A Reflection of Tomorrow...

I stand in front of the mirror. I expect to see my pretty face reflected in the glass. But then, someone else from within the glass stares back at me; someone who looks uncannily similar to me, someone staring back at me with her defiant, piercing eyes.
Is this a trick of the light? Is the sunlight that streams into my room and falls on the glass, being reflected back the wrong way? I move to my window and draw the curtains before I look into the mirror again. But the apparition remains- her eyes devoid of the sparkle in mine, her cheeks missing the glow on mine, her hair lacking the luster in mine; her lips not curved like my smiling ones… in fact she is frowning. Who is she? A thousand questions regarding her identity bombard my mind. What is this morosely mysterious figure doing in a place where I should be present? The reflection should be mine!!!

And that is when I realize- this is not an anomaly. This is ME. This is how I will look a few years hence- ageing and alone; my broadened hips and sagging breasts reminding me of the past when I was so beautiful, so well formed.

I am a dancing girl- or more euphemistically, an “entertainer”. Everybody knows that a dancing girl does more than just dance, to entertain her clients- I am nothing different.

All men enjoy being with me. They lavish compliments on my beauty and my skill at pleasing them. They keep coming back to me, for I can give them a lot. My slim hips, my well rounded waist and my beautiful face satisfy them. They ignore their wives to be with me. I am like the magnet, capable of attracting them with immense strength. All men feel irresistibly drawn to me. To an outsider, I lead the perfect life- for I have beauty, enough wealth to sustain myself comfortably, no commitments, and of course, so much attention!

But the image in the mirror draws my attention to my future- when I will be beautiful no longer, when I will be drained of my youth. It reminds me of the tomorrow that I don’t want to face, of the beginning of my end. It reminds me that my state will soon be like that of a withered flower, deprived of its nectar. It tells me that the day is not far when I will be sought after no more, when there will be nobody left to care for me. I do not know how much money I will save till then; and if I can sustain myself in the future, for I have nobody to turn to when I will be incapable of earning anymore.

I have known no other world beyond this pleasure house. Right since the time I was a little girl, I’ve been here. This damp, cold building has bee home to me since forever. I am adept at no skill other than that I practice; I know not how the world outside will treat me when I’m out there on my own. I am not a ‘respectable’ woman. I don’t think the world outside will be a bed of roses… In fact I think the thorns themselves will prick me to a rosy red.

There in the distance I hear the church bells chime. They remind me of the promise made by the Son of God, “Knock, and the door shall be opened.” The traveler to Samara had drunk water from the pitcher of Mary Magdalene- the woman with five husbands. Will He accept this unchaste woman as his child too? Will I get to sit at his feet? Will he bless me as he blesses the ‘respectable’ woman? Will he help me steer my boat tomorrow when I will be caught in the tempest? I know not what the scriptures say about this, for I’ve known no religion… I’ve known, and trusted only Him…

Vaada.... ek pyaar karne waley ka

Kuch log vaada kartey hain- tumhare liye jaan tak de dene ka
Hum vaada kartey hain- atma tak ki ahuti tumhare liye dene ka...


Kuch log vaada kartey hain- apni har khushi tumhare sath baantney ka
Hum vaada kartey hain- apni har khushi tumhe arpan karney ka...


Kuch log vaada kartey hain- tumhare rang mein rang janey ka
Hum vaada kartey hain- tumhare liye jeevan ko apni berang tak karney ka...


Kuch log vaada kartey hain- har dukh me saath tumahara nibhane ka
Hum vaada kartey hain- Har dukh tumhara apnane ka...


Kuch log vaada kartey hain- tumhare liye kuch bhi karney ka
Hum vaada kartey hain- tumhare liye kuch bhi sehne ka...


Kuch log vaada kartey hain- sitarey tak tumharey liye tod laney ka
Hum vaada kartey hain- dhruvtarey ki roshni jaise tumhe pyaar me apne ghirey rakhne ka...


Kuch log vaada kartey hain- saaton janam tumhara sath dene ka,
Hum vaada kartey hain- kayamat tak sang tumhare chalne ka....

A Friend's promise....

When you're down n out,
When even trusted ones you begin to doubt;
When you're fallen n weak,
I'll be there for you- even before you seek!





When tough times test you,
When everything feels unfamiliar n new;
When there's no glory in which you'd bask,
I'll be there for you- even before you ask!



When you feel depressed and blue,
When no truth seems true;
When life seems to be a burden, increasing with every passing day,
I'll be there for you- even before you say!



When to your grief there's no bound,
When you feel as dead and cold as a burial ground;
When you're betrayed by everyone,
I'll be there for you- with complaints none!



