confused cubi-coolers' ~concuco@yahoo.co.in~

The wanderlust in you

2006-09-14T04:34:00.000-07:00

Kolkatan GOURAB had a trip around Bangalore city and Chikmagalur while Hyderabad based RAGHU took a day long roam on the streets of Kolkata.His camera was clicking with Gourab and Raghu penned down this travelogue when he returned Bhubaneswar. Don't look for any connotation, we mixed both the works in a single blog without any serious thought.

I agree it wasn’t the best of times to go to kolkata. Ganguly had been left out of the team yet again and there was every reason to believe that kolkatans would have been an angry lot at that moment. Still, personal compulsions dictated that I be in Kolkata this Thursday (sept 8 )

I am a very poor traveler. For one, I always book my tickets one day prior to traveling, and for second, I have no idea whatsoever about the places that I am going to visit. I had an open itinerary. I even had plans to go to Darjeeling from Kolkata. Thought of going to canning as well. But… everything was depended on whimsical me.

Before I left for Kolkata, I asked a bengali friend as to what to see. And he told me, “Look boss, I can make an itinerary for an year if you want. It all depends on how much time you have.” So, I settled for a small list of things to see.

The moment I came out of the station, at a distance of around 200 metres, I could see a bridge. And I panicked. I was in the same dilemma as I was in, when I stood before Charminar for the first time. Was it the Charminar? This time, my thoughts were “Is it THE Howrah bridge or just another bridge on the Hoogly? The bridge looked so small and I had always thought of Howrah Bridge as this majestic structure, something like the Sydney Bridge. And it is always embarrassing to ask someone about the whereabouts of a famous structure when you are just before it. Imagine standing before Taj and asking the guy beside you, “ Bhai sahib, yeh Taj Mahal kidhar hai?”.I would die of shame. So, I decided to live in ignorance and moved on with my business. The business complete, I was back in the heart of kolkata by 11 am. The idea was to go to Victoria Memorial.

Before I could move further, I have to talk about the experience of riding in the wooden buses of Kolkata. It wasn’t the most comfortable or ergonomic of rides but it was a joy nevertheless. It did give me quite a view of the city. I saw the chaotic traffic. The regal trams, who seemed to own the Kolkata streets, chugged along at a leisurely pace in the midst of the road. A very different view from what I had expected. I thought Trams were just like the trains except that they ply inside the heart of the city. Here, the trams were coexisting with other modes of transport, the common road being used by…well… Trams, taxis, buses and an occasional two-wheeler. Yes, an occasional two-wheeler. I guess there are fewer bikes in Kolkata than in any other city I have seen. Either they are too affluent and always travel by cars/taxis or they are spoilt for choice when it comes to transport that no average kolkatan ever needs to buy a two-wheeler. I could see scores of people bathing by the road. That was one conspicuous aspect, another was the sheer magnitude of population. There were people everywhere. No wonder Kolkata has the highest density of population. Coming from Hyderabad, I would have to say that a majority of the roads were quite tiny in width. Atleast the roads that I had plied on.

And yes, a special mention has to be made about the greenery around. There were vast grounds everywhere. They call it some maidan, the name I am unable to recollect. And the race course as well. Huge amount of empty real estate in the heart of the city! God bless the communist government. The grounds wouldn’t have survived under any other rule.
Coming back to Victoria Memorial, to put it simply, it was awe-inspiring and majestic. A scorching sun at the top didn’t help matters much but nevertheless it was a great sight to behold. By all means, it was the most beautiful piece of architecture I had seen in my life. In more ways than one it fulfilled my reasons for coming to kolkata. To get glimpses of our imperial past. I got to know a little about the history of the city thanks to the museum. I am not too much of a museum person. I just sped past the museum perfunctorily and was out of the memorial hall in 60 minutes. There were vast stretches of lawns outside the building. The park/lawns were like any other in India. Frequented in pairs, a hangout place for manifestation of love for each other in ways not so subtle! They don’t have to worry though. The keepers of our countries culture, or so they think, the saffron brigade scarcely have a chance to gain power in the Bengal land.

