Saggis have always been oppressed?

Saggis have always been opressed?, originally uploaded by suprio.

Nearby is Giambologna's less celebrated marble sculpture Hercules beating the Centaur Nessus (1599) and placed here in 1841 from the Canto de' Carnesecchi. It was sculpted from one solid block of white marble with the help of Pietro Francavilla
Ref: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loggia_dei_Lanzi

Spams...

"hi,
kemon aacho?asha kori bhalo.tumi aamake kemon
bhalobasho bujhte perechi.u re not at all serious abt
me,nahole aamar ekta khobor na niye etodin thakte
parte na."

I stopped on this mail for a moment while clearing out the junk folder today. The sender was none other than the person who once doubted my integrity and severed all ties. Funny that she could mail again and try and rekindle a flame which does not even have a wick to burn on. But it was a moment of triumph... or was it triumph no, but a bit more subtle... a feeling of a spent hope with some splash of nostalgia and bit of feel-good. It was like being acquitted of being blamed of something horrible... Like the feeling that comes to someone who reads the daily newspapers and gets a feeling of "I am not that bad after all....with events like these happening all round I am pretty well off."

I felt a sudden urge to call up that person and plead for this to be over... for good or for bad... but, then again I pause, let her hang in an uncertainty... There is a satisfaction of not replying at all...."Boobar shotru nei..."

Addendum:
---------
Mailing has now picked up some regularity and things dont seem all that messed up now... But I guess it all boils down to the same old poem 'The road not taken' where it says:

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I did really take the road less travelled by and have initiated a friendly banter which I have not regretted till date... I am not looking to renew the trust that was broken but I am merely giving a space for the other person to breathe. It is not affecting me or taking my time but it is for the greater good and for making one less discontent person... so why not?

Lead by examples?

The only thing about some advice people provide me and that which bothers me is the fact that they are hypocrites. They will seldom do what they advise others to do. Take the example of the parents who continuously make a fuss about the lying habits of their children. 'Don't tell lies'- was perhaps the first moral lesson everyone gets as a kid. It's hard to believe that at some point of time peole have not lied in their life. Even the legendary Yudhishtir lied anout Aswathhama during the battle of Mahabharat. People just would not admit that they are deep down hypocrites. The idea is to to do everything and not get caught. But what happened recently has shook my beliefs and has reinstated a belief that most people are hypocrites by mistake and not by choice, and such people try to lead by examples...

SD had been constantly sending out mails and reminders to people about their tendency to speak out in their native languages. Now, it is a common urge for everyone to speak out their dissatisfaction in the language they are adept in... for it is the language that can bring out the emotional state perfectly. Imagine you are frustrated because your bengali girlfriend would not let you hang up for a meeting where your appraisal is made and you have to explain calmly to her in English that you are in a meeting with the bosses looking at you.... It is just too difficult isn't it? SD has no qualms about speaking in Odiya and that too with almost half of the clients turnig round to see where the strange noise is coming from; nevertheless it is English that we all must speak in, even amongst us.

One fine day CL and SB were in a deep argument whether to start the mainframe job at 7:15 pm, after the database backup has been confirmed or to start it at the scheduled time of 7:00 pm and let the job keep trying to connect to the database every 5 minutes until it succeded when SD happened to pass by. CL and SB did not notice him at all but when he stopped briefly and turned around, I braced myself from a cubicle not far away, for yet another round of advice-giving from none other than SD.
I watched him sneak up to the duo and address them in Bengali "Banglay keno kotha bolcho? Tomader kotobaar kore bolechi tomra office-e Engrijitey kotha bolbe. Client bohubaar kore eta niye complain korechey. Tomader jeno aar Banglay kotha bolte na shuni".
Having said that to a very surprised looking CL and SB he turned round to proceed on his way. CL and SB looked at each other as if undecided what to do when I noticed SD stop on his tracks, turn around and head back for the duo.
"Dont speak in Bengali. How many times have I told you to speak in English. This has been escalated many a times by the client. I must not hear you speaking in Bengali again in Office"
Leading by examples I guess...

RT Vs Sivaji The Boss?

To me Rabindranath Tagore is The greatest poet to have lived my country and I believe this solemnly. I even get into fights over this with people who might say that perhaps Galib or Tulsidas or even Thiruvalluvar was a greater poet to have lived. I have no hard feelings for anyone with such beliefs and they might even be true in their own ways but somewhere inside I am a very stubborn Bengali who would stand up to anyone when it comes to defending the Bengali valour. Moreover, Rabindranath and his wealth of works are by no means matched by anyone. His complete works would take years to just copy word to word, let alone match them with some original work. The varied themes and the various emotions exhibited by the writings of this great poet knows no limit. Every human emotion has been penned down by this great poet.

