perception about India in the bay area seemed to have been that it is the land of spirituality and deep philosophy. Since I never lived in India as an adult, I probably kind of bought into it. But now it seems India is totally the opposite- at least the cities on the plains and even these crowded townships on the mountains. Most of the philosophical and metaphysical things which dominated our conversations in Berkeley are barely mentioned in conversations here. Most interesting topics are censored. Instead people just talk about monetary stuff and household stuff- whether that’s the people in my immediate and extended family in Calcutta and north Bengal or the people I meet at work in Delhi. It is really getting suffocating and I am dreading going back to the plains to join work a bit now, but I don’t really have anywhere else to go. 

I feel like I have gotten myself into a corner here. But I do not blame anyone for this. As surprising as this sounds, I have a vision about my future in which this country has to play a big role. I can’t state it clearly now because the vision isn’t clear to me either, but it’s slowly building. By the time I left Berkeley I only had two things left in my life- I did not want to die and I loved my beloved very very dearly. It was a really beautiful feeling but it was too out of the world. It wasn’t materialising into anything in the real world and hence it had to end. As I go to sleep every night now, I feel like there is a lot dying inside me, but a very small thing is also growing inside. And hence I need to go back to the plains now to give shape to that vision through my work there. 

Calcutta Corner

Durga Puja 2018

A year has passed since I wrote my blog post “Durga Puja 2017” and now with Puja here in the city once again, it’s time to start writing my new blog post- “Durga Puja 2018”. Last year’s Puja was my first one in seven years. Since I spent majority of those seven years far away from Calcutta, last year’s Puja felt very surreal. On the other hand, this Puja feels like a regular event in my life largely owing to the fact that I have visited Calcutta about once a month since last puja and hence have largely been able to re-establish my connection with the city.

In my last year’s Durga Puja post, I mentioned that this festival is not just about the five day long rituals and the pandals and the crowds but is also about the Bengali literature that is  published before the festival in the form of puja magazines, the movies that come out in the theaters during the puja week, etc.  But unlike my last year’s post where I talked about the pandals first followed by the magazines and the cinema, this time I shall follow a chronological order and hence first start with the works of fiction that I liked from this year’s Puja magazines, followed by the movies and then the pandals.


Pujabarshiki Anandamela comes out about two months prior to the Puja. About a month later Sharodiya Anandabazar Patrika gets published, and right around the inception of the festival the local newspaper and magazine distributor puts a fresh copy of Sharodiya Desh at one’s doorstep. As a result, by the time of writing this post which is during Mahaashtami and Mahanabami, I have been able to read the Ananadamela almost in its entirety, a large chunk of Ananadabazar Patrika and almost nothing from Desh. So here are the novels I liked so far from this year’s Puja literature.

Mahidadur Antidote (The antidote made by Mahidadu) by Dipanwita Ray (teenage science fiction novel)- published in Pujabarshiki Anandamela:


This is first time I actually read a science fiction novel in Bengali which can be called hard science fiction without any qualm. As I had pointed out before in an earlier blog post of mine on alchemy, the much adored science fiction stories by Satyajit Ray are way too much on the softer side. There are almost no scientific details in those stories, most of the events defy scientific logic and hence seem highly implausible. On the other hand, this novel is quite a successful attempt at creating an extremely scientifically accurate post-modern world, where humans commute from one place to another in flying cars, visit artificial parks for recreation where rivers, fountains and sea beaches from the natural world have been replicated for human entertainment, human DNA is corrected at birth to bring out the best features in humans, etc. Though it all seems to be an utopia initially, soon there is a turn of events which makes the protagonist question everything that he has been raised up on. The DNA of most humans is corrected at birth by some other humans in power such that an average human is rendered bereft of the power of creativity, imagination, skepticism and dissent. Similar dystopian vision of the world has been dealt with in modern classics like “Brave New World” and “1984” (sadly I haven’t read either yet) or popular movies like “The Matrix” and “Equilibrium”. Yet the plot of this novel “Mahidadur Antidote” seems quite original with the traditional Bengali emotional touch to all the events in the novel, which are vastly futuristic and global in scope and scale.

For me, the beauty of this sci-fi novel lies in the details with which all the different aspects of the post-modern world have been depicted though it has been written for teenagers. But I can imagine that this level of technical details will reduce its entertainment value for a lot of general readers.  Nevertheless, since the society we live has become much more globalized and the amount of information an average person has access to has increased exponentially thanks to the internet, I feel it won’t be too inane to presume that such technically rich hard science fiction novels will capture the psyche of a Bengali reader, known for their intellectual curiosity and cultural refinement, and childish science fiction stories of Satyajit Ray with no technical details whatsoever will pass into oblivion. But sadly not many will probably read this novel. Rather they will continue talking about some Professor Shanku stories that came out forty years back and Satyajit Ray’ son Sandip Roy will make more big budget movies  on them. Another glaring example of modern intellectual Bengalis living vicariously through past legends and ignoring gems of the present!

Jipur Jawa Asha (Jipu Goes Back and Forth) by Sourabh Mukhopadhyay (teenage fiction novel) – published in Pujabarshiki Anandamela:


Another beautiful novel that came out in this year’s Anandamela, though very different in flavor from the previous novel. It is largely about the changing times, how schooling has become extremely competitive and grueling in the cities and how refreshing and productive it can be for a kid to take a break from urban schooling and study in a countryside school for a while. The kid here, Jipu, who is the protagonist of the novel, is forced to go to a countryside school because his father loses his job and is unable to pay the heavy tuition fees of his current school, which is meant for kids from upper middle class urban families. Though his parents are traumatized by the experience and are deeply concerned about the future of their son, Jipu falls in love with his new school, thoroughly enjoys the laid back countryside lifestyle and even shows significant improvement in the academic performance. The novel is a joyful, refreshing and yet intriguing read and makes us question the various choices we, ultra urban people, are making everyday  in our lives.

Mantra (Chant) by Binayak Bandopadhyay (novel) published in Sharodiya Anandabazar Patrika: 


Sparsha by Krishnendu Mukhopdhyay and Tarabhora Akasher Niche by Srijato from last year’s puja magazines set my expectation very high regarding contemporary Bengali literature, and this year’s novel Mantra by Binayak Bandopadhyay did not disappoint. Just like Sparsha  and Tarabhora Akasher Niche, Mantra  has a very global feel to it. The events in the novel aren’t restricted to the periphery of Bengal but spreads across the globe, with a majority of the latter events happening in US- mainly on east coast academic campuses. According to me, contemporary Bengali literature, and in extension, the people can be broadly classified into two types- one which is affected by globalization and the one which isn’t. Quite naturally the former type seems much more attractive to me than the latter. In Mantra, the protagonist Uttaran spends his childhood in an Ashram  in Calcutta in the company of Hindu saints and experiences a very spiritual upbringing. An extremely meritorious student, he goes to a top college in Calcutta for undergraduate training in Philosophy and then a top university in US for doctoral training in the same subject. But throughout this entire time he does not desert his monastic celibate lifestyle until a girl, Anasuya, who falls in love with him in Calcutta, follows him all the way to US to spend more time with him. The plot is pretty epic in its scope and takes several twists and turns after that as it follows the spiritual and academic trajectory of Uttaran- his giving up of celibacy and starting a family with Anasuya, raising a mute kid as a single parent, acquiring professional fame through his scholarly works on the Gita, and so on.

