ezine sharod somvar 2011

8/4/2019 Ezine Sharod Somvar 2011

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E-mail: [email protected]


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(Articles) (Painting)

(Travel)

........ (11)

....... (6)

My feathered friends ...... (17)

........ (18)

Lord Ganeshs blessings ........ (2)Balachandar Guduri

Qualifier dreams! ........ (27)Balachandar Guduri

A perfect day ........ (8)Lakshmi Dharmarajan

Blue Ridge parkway ........ (20)

Lakshmi Dharmarajan

Debauchery ........ (10)

Blossoming of a life ....... (13)

Waterfall in a cave under moonlight

........ (9)

Reina Koganemaru

Japanese princess ........ (7)Reina Koganemaru

Family portrait ........ (21)

Reina Koganemaru

Idol ........ (12)


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Photographers corner

(Handicraft)

(Members) 40

Lady left behind ........(9)

The Happy family ....... (23)

Damin Lim

The Duckpond ........ (27)

Neha Hudait

Where it always shines ........ (34)Raj Kishore

Fire in the sky ........ (37)

Sea shore ........ (39)

Green carpet........ (35)

Peaks and prayers ........ (39)

Upright ........ (37)

Drizzle ........ (36)

Hookah! ........ (35)

Egyptian market ........ (38)

Sunset over Nile ........ (36)

........

Floral harmony ........ (5)Saraswathi Dharmarajan

Sweet kittens...... (26)Saraswathi Dharmarajan


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(Editorial)

Wish you all a happy

Durga Puja.

,

- -

Blacksburg , , Photographers'

corner

Dear Readers,After a long wait of one year, its time for the Durga

Puja. The autumn sky is already looking wonderful and

our preparations for organizing this auspicious occasion

are in top gear. This is the third time we are

celebrating this occasion here in Blacksburg. Its a really

commendable achievement to keep this great ancient

Indian tradition alive in spite of being so far away from

our country. I congratulate everyone associated with

Bengali Students Association and all the people

participating in the Puja.

Last year we started the annual e-magazine

Sharodsomvar. Today we are publishing the 2ndedition Sharodsomvar 2011. We are thrilled at the

success and response to our magazine. It showcases

some awesome artwork, by hidden talents of

Blacksburg, be it writing or painting or even

photography which we have included as a new section in

this edition, named Photographers corner. I deeply

thank all the participants whose contributions made the

magazine see the light of the day. Please tell us how

to improve Sharodsomvar in coming years.

Thanks,

Souvik Pal


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Lord Ganeshas blessingsLord Ganeshas blessingsLord Ganeshas blessingsLord Ganeshas blessingsBalacBalacBalacBalachhhhandar Guduriandar Guduriandar Guduriandar Guduri


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FFFFloral harmonyloral harmonyloral harmonyloral harmony::::Saraswathi Dharmarajan


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JUST FRIEND!

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Japanese princessJapanese princessJapanese princessJapanese princessReina KogenemaruReina KogenemaruReina KogenemaruReina Kogenemaru


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Recipe for a lifetimeRecipe for a lifetimeRecipe for a lifetimeRecipe for a lifetimeLakshmi Dharmarajan

Give me some sunshine

and some rain,a mouthful of sky

and a handful of sea,

shafts of moonlight

and a shower of stars,

a palette of thoughts

and a platter of knowledge,

a flight of dreams

and wings of desire,

top it off with a hand of friendship

and a heart of love

and I shall make a lifetime out of it.

A perfect dayA perfect dayA perfect dayA perfect dayLakshmi Dharmara anLakshmi Dharmara anLakshmi Dharmara anLakshmi Dharmara an

Waterfall in a cave under moonlightWaterfall in a cave under moonlightWaterfall in a cave under moonlightWaterfall in a cave under moonlightReina KogenemaruReina KogenemaruReina KogenemaruReina Kogenemaru


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The lady left behindThe lady left behindThe lady left behindThe lady left behind


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DebaucheryDebaucheryDebaucheryDebauchery


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IdolIdolIdolIdol


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Blossoming of a lifeBlossoming of a lifeBlossoming of a lifeBlossoming of a life

Hey there!Listen!!

If I am not mistaken,Its the sound of shallow breathing?

Rain drops on my skin,And I can hear somebody giggling

Somewhere out of sight!Can you feel them?

Seems they are calling my name tonight

The gusty air smells of fragrance,Something very fresh!

There! There you are!!!

I see three green leaves,I see yellow-red petals,

Trying to raise itself in this gloominess

The blossoming of a life

The wind now whispers her song,

Ashes of dark night dances surrounding herAnd I see again,

The blossoming of a life

Reborn from those ashes!

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The time of my lifeThe time of my lifeThe time of my lifeThe time of my life

"It's important to go and get your things done.

It's the attitude which matters." Sir had stopped

teaching, something he regularly did, and wasin the middle of a lengthy discourse on some

general funda of life. It was Math tuition butour Sir was not to be bound by the limitations

of his subject. He was, so to say, quite an all-rounder. I was sitting in the front bench butwas hardly paying attention to the discussion at

hand. My best friend was sitting right besideme and I remember making a comment to himthat I'd be too lazy to take an active step in

such a matter. I'd made the comment quite

light-heartedly, addressing it to my best friendonly. But what I had not foreseen was thatsitting in the front bench, our Sir was at almostthe same distance from me as was my best

friend. It was obvious that he heard me becausethe very next moment he was pointing out tothe whole class that, "Laziness is a dangerous

attribute which is common to many of us, like

our friend here, Mr. Aveek." For some reasonhe also felt like writing down the word 'l-a-z-i-

n-e-s-s' on the board. I was quite embarrassedand felt like I could do with being in a place farfrom here. I was looking around blankly when

I noticed that Sir had missed out the 'l' from'laziness'. Having nothing better to do I pointed

it out his error to him, which he then promptlycorrected. Having to correct someone in one'sown criticism was a weird thing, I thought.

