Release of Book 'Randomized: A Dozen Short Stories'!

The fourth collection of stories titled 'Randomized: A Dozen Short Stories' by Chinmay Chakravarty has been released on Amazon KDP just now! This collection, short stories in a lighter vein plus with mild satire like the previous collections, has been published in both the E-book and Paperback formats. The links are given below: 

International: Click Here!

India: Click Here! 

Other collections of short stories by the same author:

The Cheerless Chauffeur and Other Tales(2021)--Notion Press.

Funny and Fishy Tales(2022)--KDP.

The Weirdos(2022)--Ukiyoto Publishing.

All books of the author are available on Goodreads, apart from Amazon and other outlets! Have a look!

Amusing Superstitions in Watching Cricket!

When we were school students the Television was not there in our regions, and so, nothing about ‘watching’ cricket. Those days we caught up with the radio whenever India were playing, I remember lying awake the whole night till daylight, particularly when the matches were going on in the West Indies; and those were only the five-day Test matches as the shorter formats were also unknown except for our gully or home cricket being always limited-overs encounters. And we were free of any superstitious beliefs because listening didn’t necessarily involve them. It’s only when we started getting blessed with the live telecasts (early eighties in India) and began watching our favorite players in action that such superstitions began to emerge. Perhaps watching it live made the exchange of vibes or thoughts between us and the players possible with what you call the body language behaviors of both sides affecting the prospects, somewhat. And in came the superstitions, beliefs or say superstitious beliefs and biases/prejudices that mostly govern the rabid ‘home-side’ supporters. That day I was watching a Test match between India and England when all the memories regarding those rushed back, after a long time.

The first and foremost belief/superstition/prejudice was: based on circumstantial evidence we were of the firm opinion that when India were batting, the moment we got up from our seat and went out for some time or even went for a leak very much inside home one or two Indian wickets fell invariably—we cursing ourselves for the indiscretion while coming back to watch the horrid results. This ‘belief’ began to act so severely in our minds that we sat stuck to our seats till India finished their innings—in the process holding up biological needs, ignoring mother’s directives and other related issues that never failed to cause a lot of irritation around. However, we were sure that such ‘waves of irritation’, though essentially negative in nature, were not going to impact our batsmen adversely. And exactly the opposite was true, again based on ‘forensic’ evidence, when the opposition was batting—meaning if we sat stuck as in the Indian innings no wicket would ever fall and if we got up for a break one/two wickets fell invariably. So, during those periods we used to move around like free birds!

Although I don’t know much about astrology or astronomy and less about numerology, the numbers began to dominate our beliefs/superstitions/prejudices at a later stage, and unfortunately that streak still continues, at least in my personal case, notwithstanding the momentous fact that by now I am an ‘elderly, wise and experienced’ individual! How do we get the ‘concepts’ about all those special numbers? Well, maybe we’re influenced by some elaboration, talks, discussions or internet ‘insights’ over the years! For example, the number 13 is always beheld as the unluckiest number, even though numerology may say a lot of good things about it.

My ‘forensic’ evidence always shows that whenever an India batsman, particularly in case of the stalwarts like Virat or Rohit (not to speak of the greats of yore), reaches the individual score of 13 he succumbs to that piece of sheer bad luck, most often than not! It applies to the team score too, in fact, all other numbers that I’m going to talk about apply to both individual and team scores and that of the opposition players/teams as well. While I sit on as if thunderstruck when my favorite player fails to evade number 13, I sit up with delirious anticipation when players of the opposition do so! As per my ‘evidence’ the number 63 and 111 are even more dangerous and near-fatal! When a cricketer or his team reaches 63 some great tragedy is about to befall them, its effect being more ominous if he or the team stays on that score for one or two balls more or till the next over. Ditto for the number 111! And when both the episodes of 63 and 111 happen for a team, that team is bound to lose the match, as per my evidence again! And these are applicable for all playing teams.

You’d hardly believe me that once in a holy place I refused to take a very nice double-room offered by a good hotel, because the room bore the 111 number! And I caused undue hardship to my poor wife as she had to trudge along with me in search of a new hotel! But what to do? Maybe I thus prevented some absolutely hazardous bit of misfortune befalling us both if I had okayed the room. I know this much that astrology always suggest measures to get rid of probable misfortune and like the protective spirits/angels who are always with us to safeguard our journey of life as against the evil ones that want to harm us at every possible excuse. Such ‘Good Vs Evil’ battles are being constantly fought over every one of us like a balancing act, including the cricketers that some of them of their teams may be enabled to escape from the numbers as mentioned.

Although I cannot help but being number-conscious I don’t capsize to their hold of my mind, and I always hope for a clean way out. Now, number 4 is considered to be influenced by Rahu, number 7 by Ketu or number 8 is supposed to be governed by Saturn and the summation of numbers that result in these numbers; but they don’t always harm you, they may in fact do tremendous good to you if you happen to be looked upon favorably by the concerned planets. I don’t want to go for more explanations or justification or whatever. The moot point is that these number games or most of the superstitious beliefs we hold as far as cricket is concerned are always amusing and even humorous. Besides, who has the time nowadays to sit glued to TV sets (or even head-phoned mobiles for that matter)! Because you have to work, nah? Our cricketers earn millions of bucks all the time, and this obvious fact makes us lesser mortals work harder, right? So, as I mentioned I was amused that day by those memories. You should be too!

Social Media Visibility @ZERO!

Well! What the heck! Invisibility is infinite because our own God Himself is invisible! Some scientists say that even ZERO is a concept akin to being infinite! Therefore, both ways, it’s only great to be invisible! While God hides Himself behind whatever you don’t need to know, He has created the humans that are immensely visible; once you’re born as one you cannot hide anywhere in the universe until you drop dead in which case you’re either burnt to ashes or buried under, making you finally invisible as far as the ‘real you’ is concerned, because you continue to exist virtually in family albums and the social media, and if you happen to be a huge celebrity you continue to have an extremely dominant virtual existence till perhaps when earth itself gets obliterated. However, problems are more obnoxious when you and other ordinary mortals like us are kicking alive! Even if you wish to disappear instantly from all human views, like Sita in Ramayana did, you fail to accomplish that. In this digital world God has given us the great gift of the virtual existence like the one where He perhaps exists too, not for nothing. Here, you are empowered to do what you wish to do with your unwelcome physical appearance and other related attributes, not instantly, of course, but over a very short period of time. Yes! You can really make yourself disappear!

