the little bits of human
- Antara Dasgupta
I stand outside Ballygunge Maidan Camp, waiting, my earphones in, and look at the
neatly ordered row of plants. A truck rolls out of the gates. Two Panic! at the Disco
songs later I can see Navika coming down the path. The main path is lined with
trees on both sides, just like my own street. Walking down it feels familiar, but so
different.
Everything is planned , down to the colours of the flowers lining the
walkways. I can see nobody else. Everything feels a bit unnatural to me. I am used
to being surrounded by a sort of beautiful disorder, the improbability that comes
with lots of people. I am unaccustomed to this much order. Everything is calm, but
it’s an odd sort of calm. And I wonder what the calm has in store for me to uncover.
As we walk through, Navika tells me what happens here, like she’s
gifting me snippets of the real stories of these spots that stay hidden to my foreign
eyes. I hear about school ,and the parking lot where everyone likes to bunk, her
jogging path. I see the beauty parlour that nobody actually goes to, and the gym,
and the little pond she likes to sit near. And I slowly start to actually realise that
people live out their lives here, in this neat, ordered place. I know that, of course.
It just doesn’t really set in till Navika helps me to really see the place. Helps me to
find all the little bits of human lurking behind the neatness of it all; like a pen,
a notebook and a patterned coffee mug on the desk in
an unnaturally tidy room, like a photograph on the wall of an office cubicle that is
identical to a hundred others on that floor. The little things that hint at people.
Things that give you little pieces of just-like-me, which are comforting. They also
help you start to really see a place, because what is a neighbourhood if not the
people that live in it?
I stand outside Ballygunge Maidan Camp, waiting, my earphones in, and look at the
neatly ordered row of plants. A truck rolls out of the gates. Two Panic! at the Disco
songs later I can see Navika coming down the path. The main path is lined with
trees on both sides, just like my own street. Walking down it feels familiar, but so
different.
Everything is planned , down to the colours of the flowers lining the
walkways. I can see nobody else. Everything feels a bit unnatural to me. I am used
to being surrounded by a sort of beautiful disorder, the improbability that comes
with lots of people. I am unaccustomed to this much order. Everything is calm, but
it’s an odd sort of calm. And I wonder what the calm has in store for me to uncover.
As we walk through, Navika tells me what happens here, like she’s
gifting me snippets of the real stories of these spots that stay hidden to my foreign
eyes. I hear about school ,and the parking lot where everyone likes to bunk, her
jogging path. I see the beauty parlour that nobody actually goes to, and the gym,
and the little pond she likes to sit near. And I slowly start to actually realise that
people live out their lives here, in this neat, ordered place. I know that, of course.
It just doesn’t really set in till Navika helps me to really see the place. Helps me to
find all the little bits of human lurking behind the neatness of it all; like a pen,
a notebook and a patterned coffee mug on the desk in
an unnaturally tidy room, like a photograph on the wall of an office cubicle that is
identical to a hundred others on that floor. The little things that hint at people.
Things that give you little pieces of just-like-me, which are comforting. They also
help you start to really see a place, because what is a neighbourhood if not the
people that live in it?
little pieces of entire lives
- Antara Dasgupta
We step out of the car and it strikes me almost immediately how much is going on. I
realise that I know, without even looking, that the man in that little shack a few steps
away from my building is almost certainly making someone a roll or noodles. That
the water truck from the municipal corporation standing there on the road means
that those little boys and girls will be waiting to fill up water, some in tubs that are
almost bigger than themselves. That there is a circle of friends standing and
chatting on the other side of the road, and Milon Kaku will go join them as soon as
he parks the car. I realise that these are things I experience everyday and have
come to expect to see, without even knowing that I expect them. Suddenly, now
when I am here to show Navika around, I notice things that I usually take for
granted.
When I take her through the gap in the blue and white fence
outside the lakes, I notice the people playing football, instead of my mind
dismissing them as an everyday part of the scenery. I notice the artists sitting under
a tree, sketching away intently. I notice the squirrels scampering up and down the
trees and the cormorants on the lake. I notice that tree hanging over the lake, and
the bench nearby where I sometimes sit to stare out at the water. I notice the
people doing yoga, the group of ladies with their mats spread out on the ground,
and the man selling chaat.