I was wondering whether I was actually lazy.At least I wasn't when it came to pointing out

typographical errors in another's writing. Buttake the matter of sitting in the first bench. If

my friend was already there in the front Iwould happily join him. But if he had thought

otherwise and was sitting farther behind, Iwould have at most weakly protested by sittingone row ahead of him, therefore leaving thefront seats empty. Not much 'attitude' there, I

concluded.

But that was much earlier in the day. Now Iwas at home getting ready to go out for aconcert. Thanks to the tuition I would have

missed a substantial part of it. But I intended tomake the most of whatever was left. I waswearing formals and quickly tied my shoes.

Entry was by showing an advertisement thathad been placed in today's newspaper. So I

hurriedly tore off two pages featuring ads ofthe concert - one of which included a sort ofgate-pass for it.

On my way I was joined by a friendfrom the building. As we passed theneighborhood park it suddenly grew extremely

windy. I don't know what made me do it butsuddenly I had this huge urge to fly. So I took

one of the cuttings in each hand and started

flapping my hands vigorously. Sometimes whenyou are on the beach and the wind happens to

be more than normal, you tend to feel lighterthan air. I was feeling just like that at thatmoment. My companion however was in no

mood to join me. Thus I had to remain contentwith the simpler pleasures of walking.


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We reached the auditorium a little later.There was no crowd outside. On entering we

found a checker waiting at a table for late-comers like us. So I took out the cuttings whichI had reluctantly stuffed into my pocket after

my brief spell of flying. I opened up the dirtycrumpled mess I had made out of it and tried

to show the checker the necessary gate-pass. Ishowed him the first paper which had cometorn at some places but it did not contain any

signs of the pass. So I showed him the secondpaper but that turned out to be just anadvertisement of the concert. The checker was

in no mood to make any allowances for me. Igrumbled with him for some time but on

finding it to no avail, I stepped aside. My friendwho had earlier shown his interest in joining

me in my deeds, showed his neatly cut outgate-pass, wished me good-bye and vanished. Ifelt like a fool standing there. Usually I wasmore careful with these things but now it was

too late.Suddenly I saw my father coming out of

the concert hall. He had had enough of it, hesaid. Not wanting to tell him about mypredicament and embarrass myself further, I

followed him around for some time. Heheaded into a shop. The street was full of well-lit and nicely decorated shops - an ideal place

for whiling your time. Quite a lot of prettylooking women were catching my attention but

I thought that this was probably not the besttime for 'bird'-watching.

I approached a few people asking them,

in my best English, whether they had passes forthe concert. They either hadn't any or showedme used passes. Ambling around like this I had

come back to the auditorium gate. Looking atthe success rate in my current endeavor, it was

best to try something else. Till any such idea

came to me, I decided to sit down. My fatherhaving loaded himself with the necessary items

that my mom had asked him to procure, thussaving him from his daily dose of "You forgotthat! You missed this", was on his way back

home. Seeing me in my present condition heasked me what I was up to. I replied that I was

waiting for a friend. He said, "Enjoy you" andleft.

So there I remained seated.....waiting..... Who I was waiting for was anentirely different story. But what is important is

that somebody actually came to end my wait.Probably he could read from the way I was

sitting or from the look on my face that thiswas a person in dire need of a person to talkto, or if I exaggerate it, "a shoulder to cry on".

He didn't exactly provide the warm and cozyshoulder that I was looking for. But at least hewas not as cold as the other passers-by.

So here came this boy, a boy probably just

older than me, but obviously vastly moreexperienced about the darker side of these

bright city lights. I caught him looking at mefrom quite a distance, the look on his facebeing the one you would have if youaccidentally met up with a long lost friend. He

was certain that I was a long lost for hequickened his steps and approached me with

ever increasing confidence. I was not too surethat I knew him so I tried to look away. But hewas not to be deterred. He stopped in front of

me, noticed that I was looking in a totallydifferent direction than him. He paused for awhile and then sat down beside me and

promptly put his arm around my shoulders.After this I was not too sure that I should ask

him who the hell he was. He probably was asenior from school who I was supposed toknow but did not, or worse still, a batch mate.

No words were exchanged for quitesome time. He seemed to be really pleasedwith the present state of affairs - and would not

show the slightest sign of budging. I thought itproper to show some courtesy from my part,

so I asked him how things were going. He

replied that things were well (as if it could havebeen otherwise!). I then commented on how

fine the weather was today. This statementobviously made a mark on him for the verynext moment he stood up and said, "That's

what I am saying. This is no day to waste sittingaround here, ruing lost chances. Come on. Getup. Let's enjoy ourselves."


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His words provided me just the impetusI was lacking. I stood up with the renewed

vigor to make the most of the remainingevening. My mind was brimming with ideas. Iwas thinking of having a fantastic dinner at an

expensive restaurant, I was thinking of having awalk by the lakes, I was thinking a lot many

things when he interrupted me by saying"Follow me. I have to buy shoes."

