1 COVER STORY
Executive Editor:
Bhairav
Pramathesh Borkotoky
Sankhya Samhita talks to Vedic Metal Band Bhairav
Editor: Myra B Contributing Editor Sankhya Samhita Other Members: Mani Padma(Creative Supervisor) , Kavita Saharia (Strategy Supervisor), Manimugdha Sharma (Strategy Supervisor), Noyon Jyoti Parasara (Movie Desk Editor) and Anupam Bhattacharya (Creative Supervisor).
5 Love Story - Mine Sankhya Samhita tries to pen a love story
Published by:
13 Review- Pulp Fiction: The Dames Mr. Pramathesh kickstarts a new section on books with a review of an anthology.
11 The Magnetic Heart Manjil P. Saikia writes a geeky love story
10 Shillong is Clean: Udita Goswami Noyon Jyoti Parasara brings Udita Goswami’s feelings for Shillong City and other small towns.
14 Poetry
REGULAR PLATTER Miss Cellany Music Review: 19 Good News
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Priyanka Bhowmick shares some of her Haiku while Manna Sharma writes a beautiful poem for her mother and Manji P. Saikia talks about how fate can be cruel through his poetry.
Pramathesh Borkotoky, Hashan Hazarika and Rakib Ahmed for Fried Eye c/o Pramathesh Borkotoky Kenduguri, Jorhat-785010 Note by the Publishers: Views expressed in the magazine are personal views expressed by the authors. Fried Eye is not liable for it.
Contact: contact@friedeye.com
Editorial The ongoing Assam Bandh has paralyzed the life in Assam. Bandh- A word meaning closed is now a part of the English Dictionary due to it's widespread use in the name of protest by various organizations involved politically by someway or the other. Though Supreme Court has banned bandh and had made bandhs illegal, it is not followed or enforced by Government when a bandh is called in any state or the whole nation. Bandh is termed peaceful if there had not been any violence but has left common man suffering from its ill effects. It is being said that Bandhs and Rains in Assam cannot be predicted easily. They often come at a very short notice. Bandh disrupts normal life and affects millions of people. Most of us are self employed who earn their wages on daily basis. Very few people in society have permanent job who can absorb the shock of One day's "Bandha". Even professionals are paid on hourly & daily basis these days. They are not employed, rather hired. Think about the people on street e. g. Auto Rickshaw Driver, Rickshaw Puller, Tea Vendor, Cigarette vendor etc, the list is endless. They have to go literally without any earning on the day of Bandh. They too have family members & dependents to feed. In fact in today's date we are struggling to survive. The age has come that we have to buy even water to drink. Bandh is a destructive way to protest. I think people who like to protest shall try some creative ways to protest. If you are not so creative, search the internet and you will find lots of creative ideas. Government should also enforce the law and adhere to Supreme Court ruling at any cost. Everyone should be educated on the loss of time and money to the nation and to the public as a result when a bandh is called for. It’s usually lack of knowledge which leads people to do such acts. Hoping the Bandh Culture ends soon enough. Signing Off Pramathesh Borkotoky
Mail me at editor@friedeye.com
Bhairav -
Sankhya Samhita
Vedic Metal Band Bhairav talks to Sankhya Samhita about their craze for 80’s Thrash Metal and Indian Classical Music with their strong reverence for Lord Shiva and Maa Kali.
When I first heard “Panchakshram”, which happens to be the first song by Bhairav that I heard, it took me some time to fully understand it. And as happens always when I listen to a certain kind of music, there was an image forming inside my mind all on its own. So imagine having a bad, bad day at work, and you‟re dying to get home. And while you‟re still in the car at just five minutes worth of distance from your home, you‟re stuck up in a massive jam that doesn‟t seem to be going anywhere. Think of the anger and frustration you will go through at that moment. Now translate that into music with awesome drum beats and mind-blowing acoustics. The definitely head-banging sound that you will get is roughly what Bhairav‟s music sounded like to me. Intrigued as to what goes into making music like that, I wondered if it could be possible to know it straight from the horse‟s mouth. A couple of happy coincidences later, I found myself talking over the phone, with their drummer, Shivam Gautam. Bhairav, as their myspace page says, is a Vedic metal quartet from New Delhi, formed by four guys who share their extreme revere for Lord Shiva and music. It was first formed as Rudraksham in 2007, and its first performance in its Bhairav “avatar”, was on the 6th March, 2009 at Armageddon‟09 Fest of Maharaja Agrasen College of Information Technology. The band has Chaitanya Awasthi on the bass, Mayank Kashyap on Indian percussion and the vocals; Saurav Babbar on the guitars, and like I already mentioned, Shivam on the drums. The lyrics are mostly researched by Mayank and Chaitanya. Bhairav‟s worship of the Gods of School Metal, combined with their obsession for Ancient Mythologies turns out to be a lethal combination which results in sound which is definitely progressive, Indian in
