Unforgiven

That would be you.

... though I didn't say anything, but that didn't mean I forgave you. It's not that easy. And I tried to shake the whole business off my mind, tried to keep myself busy in other matters (and if you only could know what I did), overslept, overdrank, overlaughed, but nope dear, I couldn't and I shan't FORGIVE you.

And I will watch you suffer, just the way you did. I will, and I will devote my whole freaking life to do that, if it ever becomes necessary. Himu never quits.

No title

Just a simple statement, the gypsy kids who went to school in a gipsy colony in Dhaka, wants to become teachers when they grow up. It made me cry.

I've seen thousand and thousands of poor kids around Bangladesh. I simply adore these children, though I don't express it very often, I love their curious eyes, their pure drooling smiles, their worm-infested bellies ... and what have I done for these angels? Truth to be said, nothing. Perhaps I buy candies from some of them when I get stuck in a jam, and whoa there, nothing more.

And now these kids want to become teacher when they grow up ... for the love of God, when did I ever want to become a teacher? Never! And these kids do, because they received something from their teachers they want to convey to the rest of their communities? And what the bloody heck have I ever wanted to convey to my community?

And I am not ashamed to admit that these little kids make me feel so worthless. I kneel on the ground before them and apologize.

Meine neue Flamme ...

... und der Titel sagt alles.

Looney Limericks 0003

I poured some vodka, squeezed some juicy lemons
and drank like as if retinued by the demons

the morning saw me naked
and my stomach really ached

I just don't know now where to put blame-ons.


P.S. well, true spirit of a birthday was celebrated, at least!

What's in a Birthday?

Just a day ... you've been born years ago. Why bother?

Does it make any difference? Years after years, tuesdays after thursdays, rainy days after sunny days and the other way round ... a birthday is just another day Himu, just another day. You'll meet the same people, under the same sky, on the same way around you ... it's just another day.

*uck the phone calls, shove the phoney smiles up their asses ... and go on boozing. Happy birthday Himu, live happy!

Je manque mes cheveux :(

Yeah, just that :(((.

Me and Marquez 0001

Sometimes I find myself just like that dictator in The Autumn of the Patriarch ... none could recognize him when he lay down facing the earth, not only because the vultures nibbled his face away, but none actually ever came to know him.

My baby shot me down :(

I easily get carried away, but unfortunatly (or is it fortunate?) not very far. For past few days, this awesome piece by Nancy Sinatra is ringing in my brain.


I was five and he was six
we rode on horses made of sticks
he wore black and i wore white
he would always win the fight
bang, bang
he shot me down bang, bang
i hit the ground ... bang, bang
that awful sound,
bang bang,
my baby shot me down.

seasons came and changed the time,
when i grew up i called him mine
he would always laugh and say
remember when we used to play ... bang bang
i shot you down bang bang
you hit the ground bang bang
that awful sound ... bang bang ...
i used to shoot you down

music played and people sang
just for me the church bells rang ... ...

now he's gone i don't know why
and to this day sometimes i cry
he didn't even say goodbye
he didn't take the time ... to lie!
bang, bang
he shot me down, bang bang
i hit the ground bang, bang ...
that awful sound, bang bang ...
my baby shot me down.


It speaks out my mind, if I replace "he" with she ... my baby shot me down, BANG BANG ...

Well, I should get up from the ground.

Hmmph!

I confess. I AM a netfreak.

For past 3 days, I couldn't log in from my home pc ... THREE days! Can you believe, my fellow freaks, that my home pc couldn't be connected to the net for 72 hours? It's true, it's so damn true!

But why would it matter, I could log in from my office pc, till 1700 hours? Why bother the home pc then?

Well, the thing is, I've sacrificed my evening to internet. I chat a lot, listen to online music a lot, browse a lot, and even if I don't do anything, I just want to see my pc connected to this darned network. And I simply go nuts if I can't do that for even 1 hour. 72 is quite a multiplying factor to augment my agony :(.

