29.08.2009.

Its autumn……. and I’m back in the North of England after six weeks. Yesterday I moved from my old house to a 3^rd floor attic apartment. This time around my stay in England has fulfilled a number of desires. My life suddenly seems to have walked out of the script of a feel good movie. Living alone in a typical English house, going back through time to the Scottish Highlands and now living in a studio apartment that has a sloping attic roof with a sky light….. large open windows, soft pastel cream walls, mahogany coloured soft wood furniture….. and autumn is here….. with her blue skies, resplendent colours and a happy me. She is one of my favourite seasons. I rarely write in Bengali but today I will with bits and bobs of Bangla in my narrative. Acha sharot elei erom hoy keno….? Last year the same thing happened…. I wrote one of my most favourite posts ever just before Pujo and it was in Bangla. I’m a very proud Bong but tai boley je ami bhishon bangali ta noy…. maaney bhishon Rabindrik ba bangla shongshkriti follow kora kind of bangaliyana nei. Kintu bachorer ei shomay’ta elei keno banglay likhtey ichey korey? Autumn elei akasher neel’ta kemon jeno rong bodlay….. neel’e kintu kemon jeno ekta anno neel. Monay hoy haat baralei bujhi chuntey parbo…. chenra chenra megh pahaar, baatashey ekta imperceptible but anmona bhalo lagaar gondho, aar Manna Dey’r oi gaan’tar moto… “ek jhank pakhider moto kichu roddur….. bandha bhengey janlar sharshi somuddur.” Janlaar dharey boshey boshey crayons diye ekta sopnomoy jagot aanka…. guti guti paye sab smriti gulow beroy oder otiter baksho thekey, eshey boshey paashey, gun gun korey gaay purono dinguloke. It’s during these moments that I miss my ‘OldMan’, my GrandPa the most…. I’ve never loved anybody or anything more devotedly than him…. kintu jokhon sathey chilen tokhon kintu bujhini je etow bhalobashtam Dadu’ke…. in fact I didn’t realize how devotedly I loved and adored him till quite some years after he passed away. Like Kahlil Gibran said – “ Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation ” I guess ami baddo choto chilam.… it took a few years to grasp that he wasn’t physically with me anymore. Although I’ve a deep attachment with the Scottish Highlands I don’t like Glasgow. I was quite happy to be back here so I went for a walk. Ekhaney ekhon summer vacation aar sab puchkey gulo beratey beriyeche baba, Maa’r sathey and quite a few with doting grandparents, aar oder dekhey amaro Dadu’r katha monay porchey. I was very close to my Pa. Dadu amay school thekey aantey jeto….. aar roj amra dujon chotto chotto laal kul’er duto thonga niye khetey khetey hantam aar tarpor tram’ey chortam. Ami ekhono tram chortey bhalobashi…. khub bhor bhor, athoba fanka fanka sheeter dupurey aar noyto bhishon brishtitey. I remember I used to ask questions non-stop…. eta ki, ota keno, ei desh’ta katodur, Tintin katow baro, amio ki ekta Snowy petey pari, Lenin ke, brishti holeo ki Rip Van Winkle’er ghum vangto na?, ‘Me’ ki pronoun, ingrej’ra jokhon Dadu’ke dhortey elo tokhon was he scared?, revolver duto ki tomar kachey ekhono achey (my Pa had this small tin’er suitcase & for many years I believed that he had those two revolvers in it)…. jholmoley baaj Phoenix ke ki ami konodinow dekhtey pabo?..... amio baro hoye Bhutan jabo.... amay abar kobey Raduga aar Pravda’r boi kiney debey….. and he answered all my questions with infinite patience. Amader para’ta tokhon khub sundor chilo…. flat bari’gulo chilona. Bhor bela boshar ghorey half pordar upor diye asha roddurey ekta abchaya hoto aar ami Dadu’r sathey boshey Statesman portam. It was a ritual and once over he would ask me to tell him the news in my own words or read aloud… making sure I give the right pause for the right punctuation. Sharot, Durga Pujo aar tarpor ashto sheet….. Tapun’der baganey ekta shiuli phool’er gaach chilo aar amader baganey chilo tawgor, gandhoraj, shiuli, kamini aar duto aam gaach. Ekhon sudhu aam gaach achey ekta…. amar chotobelar priyo baganer half ekhon garage. Tapun’der shiuli gaach’tar tolay almost perfect gol hoye shiuli phool porey thakto bhor bela…. shishir makha ghaash’er upor. Oder gaach’tao aar nei…. amar monay hoy oi gaach’gulow bujhechey je sei din'gulo aar nei….. tai ora nijerai firey gechey amader feley asha otitey. Jemon ekhon amar monay ingreji aar bangla’r akhyor gulow.... ekhon aar tokhon’er sathey miley mishey hijibiji hoye jachey.