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essence, and yet manages to bring in influences of the 80‟s Underground Extreme Metal Scene. So while on one hand they are inspired by Black Sabbath, on the other hand they bring in the spirit of Indian Classical Music as well. And if it could get any more unique, their lyrics are taken from Sanskrit texts. Take for example the lyrics of “Panchakshram”, which are derived from two texts – the Panchakshari Stotram and the Tandav Stotram, the latter being said to be composed by Raavana himself. Again, “Kaalbhairav” is taken from a shloka called “Kaalbhairav Ashtakam” which is an ode to Lord Kaalbhairava, a manifestation of an angry Lord Shiva. It was but natural for me to assume that you need to have the fire of anger inside you to come up with music like this. However, Bhairav, doesn‟t come up with music rooted in anger. They just happen to play for the love of music, along with their deep-set inspiration of Lord Shiva and Maa Kali. They play to excite you to the level which is obtained by making offerings to these deities. So far they have come up with three singles, with the fourth one in the offing. Bhairav has been primarily performing live gigs, and interestingly enough, has been able to attract a wide audience because of the refreshing fusion of thrash and Indian Classical music. They have been performing their own numbers, along with covers from a band called Rudra, from Singapore, whose bassist and lyricist Kathir has proved to be a mentor for them. They also perform covers from thrash metal giants like Slayer, and sometimes Sepultura. On being asked about their memorable gigs, they mentioned the ones they performed in a pub called Chicane, for the preliminaries of IIT, Roorkee, where they performed Slayer‟s “Raining Blood”, Rudra‟s “Rudrapatni”, along with their own composition “Bhairav”; the gig in IIT Roorkee Saharanpur campus, on the 14th March, 2010, and finally once again in the Maharaja Agrasen College of Information Technology this time for Armageddon fest‟10. However, they intend to focus more on coming up with singles in the near future. With the last two months being packed with gig after gig, the band will move to Pune in June, for the recording of an album called Indian Rock Revolution to be released by Seamless Records. Bhairav happens to be one of the fifteen bands to be featured in that album. They also plan to release the extended play soon enough, to be followed by their first album, hopefully by next year. In this day and age when music is undergoing revolutionary changes, and trends seem to be changing faster than the seasons, Bhairav prides on holding on to old school metal, and that is what makes them special. Being the only band which still plays 80‟s thrash, they will always have a fan-following of people who have known and loved this particular brand of head-banging brain-jerking music. So here‟s to the forgotten style of metal, here‟s to the 80‟s, and here‟s to Bhairav.
Photo Courtesy: Nasreen Sultana. Nasreen is an avid photographer with interests in Event Photography and Abstract.
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Bargaining or Barring Gain? Dear Diary, I worked hard, and demanded a pay raise. I was told to work my ass off for another couple of months and I could then have a Volkswagen Polo. I wanted a pay rise, they wanted work. I negotiated. Not entirely what I wanted, but what the hell. A Volkswagen is after all a Volkswagen. Plus a chauffeur. Could I ask for more? For now, not yet. Soon, I found out that Dad had bought the brother a Nokia 6790 (as soon as it was launched, mind you!) as a “belated birthday gift.” The dorky bro probably earned what it costs in a day or two. Yet, when it was time for my “early birthday gift”, I had to negotiate. All to watch Dad present me a Nokia phone himself. In fact, everyday the bargaining builds its pace with vigour – starting with the auto wallah who says “paanch rupayi mein kya hai madam!”, the sabzi waali‟s declaration that eventually sets the menu of the week, “Sirf aalo aur tamatar hai!” And deal with the agony kaam waali‟s “O Memsaab! Kal hum nahi ayenga!” will bring. Hell, I even bargained with the cook last evening. She wanted to make Aalo ka Paratha (butter spread) with Malai Kurma & hot yogurt. I wanted Aalo ka Paratha (butter spread) with Bagara Baingan & hot yogurt. And so I orchestrated my talent at the celebrated art of bargaining with a lovely lady I pay to cook me food that I would eat in my own house. A lady who, by the way, also had an equal panache at the skill they call bargaining. By the end of it, I was having Dum ki Biryani with Mirchi Ka Salan. It was either her way, my way, or neither of ours – but no common ground. Chewing the food though, it was at a moment like this that I couldn‟t fail to remember Ankit‟s famous unbelievable-in-21st-century quote, “If I don‟t bargain, I feel cheated.” “What about places where you can‟t bargain? Like the hypermarket we‟re at the moment, for example?” I asked him out of intense curiosity once. “Well, I bargain wherever & at every possible opportunity I can.” he replied. “I can‟t do that.” I thought. “You quote a price. I pay. End of mess. No beginning of it.” I had decided a long time ago. Or so I thought. At a closer look though, that‟s exactly what life taught me. That I had to bargain at every possible opportunity I could. You see, I had to fight for what I wanted, and in the process I had to compromise to certain demands made on me. What the heck, I even had to compromise on my laziness & run back and forth into the kitchen to feed my growling tummy ever so often. To survive, I had to bargain. So! I learnt today that life enjoys & prefers the give-and-take relationship. It is all but a business. A wonderful one at that. The stakes maybe high, the stakes maybe low – depending upon one‟s interest & (eventually) desperation. Life, my friend, is a negotiation. PS: Further inference shall be drawn after further experimentation. Err.. I mean observation. For now, signing off. Me.