Anyway, back again, mi palomita! Ahoy webworld, here I come!

Looney Limericks: 0002

The girl next door had such a wonderful cat!
I decided, to use it to start up a chat.


I went to her and said like a wussy,
"Mademoiselle, you've got a nice pussy."


Her boyfriend worked for RAB*, and I didn't know that :(.


*Special Commando police of Bangladesh.

Looney Limericks: 0001

Once I loved a girl named Diana

she looked so fine, but laughed like a Hyena

when I was 'bout to go and propose

she stumbled and broke her nose

and my oh my, she left me and went to China!

[Hey, you pesky little blogloving netfreak! Yeah, I'm talking to you! These Limericks are protected by the copyright act of ... some past year! But you can use them ... no probs :)]

Après Longtemps

Oui, je m'ai perdu depuis semaine dernière. Non, rien special s'est passé. Mais il y a quelque temps quand on veut se perdre, et comme je tousjours dis, je ne suis pas un exception. Je me préparais pour le chagrin d'année. Ju sais, et je suis certain, qu'il va se passer.

Je t'attends, tu sais ça?

Bloggapon

This time an advertisement ... but ain't sure if it reaches anyone.

Need a "Partnerin" to learn Latin dance [preferably salsa]. Classes will be on friday afternoon, till 1700 hours. "Interessentin" should be well below 55 kgs and avoid pencil heeled shoes. Avoiding fooling around is assured.

Thank you.

August with its august presence

August is my favourite one out of twelve ... not because I was born in this month (that is no good reason to be fond of a month). It has something so comforting.

Let me try to explain. I know the weather might seem a bit awkward to you ... it rains a lot, it's hot and humid, you sweat a lot, the whole country gets under the swollen water, etcetera ... but it's the same august with its rare clouded sun, its sudden gipsy winds, its singing rains. It's the month I listen to the beats of raindrops in my balcony, I bathe in the rains, I stretch myself across the winds. August is my playmate.

Not many of my friends were born in august ... but the best ones. That's another good thing about August ... you can get down to dine and to feast and to kick up dusts ... august rocks :)!

25th is my day ... at least it should be. I met only one person so far who shares my birthday (another I never met, Taslima Nasreen), in München, a romanian belle, Franziska Szoke. And yes, people born on the same day shares some of their ideosyncracies too. I'm looking forward to meeting others to check out that thing.

Anyway, this august had a good start ... I had a wonderful long drive up and down the great Bangbandhu Setu, got a plan to hike up to Chandranth this friday ... and who knows what good surprise awaits me? Ich drucke meine Daumen darauf ;).

Delirium

Sokaler rod ar bikeler chhaya dhore dhore

Ami choli; ami choli ... ami choli sopner ghore

Oneker chena mukh ochena bhirer moto laage

bujhi na bibhed ami parod ar phuler poraage.

Ei ghum ghum ghum chena ba ochena prithibite

ami-i ki eka shudhu pari na somoy khu[n]je nite ...

amar jonno shudhu, nijer jonno da[n]rabar?

Ami choli, ami choli, ami choli nithor, oshar.

Koto bhabi, bohudur chola holo, etotuku thami

sob kichhu theme jaay, poth dhore eka choli ami.

That's how a day should end

I had such fun today.

First of all, have you ever been marooned on Ashulia Road? Nope? Tadaa! Today I had the good fortune of being buswrecked right on the groove. What a stroke of luck that was. Winds through my hair [I felt like crying, thinking about my locks I once had :( ... I really enjoyed my being with long hair], water parading near my heels, and there I am, sitting on my ass, and total ashulia around me under water. And have a look at that surreptitious sun, tiptoeing behind the clouds, but just can't help exposing her shiny bosom [you bet I felt horny then and now, or else what crazy idiot would think of sun as a female?] ... and your horizon is beautifully caparisoned in shades of blue ... and gray ... and blue ... and gray ... and oh, what ruthless isolation! I felt terribly lonely.