Almost immediately, without showing

any reluctance whatsoever, I followed him. Hisarm was again around my shoulders in a bigbrotherly fashion, and he almost pulled me

along. Enamored by such a show of affection Iwas convinced that helping this friend of mine

buy shoes was the best possible way ofspending the remaining part of the evening. He

took me into the most expensive shoe shop Ihad ever seen. I watched him from the cornerof my eye as I was always beside him. I notedhis every move - how he strolled into the

shop, how he ordered the employees to "showhim some good shoes, (if they had any)", his

show of disgust at the most exquisite of shoes,and finally his walking off leaving a group ofsalespeople wondering where they had gone

wrong. Even if I was as rich as he seemed to be,I only could hope to behave like him.

But I soon found out that he was not as

rich as he seemed to me. As we were leavingthe shop he told me, "You also fell for it, right?

Actually I don't even have the money to buydecent shoes. But I go to this shop every oncein a while, pose like a billionaire's son & they

don't have the guts to challenge me. It was fun,wasn't it?"

Fun it was. But now I was thinking

what to do next. Maybe the expensive dinnerpart of my earlier dream sequence needed

some heeding for I was quite hungry now. As if

able to read my thoughts, he asked me, "Areyou hungry?" I nodded to say yes. "Do you

fancy some kababs and Scotch?", he asked.Though I was not quite an ardent follower ofthe malted liquids, I did not mind too much

either. I said, "That would be nice." My friendtold me, "Follow me. I know just the rightplace to go to."

I followed him, expecting to be led intoa restaurant, as one normally would. But I

made a mistake there - with a friend like theone beside me, normal thoughts should not bekept in mind. I was led into an art gallery.

Before entering he clipped on a PRESS card onhis lapel, which I was certain was not his. He

greeted everybody with an air in hismannerisms and almost everybody wasimpressed by them. He did not pay much

attention to the paintings. Instead he walkedover to a crowd, the person at the center,evidently being the artist.

As the crowd thinned, he said to me inquite a loud voice, "You know what I would

say if I met the artist." Surprised, I asked,"What? My friend replied, "He has tried real

hard to shake off any sort of influence from thegreats - you understand what I mean?" Inodded.

The artist obviously heard this for he

approached us, encouraged by the comment.He interrupted to say, "Hello, I am the artist."

My friend greeted him and continued in thesame tone, "As I was saying, you have tried realhard to be independent, to be new. But it is

this sense of rebellion that has affected you. Ithas entered into your subconscious and throughthat has manifested into a vulgar display of

dependence. Your paintings reflect a need ofones own space and very obviously show the

presence of a dominant character in thefamily." I was dazed by this sudden verbalextravaganza. Even the artist was deep in his

thoughts, not expecting such a response fromhis paintings. As if this was the right moment tomention it, my friend added, "This is what

Hussain Chacha always used to tell me. Alwayslook out for the sense of rebellion, he used to

say - it is very dangerous." The artist could not

bear this anymore. He took us into a privateroom, where some savories and wine awaited

us. As a fee to this entry, my friend had to tellthe artist all about what the great M F Hussainchacha, ("almost like a father") had told him

about painting. And how my friend wouldhave been a painter had an astrologist notpredicted that his death was certain if he


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painted one more canvas... and other suchstories.

As we were leaving the gallery, myfriendasked me, "Can you tell me a good placefor sleeping? I really want to sleep." I was now

almost expecting something like this -something out of the ordinary. And after six

pegs of whisky, it was not quite out of the wayfor my friend to want to sleep. I was not surewhere he could find such a place. I suggested

that I had a pass for the concert. My friendinstantly agreed. He said, "So what are wewaiting for? Let's go." I pointed out, "But it's

half torn. The checker did not let me enter withthat." He replied, "Don't worry about all that.

Leave it to me." I said to myself, how foolish ofme.

So I followed him to the auditorium.The same auditorium where just a few hoursago, I had been standing all alone, feelingfoolish before this friend came along. A friend I

had never met before. But after that, theevening had been wonderful - not the usual

planned enjoyment we usually go through.Nevertheless, I had really had the "best time ofmy life." I did not want to ruin such a perfect

evening.

We had reached the auditorium. I said to my

friend, "You go first. I'll join you in a minute."My friend was quite drowsy by now. He said,

with much effort, "You won't run away, willyou? I'll wait for you." I consoled him bypromising to meet him inside. He went inside.

Probably he also knew that I was goingto run away. I was sure that when he made mepromise to join him inside the auditorium;

unlike other times, he said it from the bottomof his heart. I did not know this friend's name. I

probably would never see him again - but I

would definitely remember him. Or maybe Iwould bump into him sometime. The only

thing that worried me was whether he wouldrecognize me then as he did today.At least I would.

My feathered friendsMy feathered friendsMy feathered friendsMy feathered friends

We are fortunate to have a fair bit of greenadjoining our apartment building in Kolkata.Several days ago, imagine my joy to see two

grey doves playing out their totally un-self-conscious love games by the side of a smallpool of rain water that had collected in a

trough .The two love birds were utterlyinvolved in their courtship ritualistic dance,

cooing and chortling, preening and pirouetting,fluttering and flirting, and now and then

jumping up and over other, in an obvious

prelude to the more serious overtures that were

sure to follow. I began to wonder whether wehumans could ever learn to enjoy our love life

so much as my two feathered friends, withoutbecoming the objects of envy and desire, or

worse, ridicule.


