My Room-mate for Life

Pain shares its room with me.

Dry, desolate and dreary.

Sometimes crying out in unheard wails,

Weeping in tears of moist salinity

I look with innocent wonder at his wet cheeks,

Admiring the defiant ambers of extinguished hope.

There are moments, when some profound deep emotion

Stirs within his bleeding heart.

His eyes show only a thin screen of gathering red.

A shade not as crimson as the dying tide in the lap of the setting sun

But a shade closer to a mountain stream

Bathed in the blood of fallen knights.

Defiant in death. Glorious amidst gore.

A shade which is more an admission than a mystery.

I discover that he feeds nonchalance to fight despair.

Gazing at him in honest awe, I wonder.

Pain shares his room with me.

Dry, desolate and dreary.

Dust gathers on my books and his,

Reminding us both of a prolonged slumber.

Yet, pretense makes us look beyond

Our horizons of comforting agony.

Life escapes in a shameless trickle

Dancing a naked, vulgar dance of crude mockery.

As a victor to a vanquished, as a master to a caged beast.

Me, quiet on my callous couch-

Remain a silent spectator to this torrid tussle.

Ignorant if to enjoy or empathize.

My friend weeps in sincere surprise

Or sense of loss. I wouldn’t know.

Pain shares his room with me.

Dry, desolate and dreary.

I amuse myself with his poems sometimes.

They leave my mind crippled and heart numbed.

I feel a lurking trauma unfathomable in disguise.

Still, at every sunset when I steal glances at him

I see dusk diffusing from his forlorn face to fit the sky.

His features the image of apocalypse.

He frightens me sometimes.

Yet, at times, Silent, Serene and Solemn

He meditates in search of some primitive peace.

I worship his poise at those times.

I admire his creations which speak of him.

Telling a tell of frozen despair.

I feel they are not for love or life.

For love touched him, warped him and left him torn.

A Cosmic joke stares back at me.

I decide to console him not.

Let Pain be Pained.

Let Pain be at Peace.

With an assorted collection of films making way to my home I am assured of some pleasant time-killing amidst my house-arrest.

10 GB of films in totality.

Should be fun.

Then will come blogging.

And regular posts.

Life has never , I repeat, NEVER been so utterly BORING for me.

That 123 tag

Dos:

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.

And here it is:

" And it shone upon something else which turned our hearts sick and faint within us - the body of Sir Henry Baskerville!

There was no chance of either of us forgetting that peculiar ruddy tweed suit - the very one which he had worn on the first morning that we had seen him in Baker Street. We caught the one clear glimpse of it, and then the match flickered and went out, even as the hope had gone out of our souls."


No points for guessing the book.

P.S- Can anyone be more jobless than this ?

I hope not.

And I tag you. Yes, you who is reading the blog now.

The Part of You That No One Sees

You are powerful, passionate, and dominant. You have a vision of how things should be, and you do your best to make things happen. People rely on you for your strength. You are a rock to many. Underneath it all, you aren't so sure about your passions. So many ideas spark your interest, it is hard for you to get behind a select few. However, you see indecision as a sign of weakness. So you pursue your goals full force - no matter how foolish they turn out to be.

What's the Part of You That No One Sees?

House Arrest Imposed

I have met with an accident.

Nothing serious.

One which occurred while I was riding pillion on Utu's scooter last evening.

One which caused a deep wide gash on my right foot where the axle of the speeding van tore into my flesh.

One which bled so profusely that I wondered if this was sweet revenge for all the 300 ml cold-drink bottles I have so greedily drank from all these days. (It seemed 300 ml was what I lost. The road and my Sandaks were all terrifyingly bloody.)

One which made me feel terribly dizzy for the first time in my life.

One which forced me into the Emergency Ward of a Govt. Hospital.

One which required 3 neat stitches.

One which promises to keep me under house-arrest for the coming 10 days.

One which has curtailed my movements even within the house.

One which is making me feel 'a little important' by the number of anxious phone calls I am attending.