Now the question comes as to why you should want to disappear yourself from your very own fellow human beings! In mean virtually! Well, for that you’re quick to blame only them, because actually your fellow human beings is the primal cause. Moving on with the modern times and to keep yourself in circulation you do join the virtual world—the social media platforms you know. There you show your face, pen down your thoughts and tagging along other virtual creatures too. And most of you do quite well. But alas! Other fellas cannot tolerate your getting noticed and so, they turn themselves into fraudsters, hackers, cheats or whatever of that ilk to steal your profile from no one else than you only, steal everything possible of your enriching virtual existence and move on as perfect parasites, at times, achieving much more than the real you ever did! And then there come the dangers—looming insecurity for all your material wealth, for your pace of mind or for your possible loss of reputation, apart from the identity theft.

It is indeed hard to understand why God has gifted the Artificial Intelligence or AI tools to humankind at this vulnerable juncture, because, apparently, it immediately helps the fraudsters, cheats or whatever of that ilk to make your life worse! They can now be the real you, for all surreal and virtual purposes! Perhaps He wants to make your proposed ‘disappearance’ act fast-tracked. Obviously, the IT giants, the top CEOs or the industry tycoons would only sing hoarsely in praise of His gift! Why would they bother themselves for ordinary mortals like you? They wouldn’t stand to lose any of the customers either, because the real you will have to go on purchasing the essentials for your physical mortal cocktail existence! A bit complicated, you know!

Anyway, we can really fast-track ourselves too in the disappearance act thanks to all the gifts! Virtually, mind you! Maybe, God had sent the Pandemic to get us involved more intimately in the virtual world so that when the time comes we should be ready for the all-important act. Following your tragic example, this namesake writer has also decided to disappear himself from the virtual world—instantly from the main social media platforms and gradually from the other related terrains. Of course, he will always stick to his books or writings even if those are suffering from as much loss of visibility as his invisible self, and for that simple reason only he continues to write today here, particularly for you! The writer has still kept one platform, because there he has just a solitary follower there which fact would greatly discourage antagonistic-fellas from adopting, adapting, impersonating, taking over or whatever as well as safeguarding him from related dangers.

Let there be light, and there was light. Let them disappear, and they disappeared. God can be omniscient, omnipresent and so on, but He too has to adapt Himself to the changing times. Right? 

The Modern Tarakasur on the Ola Grounds!

(Although no pun is intended as for the upcoming Durga Puja and the killing of demons or evil forces, we must clarify that this particular demon or raakshas or asura Tarakasur, according to ancient Hindu scriptures, was killed by Kartikeya, the elder son of Goddess Durga as believed, and not by the Goddess herself. The name of the demon is being taken here just for its resemblance to the name of villain of the piece. No malice toward any and all.)

In the City of Joy, Kolkata, enthusiastic people start visiting the Durga Puja pandals (what they call ‘Thakur dekha’) from the very next day of Mahalaya, that is, from the first day of the Devi Paksha—the illuminated phase of the Moon when Goddess Durga descends on earth—as and when the Pujas get inaugurated or opened with the idols installed. They do it because of the wish to visit as many Pujas as possible and to avoid the impossible rush of crowds that start visiting in millions when thousands of Pujas are open across the city, particularly during the actual Puja days. Most people prefer taking the public transport and walk miles for the pleasure as they love doing that enjoying binge eating amid the crowds of devotees or revelers. But some others, perhaps due to increasing age or illness or to make the experience comfortable, hire drivers for their own vehicles or hire cabs for the whole of the day or the whole of the night and have hectic bouts of pandal hopping.

Our protagonists, Pinakpani and Paroma, an elderly couple whose two daughters are married off and the only son is working in a different city, decided to hire an Ola cab for the maximum allowed duration of 10 hours and planned to move out in the early afternoon and enjoy till late night. The cab driver called them half an hour before the booked time and arrived at the right time to pick them up. Pinakpani found the bearded and tall young driver amiable enough and also knowledgeable in regard to the Pujas that are already open for the public and the myriad routes connecting those.

Pinakpani told the driver to go a famous Puja at the farthest northern end of the city so that they could visit all other pandals while coming back. The journey thus was to continue for nearly an hour. After a few minutes calls started coming to the driver’s mobile phone, and slowly and steadily he got visibly upset, raising his voice, but never rejecting the calls. What Pinakpani and Paroma could understand was that he was talking to his elder brother and there were some family issues. Pinakpani got irritated when the driver was plain shouting into his phone, and curtly told him to shut up and concentrate on driving, also pointing out that the police could haul him up anytime. The driver agreed, reluctantly and gloomily though.

The rest of the journey was quiet. They got dropped near the entry gate of the Puja and the cab left, the driver instructing them to call him up ten minutes before they were to be picked up and that he’d tell them where exactly to wait.

Pinakpani and Paroma had the bonus of beholding the famous Puja they never could visit before along with a smaller one in the neighborhood. After taking tea they started walking toward the exit to the main road. Pinakpani called up the driver who asked them to wait for ten minutes at the landmark location he himself spelt out.

And then all hell broke loose. The driver kept on calling, telling them to wait there, and at the next minute asked them to move a little toward the left or the right. After doing all those unsavory exercises and still unable to sight the vehicle the couple began feeling harassed even as the humid cloudy weather increased their discomfort making them sweat profusely.

Nearly an hour elapsed and the traffic congestion plus the deafening noise all around them further heightened their unease.