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Blue ridge parkwayBlue ridge parkwayBlue ridge parkwayBlue ridge parkwayLakshmi Dharmarajan


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Paolo and FrancescaPaolo and FrancescaPaolo and FrancescaPaolo and FrancescaAndrea L'Afflito

At the beginning of the 14 th centuryFrancesca da Polenta was in love with Paolo,

the youngest handsome son of the richMalatesta family. For political and economic

reasons Francescas father wanted her to marryGianciotto, Paolos older, rude, deformedbrother.

Both families knew she would have refused thismarriage and decided to let her think shewould have married Paolo. When Francesca

realized she had been cheated, it was too latefor her to refuse but her love for Paolo didnt

end.

One day Paolo and Francesca were reading of

King Arthur in the garden of Malatestas

Family portraitFamily portraitFamily portraitFamily portraitReina KogenemaruReina KogenemaruReina KogenemaruReina Kogenemaru


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mansion. When they read of the secret love ofGenevieve and Lancelot they couldnt resist

their passion and finally kissed. Unfortunately,Gianciotto saw them and killed them while stillkissing.

The following poem is part of theCanto V of Dantes Inferno (Hell). Dante meets

Paolo and Francesca in his journey in the worldafter death and tells about their story, whichwas very famous at the time. According to

Dante, Paolo and Francesca are condemned tolive together forever in the hell because of theirforbidden love. Dante will also meet

Gianciotto on his long journey but in the placewhere betrayers and murders of their siblings

have to spend the eternity suffering more thananyone else in the hell.

I hope you will enjoy this poem, which is sowell known by all the young Italians in love,most of whom know it by heart.

Andrea.

----------------------------------------------------------------And I began: "O Poet, willingly

Speak would I to those two, who go together,

And seem upon the wind to be so light."And, he to me: "Thou'lt mark, when they shall

be

Nearer to us; and then do thou implore themBy love which leadeth them, and they will

come."Soon as the wind in our direction sways them,

My voice uplift I: "O ye weary souls!

Come speak to us, if no one interdicts it."As turtle-doves, called onward by desire,

With open and steady wings to the sweet nest

Fly through the air by their volition borne,So came they from the band where Dido is,

Approaching us athwart the air malign,

So strong was the affectionate appeal."O living creature gracious and benignant,

Who visiting goest through the purple airUs, who have stained the world incarnadine,If were the King of the Universe our friend,

We would pray unto him to give thee peace,Since thou hast pity on our woe perverse.Of what it pleases thee to hear and speak,

That will we hear, and we will speak to you,While silent is the wind, as it is now.

Sitteth the city, wherein I was born,Upon the sea-shore where the Po descends

To rest in peace with all his retinue.

Love, that on gentle heart doth swiftly seize,Seized this man for the person beautiful

That was ta'en from me, and still the modeoffends me.

Love, that exempts no one beloved from

loving,Seized me with pleasure of this man so

strongly,

That, as thou seest, it doth not yet desert me;Love has conducted us unto one death;

Caina waiteth him who quenched our life!"These words were borne along from them to

us.As soon as I had heard those souls tormented,I bowed my face, and so long held it downUntil the Poet said to me: "What thinkest?"

When I made answer, I began: "Alas!How many pleasant thoughts, how much

desire,Conducted these unto the dolorous pass!"Then unto them I turned me, and I spake,

And I began: "Thine agonies, Francesca,Sad and compassionate to weeping make me.But tell me, at the time of those sweet sighs,

By what and in what manner Love conceded,That you should know your dubious desires?"

And she to me: "There is no greater sorrowThan to be mindful of the happy timeIn misery, and that thy Teacher knows.

But, if to recognize the earliest rootOf love in us thou hast so great desire,

I will do even as he who weeps and speaks.

One day we reading were for our delightOf Launcelot, how Love did him enthral.

Alone we were and without any fear.

Full many a time our eyes together drewThat reading, and drove the colour from our

faces;But one point only was it that o'ercame us.

When as we read of the much-longed-for smile

Being by such a noble lover kissed,This one, who ne'er from me shall be divided,

Kissed me upon the mouth all palpitating.


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Galeotto was the book and he who wrote it.That day no farther did we read therein."

And all the while one spirit uttered this,The other one did weep so, that, for pity,I swooned away as if I had been dying,

And fell, even as a dead body falls.

The happy familyThe happy familyThe happy familyThe happy familyDamin Lim (6 yrs.)


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hot movie ?Worlds architectural wonders- discussion.

History, geography, rainbow color- descriptionGenes, proteins, physics planet- creation

Chemistryorganic table, NMR explanation.

topic- - discuss.

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Seasonal DenialSeasonal DenialSeasonal DenialSeasonal DenialRevathy Ramachandran

Invisible demonCloaked in leaves,

Why do you take them away?

These golden yellow mementos of summer,Are all that we have,

To reminisce a summer day.

By who's bidding

Are you so relentless?Tossing and turning the leaves around?

With what spite,

With what reasoned gleeDo you throw them to the ground?

Wearing padded feetBearing frosty breath

You slyly come to my door.

I hear the knocksBut what if I wont open it

To you anymore?

Chuckling devil

Your plans wont work

You think winter will now start.But all my friends say

Havent you heard?It's always summer in my heart.

Something, AnythingSomething, AnythingSomething, AnythingSomething, Anything....

