Personal Tribute to a person with whom I neither had a personal nor professional relation

My parents say I was born on 15th of May 1986 . Having no memories of the day in question or for that matter any day in the eighties, I can do little but trust the people who are the reason I have grown up to be a person who can, among other things, put thoughts onto paper or into network, the choice of words being left to fight between the literary and figurative thoughts of our brain. Inexplicably, in some ways the clarity and shape of my very first memories of human life have been far consigned to some remote corner of my brain from where they refuse to create any decipherable sights and sounds. For a child born in the eighties, my most distant memories are from the nineties that followed the eighties. Maybe this is the connection that I share with all the children born on that hot day. A connection not as mystical as the connection between Salim Sinai and the rest of midnight’s children but a connection, nonetheless, that has no traceable outlines or any touchable edges.

Among other things, I did not have any say in was the name,the place and mother-tongue I was to be identified with for my life. For some, still mysterious and unknown reason, there was a sense of pride in all the three aspects of my life that was thrust-ed down my metaphorical throat. Now that my emotional and intellectual self was moulded .beyond repair by the time I started storing my first longterm memories , it was all but natural for me to create the portrait of the people I shall idolize for my life. An Assamese as I was, there was no dearth of Assamese heroes but from Sankardev to Lachit to Bishnu Rabha, they chose to exist only in the pages of history. No living person seemed great enough to compete with the long dead heroes for a piece of my awe. However there was an exception, the solitary link between my motherland and the world. No mosaic of India seemed complete without the presence of this black cap adorned old man. The fact that he answered to same surname as mine did no harm to the stability of the tall monument of this man who had started rising in my mind.

In my earliest remembered days, I used to jump up and down when the sole Assamese man could be seen on television sets, I used to jump up and down saying that koka (Assamese for grandfather) was on TV. In those days, I didn’t know what Filmfare or Oscars were but I knew what Dada Saheb Phalke and Asia-Pacific International Music prize was. By class five, I had shifted to Don Bosco Dibrugarh and I participated in my first singing competition. Due to lack of any formal training and dedication, me forays into the singing lane was limited but I did win my fair share of prizes. Needless to say, the great mans song got me quite a few of those prizes. For a ten-year old, appearing on local television is a big deal, my earlier exploits in songs got me to the team that sang in the school on formal occasions and there I was on TV, humming another of his song. That memory is still strong that even today I remember the tune of the song and the first few lines. A song that I have not hard for the last fifteen years through my physical ears.

The closest I came to Dr. Hazarika in person was on a flight to my home from Calcutta. He seemed happy to know that even I was a Hazarika and gave nice message on my boarding pass. Unfortunately as fate would have it, he wrote it on the place of the security seal and the only proof of our solitary existence was snatched away by security. It was also in my college days that I used Dr. Bhupen Hazarika’s creation for sinister pleasures. We had an annual NCC camp which was very physically demanding, the air force station where we had our camp was headed by an Assamese, so there was a need of and Assamese song on the cultural show. I jumped into the opportunity to laze through the day and rendered one of his creation. All day was spent sleeping while my friends were marching.

All good things come to an end. The great man was a human after all and had to breathe his last. On the day he died, I was relieved. Relieved – this is not a typo – I was pained to see the greatest musician and lyricist of Assam being unable to sing his own songs for last few years. His death had rolled back the years and he was restored to his prime in my memories. The person who towered over all of Assam was no longer present in the body that once represented everything that was great about Assam. But today I feel a sense of pride and sadness and emptiness. Pride to see how his death united all of Assam drowning all divisions of caste,creed or religion. Sadness to know that never again a tune that can outlast a generation be created in Assam,to know that now we have a count on the number of great odes to Brahmaputra. Emptiness to know that next time a portrait of India is painted, not only the tile that was common for my entire life would be absent but probably there wont be any tile for my motherland and mother-tongue.

Wake Up!! Sachin does not exist

Romulus and Remus built Rome, Moses led the people of the book to the promised Land after splitting the ways of water, Abraham saved the world, Hanuman carried a mountain from the Himalayas to Ceylon. Superhuman tasks that if true surely deserves more than a bow from us. But apart from superhuman fables, they are all fables.Persons that exists in fragments of human imagination. The feats of the purported individual called Sachin might seem less superhuman than the illustrious fables  that marks the alpha of this post but then there is no denying the fact that his feats if not backed by corruptible videos will be b rushed aside by any non-lunatic.

But then using todays technology Rajni can split bullets and make it appear believable so a rational mind should never ever go by videos alone. Even if the videos were true just compare the centuries made in early nineties and late 2000’s. Do the person hitting the runs appear remotely similar. Why are all the other players playing cricket different? These two logical arguments make me aware of the truth behind the myth of Sachin and also convince others to see the same.