One which drew from my reserves of courage and common-sense I never knew existed. :P

One which tested my endurance in a long long time last night.

One which I hope heals soon.

Had a gala get together at Mannu's place last night. His placement party was all good chicken curry and goppo. 8 of us stayed over for the night. It was all unadulterated adda and fooling around after a long long time for us. We people get to meet only once in a year. And their darned University doesn't him grant them a leave for the Pujas. May their Gods sink in sinks.


Myself, Kaustav, Uttu and Pappu stayed awake till 5 in the morning playing 29. K and me on one side, P and U on the other. And yes, we won by a good yawning margin. :P


Paglaa, Kudo, Sinha and Mannu dozed off blissfully in the other room.

How on earth do they manage to sleep so much ??

I am still wide awake. Even after only 3 hours of sleep in the last 30 hours.

And now, I am off to watch 'Two Brothers'.

Boredom does strange things to you.

I am either glued to the net or watching movies the whole day. Also I am making a list of the ones that I am watching( right at the bottom right ), right from 1st June onwards and making mental notes of the ones I am eager to watch. I am sure it will look substantial before the month is out.

Lack of people posting on their blogs isn't helping things either.

Ode to Those Eyes

As purposeless as my days are

Next only in hollowness

To some distant shrinking star

Whose solace is but loneliness

I boarded bus like everyday

Got greeted by a harrowed mob

A novice could have been at bay

But dodging was my daily job

Making enough room for feet

For humanhood I heaved my sighs

A day’s fortune seemed so complete

As I stumbled on ‘those eyes’.

With lofted arch in eyebrows both

That parted with a loving kiss

Had pride in them you love or loathe

But never something you could miss.

Those eyes as if were etched on stone

Slit at places God had deemed

Perfection would stay forlorn

If otherwise He intervened.

The black in them of sultry nights

That often kills the vital breath

Resplendent with blinding lights

That augurs well for solemn death.

Transfixed, transported to some place

By the invite in those eyes

An inkling of doubt did surface

As is case with well told lies.

What if it was all my mind

Playing little games to see

The beauty that my eyes could find

Was all the beauty left in me?

In this moment of my bliss

Gods need not have ceased to breathe

The bus in tow gave me a miss

I jumped off it all wise and blithe.

Roses

I love to look at roses

The blood-red ones the best.

They caress at my fingers

And stand out from the rest.

The yellow ones much brighter

Than the soothing whites.

As poignancies incarnate

Play succor to dull nights.

My gaze remains enraptured

My mind assail all gloom

When I treat my senses

To blood-reds in the bloom.

Some give in to romance

To few it just unveils

Some tender mysteries hidden.

To me, “It’s Something Else”.

Its fragrance makes for Heaven

Fills my half-drunk mind

Of all that was born lovely

Its name I cannot find.

Its shade a red of passion,

A Carmine left undone.

At places a deep scarlet

Left baking in the Sun.

With invite in each petal

And intrigue in its breast

Too lazy to awaken

Too frail to be at rest.

I know not if its earthy

Or Angels in exile.

I only feel a timid joy

When ‘Roses’ make her smile.

photo: gettyimages.com

Killer You

Hold my hands

Come to me

Sing to me in trance

While candle burns

In thinning light

And magic does its dance

Drown a while

Breathe for life

And see death face to face

Murder me

If eyes could kill

But stay in my embrace.

The violin strings

That filters pain

Tear them down with glee

Wail with pain

Smile that smile

You often smiled at me.

The breeze is strong

The limbs are weak

A dizzy numbness leads

To hollow roads

And empty hearts

The passion in us pleads

A lilt in steps

Hair askew

Kohl smudged in your eyes

In cold of night

We warm our hearts

Make love midst lurking lies.

The Song of the Dead

Vultures.

I see them swooping down on carcasses left behind by men.

Merciless. Irreverent. Hungry.

Dogs fight for stray limbs of half-burnt humans.