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Good News ePDS launched in Tirap, a giant step towards PDS streamlining (Source :Arunachal Times) KHONSA, May 31: The ePDS, the first of its kind in whole of northeast and a giant step towards PDS streamlining was formally launched at Khonsa today by Speaker Wanglin Lowangdong. He also inaugurated the ePDS counter as a part of the launching programme. Later addressing the HoDs at DCs conference hall, the Speaker appreciated the effort of DF&CSO Amit Bengia and district administration for evolving the ePDS system and hoped that it would go a long way in streamlining PDS in the real sense of the term. He said that Tirap district was faced with a peculiar problem of its own and appealed to the officers to work with utmost sincerity saying that „when the going gets tough, the tough gets goingâ€&#x;. Lowangdong also hope that Tirap district would come out with more such innovative ideas in future. Speaker further said that providing food security to the people was the prime duty of any government adding that the benefits of ePDS must reach the poorest of the poor. Earlier Tirap DC W. Lowang in his address said that PDS streamlining is one of the main agendas of the state government adding that efforts were on at all levels to make PDS effective. DF&CSO threw light on various facets of ePDS thorough talk and video clippings. He also clarified the queries post by the participants. The meeting was attended by DOTC Chairman Y. Matey and HoDs. With not much scope for wet rice cultivation, the people of Tirap practice shifting cultivation. The meager produce from the Jhumland is hardly sufficient to sustain their livelihood. So, they are totally dependent on Public Distribution System. The District Administration is according top priority to food security. In order to make PDS efficient, consumer-friendly and error-free, the District Administration and department of Food & Civil Supplies have embarked on an ambitious and innovative venture called ePDS. This is the first of its kind in the whole of Northeast and it is envisaged to use the system as a pilot project which will be subsequently replicated in other districts of the state in the current financial year. The project has evolved after a painstaking effort for the last 2 years by Amit Bengia, DF&CSO and Mayank Premi of Beacons Analytics Pvt. Ltd, Delhi. Both of them had carried out demonstrations on key features and benefits of ePDS at Itanagar and Khonsa during the month of March 2010 to popularize the concept and also to create awareness amongst all stakeholders. It may be added here that the concept of ePDS was first mooted by former Tirap Deputy Commissioner, Ankur Garg in 2008. After close interaction with the consumers, village elders, Panchayat leaders and NGOs it has been decided to put to practical use, this ePDS. It has been developed with the help of private developers and subject matter experts from Directorate of Food & Civil Supplies, Naharlagun and Prof. Abrahem Koshy of IIM, Ahemedabad. Tirap district though gripped by insurgency problem has been successful in leading the way in introducing innovative and novel ventures like ePDS that would revolutionize the functioning of TPDS in the state. This pilot project was initially funded by BADP, Wakka under the initiative of present Horticulture Minister Honchun Ngandam. It is worth-mentioning here that the department of Food & Civil Supplies is beset with a plethora of problems like non payment of HTS bills to transporters for last 5 years by FCI leading to countless numbers of litigations, fluctuation in monthly allocation of APL rice from GOI, non availability of stocks in most of FSDs (godowns) of FCI located in Arunachal Pradesh, non establishment of fullfledged FCI Regional office and 3 more district offices etc.
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Love Story – Mine -
Sankhya Samhita
I‟ve been meaning to write a love story for a long time. But you know I‟ve never been good with fiction. I‟m cursed with an overactive imagination….and the pictures I paint inside my mind have too many colors to make any sense. Too many blotches and splashes and dots and swirls in intricate patterns all over…. But I still want to write a love story. And not just any love story. I want to write just one of those love stories, the kind that make you think. So my heroine could be a twenty-something vibrant girl….preferably in her early twenties… who wears all sorts of weird clothes, and too much bling-bling. Who talks a little too much and thinks slightly too little. Or maybe just appears not to think at all. For all you know she could go back home, turn off the lights in her room, stand in front of her window with a lit smoke in her hand….and let it burn down right to her fingers without taking a puff…and all because she‟s so deep in her thoughts. She could be this lost soul who goes through the rigorous process of hiding it from the rest of the world each damn day. And hence the flashy clothes. The outrageous swear words. The loud make up. They all just scream “LOST”. But I don‟t know. Am just suggesting. And there could be a forty-something writer. Yeah….he has to be a writer to be whimsical enough to be the hero of my story. The kind who listens to slow jazz while hustling pots and pans in his kitchen cooking up a gourmet meal for himself, all by his own… and then forgets to eat his dinner because he‟s in the mood to write. He could be this idealistic guy who didn‟t end up marrying simply because he was not motivated enough. No…. He‟d rather live his life, weave it, mold it….coax it and cajole it to be the exact way he wants it to be, through whatever he writes. Specially when it came to the woman in his life. So someday he‟d wake up wanting to be with a woman who‟s the perfect doting housewife…..who‟d drop the whole world at his feet on his one word….. and the very next day he‟d yearn for a woman who‟d make him feel like the lowliest creature on earth, with him pining and begging for his cold-hearted icequeen beauty of a wife to simply acknowledge his existence. And