im a typical ( vernacularly speakin) “middle class curiosity oriented person” which cud appropriately b referred to as sum1 wi a partial bent 2wrds PNPC. In Bengali d full form is poro ninda poro chorcha. Well d reason which makes me type dis out is d girlish gossip rush s well!
People, thank u all soooooo much for reading my blogs, if at all, and more so to those who have commented upon it. im sure u guys wont believe it dat I keep checkin my comments count wi d same degree of greed as a diabetic has 2wrds sweets, hmmm, I like d sweet words.
But oh my curiosity…y did sum of u leave comments anonymously? Oh why, why, why? It’s nice to have a name n im offerin u all a chance to flaunt it. im open to enthusiastic encouragements, constructive/deconstructice criticisms, flawless flattery, ruthless remarks…u name it.
And hence I leave d forum open for all intelligent commentators. D difference between naming urself n keeping urself itchingly unknown is jus a click away, so an ardent request 4m me to click on d name option. U c dat way at least my curiosity will be under control if not my pathetic fallacies!
And a special note to dat person who wrongly added dat KENTS was my invention. It was given 2me by sum1 who was disgusted at my “horribly long n bong name”. No names will b mentioned s to who christened me “kents”. And I was too lazy too refute it so I fell in luv wi it and hence d affair continues…
Thanks for sufferin d lack of punctuations and short forms, d mobile culture is 2b blamed and THANK YOU for reading.
8/29/2006
8/24/2006
The world of M:
This is the letter that began my speech I guess with the word “Ma” which began with the letter M. The next thing I evolved to at being a single child was the entity comprising me, beginning M. my books, my tv, my pencils, my cycle…oh it was in me not to share!
People started entering my life: Tanumashi, the m in the mashi; Milimami, my friend Mitali, my 1st declared guy friend Mintu. Infact if I scroll down to the list of M’s in my molile phone’s name list quite a few hold a position out there.
Finally abbreviations began to rock. I was in college. My name became from kuntala to kents. All lecturers were addressed with their abbreviated forms and thus mm mam whose name mandira mitra sounds such a world apart!
Marriage with the letter m, as in, the man I married is fondly called MM by me coz it’s again too long an actual name. Marriage, music, movies, momos, men, they all have an inevitable connection withy the word m.
And then the noticeable advent of M. One day I was on the phone speaking to MM mam when my mom commented that when would MM (her son in law) speak to her. So I cleared out the confusion that it was not MM I was on the line with but MM mam. When the call ended she enquired how was Mishtu, my sister in law (just for the records I don’t call her that but Nonod) and when would she come to Calcutta.
I replied she had her priorities holding her back at where she was stationed. “Which is?” mom asked. I said “BM” (bhaskar mahanayak). “Oh, is he staying over with her?” “No mom AM is with her” “AM?” Yes her colleague arundhati mukherjee”. “But then as far as I remember was her colleague not referred to as SM who lent you her notes?” Gosh was my mom super confused…well SM happens to be swaty mitra, another colleague of my sister in law, simple.
And that day I only laughed and casually promised to myself that come what may im not gonna name my child anything that begins with the letter M. An alphabet is controlling my life like some ruling planet. And I can’t let it go on. So irrespective of the fact that I love Mitsubishis and Mercedes, and mocktails and meat, maybe I could just about do with a little more of parkers and pizzas and porsches!!!
After all people fondly did use to call me Puchu!
People started entering my life: Tanumashi, the m in the mashi; Milimami, my friend Mitali, my 1st declared guy friend Mintu. Infact if I scroll down to the list of M’s in my molile phone’s name list quite a few hold a position out there.
Finally abbreviations began to rock. I was in college. My name became from kuntala to kents. All lecturers were addressed with their abbreviated forms and thus mm mam whose name mandira mitra sounds such a world apart!
Marriage with the letter m, as in, the man I married is fondly called MM by me coz it’s again too long an actual name. Marriage, music, movies, momos, men, they all have an inevitable connection withy the word m.
And then the noticeable advent of M. One day I was on the phone speaking to MM mam when my mom commented that when would MM (her son in law) speak to her. So I cleared out the confusion that it was not MM I was on the line with but MM mam. When the call ended she enquired how was Mishtu, my sister in law (just for the records I don’t call her that but Nonod) and when would she come to Calcutta.