As I prepare to place my next argument, a random movie dialogue comes to my mind “Gods envy us for we are mortals”. I don’t know whether Gods envy us or if the omnipotent character exists but I do know we are mortals . Our physical self ages and decays. Everything in life comes with an expiry date.In any sport requiring more physical activity than golf, ten years is a lifetime . If you are the best for five years you are among the greatest but if you are among the best for ten years you are the greatest and the spin doctors claim Sachin has been the best for over two doctors. Seriously, are they talking about some unknown chemical formula we have no idea about or are they talking about our own body that stays with us a lifetime. See through this marketing scam !!!

Another thing that makes us human is our adrenaline when some one abuses you unjustly you feel angry that is probably the reason why you are not hanged to death if you kill some one in hot blood. At least this is the norm in non barbaric nations . Non-barbaric punishment for barbaric acts . The pr gurus claim that you only get a smile when you abuse this character who is certified by one sixth of the world to be God.

Last but not the least remember the age-old idiom “to err is human, to forgive divine”. I dont know what is divinity but being a man, I know we are bound to err!! But this creation of human imagination a ala the Gods of mythology has never erred in his years before the camera.

With these few words I end my case with  firm belief that I have manged to convince at least one rational being of the truth

Adieu to five fun filled summers

It is funny but interesting that a word like myopia found itself an adjective cousin and is now reserved a whip to be wielded by the wielder of pen and keyboards on unsuspecting mortals. But at some level or another we are all myopic. In the physical, there is only a few hundred metres registered by our eyes.Even at a more intrinsic level, our memories fade as time flies by. But some landmarks do beat this trend. These memories stay on with us till we close our eyes in the grave. Not too long ago or rather five long years back, I was packing my bags, embracing myself for any form of ragging that might take place at an alien place called Kharagpur, a place I called home for five of my most memorable years of my life.

Having completed this phase of my life,I now find myself at a very interesting junction.I find myself bereft of words to describe how I feel. I am not sad, I am not overjoyed at leaving the calm village which we often likened to a prison. But every moment I brood over never fails to bring a smile on my face.But it is kind of strange to say the least. Phrases like “you can take a kgpian out of kgp but cant take kgp out of a kgpian” seems true.As things are I cant write all I want in this post.So, I shall try to write a semi autobiography.I hope they all fan out as funny. And most importantly, I would like to thank all my seniors, juniors and batchmates for feeling so many joyous moments in my life.

Sorry, I did not like Slumdog millionaire

I have been living in an island called IIT kharagpur for past five years. This island has some very peculiar traits. This island is not surrounded by water but it is an island. This island is,genetically speaking, has diverse racial elements yet all inhabitants past and present constitute a tribe of their own.This tribe refers to porn as devotional songs. This tribe gives a ten on ten to gunda and enjoys watching critically acclaimed movies.This tribe worships intelligent movies and yet watches shera and loha.

This tribe really appreciates great movies yet dos not think twice before watching the pirated versions. CamRip, PDVD, DVDRip, mkv version are all part of the lingua franca of this island.Every movie enjoyed by this tribe is individually awarded a coveted place in g talk messages. One such movie was “Slum dog millionaire”- the movie to watch for the self professed intellectually blessed.

Well like it or not i have also undergone inductive mutation in this island.As such i suffer from “I am intellectually superior” syndrome. Hence, I sat down in front of my computer to watch this movie for the classes. Unfortunately, it is plain and simple unbelievable.

Firstly, a guy enveloped in shit cant go near Amitabh Bachan. Even if we are to hibernate the logical section of our brain for this incongruity, I fail to fathom how the photograph of the star managed to be unscathed.

Secondly, as a four year old kid you dont have a crush on a girl with whom you play.

Thirdly, you cant speak flawless English growing up on railway tracks.

Fourthly, you just cant come back to Mumbai and find a girl whom you had known only for a few days.

Fiftly, a blind friend of you who had known you only for a few days just cant recognise you after years.

Sixthly, how come the street children get sophisticated guns.

Seventh, after Ismail what seemed in all probability raped Latika, you just cant come out of it psychologically unharmed.

Besides, the treatment of Indians is too lopsided to say the least. This is real America and this is real India.

I have a long list but I shall stop this self inflicted torture by questioning how did Ismail recognise his brothers voice after such a long time.

Return to the cliches

Today is 8th of January, kshitij or ktj (as we like to call it) is going stronger than ever. for the first time in four years, I have nothing to do to make it a success. Times move on people come by to follow in your footsteps.Last year this time round, I was searching images thrown up in google searches to make questions on excalibur. An event that I had very much made my own. I was scanning for the judges to look for any loop holes. If this blog was a more frequented one, maybe many of you would not have understood a word of what I am saying. but since i am the only one reading this blog, I shall the liberty to write any nonsense that I want.

My second year this time around was spent in cal trips every alternate day.In my third year it was spent ensuring everything falls in line. writing codes for accommodation form.Preparing budget and what not. Last year was spent handling math challenge, Excalibur and other such activities.This year I relax in my chair and write about my past experiences.

It gives you immense joy to see your proteges go beyond the horizon. And I am thankful that I am fortunate enough.