live each day with the woman of his dreams he would, and remain happy with it. Or maybe we could make him the emotion-less sort. Who‟s never known anything but indifference. Either this way or that. Who‟s not used to conversation because way back in time when he‟d been in company of other people they‟d told him that they were discomforted by his blatant blunt comments and total lack of emotion. Well you get the idea… our hero is this dreamy guy who‟s as removed from reality as possible. So where could I make them meet? He hardly steps out of his house unless it is to buy stuff from the department store right next door. Even his editor (yeah, what do you think? He IS a famous writer…..but typically disconnected that he is, he doesn‟t even use his own name….and me thinks he is filthy rich, except that only his bank manager has any idea about how rich he really is)… So yeah, even his editor remains in touch with him (push him to write and write, more like…he needs to be reminded of deadlines like a million times a day) through the internet. Our pathetic hero is plugged into the wall the whole day, while our butterfly of a heroine hardly steps into her house unless it is to sleep at night. Or lament the lack thereof. I want to make her an insomniac….who‟s never known good sleep for a long time. But coming back to the point… where do they meet? It has to be the department store….and maybe it‟s a rainy day. The grey dull cold and irritatingly wet sort of a day, and my hero is especially sulky. He hates having to write during rainy days, and not being able to put down a single word on the screen that day he decides to cook an exceptionally grandiose lunch, and so finally decides to drag himself out of his chair to the go to the department store. And by sheer co-incidence (I have to make use of this bugger….or else how would I even make a story out of this?) my heroine chooses that very moment and
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that very department store to buy cigarettes from, since she‟s run out of them. Or maybe all her cigarettes are soaked wet, just like she is, right down to her skin….and she needs one desperately. So, how do I make my absent-minded lost-in-his-own-world of a writer take notice of her? Maybe, the moment our writer comes up with a word he‟d been groping for inside his head all day long, it slips out and that‟s only because our heroine chooses that very moment to scream out loud one of the most delectable swear words in the English vocabulary, (one which you will never find in any dictionary though). But why, you may ask, would she do that? Her cigarette won‟t light, poor girl… her matchbox is sopping wet too. And that makes the writer take a look at what obnoxious creature would have the audacity to do that. Disconcert him, that is, and break his train of thoughts. So what is the first thing he notices? I think its her long long hair…. (Wait, did you simply presume that she‟s had her hair chopped off and looks like an imp?) Except that when he looks at her that‟s the only thing he can see; a wet curly veil over her back, reaching way past the hem of her tank top. And just a few inches of the excuse of a denim skirt that she‟s wearing beneath it. He hardly notices her long bare legs but he is intrigued by the anklet she‟s wearing… a glittering something with what looked like dolphins dangling from a silver band. He is interested yes, so much that the second expletive doesn‟t even reach his ears this time. Oh, but the ugly heels… he looks away. Not for long though, and by the time he takes a second look she‟s turned around with her head still bent over her unlit cigarette. With the same curls now falling all over her face. He doesn‟t realize he‟s gaping until she looks up….and the first thing he notices is her eye make-up trickling down her cheeks from the rain. And the smoke between her lips. And there‟s this one moment (there always is one, isn‟t there?) when their eyes meet….but the moment is lost when they both hear the door of the department store open again, and a woman with a toddler in tow comes inside. She throws away the cigarette and bends down to smile at the kid, who shirks away from this abominable eyesore of a girl with black smudges all over her face. And then without even looking at our still gaping writer she walks away, but not before he catches the wistful look in her eyes, one that almost bordered on pain. With the tinkling of her bracelets and hip chain and dangly earrings ringing in his ears and her smell, a heady mixture of musk and rain, still in his nose, he goes back, even more frustrated since he knows now he‟ll never be able to finish the piece his editor had been yelling about since morning. Oh no. He‟s not in love. Not yet. And she‟s already out of her mind by the time he opens the door to his place. But damn it, the word‟s slipped out again. And now he‟ll be stuck in that exact same sentence yet again for god only knows how many hours. And what about her? She walks out without a smoke and with just a fleeting thought about this way too pale brown-eyed guy who looked like he‟d never seen the sun, leave alone a woman of blood and flesh. But she‟s used to this gaping by now. Hell, she demands it. And as she walks slowly in the rain with people around her scurrying under umbrellas trying to find some dry place she only wonders how his voice would be. Maybe it‟s a mere whisper, kind of like his wispy hair. Can voice be wispy? She laughs out loud. So much for the first time they see each other. But love is a different ball game altogether. So how do I count on just a chance meeting for them to fall in love, nothing less? Another chance meeting? I could bring in a series of co-incidences but then my story wouldn‟t be any different from them Bollywood movies. No… my writer is above all that, and my heroine is no ordinary dumb-head beauty either. So maybe that evening when he‟s almost out of his mind trying to put down one word, just one word on screen for more than five seconds before deleting it again, he paces up and down the room with long strides, with the screen of his laptop turned away from him. Like he always does when he is angry with his laptop, when it turns traitor. And he happens to see the counter of the departmental store through his window pane. Just where he‟d seen her earlier in the morning. And everything comes back to him, just