We come out of the lakes, and we’re walking around, and I look
at the buildings that I’ve seen so many times while walking to a cafe to meet a
friend. We walk past Lake Kalibari and I peer through the glass behind which there
are sweets to be used as ‘proshad’. I pat the dog that is often on the footpath in
front of the Birla Academy of Art and Culture.
I realise, while introducing Navika to the place where I live, the
sheer amount of life there is everywhere. The absence of the lively buzz of people
living out their own lives, that feeling of something being missing that I experienced
where Navika lives, made me understand how familiar and comforting it is to me.
We step out of the car and it strikes me almost immediately how much is going on. I
realise that I know, without even looking, that the man in that little shack a few steps
away from my building is almost certainly making someone a roll or noodles. That
the water truck from the municipal corporation standing there on the road means
that those little boys and girls will be waiting to fill up water, some in tubs that are
almost bigger than themselves. That there is a circle of friends standing and
chatting on the other side of the road, and Milon Kaku will go join them as soon as
he parks the car. I realise that these are things I experience everyday and have
come to expect to see, without even knowing that I expect them. Suddenly, now
when I am here to show Navika around, I notice things that I usually take for
granted.
When I take her through the gap in the blue and white fence
outside the lakes, I notice the people playing football, instead of my mind
dismissing them as an everyday part of the scenery. I notice the artists sitting under
a tree, sketching away intently. I notice the squirrels scampering up and down the
trees and the cormorants on the lake. I notice that tree hanging over the lake, and
the bench nearby where I sometimes sit to stare out at the water. I notice the
people doing yoga, the group of ladies with their mats spread out on the ground,
and the man selling chaat.
We come out of the lakes, and we’re walking around, and I look
at the buildings that I’ve seen so many times while walking to a cafe to meet a
friend. We walk past Lake Kalibari and I peer through the glass behind which there
are sweets to be used as ‘proshad’. I pat the dog that is often on the footpath in
front of the Birla Academy of Art and Culture.
I realise, while introducing Navika to the place where I live, the
sheer amount of life there is everywhere. The absence of the lively buzz of people
living out their own lives, that feeling of something being missing that I experienced
where Navika lives, made me understand how familiar and comforting it is to me.
independence ?
- Antara Dasgupta and Navika Pedram
If asked what our number one desire in life is , a typical answer would be wealth ,
fame ,knowledge or perhaps love . But if we analyse these answers as well as the
reason why the respondents answered so you would find that it all sums up to
wanting to be independent . Independence is being able to shape your life with
regard to personal priorities rather than external constraints or pressure . Everyone
wants that don't they ? Freedom to me is a very important aspect of my life . I am
always debating with my parents about how they don't let me make my own
decisions and how there are too many constraints. Everyone is unique and have
different vocations thus I believe that it is mandatory to give them a certain amount
of independence to build up their character . I believe being independent makes a
person confident and responsible . They learn how to claim their success as well
as deal with their loss .
Independence is a funny word. We love independent choices, but
independent of what? I think about it. I begin to realise something scary. I begin to
realise that almost none of the decisions I make in the independence I revel in are
truly independent at all. They are all based on and around what is expected of me.
All the expectations are hardwired into how I think about things. So when do I think
independently ? Choose independently ? Is it when I decide to read Philip Pullman
today instead of Patrick Ness ? I don't know. Maybe. What other person could that
possibly depend on ? And this is where my overthinking puts me in a bit of a spot.
In the midst of my wandering thoughts I begin to think of myself as the end result of
hundreds and thousands of circumstances that I have no control over, the result of
the influence of every person I've ever interacted with. So, I decide that no, nothing
I decide is independent of all these people. Would someone else that has had every
experience that I have had, down to writing this very piece be the same as me?
React to things the way I do ? Have the same thoughts as me ? Thinking about
this confuses me a great deal and I am utterly befuddled, because I am almost
unable to understand some of my own thoughts, which makes articulating them just
that much more challenging. From thinking about independence in my daily actions,
I have been carried to thinking about my independence in my existence, and I am
quite certain that this is going to follow me in my thoughts for quite a while.
Meanwhile, I suppose I shall have to take comfort in deciding what to wear and
what to eat and where to go while trying to avoid thinking about who or what it is
that has resulted in me.