Perhaps that's why friends are there. I finished my project works and rushed back home ... and packed up to AF. One of my closest friends called very suspiciously when I dipped into french grammar [and glamor also, I just can't help ogling that lady in the other room :)], and commanded to get my ass off to Xinxian ASAP. And that's when the fun began. Pretty soon it was five of us, running our chatterboxes on full throttle; fixated on our lovely, sexy, sensuous codinateuses [just a word I devised, those ladies who came to dine there], gobbling our foods, screaming and howling like packed wolves, and of course, having a great time.

Dinner had to finish, and we rolled down on the street and decided to get boozed up to our noses. But some way or other, we had to quit that great plan, and quickly switched to get drunk with music. So there we were again, singing like anything [songs being instantly written and composed], cruising along the road, kicking up the row around Mohammadpur. We also decided to get on top of another friend's dach and settle down to chat. But we had to quit ultimately, it was impossible to stay awake on that wonderfully beautiful roof without being drunk.

There we were again, now four of us, crusing down to another friend's house, singing again, hey nonny no ... and soon we got back home, each posted to the right box, but still crunching the echoes of the fun we had (We were a bt apprehensive of getting caught by RAB and crossfired to death, but what the heck, singing at Midnight isn't a crime that grave, and even it is, it's worth being ventured).

Life's not bad at all ... all I need is days like this one.

Bingo!

I devined a great new idea!

Well, I was actually rushing close to it all the time, but last night when I was chatting, the idea offered a promise of being effectuated.

The thing is ... I've been writing the paroles and composing the music of songs since ... quite a while. And I want to turn them into presents. That's it, I'll present my songs in mp3 format from now on. Whenever you come up with your silly events and treat me with sillier fast foods, I'll gently produce a CD to you, with one or two songs in it, written, composed and sung by the great Barritone Monsieur Azad, chanteur charmant :p.

Isn't that wonderful? A song, written for you only, lacking no earthly emotions?

Let me know what you think of it.

My Darkness

The last time I spent a night under wide open sky, last November, I was in Sunamgunj, near Tanguar Haor, lying on my sleeping bag, not in it, dreamily watching the sky so amazingly full of stars, and rocking with the gentle waves of Haor. I think one should spend at least one night under the sky every month, if not more frequency be possible. You can actually relate your humble being with the rest of the world if you stare at the sky. I often forget how little a being I am; whenever I look down to earth I see my big, long shadow and I start loosing respect to the rest of my ambience. One long look at that enormous nothingness, you get back to earth, to be precise.

This evening I climbed up again to my rooftop reservoir, just to have some good pictures of the darkness, since almost everything was blacked out. Power failure has lost its mysterious spells over us, ever since Diesel generators became popular in the city. When I was a kid, back in Sylhet, load shedding was an event of its own class. If there was no moon, all you could see were some feeble flames of candles or oil lamps around, or the flickers from burning cigarettes. We used to get together in the Verandah and sang whatever songs we felt like singing at that moment ... me, my siblings ... with the gigantic trees leaning to us to our right, wide open sky barricaded by a sudden bamboo bush, a big moon trying to grin out its palor ... it was really something to ruminate on ... I had a marvelous childhood in sylhet.

Anyway, let's not get derouted, where was I? ... Oh, on my rooftop reservoir, with my tripod and camera. These are the moments that make me resent, for not having bought a digital camera. I use a CANON EOS 1000 FN, totally professional stuff, but with a casual 28-70 sigma lens. The tripod I got purchased recently from Singapore, and it hasn't been field tested yet [Field test denotes here an excursion up in the mountains, where we usually trek around. I have a good plan to run the first test in Chandranath next friday], but I'm satisfied with it. I had some photoes shot ... pictures of Darkness, with weak lights at great distance ... "Poxed darkness" is a title that buzzed in my head for a while.