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like that. Her curly messy wet hair, her anklet, her mascara streaked cheeks, and that pain in her eyes…. And that‟s exactly when the words flow to him, and he rushes to his laptop, the rich dainty heroine he had been writing about unceremoniously dumped into the recycle bin, and he starts afresh. Typing like a possessed man, late into the night and early morning. Each time he‟d get stuck he‟d walk to the window again, and even in the darkness of the store he would see her….and then go back and type again. But he‟s still not in love with her… he‟s just obsessed with the woman he‟s made of her in his story…because she makes him write. Big deal, you say? Then you don‟t know what writers‟ block is. And so he finds himself writing about her even the next day, and the day after that. And the third day when he visits the departmental store he almost wishes she were there. He realizes he didn‟t even notice the color of her skin the last time, and how deep set her eyes were beneath all that watery make-up. He needed to know, he muses. That, and so many other things… How else would he write about her? He‟d exhausted all his imagination in fabricating her past and her present in his story… but to write about what is going to happen? That‟s dangerous. Especially when he knows that she is after all a real person. He is disturbed… He‟s seldom written about a real woman before. And never about one woman for this long. That too a woman he‟s seen just for a few minutes. When the going gets tough the tough has to get going, he realizes. So he decides to do what he‟d never done before… he steps out the departmental store and walks away from his house. Without even knowing where he would find her. And after half an hour of aimlessly wandering about, just when he‟s about to give up on the nonsense he‟d allowed himself just this once he sees her. She‟s walking too and today she‟s wearing dungarees which reach mid-calf. As he sneaks closer he can hear her red sneakers squeak with each step, and her arms swing by her side like they have a mind of their own. He follows her, every instinct of his screaming “This is crazy….” but he can‟t seem to stop. Until she does. To untangle the bracelet that got caught in one of her curls. Another expletive, and he is repelled. Reminded of this one fact he‟d conveniently erased from his memory of the first meeting with her. But before he can do anything he‟s looking into her eyes again. “And why would you follow me around if you can always stop me and say hello?” is what she says through the gum she‟s chewing, quite noisily too. He is stumped, and groping for an answer. “Oh god, not one of them again…” she rolls her eyes and holds out her hand, “Hello. There you go. This is how we do it these days. In case you didn‟t know.” He takes her hand without smiling, and she looks at him all the more incredulously. “Are you for real? You don‟t say anything when I say hello?” “Hello” is all he manages, and the first thing she notices is his voice. Deep, throaty, and extremely satisfying to the ears. She lets out a giggle. Kind of ruins the whole smoky-eyed, red-lip gloss, black nail polish effect, but works just as well. He is confused. “You‟re funny” she says. “You don‟t say anything and you‟re still funny” He looks even more confused, and decides to walk away. He‟s already gone too far. He‟s made himself known to her. Even as he turns around she calls back. “I have a name you know. And I live a block away. Just in case you decide to stalk me again and then walk away leaving my ego unfed” But unlike in the movies when the heroine says a killer line and the hero stops in his tracks my hero walks away. And so does my heroine, as if it is everyday she encounters a man twice her age, who follows her and then doesn‟t ask her name even when she offers it. So my writer goes back home disoriented and disconnected, unable to believe what happened had actually taken place. The moment he steps inside the door, he puts on Miles Davis “It Never Entered My Mind” (my all time favorite, and has to be his… it is my story after all) on repeat, slumps on his chair and
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turns on his laptop. Takes a deep breath and tries to compose himself. And inspite of himself, it doesn‟t take long for the words to flow…. He‟s heard her voice, he‟s looked into her jet-black eyes, and he‟s held her hand. And now he‟s consumed with writing about her….his fingers fly on the keypad like they have a mind on their own, And for the first time in a long time… he feels alive. And more than anything, he feels he‟s given life to this woman in his story. He realizes all it takes is for him to meet her once, and he has so much to write about her… And this goes on for the next couple of days. The editor goes crazy trying to make my writer finish this story on time to be published in one of those monthly magazines which feature one of his stories every month. And that‟s when he drops the bomb…. He‟s not writing a story this time. This will be his first novel, he types in. For the first time he‟s found something which captivates him long enough to actually write for almost a week… and he thinks he could remain captivated for longer. And not waiting to see what the editor has to reply to that, he signs out, leaving the editor high and dry gaping open-mouthed at the screen. But so much as he has known about her from the second part-chance, part-planned meeting with her, he still hasn‟t got enough to write hundreds of pages that takes to make a novel. And from the outlook of my story he isn‟t anywhere closer to falling in love with her. He is interested, he definitely is, but love? To fall in love they have to meet, and for him to meet her, he has to go out again. And so he does. But I