Bhelpuri eaten, with a scorching sun over the head and tired feet beneath, I made my way to my next destination. Nandan theatre. I was told it was a state-run theatre. And this somehow piqued my interest to watch a movie in it. Nandan I was playing a bengali movie. So, I watched a Hindi movie in Nandan II. Some documentary it was. Seven Islands, an interesting take on mumbais legacy and chronicled the lives of the common man in Mumbai. It was good to say the least. Lets not discuss it any further. We have kolkata to talk about. Nandan II contrary to my expectations was a small theatre where the movie was played using a DVD drive, projected on to the screen using an LCD! Reminded me of small cinema halls in my own home town, although there is a sea difference in the movies which are played in these theatres. Nandan-II, I am told, plays art movies which appeal to the intellectuals, the theatres in my hometown specialized in playing x-rated movies to packed houses!

Done with the movie, I was all ready to use the Metro service of Kolkata. An old dream was going to get fulfilled. Ever since seeing Sharmila Tagore and the rest in a doordarshan national integrity song traveling by the Metro, I always wanted to travel by it myself. Kolkata has two sides to it. The old kolkata, the one rooted in tradition, the other, the youthful kolkata, the MTV youth. You can see them both. Just get inside the Metro, it is MTV youth, get out of Metro, and you are back to the old world.

Why did I take the Metro? The intention was to get down in Mahatma Gandhi Road and go to College Street. So, I got down in M.G Road, ate some fabulous panipuri…. I will have to take recourse here. Just like every city has its unique culture, they also have their unique panipuri. The kolkata one was by far the tastiest. If you are in Hyderabad and want to try out a kolkata style panipuri, go to the fellow who sells one panipuri per rupee and is stationed in the middle of badi chowdi lane near Koti. The panipuri done, I glanced sideways and I saw the famous rikshaw wallah. Balraj Sahni immediately came to mind. It was a moral dilemma. To or not to. I just couldn’t think myself sitting on a rikshaw while the rikshawallah pulled the rikshaw with his hands and ran the course of the road. I admit that was the lesser of the fears. I also feared that somewhere in the middle of the raod, the rikshawallah will not be able to hold the weight anymore, that he will leave the rikshaw, that I will fall backward and that some tram will come and crush me to chutney. I seriously feared that. To add to my fear, the guy looked very fragile. I took the risk anyway and it turned out to be one of the most memorable rides of my life. On two counts, the guy took me to College Street through some interior gullys of kolkata which were very narrow and as much colorful. I have always loved the bylanes. They have a charm and life of their own. Second, it was a moving experience to watch the man pull the rikshaw on a busy road. I had read they had been banned. The implementation isn’t there I presume.

And so, I was in the famous college street now. The biggest second hand market in the world. You will get spoilt for choice here. I spent nearly two hours…. Just roaming around. Ahhh yes, I also saw presidency college. Home to some of the best intellect of Kolkata. Not to forgot, I frequented 15, Bankimchandra Street. People know it better as Coffee House. The culture of the Calcutta people spread itself before me inside the coffee shop. The crowd was a mix of every combination that you could think of. Two old ladies in their 40’s were discussing something very animatedly. A batch of college students were involved in light banter. There was a gang with bearded people, probably talking of some revolutionary ideas. There was another group, with two old men, two middle aged men and three young people. And yes, it wasn’t like some the old were preaching and the young were listening. They were talking on equal terms. On the second floor, couples were involved in intimate talk. I ordered for a coffee. The coffee was good. Was bitter to start with and sweetened up as I went along sipping it. Can not compare it with the coffee of Chennai though. While in college street, I also tried the famous Calcutta paan. It was good. Better than all Calcutta paans I have had until now.