Letting go a shrill cry of frenzied thirst

Not a sound.

Not a sound to be heard.

Hawks nibbling at lifeless eyes.

Empty sockets stay gaping blankly at the night.

Stars too afraid to shimmer.

The moon takes refuge somewhere safe

Clouds- a shade of sinister black.

Life weeps somewhere far.

Like a child too afraid to touch the dead

I wait behind the curtain of silence.

Not even a prayer

Not a prayer on my lips.

Not a hope on my mind.

A spectator.

Only a silent spectator.

Helpless.

Still.

Infirm.

Bones rattle out in the open again.

Sooty at being half burnt.

Bury them!

Bury them deep somewhere

I hate the smell of death.

No incense, please

No flowers.

Death is not glorious here.

Death is not a feast.

Children sing at a far off place

I can hear their song.

Or is it some hymn of death.

Are all the dead awake

To see the living fare

A flux of life snuffs out the cold

from the womb of the night

Like that unborn child

in silent despair

It grudges life to death

Somewhere.

Again, I hear whispers.

Soft, soothing like death.

They are here.

Or am I just hearing things.

Oh! I forgot to breathe for a while.

Awe in awe of fear.

Sighs.

That rend the air

Ricochet twice from end to end

In mourning of a great demise.

No lip will ever arc in a smile.

No flutter flap inside my heart.

I died a painless death that time

When I kissed your lips.

When you drew my blood.

In an endless trickle

With greed in your eyes

I saw death in them.

Let the dust-storm lull.

Let it all begin for once.

Let the rot run riot in your veins too.

Let my ghost die in some peace today.

And float somewhere far away.

To a place where I may avenge this day.

Someplace- I may meet you half-way.

photo: gettyimages.com

Aiming for that Straitjacket

Personality Disorder Test Results Paranoid |||||||||||| 50% Schizoid |||||||||||||||||| 74% Schizotypal |||||||||||||| 58% Antisocial |||||||||||||||| 70% Borderline |||||||||||||||| 70% Histrionic |||||||||||||| 54% Narcissistic |||| 18% Avoidant |||||||||||||||| 66% Dependent |||| 18% Obsessive-Compulsive |||||||||||| 50%

Take Free Personality Disorder Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

The Movie that I am

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Arriving at the End

A 'Grand Viva' is supposed to span all 42 subjects taught in the past 4 years.
A panel of 4 or more Professors from one's Dept. is supposed to supervise this process of covert humiliation with a considerable amount of pleasure, trying to impress upon you every moment how you have wasted their (and your own of course) 4 long years by just being 'there'.

Our seniors had defined Grand Viva for us in exactly those terms. It is
'The Ultimate Ordeal' known to any final year Engineering student.

Expectedly, I handled the prospect of facing such an 'encounter' with the attitude that characterizes the 'Spirit of Denial'. (One cannot possibly attempt to do anything otherwise due to the sheer bulk of the task. Even the mention of it is pure intimidation)

"Duck at every fiery bouncer and pretend that it never was".

- And it worked.

All questions were negotiated with logically interpreted 'attempts' and as a result there were not invectives or assaults aimed at us but pleasantries which were exchanged while leaving the room.

With that college had come to an end for us. For me.

Four years, which at the start of the 1st semester had looked like a lifetime were now complete. 4 years which were spent in making friends and keeping friendships, meeting people and greeting lessons, clearing stances and fearing supplementaries were now over. Life will never be the same for any of us. Workplace has its own set of values and own pace of proceedings. The easygoing life of college which was only partially disturbed by the advent of the Semesters will forever be missed. Everyone now feels "time just flew". But in retrospect it glided in its own sweet pace, ferrying life, colliding with every little hindrance in the way, disturbed at every little curb where momentum of languor was broken to the need for change and instilling in its own ancient language of silence the lesson of evolution, if only to the observant.