Uttaran’s internal struggle regarding the life choices he makes or circumstances force him to make is the central theme of the novel. He is shown to be torn apart internally several times, unable to make a confident choice between a monastic, spiritual, celibate life and a passionate, emotional, lustful family life. What I really liked about the novel that it adopts a very balanced and neutral approach and depicts the bright and dark sides of both these life choices. At a personal level, I largely agree with the writer on various points. If everybody in this world chooses to be a monk, this civilization will indeed cease to exist in a very short time. Sexuality is the driving force behind continuation of our species, and hence all the passion and emotional vulnerability that come with it need to be embraced rather than be shunned. Also, even if a monk chooses to live a family life driven by circumstances, they can always go back to their original lifestyle and can pursue spiritual advancement again in future.

I personally think that whether you are a monk or a family man, a celibate or a casanova, a musician or a clerk, you have to survive on this planet, find your own balance and live your life. So it really doesn’t matter much in the end. And death will strike upon everyone one time or the other, Even the most spiritually uplifted monks aren’t exempt from that. Yes, they can claim that our consciousness does not cease to exist. Extreme amount of dedication to spiritual practices in this life can lead to a much more peaceful after-life or something like that. The slight amount of subjectivity that always pervades our experience of the world we live in and our lack of understanding of the functioning of the brain certain leave space for such ideas, but based on personal experience, I can say that delving too much in such metaphysical ideas has quite a chance of bringing more suffering in life than happiness. Death is gonna come eventually to us all, and whether anything happens after death or not can be found out then. It’s far more enjoyable to enjoy this “real”, physical world we live in in all its diversity and derive pleasure from little things in life than obsessing oneself with abstract stuff like metaphysics and spirituality all the time. The protagonist Uttaran probably also feels the same several times during the course of the novel.

Overall, this novel is a great read. However one thing that probably makes it fall short of a classic unlike Sparsha and Tarabhora Akasher Niche is its weak narration style. I read Tarabhora Akasher Niche the second time very recently and it felt nearly as good as reading it the first time even though I knew the entire plot this time. This primarily happened because Srijato is one of the best Bengali poets of modern times and even the prose he writes reads like excellent poetry. The words resonated in my consciousness like some soulful melodies played on the sitar by some maestro. The places in which the events of the novel happen got beautifully projected in my mind as if I was sitting in front of a Vincent Van Gogh painting in an art gallery and relishing it alongside a cup of hot black coffee. Though this novel Mantra had plenty of scope of reaching that level of excellence since it dwelt upon spiritual life in India and academic life in the west, it quite failed to do so. Hardly any picture connected to Uttaran’s childhood or adult life gets painted in the eye of the mind while reading the novel. I kept turning the pages of this really long novel strictly because of the content. Hence, now that I have finished reading it once, I don’t think I will read it once again in near future.


Manojder Adbhut Bari (Manoj’s strange house), directed by Anindya Chatterjee

This movie is adapted from the  critically acclaimed teenage fiction novel of the same name, written by prominent Bengali writer Shirshendu Mukhopadhyay. The novel came out several decades ago and kicked off Shirshendu’s Adbhuture series – a series of teenage fiction novels full of comic and mystical elements in a village setting. This series, along with Satyajit Ray’s Feluda series and Sunil Ganguly’s Kakababu series, forms the cornerstone of Bengali teenage fiction. I have read almost all the novels in this series barring this one- “Manojder Adhbut Bari”. But all the novels in the series have pretty much the same setting and the same kind of characters – a king who isn’t much aware of his surroundings, an ever vigilent thief, bunch of hilarious dacoits, a saint or a local lunatic who makes mystic statements which sound like rambling initially but later turns out to be extremely insightful, some conservative old lady and a few curious kids. The plos are also fairly similar – there is a treasure hidden somewhere in the village, its existence is never mentioned in the early part of the story but only gets acknowledged towards the middle and then rest of the story is about finding that treasure. As a result, though I didn’t know the plot, I had a fair idea of what’s coming next when I sat at the theater to watch the movie.

Probably for that reason and also because the plot turned out to be quite weak compared to Shirshendu’s other novels in the series like “Pagla Saheber Kobor”, “Jhiler Dhare Bari” and “Harano Kakatuya”, I didn’t enjoy the movie much. I won’t say that in the movie the director failed to bring out the typical Shirshendu brand of humor that pervades all the novels of the series. Rather I felt he was quite able to bring it out, just that it has stopped working on me. I had a similar experience when I read the Shirshendu novel that came out in this year’s Anandamela and the last year’s. Probably because I have read too much of it- the same humor and characters have been repeated every year in the puja edition of Anandamela for the last several decades. Also the world we live in has changed too rapidly since the inception of this Adbhuture  series and Shirshendu’s Adbhuture world could not keep pace with it. As a result, I felt much more sad than irate after spending a huge chunk of money and time watching this movie on the day of its release- particularly when the author Shirshendu himself made a cameo towards the end of the movie and pretty much looked as old and obsolete as the world of his imagination.

Ek Je Chhilo Raja (There lived a king), directed by Srijit Mukherjee

These days Durga Puja has become incomplete without the release of a Srijit Mukherjee movie. So I had to check this one out- though I haven’t ever taken much interest in the famous Bhawal Sanyasi case or seen the Bengali classic movie “Sanyasi Raja”, based around it. In the beginning of “Ek Je Chhilo Raja”, Srijit makes the claim that his entire plot, barring the characters of the prosecution and defence lawyer,  is based on historical facts and events .  So it won’t be apt for me to critically review the movie without knowing all these historical facts. But, since I am quite interested in the history of Bengal and legal philosophy, I thoroughly enjoyed the movie with its historical references, intriguing courtroom drama, clash of ideas like feminism and patriotism, etc. The short conversation between the two lawyers, played by Aparna Sen and Anjan Dutt, was the most brilliant part of the movie for me. Sen’s  dismissal of patriotism as an emotion centered around an abstract concept based  building borders on a map echoes similar ideas that I had nurtured before but do not entertain much these days. Yes, a nation is an abstract concept based on borders drawn on a map, but those borders drawn on the map are quite related to distinct features in the physical world like mountains and seas. People who lived on different sides of a mountain or a sea hardly interacted across the ages and hence formed their own cultures and thereby their own countries. So patriotism is not that abstract a sentiment as some intellectuals portray it to be.

Another thing I really liked about the movie is there is no clear right and wrong in the story, just like in any mature drama. Both the prosecution and defense side think they have the higher moral ground. The conflict among laws of the physical world, laws institutionalized by humans to govern society and  laws of the metaphysical or divine world, if anything like that at all exists, has interested me a lot over the years and this movie brings out that conflict beautifully towards the end. Overall, Srijit Mukherjee has made a brilliant movie once again and it shouldn’t be missed.

Using “Maharajo Eki Saje”, sung by favorite contemporary Rabindrasangeet singer Sahana Bajpayee, in the soundtrack made me even more happy about the movie, though the entire song seems to be lifted from her album “Ja Bolo Tai Bolo” that came out a few years ago as opposed to being reproduced specifically for the film.

Pandals / Street Art:

Here are some pictures from the puja pandals I visited this year. Much like the previous time, I only saw a few pandals in south Calcutta (Jodhpur Park- Tollygunge- Behala area) and some in North Calcutta (Hatibagan- Shovabazar area) this time. Here are the pictures from the very best of them.


Barisha Sarbojonin takes the city dwellers on a trip to the Anadamans, right among the Jarawas.