I replied she had her priorities holding her back at where she was stationed. “Which is?” mom asked. I said “BM” (bhaskar mahanayak). “Oh, is he staying over with her?” “No mom AM is with her” “AM?” Yes her colleague arundhati mukherjee”. “But then as far as I remember was her colleague not referred to as SM who lent you her notes?” Gosh was my mom super confused…well SM happens to be swaty mitra, another colleague of my sister in law, simple.
And that day I only laughed and casually promised to myself that come what may im not gonna name my child anything that begins with the letter M. An alphabet is controlling my life like some ruling planet. And I can’t let it go on. So irrespective of the fact that I love Mitsubishis and Mercedes, and mocktails and meat, maybe I could just about do with a little more of parkers and pizzas and porsches!!!
After all people fondly did use to call me Puchu!
Kuntala sengupta/Kents; the rest of me:
1. Crisis:
The inspiring voice,
And I;
Alone- letting time
Wash us by.
Breaking, shattering,
No hopes remain.
My soul and I-
Are lost again.
Eternity, beauty?
Love and trust?
All but loud barks-
Blank question marks…
Mingling into infinity,
With the crisis of identity.
2. Intoxication:
In schools of
Logy’s and ism’s,
Clash my own
Rhymes with reasons.
Reasons- irrational.
Rhymes- mechanical.
I let out a puff of smoke.
I gulp down a cup of caffeine.
I lose myself,
Down memory-lane.
Smoke mingles
With the unknown,
Coffee drunk
Bitterly alone.
My reasons irrational.
My rhymes mechanical.
Escaped have I,
With expressions erratic.
Or have I become-
A thinking lunatic?
3. Short-sightedness:
Like an abundance of
Atmospheric hydrogen,
I find myself burdened,
With innumerable questions.
Do we a decision make-
Or a verdict, tolerantly take?
What distances-
The right from wrong?
What takes-
A judgement, so long?
What ties the ‘e’ to motion?
Could not it be,
Just another potion?
The inertia of escapism…
A deliberate indulgence,
Or, a rupture of reason?
The inspiring voice,
And I;
Alone- letting time
Wash us by.
Breaking, shattering,
No hopes remain.
My soul and I-
Are lost again.
Eternity, beauty?
Love and trust?
All but loud barks-
Blank question marks…
Mingling into infinity,
With the crisis of identity.
2. Intoxication:
In schools of
Logy’s and ism’s,
Clash my own
Rhymes with reasons.
Reasons- irrational.
Rhymes- mechanical.
I let out a puff of smoke.
I gulp down a cup of caffeine.
I lose myself,
Down memory-lane.
Smoke mingles
With the unknown,
Coffee drunk
Bitterly alone.
My reasons irrational.
My rhymes mechanical.
Escaped have I,
With expressions erratic.
Or have I become-
A thinking lunatic?
3. Short-sightedness:
Like an abundance of
Atmospheric hydrogen,
I find myself burdened,
With innumerable questions.
Do we a decision make-
Or a verdict, tolerantly take?
What distances-
The right from wrong?
What takes-
A judgement, so long?
What ties the ‘e’ to motion?
Could not it be,
Just another potion?
The inertia of escapism…
A deliberate indulgence,
Or, a rupture of reason?
Beginnings:
I love my isolation, my solitariness, my holdback atti…and im labeled a social outcast. So? Can’t I nurture my narcissist angle of leading life? Me and my tanhai, my akelapan, my awaarapan…man there’s so much of a world in myself, why do I necessarily need to live a life outside it? Follow customs I disregard, do things im expected to and not coz I like to, carry on with my mask of happy go lucky?
I hate noise. I cherish the sound of silence that we often forget to interpret. Im not a romantic. Im a minimalist. I love the color of money. I love what money can buy. It buys comfort; comfort automatically pulls in peace of mind (for those who would have argued on it). Relationships? Goddamn it. Apart from the circle club ones, who cares? What matters? It’s all in our self-interest.
Marriage? It showed me how weak I am and how strong I can become. What big claims I used to make on I hate my parents, my dad to be precise. And how im now putting up with the super inferiority complex of wearing shakha pola loha etc. How am I expected to manage a sonsar when most of my time passes in the management of a chunari-chunari?
Maiden hood had its own bloody charm. The follow through of smoke, the bitterness of a biting black coffee, the control over a remote, the audacity of making own routines. Of getting up crow early to catch mtv and vh1 classic, of sleeping early to get up early next morn…of self made weird food timings, of having people who encouraged my not liking fish. Small things do make huge and large differences.