Now Pinakpani was in a boiling rage, shouting at the incessantly calling driver, throwing him names and liberally using the foulest of abuses. Fearing for his health Paroma took over command and taking his phone started negotiating with errant driver. But to no avail. As Pinakpani walked away to a corner to have some peace of mind Paroma, helpless now, requested the police guard on duty to talk to the driver. The policeman obliged her and after speaking for about three minutes gave her a few instructions. Accordingly, Paroma signaled Pinakpani to accompany her to the designated spot.

In the meantime, Pinakpani was searching for all options for help on the Ola App and finally finding some space to write something about the issue he wrote a few lines requesting them to cancel the trip and punish the villainous driver and sent the message. But no reply came up.

They crossed the traffic junction through an underground subway and moved to the bus stop, on the same side of the road though. They had to move at a snail’s pace along the crowded barricaded pavement as the public buses kept on coming, stopping at the stop ahead and leaving. They were nearing an opening for boarding the buses when they saw the driver hustling up to them from the opposite side. As he began speaking to Pinakpani as if trying to explain how wrong both of them were in not finding the location or him, our fuming protagonist motioned him to stop and not dare touch his arms.

Without a word they moved into the backseat and as the driver quietly got into his driving seat Pinakpani wrote the destination of their home in the app. When there were seven hours still left of their paid rental trip.

Paroma was extremely unhappy when she found out that they were moving back home.

“How can you trust this demon to again drop us at some Puja and vanish for hours? I’m telling you; he’s doing this willfully…he needs to be home immediately to sort out family matters and cannot afford to wait till midnight. So, he’s trying to harass us out of it!” Pinakpani explained to her in a hushed tone.

“Then why are you obliging him? We should make him toil harder for our money!” Paroma argued.

“But again, as I told you, he’ll start doing the same, and maybe we’ll be able to see only one Puja in the rest of the time. So, I want to cut short the trip so that he suffers in terms of reduced payment."

For the rest of the journey, it was all quiet inside the car.

Pinakpani gave him the end OTP as they reached home. And he got another shock of unexpected proportions. The bill is the same as when booked. Not even four hours of the booked trip are spent and yet they’re being charged the full fare for ten hours and hundred kilometers!

“You’re as bad a devil as your goddamn company! No! I’ll not give you a single paisa; sort it out with your company!” Pinakpani roared as he alighted from the car. He checked his mobile and found an email from Ola waiting which promised some action in response to his earlier message. He frantically started writing a reply mail, narrating the injustice: both in terms of a villainous driver and atrocious billing. As he was waiting for a reply from the company the driver, in a surprisingly quiet mood, was standing by the other side of the vehicle and talking over his phone. Finishing the call the driver spoke to Pinakpani, “I’m calling over my brother here. You can talk it out with him.”

That worried Pinakpani: he heard of many stories about physical scuffles between passengers and Ola or Uber drivers some of which really turned ugly. Fearing for their safety he enacted a dramatic act.

He took out the notes from his shirt pocket and literally threw those over the roof of the car to the driver and didn’t wait a second more. He motioned Paroma and started walking toward their home. The driver who got about three hundred bucks more than the fare ran after Paroma, trying to return the change. Pinakpani stopped him delivering his punch line, “Have all of it, you sickening demon! Have a feast! And Maa (Goddess Durga) is sure to punish you, remember that!”

Back home, he found a reply from company telling him that as per rules applicable to Kolkata only there is no refund for rental trips and full amount is charged irrespective of the duration of the trip. He now understood why the driver was so confident! He knew he'd get his money whatever happened! Pinakpani quietly opened the app, logged out and uninstalled it. “Accursed devils! Damn your joyrides for the City of Joy!”

The Travails of a Nonentity: In the Top Boss’s Chamber!

 

First thing in that nondescript morning, sometime in the late 1980s, as I entered my office room there was a letter from home waiting for me on the desk. I tore open the Indian inland letter eagerly. There’d been no news from my village home in more than a fortnight which was not normal, because my mother used to write me a letter every week, unfailingly. I got worried as I read through: my father had taken ill and it was to be decided if he needed to be taken to a hospital in the nearest city depending on the treating doctor’s advice. My mother wrote that she’d inform me at the earliest, and since that didn’t happen, I got restless, fearing the worst, knowing that even if the worst had indeed happened it was going to take days to inform me, because I had no direct telephone number either in office or at home or at any friend’s or at any neighbor’s place, they could possibly ring up from a post office. Apart from the hassles of various office extension numbers to reach me and the language problem it took a one-hour bicycle ride from my home to reach a post office that had those trunk-call lines.

There was a telephone in the village school principal’s home and I always thought of that as an emergency number, my home within a mile of the school and the principal being a good family friend. I desperately wanted to ring up that number immediately, somehow, and get to know what could be happening there with my family people. But that effort required an STD connection! Hell! Those days STD facility was extremely limited; only the most powerful bureaucrats or the most influential of the citizens could have that facility in their landlines. I knew, however, that the top boss of the organization I worked for had that facility in his telephone. But how to access it? I was not that kind of an officer having ways with all the bosses. But I wanted a way out, immediately! I couldn’t afford to wait till late evening for a visit to the post office, hoping to get connected through a trunk-call, always so delicate and so full of statics, testing the power of your vocal chords.

I asked the elderly and experienced office assistant as to what could possibly be done. He advised me to speak to the boss’s PS, telling me that the top boss was a nice person and would never refuse to help. Accordingly, I rang up the PS explaining the emergency. The friendly lady asked me to come in the lunch hour when the top boss was normally relaxed and would not mind letting me use his telephone. I thanked her and as there were still three hours to go for the lunch break, I tried hard to concentrate on the files on my desk and do some work.

Even before the wailing siren, signaling the lunch break, could descend to its lowest octave, I was out of my room heading toward the main admin block. I pushed the revolving glass doors to peep into the PS’s room. The lady officer was just about to open her tiffin box, set up nicely on her table.

“Please go in! Sir is there!” she said the moment she saw me.