Dazzling orange-hued pandal and idol of the goddess in Shibmandir Sarbojonin- brick has been used as the main component of their pandal decorations.


Gorgeous interiors of old zamindar houses in puja pandals of Kasi Bose Lane and Ahiritola Sarbojonin

The old zamindar house atmosphere nicely emulated by Kasi Bose Lane Durga Puja Committee and Ahiritola Sarbojonin is present quite in its original form at Shovabazaar Rajbari.

The divine female, unarmed, rests in all her tranquility along with a repentant Mahisashura in an other worldly pandal made by Hatibagan Sarbojonin


That’s all from this year’s puja. Aschhe bochhor abar hobe.


My dream cricket XI (1996-2007)

I watched cricket very seriously in the entire period between the World Cup of 1996 and the World Cup of 2007, and after that stopped watching it altogether. Lack of cable television wherever I lived after 2007 was one of the reasons. People who lived around me in those places weren’t much interested in the game either, which was another reason for my drop in interest in cricket. Also it is probably not a coincidence that India-England test series in 1996 marked the arrival of my hometown hero, Sourav Ganguly, in test cricket and World Cup 2007 was the large major ODI tournament he played.

As I moved back to India in 2017 and got a cable TV in my house cricket got back to my life once again and made me reminiscence those glorious days of test and ODI cricket with the Tendulkar-s and the Lara-s and the Shane Warne-s. So here are my dream test and ODI XI, only picking players who dominated cricket during that period. Again, I never understood the technicalities of the game that well and so my teams may not be optimised with the right combinations for the best performance. It’s rather made from the heart largely to recount the amazing moments those cricketers gave us to cherish. As a result, performance in big matches like World Cup matches and some crucial Test series matches has played more importance in selection of the team than average, technique, etc.

Dream Test XI:

1. Mathew Hayden

2. Virender Sehwag

I have found it harder to choose the openers than the middle order batsmen because  unlike the four middle order batsmen that follow in the list these two batsmen came to prominence towards the later part of the period I picked up here. Still, these two batsmen completely dominated that later period with their explosive batting, consistent performance and most importantly their triple tons. So I can’t leave out either of them.

3. Jack Kallis

4. Sachin Tendulkar

5. Ricky Ponting

6. Brian Lara

Jack Kallis is there at no. 3 to anchor the innings. Rahul Dravid could have been another option, but Jack Kallis could also bowl. That has given him an edge over Rahul Dravid to get into the squad. Making a dream XI like this always makes you sad in the end because of the players you have to exclude. In my case, the fact that Dravid is not included in my dream test XI really makes me sad. Also, V.V.S Laxman for that matter!

The batsmen at no. 4,5 and 6 were the three batsmen of that era, so it is impossible to drop any of them.

7. Adam Glichrist

The man you first think of when you think of a wicketkeeper- batsman in the pre- Dhoni and pre- Sangakara era! He single handedly changed the role of no. 7 batsman in the squad in test cricket.

8. Wasim Akram

9. Glen Mc Grath

10. Allan Donald   (Anil Kumble or Muthaiah Muralidhan on a subcontinent track)

11. Shane Warne

Wasim Akram and Glen McGrath make it to pretty much anybody’s dream XI, so those are obvious choices. For the third fast bowler, I have to go with Allan Donald, thanks to the amazing memories I have of India’s tour of South Africa in 1996-97. That face smeared with white cream, that gentle and yet sinister run up and smooth delivery style which all of us tried to imitate in gali cricket, and that menacing speed at which the ball came towards the batsmen – Allan Donald is my personal favorite and has to be in the squad! For the only spinner, I will go with Shane Warne just like most other people will. He had been the very definition of spin bowling in that era. In case it’s a subcontinent spinning track, I will drop Donald and pick Anil Kumble or Muthaiah Muralidharan in his place.

Captain: Wasim Akram

He is probably the most senior player in the team and  has been really well respected throughout his career. He should lead the team.

Dream ODI XI:

I have found making the dream ODI XI list much harder than the test XI. All the dominant teams of that era- India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Australia and South Africa- could contribute 5-6 players each to this team. As a result I have made some hard choices- some of them quite unorthodox. Here is my list.  I go with the combination of 4 batsmen, 4 bowlers,  2 all rounders and 1 wicketkeeper-batsman.

1. Adam Gilchrist

2. Sachin Tendulkar

Since I am going with 4 batsmen, I couldn’t pick Sanath Jayasurya or Sourav Ganguly in Glicrist’s spot though I would have really wanted to. Choosing the other opener here is a no brainer.

3. Ricky Ponting

4. Jack Kallis (all rounder)

5. Aravinda DeSilva

6. Michael Bevan

7. Lance Klusener (all rounder)

Ricky Ponting at no. 3 is probably a no brainer. Jack Kallis is there at no. 4 to anchor the innings- plus he had been excellent with the ball in limited overs cricket. I choose Aravinda DeSilva at no. 5 instead of Steve Waugh or Mohammad Azharduddin because of the two consecutive ODI centuries he scored in the semi-final and final of the 1996 World Cup. Michael Bevan was the best finisher in ODI cricket before MS Dhoni arrived in the scene, so his position at no. 6 of my squad probably cannot be questioned.

Lance Klusener at no. 7 is probably an unorthodox choice but again I have given a lot of importance to big match performance and personal memories here. 1999 World Cup- need I say more? With respect to cricket, that guy probably gave me the most excitement and also the biggest heartbreak! Those two boundaries smashed through mid-off, followed by a dot ball and that “fatal” attempt to take a single- I don’t think I can ever watch a replay of that over in my life! A couple of decades has passed since then which included almost a decade for me away from cricket and yet it remains as a painful memory which I never want to go back to. So my dream XI will be incomplete without him.

8. Wasim Akram

9. Glen McGrath

10. Shawn Pollock

11. Shane Warne

The bowlers in my ODI XI are pretty much the same as that in my test XI, just that in place of Allan Donald I choose his fellow teammate Shawn Pollock in the shorter format of the game.

Captain: Wasim Akram

12th man: Jonty Rhodes







Calcutta Corner

Recurring imagery in Anjan Dutta’s music

After writing a few really cerebral posts which are so typical of my blog (the last one was particularly dark), I felt like writing something light and fun. So I chose something which is much closer to my heart than my mind- the music of good old Anjan Dutta, somebody who Bengalis both love and hate. His songs like “Mary Ann”, “Bela Bose” and “Mr Hall”  became a mainstay of urban college music scene in Bengal in the early 90-s. In the new millennium, just when people thought his popularity had faded and the themes of his songs- guitar, Darjeeling, cigarette and teenage love- had grown stale, he rekindled the enthusiasm about his music in people by making movies around his songs. Movies like “Madly Bengali”, “Ranjana Ami Ar Ashbo Na”  and “Aami Ashbo Phirey” that released in the 2010s were essentially celebrations of the music he made as a singer- songwriter a couple of decades back.