can‟t make it this easy for him can I? It can‟t be that he meets her each time he goes out. It doesn‟t happen like this in real life and neither will this happen in my story. And so he doesn‟t meet her inspite of making two rounds of her block. Maybe that‟s when he comes back and realizes just how much he‟d been depending on meeting her, and when he finds himself unable to write after coming back, even after he‟s cooked an elaborate three-course meal which then remains cold on the dining table because he‟s sworn he‟ll eat only after he‟s finished one paragraph, he starts thinking real hard about how the hell he‟s got himself into this mess. For a minute he even contemplates restoring the discarded heroine to her rightful place in that short story… but he‟s given too much of himself to this novel to give up now. And just this once, he‟s woken up every morning with her thought in his mind. Maybe he‟s so much into her because he‟s been writing about her…. Or maybe he‟s writing about her because he‟s into her. Damn…! He gives up. And in the meanwhile, I haven‟t talked a lot about my heroine, have I? Picking up from where she meets him and then goes away….. So she doesn‟t even know his name. But his voice… She finds herself thinking of his voice when she least expects it. The poor man looked so lost. Wife left him for good, probably, she muses. Or maybe she‟s dead and he can‟t get over her. But boy is she reminded of that Dido song “See the Sun”. She is tempted to actually go open his blinds like Dido sings she wants to in that song. Looks like he needs it… But as she walks around she has too much in her mind to think of him more than just that. Aah… so baby boy with “trying-hard-to-regain-shape” Mom has finally learnt how to take three steps without falling on his tiny little bum. And well, old man with awfully thick glasses really needs to start reading the paper right side up. That anorexic teenager with curls all over her face, which would actually look better with chubbier cheeks is now walking around with a different guy from last week, and she‟s yelling at someone over the phone… maybe her ex. And sigh..the way the man she‟d met on the street had said “Hullo”. And that‟s where she‟d get stuck for a little while, and take a chance and look behind her, just in case. But when she goes back home that night and is tossing and turning in her bed like always, willing her eyes to close and remain closed and gives up, she tries doing what always makes her feel tired and sometimes eventually sleepy. She imagines taking one of her long long walks around the street, and she thinks of every detail that she comes across…. The pattern of the curtains in that old restaurant that once
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upon a time was THE place to hang out. The exact shade of blue of the swanky new car that is always parked right outside it. The number of buds in that hanging plant right outside the dry-cleaner‟s window. And how many have opened to bear thick petals of that blood red flower. She turns on her side, and thinks how far it is before she reaches her home inside her head. And that‟s when she “reaches” the department store… now what color were those venetian blinds… pale pink? Or was it yellow…. Funny how she can‟t remember… but it was raining that day wasn‟t it? And… well, that was the day she‟d seen that brown-eyed guy for the first time. And her “too-good-for-her” boyfriend for the last time. She opens her eyes. No. She won‟t think about her ex. She closes her eyes again, and thinks of that store. How many aisles were there…? And what was the brown-eyed guy wearing? Were those flannel drawstring pajamas for real…? Or was she just exaggerating his worn-down appearance in her imagination? She sighs… She‟s no way closer to falling asleep. She‟ll go back to the store again, she decides. Maybe she‟ll meet that funny guy again… maybe he‟ll say more than a hullo. Maybe, just maybe, she‟ll ask him why he was following her around. And when she asks herself just why she wants to see him again, all she can come up with is maybe she‟s never heard a voice like his before. Now, I know that is not reason enough to just want to see some strange guy, but it‟s a story right? I can make anything out of it. So this time it is my heroine who sets out to meet him, if only for the sake of quenching her curiosity. Yes, the blinds are a pale pink, she notes. And there are four aisles. But he‟s not anywhere around. The funny brown-eyed guy. So she does what comes naturally to her. Ask the guy sitting behind the counter. Does he remember the day she had come to the store? The salesman takes one look at the bright red hot pants and white spaghetti top, and her hair. Yes, he nods. Very well. And also that she uses the English language very liberally, he adds. Another expletive from that cherry-pink lip-glossed mouth. Like this you mean, my heroine says. He shrugs. But then does he remember there was another guy in the store that day, she asks. If he was interested in her long legs all this while he is no longer staring at them. He wants to make sure she is asking about the freak from next door. Weird guy who doesn‟t ever talk, not even to discuss last night‟s match or the weather that day, he adds. She doesn‟t wait to reply. Just blows him a flying kiss as an afterthought when she reaches for the handle of the door and rushes out. She doesn‟t stop to think when she opens the gate of the house right next to the store. The rusted gates creak in protest, like they don‟t want to open, but are doing a favor for her. But when she stands in front of the door, with her hand posed over the doorbell reason floods in. “This is crazy” she thinks, and turns away, only to turn back the next instant to press the doorbell. Almost simultaneously she hears glass breaking inside. She wonders again if she should let herself in, or just run away to sanity. But my heroine wouldn‟t be my heroine if she chooses the easy way out, would she? No.. She waits slightly longer and then tries the door, feeling the door knob move on its own. He opens it for her, and the first thing she sees is the piece of broken glass he‟s still holding in his hand, and then the look of disgust on his face. (to be continued …)