So, when Appu Rao spoke with the most indifferent and incredulous voice and with an expression of complete mistrust and disbelief and a shade of disdain on his face -

'Who is this chap Rabindranath?',

I could not take it any more. I bounced back with all the vengeance I had, giving him the facts and figures about the hero, I almost look up as a superhuman supreme being.

In the flow of this heated discussion I even pointed out the fact that Rabindranath Tagore was and is the only nobel laureate in the field of literature from India that he reluctantly accepted the greatness of RT. He left with a deep frown and I heard no more from him in a few days.
Almost 3 weeks later Anna, as we used to call him, came up to me and declared with a finality:

'I was indeed mistaken... Rabindranath is a great hero of our country and we should all salute him...'

Failing to see the ways things are scheming up I decided to be a bit content with my admonitions about Anna's ignorance. It seemed that Anna had said some wonderful words to make my day. Soon a feeling of deep suspicion overcame the feeling as I was dismayed as to how Anna had been so gracious on Rabindranath Tagore. As if in a reflex action, which I regret later, I asked


'How come this change of Heart Anna? You seemed pretty confident that Rabindranath wasnt so great after all.'

'Arrey yesterday I saw Rajanikant praying before a picture of Rabindranath Tagore...'

I did not hear the rest and walked off.

Deja Vu?

PS was looking delighted as he banged the front door shut. He waved a piece of paper and had a very satisfied looking smile over his face. PM was just setting down the last of the dhoka vadas from the simmering oil and putting it aside on a plate heaped with the dhokas. I stood slightly inclined supporting much of my bulk on the doorframe that led to the backyard with a ciggerette dangling between the lips. I watched with a growing sense of dejavu. I have seen so many people go back home smiling and bubbling with the memories of Bristol.
It was sometime back that we all came to know of the fact that PS was going for a vacation. We all had been very glad about the fact that one of our roommates is going back to spend some time with his families and friends back home... it kind of made us all homesick for a moment I guess. It has been almost a year round that I have missed so many people back at home. A prolonged telephone call twice a week is all that I have have been left with now to cherish the closeness of the friends and family... then again it would be injustice to cast aside the warmth I have received from the wonderful people I stay with. It is of course something of a revelation to me, having spent all these years within the circle of known and trusted friends and atmospere, that I could adapt and learn the arts of survival and fit in so easily amongst the surroundings. I guess the loneliness here makes everyone a bit more receptive and empathetic towards the ones you somehow know and you tend to build it from there. It is just a question of a few days before you feel very comfortable in a completely new place living with strangers... it is just the matter of time that the trust grows and makes it bearable...just a matter of time.
It is at these moments and the expressions like the ones I witnessed on the face of PS that you are most vulnerable and it might be at those times you would also feel a bit nostalgic and expectant that some fine day you are going to come in through that door waving your ticket back home for a vacation or for good. It is a hurdle, a tough call between home and your career and responsibilities and most importantly some savings. The more you set the decision to go home aside the stronger you grow...

Fact.

So its true...
What I fail to understand and comprehend is the fact that
Why would someone choose a friend for you?
Is'nt that bending of a will isn't that weird?
Or was it a willing decision from you?

I looked at these lines and thought that I was a poet. Well momentary lapses of reason I guess...

Axiomatically true

Standing with a disgusted look on his face was a Sikh. He held a piece of paper towel in one hand and his glasses in the other. It was just moments ago that some ' Bergdohle ' dropped its dropping on the glasses while flying by. The person was furious. The wife tried pacifying him down..."Achha chalo bhi... ab to ponch lo"
"Woh to Uur gaye aab kiski ponchu?..." replied the man furiously.
At a distance there was another couple trying to go over the safety rope just for the hang of the thrill while the sign clearly read 'Danger. Do not cross'.
The wife was skeptical..."Accha amader ki okhane jetei hobe... besh to ekhanthekei chobi tuliye ni na..."
"Arrey kicchu hobe na dekho na koto lok gechey..." replied the confident husband.
Moments later the husband falls spreadeagled on the slippery snow and the wife retorted "Besh hoyechey tomar sob byaparei barabari..."
Then there was another group of very familiar looking features... the language I could not understand..."....Ninneda ....ille" and what not... looked like South Indians. One of them even smiled and waved at me...
Sparsely I got to see some fair skinned people.... mostly I felt I had been visiting the Hardwaar temple...
I never thought this would be the state of affairs when I stood at the Top of Europe but everywhere you go there is always a Bengali, A Sikh and a South Indian.