And what am I doing right now? My hubby is cooking on a Sunday, my mom in law is helping him, my dad in law is a sweetheart, and my sis in law is a blessing. Im complaining, cribbing. Something must be wrong with me. God help me if there be one…
Can’t be anyone else other than a vain, ignorant, conceited bitch like me: kents.
Can’t bring myself to say kuntala chakraborty, its painfully long. Can’t call my parents in law ma n baba etc. All im doing is living in a world of positive cannot-s and will not-s.
This piece of words just goes to show how unlike my parents im. What we inherit is not always what is inherent. I have inculcated this out of proportion let go attitude and though im sometimes worried about it, most of the times it helps me attain divinity. Catch you later, kuntala sengupta. now in a stylised manner: kuntala sengupta chakraborty
I hate noise. I cherish the sound of silence that we often forget to interpret. Im not a romantic. Im a minimalist. I love the color of money. I love what money can buy. It buys comfort; comfort automatically pulls in peace of mind (for those who would have argued on it). Relationships? Goddamn it. Apart from the circle club ones, who cares? What matters? It’s all in our self-interest.
Marriage? It showed me how weak I am and how strong I can become. What big claims I used to make on I hate my parents, my dad to be precise. And how im now putting up with the super inferiority complex of wearing shakha pola loha etc. How am I expected to manage a sonsar when most of my time passes in the management of a chunari-chunari?
Maiden hood had its own bloody charm. The follow through of smoke, the bitterness of a biting black coffee, the control over a remote, the audacity of making own routines. Of getting up crow early to catch mtv and vh1 classic, of sleeping early to get up early next morn…of self made weird food timings, of having people who encouraged my not liking fish. Small things do make huge and large differences.
And what am I doing right now? My hubby is cooking on a Sunday, my mom in law is helping him, my dad in law is a sweetheart, and my sis in law is a blessing. Im complaining, cribbing. Something must be wrong with me. God help me if there be one…
Can’t be anyone else other than a vain, ignorant, conceited bitch like me: kents.
Can’t bring myself to say kuntala chakraborty, its painfully long. Can’t call my parents in law ma n baba etc. All im doing is living in a world of positive cannot-s and will not-s.
This piece of words just goes to show how unlike my parents im. What we inherit is not always what is inherent. I have inculcated this out of proportion let go attitude and though im sometimes worried about it, most of the times it helps me attain divinity. Catch you later, kuntala sengupta. now in a stylised manner: kuntala sengupta chakraborty
For whom the bells didn’t toll:
hare rama hare Christ-na
I am an Indian by birth, descent and other such categories. Religion to me came naturally, but the questions that aroused from it were quite unnatural. I would be standing folded-hands in front of framed photographs of at least three or four gods and goddesses daily after bath, close eyed praying mostly for I don’t know what. Was this devotion? I would see mom bathing those miniscule idols and framed photos, serving fruits and water as their lunch and wrapping it up by chanting mantras and circling them with an incense stick. Was this religion?
And then I started pelting my queries to a rather annoyed mom. Was she playing home sweet home every morning with those dolls? Was her favourite god, Shiv, going to fetch me high marks in my examinations without my studying for it? Would I get my cycle if I added a minute more to my prayer sessions each morning? One day there was a rumour that Ganesh was drinking up all the milk being offered to him and suddenly his idols and pictures were an immediate fashion statement. He was being adorned on t-shirts, pendants, wall pieces etc…you see the rock star was in vogue. Could this fervour then be religion?
I was growing up rather fast and my generic statements were becoming more and more specific. Religion in India meant division of nations, didn’t it? Was not Pakistan evidence enough? I remember one evening under the rather severe persuasion of mom I accompanied her to an ashram to attend the aarti, whereby the bookstore there became my refuge. As I was buying abridged versions of different holy books, the guy behind the counter refused to sell me all those books to me at a time! I was exasperated. Was this the limitation of religion?
Journeys acquainted me with various versions of gods available throughout India. Stones, books, trees, snakes, cows, sun, moon, planets all comprised the entity of god. Was this religion? I rather regard it as the belief of the simple minds of my citizens. And the strength of simplicity. On a broader platform with my dad endorsing religion as humanity, I got to see through it.
