As an honour

You are talking about humanity, so will I,

You will choose an evening for candle-march, never will I;

As an honour, I will choose eternal words as my weapon.

You dream of a peaceful place to live in, so do I,

You will choose to run away from uproar, never will I;

As an honour, I will bear my scars from saving the world.

You are dreaming about pain that the needle gave, so do I,

You will stone a dog, never will I;

As an honour, irrespective of the numbers of legs, I will give my love to everyone.

You saw a boy being bullied, so did I,

You walked away, never will I;

As an honour, I will stand and fight for him.

You heard a woman being beaten for no mistake, so did I

You increased the volume of Television, never will I;

As an honour, I will be a nosy neighbour forever.

You saw a stressed man near the metro tracks with fast approaching train on it, so did I,

You saved him and walked away, never will I;

As an honour, I will lose a day’s salary of mine to seat with him.

You are reading the news of innocent people scared and killed, so do I,

You will turn the page, never will I;

As an honour, I write.


​Skill education- the future

After completing a post-graduation in broadcast journalism, with high expectations of getting a job or at least an internship in the media industry was the dream Nandita had in her mind. A post-graduation degree from a renowned university was what she had when she entered the first office she entered to apply for the journey of her dreams. After receiving her curriculum vitae, they told her that she will be contacted when an action will be taken upon her application. She waited. For a month, she was antsy and falling and climbing the cliff of hopes.

She received nothing, so she was advised that she should apply in a few more companies. She did as she was told. No reply ever made way to her. She grew anxious and started questioning that what the problem was. She consulted with her seniors and they asked her to apply for internships. She did as told. On entering the office for the first day as an intern after multiple unanswered applications, she felt happy. She was finally on her road to success. 

The next 1 week went where she was embarrassed and bewildered. Why? Because she lacked the basic skills required for working in the media industry. She felt low all the time and after months of hard work and learning, she was finally ready to embark on the journey.

She lacked skills. This is a simple thing to say and the situation is bad enough in India itself and our students are dreaming of getting jobs that can rival to that of the global jobs. The focus is on the theory subjects and passing the exam. The schools and colleges not equipped enough to help the students gain enough skills to make them ready for the future. The ancient tattered syllabus of the education system is also a reason why the practical knowledge is not the focus.

Skills are not only for getting good jobs but they also provide the individual satisfaction to the students as they know what they want and are able to get it. The area of interest is quite clear to them and they know exactly how they have to walk down that road. 

For a student just out of the education system so old, all that he needs is practical knowledge and skill. The rapidly changing world needs the people who are skilled to do their work. The various programs started by organizations and government are the only ways to acquire the skills. The mainstream education system has proved itself highly incapable in providing what the students require later in life.

Skills based education is the only way that is going to provide just a small solution for the unemployed youth. With skills, they can set higher goals and at least try for the best. The start-ups also require a basic set of skills and this can prove to be a tool for the frustrated and hopeless youth

To give up

I always wondered what it would feel like to give up. Is it that easy to give up?

What were they thinking about before they gave up?

Were they happy that everything was ending at last or they were sad that the things were ending this way?

There are so many questions that remain unanswered to the naked eyes. Why can’t we see that a person is thinking about ending his life? How ignorant a mind and a pair of eyes could be?

Looking up to the stars tonight, a thought crawls into my brain. Are you happy now that all of this has ended or it just doesn’t matter anymore?

Didn’t you find it easy to leave the fight and just refrain from answering the obvious?

Wasn’t it better to give up when no one cared to stop and actually look at you? Did you feel the pain when all of them just passed by, laughing and giggling in their own blissful world?

Why fight, when no one cares that you exist or not?

There were some tears shed, after you were gone. But if they cared so much, how dare they be so ignorant? 

How could they un-look the pain you were in?

Aren’t they feeling guilty now? The answer is-No.

Go out, stand still and shout out loud. Shout that you need help, you can’t take it anymore, and it’s unbearable.

See what happens. Do they stop and listen to you or call the staff of the Looney bins?

