My Mother

She is the most lovely lady I have ever seen. She's so mysterious always, so caring that sometimes I can't help but feel sympathetic about her. Most of the times though , my rebel nature dominates where I shrug off all her attempts when she's constantly pampering me. It's difficult to make a Bengali woman aware that she hasn't borne the ideal Bengali child who always obeys his parents to the last word and welcomes all the constant attention on him. I have detested her enough for this, so much so, that I made my feelings very visual, and said things then ,that I wouldn't have in retrospect. But,as I say it, it's all a matter of perception , or how you see it. See it from their eyes, and you will see a disobedient child; and see from mine ,and you will find a boy struggling to break all the shackles that have bound him for long.
Still, I am intrigued by my mother because of the mysterious aura surrounding her. Or is she plain simple. I will never know. When she is not onto her pampering habit, believe me, she is simply adorable. I also inherited my soft-spoken nature from her, and to a certain extent ,the introvert that I am, I owe it to her. Not that I am ashamed of being so.Far from it.I cherish it.I love to see the world with my own eyes. When nobody has any control on my thoughts , and nobody can see or steal them. In fact, my brother also is influenced by her. He also has different eyes. Far different than mine.

I loved to share all my feelings with my mother, when at school. I still remember us sitting on the balcony in the evening at tea time alone, and I used to share everything with her.She used to mostly listen. She used to project an image of a simple village girl then who has simple dreams and craves for peace every time.After I came to college,I continued to speak a lot to her, until times came when I realized that my revealing the slightest unpleasant thing would make her restless. She wouldn't be able to cure the situation of course by doing so, sitting 3000 kms,and 3 days away from me.
This blockade went on .It still is. I don't reveal anything to my mother anymore. Not that it has helped me in all ways. It sure has made me stronger. I am not a crybaby anymore. But I sure feel bottled up sometimes, because the only person whom I used to share my feelings with has been made unavailable myself. I don't engage in emotional talks with anyone. Even an introvert needs somebody to share his feelings with somebody at times. I feel all alone sometimes, now that I don't have my best friend with me anymore. Talks with parents have become exceedingly formal. It sure doesn't help having parents who care too much. And it also doesn't help having a son who thinks a lot of the consequences before he gives even a glimpse of his feelings. Not that I don't have close friends. Have plenty of gems in my closet, but I just can't make my feelings known to them as I used to with my mother. I mostly listen nowadays.

I cherish those moments from my childhood when after a hard day's work, when she settled down for her afternoon nap, I would ask her if I could press her legs or her forehead,if she had a headache. She sometimes allowed me, and used to be the happiest boy then. Such moments may never come back, but I sure intend to take my mother for a religious trip, a pilgrimage of sorts ,once I start earning for myself. I will never forget that she stood up to everybody, to focus all her energies on my education, sacrificing many things and suffering criticsm, of which I know.
I owe a lot to my mother , and can't even dream of repaying her ever.

Trauma relived

This weekend will eventually prove to be a slight reprieve from the mega drubbing received, largely at the hands (and the peculiar methods)of our professors in the Chemical Engg. Deptt.
The past few days will be remembered by me for the rest of my life as it shattered my belief that i would be able to pass along these 4 years without putting in any great effort. Being lazy in nature,the aforementioned thought appealed to me quite a lot. But i suppose it's impossible to escape unhurt through all this. A Peaceful Sleep has been a rare commodity for the past few days. Not a single day has passed without some test(announced or surprise) happening.
Assignments have also been thrown upon this tight schedule. As if this was not enough for this supposedly normal week (apart from the Heat Transfer lab end-sem exam i didnt mention), a viva was conducted which i suppose every student in my deptt. would remember for the rest of his life.
The reason to conduct this viva(which was not to be as a part of this course according to the curriculum) was given in the following words by the H.O.D of the deptt. as -"You guys seem to be happy in the 3rd year of chemical engineering". Nothing was left to be explained after this quote. We all knew what awaited us. At least,we thought so.
I have been given to understand by my friends in IIT that even there,1 or at max.2 professors are given a chance to screw 3 students(in a batch)in the viva. Being in a NIT,i used to think that i was lucky to escape that.Alas....The sight of the 3-4 best(dangerous,in other words) professors in our deptt. sitting in a panel called just 1 student at a time in their cabin,was enough to send any sensible student into delirium. I didnt know what exactly awaited me...
As I entered the cabin, I broke into a sweat at their sight. The Air Conditioner which had been turned to the student's direction ,at bone-chilling temperature did not help. I didn't even FEEL it.After that,the questions started. I dont think that I have the courage to recount that torture .It was too painful, believe me. It would be enough to say that by the end of the viva(which lasted the longest in my case, 20mins, in which i was asked only 2-3 questions), i only remember my mouth hung open an a strange noise emanating from it(sounding like,aeaeaeaeae...).As i came out of the chamber, i wished the person going in -'all the best!!',for the first time in my life from the bottommost of my heart. I came to my room and listened to some opera music(no idea about what the lady sang,but it proved to be strangely soothing).
So, in any case, if a 1st or 2nd year Chemical engg. student chances upon this blog,i would just say to them-'Don't be so happy so early,...you are yet to get the real taste of what this thing means.....