As I said, along with multitudes of fans, he has plenty of detractors particularly among members of the older generation, who probably cannot relate to his anglophilia, his free flowing hipster lifestyle and his obsession with cigarettes, alcohol and western country and folk music. The fact that his songs are not musically rich and are quite simply glorified poems is another popular allegation against him.  I defended him on numerous occasions in debates with elders, as well as some friends, and went to the length of saying that he is a better songwriter than Rabindranath Tagore. After exploring Tagore’s music much more in the recent years, I don’t think I can make that claim any more but I still see where my argument came from. Tagore’s lyrics is mostly abstract, he seeks some form of divinity in everything that he sees around him – clouds, rivers, flowers, meadows- and finds a sense of tranquility in them. On the other hand, Anjan Dutta’s lyrics is highly grounded in “reality”- he talks about the daily commute in the crowded buses of Calcutta, the lonely saxophone player in a five star hotel, two tiny rooms under the staircase with the plaster fading off the walls- the list goes on. Even when his imagery shifts from the crowded urban landscape to the serenity of the hills, he is still very “real” – the railing overlooking the steep slope, the yellow fingers of the piano teacher moving over the keys of the piano, etc. So in a way the contrast between Anjan Dutta’s lyrics and Tagore’s lyrics perfectly encapsulates the central theme of my blog- the real versus the abstract.

Okay, I again deviated from my promise of not making this post cerebral like my other posts. So let’s get back on track- I am simply gonna describe some of the recurrent imageries in Anjan Dutta’s music over the years and have a lot of fun in the process. I am not describing the most talked about ones here- everyone is well aware of his obsession with Park Street, Darjeeling, Anglo Indians, cigarette, guitar and Bob Dylan.  This post is about the less discussed ones, but strangely these images have repeated in a lot of his songs, starting from the early 90s to the late 2010s.

Buttonless Shirt- Why exactly is he so obsessed with a buttonless shirt? Probably to him it’s symbolic of a free flowing lifestyle, but since he has talked about it in multiple songs, for example. “Ache beporoya botam bihin shirt” from the song “Tobu Jodi Tumi” in the movie “Dutta vs Dutta” or  “Botam bihin shirt ta amar chhoto keno hoy” from the song “Monkharaper Bikele” in “Ami Ashbo Phirey”, one has to wonder what is this fetish with buttonless shirts really about. In fact what exactly is a buttonless shirt? Does a simple round neck T-shirt count as buttonless? For sure it doesn’t have a button. Or does he simply want to the convey the idea of wearing a shirt without buttoning it up? In fact he posed himself like that too often in the movie “Ranjana Ami Ar Ashbona”, so probably that’s what it is.

Poor kids living on the streets of Calcutta, bathing under the roadside municipal taps – “Tobu-o neche uthey abar rashtar kol, Nachte nachte chaan kore jaay, rashtar cheler dool” from the song “Sokal” in his recent movie “Ami Ashbo Phirey” invokes quite similar images in my head as “Tumi dekhechho ki Hatujole 1 Loyd Street-tumi dekhechho ki borshay….sei langta chheletar hashi” from the song “Tumi Dekhechho ki”, composed in the 90s. All jokes apart, this imagery is really touching just like most of his other imagery and speaks volumes about his lyrical genius.

Japan- Anjan Dutta has some weird obsession about Japan. Sure, he considers his music to be international and it indeed is, and he often tries to transcend all political and cultural barriers with his lyrics and music. So he frequently talks about other countries in his songs, but he talks about Japan a bit too often- and the references to Japan are pretty arbitrary and almost have no context whatsoever. For example, he repeats the phrase “Ke Hindu Ke Japani” in the songs – “Que Sara Ra Ra” from the movie “Ganesh Talkies” and “Ami Ashbo Phirey” from the movie with the same name.Then again a couple of decades ago in the song “Aamar Janala” he wrote- “Keu janala khule Alabamay bangla gaan i gay, Keu porchhe Koran boshe tar Japani janalay”. Interestingly, he followed up the imagery of singing Bengali songs in Alabama and reading the Quran in Japan with that of playing guitar in Mexico. Probably back then he didn’t have much access to the internet just like the rest of us and wasn’t aware of the fact that the image of someone playing guitar in Mexico did not really break any cultural stereotype and promote a sense of internationalism unlike the previous two images- in fact playing the guitar was probably a very common thing in Mexico and still is.


Getting up early in the morning and watching the sunrise- Along with internationalism, the pain of growing up and missing one’s childhood is a dominant theme of Anjan Dutta’s lyrics. And he depicts it really well through his imagery, thereby making his songs one of the closest things to my heart. And just like he refers to Japan often to promote internationalism, he talks about not getting up early in the morning any more to watch the sun rise whenever he misses his childhood- for example, the lines “Bhorbela ar lukie dekha hoy na, Surjodoy dei je faki”  from the song “Koto ki korar chhilo re” in “Madly Bengali”  or the lines “Bhor bela te bhor bela amar Dekha hoye othey na je aar
Ke jaane ki karone” from the song “Monkharaper Bikele” in “Ami Ashbo Phirey”.


There are many other such recurring images in the lyrics of his songs, which together build up the world of Anjan Dutta- a world which I have always relied upon to provide me with support in moments of pain and with excitement in moments of joy. Most importantly in moments when I have got lost in some abstract world and felt detached from this world we live in, only to feel scared subsequently, his music provided me with the perfect “grounding”- something I badly needed. It reminded me of and made me embrace again my roots, my passions and my identity which I had tried to transcend with all the other worldly spiritual stuff, a journey which ended up being scary in the end.


Lastly, yes, the themes and images of his songs and also his movies are repetitive, and a lot of people I know have voiced their dislike for him because of that, but this is what I have always said in his defence- he is not a mainstream playback singer who sings songs written by other people like a machine- some being about romance, some about patriotism, some about friendship and so on. Instead, he writes his own lyrics and he writes them from within. As a result, since he is just one individual and has had a limited set of experiences, his songs and movies are bound to be repetitive. And that is probably the case with any original artist of modern times in any domain of art unless the name of the artist is Satyajit Ray.




Essays/ Travelogues/ Poetry/ Ramblings · Philosophy

Why not trip over death or try kill oneself

Over last Fall and Spring, I had scribbled down on my notebook several reasons why one should not obsess over the idea of death, or worse, actually try out some self destructive physical act as a result of the obsession. I wrote them down as and when these reasons occurred to me. An important thing I wanted to clarify here is that these reasons are mainly applicable to people who contemplate suicide mainly out of an obsession with the idea of death and what happens to someone after death, and not to people who contemplate suicide to terminate the mental pain or escape from the difficult situation they are in. The latter is considered to be the main reason for suicide- a person is in immense emotional pain all the time and cannot take it any more, so they kill themselves. But as experience has taught me, one can have self destructive thoughts simply out of isolation or too much pondering over philosophical issues. They can get so immersed in their own mental/ abstract world that they keep questioning whether the physical world they live in and share with others is real or whether it is simply an illusion. After that at some point, they start toying with the idea of death too much because to them death, being quite absolute in nature, opens up the possibility of experiencing some kind of absolute reality.

Here I have listed some arguments I have come up with over time which one can use to avoid having such weird “trip”-s about death and thereby getting into a self destructive spiral.