And in the Mumbai blasts,Did any of your kin die?

Or any for whom you would shed a tear?

Would you have to skip a meal?Or suffer damage to property?

Or have effect on monthly wages?

Then why do you sayYou are affected?

You feel angry?Sad?

Anxious?Threatened?

You could have been there, right?So something must be done, you say.

You are right,Something must be done -

But what?

You say - something. Anything.

Quick action.Strong steps.

Ban the ***,Hang the ***,Raid the ***,Kill the ***.

But then.

Hundreds dieOf floods

In Bihar every year

Or in Orissa of heatOr in Delhi of cold

And on the day of such news

You calmly sip your morning-teaAnd fold the paper

And call up your son.

What then?

Isn't it ironicThat when those people

Feel threatened

And insecure;And some rebel outfit

Or insurgent group

Promises them security,And they follow blindly,

You call them poor illiterates.

Come to think of it,

They too are just doing something.Something, anything.


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Firstly, Switch off the TVFirstly, Switch off the TVFirstly, Switch off the TVFirstly, Switch off the TV

This poem was written immediately after the

Mumbai terror-attacks 2008

Those who have lost someone of their kin, orsomeone close to heart, or those who have

suffered loss of property in the recent tragedyin Mumbai, might find the following piece

offensive. The millions of other people arerequested to read on.

***

First of all,Switch off the TV.

Don't look at the papers.

InsteadGo watch a movie

Gossip about stingy relatives

Gorge on glorious foodOr shop till you drop.

Then you will realizeYou have not been affected.

Photocredit:http://www.flickr.com/photos/soumik/3062552427/

And thenBefore you go to sleep

Think -Can you do something

To prevent another Mumbai

And if the answer is yes,Get up and start working on it.

Otherwise go to sleepAnd remember -

Every scared and threatened mindIs another victory in the terrorist's tally.

Sweet kittensSweet kittensSweet kittensSweet kittensSaraswathi Dharmarajan


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TheTheTheThe DuckpondDuckpondDuckpondDuckpondNeha Hudait (11 years)Neha Hudait (11 years)Neha Hudait (11 years)Neha Hudait (11 years)

QQQQualifier dreamsualifier dreamsualifier dreamsualifier dreamsBalachandar GBalachandar GBalachandar GBalachandar Guduriuduriuduriuduri


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LLLLove in tove in tove in tove in the Time ofhe Time ofhe Time ofhe Time ofPower CutPower CutPower CutPower Cut

The main events of this story happenedon the third, fourth, fifth and sixth days of thepower cut. While relating the story, the

description of the events of the third day willnaturally be a bit lengthy, as a description ofthe Status quo shall be necessary at the onset.

Then we shall breeze through the proceedingsof the fourth and fifth days. Finally, we shall

conclude the story by relating the sixth day'shappenings and by stating the moral of thisstory.

On the third day of the power cut, theboy got his first chance to talk to the girl. Theboy's name might have been Raghu and the

girl's name might have been Anjali but instories of this nature, such details are trivial.

When seen from a broad perspective, bothwere quite low on the socio-economic ladder.But when compared with each other, the girl

was from a better to do family. The girl hadlearnt English, done her B.Com and hadmanaged to get the job of a receptionist in a

reputed company. The boy's father had passedaway early, making his education short, but

sheer assiduousness had landed him the job ofelectrician in the same reputed company.

It must have been sheer assiduousness

alone, and not chance that got him the job inthe same company. For the boy had loved the

girl since long. They lived in the same localityand had played together as kids but there werefar too many social barriers to cross now, even

for a simple chat, let alone build a relationship.Also worthy of note was the fact that the girlhad grown to be very attractive to members of

the opposite gender. So much so, that thehighly educated guys from better-to-do families

working as officers in that reputed company,always found some excuse to stop at the

reception desk and talk with her. Ourelectrician thus never got his fair chance. Andthen again, would it be very agreeable for a

lady to be seen striking conversation with anordinary electrician?

Life at office might not have been verypleasant for the boy, but it was all cushions for

the girl. She was completely enamored by her"Air Conditioned" office. The controlled andplush environment was a world away from the

vagaries of heat and dust that she faced athome and during travel. A few months of

working at the "AC office" had also donewonders for her skin. Thus when people

enquired about her work and salary, she neverfailed to mention her "Air Conditioned"emoluments.

As we all know, all good things mustcome to an end. The power cut, which affected

even the business district of the city, provedthat statement. The generators were not able tosustain the power-hungry AC's. A large number

of pedestal fans had to be hired. However,unlike the benevolent AC, the benefits of theseswiveling pedestal fans were not for all.

Amongst the few underprivileged people in theoffice, was our girl. Two days of sitting and

sweating took toll on the poor girl. On thethird day, she caught a bad cold, and her eyeswere all swollen. She was breaking into fits of

sneezing every other moment. Naturallyenough, the highly educated guys from thebetter-to-do families failed to find any excuses

to talk to the girl that day.And thus, our boy the electrician, got his

chance to talk with the girl. It was he, who had

set up all the pedestal fans in the office withinthe last two days. He also knew which person

was absent that day, and thus brought such aperson's fan to the reception area. The girl wassurprised by this favorable arrangement, and

enquired how such a thing was suddenly madepossible. The boy improvised the reply that"Bade Saab" (The Big Boss of the company) had


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ordered from abroad, that no one should feeluncomfortable during the power cut.

