Randomness

room's a mess.

but it's beautiful.

couldn't solve the crossword today.

no hindu you see.

got wet today.

for the umpteenth time.

no umbrella/raincoat.

like to get wet.

scribbled some more on the walls.

getting difficult to find empty space to write.

was woken up in the middle of my slumber by a call.

rambled about god knows what.

bought a toothbrush today.

talked a lot in class today.

disturbed the people sitting in front of me.

but that was what i wanted to do.

rain stopped as soon as i reached school.

tht's the way He smiles.

haven't studied a thing in the past five days.

don't know why.

have been hyper for the past few days.

will have to cool down.

don't know why i'm writing all this.

should get back to sleeping.

there's a pile of clothes i have to iron.

have to post some form.

someone called me stupid.

and i felt happy.

clean up the cobwebs.

from the mind too.

do they treat everyone equally in heaven? or according to the number of good tasks?

was having a nice dream.

don't remember it now.

woke up smiling.

getting cold.

should switch off the fan.

but don't want to get up.

there should be a remote for everything.

have lots of books on my table.

none of which i've touched lately.

including atlas shrugged.

will return it.

what was i doing before i fell asleep?

no idea.

someone's shouting something.

that isn't unusual.

not where i live.

if i die now, will this post be treated as a suicide note?

there are many conclusions that can be drawn.

goodnight.

Embarrasment in Kolkata

This is the time of the year, when I feel insentience poignant. After a spurt of a menagerie of beautiful festivals, Eid, Durga Puja, Diwali .. it is a long wait for the next fest to arrive – Christmas.

After a very unexciting, “academic” last year, mainly because of my “Boards”, we planned to spend Eid and DP at Kolkata with all our over-friendly relatives. Honestly, Kolkata is a place where at every other nook you’ll find one of my relatives.

This time, I was walking down a very discrete looking place, when suddenly, I find one my aunts, her head all covered up with some kind of dupatta, looking down at me, from a very old, ancient house – that is, if you can call it a house at all.

“Oye, Roma! What are you doing here? Where’s your mom? Why didn’t you come for Eid? You promised Afrin you will ! She told me, she was so looking forward to meet you. I had an Eidi for you, come now.”

Wtf! I thought. Really, I had no idea that this aunt of mine lived here.

“Woh, phuphijaan .. amma was taken ill. That’s why. I am in a hurry now, will come later. Afrin is ok, I hope.”

Although, we couldn’t make it to Eid, because of my mother’s poor health, we still were happy about spending DP at T3h Place for DP.

Anyway, so story so applies.

We own a modest apartment in Salt Lake, Kolkata. And by modest, I mean “one-of-those-regular-flats”.

Let me introduce you to my cousin Jhumpa, and her husband. They live with their 2 stunning daughters on the 2nd floor. We live on the 5th floor. Needless to say, I spend most of the time – in fact, I just go to my flat for sleeping purpose – at my cousin’s. She doesn’t mind, no. Actually, my jiju is a huge movie fanatic. So they have got this huge DVD collection. English movies, that too. Oh, how I look forward to it :D

Now, [and no, I am not boasting here], the building has a lift. :| Lol, yeah. As I said, “regular flats”. And again, I am not the kind of person who is afraid of free falling, or is claustrophobic or any of those phobias related to elevators. But yes, I am a lazy asshole, so even if I have to go DOWN from 2nd floor to 1st floor, I will use the lift. Ahh, yes. I am THAT lethargic.


It was about 9 a.m. After a very Bengalish breakfast of luchi, aloo dum and jalebi and some orkutting to go along with it, I decided to “elevate” myself up to my flat to get my change of dresses for a shower. [Don’t I sound like a God-dess? :D]

I hop out, put on my jiju’s blue slippers, and press the button for the elevator.

Cranch. Crach. Cranch. It reaches me.

With all my might and strength, I pull open the dull, black, collapsible gates, and then the elevator door. As you open this door, a sharp, ear-shattering “peeeeeeeeeeeeen” resounds all over block. This is actually a precautionary measure to make sure you close the door + collapsible gates after getting off the lift. Because unless you do that, the lift won’t budge from its place. Therefore, if you’ve just come home after a long bus ride, and you really want to pee bad now after that luscious intake of pineapple juice you had on your way, and your flat is on the 6th floor, and someone has left the lift-doors open on the 5th floor [might be me :|], then, well, you might just pee right there. Ahem.

Anyway, so I get in, close the frigging door, the “peeeeeeeeeeeeen” stops, and just like those very careless youths of today, I switch on the fan AND the light, yeah, in the broad daylight – wtf! We are paying a bloody Rs 2000, for the fucking shuttle, and we use it for hardly a week a year. What do you expect ?

