An Article on Rain by my friend Krishanu Bhattacharjee
Hi,
This is probably the last post before my hybernation for about a month. Well, for a change, it is not related to anything on quiz. Rather, it's an article written by Krishanu Bhattacharjee, a very good friend of mine, who is journalist by profession. This article was published by Today (not India Today, but a mid-day publication from the same India Today Group) in the summer of 2004. I like the free flowing style of this particular article which resembles the rainy season in my home town, Silchar, a very laid back town in South Assam. Hopefully, it will catch your attention too!
Mumbaikars, please forgive me, just for the bizzare timing of this article. Rain, this year is far from ebjoyable for you people. It's been a calamity. But, what to do? In it's own land, the rain god has played spoil sport this time. The result, swelling merury! As I type this, I am almost getting drenched in my own sweat. Oof! Ok guys, let's move on to the article.
Mumbaikars, please forgive me, just for the bizzare timing of this article. Rain, this year is far from ebjoyable for you people. It's been a calamity. But, what to do? In it's own land, the rain god has played spoil sport this time. The result, swelling merury! As I type this, I am almost getting drenched in my own sweat. Oof! Ok guys, let's move on to the article.
No tip tip, the sound of rain in Assam is rim jhim. Dissimilar to Delhi’s concrete jumble, you can seize the notes if try singing in the rain, here it dashes off as blowy drips cross the threshold, window scarf skips a bit, newspapers scatter and ceiling fan gets the swing, sequel beetle-nut trees inclined symmetrically as coconut streams invite you to have a splash with them.
The rain is a privilege only from interiors in Delhi. Don’t go outside, when it pours, Some Delhites warn you. In my place, the rain is an a-la-carte. Surrogates galore. Where do you want to go today?
Wanna read short stories from Satyajit Ray or Ruskin Bond on your verandah, when oleander flavors on the murky milieu, over a cup of hot coffee on an easy chair you relish while a mulaayam sa cat is playing on your feet.
Bookish? Too cliché? Is it? Okay, lets walk a little far. And you’ll join the most beautiful lake in the world. Zillion raindrops manufacture million stars on the water land. Split second, dwindled, new batch in, is sky a reservoir. Huge and mute polylthias, pines, teaks, conifers and tamarinds stand still, embrace the fall. Cane tress whisper as usual. You whoosh your fishing hook, sit on a huge gray rock as crickets soar around you, like a monk you enjoy the nature underneath your pre fixed black umbrella.
Or if you are an adventure freak, post MPKDH** Hritik mania moulds your mind into bungee jumping. Even that’s not an alien either, when we yield our own version. Walk knee deep in the tea garden for a quarter mile, you’ll get to see the cogent river coming out of the rise, a cemented look isolated hanging bridge, you striptease alone, raindrops sprinkle as some missed, some kissed you all over, you climb the railing and jump. Fifty feet, no strings, you scream loudest, wind scratch your ears, eyes tend to choke. And blob, gravity blasts you deep in the water cave. Wanna more, mere bachhe?
Delhi has its own very urban style of getting wet. It’s a silent rain. From Rajendra Place’s one of the twelfth floors, surprisingly I discover the miasmic mistiness, I palm-clean the window-glass, S-shaped artificial lake is a bliss below, designed trees and ingenuous metropolitan gushed the comfy with ultimate ease. Rarity rain is glut today. Rain, rain, don’t go away.
Cut to around Bhikaji, the next morning, office time. I get out little early from my home. Drizzle around, lazy strolls, a Rajasthani group is at the passport office pavement. Their ping-pong colours contrast entirely with the meticulously architectured but soaked and wet black pitch lanes around the MNCs. However, I’ve been hurrying to my bus stop, because another trip to vista is in the pipeline now, when the DTC bus will glide me to the no plastic urban forest zones via Sardar Patel and Simon Bolivir Road, where the shower is supposed to coalesce with the both side woodland. Surreal? Nah.
How you people are enjoying the rain??
Notes by the Author:-
[*Rain (My article published last summer in Today, this is not India Today, Its a mid day publication from the same India Today group). This literary property is owned and reserved by the above mentioned publisher. This is copied from the newspaper by the writer with no commercial intention.]
**MPKDH is Main Prem Ki Diwani Hoon, if you people rember released in last summer and Hritik's done some show.This in connection to that.
The rain is a privilege only from interiors in Delhi. Don’t go outside, when it pours, Some Delhites warn you. In my place, the rain is an a-la-carte. Surrogates galore. Where do you want to go today?
Wanna read short stories from Satyajit Ray or Ruskin Bond on your verandah, when oleander flavors on the murky milieu, over a cup of hot coffee on an easy chair you relish while a mulaayam sa cat is playing on your feet.
Bookish? Too cliché? Is it? Okay, lets walk a little far. And you’ll join the most beautiful lake in the world. Zillion raindrops manufacture million stars on the water land. Split second, dwindled, new batch in, is sky a reservoir. Huge and mute polylthias, pines, teaks, conifers and tamarinds stand still, embrace the fall. Cane tress whisper as usual. You whoosh your fishing hook, sit on a huge gray rock as crickets soar around you, like a monk you enjoy the nature underneath your pre fixed black umbrella.
Or if you are an adventure freak, post MPKDH** Hritik mania moulds your mind into bungee jumping. Even that’s not an alien either, when we yield our own version. Walk knee deep in the tea garden for a quarter mile, you’ll get to see the cogent river coming out of the rise, a cemented look isolated hanging bridge, you striptease alone, raindrops sprinkle as some missed, some kissed you all over, you climb the railing and jump. Fifty feet, no strings, you scream loudest, wind scratch your ears, eyes tend to choke. And blob, gravity blasts you deep in the water cave. Wanna more, mere bachhe?
Delhi has its own very urban style of getting wet. It’s a silent rain. From Rajendra Place’s one of the twelfth floors, surprisingly I discover the miasmic mistiness, I palm-clean the window-glass, S-shaped artificial lake is a bliss below, designed trees and ingenuous metropolitan gushed the comfy with ultimate ease. Rarity rain is glut today. Rain, rain, don’t go away.
Cut to around Bhikaji, the next morning, office time. I get out little early from my home. Drizzle around, lazy strolls, a Rajasthani group is at the passport office pavement. Their ping-pong colours contrast entirely with the meticulously architectured but soaked and wet black pitch lanes around the MNCs. However, I’ve been hurrying to my bus stop, because another trip to vista is in the pipeline now, when the DTC bus will glide me to the no plastic urban forest zones via Sardar Patel and Simon Bolivir Road, where the shower is supposed to coalesce with the both side woodland. Surreal? Nah.
How you people are enjoying the rain??
Notes by the Author:-
[*Rain (My article published last summer in Today, this is not India Today, Its a mid day publication from the same India Today group). This literary property is owned and reserved by the above mentioned publisher. This is copied from the newspaper by the writer with no commercial intention.]
**MPKDH is Main Prem Ki Diwani Hoon, if you people rember released in last summer and Hritik's done some show.This in connection to that.
posted by Shovon Chakraborty @ 6:09 PM
3 comments
3 Comments:
Hi Shovon,
Nice 'n cool blog man. Keep going. Don't take sabbatical. Come on! We need quiz blogs like this interspersed with these nice kinda articles.
Keep up the good work » » »
NSU - 4efer, 5210 - rulez
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