I walked to the Metro station again to go to kalighat. On way I could see a flock of sheep crossing the road. The sheep had vermillion and kumkum marks on them. Well fed and quite rotund in built. Poor things, were happily crossing the road, unaware of that these were the last days of their lives. I got down in Kalighat, one of the 51 shaktipeets. I am not a religion person but I do bow my head before god when I am in a temple. Three things stood out for me. The colorful arcardes that led me to the temple, the slippery floor and the nagging pujaris. Nagging Pujaris have become a national phenomenon now. I had seen it in Puri too. The next jaunt was to esplanade. The name sounded exotic. The place though, except for its regal buildings,was regular fare of malls. I had no intention to go to salt lake or any other posh area of Kolkata. It held no interest for me. It was the older parts of the city that I was interested in. Having spent an hour in Esplanade, I started back to Howrah station. On way back, I encountered Howarah bridge again. This time I read Rabindra setu engraved on the bridge which only added to my confusion.

My interaction with the local people was quite limited to talking to street vendors and metro ticket booking officials. One conversation was interesting though, someone asked me for some directions inside the metro. With whatever hindi I could put together I said I knew no bengali. And he immediately asks me, “ Oh…aap south Indian ho kya?” Maybe it is the moustache which immediately gives away my southindianness or maybe it is my hindi. You can place me in a jiffy.

In one of my earlier columns I had stated that Chennai was hot in more ways than one. The bongs girls, they are definitely hot. And they are cool as well. But they are so cute that it overshadows everything else. They were cute, affable and adorable.

I did have momentary thoughts of staying back in kolkata and visit canning the next day. But I could see that I had started to like the city. Another day’s stay would amount to welcoming pangs of separation when I left it. I wanted to leave the city before I fell in love with it! Quite poetic you would say? But…. How can one escape poetry when one is in kolkata?

Tailpiece: I think I have found the traveler inside me. And this shoe string budgeted trip to kolkata was like a preparatory journey for bigger and longer things to come. I am sure I will go back to kolkata someday. To stay there for a longer time. To sink in the spirit of the city.

Gourab has kept all his tour photographs in :http://pics-by-gourab.fotopic.net , SONY Cybershot DSC T5 was his camera for this tour.

The photographs of the title montage was taken from:http://pages.cthome.net/india2/page36.html

The world of Raja

2006-07-05T02:25:00.000-07:00

RAGHU VAMSI P

I like familiarity. Probably that explains why my Hair stylist, alright...barber, hasn't changed for the last 10 years. Probably that also explains why I used to go all the way to the rest house to give my laundry long after I had left the Guest house.

I guess I will have to tell you everything from the beginning. My first job brought me to this new city. The charms of a guest house always fascinated me. Maybe it had to do with all the literature that I have read. Of living in a house and not in a home. Of relationships and meetings with interesting characters in rest houses.

The days were routine and same. I used to get up at 6 am. Thanks to the sweeper boy. He was quite unapologetic of the intrusion. Used to bang the door until I opened it. The moment I opened it, he would completely ignore me and go about his work. I would get back to sleep after opening the door to be woken up again at 6:20. Again by the sweeper boy.

Saab, mein jaa raha hun. Darwaaza band kar lena.

Teek hai. Par yaar, tum aise roj roj mujhe jagao mat. Jab jaana hai to chale jao. Muje phir se uthane kii zaroorat nahi hai.

Kya baat karte hai saab. Haalat teek nahi hai. Agar kuch chori ho gaya tho iljaam tho mujhpe aayegaa naa.

He had a point there. I gave up. He wouldn’t leave the room until I woke up to bolt the door again. At 8, I would get a wake up call. This time though, the wake up call was requested by me. First job, early days, I wanted to go to office on time. With a coffee and the newspaper in hand, the room service guy used to come in. Would stay back in the room and watch news with me.

What sir you? You daily see news only? Put something nice naa. MTV VTV. Cricket-vicket?

So, I gave up watching news. Mtv it used to be. I am an ardent Indian alright but I hate Cricket. It’s a well guarded secret of my life. I never reveal/admit in public that I hate cricket lest they bash me up for blasphemy.