If asked what our number one desire in life is , a typical answer would be wealth ,
fame ,knowledge or perhaps love . But if we analyse these answers as well as the
reason why the respondents answered so you would find that it all sums up to
wanting to be independent . Independence is being able to shape your life with
regard to personal priorities rather than external constraints or pressure . Everyone
wants that don't they ? Freedom to me is a very important aspect of my life . I am
always debating with my parents about how they don't let me make my own
decisions and how there are too many constraints. Everyone is unique and have
different vocations thus I believe that it is mandatory to give them a certain amount
of independence to build up their character . I believe being independent makes a
person confident and responsible . They learn how to claim their success as well
as deal with their loss .
Independence is a funny word. We love independent choices, but
independent of what? I think about it. I begin to realise something scary. I begin to
realise that almost none of the decisions I make in the independence I revel in are
truly independent at all. They are all based on and around what is expected of me.
All the expectations are hardwired into how I think about things. So when do I think
independently ? Choose independently ? Is it when I decide to read Philip Pullman
today instead of Patrick Ness ? I don't know. Maybe. What other person could that
possibly depend on ? And this is where my overthinking puts me in a bit of a spot.
In the midst of my wandering thoughts I begin to think of myself as the end result of
hundreds and thousands of circumstances that I have no control over, the result of
the influence of every person I've ever interacted with. So, I decide that no, nothing
I decide is independent of all these people. Would someone else that has had every
experience that I have had, down to writing this very piece be the same as me?
React to things the way I do ? Have the same thoughts as me ? Thinking about
this confuses me a great deal and I am utterly befuddled, because I am almost
unable to understand some of my own thoughts, which makes articulating them just
that much more challenging. From thinking about independence in my daily actions,
I have been carried to thinking about my independence in my existence, and I am
quite certain that this is going to follow me in my thoughts for quite a while.
Meanwhile, I suppose I shall have to take comfort in deciding what to wear and
what to eat and where to go while trying to avoid thinking about who or what it is
that has resulted in me.
Independence
- Siddhant Shree Vodela
First of all, the definition of independence from my point of view is
when you are free and can live life to its full potential.
If I was alive during the “British Raj” or the time when the British
ruled over my country, India. I would be stopped from walking on a
particular road or from entering an A.C restaurant just because I am
an Indian! Even though it was my own country. We owe this free and
happy life of ours to the brave men and women who dedicated their
lives to free our country from the Britishers.
Perhaps independence is craved by many like a Tiger in a local zoo or
a convict sentenced to prison or even by a man trapped in his
mundane life. Can Independence be seen in different perspectives?
Yes maybe it is possible, an animal trapped in an enclosure might be
wondering if we are the creatures who are trapped in an enclosure.
Though it is great to be independent but we have to understand that
our true independence depends upon the independence of others.
THE END
First of all, the definition of independence from my point of view is
when you are free and can live life to its full potential.
If I was alive during the “British Raj” or the time when the British
ruled over my country, India. I would be stopped from walking on a
particular road or from entering an A.C restaurant just because I am
an Indian! Even though it was my own country. We owe this free and
happy life of ours to the brave men and women who dedicated their
lives to free our country from the Britishers.
Perhaps independence is craved by many like a Tiger in a local zoo or
a convict sentenced to prison or even by a man trapped in his
mundane life. Can Independence be seen in different perspectives?
Yes maybe it is possible, an animal trapped in an enclosure might be
wondering if we are the creatures who are trapped in an enclosure.
Though it is great to be independent but we have to understand that
our true independence depends upon the independence of others.
THE END
Behala at Twilight
- Orshiya Sarkar
My mind says, “It's nice to be in a brand new place.”
My hearts says, “Visiting this place is something I've
already done.”
Wonder at the familiarity is etched on my face
Because Behala is almost exactly like Dumdum.
The car moves along the crowded Chowrasta
As Sakher bazar greets my eyes.
I wish the car could move a bit faster.
Congestion is taking up all of my time.
Déjà vu fills my head but I am jarred
Back to reality as familiar sights
Are absent, even if I look hard
Because this is not Dumdum but Behala at twilight.
My mind says, “It's nice to be in a brand new place.”
My hearts says, “Visiting this place is something I've
already done.”
Wonder at the familiarity is etched on my face
Because Behala is almost exactly like Dumdum.