The Stupid People

There are some questions that frequently surface in my mind: How does society define a person who is successful? Is a person who is an alumnus of reputed institutions,having a bank-balance that is bound to grow with time and can make the society gawk at him successful.
I prefer to differ.
I have seen persons getting tense always by observing achievers ,wanting to excel and messing up their peace by chasing a goal that was probably not meant to be theirs. This pursuit of excellence can only give him endless misery.According to my definition,I think that a real successful person is satisfied with his efforts,his input and finally the outcome,whatever it is.A person who doesn't use the outcome of another person's performance as a gauge to measure himself is the most satisfied and successful according to me.He does not spend his life cursing himself and knows that he has done what he would have in any case.
He's a person who may not want to conquer the world but conquer as much peace so as to satisfy himself. Personally,I want to be him.I don't want everything.I know that i will be successful that day when i put a good effort towards a goal and am satisfied with the input,not the output.I want to chase my dreams,not somebody else's.I look forward to that day.
I look forward to that day when I will be able to dreams like the once i used to have.

My identity is me

Right from my childhood, i have been frequently been irritated by a few questions of a similar kind asked by others, that is -'From where do you belong in India?? What's your caste?? Being a Mishra, how come your parents are Bengali?? If your parents are Bengali,obviously you are one too?? You don't speak like a Bengali, neither can you be called a Bihari??'and the biggest one-"MISHRA,doesnt seem to be a bengali title?"
Too many questions...and too limited patience for me to answer them.Let me tell you this that these have been asked by almost everybody-my teachers,friends,etc. I just give them a smile, and tell them that even I am not too sure myself to satisfy their doubts.(cant just bluntly tell them to mind their own business)
Right from my childhood, I have never been a very social person, although I like being with my friends always. Never having mixed with the world too much, I never asked certain questions to my parents ,answers to which even Indian kids know. Foremost question-'Who am I?' Sounds like some stupid spiderman stuff but in our country, this question assumes a lot of significance. Answer to this question describes your identity.i.e. your caste,your ancestral background,and by what you will call yourself-a Bihari,Marathi,Bengali...Because,to be frank, nobody calls themselves as an Indian, unless and until they have watched a patriotic movie that day.You are ,what you describe yourself as, and you are instantly assigned to a community in the mind of the opposite person.
Coming back on track,i would say that my parents were of the kind who believed that their children need not attach much importance to their caste,ancestors and such stupid stuff. They just believed that I should be mindful of my own business and do it. All this was dissatisfying at the time when i was constantly badgered with such questions.
My parents can be called as Bengali as anybody else as they were born and brought up there. But the absurdity of my situation threw me in a tight spot. For my relatives and close ones,I was a Bengali , but being born and brought up in Bokaro steel City,Jharkhand, i had the usual local Hindi accent,and didn't have that strange characteristic Bengali accent . Thus, my Bengali also suffered.Thus, till date i try valiantly to hide my Bengali parental roots from any outsider in case i am dubbed as the same. Being born and brought up in Jharkhand,I have the characteristic of the usual guy you will find there. That place is in my blood. I am fiercely in love with that place..its calmness,its poetic landscape...the fresh scent of earth after the rains there is the best aroma that i know and long to breathe always....
In short,please dont call me a Bengali.....my parents are Bengali....Personally, i have a distinctive dislike towards maccher-jhol-bhaat and rasogullas. Don't ask me my caste:I don't consider myself as a Brahmin-i love chicken and I am an agnostic. The only attachment that i have with the bengali community is that language with which i interact with the most important persons in my life.I am a Jharkhandi, a Steel City guy, and am proud to be one.