I approached the heavy wooden door on my right, tentatively. With the tension of an impending uncertainty I managed to knock on the door, a feeble effort. Then, mastering up all my dare, I pushed the door in, uttering in a shaking tone, “May I come in, Sir?”

The middle-aged man with thick eyebrows who seemed to be sitting miles away from me or the door I opened in a high-back revolving chair housed in a huge rectangular chamber looked up at me, a little uncertainly. That was the first time I ventured entering the chamber of the top boss: not that I never met him, I did attend meetings presided over by him on many occasions held in the office auditorium.  

“Oh! Mr. Saikia! Please do come in!’ he welcomed me in, looking briefly up at me over the bundle of papers he was apparently setting in order. Oh! He knows me or rather recognizes me! I thought, instantly energized with something like a new lease of life, and definitely a lot of courage and hope.

The top boss turned his attention again to the papers as I did not count the steps up to his spacious mahogany desk and finally stood right before him.

His little shrouded eyes, over the rim of his high-powered specs, appraised me that seemed like an eternity to me.

“So, Mr. Saikia! What brings you here?” said he, again back to examining the papers through his glasses.

“Sir! It is an emergency!” I briefly explained my situation. “I really need to call up my village, sir! Sir, if you can allow me too…I’ll take only two minutes!”

“Okay! But why are you standing? Please take a seat!” he finished putting the papers neatly away on his right where a stack of in-files was waiting for his generous signatures, took off his specs, set it on the table and got up. He headed toward the attached restroom just behind his desk, entered and spent a very long time in there. Maybe, freshening up for his lunch! But he could’ve just told me to wait or excused himself for a moment! I thought, this time a bit disapprovingly, if that kind of behavior were permissible at all.

I stared greedily at the black instrument lying innocently there alongside a few white intercom instruments and felt like pulling that toward me, desperately wanting to hear that sweet special dial tone that could connect me instantly to my people.

Finally he came out and resumed his seat.

“See, Mr. Saikia! Such facilities are very expensive and so are given only for the most urgent official matters! You know, we have to account for the monthly bills, justifying every single call made using the facility!” he leaned back on his chair as a peon entered the chamber and began setting plates, spoons, forks and bowls on the glass-top table surrounded by a sofa set at the farthest corner of the chamber.

“But, please sir! It’s for only a minute…!” I mumbled incoherently, not at all expecting such an elaborate discourse on office expenses.

“No! no! Mr. Saikia! Don’t get me wrong! I’m not denying you the favor!” he continued as he started getting up from his chair, “we just have to do it in the right way, right? So, please go to the administrative officer, write out an application explaining your issue and submit it to him. Signed, of course. The application will then come to me, and rest assured, I’ll sanction it immediately! You’ll surely get a call from my PS! Okay?” he started marching to the cozy corner for his lunch.

I stood up like a perfect idiot. But indignation surged inside me as I headed for the heavy wooden door. I began cursing him, all safe and sound within my nondescript soul: to hell with your rules and justifications! Why! Had an officer, maybe just two ranks above me, come into the chamber at that moment for the same favor, s/he would just have picked up the phone, dialed and talked to his/her heart’s content, perhaps without even having to request the top boss for the favor! Damn it all! I maybe a nonentity strictly in the official way, but I’m no throwaway as a person! I can still have what my modest soul wants! Yes! I’ll have it my way!

I stormed out of the block, not at all bothering to report to the PS about what happened, and decided to visit the post office early, hoping for the best.

The Refueling Conundrum!

 

I don’t really know why they do it. Perhaps they too adhere to the belief or the superstition that when one prepares too well for something, nothing really happens. The autorickshaw or the cab drivers may thus think that when they fill their tanks or cylinders with fuel first thing in the morning and wait for the customers none would come up or that it would take the best part of the day for the first customer. Therefore, they may accede to a ‘Let’s fill up only after I get a customer’ kind of behavioral psychology. I’ve often been the victim of such driver-psychology exploits in the city of Guwahati—called the gateway of the North East region. Let it be the autorickshaws or even the app cabs, the drivers thereof would invariably move the vehicle into a petrol pump on the way thus severely impinging on my allotted time for the ride and then for the possible meetings or appointments to keep. Annoyance pumped up by inconvenience and anger would always take full possession of my hapless state of being. I thought this psychology was limited to the somewhat lazy and laidback city/region as mentioned; but to my consternation I discovered it spreading to other parts of the country, and more worryingly, even in the most professional city of Mumbai. Mind you, I’m not jumping to conclusions or generalizations. I’m more or less certain because it was not a random incident where the driver could’ve genuinely missed the refueling due to technical issues, it happened twice in two successive days, and in both occasions the drivers did not look apologetic at all as if they were used to that by-now-normalized procedure. And they stuck to that stock answer in an expressionless tone, “The pumps were closed!”

In the first incident in Mumbai the driver of an app cab nearly made us miss an important meeting. The young driver looked okay and he was cruising the car nicely through a fairly dense traffic. But suddenly, midway, drove into a petrol pump on his left and joined a queue of around three-four vehicles. Completely taken by surprise as I never remembered a similar incident in the financial capital, I demanded him why. That stock answer came up promptly and I was agonized to find that he’d joined a queue for CNG filling which I know takes a long time. So I couldn’t help firing him right and left, but the young boy perfectly kept his composure, making me feel silly even in the midst of my great temper. My wife, trying to take control of the situation, prodded him softly as to why he didn’t inform at the time of booking. The boy avoided answering by informing that he’d already got his number and that it would not take much time now. After fifteen minutes that seemed to be the longest of waits in my entire life, I could bear it no longer and got out of the car banging the door shut. Pacing up to the road I started dialing the organizers trying to do some damage control as there were a few other participants in the meeting waiting. They agreed to a 30-minute window, and finally we reached around 35 minutes late, 25 of which was caused by the refueling googly.