A crowd consists of busy people.

Safe line, everyone has one. What made you cross yours? It wasn’t safe anymore, right?

You couldn’t feel the love you had for the things that you prized most and held close to the heart.

You were slowly letting things just pass by, slip out of your heart, wasn’t that so easy?

As you planned how to do it, you went through all the memories you had- good as well as bad.

You were searching for something that may stop you but you didn’t find any.

And at that moment, you felt so hopeless. You were so frustrated that you wanted to tear the world apart. But you don’t have the strength left to do that, so you decided to tear yourself apart.

 That’s easy, you thought.

Don’t you ever feel guilty that you chose to leave?

No, because when they didn’t care enough when you were crying, then why would they care if you died.

For you, Farewell

Blindly searching for something to hold onto,

The restlessness only grew.

For a pain no one knew anything about,

The soul broken and the heart scattered.

The fear of shattering dreams and clinging past,

The fear of the lost freedom.

It’s not obligatory.

A man cried over it and died after he told the world,

He was gone, all that remains are his words, his voice.

He knew the focus of the gravity, he understood how heavy it was to carry it around.

He is dead.

He knew what he was speaking about, he knew you, he knew me.

​A journey to find a myth

A journey taken upon by two individuals to the unknown, 

To find a myth that they heard stories about;

A game of trial and error started and words were read, 

Words of wisdom the only torch for them for the darkness they knew nothing about.

The ship set for the destination promising a better future with happiness, 

In the search of the unknown,

A unicorn, they wanted, was it really a myth?

They are about to find out.

Tear stained puffed cheeks welcomed the journey with a hearty embrace,

A farewell before the exploration;

Praise them both, for they started the journey when it was on the verge of a premature death.

To prove that it is not a myth, there are a need of few ingredients;

This myth is delicate in nature and takes its sweet time to be cooked,

The need of precision and care is utmost.

My city buses

Buses in Kolkata are lifelines for the commuters from all age groups and professions. The blue big buses along will the red mini and the super-fast durpalla buses competing to gain more passengers- a sight that is a habit for the city. They not only carry passengers from one place to another but they also carry the stories rich of cultures, languages, history, politics and so much more.

I remember the time when one drunk man got into our bus and the sarcastic witty remarks from the daily passengers of the bus. He may or may not have received a stink eye or two from a few passengers, but he also gave us the smile and laugh to last the day spent in the usually hectic lifestyle of a metro city. The smiles and laughs were common at sight everywhere even under the humid onslaught of monsoon.

During the oh-so-famous political bandhs of the city, the passengers made friends of lifetime, because a friend during bandh is a friend in biryani, phuchka and cha. The hands leaping out of the doors and helping a co-passenger on-board decided that the seats saved next day and the days to come.

Talking about Kolkata is an incomplete conversation if there is no chorcha (conversations) on politics. The commuters in the bus may not know each other’s name but they definitely knew the political orientation of the fellow passenger. The haughty conversations embedded incidents that had appeared in the morning newspaper or the previous day’s evening broadcast television. 

The voices rose a pitch higher, hand gestures more dramatically moving and the listeners getting engulfed in the war of words- a common scene in a bus in Kolkata. Office time rush wasn’t as intolerable as it seemed to be with people hanging out of the buses, sweat, loud honking and so much more that you cannot like.

This time when I went back to the city of joy, something was different. The city that once bustled with locals and visitors speaking world’s sweetest language wasn’t at its polite best. My fellow passengers in the bus had their earphones nestled in their ears, banning any new idea from entering. The only conversations echoing in the buses were that of the excited girls and the occasional innocent questions from the toddlers. 

What changed?

A man willing to start a conversation and him failing, stoic faces looking ahead because they have better places to be at, politics is no more a topic for common folk, the lack of office gossip. The floorboards of the buses are desperate to squeak with the excitement of the passengers, but they are pressed under the increasing weight of unshared loneliness, unspoken words, mute eyes and so much unvented despair. 

Will it be too much to ask for my old city buses back?