Dadu toh ekhon aar jayna bank proti maash’ey pension aantey….. amio toh aar dariye thakina barandar corner’tay…. Dadu ashbey boley amar boraddo duto lozenge niye.

Memories in sepia….. flashbacks in black and white and dreams in technicolour.

The concept of memories, flashbacks & dreams in sepia, black & white and technicolour is not mine. It belongs to the very talented 'Je Suis'.

25.08.2009.

I am showing symptoms of flu….. hogs, porkers, shoats and boars have all categorically refused my repeated naturalization appeals, so swine flu is out. Considering that my chances of defying gravity are nil, bird flu is not an option either.

I have ape flu….. yeah suits my personality too.

Dear reader, please remove that nonplus expression and fazed frown off your face. I am slightly mad….. it’s there in my family. I have a number of ancestors who were known for eccentric genius. You may now stop reading or continue at your own peril.

The idea for this post first hit me a few months back….. it came off a fairly innocent question I was asked. Over the following months a few other influences led me to further mull over the idea and finally decide to write a post. The question that started it all was – “Are you one of those lonely and deeply sad kinds?” – No I’m not. I’m convinced it was an innocent question. The rest however (questions & statements about me & my blog) were not quite innocent. I would normally either ignore them or give characteristically sarcastic, convoluted, satirical and cynical answers…. an exercise in amusement. Uncharacteristically, I will decant lucidity in this post…… or will I?

For the Nautilus Chronicles… I hold it with passionate & unbridled adoration. I’m a sailor. Through the history of time the most abiding document on any ship has been its logbook…. an intricate record of her span. The Nautilus Chronicles… is my logbook. I write it the way I want to write it….. I’m its Master and Commander. I’ve never promoted it or voluntarily asked anyone to read it. I know only one person who read it the way it should be read (regardless of belief in pride and/or prejudice) and remains my most cherished reader…. and I’m content with the few other readers I have & cherish. I find it annoying that some indulge haste in conclusion without trying to admire the inlay. My Nautilus Chronicles… demands time & insight. Lastly….. yes I repeatedly write about my childhood, the sea and Africa….. because I miss my childhood, I love the sea and I’m Africa. All three are my permanent adornments.

As for I … well I is often an inadequacy of perception than errors of logic. I’ll not ornate my words today. My reply for the innocent question is a Soren Kierkegaard quote – “Since my earliest childhood a barb of sorrow has lodged in my heart. As long as it stays I am ironic if it is pulled out I shall die.” I’m reclusive….. however even the most reclusive need some company. I spent a portion of my childhood trying to ‘fit in’ & in time realized I never will. This liberating discovery rid me of the fear of loneliness. I’m fine being solitary. Not that I’m never lonely….. I’m & I long for companionship too. But my comfortable solitude affords me to not compromise in choosing company….. compromises that in retrospect will surely not satisfy anybody. If that leads people to infer I consider them inferior…. so be it. A previous travel post & photographs on a social networking website led one person to surmise that I’m a rich spoilt brat, a show off. I’ve been poor….. & I work very hard so as to never face the uncertainties or petty humiliations of poverty again. Coming from a middle class family I’d always been adequately provided for but that didn’t inoculate me from the caprices of fate. I faced poverty due to my own follies & crawled out of it on my own steam….. I am no fool to romanticize it or claim it is an ennobling experience. Uh and then I’m seen as very arrogant….. amusingly no one ever explains why or exactly what in me exudes that irresistible charm. The Greek author Plutarch said – “What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.” That is my arrogance and I’m not apologetic for it.