  1. Death is inevitable. It will happen to everyone. Obsession about something makes sense if the probability of that thing happening is pretty low, e.g. publishing a research paper in a high Impact Factor journal, writing a best seller novel, winning the Nobel Prize, leading Indian cricket team to a victory at the World Cup, etc. Based on past record death is an absolute certainty, so why obsess over something that will happen anyway?
  2. All these philosophies, poetry, music etc. hint at the existence of a beautiful ideal world beyond this physical world, but there is really no guarantee that such a world exists. Also if it exists, with death it will appear anyway and death will happen eventually. So why rush it? Death is irreversible, so don’t toy with it. Let it happen in its due course. 
  3. This world with mountains, rivers, cities, friends and family is pretty intricate, intriguing and awesome. Even if the whole thing is a simulation, as it often appears with isolation and too much “deep thinking”, let it be a simulation. We have always been in this simulation but probably never noticed it before because it is a wonderfully intricately designed one anyway. For example, when we were having fun in high school or college, when did we ever think that the world around us could be a self consistent simulation?  It’s only recently as we have experienced the life more and more and patterns have started to repeat that we have started bringing up these questions. It doesn’t really matter if the world around is a simulation or real because as long as everything is consistent, which has always been the case minus some fringe elements, our experience of the world remains the same either way. Also, eve if it’s all a simulation, what is the reason to want to end the simulation abruptly through death? That thought didn’t occur so far even though we had always been inside the simulation.
  4. Love holds the world together. This world may be a simulation but our near and dear ones really love us and they will be devastated if something happens to us. So never never contemplate death. Explore all your passions and stay obsessed with them. Stay distracted!
  5. The fundamental purpose of existence is to eat and reproduce. That’s how evolution works . The spiritual framework rejects this idea and tries to find a higher purpose for existence. So in that sense a spiritual journey is anti-evolutionary. Probably that’s why it’s extremely demanding to go on the spiritual path. So better not to take it too seriously and get guided by evolution and chill out!
  6. Spending too much time insolation and questioning what is the purpose of life doesn’t make much sense because we didn’t start from such an ideal situation in the first place. We spent first twenty years of our lives with family and friends and never asked ourselves what was the purpose of life. But then when we started living by ourselves and experienced more solitude, this question started arising in our minds. Since we got entangled in a non ideal world to begin with why ask idealist questions now!! Just continue with the non idealities, spend life the way you spent your initial years. Stay connected to the “real world” one way or the other.
  7. Isolation and loneliness lets the subjective aspect of our consciousness, as described by philosopher David Chalmers while formulating the “hard problem of consciousness”, grow and hence outsude world feels like simulation because of too much mental activity inside and too little physical activity outside. Don’t spend too much time alone!
  8. Don’t even try to act like you are doing things close to what can hurt you. Brain is a pattern forming machine. It has somehow related those things that gave you “death trips” with death and your OCD further makes you want do these things or act like doing them. Don’t respond to it at all.
  9. There is no absolute reality at least the living cannot experience it. A subjective feeling of consciousness always pervades our perception of reality, which is a calibration  of current signal to some previous signal already existing in the brain as memory. May be at the moment of our death we will perceive absolute reality, but we may not as well. Anyway death is an eventuality, so at that moment of dying the idea can  be tested anyway. No need to rush it.
    Also probably if someone loses all memory whatsoever or feels a sense of detachment from all memory, the latter can happen out of isolation and prolonged lack of interest in worldly things, they can perceive something very close to absolute reality but the experience is much more scary than fun. There is perhaps no need to revisit it again. Instead of trying to detach oneself from memories and try to live “in the moment” without relating the present with your past and future, it is a much better idea according to me to make new memories and experience the world around in the light of those memories. Your memories are what you are, they are your identity. This idea that memory is painful and one should get rid of their ego by transcending these memories and experience life only by living in the present is often preached in the spirituality domain of human knowledge. However from personal experience this idea, though can be an immense source of bliss in the initial days, eventually alienates one from their surroundings, makes them very lonely inside and leads to existential crisis. In the name of losing your ego you may lose your identity, don’t do that!
  10. If we study human evolution in this planet, we will observe that forming groups has made man survive and eventually outclass all other animals. Forming group has been our biggest strength. Thus evolution has made man a social animal. We need each others’ support to live. There may be outliers to this but majority want to live in society with company and not feel alone. So many things are missing when alone like love and humor, which are essential to our existence. So we must live together, not alone. Even human consciousness is collective end of the day. The language in which we think, the manner in which we talk, our hand gestures are all products of our upbringing in the society. Living alone suddenly makes you question all those things about yourself which you had taken for granted so long because the collective nature of your consciousness starts disappearing slowly. Is it an experience really worth having?
  11. Assuming the realist/ materialist view point of life is correct, this world exists the way it is whether we live or die. But again this world is us in the end. Our job is to live this world and people there in and learn as much and make memories and then impact the world so that we live in this world through our memories after we die. death is gonna happen anyway . Question is what do we do to impact this world before we die.
  12.  As long as train of thoughts leads you from one idea to another without raising any question mark / existential crisis / suicidal thought you are fine. Just keep loving this world. Another thing that one needs to be careful about is obsessive thought in general. Even if it’s not about death, even if it’s about something else, always thinking about it means you are indulging in it too much. Indulging in something is fine, if you don’t indulge in the world then you start feeling detached from everything and all the death trip starts as explained previously, but if you indulge in something too much that can lead to a lot of pain later and then again to avoid the pain you will get into the detachment path and the cycle will repeat. Best way to proceed is probably to balance it all out, indulge but don’t indulge too much, be practical and yet be spiritual, be spiritual and yet be practical!
  13. According to the concept of arrow of time, time moves only in the forward direction. However an interesting thing I realised in that context is that though in the physical world things can get created or destroyed, in the mental world things only get created. Any thought that has occurred to a man lives on through the memories of the man in the others’ minds, the books he / she writes or the work he/ she does. Sometimes memories go latent but they are always there. As Rabindranath Tagore wrote in the poem “Hothat Dekha” (A sudden meeting) – Raater sob tara thake diner aalor gobhire (All stars of the night stay hidden in the depth of the sunlight during the day). Right circumstances bring back the latent memories. Hence always stay in touch with the world and through that stay in touch with your memories. Love the world and its people, and contribute more to this world through your work. This way you add more to the world. Things only accumulate in mental world, nothing gets destroyed. Keep adding stuff.

Most importantly try to adopt a middle ground whenever there are  contradictory ideas, don’t take any idea to the extreme and do chill out!


Alchemy, equivalent exchange and karma, Professor Shanku and Full Metal Alchemist

Though I have taken a lot of interest in metaphysical stuff over the years and dedicated large chunks of this blog to discussions on that, I never took much interest in alchemy perhaps because of my natural lack of inclination towards chemistry. I read Satyajit Ray’s Professor Shanku story “Shankur Suborno Sujog” (Shonku’s Golden Opportunity) very recently but didn’t really look up on alchemy after that. Well, Satyajit Ray based his science fiction stories on a lot of stuff- from time travel to unicorns, from witchcraft to artificial intelligence, so why bother? Also to be honest as much as I respect Satyajit Ray for all the amazing movies he made and the fictional sleuth he created- Feluda, who was a large part of my childhood, I never was a big fan of his Professor Shanku stories. As a kid, I didn’t understand or appreciate them much, and as an adult I felt them to be too childish. Satyajit Ray was an artistic genius and probably had a lot of curiosity about science too, but in my opinion that is not enough to write good science fiction. One actually needs to know a little bit of science so that the story has enough details to appear realistic even though it is fantasy. Satyajit Ray probably lacked the knowledge of science to fill up his stories with sound details. As a result most of the Shanku stories, despite providing a good read, are hardly memorable- Shanku owns a gun which makes any object in front of it vanish when fired, he makes a machine which can translate the language of ants, he makes some object which can float in air to defy gravity. Sure this is science fiction and not science and so I am ready to suspend my disbelief, but provide me with the details of how these things happen for science’s sake!