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Shillong is Clean : Udita Goswami -
Noyon Jyoti Parasara
Even as the mad rush to Mumbai continues, the actress whose mother hails from Meghalaya talks about her love for the Shillong and Dehradun in contrast to the fast paced Maximum city Mumbai is often regarded as the city which brings dreams to reality. However it surviving in it gets quite tough, especially for the people who are from calmer and greener places. Udita Goswami moved to Mumbai over seven years back as her film career kicked off. But she admits that she is yet to completely adjust to the city and occasionally makes headway back to the calmer Rishikesh where she can sit by the river Ganga and introspect. Talking about times when she feels claustrophobic in the huge Mumbai city Udita she saw quite a few things for the first time when she came to Mumbai – like lifts with shutter and families staying in single rooms! The actress hails from the green Dehradun but she had to shift to Delhi for her modeling career. That‟s when she got used to smaller houses rather than big bungalows that she grew up in. “And then when I came to Mumbai so many things surprised me – right from shutter lifts to extremely small houses! It was a huge difference,” says Udita. But the most important difference was the friend circle and the way she enjoyed while she stayed in Dehradun. “When I was in Dehradun, Saturday nights would be with my brother and his girlfriend. We all went out for a drive in the car to Mussoorie. We would have bottles of soft drinks and everyone listened to music in the car. That would cost us Rs 100 each. But Mumbai and Delhi are so different. Saturday night would be discotheques. The culture is different. And even if I wanted to go out on a drive I would dare not to because I would be afraid if getting stuck in the traffic!” she laughs out. Interestingly she has more connection with the hills of India than just Uttarakhand. Uditas mother is from Shillong and she loves the North eastern town as much as Dehradun. “My mom is from Shillong and my father is from Banaras. Shillong is the capital of Meghalaya,” she says almost taking for granted that people are not aware of the hill station. “It‟s so sad that many people don‟t know the capital of Meghalaya. That‟s a fact! But you know you should check that place. It is so neat and clean. People don‟t throw a piece of paper on the road and they keep the city so clean,” she exclaims urging people to read up more the North East of India. No wonder she can‟t get over small towns. “Even today I rush out to Rishikesh when I need to take a break. I like calm places. There I sit by the Ganga and listen to prayers,” she reports. We are sure there are lakhs who would agree with Udita for once! Let‟s hope that brings some attention to good old Scotland of East – Shillong.
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The Magnetic Heart -
Manjil P. Saikia
There are some things in life for which you have no explanation. You just take them for granted or maybe get used to it. He has now got used to the fact that he loves a girl who will never ever return his love, at least in the conventional sense of the term. He can never hope to marry her. But still he loves her as much as anyone else can love someone. It all began when he was wandering alone in the long and rusty corridors of the University with a swollen heart and a bruised ego having got a bashing from his instructor for not doing his lab exercises properly. He was never a good experimenter, he was a theory builder, an expert problem solver the likes of whom his University had never seen before and very likely will never see again. This fact was known to all and he took pride in the fact that he could solve problems in a jiffy which took others days, sometimes even months to solve. He was as much a mathematician in the strict sense of the term as anyone ever will be. An oft repeated comment of his “You can become a mathematician without any degree, but you can never be an engineer without any degree”, seemed so apt in his case that everyone assumed he was one or will become one someday. Now when he was just about wondering he saw perhaps the most beautiful living creature on the planet. Well at least it appeared that way to him. She was the perfect ten. Clad in a black dress with white gloves to protect her velvety skin against the harshness of chemicals she was dealing with, she appeared to be the quintessential beauty which people dream of. But few, very few achieve that. Unlike him, she wasn‟t much interested in problems, she dealt with real life scenario and experimentation and had an experience of life which he will have to wait at least a decade to gain. She hated the two things that he loved the most. Wasn‟t it a match made in heaven? Unfortunately, we missed the whole point that she was eight years his senior, at least officially. Still he could not help falling in love with her. Perhaps love would be a very small word to describe his feelings for her. Even today more than a year since he first set his eyes on her, he cannot but marvel at the beauty. Every time she seemed encapsulated in an imaginary beautiful orb, revolving round her and much like the lotus eaters inviting him to drink its waters. How he would have wanted to do just that each and every day of his life, but alas human tragedy has a way of lurking at all the crossroads in one‟s life. He must choose now or else forever live in anonymity. His choice will be less painful if he knows what the future course of time will give him. He wanted to write something on her, so he decided one fine evening lost in her thoughts to type out a few words on his predicament, hoping that some other desperate lover will be able to show him the way. He ended with a very beautiful and true line, “Isolated magnetic monopole doesn‟t exist, you can be sure that somewhere out there is a heart which is magnetic with respect to you.”