I used to make some calls to home from the in-house booth before leaving to office. The guy at the counter used to take the money from me.

The sweeper boy, the room service man, the guy at the telephone booth, all were same. He was Raja. The man Friday of the guest house. He started off as a sweeper boy. The room service guy resigned after some days. Raja got the additional responsibility. In a month’s time, he was handling operations at the telephone counter too. If my career were to move up so quickly, I would become the CEO of my company in less than five years. I somehow admired this guy. For the amounts of energy he had.

Raja came to my room one Saturday while I was watching NDTV. The moment he came in, I changed the channel to MTV and asked him-

What is it Raja?

Ram bhaiya, where do you give your laundry?

The shop in the D complex. Why? You know any better place. He is a dirty fellow. Not a good dbobi.

How much does he charge?

10 per pair. Wash and Iron. Is it too much?

No…no. It is right price. I was thinking of starting a laundry service in the Guest House itself. Why don’t you give the laundry to me instead?

Will you charge any less?

What Ram bhaiya? How can I charge you more? An invitation price of Rs 9. Only for you.

And so the deal was struck. Raja became my official dhobi. He did a nice job. The laundry was picked and delivered at my door step. He used go get decent pocket money out of it. Obviously, the management paid him peanuts. I never asked him how much. I am weak at heart and melt easily.

After a months time, Raja told me,

Ram bhaiya, Laundry rate increased from today. Rs 12.

This is too much. The guy at the D corner still charges Rs 10 I am sure.

Kyaa Ram bhaiya? With Rs 9, I am just about able to break even. You don’t want me to make any profits or what? And what is Rs 12 for you? The company pays you handsomely. Maybe they also pick up your laundry bill too. Tell me if you want a bill for it. I can provide one for you. I will quote Rs 15 if you want. You can pay me only Rs 12 though.

No..no. I don’t need any bill. I will pay Rs 11 only. Take it or leave it.

Ok then. Rs 11 it is then.

If I ever open a mutual fund of mine, I will employ Raja as my first fund manager. He has a mind for business. Days rolled on like this. A couple of my friends joined me in the Guest House.
Raja’s clientele grew. Now, he was the bill collector too. On weekends, he used to join us to watch MTV. We used to play Rummy and he used to look at us with disdain from a distance. Never joined us for a game though. Used to maintain that playing cards was a vice that he preffered to stay away from.

In due course of time, Raja became a rich man. Thanks to all the laundry. I helped him on the way. I made it my mission to recommend to him to all my friends. Not a single shirt would go out of the Guest House for laundry.

One fine day, Raja asked me something which startled me.

Ram bhaiya, do you know of a good shop which sells old cell phones? Or maybe any of your friends who wants to sell a cell phone?

Why do you need a cell phone?

My parents miss me. I want to be able to make calls to them. Give them a number so that they can contact me. You see…they are seeing matches for my sister and I am the only male child in the house. There are certain responsibilities on me.

I realized I knew nothing about Raja. My dhobi of six months now. Where he came from, where his parents were, who was he, why he ended up in this guest house. Nothing at all. He told me about his woe begone story. How he had to stop his studies to join his father in earning bread for his family. How he had been serving the owner of this Guest House for ten years. Of his ill treatment in the Owner’s House. He told me about his sister, Rani’s marriage. They had seen a good match. The bride was a nice man. Had four acres of land. A B.Com graduate too. He didn’t ask for any dowry. But the arrangements for the marriage itself will cost him around Rs. 50,000. He had saved Rs 20,000 in the last one year. He still needed 30k. When he spoke of his family, his eyes were all moist. The same eyes that used to bounce with energy otherwise.

I gave him my Nokia 1100 and bought myself a 6600.

Ram bhaiya..thank you so much. How much?

No…I am not selling it to you. Keep it. I don’t need it. This is a gift for you.

Don’t say like that. You don’t have to be so generous. Tell me how much it costs.

I said, I won’t charge you for it.

Ok. I know what to do.