As the fan whirred into life, the gusts ofair made the girl's long tresses fly helter-skelter.Caught unawares, the girl slowly gained control

over her disobedient locks, and tied them intoa neat bun. Now anyone with imagination will

realize that the sight of a beautiful girl fightingdesperately with the forces of wind to tie herhair is a sublime one. And for our boy, the girl

concerned was his beloved, and thus, he couldnot take his eye away from her. Noticing thefaraway look in the boy's eyes, the girl

interrupted his dreams by saying, "Thank you".Realizing that he had been caught gawking, the

boy felt embarrassed, and quickly moved awayfrom there.

On the next day, which was the fourthday of the power cut, it was another personwho had taken leave. Thus there had to be anew arrangement. And this was fortunate for

the boy for this gave him another chance totalk with the girl. That day, their chat was

longer. She enquired about his mother, whohad not been keeping well for some time.

When he enquired about her family, she said

that everyone in her family was keen to gosomewhere on vacation during the comingfestive season. But she wanted to spend it at

home, with friends of the locality, as she haddone since childhood.

Fixing up the pedestal fan usuallynever took our boy more than a minute. Buton the fifth day, while fixing it up for the girl,

he took all pains to take as much time aspossible. While doing so, and for some timeafter that task was finished, the boy and the girl

kept talking. They had a good laugh that day,talking about "playing together as children",

and how she always "used to steal his ice-

cream" after having had her own. After sometime, our boy was called up for some work.

Their conversation had to be cut short. But bythat time, plans had been made for comingtogether to office on the following day. They

were to meet at nine at the bus stop.On the sixth day, the power cut ended.

Our electrician got this news, and news of the

sudden arrival of "Bade Saab" early in themorning. Thus he had to rush to office much

before his usual time. He had planned toexpress his love to the girl that day, but thatwould have to wait. At office, he started

disconnecting and removing all the pedestalfans. He postponed the disconnecting of the

fan in the reception area as long as possible,hoping that by that time, the girl would arrive.The boy wondered whether she was waiting

for him at the bus stop, and was late because ofthat.

However, when she finally came in, our

boy was busy somewhere else. And when hegot some time off, those shameless sons of

better-to-do families had started crowding infront of the reception area again. Much like the

AC at office, their brains had purred back to lifeafter the hiatus, and they suddenly found newpoints of conversation with the receptionist.

Wondering if he would ever get another

chance to talk to the girl, the poor electricianwent into the "Bade Saab's" chamber, where he

was supposed to fix something. While our electrician was at his work,

the girl also went to the "Bade Saab's" office to

personally thank him for his life-saving ordersto arrange fans for everyone. On hearing this,the Bade Saab said, "Did I say such a thing? I

don't remember saying such a thing. Anyway, Iam glad that you did not have to face much

trouble during the power cut."Our girl heard this. She took a

slight sideways glance at our boy, who had

been eavesdropping on the conversation. Hisface betrayed the expression of someonecaught doing a terrible deed. The girl realized

what had happened, and said to the Bade Saab,in a meaningful voice, "Actually it was hardly

any trouble for me. I had grown quite used to

the arrangement during the power cut. I thinkthe Air Condition does not suit me very much."

MORAL OF THE STORY

Power crisis is imminent Wake up to powerconservation and the search for alternate

sources of energy.


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TTTThe Story of My Firsthe Story of My Firsthe Story of My Firsthe Story of My FirstLoveLoveLoveLove

The cellphone had beeped twice

previously. It then rang fervently for a minute,then plunged the room into its initial state of

dismay and despondence. I had looked at theforlorn face beside me. It is so terrible shehad sniffed, especially since we both hate the

fights. I nodded in agreement. I knew exactlywhat she meant. I had observed the trials andtribulations associated with relationships in

general, to escalate when the distancesincreased.

Fights tip my list of the most timeconsuming and distasteful activities in whichindividuals could possibly indulge in. These

were the last few of the peaceful school days,prior to my tryst with higher education. Priorto being introduced to college life and the like.

Most of my friends had been in steadyrelationships. And some of them were already

facing the angst of separation. I had seen mostof my friends pine on perfectly pleasant

evenings, for the love of their lives, cribbing atthe downcast weather. It was that time, thephase when I was about to be plunged into myvery own long distance relationship.

It would be clichd to say that it was alove at first sight, but there was definitely the

strongest of bonds. Since the first day we hadbeen a team. He had been my best friend, myfall back plan, my pillar of strength, my mentor

and my guide. The long long rides, the icecreams, the same television soaps that

enthralled us. We were perfectly in sync, asthough I was a replica of his. I had heard thatopposites attract, that the universe requires a

yin to balance a yang,, we however dwelt inour haven of yin-yin, contend and happy.

It was the love for books that bound us

closer. It was while he read out to me passagesfrom his favorite books that he thought Iwould like, that I developed a knack for

reading and appreciating the written art. It washe who had helped me through the burdens

that schooling hurls at children in the name ofhome-work and assignment. He had beenpatient and understanding. He had understood

my need to go out with friends, the need formy space, my privacy and advocated complete

and utter trust. Ours was a transparent andstrong attachment, we had been together longenough to value and cherish the importance.