Okay enough of Satyajit Ray bashing, now back to alchemy! In the story “Shanku’s Suborno Sujog”, Professor Shanku and his two other friends, both scientists like him, try to reproduce the experiment to transform other objects to gold that has been reported in a Spanish diary from medieval Europe, when the study of alchemy had its heyday. They keep putting different objects in a well of some liquid that they prepare as a part of the experiment but to their dismay nothing turns into gold until the villain of the story accidentally jumps into it and his entire body is turned into gold. The scientists realize that the transformation to gold demands life and hence it works only for living objects.

I read this story and pretty much forgot about it until recently when I started watching the massively popular anime- “Full Metal Alchemist”- the 2003 version. I finished all its episodes in the last one month, and also watched the sequel movie- “Conqueror of Shamballa”. The series made me look up on alchemy and understand the basics of the different concepts in alchemy that have been highlighted in the show- transmutation, transmutation circle, law of equivalent exchange, gate of truth, philosopher’s stone etc. Most of the information available on the internet about these concepts is based on the TV series and the manga it is based on, so I am not very sure how many of these concepts are borrowed from actual annals on alchemy written over the ages, and how many have been concocted for the sake of the manga. Nevertheless, I will discuss some of the concepts over here and relate them with other things that have interested me in the past.

The law of equivalent exchange is the fundamental law of alchemy- for everything gained in the world, something of equal value must be lost, though the series never explicitly lays out what parameters determine equal value. Some examples are shown instead- the protagonists, Ed and Al, try to bring their dead mother back to life but Ed loses his arm and leg and Al loses his entire body, the teacher Izumi loses organs inside her belly in the attempt to regain her lost child, umpteen human lives need to be sacrificed to create the philosopher’s stone and so on. The idea is indeed similar to that in Professor Shanku’s story – only living objects can be transmuted to gold, i.e., creation of gold comes at the cost of sacrifice of a life.

In the series, Ed and Al’s understanding of the law of equivalent exchange evolves over time. When they are young and innocent, they take the law as absolute truth. As they grow older and have several life changing experiences in their pursuit of the philosopher’s stone, and particularly after an altercation with the antagonist, Dante, at  the climax of the story, their absolute belief in the law seems to erode. Dante passionately argues that the law of equivalent exchange is a theory that has been concocted to delude innocent minds. The world is cruel, random and unfair. Good things happen to some people and bad things to the others for no reason whatsoever. By the end of the series, Al concedes that he no longer considers equivalent exchange an absolute law. He rather interprets it as a promise- a ray of hope that there is light at the end of the tunnel, that someday he will reunite with his brother Ed.

I find this theory of equivalent exchange very similar to the theory of karma in ancient philosophy. According to the theory of karma, everything in this world happens for a reason. Events that are separated by vast expanses of space and long passages of time are actually connected by strings, invisible to us. Though this idea seemed implausible to me initially, experiences in life have taught me otherwise. As I have mentioned in some of my other posts, there is always a subjective aspect to consciousness which will keep our understanding of the world around us grey forever. Once someone is isolated enough or is deeply in pain due to a heartbreak or is obsessed with metaphysical ideas over a long period of time, their mind works in ways like it does never before. The mind starts making long range connections and relating events with each other, which it always considered uncorrelated before. It is not impossible that an individual, possessed with such a mental state, will be afraid crossing the road because a car can run him over for the way he mistreated his girlfriend six months back.

I do not think we can ever be sure whether our world is so causal, correlated and deterministic as the karma theory considers it to be. This world might as well be completely random and unfair, or it can be somewhere in between – some things happen for a reason and some other things just happen randomly. However what I do believe is that every individual should have the right to choose their own view of the world. And just like Al chooses to believe in equivalent exchange since it instills hope in him, I also choose to believe in karma but not take it as an absolute because that way I take everything I do and everything that happens to me way too seriously. I find it difficult to do simple things in everyday life, which always involve a little risk, if my mind is haunted with the thought that they may have severe consequences as a result of something I did wrong ages ago.

Another interesting concept in the series which I find worth discussing is the concept of the Gate of Truth. In the 2003 TV series “Full Metal Alchemist”, the Gate is presented as a portal between two worlds. One of the worlds is the world we live in, where modern science is dominated by physics and its derivatives and alchemy has no power, and the other world is that of Ed and Al’s- the state of Amestris, where alchemy is considered the most superior science. Majority of the episodes in the series is set in the latter world, with the former appearing in the last few episodes of the series and the sequel movie.

Essentially in our world, practice of alchemy was not that uncommon even a few centuries ago. Attempts were made in different parts of the world, particularly in Europe at the later stage, to transmute different substances to gold, develop panaceas that can cure all diseases and create the philosopher’s stone. However in the post Renaissance era, with the widespread success of physics, attempts were made to rigorously quantify and record the various practices in alchemy, and to separate the procedures performed on various substances as a part of alchemy from the spiritual practices connected to it like the purification of soul and grant of eternal life. Thus refined versions of age old practices in alchemy, with the metaphysical connotations stripped off them, became what we call “chemistry” today, while alchemy got the status of an outdated, occult branch of knowledge. The series Full Metal Alchemist and the manga behind it essentially imagine a world which has a very similar history as ours, just that alchemy does not fall from grace there and physics and chemistry do not take its place. The protagonists Ed and Al and most of the other characters belong to that world. In the series, that world of alchemy is separated from our world by the Gate of Truth- an idea very similar to the central theme of my blog- bridge between the physical world and the abstract world.

A few things about the characters and storyline in the series need to be mentioned before I end the post. The expressiveness on Ed’s face at every close up shot is simply mesmerising. The artists deserve a huge credit for that. That, alongside the innocent conviction in Al’s voice every time he states his intentions or opinions, will stay with me for a long time. I also found the use of comic elements at different points in the show, even in the serious situations, extremely innovative and refreshing. Ed going berserk every time he is called short and Al holding him back screaming “brother” innocently never gets old.







Philosophy · Short stories

Divine love and neural engineering

It was about 8 PM in the evening. Done with his work in the laboratory for the day, Ary was packing up his stuff and getting ready to leave. He had completed four years of his PhD and had already finished majority of his thesis work. Thus he didn’t really have a lot of work to do in the laboratory of late.

The phone inside the pocket of his jeans suddenly started vibrating. He usually kept his phone on silent mode with no vibration on to avoid being disturbed in the middle of some engagement. As a result he missed all his incoming calls, much to the agony of his friends and colleagues. In fact he had almost forgotten the experience of picking up an incoming call. Usually he would look at his mobile phone once in an hour or so, check the call log and call back the people who had tried to contact him in the last one or two hours if they were important enough to him. But that day by mistake he had put his phone on vibration mode.

He pulled the phone out of the his jeans’ pocket. The call was coming from some unknown, but local number. Reluctantly he picked up the call. It was an old lady’s voice on the other end. The accent was American, most probably Californian. Interestingly his fellow American friends identified that as having no accent.

“Am I speaking to Aranyak Sen?”, the lady asked.

“Yes”, Ary replied.

There was a second’s pause. Then she said, “Your friend Poulomi Chatterji met with an accident. She is bleeding profusely. May have broken some bones too. She is getting transferred to a trauma center in Castro Valley. She has listed you as her emergency contact person and gave us your phone number.”

Ary didn’t know how to respond. It was a weird feeling. There was shock and grief, but surpassing all that he experienced a strange feeling which several times he attempted to recall later and describe in words not only to communicate it to someone else but also for his own understanding. But he always failed to do so. It felt like memories of day to day events that happened about him and their associated emotions were only residing on the surface of his brain. This news had pierced through all that and hit the core of his brain, as if he was waiting for this moment for years. So far all that happened to him was trivial. This was the moment when his actual life began.