I, characteristically, am not the sort of person who wears his heart on his sleeves. Emoting is not my forte. I believe somethings are just too private. Yet, I cannot help but wonder at how life with all its uncertainties unleashes itself once in a while and everything around you transforms. The people who you grow to be so familiar with and fond of disappear, the backdrop of events shift and again you are just a character, just a number or just a name suspended in the turbulent waters of uncertainty sculpting the face of future. Then again you start afresh, with new tools and zeal. To build a new family of familiars around you and lose yourself in handling present pressures while the contours of the past is slowly washed away into a bleak semblance of forgotten intimacies.

Life will be a prolonged lull for most of us now, before again the spark of vitality enthuses us to action. But then this fallow too is a necessary requisite, I feel. To sit down and ponder once in a while where life's heading is not such a fruitless exercise after all. It won't make philosophers out of us or change the course of our lives or anything. But if it serves the basic purpose of inspiring introspection and answering the 'Why-s' that have till date fashioned our choices it would be a brief session of enlightenment not many would be averse to.



p.s - With an indefinite period of joblessness staring starkly at me at this moment of time I am of the intention of populating my blogspace with more such random posts. I am also deliberating on a different blog for all the poems. A poem a day might just keep the vacuum away.

Who am I

And they tell me I am him :

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Me and 'emaciated'!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ???????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thats what I call 'e-Humour' !

Children of the sunshine play

In my garden strewn with hay

Trampling all the virgin grass

Unknowingly they make my day.

I, sometimes, extract a glee

From the frolic flowing free

In my heart of hearts to know

That myself they will not see.

Still they guess a vigil wait

Till they walk out tired, late

I see some of them steal a glance

Past my forlorn, rusted gate.

At times when they are at a game

Going through the tried same

I busy myself fending off

The urge to know some of their names.

In my eager hunt for peace

I find a solace in their ease

Of handling little hurts at play

As envy capers accomplice.

This evening at my window seat

Life does seem so incomplete

Not to mingle with the grass

That tickles all those tender feet.

Tea-shop girl

The corner shop that serves us tea

And houses all furore.

From rising price to falling stars

In voices shrill and sore.

A pair of eyes does follow them

Look askance at their din

When closing shop with little hands

And washing strainers clean.

A simple riddle troubles her,

At times does make her smile

How grown up men have silly fights

Knowing all the while

People die and prices rise,

Stars shoot up at night.

Among things does never change

Her books drink in streetlight.

Amar dosh nei. Langcha salaar jonno kobita haariye gelo. :(

His Last Cigarette

It was the second summer of love for me.

The scorching sun set fire to the bitumen-heart of dusty streets.

I was having my second shower of the day, of sweat and grime

Profusion peeping from behind sweat glands

My favorite deodorant losing efficacy

Slowly in unseen, muted vapors.

I felt an uneasy calm haunting me,

Bullying me around the bylanes of Southern Avenue.

She had said, “I need to talk”.

Me, ever eager for stealing a tryst knew

Her impulses could never wait.

Still, this time, deep inside, anxiety breathed.

How bad could this be?

Many storms had left us tempered, bruised.

Yet, love had had its say.

In all its sweet stubbornness.

Eyes used to lazy siestas drowned in a sea of images.

The air, thinning in a moistureless mirage,

Carrying tender promises of sweet nothings brewed

Promises of a more humane evening beckoned.

-‘An Appointment’.

I smiled at myself.

Far down the dreary road, spent souls prayed for relief, paid for water.

Summers in this city surely didn't promote love.

The defiant zombie.

Charmed with love, kissed with death.

I moved.

In a single minded motivated motion.

Where? I did not know.

I was waiting for my answers. When would she come?

It was about time now.

I could smell the sweet lavender of her talcum with my eyes closed

Soft, soothing, reassuring.

It was her only perfume.

Her tresses made careless riddles at me,

As occasional sighs of stale air teased them, trounced them

And went back defeated, fatigued.

Like me.

Leaning against a rusting post, I lit up.