The car moves along the crowded Chowrasta
As Sakher bazar greets my eyes.
I wish the car could move a bit faster.
Congestion is taking up all of my time.
Déjà vu fills my head but I am jarred
Back to reality as familiar sights
Are absent, even if I look hard
Because this is not Dumdum but Behala at twilight.
A strange familiar place
- Orshiya Sarkar
Coming back from a place that left my mind reeling,
The area around my home seems to be strange.
I cannot identify this different feeling
But I think that something has caused it to change.
Was that alley there before?
I wonder where it leads.
And those shops, have they become more
Since the last time I gave those dogs a feed?
Why do I feel my surroundings have shifted?
Shouldn't my home have remained as before?
Why does it feel that my thoughts have just lifted
From deep within my racing mind's core?
Coming back from a place that left my mind reeling,
The area around my home seems to be strange.
I cannot identify this different feeling
But I think that something has caused it to change.
Was that alley there before?
I wonder where it leads.
And those shops, have they become more
Since the last time I gave those dogs a feed?
Why do I feel my surroundings have shifted?
Shouldn't my home have remained as before?
Why does it feel that my thoughts have just lifted
From deep within my racing mind's core?
Epiphany...
- Orshiya Sarkar
All alone at lunch,
No one was around
It felt like a punch.
I wanted to be found
I wanted someone, anyone.
To come looking for me.
Someone with whom I could have fun.
Someone to want my company.
Was I not enough?
What made me so strange?
Making friends was tough.
I wish things could change.
Something caught my eye,
A big word in bold
I had no idea why
But my mind began to unfold.
One word on the board,
Written in bold, chalked
And then my thoughts soared.
Independence talked.
The thought of the day,
Independence it was,
Gave me something to say
And freed my heart from loss.
“You are free,” the word said.
“You are your own person.”
Finally, my shackles were shed
My fears were all gone.
And I sat there, all alone
With newfound confidence.
My need for company was done
I was INDEPENDENT.
All alone at lunch,
No one was around
It felt like a punch.
I wanted to be found
I wanted someone, anyone.
To come looking for me.
Someone with whom I could have fun.
Someone to want my company.
Was I not enough?
What made me so strange?
Making friends was tough.
I wish things could change.
Something caught my eye,
A big word in bold
I had no idea why
But my mind began to unfold.
One word on the board,
Written in bold, chalked
And then my thoughts soared.
Independence talked.
The thought of the day,
Independence it was,
Gave me something to say
And freed my heart from loss.
“You are free,” the word said.
“You are your own person.”
Finally, my shackles were shed
My fears were all gone.
And I sat there, all alone
With newfound confidence.
My need for company was done
I was INDEPENDENT.
Independence
- Nikita Jalan
For someone to be made entirely out of their ideas and opinions is one of my
definitions of 'independence'. It may also refer to confidence.
Confidence to stand tall in the shadows.
Confidence to listen to the whispers from unknown sources.
Confidence to reach into the bottomless depths of the mind.
Though, despite having found a few definitions about independence, at the same
time, it feels as if it is impossible to do so. As if, it's not meant to be defined at all, but
to be relished as a feeling. Or maybe, it's not a feeling,but an abstract sensation.
Everytime I try to find a firm idea of independence, I ultimately doubt it. All of my
theories have been discarded. I have long since given up.
For someone to be made entirely out of their ideas and opinions is one of my
definitions of 'independence'. It may also refer to confidence.
Confidence to stand tall in the shadows.
Confidence to listen to the whispers from unknown sources.
Confidence to reach into the bottomless depths of the mind.
Though, despite having found a few definitions about independence, at the same
time, it feels as if it is impossible to do so. As if, it's not meant to be defined at all, but
to be relished as a feeling. Or maybe, it's not a feeling,but an abstract sensation.
Everytime I try to find a firm idea of independence, I ultimately doubt it. All of my
theories have been discarded. I have long since given up.
Moomal's neighbourhoods.
- Disha Nevatia
Visiting Moomal’s neighbourhood was an exciting and beautiful journey.
I went to her neighbourhood straight from school. She lived in a parchment coloured
building. She lived on the third floor. She first showed me the riverside where her puppies
gave birth to a litter of cute puppies. She also showed me the pond at the back of her house
was a home to a number of fishes and birds. The pond was surrounded with trees making it
a perfect spot for a picnic. She even showed me the area where she and her friends became
adventurers and explored the debri.