“How did the accident happen?”, Ary asked.

“She fell off a cliff near Muir Woods. She was hiking by herself. Some other hikers found her lying senseless and called 911. The paramedics gave her first aid and took her to a local hospital to realize that she was suffering from internal bleeding and that it was a medical emergency. So she was rushed to the biggest trauma center around, in Castro Valley.”

“Okay, please tell me the address of the trauma center, and where in that hospital I can find her. I am driving there right away.”

After ending the phone call, Ary signed in to the rental car application on his phone, rented a car for the night which was parked very close to their office building and left his laboratory in the direction of the parking lot. Why on earth would Polo go for a hike to Muir woods on a working day? And yes sure, it was summer and the sun didn’t set until almost 8 PM but still why would she be out in the hills that late? Ary had noticed that Polo was getting more weird and crazy every passing day, but this was probably too much.

When he reached the parking lot, he was quickly able to locate the car. It was a white Hyundai Santro. It was always parked at this lot for people to rent it on an hourly basis, and so many times Ary too had rented it before to practice driving on freeways. Most of the times he was accompanied by Polo. She grew up in Singapore where public transport was very convenient. It was also very expensive to own a car. Hence her parents never owned a car. Yet she learned driving in Singapore through a driving school. When she moved to the bay area a couple of years back for her PhD she got her California driving license immediately and started driving around the bay area frequently. On the other hand, Ary had been in the bay area for four years now but only got his license a year back. Despite passing the driving test to get his license, he still wasn’t very confident about driving on freeways at 80 miles per hour. So he often rented that specific Hyundai Santro car after a day’s work, asked the more experienced Polo to join him and went straight on the freeway just to get used to that speed of traffic. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, Polo wasn’t really the conventional instructor. She didn’t give her continuous instructions on how to drive. In fact she rarely said anything. Often she would even have her eyers closed. But Ary knew that this entire time, Polo was making sure they were safe.

On the first such driving session with Polo, Ary took the car out of the parking lot and drove it along University Avenue, which ran westward from UC Berkeley campus, tearing through the heart of the city, all the way to the bridge that connected it with Interstate 880 freeway that ran between south bay and east bay. As they approached that bridge, Ary felt a little nervous and unsure. He asked Polo, “Hey, what happens at this bridge? I can’t recall. Does it straight join 880?”. But her eyes were closed and she didn’t respond. Ary asked the same question again. Then she slowly responded, “no, the road goes upward and upward and then it joins the sky”.

All these memories were flooding Ary’s mind as he was driving at 80 miles per hour on Freeway 880 to reach the trauma center at Castro Valley. It was past the evening rush hours, so the lanes were relatively empty. He kept wondering about the state he was going to find Polo in at the hospital. Would she be in a lot of pain? Would she be able to identify him? Ary had no clue.

Calcutta Corner · Poetry

Banalata Sen: Adaptation of selected poetry of one the most iconic Bengali poets- Jibanananda Das

Jibanananda Das is widely considered to be the greatest Bengali poet of the post Rabindranath Tagore era. Poetry books like “Rupasi Bangla”, “Dhushar Pandulipi” and “Banalata Sen”, which are essentially sincerest meditations on nature, feminine beauty, history, geography, life and death, have made him a common name in the Bengali household.

Here I have tried to adapt five of my favorite poems from his book “Banalata Sen” in English. I did not translate these poems word by word from Bengali to English since I believe that in such a manner it is very hard to reproduce the beautiful imagery of rural Bengal or that of far distant lands like Vidisha or Babylon that the poet created in the original poems, as his mind raced through both space and time in all its lonesomeness. Instead I have rewritten the same poems in my own way in English, trying to stay as close to the themes and imageries of the original poems as possible.

Please give them a read, irrespective of whether you are aware of the original Bengali poems or not. These five poems build on one another, so it’s probably a good idea to read all of them at one go, may be following the sequence in which they appear here.



Banalata Sen from Natore


A thousand years I’ve trodden paths on the face of the earth,

The seas of Ceylon and Malay I’ve voyaged through misery and mirth.

From Bimbisar and Ashoka’s fading city

Through endless streets of ancient darkness

Among even further away Vidarbha’s men,

Countless sojourns have made me listless

Until I found a moment of tranquility

In the soulful eyes of Natore’s Banalata Sen.



Darkness of her hair reminded me of nights forlorn

In the city of Vidisha of long lost times. Sculptures that adorn

The temples of Shravasti inspired her countenance.

After a long lost voyage the way a sailor

Eyes a verdurous isle amidst the azure ocean,

Ohh I did see her with the same ardor

“Where wert thou all these days?”, asked she softly with a glance,

Tranquil as a bird’s nest, Natore’s Banalata Sen.



End of the day like the dewdrop’s sound descends the eve’s veil,

Smell of the sun on the kite’s gorgeous wings grows pale.

As the last hues on earth fade into blackness eternal,

And sounds of sentience drown into slumber deep,

All birds return to the nest, all beasts to the den,

So do all brooks, all streams. All blossoms do sleep.

All that’s left behind is darkness abysmal

And reposed in front, pining for love, Natore’s Banalata Sen.



A Windy Night


Last night was a windy night,

And a night of a thousand stars.

Scattered winds played with my mosquito net all night,

Swelling its bosom like the heart of a boisterous sea,

Making it long to escape the bed and fly into the stars.

Indeed, at times, half-asleep,

I felt like the mosquito net escaped from over my head

And set itself afloat in the turbulence of the winds, amidst all the azure-ness,

Like a white dove.

Such was the mystery of last night.


All the dead stars were resurrected last night.

I sighted the fading countenance of my favorite dead amidst them.

They were effulgent like the eyes of a lover kite on a dark tree top,

Eyes moistened by dew drops,

Resplendent like the leopard skin, the queen of far distant Babylon

Used to drape about her bosom.

Such was the splendor of last night.


All the beauties, I witnessed whom dying in Assyria, Egypt and Vidisha,

were resurrected last night.

I sighted them thronging the foggy horizon,

Holding tridents in their hands, determined

To trample death under their feet,

To celebrate the triumph of life,

To erect the menacing tower of love.

Terrified was I, last night’s turmoil tore me from within.

Within the tirelessly flapping wings of the azure sky

Faded time- like a tiny earthly insect.

Such was the tremor of last night.


Wind raced in through my windows last night,

Fierce as a herd of zebras running frantically

Through the lush green meadows,

Terror-stricken by the menacing roar of the lion.

My heart reverberated in joy

Intoxicated by the smell of the wilderness,

By the excitement of the darkness that roared within me,

Like a lustful tigress, ecstatic in her union with her lover.

I felt like my heart escaped this earth,

And set itself afloat like an inebriated balloon in the turbulence of the winds,

And sailed through the distant stars amidst all the azure-ness

Like a swift vulture.

Such was the mystery of last night.



A couple of decades later


A couple of decades later what if our paths again cross

Far beyond this city that gathers our generation’s moss;

Back in the pleasant countryside where our roots are entrenched deep,

In autumn by a granary with harvest the peasants did reap.


When kites, golden in the setting sun, journey homeward bound

And the pall of eve descends on meadows like the dewdrop’s sound,

When the moon moves soft behind the forest boughs in her regal grace

With leaves pitch black and branches specter thin silhouetted against her milky face,


When the lonesome owl, hiding from a tree top, at the village path does stare,

And strands of hay, from the ducks’ nests, from the crows’ nests, waft in the air,

When indolence prevails over the paddy fields stretched wide,

In this meadowy path I’ve found you again by my side.