Curls of white smoke, in their sinuous ascent sneered at me.

They were with her now. Traitors!

She hated tobacco, smoke and fire.

I loved them all, within a single delightful wrap

They called 'Cigarette'.

Smoke made her eyes red,

As red as the setting sun we were audience to, sometimes.

Times we discussed Tomorrow and its Bliss

Today, she was late. Unusually.

My loneliness bought me courage to protest my wait

I rehearsed my lines to get even.

She knew my patience hated being tested.

And she loved that look on me.

Now, I could see her down the lane.

A light sky blue on her, cooling my eyes.

Distance diminishing with her every step.

I had already forgotten my lines.

Rebuke had escaped its rickety prison inside my ribs.

But, there was no playful annoyance in her today

A Duchess miffed at disservice.

Her eyes were unadorned

Naked with an emotion unknown to me.

What could it be?

She knew how I loved kohl on them

How I could stare at them for eternity.

She always tossed those loving gazes

Into the water of the lake.

They sank, gasping for breath.

Rippling out to their deaths.

I could only sigh. She laughed.

She said it was late.

Always.

And left.

Today, she glanced between my fingers.

As familiarity emerged in her eyes.

A blend of distress and discomfort.

Confused, I took another drag at my stick.

Simmering in a telling sacrifice for me,

It could provide no wisdom today

As I grappled for answers.

I waited for that known sweep of disgust

Emanating from her sleek fingers,

Grounding my prized ‘India King’.

I waited for that familiar look of hurt

To reflect on her hazel eyes.

Nothing like that today.

Something had moved.

More sheepish every second, I stood.

Silence dawned. Love waited.

Words trickled in a crisis

I walked. We walked.

In her eyes I saw a storm,

Nestling its fury, exploding inwards.

She spoke at last.

She was leaving.

Far off lands held more promises.

Promises of progress, avenues of learning.

How I loathed my nursery rhymes now.

How I hated quantum physics.

That cruel idol of ‘Education’ had had its revenge.

And wasn’t it sweet.

My helpless eyes looked up

A bead of pregnant emotion had gathered cloud

At the corner of her eyes.

I could never see her cry. Something snapped within

A deluge of emotions arrived in abandon.

She cried. We mourned. Hours flew.

She whispered, “We will meet”.

The skeptic in me jeered.

The boulevard was replete with memories.

As we walked in silent vigil

We trampled them, muting their voices.

Forever.

Our walk was labored. Long and viscous.

Still, it had to end.

Roads never went on forever. I knew that.

Our last walk together. Perhaps, this was.

I put the last cigarette to my lips,

Waiting for her to throw it away.

One last time.

How I longed for her hand to move,

In one final stroke of playful disdain.

The last act of love at work.

She stared back at me

Her eyes the colour of a pallid evening-sky,

Denuding me of all my strength and weaknesses

For the first time ever

I watched her

As she held the light for me.