India is using religion as a political tool for obtaining communally scented votes. It is a charming business proposition. People who defy new medical entries and refuse to invest in it willingly give up a huge proportion of their income in the name of god. Till today nobody could answer me if god’s blessing was on sale. And what was it worth. Indians have been blinded a far many too times by the lure of planetary powers and so on and unluckily for the malfunctioning of those very planets they have been outsmarted by the clever species.
Devotion and religion were habit, curiosity and a challenge for me respectively. And then I took the pain of understanding it. Wouldn’t it be good if I didn’t have someone writing such an outrageous piece on my belief like this? Nobody could, nobody can. For, for me religion is the formal attire of my devotion, which is the structure of my inner belief. My belief being that my actions inscribe my fate.
I guess in the process of speaking out against god, I have completed my assignment. For those who buy god’s blessings I did get it for free. My mom still goes about her daily regime, if so, only more strictly and why not? She feels she’s got a defiant daughter like me who’s not going to do well in life because she questioned religion.
I am 22, married, pursuing M.A in English from Calcutta University. Simultaneously also attending a post grad diploma course in mass communication and journalism at Jadavpur University. Tell me do you believe her? Or would you just let her be…
I am an Indian by birth, descent and other such categories. Religion to me came naturally, but the questions that aroused from it were quite unnatural. I would be standing folded-hands in front of framed photographs of at least three or four gods and goddesses daily after bath, close eyed praying mostly for I don’t know what. Was this devotion? I would see mom bathing those miniscule idols and framed photos, serving fruits and water as their lunch and wrapping it up by chanting mantras and circling them with an incense stick. Was this religion?
And then I started pelting my queries to a rather annoyed mom. Was she playing home sweet home every morning with those dolls? Was her favourite god, Shiv, going to fetch me high marks in my examinations without my studying for it? Would I get my cycle if I added a minute more to my prayer sessions each morning? One day there was a rumour that Ganesh was drinking up all the milk being offered to him and suddenly his idols and pictures were an immediate fashion statement. He was being adorned on t-shirts, pendants, wall pieces etc…you see the rock star was in vogue. Could this fervour then be religion?
I was growing up rather fast and my generic statements were becoming more and more specific. Religion in India meant division of nations, didn’t it? Was not Pakistan evidence enough? I remember one evening under the rather severe persuasion of mom I accompanied her to an ashram to attend the aarti, whereby the bookstore there became my refuge. As I was buying abridged versions of different holy books, the guy behind the counter refused to sell me all those books to me at a time! I was exasperated. Was this the limitation of religion?
Journeys acquainted me with various versions of gods available throughout India. Stones, books, trees, snakes, cows, sun, moon, planets all comprised the entity of god. Was this religion? I rather regard it as the belief of the simple minds of my citizens. And the strength of simplicity. On a broader platform with my dad endorsing religion as humanity, I got to see through it.
India is using religion as a political tool for obtaining communally scented votes. It is a charming business proposition. People who defy new medical entries and refuse to invest in it willingly give up a huge proportion of their income in the name of god. Till today nobody could answer me if god’s blessing was on sale. And what was it worth. Indians have been blinded a far many too times by the lure of planetary powers and so on and unluckily for the malfunctioning of those very planets they have been outsmarted by the clever species.
Devotion and religion were habit, curiosity and a challenge for me respectively. And then I took the pain of understanding it. Wouldn’t it be good if I didn’t have someone writing such an outrageous piece on my belief like this? Nobody could, nobody can. For, for me religion is the formal attire of my devotion, which is the structure of my inner belief. My belief being that my actions inscribe my fate.
I guess in the process of speaking out against god, I have completed my assignment. For those who buy god’s blessings I did get it for free. My mom still goes about her daily regime, if so, only more strictly and why not? She feels she’s got a defiant daughter like me who’s not going to do well in life because she questioned religion.
I am 22, married, pursuing M.A in English from Calcutta University. Simultaneously also attending a post grad diploma course in mass communication and journalism at Jadavpur University. Tell me do you believe her? Or would you just let her be…
changes...
Ya buddy, I can only spare u time in context of bein wi my syllabus. Mind u, satan’s charmin n he really doesn’t like d way I’ve been over-lookin him. Anyways, im writin this after reading “n” no of entries in various places as attempts to define kuntala sengupta. Nothing remains d same. In some, rebuildin is urgent, elsewhere, renovation wud b enough.
