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,
E-mail: vtpujo@gmail.com
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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!
FILM TREND.
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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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, , husband wife?
hot movie ?Worlds architectural wonders- discussion.
History, geography, rainbow color- descriptionGenes, proteins, physics planet- creation
Chemistryorganic table, NMR explanation.
topic- - discuss.
;
, share
;608 !
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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
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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
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