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Review: 19 -
Sankhya Samhita
Album name: 19 (2008) Artist/Band: Adele Genre: Soul Rating: My first acquaintance with Adele‟s music was more of a chance happening than deliberate. While going through a few videos that a friend had compiled for me, I happened to come across one which featured Adele live in studio. And right from the first note of “Hometown Glory” she had me hooked to her as I wondered how she could make singing seem as effortless as she did. The song incidentally won Adele a Grammy Nomination, and the album “19″ went on to get a Gold certification from the RIAA (Recording Industry Association of America). I obviously had to make sure I get hold of the whole album, and when I did, I spent the whole night listening to it. Mind you though, this is not the kind of music you could listen to in that crowded bus or on your ride back home. This is the “ambiance” kind of music. Songs which you listen to, to set in the right “mood”, if you know what I mean. This is music you can come home to after a tiring day at work, and just sit back and relax to. And although I normally mention songs in my reviews, I would rather not in this one. Adele‟s “19″ is not to be enjoyed song by song, and that is because after you‟re done listening to it, chances are you will not remember any particular song, but the way they made you feel. A few of the songs will vaguely remind you of Jack Johnson meets Amy Winehouse, but the songs still manage to maintain their originality. The most unique thing about Adele is how the music wraps itself around the lyrics, and the way the music is quite unpredictable at times. The focus is somehow always on the vocals and the way the song flows. So if you are one of those who don‟t want to be overwhelmed by excessive instruments, you would really enjoy this. And while at it how can I not mention the lyrics? The album was actually named after the age Adele was when she had come up with the lyrics. And while it has the simplicity of a nineteen year old mind, it has the hint of maturity that comes with being on the verge of attaining womanhood. My suggestion? Listen to “19″ with the attention it deserves, but let your heart wander. This one is something you want might to come back to from time to time when the chaos gets too much for you.
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Review – Pulp Fiction : The Dames -
Mr. Pramathesh Publisher: Quercus Publishing Plc (3 April 2008) Language English ISBN-10: 1847242316 ISBN-13: 978-1847242310 Price : Rs. 675
Rating: We thought about starting a book review section in Fried Eye, and I could not find a better book to start. The most prized possession in my Library – Pulp Fiction: The Dames. Dames, femme fatales, avenging angels, broads, molls or dolls. Whatever you call them, they are definitely an inseparable part of pulp. However, they were more as side roles in the stories as a catalyst for action. They were either the dames in distress or the bad girls. They were not given prominence in the initial years of pulp for various reasons. It was in later years when we saw some women prominently featured in Pulp. Edited by Crime Editor Otto Penzler, 23 dames have been introduced in this anthology. The dames featured in this anthology are strong and brave hearted. From stealing a guy‟s heart to his gun, they knew everything. They were never afraid to use their fists if their charms couldn‟t get them what they wanted. These dames are certain to put your heart racing. There are 24 stories including 2 strips of Sally the Sleuth. (I wish there were more such strips.) Unlike the previous books in the series Pulp Fiction : The Crimefighters and Pulp Fiction: The Villains, there is no full-length novel featured in this anthology. However, there are a couple of novelettes that has been featured. Perhaps a reason for this may be that there are no good novels published with significant female roles. A truly mouth watering collection, it features the works of Cornell Woolrich, Leslie T. White, Eric Taylor, Raymond Chandler, Adolphe Barreuax, C.S. Montayne, C.B. Yorke, Randolph Barr, D.B. McCandeless, P.T. Luman, Robert Reeves, Dashielle Hammett, Perry Paul, Whitman Chambers, Roger Torey, Carlos Martinez, Lars Anderson, Richard Sale, Eugene Thomas, T.T. Flynn and Stewart Sterling. Personally, I liked the Snowbound by C.B. Yorke the most in the whole collection. So what are you waiting for? Run to the book store and own this book.
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Haiku -
Priyanka Bhowmick
a dead crow under the light-post this autumn evening early winter morning sun shines awakening orchids
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Mother -
Manna Sharma
“It” was just a curdle of blood Unaware from the worldly world “It” was a part of her Living inside of her Never taken away from.. And from that day She wore “It” as a jewel On her soul Not body And took along wherever she walked.. “It” was wrapped in the sacred dark But wasn‟t scared of darkness And of the silence.. Until the day “It” was taken away from her And then “It” cried Of fear of light And of sounds And the experiences new.. But would settle down As “It” came back to her And relax to a secured sleep.. She was with “It” until today She turned into ashes And was heard no more When her name was called no more.. She is the one Who turned “It” To be what it is today A “name” And yet another fruit bearing tree To have many such “It” ‟s again Until the day Today‟s name would be called no more But yet another “It”.. … She is Mother
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Fate -
Manjil P. Saikia
Cunning, clever fate what do you want? Preposterous, this liking but I have! You know now the world I show canâ€&#x;tWhy then do you leave me without a save? Cunning, clever fate what do you want? The Photograph was taken by Ranjan K. Baruah after the Ganeshguri Blasts on 30th Octoberâ€&#x;2008. Ranjan is a Social Activist and Development Worker based in Guwahati.
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