The year is 2005. long time since those good old LFS days, exciting eng tuitions, full-time entertainin sc tuitions, nearby hindi tuitions, & ah! d handsome maths tuition. Even DHSK days r over, wi a crossover 4m d boring a/c’s sir 2d cute jain sir, & bhowal sir’sn tuition bein an extended entertainment wi d presence of a brand new bubbly sangjukta bhuyan.
Awake, arise…even vids is done wi. D initial depression, d various attractions (cc, lingo, roads, bunkin), stay @ec, gully budu toton, tanumashi, kids, milimami, mem, roon, dadubhai & again-d mega attendance in final yr!! Sg rocked; cc- (damnation)2, raina, ; md-do u dare 2 look into my eyes? Mm-stratin prob but smooth drive; ss-made me cry at a foolish parents-teacher meetin!! , but ended up graduatin 2our time-pass counselor.
Pratz-fun. Shans-cute. Neils-complexity incarnate. Debs-no nonsense. Tanjita, twins, meenakshi-new findings, interesting & finally, not 2 mention mm-im endin up getting married 2 him. Even 2de, sometimes I wonder at how did time fly? Garima, again, wavelengths matched!
In more ways than 1, I’ve been a branded brat. Spoilt, arrogant, moody…natchari. D fag practise is nearly an addiction; im cool wi single moms &2nd marriages; god means nothing precise &d abstraction leads 2 confusion. Amidst it all, d new discovery abt me is d fact that I absolutely enjoy my solitude, bein isolated. Loner?!
Yup, silence has bcum my fave means of defence. I still stock those “hi-volt” short temper & “that-can-kill-you-words” but observation has bcum a new attraction 4me. I looooove bein alone, wi my books, tv, movies, cookin, sleepin…yea man sloth & gluttony. A lil bit of avarice too!! Till 2de, I remain aimless, but I kno I’ve matured. My situation handling stints hav reached new heights & I wear my hair long. My relationships are now more refined than ever.
Stayin in keeps me chilled. And once in a while outdoors never hurts. Food timings hav bcum unsocial, me too. I think I choose 2b talkative wi certain ppl & remain silent wi others…now, 4 sum1 whose 1st poem was THE TALKATIVE GIRL, life has been traveled a long way. More 2 go…
The year is 2005. long time since those good old LFS days, exciting eng tuitions, full-time entertainin sc tuitions, nearby hindi tuitions, & ah! d handsome maths tuition. Even DHSK days r over, wi a crossover 4m d boring a/c’s sir 2d cute jain sir, & bhowal sir’sn tuition bein an extended entertainment wi d presence of a brand new bubbly sangjukta bhuyan.
Awake, arise…even vids is done wi. D initial depression, d various attractions (cc, lingo, roads, bunkin), stay @ec, gully budu toton, tanumashi, kids, milimami, mem, roon, dadubhai & again-d mega attendance in final yr!! Sg rocked; cc- (damnation)2, raina, ; md-do u dare 2 look into my eyes? Mm-stratin prob but smooth drive; ss-made me cry at a foolish parents-teacher meetin!! , but ended up graduatin 2our time-pass counselor.
Pratz-fun. Shans-cute. Neils-complexity incarnate. Debs-no nonsense. Tanjita, twins, meenakshi-new findings, interesting & finally, not 2 mention mm-im endin up getting married 2 him. Even 2de, sometimes I wonder at how did time fly? Garima, again, wavelengths matched!
In more ways than 1, I’ve been a branded brat. Spoilt, arrogant, moody…natchari. D fag practise is nearly an addiction; im cool wi single moms &2nd marriages; god means nothing precise &d abstraction leads 2 confusion. Amidst it all, d new discovery abt me is d fact that I absolutely enjoy my solitude, bein isolated. Loner?!
Yup, silence has bcum my fave means of defence. I still stock those “hi-volt” short temper & “that-can-kill-you-words” but observation has bcum a new attraction 4me. I looooove bein alone, wi my books, tv, movies, cookin, sleepin…yea man sloth & gluttony. A lil bit of avarice too!! Till 2de, I remain aimless, but I kno I’ve matured. My situation handling stints hav reached new heights & I wear my hair long. My relationships are now more refined than ever.
Stayin in keeps me chilled. And once in a while outdoors never hurts. Food timings hav bcum unsocial, me too. I think I choose 2b talkative wi certain ppl & remain silent wi others…now, 4 sum1 whose 1st poem was THE TALKATIVE GIRL, life has been traveled a long way. More 2 go…
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