One day I was sitting in this office. I need to confess I was getting a feel that something has to change. I was not liking the things that were keeping me engaged for couple of months.

Life of an entrepreneurship a puzzle. By the way there is nothing to be highlighted by the word entrepreneur. It is a license to add “Founder of ” in signature of your emails but within you know that the glamor of that tag does not come to any one so soon in reality.

So in the office, I went very unplanned. I wanted to be away for some time of my usual life. Obviously I had an appointment, but it was not a kind of usual appointment that we see in movies where there is a secretary booking your time slot. I entered the office with my laptop, kept it aside and I was face to face with a person whom I was to discover as the captain of Nebuchadnezzar.

I can’t be more dramatic but just like Morpheus gave choice to Neo, I was also offered choices. These choices were so vaguely straight forward that I could not associate with it for the first time. What I could only relate to the dilemma what Neo faced when he was offered his choice. Neo could not take the life he was living and it was sure what he was going to chose; so was I.

It was like riding 15 years of an entrepreneur’s life in 1 hour. There were associations and disconnects, there was indecisiveness and clarity, but most importantly, what I was experiencing is not that I experienced in my day to day life. It was exactly that Neo sensed while he was taken to the ride of reality from virtual-ity by Morpheus.

I stepped out of the office and I had already made the choice. To be frank it was not a hard choice for me. Earlier as I implied, entrepreneurship has become a more of a glamor than a reality for me. I just wanted to live my reality and my choice was my attempt to do so.

I went to Coral Soff’wares’ office. I was treated as Neo.

There are times when you feel that you need a lift in what you doing. A lift that will push you against the boundaries that keep defining your limits. You are very sure within, that these definitions are at your mercy, and with that single lift you would re-define them.

Nhance Digital is now a part of Coral Soff’wares.

The summer is casting its shadow over Kolkata. The evenings are breezy but the breez bears the heat.

It was bit late in the evening and the “pani puri” shops were not as crowded as it were couple of hours back. I still looked for the shop which had least number of people and when I found one, I walked towards it. I was handed a plate and one by one pani-puri was demolished within my mouth.

I love to observe people. Every snack shop had a particular crowd. There was a group of mid-aged women around the pani-puri shop just opposite to me. Few bikes encircled the “muglaiwala”. The very famous “garam-ganti” shop was busy giving the mouth-watering “bhujiyas” to the children. Few girls were giggling around the “chat-shop” and the sweet shops seemed like it belonged to the aged men (who mostly had diabetes and just stealthily satisfying their craving for sweets).

The shop, where I stood, was comparitively desserted untill a grand-father and a grand-daughter came arguing with each other. The little girl had all the reasons of the world to have pani-puri.

“We are getting late kid”
“But Grand -pa this shop is empty we can make it quick”

“But this is so sour and u will catch cold”
“Grand-pa it is summers now, I won’t catch cold even if I wish to”

“And see it is spicy”
“That we can ask the pani-puri uncle to put less spice on mine”

“What if your mother comes to know?”
“We aren’t goint to tell her right?”

The Grand-pa was still not convinced, but I could make out he was about to give-up to her grand-daughter’s request. The shopkeeper looked at Grand -pa who still wore the look of dissatisfaction. The little girl witched her little eyes and grand-pa nodded his head.

“Uncle – Do not put tamrind – water in my pani-puri and very little spice” – and she smiles looking at her grand-father. And this time he smiled and felt better.

GHTime Code(s): nc nc nc nc nc ]]> http://2200hrs.com/wp/2011/04/the-little-secret/feed/ 2 http://2200hrs.com/wp/2011/04/the-little-secret/ http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/2200hrs/~3/KAtNnhgrFYs/ http://2200hrs.com/wp/2011/03/in-a-dusting-spree/#comments Wed, 09 Mar 2011 07:52:33 +0000 Zoy http://2200hrs.com/wp/?p=1237 This is dedicated to the MICA days

Right now I am in a dusting spree
The room that never belonged to me
Friends who did not know my name
Somethings that I never found
And someone whom I wished around
Right now I am in a dusting spree
The luggage that brought me here
The trousers and the new wrist gear
That trousers that don’t fit me now
I am clearing the dust somehow

The paths and the rusted leaves
The broken moon and the night so deep
Fluttering and the whispers aloud
I want them around
But, right now I am in a dusting spree
On the lane that takes me home
There is no one to come along
Different lanes for all of us
And still we walk without a fuss
And then sometimes I turn to see
If that home belongs to me
It is dust and mist that’s all I got
And I clean it without a word.

Right now I am in a dusting spree
I dust it to make it shine a bit
I dust it to make it mine a bit
But the flying dust makes me blind
I wonder if I shall ever find
The lane that takes me back in time
To the friends who now know my name
The place that gave me un-named fame
And I will dust it, as I am in a dusting spree
To get the feelings that belonged to me.