In the second incident the very next day we got late at the house of a friend we reunited with after long years. When we finished our three-course supper, it was nearly midnight. The app cab drivers were not responding and the aggregators focused on increasing the fares by the second. Our responsible friend tried a new app on his mobile and finally the car he booked arrived. Again, the driver was a young boy, seemed hardly 20. However, he assured our friend that he’d take absolute care of us and would deposit us home safe and sound. We took off.

The streets were not exactly packed at that late hour, but the boy was driving at a snail’s pace. Unable to hide her curiosity my wife asked him why he was not picking up speed. And then only he dropped the bombshell: he was looking for a CNG filling station as his fuel was dwindling fast! Not only that! The car might run out of fuel anytime now and the responsible boy was very worried that his ‘uncle and aunty’ could get stranded in the middle of the night! This time I took a long sigh and just leaned back on the seat, as if surrendering to fate.

The young driver kept on stopping asking one and all, including the Zomato delivery boys, for the way to the nearest CNG filling pump. They all did indeed give very painstaking directions, but our lean and thin young gentleman couldn’t find any. And he constantly kept up our tension by mentioning that ‘getting stranded’ bit. Finally I intervened telling him to consult people of his ilk, that is to say, other drivers of autorickshaws or cabs or taxis. Luckily, he found an autorickshaw by the side of a road and accosted the driver: requesting him for the way in the most urgent manner possible, of course, by mentioning what fate his dearest ‘uncle and aunty’ could be heading for. I did my best to avoid meeting a supposedly sympathetic stare from the autorickshaw driver; but he gave solid directions to a gas station which was still some way off and nearer to our home. Fortunately, the car engine did not go phut and the eager driver found the pump and could finally satiate the urge of his cylinder, if not his.

We found it perplexing that the boy still did neither brighten up nor increase the speed of his vehicle. Again, my wife asked him why. In reply he asked her a very pertinent question, “Do you know your way to your home?” More in store for us! I thought bitterly. “Of course!” she replied. Then he disclosed that he was an absolute stranger in the area and so was driving slow, and particularly avoiding the flyovers, afraid where they’d eject him out.

For the rest of the journey I took absolute command of directing him: the turns to take and which flyovers to avoid and which ones to take. The young driver indeed delivered his ‘uncle and aunty’ home around 2 in the morning, delayed by at least an hour. I wanted to give some sound pieces of advice. But what the heck! I’d not rather have stock digitalized responses! Instead, I took the pledge of asking the driver if he was going to refuel on the way, every time I’d happen to book a transport in future anywhere and everywhere. However, we do fervently hope the refueling virus do not spread far and wide and someone resourceful check its possible progress. Or it still remains a conundrum!

Megablock on a Metro!

 

It was early afternoon on a hot and humid day with the sun playing hide and seek with the non-threatening clouds. I hoped there wouldn’t be many takers for the special seats on the metro trains at this unfriendly hour, but I was wrong. As I boarded the seemingly empty train and marched toward the special section of the coach I found all the seats occupied, and more worryingly, a few oldies were standing, crouching hopefully and watchfully around the seats.

 

I stood in front of the two-seater and immediately found a frustrated oldie arguing with one of the two seated seniors to make way for him to sit as he fervently pointed toward the three-seater where a fourth person was accommodated. The defendant argued that the two-seater is a new addition and very narrow making it extremely unhealthy to accommodate a third passenger. Finding no support coming his way the plaintiff slowly moved away in search of greener pastures in the next coach. ‘Shit! They’ve already unlearnt the Covid lessons!’ I thought ruefully. The other oldie that looked much older and emaciated, in his early seventies or probably more, seated next to the defendant was fully absorbed in his smart phone.

 

Suddenly there was some movement in the two-seater that I missed as I leaned against the steel railing looking at the full length of the coach, trying to enjoy the scenario. It was too late! I discovered that the emaciated oldie got up and the seat was taken instantly by the not necessarily nearest standee. In fact I was the nearest. The defendant smiled at me in a rather curious way, muttering something that I failed to catch.

 

After maybe around three minutes the emaciated oldie came back and the new occupier had to vacate, to his silent chagrin. ‘What’s he doing? Confused about his destination and asking around or what?’ I thought. I looked at the defendant. He again smiled at me, this time understandingly, although I again failed to understand, this time miserably.  

 

Hardly two stations passed by when the emaciated oldie stood up again on a new lease of movement. The standee, frustrated previously, made no move this time; looking glum and fearing a repeat if he went for it. Not knowing exactly about the correct course of my action, I, being the nearest, logically sat down. I thought even a two-minute comfort was going to do only good to my aching knee joints. Now, I could clearly hear the amused muttering emanating from the defendant, sitting next to me. He told me that the emaciated oldie was extremely preoccupied with his mobile and was showing it around to almost all the passengers, consulting them avidly. He also added that though he couldn’t figure out what the problem was he overheard something about ‘blocking’. ‘So, he is expected to resume his seat anytime soon!’ I muttered back to him now.

 

I saw him consulting the seated oldies in the opposite bench, showing his phone liberally. And obviously, getting fed-up perhaps, he came back for the seat reclamation. As I prepared to make way for him he motioned me to sit on and adjusted himself somehow in the middle. That move surprised me to no less bit; however, his next move explained why.

 

This time he showed his phone to me, opening up the WhatsApp message page. He pointed to a number that had no name to it.

“I want to block this number! Do you know how?” he asked me in utter helplessness.

“Oh! You really need to block him or her?” I confirmed.

“Yes, yes!”

I showed him how. Simple and sweet! The emaciated oldie blocked the number immediately and launched himself fully on his now-fructifying mission. If he was excited and elated by that simple discovery he didn’t show it. He just mumbled something without moving his eyes from the device and I interpreted it as a customary ‘thank you’. Most probably!

 

My station came and I alighted. My peripheral vision informed me that even though the emaciated oldie remained glued to his instrument with his newfound knowledge he was circumspect enough to not allow anyone to propel into the third possible spot. As I walked to the station exit I smiled to myself, thinking, ‘A lot of people could be going to be affected by his educated tantrums! But why should I be worried? I’d not be responsible at all for all the megablocks he may have already created or might be creating in the foreseeable future! And anyhow, ‘blocking’ has of late become a somewhat necessary exercise!’