Kanha-IX

The better part of the morning was lost to lazing off by my friends as I took to the television and it was well past 10 that there arose suddenly a sense of urgency which till a few moments back looked a far cry from the sloth like pace of proceedings. Within 45 minutes all seemed in readiness for us to undertake the 'Bheraghat Expedition' which was understandably expected to be the highlight of our stay in Jabalpur. A few minutes walk from the hotel and, armed with our cameras, caps and water-bottles like full-blown tourists, we were at the auto-stop, Baeka and myself in the midst of a heated bargain with the auto-drivers as to what should be the just amount they should set us back by for a two-way ride. A suitable deal sealed we hired two auto-rickshaws, one in tow the other. A good long ride past the slimming semblances of all that's urban and there sprang stretches of greenery, interspersed with arid patches and dotted with rocks and stones, a feature of this part of the country we had long become accustomed to. Not before long we had reached our destination and scouting for a food-joint so that the stomach could have enough to chew upon and leave the mind to appreciate the beauty of the marble rocks at leisure. As is the custom with tourist spots a dhaba was not far-off and having had our fill we were now poised to treat our eyes to the beauty of the legendary marbles ( sans Kareena Kapoor dancing to raat ka nasha abhie......). But Kareena or no Kareena our long wait and longer negotiations with the naao-wallaahs were amply rewarded by the imposing grandeur of the scenery that met our eyes once we were into our boat-trip. The colour of the water was a deep slimy green which reminded me of certain lines from Coleridge's 'Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner'. We were told that the lake was some 300 feet deep at the center and as if to bear instant testimony to such an intimidating detail we saw little energetic whirlpools spiraling into the deep recesses of the river-bed just in front of us. Taking our minds off this frightful spectacle were the six boat-men who started an animated commentary on the history of Bheraghat and the legends of the Marble Rocks.
Right from the spots where numerous hindi films were shot and places where the rocks had been fashioned into familiar shapes by the corrosive hands of Nature their narration covered all in witty couplets delivered with a deliberate lisp to attract attention away from our attendant perils. We were in the middle of the great lake, straining our necks while trying to grab onto our seats, clicking away merrily at our cameras to capture every quarter of the pristine pink marbles which were both rare and grand when the boat-men announced most unceremoniously that they could go no farther from there for what we were paying them. A little nudging told us that they would charge around 200 rupees extra to give the whole guided tour and once hooked to the beauty of the place and with no plans of visiting Jabalpur in the coming decade we decided to take the plunge. What ensued didn't let us down and we felt happy to part with those 200 rupees. Only that the two men who accompanied us throughout the tour proved to be as uncouth as they come and didn't even bother to offer their part. They said they had seen it all before and made it look like we were wasting their precious time, dragging them mid-sea into dangerous territory against their will.

The stairs to the Ghat had locals vending marble souvenirs which myself and Harry took the pains in bargaining for. I say 'pains' because thats when we came to know of the fury that the sun unleashes in these regions. Our backs were literally toast when our transaction was over and I had this feeling that it was perhaps the revenge of the chicken on whose flesh we had so ravenously dined last night and now it was their turn to make walking kebabs out of us. Even Stevens and, weren't we feeling it mightily.

After a short drinks-break at the nearest shop we were walking uphill towards our final destination for the day, Dhuwadhar Falls- our last frontier on this tour. We reached it in all possible states of disrepair, panting and hands hanging loose by our sides when the rumbling sound of the great waterfall injected us with fresh vigor and enthusiasm. Taking a flight of sinuous stairs to the point of nearest approach to the falls our senses stood a lot relaxed and refreshed. The mad cascade of white gushing water kept tumbling out of nowhere, gathering a monstrous momentum before hurtling down the steep gorge only to be calmed into the serenity of the underlying lake. We stood there transfixed for half an hour, soaking our souls in the generous sprinkle of cool water that flew in our directions, blind from the explosive impact on the hard unyielding bedrock beneath us. Though the sun seemed in no mood to relent from pouring fire onto these fuming rocks it was quite late and we hurried up the stairs, panting again, to hire two autos to Bheraghat. Our rented autos were waiting for us there and we took the same route to our hotel, thinking every moment that we might never again have the opportunity of coming to this place. The Marble Rocks on a full moon night made for a heavenly experience, but alas, we were to miss that spectacle this time around. " Better Luck next time", we told ourselves and retired to our rooms at the hotel.