While I saw many a similar relations crumble.The day I got my call from the

university, I was on cloud nine. His support

was endearing. It was an exciting phase forboth of us. It was a long, fun-filled frolic that

we had had. organizing luggage, choosingundergrad courses, researching on possible

advisors. His coming over to my universitytown, during the settling phase, his attempt tofamiliarize me with each and every spot of thetown I intended to spend the next plausibly

four years of my life. And then one day, it wastime for him to leave.

The first semester I made many newacquaintances, found many girls in similarposition as my best friend had been, back in

school. The same feeling of melancholy, similarinstances of fights, the endless quarrels and theresulting break-ups.. the more I had hoped that

we would never have a fight. Thankfully, thathad stayed true. He had been there, as always.

Who was it who had said that long distancerelationships do not work?

He had been there for me

undauntedalways, anyways.He had helped me overcome the

miserable first year and its terrible result, he

had celebrated the day I topped my class, he

had edited my first paper for a nationalconference and spent a million on tele bills,while I rehearsed on the phone for the same.He continues to be my life, my love. Life as an

undergrad has been a fanatic frenzy, myriad ofemotions, a collection of memories, he hasbeen through all that, with me, for me. The

only guy who tolerated all my tantrums, my


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mood swings and who treated me as hisprincess.

Today, as I sit on my desk, miles awayfrom my homeland, into my first semester ofanother four years of studies, I pen this out for

him. I send out a voice into the void, to thenumerous teens and lovelorn dames hoping to

find their Prince Charming the guy whowould provide them the entire world, whowould be there through thick and thin, who

would wipe the tears and bring in the smile.Maybe, someday I too would find a

person like that, but I would never move on

from my first love, for no one else in the wideworld could love me as much.

This goes out for himmy first loveI love

you Dad!

The Morning of theWhite Tiger

The Sun blazed down brightly on the city ofDelhiThe fruit of mans unending tryst with

nature-Global Warming, had blessed theDelhi-ites with yet another warm winter

November-end morning. From within the fourwalls of our dwelling, the hustle and bustle ofthe town seemed to beckon to my mother and

me. We were anxious to go enjoy the thrills ofthe outdoor, ready to sacrifice a whole dayof sun basking for the benefit of window

shopping, book hunting and frolic. Season endsales and discounts on choicest of apparels and

articles were summoning us.Over breakfast we laid down the

proposal to my father. From behind the

newspaper and between spoonfuls ofcornflakes, he firmly dismissed the idea of histaking us around the city in our shopping

expedition. His patients and his hospitaldefinitely appealed to him much more than our

quest. However, as a consolation he agreed tosend over the driver so that we may bechauffeured around town. My mother and I

were pleased. A whole morning of adventureand shoppingSurely what could be better?

An hour and a half later, we wereaboard our faithful vehicle and on way to our

morning of adventure. Our first stop was to bethe British Library. Locating it, in itself, was anexploit. As the car made its way through the

crowded streets of Connaught Place, eachturning seemed to be identical and we seemed

to be in a maze of uncertain roadways. Itwasnt as if wed never been to the library

before, just that on the occasions that we had,the roads in concern had been negotiated bymy father and we hadnt worried about thenumerous rights and lefts that were involved.

The Delhi municipality with their boards ofdiversions and various blockages to make way

for the metro too didnt seem to helpA dozen maneuvers later our driver

managed to finally reach the destination of

desire. As the library only involved work of amatter of few minutes we asked the driver topark by the roadside and wait for our return.

On entering the main library building however,we were informed that the library was to

remain closed for the day. Slightly disheartenedwe headed back towards the spot where wehad left the car waiting.

The road was abuzz with commutersand their diverse means of transport ourparticular car seemed to have disappeared.

The sight seemed to be the same, thehawkers still highly proclaiming their respective

wares, street food vendors in their endeavors

to entice the early morning commuters gastricjuices. The phoenix red Maruti that was OURS

was missing from the scene. Initially slight signsof agitation quelled within us. How could thedriver leave the designated spot?; Where

could he have gone and parked?


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Five minutes later the agitationvaporized and its place was taken by anxiety.

Surely he couldnt be taking such along time to park? As thoughts often have ahabit of intermingling and interconnecting

situations, mine seemed to delve upon thelatest book that I had read-Aravind Adigas The

White Tiger. Surely the driver couldnt haveadopted a similar ploy and made away withthe car? The more I thought about it the more

my ideas seemed to concretize.After all how much did we know

about him? I had a vague idea of his supposed

residence and he was related to a certainsecurity guard. Besides that he was a stranger.

He had been employed by us for a little oversix months. And although his service had been

impeccable; there had been instances of slacklately.

His taking leave for the past week, histurning up late on occasions (contrary to his

regular behavior), his plea for an advance in hispayments on certain accounts of familial

emergency. Surely all that couldnt be a merecoincidence? My intellect had alreadyconceived the ploy that the plotting cunning

driver had set. He had kept all his resourceshandy. He would leave us at the library andspeed back to our home, which hed forcefully

enter, loot and make away with the spoils, allthis while we were blissfully within the realms

of the library.As time lapsed, similarities between the

protagonist of the White Tiger and our driver

passed through my conscious. Both hailed fromvillages on the Gangetic riverbed; both hadscarce formal primary education; both were

economically wanting and both harboureddreams of making it big someday. It then

dawned to me, the apathy of the poverty

stricken many of our nation.The hunger and thirst which had

vanquished morals and ethics. We lived in anage when All was fair in every task. Tohurt someone was no longer an ill and to

satisfy self was the dominating mantra forsustenanceIt now seemed certain to me-Thedriver had stolen the car.