I lied down on the tank for some minutes. Actually the reservoir is huge, I and my nephew Linca in fact spent a night there when my brother got married ... there was so many guests to stay overnight, we had no other choice to pack up with my guitar and blankets, and spent the whole night under the sky, firing up new satanic ideas and discussing the physiques of all those women we met anew. We nearly pissed all the neighbours [well, the arabesque way of defining neighbours states that anyone within the fortieth house is your neighbour] off.

Just can't get to the point tonight ... I saw something I haven't seen for a long time. White chunks of clouds drifting gently like viennese geese in pitch black background, with glistening of a star here, and a star there ... it was really awesome. Who needs a moon when stars are there? The sky is in fact more charming with new moon ... just get 150 kilometers out of Dhaka [because the air is not clear here at all] and you can see the unabridged sky with all her jewelery, scattered for you.

Darkness isn't always scary, isn't always obscure, it's just something waiting for your light.

Ornithology

Well, I don't know its name ... perhaps a cardinal, or a magpie, or a white-breasted orange-bill or something, but I know him [now now, don't say it's a female] for a long time. Vis-à-vis, not more than 15 seconds, but still, I know his posture, the way he stares at nothing, and the way he sits there, alone, his world fading into invisibility, blurred horizons guarding the limits of his life, and the green that surrounds him, only to fake the pleasantries life usually put forward, and the greens followed by other greens, only floating, and fading, and flirting with him. I say, I know him. I've seen him in my dreams, in my memories, in my mirrors.

Photo © Barun K Bakshi

Block

It's been quite a while since I wrote something [blogs be exempted]. The last piece that I wrote and finished with visible satisfaction was an article on our trekking through the dense forested mountains of lower hill tracts, in Bandarban and Rangamati. I was so exhilarated after finishing the whole thing, it exceeded 20,000 bangla words, but thousands more could be written on that wonderful, extraordinary, memorable adventure. I mailed it to almost everyone, people I know, people I hardly know, and even to people I never expect to know. However, the sheer size of the article was repulsive enough not to be read, let alone enjoyed. Only some of them bookworms went all the way through ... and man, I'm honored with their reactions. Their is no greater joy when your lecteur appreciates you. I could feel the pleasure my parents experienced when people used to praise one of their children.

However, I couldn't write since October 2004. The pause seems long enough to get bored to me ... but I don't know why I don't write any more. I have enough time, have the strength to do more hectic things, but whenever I sit in front of my pc and open MS Word to write something, I feel drained ... drained off my energy. Is that what people call writers' block?

But I want to write something ... perhaps a letter to my sis. When I was a kid, I used to write lumps of letter to her, pages after pages, big heaps of complaints and reports and demands, but never posted them. She would visit us whenever the faintest leave she got from DMC, and I showed her all the letters I wrote, and usually was quite imperative to have all of them read by her. In fact she's the only person I ever wrote letters to. And she read them, each and every one of them, one by one, words after words, never missed the nuance ... she was the best reader I could have at that moment.

After the advent of emails, perhaps I performed the greatest of sighs of relief. I simply couldn't write a letter. Now I have got email and I can exchange messages without the heavy responsibility to shoulder ... to write a good letter that would be pleasant enough to be read. And that's what I do, I write small, concise mails, and never can express anything soft, delicate feeling. And the hell with it, I am relieved not to do so.

Anyway, it's not like that, that I don't get letters from others. I usually do, and simply love to read them. There's something so sensual about opening an envelope, before that checking out the stamps glued to it, unfolding the letter, starting to read, smelling it twice or thrice ... an email is no match for a letter. The last time had such a nice one, it was from México, from one of my nicest friends.

Anyway, I'll write a letter soon to my elder sis ... I have become Mamoo again, and I want to congratulate her with a nice letter, that I'll be writing to her after sixteen years.