He smiled and ran off. For the next one month, he never charged me for the laundry. When I used to ask him, he would mock my voice and say,” I said I wont charge you for it”. And I would smile.

Me and my friends found a better accommodation near the office. And I left the Guest House. But my laundry still used to go to the guest house. Days rolled on like this. I completed one year of my professional life. One year of living in this new city. One year of giving laundry to Raja.

One Saturday morning, I realized that my laundry wasn’t delivered. I made a phone call to Raja. I couldn’t reach him. I thought maybe he had switched off his cell. I went to the guest house. There was a small group of people discussing things animatedly. I asked the security guard what the problem was.

A guy called Raja used to work in this Guest House. He collects monthly rents from the Guests. He was supposed to deposit Rs 50,000 in the bank day before yesterday. He deposited only Rs 20,000. And hasn’t been seen after that.

Oh!
( A thousand thoughts were playing in my mind and the only thing I could utter was an ‘oh’. I spoke to guard again.)

He used to do my laundry. I had given some clothes for laundry.

You are lucky. Your laundry bag is still in his room. I will get it for you.

The security guard came back with my bag. I opened it to see if the clothes were all intact.
I saw my cellphone on the top and a small note beneath it. I opened the note.

Ram Bhaiya,

I don’t need this cell phone anymore. I will never leave my parents again. I hope you believe me. I will return the money some day. Please look for a card inside your favourite black shirt. Thanks for everything

Raja

I looked at the security guard surreptitiously. He was not looking at me. I looked for a card in the black shirt. And I saw a wedding card.

Rani weds Shanker(B.com)

I smiled.

Suddenly, a black Mercedes stopped before the Guest House. Got to know from the guard that it belonged to the owner of the guest house. I had never seen him in the 9 months that I was in the the guest house. For me, the real owner of the guest house had been Raja. I went up to the owner and told him,

Don’t worry. You will get back your money some day.

He was looking at me bewildered. I turned back and left for my room. With a smile on my face.

RAGHU VAMSI P

CUBICLED AT: Satyam, Bhubaneswar.

CUBICLED SINCE: July, 2006

PREPARATION FOR CUBICULATION STARTED AT:Hyderabad.

HIS OWN BLOG:

HIS ORKUT ID :

http://www.orkut.com/Profile.aspx?uid=7157558937207608359

After Concuco this article was selected in:

http://digital.dnaindia.com/epaperpdf/972006/8me-pg24-0.pdf

http://digital.dnaindia.com/epaperpdf/972006/8me-pg25-0.pdf

TILOTTOMA

2006-07-01T05:22:00.000-07:00

Pic.1 'Abhimaan'

[ I found these empty Rickshaws near Sealdah Station and it appeared to me as if they were dicussing something very serious by leaning against each other. May be about the ban on Rickshaws. ]

Pic.2 Blockade

[In context to Kolkata this is quite a usual situation where two trams can completely block a busy street like Mahatma Gandhi Road for a long while. I don't know is it fair to protest against the ban on tram as it symbolizes the city itself but I can vouch for a never-seen-before angle of view which you can get only if you travel in a tram. ]

Pic.3 Good Luck

[The shop on the right side of the Pic belongs to a famous fortune-teller but the reason behind publishing this pic is not him. I found a very poor and common man holding up this famous person's poster to put it high up on the wall, may be high up in the society too. ]

Pic.4 Wow Ronaldo

[That Gigantic poster of Ronaldo was on the top of a multi-storied bulding and could be seen from a very narrow and crowded lane covered with bill-boards, posters and electic-wires. It seemed, from the life of common people like us these famed figures are unreachably far. ]

Technical Details:

All the four photographs were taken in Motorola L6 mobile cam without using zoom and keeping the lighting condition to 'sunny'.