Ten minutes passed, as beads of

perspiration drenched us in a frantic frenzy, wediscussed the plan of action suitable for us toproceed upon. Standing alone, mother and

daughter in the chill windy pavement, thecapital which earlier in the day seemed warm

and friendlythe city we had set out tocapture, suddenly seemed to be a gigantichaven of distrust, deception and dismay. We

introspectively cursed ourselves for wanting toembark alone and unaided in the big badworld. Whom could we turn for help? Each

passerby seemed enveloped in his owntribulations and trials. The world suddenly

seemed to have a sense of gloom writ allaround it. The adventure that the mother

daughter duo had sought had morphed into anightmare, quite unvisualised.

First step was to inform dad, Isuggested. The next would probably be his

informing a concerned law enforcing authorityabout the situation. But all that could wait.

Amidst all the euphoria of leaving home andembarking on a shopping escapade, I had leftmy cell phone at home. So now, we were on

the streets, with no transport and also nomeans of communication. We looked aroundfor sight of an open tele booth and luckily

there was one right at the corner of the road. We made our way towards it, seeking to

inform my father of our plight.

It was then that the magic occurred. Amidst all

the chaos of the passerbys i could distinctlyhear the sound of my car rearing up. As myeyes followed the directions of my ear i noticed

the car parked at the bend of the road, withthe driver waving at us in an attempt to

indicate his positioning. The world around

seemed to blank out and all i could see was mybeloved car. We semi- ran through the crowd,

praying for what we saw to indeed be true andnot a mere mirage. Perhaps Bollywood harpson moments like these. These moments that we

ridicule on screen actually occur in liveswithout the reel. The jubilation seemed to


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engulf all around and all seemed happy andnormal again.

The driver offered his explanation ofthe police pestering him to park and we soughtnot to delve further into the issue. All the trust

that had dissolved during the phase of hisabsence seemed to have resurrected at his

appearance. The world was not so bad afterall. India, despite its covering gloom of povertyand illiteracy still had a basic core of honor,

duty and the quintessential Dharma, heldabove Artha (material well-being). It was notsurprising that the world today was being

targeted by authors like Adiga who madeprotagonists of murderers and deceptors. Surely

the true India is not so? Crimes exist wheresociety breeds, however I await the time when

the Man Booker is bagged by a book whichupholds Indian values and lives of the rich andpoor in this culturally and economically pluralnation.

Till then I shall cherish the thoughts ofthis particular winter morning as the day when

I almost met the White Tiger

----------------------------*disclaimer: this is NOT a work of fiction*The author invites her readers into an Indian-metropolis,

the National capital of New Delhi, India. The reference isto the book The White Tiger which is by Aravind Adiga,

which bagged the Man Booker prize a few years ago. The

author applauds Mr Adiga for his debut feat, yet isconcerned that perception because of his portrayal of

India, may have generalized the nation and her residents atad pessimistically. The author strongly encourages all to

pick up a copy of the book, to enjoy it as a work offiction.


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`

Photographers cornerPhotographers cornerPhotographers cornerPhotographers corner

Where it always shinesWhere it always shinesWhere it always shinesWhere it always shinesRaj Kishore


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The green carpetThe green carpetThe green carpetThe green carpet

Hookah!Hookah!Hookah!Hookah!


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DrizzleDrizzleDrizzleDrizzle

Sunset over NileSunset over NileSunset over NileSunset over Nile


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Fire in the skyFire in the skyFire in the skyFire in the sky

UprightUprightUprightUpright


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The Egyptian markeThe Egyptian markeThe Egyptian markeThe Egyptian marketttt


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Sea shoreSea shoreSea shoreSea shore

Peaks and prayersPeaks and prayersPeaks and prayersPeaks and prayers


45/45

Bengali Students Association of Virginia Tech

Current MembersCurrent MembersCurrent MembersCurrent Members (2011)(2011)(2011)(2011)

Abhijit Sarkar

Abhranil Maiti

Anupam Pandey

Arnab Gupta

Arnab Roy

Atashi Sharma

Balachandar Guduri

Bikramjit Mukherjee

Bireswar Laha

Debomoy Sen

Kriti Sen Sharma

Lakshmi Dharmarajan

Manjushree Palit

Poulomi Laha

Prithwish Chakraborty

Puranjoy Bhattacharjee

Saikat Basu

Sharmistha Mitra

Shibabrat Naik

Souvik Pal

Sreyoshi Bhaduri

Sunny Mohammed Rabius

Surya Dipta Deb

Suvojit Ghosh

Tannistha Maiti

Tila Khan

Udit Chowdhury

Wrik Mallick

PastPastPastPast MembersMembersMembersMembers (2010)(2010)(2010)(2010)

Abhijit Sarkar

Abhranil Maiti

Arnab Gupta

Arnab Roy

Atashi Sharma

Bikramjit Mukherjee

Debomoy Sen

Dipayan maity

Lakshmi Dharmarajan

Mainak Banga

Manjushree Palit

Prithwish Chakrovorty

Puranjoy Bhattacharjee

Revathy Ramachandran

Saikat Basu

Sanghamitra Sen

Sharmistha Mitra

Shibabrat Naik

Souvick Chatterjee

Sunny Mohammed Rabius

Surya Dipta Deb

Suvojit Ghosh

Tannistha Maiti

Udit Chowdhury

Photo credit: www.google.com

ezine sharod somvar 2011

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