My New Book This Festive Season!

Well, I have decided to be socially active again! Like in the case of political parties this can also be called a 'necessary evil', even though most of the younger people would never agree! Okay! It's necessary, one likes it or not! Virtual presence in this post-modern age is absolutely essential, more than the physical presence that can be beheld only by a few. However, this doesn't mean that I will be hyperactive with my old wine in a new bottle, meaning my new blog where I backed up almost all of my pieces! 

And, to continue with my die-hard habit I have to inform you of my new book, 'The Weirdos' which is a collection of short stories. I wanted to publish it before Christmas and I have succeeded in doing that! Like it or not, the links are put up below to celebrate the upcoming festive occasions:

In India:

In USA:

Logorrhea Or Quietude of the Hams As It Suits Them?

We’d been growing up with the dictum that ‘everything is fair in love and war’; however, in view of our increasingly awesome experience with the phenomenon of digital marketing we urgently need to revise the dictum to ‘everything is fair in love, war and marketing’, for our own solace. I’m not at all exaggerating this. In spite of being very particular about paying all your dues on time all your life and enjoying a healthy credit score as a result your service providers shall not cease to hound you all the time for payment. They’d start at least a week before the approaching payment-due date and their irksome and utterly useless verbosity will flood all your resources of a digital existence. This ‘logorrhea’ of the post-modern times has become a disease like the good old ‘diarrhea’! The disorder cannot be corrected even if you resort to a digital bank transfer system with specific instructions for the payment on the due date. At most of the times the all-encompassing reminders would keep on coming even after making a successful payment. Besides, there’d be the age-defined telemarketing calls even if you’ve been consistently telling (you cannot afford to be too curt or insulting as the callers are mostly ladies) them all the time that ‘I don’t want a personal loan’ or ‘I don’t want a credit card’ or ‘I don’t want an insurance job or a policy’! You finally feel that it’s absolutely sinful to be a good customer enjoying a good credit score. But alas! You just cannot become a defaulter even if you want it desperately enough to have a peaceful and noise-free daily existence.

Then there’s a peculiar phase of an unnatural quietude that seems to blight all of the service providers after they get their payments and this phase never fails to make you restive and edgy. You’d very naturally check the concerned app or account for the confirmation of your payment, of course, after the mandatory wait period. Unfortunately, you’ll not find it for days, and there’ll still be the reminders ‘Pay’ or ‘Recharge’ flashing on your screens which will, naturally again, make you disturbed, and after a series of rigorous navigational efforts from your side may finally take you to the service provider’s rather unwilling admission ‘Oh! It seems you’ve made a payment!’, if you’re lucky. The consequences of ‘making a payment’ in a way which outside of the service provider’s app or recommendations could be even more dangerous and the prolonged quietude that follows would surely make you extremely disturbed.

 

Recently, I made an arrangement with my bank to pay the bills to a particular credit card before the due date which meant I deviated from the method of repayment normally made from the credit card online account itself. The payment was successful as my bank indicated with the debit amount shown correctly. However, the credit card issuer bank never acknowledged it in any manner and kept mum as the due date was approaching ominously. I logged in to the credit card online account to check, and there was no confirmation there either; instead, the reminder ‘payment due’ standing there still. Another fearful thought caught hold of me: if somehow, the payment did not reach the card they’d inevitably charge a hefty late payment amount in my next bill! Therefore, I decided to pay the same amount a second time and paid it from the card account. That payment was immediately acknowledged. I checked the account two days after the due date. And lo! I found the earlier payment recorded in the ‘transactions’ column with the same date that my bank transferred the amount on. Such was the silence of the ham! But how’d they gain with such obnoxious quietude? Why! For that card I’d enjoyed a nice ‘no payment required’ period which I deliberately prolonged; in this case, for them! With my quietude!

Movie Watching: A Few Bovine Observations!

Based on my lifelong experience as a rather discerning and somewhat fastidious movie buff I beg to offer here a few of my rather bovine (no necessarily offending anyone) observations about movie watching. You may or may not agree with these which is quite natural, movie watching being kinda of subjective entertainment. You can also choose the near-absent option of putting your views too here in a way to enrich or annihilate my observations. My observations here dwell on characteristics that adversely affect the viewing pleasure which are more important, because the absence of those acts on the positive side.

Ø  In quite a few movies I fervently expect something to happen at some point of the narration, and if that takes too long a time or doesn’t happen at all I get impatient and immediately try confirming again the genre of the film. Most often, I find Suspense as the one. Well, heady kind of suspense that! This phenomenon mostly happens in Hollywood productions where the filmmaker can easily indulge in such experiments, having the world market at his/her command. However, in Bollywood movies this is almost unheard of, because such indulgences normally lead to a poor show in the crucial box office. In any case, such experiments obstruct my viewing pleasure.

 

Ø  The beginning of any movie is always very crucial, and therefore, all movies try to begin with a very evocatively or violently created scene that may structure my expectations. However, just after the beginning things like ‘Two weeks later’ or ‘Two years later’ or even ’20 years later’ appear on screen disappointing me thoroughly. More saddening part is when the super declare ‘Two weeks earlier’ or like that which kinda wearies me out without the would-be wear and tear, if any. In any case, such interventions obstruct my viewing pleasure.

 

Ø  As a corollary to the above I must mention here that the custom of ‘flashback’ is as ancient as the art of filmmaking. To make a time transition the creators need, compulsorily at times, to bring in a flashback, particularly when adapting very voluminous novels for the screen. As long as the flashback is done smoothly, like in most Hollywood productions where these are done with the help of a montage or recurring terrible moments of the past, my viewing pleasure is kept intact. But unfortunately, in Bollywood films flashbacks always start with a song or a huge song-dance sequence which normally kills all the expectations built up so far. In any case, such experiments obstruct my viewing pleasure.