As for Jai …. I’m the one who likes to think of himself as this mischief making monkey that grins like a Cheshire cat and lives in a Baobab tree…. silly and playfully foolish on the surface but wise & insightful underneath…. a simile like metaphor…. I speak to the Leprechaun perched on my left shoulder.... ride my Unicorn & fly around on my pet dragon.... I'm multi-talented as I can do nothing and piss people off at the same time.... I’m a master of the ‘Art of Bullshitting’ i.e. making the absurd sound sensible…. easily amused, calmly volatile & repulsively perfect…. I never deny or admit anything to make myself more interesting.... I’m a prince & the frog, both characteristically remarkable…. I’m very ape…. as I can't act but do mimic.... oh ! I write bad poetry too.... and since there are no full stops, this then is a never ending sentence…..

I know this rather long literary (?) nonsense will not help turn annoying ocular lobes in the direction I wish….. but that is no reason to deprive me some amusement.

03.08.2009.

My Happy Post…….

I haven’t been writing often these days….. not that I haven’t tried, I did. But the jamboree of thoughts and memories in my mind simply refused to leave their chaotic milieu to form lines of coherent sentences.

Why this happy post……? Because I am overcome with emotions and memories. Over the last weekend I drove 507 miles ( 811 kms ) through the Scottish Highlands, visiting places I had been to, ten years earlier. Not much has changed….. yet so much is not the same and I’m overwhelmed. I will try to put together the sequence of events as best as my present state of mind permits.

A lot has changed in my life lately. I had said to myself that this once I will take academics seriously and aim for good grades. I cleared my written exams last month and I will get Grade 1 in every paper. I should be very happy…. I’m only two steps short of becoming a sea Captain…. more obscene sums of money is to be earned…. every luxury, every comfort that life has to offer is at disposal. I should be jubilant. Yet…. 16^th July afternoon I had walked out of the examination hall and a quick exchange of answers with classmates confirmed what I already knew. I will get Grade 1 in all papers. A few minutes of vigorous handshaking and back slapping later I had quietly slipped out. I walked the 100 odd yards to ‘The County’ and sat down with a celebratory mug of Erdinger. I sat there watching my classmates…. a few overjoyed, delirious, some happy but not so much, some crestfallen…. a few resigned…… months of incessant pressure had come to an end…. and they all had some sort of emotions. I sat there with this odd empty realization that I felt nothing. Nothing at all….. it meant nothing to me.

I had always been the black sheep of middle class Bengali opinion. A failure when it came to being ‘Ram’….. as in ‘Ram baro bhalo cheley. Ram roj pora koriya school jay. Ram kaharo sathey maramari korena. Ram Baba, Maa’ke dukho deyna. Ram pujoy chiter jaama poriya khushi hoy….etc’. Climbing trees, playing imaginary battles with GI Joes, making the perfect paper plane, sailing paper boats in puddles, picking up fights, using improvised explosive devices to blow up letter boxes, sitting by the window gazing at the sky through stormy nights, staring at the sky for hours trying to spot Russian sputniks….. reading every book I could lay my hands on and dreaming of travelling to all the places I read about and this sort of stuff always meant more to me than being ‘Ram’. Not surprisingly I was considered a write off. The fact that I was better than most at almost every sport, I could paint, play the guitar, write better than most my age or that I had learnt Hindi and Deutsch (from half a book….what pun!!) completely on my own remained a closely guarded secret as I hated publicity. I never tried to reform my public image of the perfect ‘antonym’ of Ram. And even today when I’m told how I have changed and how successful I’ve become, or what a dutiful son I turned out to be…. by those same people who had written me off back then…. I normally smile, a patronizing combination of a smirk & condescending arrogance, implying a descent from superiority. One may wonder then why I aimed for good grades this time. First I wanted to see if I am capable of it…. whether my confidence was ill founded and I wanted to feel what is it like to be ‘Ram’…. and this is where begins My Happy Post…….