Next she showed me the street where she played badminton with her friends. This street
was filled with tall trees. There were many small and hut-like shops in the slums. We ate
food in a Chinese restaurant called Greenland China. After eating lunch we went to a puchka
corner. My favourite part of the journey was when we went to see the cats living near her
house. Moomal expressed her wish to live in a nearby bunglow just because a labrador lived
there.
Soon, the day was over and I had to go back to my own neighbourhood.
Visiting Moomal’s neighbourhood was an exciting and beautiful journey.
I went to her neighbourhood straight from school. She lived in a parchment coloured
building. She lived on the third floor. She first showed me the riverside where her puppies
gave birth to a litter of cute puppies. She also showed me the pond at the back of her house
was a home to a number of fishes and birds. The pond was surrounded with trees making it
a perfect spot for a picnic. She even showed me the area where she and her friends became
adventurers and explored the debri.
Next she showed me the street where she played badminton with her friends. This street
was filled with tall trees. There were many small and hut-like shops in the slums. We ate
food in a Chinese restaurant called Greenland China. After eating lunch we went to a puchka
corner. My favourite part of the journey was when we went to see the cats living near her
house. Moomal expressed her wish to live in a nearby bunglow just because a labrador lived
there.
Soon, the day was over and I had to go back to my own neighbourhood.
My neighbourhood.
- Disha Nevatia
The stranger walked on the streets. It was night time and a cold wind was blowing. The
stranger wrapped the shawl tighter around him. The stranger was me.
The buildings was tall and there were crayons scribbling on them. Most probably by the
children
The stray dogs looked up. Their eyes burning with unjustified hatred. I walked to the end of
the street. The house on the right was blood red in colour. The house had a terrifying aurora
around it, as if a ghost will come out of it to scare the bystanders. I entered Saud, a
restaurant famous for its fried chicken. The chicken was so good I even packed some for the
remaining journey. I even bought a soda from the paan shop.
I entered the hotel again. Knowing that tomorrow I’ll be visiting another part of the same
city, of the same world.
The stranger walked on the streets. It was night time and a cold wind was blowing. The
stranger wrapped the shawl tighter around him. The stranger was me.
The buildings was tall and there were crayons scribbling on them. Most probably by the
children
The stray dogs looked up. Their eyes burning with unjustified hatred. I walked to the end of
the street. The house on the right was blood red in colour. The house had a terrifying aurora
around it, as if a ghost will come out of it to scare the bystanders. I entered Saud, a
restaurant famous for its fried chicken. The chicken was so good I even packed some for the
remaining journey. I even bought a soda from the paan shop.
I entered the hotel again. Knowing that tomorrow I’ll be visiting another part of the same
city, of the same world.
My Partner’s Neighbourhood
13 Deshapriya Park
- Moomal Majhee
Streetlights flashing in abundance,
Shadows lurking in the corners, and dancing across the wide lane,
Cars passing by often,
With loud honks and glaring headlights,
Shops and salons adorn the sides,
Memories haunt the streets ̶
Memories of friends who have left and who still stay,
I see a bleak old house ̶ is it a haunted house?
An intriguing unknown calls out to me,
And a stroll through an unfamiliar neighbourhood…….
Streetlights flashing in abundance,
Shadows lurking in the corners, and dancing across the wide lane,
Cars passing by often,
With loud honks and glaring headlights,
Shops and salons adorn the sides,
Memories haunt the streets ̶
Memories of friends who have left and who still stay,
I see a bleak old house ̶ is it a haunted house?
An intriguing unknown calls out to me,
And a stroll through an unfamiliar neighbourhood…….
Looking at My “Para” with A Stranger’s Eyes
- Moomal Majhee
I have always looked at my “para” (that is Bengali for neighbourhood) with a very fond eye. All
trees and dogs and cats and birds! I showed my “para” to Disha, pointing out my favourite
haunts and the interesting spots. It was a delight to explore my own “para” with a stranger, and
to look at it once more, from an entirely new perspective. I asked her what she thought of my “para”,
and her reply was something like this:
It’s nature I see,
Greens all around,
It’s like the olden days
Have once more returned,
We can take a deep breath,
And it’s all fresh air!