I press 5. The lift moves smoothly. It had just passed halfway up, when the light goes off, the fan slows down so that I could count its 3 oily blades. And yes, the lift stops.

Power cut.

Now picture this. A scantily clothed maiden [umm, I just had a sleeveless off-white kind of frilly dress on which barely reached my knees, I am wearing the goddamned thing since I was 11], wearing over-sized bathroom chappals. You can just see her from her waist downwards inside what seems like those prison bars. And no, I am not that hot to make you guys drool.

It took a minute for the fact to sink in that I am stuck in a goddamned elevator. Like mads, I searched the entire lift surface for some kind of emergency way out. Which I think now, is ridiculous. But you can’t imagine my mind set at that time. I press on those numbered buttons, I think about a dozen times each.

Helpless, I was.

So, I did something which comes naturally to me courtesy my Bengali parenthood.

Shout.

“Diiiiiiiiiidiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. Jiiiiiiiiiiiijuuuuuuuu.”

Nothing.

I guess I must have repeated the course of action about 3 times, when finally I could see the doors of my cousin’s flats opening. By that time, I had completely sat down on the dirty, soiled basement of the elevator. My off-white dress – go to hell. Finally, I could get rid of the 5 years old dress.

When my jiju saw me, he actually almost was rolling on the floor laughing. My didi however was quite grave.

“Stop it.” She said to him. “How do we get her out?”

Finally, controlling himself, he pulled open the collapsible gates.

“Open the lift doors” He instructed.

I did as he said. A bout of fresh oxygen entered my lungs, it seemed.

“Now?” I asked, peering down at him.

He was almost making his way inside the flat. He looked up surprised.

“Now what? Jump, saali sahiba.” He smirked.

“wtf! I can’t jump!”

He looked at me.

“You have great legs.” He teased.

“Stop it” My cousin said again. “Ayevi, you must jump, my child. How else?” She stopped. “Hey, Sam, get a stool, or a chair.” She said to her husband.

He put a chair directly below the lift.

“C’mon, Ayevi. You can do it.” He said, as if urging me to win a Olympic medal.

At first I just dangled my legs down, with eyes open wide. I immediately caught hold of the lift bars. Bad idea. It was painted recently, and the dark tar was all over my palms.

“Eeeeeewwwww!” I screamed.

“Uh oh.” Jiju said. He rushed in to get some newspaper. He put it over the bars. “This will do the job, hopefully.”

I now catch hold of the newspaper-wrapped bars, and after a full 5 minutes or so, sort of hanged my entire body on the bars. Ahh, this was the only thing left for me to do. Turn a lift into a gymnasium.

“Ahh, good. Now just let go of the bars.” My cousin said.

Yeah, so I let it go off. Bam! I fall on the grubby floor in front of my cousin’s apartment.

“You will remember this, won’t you, sweetie?” That was my jiju.

By the time I was in my cousin’s flat, the frills of my dress were hanging precariously at the bottoms. My hands were all black with tar. My jiju supplied me with kerosene to get the bloody tar off. Wash, wash with Dettol. It still smelled of kerosene when I had finally managed to get all soap suds off.

I slumped on the floor mattress.

“A long battle, eh?” My jiju pulled my leg.



Another awkward thing which took place.

I unlock my apartment. Go in. Get my writing notepad.

Come out. Put in the key through the hole. I turn it. It doesn’t budge. I try to turn it the other way. Still not.

Umm.

I experiment with the entire lock-and-key system for about 10 minutes. Finally, my next door opens. A little girl, about 9 years old, comes out.

I must have been sweating badly by then. She looks at me.

“Hi.” She says.

“Haallo!” I panted.

“Umm, whats up?” She questions.

“Uhh, nothing, nothing.” I smile. Wtf! I am not giving up to this little girl.

She closes the door.

After about another 5 minutes, she again opens the door, apparently she had forgotten her plastic toy out.

“Oh,. You still here?” She asks, puzzled.

“Yeah, can’t lock this door.” I say it all too quickly.

“Ohh, I might help?” She enquires.

“Oh, please.”

I give her the key.

What she does is, she simply opens my apartment door. Fumbles around the handle on the other side. Presses something. And shuts the door. Slam.

She picks up her plastic toy. Gives me back my key, which came to be of no use. Waves.

All the time, I was just standing there, staring at the process stupidly.

“OK, it is locked, try opening” She laughs.

“Ohh.” I say, “It must be, hehe.”

She giggles again, and goes off.

I turn the handle. Yes, it indeed was locked.

These kids, I tell you!!