Even before the decision to go to Glasgow for my modular courses was finalized I knew that I will see the Scottish Highlands….. no matter what it took. I was there in 1999…. exactly a decade back and I wanted to go back. I set out from home at the crack of dawn. My plan was to drive straight to Aberdeen and then drive back through the Highlands stopping wherever I felt like. Maverick as usual I chose to take the country roads instead of the motorway. I took the M8 motorway till Erskine, crossed the bridge and hit A82. The speedometer showed a steady 60 miles per hour and I…… and I hurtled back through time at 60 minutes per hour.

I will not make this a travelogue. It’s the journey of a man through time to meet a nineteen year old boy. In Aberdeen I went to the same log fire eatery where we used to relish hot meals when on shore leave. I was a Gentleman Cadet then and had a meager stipend of 300 US dollars & I remember having to check the price before ordering. I ate a Yorkshire pudding and had this mad urge to ask the staff if they recognized me. Sitting there…. nibbling on me pudding, so much which I have left behind came rushing back….. my earliest days at sea. And I was happy….. overcome with Joy….overwhelmed with emotions. All those people I left behind came rushing back. Mambo….. he had the whitest teeth I have ever seen, How is Mio Min Tun and Kopote Ye…. Did Mio marry the girl he loved? Juma Obundi….. I wondered if he still has that loud belching laughter, Yusufoi Muhammed…. he was a softie scared of violence. Does he still have the nasty African habit of closing the eyes while shooting? What happened to the Somali who used to be a professor before civil war broke out? Where is Serg….what is is he up to? Does he remember me? Did Yousufoi manage to buy a home in Zanzibar….. how old are Mambo’s twin daughter’s now? Juma was of the Luo people, Yusufoi was of the Lozi…. do they still tease each other? Does Juma still play the ‘Nyatiti’… do they still dance at the beats of the ‘Djembe’ like we used to. I hummed to myself the song I’ll never forget….. ‘Jambo jambo bwana abari gani mizuri saana’. We worked hard, drank together, laughed together….warm hearty laugh of young boys on the verge of manhood…. full of life…. I was happy then, I am happy now thinking of then….. full of boundless Joy…. From Aberdeen I drove to Inverness ( Inbhir Nis in Celtic )…. I had posted letters from Inverness….. phone was too expensive those days. Next stop Loch Ness…. I had first read about the Loch Ness monster in ‘Anondomela’. It used to be a black and white magazine those days & there was a grainy photograph of Nessie….. I doubt if anyone will believe if I say that I had the same thrill last Saturday that I had had in 1999 or that I still have that issue tucked away somewhere. I am living my dreams – everyday :) I drove on to Fort Augustus, Loch Eil, through the Ben Nevis range…. to Inverlochy, Drumnadrochit, Loch Lomond, Loch Leven…. stopping at every breathtakingly beautiful spot that I could.

……..and I am overcome. So much has changed….. ten years back I had plans for everything and none of those plans worked out, none of my dreams came true, many of my hopes shattered……. but within these 507 miles I realized I am still what I used to be. I was a dreamer…. I still am a dreamer, a wanderer……. I had imagination, limitless imagination. If I am to borrow from the Roger Kelly song…. ‘I believed I could fly …. that I could touch the sky…… and I still do….. my sky J

And the 507 miles through the Highlands have rid me of doubt. I am still the same. Good grades, the promise of filthy rich wages, success and/or appreciation fails to evoke any feelings at all…… but a walk through time, a reminiscent half hour spent on the shores of Loch Lomond, a walk down a street I had walked a decade back overcomes me with emotions. I am living my dream and one day I will go back…. to Zanzibar, Mombasa, Loyangalani, Nyahururu, Tamatave, Dar Es Salaam, Mogadishu, Berbera, Kismayo, Arusha, Gorongoro, Namanga, Serengeti, Masaimara, Malawi, Djibouti……. to St. Petersburg, Agostoli, Mangareva, Osaka, Bordeaux…. Vigo, and I will try to find my mates, find out how they are…what they are doing…. how they strolled through time. I will.

……. and I am this one liner I read and fell in love with -

‘Ex Africa semper aliquid novi – out of Africa always something new’

I Jai