 

Ø  In Bollywood a serious no-nonsense movie means the absence of songs or dance sequences; however, in such movies too, the background songs suddenly intrude at many crucial points of the story, adversely affecting the latter’s flow as well as my viewing pleasure. This is a common factor in some intense Hollywood or other foreign-language movies also, particularly in movies where I have to rely, to a varying extent of dependence, on the subtitles. Now, in such a delicate scenario, the somewhat crusading subtitle writers don’t even spare the intruding background song lyrics and there follows such a maze of subtitles, of the song and of the dialogues of the characters, that I get lost completely in a flood of words, whereas I’m watching a creation of the visual media. To make it worse, the writers take pains to create subtitles like ‘phone chimes’, ‘music strings’, ‘wind blows’, ‘footsteps sound’ or of the sort that I can hear and watch all the time. In any case, such intrusions obstruct my viewing pleasure.

 

Ø  There is also the rather universal problem of modern cinema where the rampant use of technology always, deliberately or as a kickoff, suppresses the dialogue track and blows the background effects/music track out of proportion. This makes me crane my ears all the time to catch the nuances of the dialogues and to jerk back violently when my vulnerable ears get nearly blasted away with the sudden thundering of the background sound track. Unfortunately, the Bollywood movies nowadays also try to imitate this unfriendly techno surge. This is more important in light of the pandemic-induced non-theater movie watching; because, amid the unavoidable play of the hush and the thunder, I just cannot avoid getting the warnings from the streaming platform about the used audio volume threatening to damage my eardrums. In any case, such experiments always obstruct my viewing pleasure.

Law Of Mutuality Extended: Like For A Like Or Read For A Read…!

 

Why should I go on writing? This question has been haunting me for quite some time, and this led to an unintentional break in the first week of this month when, in a very unprofessional way, I left the phrase ‘Budget Tomorrow!’ in my last post in January unexplored and unwritten! Well, I am a humble being and never daydreamed about becoming a great writer what they call ‘bestselling’ and all that. Indeed, I had written quite a few ‘solicited’ articles/papers in both English and Assamese newspapers/periodicals over the decades. However, I discovered that in such ‘ventures’ the merit part gets thrown out of the window and only influences/contacts/references matter. Therefore, I had not been a great success in that line. As a writer you send something to a publication in high spirit and hope, thinking that your item had some merit thanks to opinions of a few of your learned friends, for at least a response, but eventually when it sinks in a bottomless well with not even a rejection letter you feel disillusioned. And as an inevitable consequence in my case, I opened this blog and started writing and publishing on whatever I wanted and loved. Now, the question mentioned above becomes rather an existential crisis as it concerns this platform too.

 

A writer is as normal a social animal as any other social animals inhabiting this planet. If s/he does something or writes something or sings a song or paints a picture or comment upon something a minimum of feedback or response is naturally expected by her/him. Like in my case, I’ve been writing on my site for nearly 14 years, quite regularly; but I hardly ever came across any feedback from my ‘readers’ which raised doubts in my mind about the nature of the ‘readers’. Are they genuine readers or casual surfers or just bots? I don’t know. I get a good number of hits daily, but no responses, forget about appreciation or interaction. Even known genuine friends or kin, barring of course a few sincere ones, just don’t bother to take even a look. Only for a brief period, years back, we constituted a group of like-minded bloggers/writers and made kind of a ‘deal’ to read and comment upon each other’s blogs. So, for a few months there had been a flurry of mutual commenting and appreciating.

 

That kind of a ‘deal’ brings us to the subject-matter of this piece: the Law of Mutuality. As explained in an earlier piece this law of mutuality used to influence only relationships; but now, this affects everything possible on planet earth: from the abysmally growing social media to all forums or groups or anything online.  Recently we discussed with a few musical buddies about the fact that the class of ‘innocent listeners’ has been gravely threatened by the mushrooming growth of ‘singers’ with almost everyone turning into a singer thanks to the social media and other platforms. Unfortunately, the same syndrome is appearing in the field of writing, perhaps any creative field for that matter, too, with almost all ‘innocent readers’ converting themselves into ‘writers/authors’ thanks, again, to the social media and also the mushrooming growth of self-publishing platforms. This has been an emerging conflict of providers vs receivers.

 

So then, it just amounts to the most needed action on your part: you must be hyperactive on the social media and other similar digital forums, donating away as many likes as possible on your friends’ creative works to generate some likes for you too. In both cases, however, it doesn’t really matter if you really go through the works in full. Most regrettably, in most of the writers’ forums too you must manufacture as many comments/reviews as possible on the writings of others to generate some comments/reviews for your items. To make it worse for a starter, the most successfully interactive stalwarts don’t even bother about your friend requests, and anyone would definitely like to expand one’s network after joining a platform. If you lie low, your works would die down slowly, finally forcing you to leave the site, utterly disappointed.

 

Honestly speaking, I don’t have the time to indulge in such digital exercises to create some artificial interest in my writings, even after I retired from my service two years back with the firm resolve to become a full-time writer. I devote my available time to thinking, writing, marketing-shopping for the household, kitchen help, some news viewing and limited socializing. That leaves me with no time to embark on a spree of mindless liking and commenting/reviewing on writings that I really like or not. So, I’ve indeed emerged as loser in this ‘digital race for attention’. I published my first book on humor while in service and then the second book in the same genre after retirement, and one of these books has already sunk in the bottomless well with the other steadily marching in the same direction.

 

But of course, genuine listeners or readers still exist in large numbers. Although the traditional book-reading or buying albums has declined the new generations have been doing reading-watching on mobile/tab/computer screens. As is very natural, they go for the works of the established ‘bestselling celebrities’ rather than turning any attention to less-than-mediocre cum digital-offenders like this writer. They are right. And I’m not complaining or bursting out in frustration either. This is the way modern times move, and it’d not change even if you are honestly unaware if you were a mediocre or poor or merit-less writer, because even you closest friends won’t tell you if your work is good or bad. The way out for you is go on a paying spree: pay for the self-publishing firms; pay for publicity; pay the emerging class of reviewers; pay for awards, in most cases; pay for participating in book fairs; pay for promoting your profile and writings in various forums; and so on. Even then you cannot be assured of attention unless you do indulge yourself fully in the ‘like for a like or read for a read’ competition.