After twenty years moving about the city swept by life’s tide,

In this pastoral land I’ve found you again by my side.



Naked, lonely hand


Once more darkness intensifies in the spring sky.


The mysterious sister of light.

Like a lady who always loved me dearly,

But whose countenance I’ve never seen.


The shape of a fading palace in a long lost city looms in my mind.

By the side of the Indian Ocean or the Mediterranean Sea,

There was once a city, a palace,

Where there were

Persian carpets,

Kashmir shawls,

Cockatoos and pigeons,

Shadowy boon of the mahoganies,

Orange sun,

And you, my lady,


I haven’t searched for the beauty of your countenance

For centuries,

For centuries.


The spring sky brings back those memories, those stories,

From far distant lands, from long lost cities.

Fading manuscripts made out of leopard skin,

Window panes of rainbow colors,

Orange sun playing on

Persian carpets,

Curtains with colors of the peacocks’ feathers,

Glass full of wine,

Crimson red,

Your naked, lonely hand.


Your naked lonely hand.



Walking Along


I’ve taken solitary walks along endless streets of the city,

For years and years,

With a vague remembrance of some fading message.


Trams and buses move about the city, punctually, all through the day,

And then desert its streets to fade into their own world-

Their own world of sleep.

I’ve seen them sleeping in sheds and depots all night.

I’ve seen gaslights lighting the streets of the city tirelessly through the night,

Aware of its duties.

Bricks, doors, windows, signboards,

Drowned in slumber

Under the night sky.

I’ve absorbed their peace, their bliss, through my lonesome walks.


It’s late in the night,

Stars whisper around the peak of the Monument.

Have I ever witnessed something more seamlessly beautiful than this-

A starry lonesome Calcutta?

Eyes descend upon the grass,

Dew drops on the blades,

Strands of hay waft in the air.


Why did I take lonely walks along endless streets of Babylon

Through the darkness of the nights?

I still don’t know, even after a thousand years.








Calcutta Corner

Kolkata Literary Meet 2018

Tata Steel Kolkata Literary Meet (KLM) is one of the more recent additions to the wide repertoire of cultural events that the city of Calcutta can boast of. Though now there are more than fifty literary festivals in different parts of the country in a single calendar year, Kolkata Literary Meet still retains its uniqueness, thanks to the star studded list of speakers it has every year, the aura of the Victoria Memorial which hosts the fest and the rich literary heritage of the city which probably hasn’t faded over the years. The poet Jeet Thayil jokingly mentioned during one of the talk sessions of the fest that this year’s KLM kicked off smoothly with a poetry session- an idea that would invite some retaliation in some other parts of the country.

The first KLM I attended was in January, 2016, when I was in the city for a month’s break from graduate school in US. My mind was in quite a turbulent state that time owing to some emotionally draining events that happened around me then, and I was desperately looking for new ideas and philosophies. I attended several one hour talk sessions of KLM 2016 and each of them provided me with food for thought for the next several months. I ended up buying the books, written by the speakers in all those sessions, in the Kolkata Book Fair that followed the literary meet, took them back to US with me, read them with great passion for months and had long and intense conversations about the ideas in those books with my friends in grad school.

I wasn’t in Calcutta during KLM 2017, but this year (2018) I made it a point to be in the city during KLM. After attending Durga Puja first time in seven years, I feel like my bond with the city has been re-established and hence no way would I have missed KLM 2018. Here are my thoughts on the sessions I attended and found intriguing and some pictures I took at the sessions (This shouldn’t be treated as a comprehensive summary or review of KLM 2018, I attended only a few sessions and my thoughts here are more on how the ideas conveyed in those sessions  are connected to the central theme of my blog than on the ideas themselves):

Sesher Kobita Ekhono Keno Prashangik- Soumitro Chatterjee 


It was surreal for most people in the audience including myself to not only see the iconic Bengali actor on stage, a few yards in front of them, but also have the opportunity to ask him questions. Even if this session had no topic whatsoever and the speaker simply talked of how he had spent his day, I would have been glued to my seat hearing the person, who played the roles of Apu, Feluda, Amal (Charulata), etc. on screen to perfection and formed a large part of my childhood, talk. The session however had a specific topic- the relevance of Sesher Kobita ,an iconic Bengali novel written by Rabindranath Tagore, in today’s times, and closed with Soumitro Chatterji reciting the last part of the novel, which is essentially a couple of poems where the two lovers bid each other goodbye, probably symbolic of the state of mind Tagore himself was in when he wrote the novel in the twilight of his career. The octogenarian actor elegantly reciting those poems with the darkness of the night slowly descending upon the magnificent Victoria Memorial in the background provided a mesmerizing moment that the people in the audience would probably remember for years to come.

Abastob, Agyato, Aparichito (Unreal, Unknown and Unfamiliar) – Md. Zafar Iqbal, Sirshendu Mukherjee and Binod Ghoshal 

The topic of the session was “Unreal, Unknown and Unfamiliar” in literature and the speaker panel most aptly included the iconic Bengali writer Sirshendu Mukherjee, whose novels for children were one of the best parts of my childhood and featured a lot of ghosts in a humorous way, and Bangaldeshi author and researcher in physics and computer science, Md. Zafar Iqbal. It wasn’t unexpected that a session on the relevance of ghosts and mystic elements in Bengali adult fiction would end up dwelling upon the possibility of existence of an abstract world or metaphysical realm beyond the physical world, which has been the major theme of my blog.

The most educated and well thought argument I have encountered so far in favor of the existence of the metaphysical realm is that there is a always subjective element to our consciousness. No two individuals experience reality the same way. Hence one should always be flexible about their conception of reality, leaving enough room for events that are labeled supernatural now but can be considered “real” in future. Author Sirshendu Mukherjee seemed to adhere to this view when he said that he neither really believed or disbelieved in ghosts. At least that was my take home message from what he said.

The most educated and well thought out counter argument to the above argument I have heard is that there is no empirical evidence to conclusively support the existence of the metaphysical realm. It is quite possible that the neurons in our brain fire in particular sequences to give us that “illusion”. Author Md. Iqbal probably seemed to adhere to that view when he said that in his opinion ghosts don’t exist but ghost stories do and being a physicist by training, he didn’t give too much importance to meta-physics.

Benche Thakar Lekha – Anupam Roy 


The focus of the session with Anupam Roy, one of the most popular singer- song writers of Bengal in the current times, was on the poems, novels and song lyrics that he wrote so far as opposed to his music which had given him more fame and money. Anupam seemed to be particularly proud of his maiden novel “Somoyer Baire”, from which he read an excerpt that dwelt upon three smart young guys- an aspiring mathematician, an aspiring entrepreneur and a guy without aspirations, who followed different trajectories in their careers and lives, that crisscrossed a few times when they were munching peanuts sitting below the Shahid Minar in Maidan and reflecting upon their lives. It sounded extremely familiar and interesting to me. “Somoyer Baire” probably got into my “To Buy” list for the upcoming Kolkata Book Fair.

Performance of “Meghnad Badh Kabya” by Gautam Haldar and Naye Natua


It will probably take me another few years of serious study of classical poetry, shadhu bhasha and theatrics to make a single comment about this epic poem and the performance. For now I just feel blessed that I witnessed this performance.