When Adversity slaps you in the face,
When with Time you can't seen to keep pace;
When under the weight of grief you start to bow,
I'll be there for you- and this I want you to know!

When your brow's overcast with sorrow,
When you don't want to face tomorrow;
When in the sky of your life no stars are shining,
I'll be there for you- to be your silver lining!!

The conflicts of being 'Probashi'

It's funny, I notice, how as the days go by, and as I get older and more mature; how I'm being drawn by a seemingly unknown force, to the place where I belong... to Calcutta...

Home is where the heart is, they say!!! They're right, whoever 'they' are... I've been a Bangalorean all my life, so logically thinking, Bangalore is my home!! But strangely enough, I feel somewhat disconnected to this city!

I love Bengali cuisine(I cant live witout mustard oil!!!), I speak better bangla than many Calcuttans(ok, Kolkatans), I literally live on Feluda, Professor Shonku and I've read more Rabindranath than many other Bongs!The one compliment that actually sends me to Cloud number 9 is when people say, "Arpita, you're looking lika a typical bengali!" And when I hear people say that, I don't even need anyone else sayin, "Arpita, you're looking good!" After years of being mistaken as a malayali, a konkani, a kannadiga... ok, everything but bengali, it feels really really good, you know, to be known as a bengali!

It's crazy how my shelves are stuffed with products that very few people ouside Kolkata know- Margo soap, Boroline cream, Nihar oil, Anmol biscuits... comeon, these are very Kolkata specific... they have a smell, a feel about them, that say, "I am a Kolkatan!" And it is this very smell, this very feel, that draws me to them... a thirst for being unique, to be what everybody in Bangalore is NOT! All bengalis, deshi or probashi are big fans of Rabindrasangeet, but not many probashis know the magic of adhunik bangla gaan, cos it's not 'heritage'. But I do, and I'm proud!
I have no intentions of blowing my own trumpet, but I can't resist the urge to show off... and to tell the world that I am a perfect blend of tradition and modernity! I can adapt myself to any situation, any surroundings. But if you ask me to choose, I'm definitely choose Porosh Pathor over Jimi Hendrix; and Shukto bhaat to pasta!

The phuchkas, the wayside chicken rolls, those night time visits to the Ganga ghat with huge paper cartons of jhalmuri in your hand, the launch-boat rides that my aunt let me indulge in for no apparent reason when I was a kid, the excitement at seein "proper Calcutta" for the first time.... there is a cham to all this that cannot be put down in words!

But i've gotta admit... Tollywood kinda sucks!
Yeah,I know we have Aparna sen, Soumitro, and Sabyasachi. I know ther are movies like Dosor. I know a lot of hindi hits have been remakes of bangla(chupke chupke, Amar Prem, and a string of Hrishikesh Mukherji films), songs have been lifted shamelessly from bengali bands(yeah, Pritam plagarised.. bheegi bheegi is actually prithibi ta naki). But Tollywood still has a very very long way to go. Jishu, Jeet and Deb have replkaced the Prosenjit, Tapas Pal and Chiranjit trio. And they still do the same things on screen that protagonists a decade earlier did. Uttam Kumar is gone, and gone forever. We will never see anything parallel Anando Ashram, Saptapadi, and Harano Sur. The Satyajit Ray decade is over, and with it, we have lost filmakers who'd treat us to Charulata, the Apu Trilogy, and Goopi-Bagha films.
With the demise of Monoj Mitra, we don't have thoght provoking plays anymore.
Somewhere down the line, the famous Bengali intellect has been lost. In this transition from being one of the most culturally advanced communities in the world, the community that gave the nation Rabindranath, Amartya Sen and Satyajit Ray; Bengalis have seen a gradual decline in the quality of literature, music, and even education, especially within the state. The one thing we have retained is our famous ego, our pride, which will not let us accept, and then correct our faults.
Probashis are different. We know what it is, to be a bengali outside Bengal!We know its not easy to be the boisterous community. We knoe its not fun to be the only supporters of Knight Riders during the IPL season. And mind you, its not as trivial as you think it is... because for us, the probashis, the little bits of Bengal we carry around, safely cocooned within the recesses of our hearts, it is important to paint the best possible picture of our home state!