 

I do, indeed, the most basic parts. Like after I publish something in my site, I share it on the very limited platforms that I still stick to for sheer survival, and the I do get the expected ‘views’, but no responses as usual. At times, I also share it in my friends’ groups; but, again, hardly any comments apart from some views that I can gather from my stats.

 

Therefore, all these ‘issues’ have contributed to the emergence of the question raised at the outset. My prolonged introspection on this tells me that I cannot possibly quit my writing as it’s been my passion since childhood days. It may get sparse or even rare, but I’ll go on. My argument also remains: I’m still giving you funny, thought-provoking, sports-related, political etc. pieces on a regular basis, totally free of cost. If you still prefer to not read or respond, it’s your problem, not mine. Right? Anyway, I’m sure this this piece too won’t earn any response! Ha! Ha! 

(PS: Of course, I've learnt from my limited digital experience to put my own photo to garner more attention!!)

How The Hollywood Swear-Realism Has Penetrated Bollywood And The OTT Platforms!

Use of abusive words or slang has been universal in daily conversations of human beings across the globe, since times immemorial perhaps. However, in this piece we’re only interested as to how such cuss words have progressed to more hardened and stronger forms on the celluloid and how they have conquered other very conservative celluloid forms. This is not at all a research paper either; but, interestingly, there is lot of research on the progressively hardening swear words in Hollywood movies—researchers even listing out movies with the maximum number of swear-words used in the dialogues by the characters, one finding a maximum of a near thousand such expressions in a movie of around 90 minutes’ duration. In early times societies in the west too were more conservative, and therefore the swear-words were of the relatively innocent types like ‘heck’, ‘what the hell’, ‘damn’ ‘shit’ and so on. The shift toward the hardened cuss words involving the ‘f***’ or ‘f******’ or ‘as****e’ varieties can be traced to the early seventies in Hollywood movies. Over time it steadily progressed to the early nineties and then the progress has been exponential with almost every movie using those words liberally. It is said or even believed that developing countries like India lag behind any ‘progress’ in America or the west by about two decades. So, we first examine the scenario in India.

 

When we were in schools times were not modern like today’s, but definitely families were more cultured rather than conservative, and for decent families the uttering of swear words was a taboo. Whatever cuss words were in circulation those were limited to a handful of back-benchers and the usage was purely of local slang. Most of us were awestruck on hearing such words. Nevertheless, at times we used to learn some very uncommon local slang, and in the spirit of a new discovery on learning about a never-heard-of word without understanding its meaning I once uttered that in a sing-song way before my mother. My mother angrily ordered me to shut up immediately, and I inculcated the ‘decency’, again.

 

In college days some outside influences from other parts of the country—mostly from the northern side—gave new and stronger abusive slang involving the mother or the sister invariably. In the course of higher studies the words learnt increased substantially—slowly graduating to the ‘f’ or ‘a’ types in the eighties which is corroborated by the fact stated above in regard to Hollywood films starting the initiative in the seventies. Of course, this does not mean that the swear-word phenomenon is an increasing function of higher learning. However, we can say confidently that this has a lot to do with the modernity, urbanization and the frequent international film festivals which in turn mean more ‘exposure’ to Hollywood and other ‘liberally realistic’ films from other countries.

 

From the Golden Era of Bollywood or Hindi cinema of the fifties-sixties up to the technically sound movies of the present day the mainstream movies thus far are mostly free of the hardened or modern swear words—limited only to the relatively innocent local abuses—thanks to their aim of ‘family entertainment’ for more robust commerce. Only a handful of movies that claimed to be different in terms of subjects or storyline or ‘stark-realism’ used those hardened words, albeit selectively enough, to not offend the censor board members too much. Most filmmakers noticed the use of the hardened swear words in daily conversations of particularly the modern ‘progressive’ youth population, but still did not go ahead with a liberal dosage in fear of the censor board where the members still leaned toward decency or conservatism—of course, becoming steadily more tolerant. The mainstream television serials in India of course have been totally free of the specific swear words, again thanks to the ‘family’ perception. Mind you, we’re not talking about sexual content or vulgarity in any national/regional movies or serials.

 

Hollywood movies with the growing exposure of the youth in a modern digital India have succeeded in penetrating the Over The Top (OTT) producing and streaming serials/movies in a  brutal way, because there were no censors or regulatory authorities for these productions till recently when the Government of India woke up to this ‘threat’ to decency. Nowadays, go to any serial or movie on an OTT platform and you’ll immediately find a ‘content advisory’ that starts with the aspect of ‘foul language’ among others. The R or X rated films which were restricted earlier to youth below 18 years of age are available with the 13+ ratings. This means that the words of the ‘f’ or ‘a’ varieties are set to engulf the country soon or have already done so. Nearly every male or female character in the OTT productions mouths an ‘f’ or ‘a’ word almost in every dialogue with or without any necessity for doing so. Thanks to Hollywood, this is a fashionably ‘liberal’ trend that rages at the moment.

 

But still. Why at all? Is this realism of the third kind in humanity? Researchers say that Americans or Westerns use just about 1% swear word of the hardened varieties in daily existence while their movies use it beyond 25% in a single movie. This rule can be fully applied to the Indian people too in regard to the OTT streaming. We suppose the phenomena of a spouse addressing his/her life-partner as a ‘f****** as****e’ is still considered very offensive in any household across the globe. But unfortunately, we find such expressions in abundance in the ‘family’ scenes involving parents and even children of Hollywood movies or the Indian OTT.

 

I’d leave it to you if we need to just laugh at this unique ‘realism’ or be concerned about this, rampant in the large, small and micro screens across households—households the members of which in reality do get separated from each other by those very screens.