So many cats….
I’d love to live here >>
It is heavenly to see a stranger appreciating my very own “para”. It made me fall in live with it
once again.
̶ With love,
From Patuli (my “para”)
I have always looked at my “para” (that is Bengali for neighbourhood) with a very fond eye. All
trees and dogs and cats and birds! I showed my “para” to Disha, pointing out my favourite
haunts and the interesting spots. It was a delight to explore my own “para” with a stranger, and
to look at it once more, from an entirely new perspective. I asked her what she thought of my “para”,
and her reply was something like this:
It’s nature I see,
Greens all around,
It’s like the olden days
Have once more returned,
We can take a deep breath,
And it’s all fresh air!
So many cats….
I’d love to live here >>
It is heavenly to see a stranger appreciating my very own “para”. It made me fall in live with it
once again.
̶ With love,
From Patuli (my “para”)
LABYRINTH- EE BLOCK (MINe)
- Chitranjana Bandyopadhyay
I live in a limit-less land.
There are mosquitoes, and angry men in checkered cotton towels.
There are ruminating thoughts that fester in between the rusted cable boxes.
And there is a less than fragrant, less than wanted canal that runs parallel, to me.
I live in a ludicrous land.
There are thistles and thorns and an occasional mustard seed you’d find on a plate.
There are wise men and wiser crows who’ve seen it all.
I live in a linguistic land.
You can hear broken Bengali and broken hearts along the staircases.
You can also hear broken families becoming whole again.
I live in a labyrinth-esque land.
You need to know the specifics.
There are twists and turns and you’ll get lost.
But you’ll also get found.
Now isn’t that the dream?
I live in a limit-less land.
There are mosquitoes, and angry men in checkered cotton towels.
There are ruminating thoughts that fester in between the rusted cable boxes.
And there is a less than fragrant, less than wanted canal that runs parallel, to me.
I live in a ludicrous land.
There are thistles and thorns and an occasional mustard seed you’d find on a plate.
There are wise men and wiser crows who’ve seen it all.
I live in a linguistic land.
You can hear broken Bengali and broken hearts along the staircases.
You can also hear broken families becoming whole again.
I live in a labyrinth-esque land.
You need to know the specifics.
There are twists and turns and you’ll get lost.
But you’ll also get found.
Now isn’t that the dream?
STRANGER THINGS- HA BLOCK (HER’S)
- Chitranjana Bandyopadhyay
It’s niftier where she lives.
All north breeze and espresso skies. That is to say, I’m lost there.
There are trees more green that envy and more aged than wine.
Yes, its niftier where she lives.
There are five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes in one year.
Time slows down there.
There, walking along the port holed paving, I was the most foreign creature the pigeons had ever seen.
They looked at me funny, frightened. I was a threat, unwanted.
It’s strange, where she lives.
The houses have two floors, with a garden attached.
One grew roses, the other, weeds.
Yes, it’s strange, where she lives.
Its calm, where she lives.
Not a sound of a drill, or a street vendor announcing his arrival.
It’s as if, there is a price for a voice to pay- A costly one.
Yes, it’s calm where she lives.
And she lives there well.
It’s niftier where she lives.
All north breeze and espresso skies. That is to say, I’m lost there.
There are trees more green that envy and more aged than wine.
Yes, its niftier where she lives.
There are five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes in one year.
Time slows down there.
There, walking along the port holed paving, I was the most foreign creature the pigeons had ever seen.
They looked at me funny, frightened. I was a threat, unwanted.
It’s strange, where she lives.
The houses have two floors, with a garden attached.
One grew roses, the other, weeds.
Yes, it’s strange, where she lives.
Its calm, where she lives.
Not a sound of a drill, or a street vendor announcing his arrival.
It’s as if, there is a price for a voice to pay- A costly one.
Yes, it’s calm where she lives.
And she lives there well.
unsung heroes
- Deveshi Bose
Along the streets of Kolkata
Along the city of passion and joy
We admire the heroes
From marvel and abroad
Yet we never know or see
For whom we walk free
They are the unsung heroes
Whom we forgot along the road
Along the streets of Kolkata
Along the city of passion and joy
We admire the heroes
From marvel and abroad
Yet we never know or see
For whom we walk free
They are the unsung heroes
Whom we forgot along the road