Image Curtesy: roleplaygateway.com

I write for a common man, as I am one of them
In the glamor of being unique Now I am left with no competition
Where the sorrow is special like the smile,
The feelings are different and loves undefined.
But I write for a common man and I write of common things
The hidden is hidden to me, The unsaid never stings.
As I write for a common main, so write the words they use
I feel the pain they feel , And I write the love that shows
I live a common life, Hence a pair of rubber slippers will do
I walk the common road, I walk along with plenty of people around
Crowd is a part of me, And I am the part of the crowd
I am a common man and I have burnish skin
My common friends are red, white and blue
And share a common table
I drink the common water, In the common glass for wine
I am a common man and I write of common things

My love is simple, And I pray to the common God
Blessing matter to me And praises do not.
I am a common man As raw as the wild
The fierce is beautiful And nature is delight.
I am a common man I wish to die alike
For the heavens unseen I crave for the pride
Just like a common man, I stand by side of the road
Night by night, engulfed in my thoughts
I hold the courage and I hold it strong
I live this un-common world, where I don’t belong.
I am a common man and I write of common things
I write for a common man, as I am one of them
But my pen is fixed and shall move no more with all my might
In this uncommon world, Now I have nothing to write.

Image Curtesy: Freddyknightley

I am in reality, reality of my self
I can say that because I do not hear my mind
It had been long when my heart stopped speaking to me
And it regrets now, when it looks behind.

When I lie on my bed
Flashes come, where the dimension is only time
There is a variable, you,
And nothing defined

I am referred mature now by people around
I have passed the level, called emotions
My actions have a pattern
There is no shelter of justifications

All that happens around, there is no miracle
Facts, as I relish calling them
As I can tag your insensitivity with it
And also your definition to it as logic

Anything old, you call it dusty
And the dust takes away the significance it once had
New, is a shine, and it makes sense to you
And yours ever logic makes the old replaceable

Though how hard I try to scribble some emotional lines
But there is not an ounce left in me
Not that I don’t feel any pain
It is bland and meaningless

Tomorrow, I shall get up
And wear the blue shirt that I bought
Blue may be your favorite color
But believe me it is just a co-incidence

Don’t worry, you did nothing wrong
I just could not adjust to your rightness
Like everyday you will tell me again, that I have changed
But now I think, I can help it no more.

Image Curtesy: Supriyad

I bet she can close her eyes and can get to whatever place she wants but she won’t. Some how she feels it’s an escape from the reality. She won’t even get tears in her eyes, not that she believes it is a sign of cowardice but she feels that is not worth it. I have often seen her alone, but not with her room closed. Once or twice in a day she would challenge against the most obvious and stick to it; the only reason I could think of is that she loves doing it.

Did I say she has the most carefree smile and she showers them a lot too? Her eyes hold her reflection; and no one needs to hear her if one knows how to read them; her eyes. Her hair dangles even if she is still. But sometimes she would do some gesture that would reveal the subtle waves that run through her hair. She would blink just as I do; but when I am looking at her, it would feel as if the time has slowed down and I could see her eye lids closing, bringing out the serenity of her face. It is just for a moment to see her like that and I wait impatiently for her to blink again. She would keep quite when I speak and suddenly tilt her head a bit and nod; she agrees to what I say, if not then she would add to it but never say I am wrong. In fact she would not define anything right or wrong.

The bench beside the playground now never seems to me as empty. I remember her first seeing there. She would just sit or chit-chat with her friends. And even today I associate that place to her. I believe that it belongs to her but she would not think so, she would never own something unless it is touched by her craftsmanship. She loves colors over a dark background and she would at times spend insane amount of time putting colors on bland stuffs. She loves jewelries, but mostly made of wood, sea shells and random stones. At times she would show them to people around, totally un-bothered if anyone compliments her of feels annoyed at her crazy collection.

I wonder what would it be like if soul could exist without a body; shall it be called “pure”? Will I be called insane if I vizualise only bodies with no soul, but not dead; it sounds so dark. And what would one do if he or she is cought in the extremities of these worlds? Will she be scared? Will she hide or will she be normal?  – This is exactly the feeling I get when she talks about the dark side of her life. She would not look at you and would not blink till she is done speaking. – “It is not my life – It’s me – the dark”. – I believe she must have an understanding when she says that; because when I look at her eyes, they shine. It is amazing how just a shine steals the identity of the darkness.

She moves with a cyst around her. Her feelings surround her but the cyst will not let anyone touch it. But I have caught her unaware, when she removes the cyst and lets the feelings release. It is like an unprotected child who opens up his faith to any stranger; and the stranger shall cherish the innocence of the faith; not the child but the faith.

I sometimes think what is my craze about her, and also why? It brings no turbulence in her; but I sway vigorously in my mind. I try hard not to show it to her and be as calm as her; I succeed most of the time and now I am habituated.

They say separation is painful; in fact it is. The moment she was to go, I tried to be away from her as much as possible. May be I would steal her away and never let her go; or maybe I will crazily hold her and not leave her. Whatever it may be I wanted the last sight of her to be something that I will cherish my entire life. And surprisingly she kept the best thing for that very end moment; a touch of good bye.

Today I am still crazy about her; I still love to spend some time thinking about her; I still keep the colored sculpture made by her on my table and for sure I remember the last day with her.

Distances, they say wither your affinity; time seems to be the change-maker of the universe. I don’t know if I believe it or not. But I know that I am not able to overlook it. I reveal less now; I learnt it from her. I know now why she did that – she wanted to preserve it.

Image curtesy: Drawingboard