Our train was due at 10:45 in the night and it was only 8:30 and we had already had our dinner, another sumptuous feast at the Saheb's and, myself, Avik, Alu and Harry were busy treating ourselves to a host of mouth-watering sweetmeats at the nearest sweet-shop at Russel Chowk. Another frantic packing session was underway inside our rooms and before 10 we were all set to hit the road to the station. Arriving early at the station, Dudu started becoming characteristically edgy when it struck him that it was 10:30 and yet the platform to Shaktipunj Express was not announced. It was nearly 10:45 and Dudu was at his tether's end fathoming what possible catastrophe had withheld our train to home. According to him, there had never been such a situation in his ten to fifteen illustrious train journeys. Surely, this was a situation which demanded prompt action. And Alu and me decided to give him some of it. Alu, the natural actor that he is, took the opportunity to showcase the more subtler side of his antics when he rushed to the adjoining platform and running back towards us in all earnestness announced that Shaktipunj was lodged at the other platform, that we had been duped by the Railways and that we were to miss the train if we didn't rush. Calamity, it is said, paralyzes some and urges the rest to action. Dudu opting to be the latter for this singular excception lost no time in lifting his luggage and was about to make a mad rush for the other platform when we all fell down laughing at the joke which had been so well executed.

Our train came in at 11:10 and left Jabalpur at 11:35. With of course 'all eggs in one basket'.



If any of us had thought that our party with the Unforeseen was over when the train started to move from Jabalpur he must have committed one of the more horrible errors of judgment. In fact our ride on Shaktipunj was an eye-opener of sorts. A lesson in the great framework of the behemoth called the Indian Railways. Ours was supposed to be a 30 hour long journey to Howrah. We didn't bother ourselves with stacking an unnecessary amount of food in our bags, assuming that there would be umpteen stoppages and stations on our way where we would be spoilt for choice. But what our journey actually proved out to be was a cruel and practical exhibition of a bengali saying, " Sei guurey baali".
Rather , " sei baalitey guur" would have been a more apt title to our escapade, I thought.


The train stopped at every possible opportunity, sometimes at places where there were no visible human settlements, leave alone railway platforms. At times it looked that jogging along with the train would have saved us some money for it would have taken us the same amount of time, at the same time doing a world of good to our collective girth. As if speed was our only worry there arose the little sobs from within our tummies, crying gently for food, sobs which would in some hours turn into terrible grumbles and manic restlessness. In all of the 30 stoppages that we had met from the morning there was not even a chanawallah within our sight. Come afternoon and the biscuit packets were all emptied and the packets of potato-chips lay crumpled. Even our reserves of drinking water were about to run out. It was almost sundown when we finally arrived at a station queerly named Barkakana, which was quite near to the Jharkhand border, and to our utter relief it had some food stalls on it. Three of us quickly made to the stall where anda-bread were being devoured by the masses with as much relish as mutton Rogan Josh at the Maurya Sheraton. I had passed on 5 plates for the others and was about to dig into mine when I saw a harried looking Alu coming up with bottles of water filled from the station tap. Hygiene for once was taking the back seat to basic urges in the most fastidious amongst us.
I was about to order my second plate of anda-bread when it became apparent to us that there was no rush at all. The engine of the train was being replaced and we could have our own sweet time nibbling at what all was there to be nibbled at. Tea was next on our agenda and before long the train started moving. The six of us again nestling safely inside the compartment, this time a little full, bore little smiles of satisfaction for the fact that we were now onto the last leg of a 8-day tour which many hadn't approved of initially. Dinner plates were bought from insisting vendors and suspiciously eaten during the night. By Jove! No one wanted an 'emergency' visit to the toilet that had seen many a troubled tryst with Relief of 70 odd fellow passengers for the last 20 odd hours. I think it was 12:30 when I passed off and it seemed as if I had just started to drift into discovering deeper dungeons of Sleep when bright halogens started shining on me through the half-open windows. It was 4:20 am and we were 5 minutes from Howrah, we were told. Shaktipunj had arrived 2 hours too early to our chagrin.


What ensued after the train stopped at Howrah must go down in our memoirs as the most frantic of packing one has ever witnessed. Shawls were being rolled into ruck-sacks, pairs of chappal tied into promiscuous pairings, air-pillows being extinguished with knock-out punches and shoe-laces getting into impossible knots in the hurry. We managed to get down on the platform before the RPF would drag us out and now, all were looking for taxis to take them home. A thoroughly memorable and rewarding trip had come to an end and as is the case with all beautiful things we weren't even complaining that it did.