Mail-looooooooops

2006-06-17T23:36:00.000-07:00

“Forward this mantra e-mail to at least 5 people to improve your life, else you…”

On each working day how many forwarded mails sneak into your inbox with this tag and make you feel a bit cheesy? You mumble, reprimand the sender for benefiting divine ecstasy through exploiting your almost hereditary beliefs of Bhagwan. Or you feel elated because it’s an opportunity to request upparwallah to make your boss more considerate about your leaky code-reviews and your dilroobah to listen to your request of staying a few more minutes in chat? Wherever your emotion drags you, I am quite sure, like all ConCuCos you first try to dig up some ids from your address book whom you mailed eons back and then press Alt plus W because this is the 12th time you are offered the mail-full-of blessings of ‘Siddhi Vinayaka’ in last 5 months.

I don’t have any intention to tickle with your sense of belief in supernatural power, I dare not. But tell me why you being even in the age of metrosexual people let your mail box be filled with the pictures of Gods and that too with the belief that sending 15 mails to 15 different mortal souls will bring you luck and your dreams will be true? You may raise your voice to make an excuse like ‘I don’t write these mails!’, but tell me why someone who seems your good friend sends all these stuffs to you? We must keep our sense of trust and exercise spirituality in our very own way but should not we, who claim to be the citizen of a nearly developed country graduate from this cheap kind of ways of sanctification?

Picture Section

2006-06-17T23:34:00.000-07:00

Forewords
I am never a painter and not going to be ever.
I do paint as i love to do that and enjoy it more than anything else.
I do not have any institutional education about painting, so if you do not like my painting or think that it is not worth to display at all, do not blame any institution, it is only my(our)
confused natur which forces me(us) to do something like that.

GOURAB BASU

CUBICLED AT: HDFC, Bangalore.
CUBICLED SINCE: July, 2005
PREPARATION FOR CUBICULATION STARTED AT:Kolkata.
HIS OWN BLOG:
HIS ORKUT ID :
http://www.orkut.com/Profile.aspx?uid=9696378282983088387

Sambhubabu

2006-06-17T23:21:00.000-07:00

Title: Sambhubabu
Medium: Acrylic on paper
Size: 58 c.m. X 75 c.m.

The Pioneer

2006-06-17T23:14:00.000-07:00

Title: The Pioneer

Medium: Acrylic on paper

Size: 58 c.m. X 75 c.m.

The Jungle

2006-06-17T23:11:00.000-07:00

Title: Jungle

Medium: Acrylic on paper

Size: 58 c.m. X 75 c.m.

Color Storm

2006-06-17T23:00:00.000-07:00

Everyone will admit that God is the master painter of nature...........

It is really awsome to look at the sun rising sky , sun setting sky, fall colors and many more feast of colors......................

I think no one should dare to copy them in canvas................ so i also did not, one can only scatter the colors for the visitors to pick the 'picture' from.

Title: Color Storm

Medium: Acrylic on paper

Size: 58 c.m. X 75 c.m.

Motion2

2006-06-17T22:56:00.000-07:00

Title: Motion2

Medium: Acrylic on paper

Size: 58 c.m. X 75 c.m.

Motion1

2006-06-17T22:47:00.000-07:00

Obviously inspired from the famous Bison of 'Altamirah'. May be.......sorry! quite sure about that, I could not reproduce 1% of the motion present there............... Anyway take it as a small tribute of an inefficient painter to the great 'Cave-painter'.

Title: Motion1
Medium: Acrylic on paper
Size: 58 c.m. X 75 c.m.

FUSION & CON-fusion !

2006-05-03T08:27:00.000-07:00

"Confused Cubi-Coolers' is a platform for..."

Sorry guys! ConCuCo is anything but a platform...

Better you call it a rendezvous of the people who could not find any platform suited for them. They gasped… slipped down… got knocked off from all the waters they tried to swim and eventually (call it luck... call it accident ) after enduring some 16-18 tough years of institutional battering they ended in cubicles of some software companies which they found too stifling for them...
Confused Cubi-Coolers' took shape to provide breather to them.

If you feel you are a Confused Cubiculer please keep visiting this blog... lot of excitement and confusion are ready to fuse your anger and emotion.