Some people say I'm being biased, kind of chauvinist when I profess my love for all things bengali. Because I hve breathed in the air of Bangalore for 19 years of my life. They say I should have a more cosmopolitan outlook, specially since its best o be a roman while in Rome.
But waht they don't see is that I love Bangalore too. Mine is the case of a child who's been raised by somebody other than her mother. Such a child loves the person that brought her up, but that does not mean she's forgotten to love her mom!
I love Bangalore, I repeat! I can't imagine life out of Bangalore. I enjoy being in Calcutta, but I surely can't live there, coz Bangalore is my home.
This is the city I live in, this is the city about which I know everything. This is one place where I colud never get lost in. This is the city that gave me my home, my life, nad most importantly, my education.
This is where I want to see my career grow, this is where I want to own a home, this is where I want to raise my kids, this is where I want to die.
I'm going to be terribly homesick if I've ever got to move out of here.

M.G.Road, Forum, Garuda, Comm street, Koramangala... these are the names I've grown up hearing, and I'm definitely not gonna be very supportive if somebody ever asked me to start hating Bangalore.

I may not be a true Calcuttan, a true Bangalorean neither. But that's how I like it. I like to think of myself as hailing from "Bengal"-ooru. I am an individual that is a blend of the best of both. And being from 'Bengal'-ooru definitely does wonders for my confidence as I move ahead on the roads of life, for it gives me a sense of security, a feeling, that wherever I go, I belong to someplace atleast....

The search for an identity...

A very strange incident that took place last week triggered off a series of thoughts in my mind- questions about my identity, about the person that I am, and about how I, as an individual, can make a difference.

It all started off last Monday, when I realised I couldn't find my college ID card.
A desperate hunt for it ensued, for if it did not turn up in the next 2 days, I'd have to shell out 500 bucks for a goddamn card with my picture on it- a card that supposedly represents me in a building where everybody anyways knows me! A supposed way of identifying me in the corwd of thousands, that flood the college each day of the week, a means of making me unique in atleats one way, via a bar code.... the scientist that invented bar codes WAS a smartass, I must say!

But really, is an ID card everything? Does it actually define you? Is it all that's needed to prove to the world that you're an entity in yuorself? Do you need nothing more to prove your mettle to the world? What about the talent that the big guy sitting up there supposedly loaded you with, before he sent you down? Is that encompassed in this little card that dangles down your neck? Is it true that this ID actaully distinguishes you form the hoards of students that come to college? Will my teachers, my friends, the the many unknown faces that share the same campus as me, actually recognise me by my ID card?

Or will they, by my talents, my behaviour, my presence in the various activities of college? Will the librarian know me by my ID card which she scans eacg time I borrow or return a book? Or will she, by the infectious smile I greet her with every time I see her? Will my Dean know me by my ID card, which he can confiscate any moment; or by my identity as the editor of the college magazine? Will my taechers know me by my ID card, which they check for authenticity whenever I attempt an exam, or will they by my grades?


In this battle of identities, i feel lost trying to establish MY identity in this big bad world.... with no one by my side!!!

Even in the 21st century.... why????

It's funny how sometimes your opinion of yourself, leave alone of others; changes within the snap of a finger.... take myself, for instance...

I always thought I was a feminist, that I would not stand no nonsense against a woman, however minor that may be...

But today I realize how puny I am, how insignificant my "efforts" seem to be, when I see my own friends line up against me...

Yeaterday, some of ma male friends and I had a discussion about how justified Indian Mythology is, in its attitude towards women in general. I've always had the opinion that Seeta's Agnipariksha was (or rather, is) one of the most glaring examples of how inhu"man" our society was in the days of yore. Men justify Rama by saying that he never had any doubts on Seeta's chastity, it was to satisfy the Ayodhya-vasis that he had demanded the Agnipariksha; that it was anyways not Seeta who took the pariksha, it was Maya Seeta; and the most unacceptable of all arguements- that if Seeta was indeed pure, she'd come out of the fire unscathed!!

I, a woman, ask you men... what are the probablities that Rama himself was as pure as the driven snow? Why did Rama not have to go through the fire ordeal? Why did Seeta have to accept Rama as he was?

And yet today, Hindus worldover call Rama "Purushottama"(the exalted man).

Is this what manhood is all about? Subjugating women? Stifling their voices? Degrading them?
Tell me, Man!

You might tell me, "Wake up, girl! This is the 21st century. What you're talking about does not happen today!"
I'd say...Wake up, dude! Ask yourself if it indeed dos not happen today! Would you really not have a gnawing inferiority complex if your girlfriend had a better degree than you? Would you like it if your wife earned the bread for the family while you took care of the kids?
Tell me....

I'm starting off...

It has been some time now that I've been toying around with the idea of starting a blog,but it hasn't gotten around to happening, I guess- until today, that is!
I have no lofty aspirations from my blog. I don't expect a huge fan following, neither do I expect a lot of acclaim! My blog will just be a means for me to express my radical thoughts, my vibrant feelings, and my numerous ideas... ! Comments and inputs from well-wishers are welcome, though!