For those who do not remember, yesterday 21^st February is celebrated as International Mother Language Day. But this day received the status of International Mother Language Day only in 1999. Long before, in 1952, 4 students of the Dhaka University in Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) were shot dead by the police because they were demonstrating against the government’s decision to make Urdu the country’s national language. These students wanted Bengali, their mother tongue to be one of the national languages too, since the people of East Pakistan never spoke Urdu. The movement of 21^st February is also one of the earliest foundations of the Bangladesh War of Liberation.

Since then, since the deaths of Rafiq, Barkat, Jabbar and Salam, more than half a century has passed. Now as then, Bengali speaking people continue to live on both sides of the divide - in Bangladesh and in West Bengal. While those in Bangladesh has gone ahead with their version of bangla containing a generous sprinkling of Urdu words, those in West Bengal have fared even better. The so called educated Bengalis here have taken up the social responsibility of forgetting the language and be proud of it. Many of these people has the excuse of being brought up outside WB while some others and the worst of the lot, find it fashionable not to know their mother tongue. They make their kids learn Hindi instead of Bengali in schools and boast in public gatherings “you know my son is so poor in Bengali; he can’t read or write it”.

I remember being asked by a so called Bengali woman I know - “can you read and write in Bengali?” I was so spoilt for decent words I thought it fit not to reply to a question as dumb and irritating as that. One of my very own cousins boasts being born and brought up in Mumbai. She is quite a brilliant woman and speaks 6 languages and writes 4 among which of course Bengali does not feature. In fact she was so ashamed of her surname that she married a Marathi and has happily adapted her husband’s surname; happy at last to have successfully discarded all traces of Bengal from her life. Funnily enough, the non-Bengali speaking citizens of Bengal also never bother to learn the language of the state and the Bengalis here happily speak to them in Hindi. It never dawned on the glorious WB Govt. of course to make Bengali a compulsory vernacular to be taught in both govt. and private schools irrespective of their medium of instruction. It is only in this state that the people can do without teaching their kids any Bengali. Try doing that in Maharashtra and you know how sweet Mr Thackrey and company will make it for you.

Since us Bengalis are famous worldwide for forgetting their heritage, their history and their culture, this does not come as too much of a surprise perhaps. Back in the days of the British Raj when eminent Bengalis educated themselves in the language of the Imperialists and got enrolled in administrative services. All these dressing gown clad pipe smoking babus took pride in being close to white men and left the practice of Bengali to lesser mortals. But even then they were far superior to our modern day burger munching mobile phone brandishing hybrid idiots. They are like half-baked cookies. Nor do they know their Bengali well and neither their English. Most of the times they speak in Hinglish or Benglish - sad pidgin versions of those prestigious languages. They of course do not know their Tagore or their Premchand or their Shakespeare or anything else. I pity them from the core of my heart and sadly stand watching while my city crumbles below the feet of these ridiculous nincompoops.

Of course you cannot do that. Remember, if you kill yourself now you’ll never see him again. Never!

But even if I don’t, how long am I going to see him in any case. He’ll be married soon; and have sex with the lucky bitch. Where will I be then in his scheme of things?

May be you’ll never get to have sex with him again (that is if he doesn’t find you irresistible enough to betray his wife). But you can always steal a glance at him now and then. You can chat with him on the internet and perhaps even call him sometime. But if you push that empty syringe into your veins now, it will be all darkness henceforth.

Isn’t that infinitely better than seeing him roaming about with another woman on his shoulders? And all this in spite of the fact that he is in love with me? And I know that even if he is in love with me, once he gets married, he’ll gradually fall in love with that other woman as well.

You know, you are 31 now. Old enough to understand that what cannot be cured must be endured. Do you think that if you flee like a coward he is going to remember you for all you were worth? He will chastise you and will always think that you didn’t have the strength after all to face it.

And what is the big deal about that? He always chastises me. It is one of his ways to show that he cares for me. He only chastises those that he loves. About the rest he doesn’t care.

But if you die he wouldn’t even be able to chastise you. What will become of him then? Where will he vent his anger and frustrations and depression? Imagine, you know him so much better than anybody else. Someday if he is annoyed with his wife over something, you’ll be able to gain an upper hand. You can console him, comfort him, fondle him. The possibilities are infinite. How can you not want to try them out?

That was the biggest mistake of my life. To try to try things out. Why did I at all meet him in his apartment five weeks before my marriage? And after that even went on with my marriage like a fool. And you; it is you who had talked me into getting married to him. And now you are trying to talk me out of death.

Oh come on…it is going to hurt you so bad that syringe of yours.

My life already hurts too bad. It cannot be worse.

That syringe might not even kill you. You can be paralyzed or turn into a vegetable. Now, that will be highly inglorious for someone like you. Why not surf the internet and come up with better and surer ways? Fewer things are as bad as trying to die and failing. Come come let’s sleep. That husband of yours can’t even guess what you are up to. He’s sleeping peacefully.

If you are so worried about him why don’t you go to sleep beside him? He’s your husband too.

I will. Once you promise to join me. Don’t worry I’ll lie right between both of you like I’ve been doing all these years. You sure trust me, don’t you? I know you do. Come my love; let’s sleep.

Zoo zoo ads - Honestly, we’ve never before seen anything like them.

MJ’s death - We still can’t believe he’s not with us. Can we?

N D Tiwari’s virility - Wow! That old man….long way to go

Bollywood surprises

Dev D - Ahh…in a long while noone will dare to make a film on Devdas

Gulaal - Surprisingly and disturbingly dark. We couldn’t possibly expect anything like that from our good old Bollywood.

Kaminey - Vishal Bharadwaj did it again

Political disasters

Triumph of Mamata Banerjee Brigade

Parliament entertainers

Shashi Tharoor and his tweets

Kolkata Collage

Metro railway line extended, breaking Bedlam loose in the first few weeks

CCF (film fest) is a biiigg flop

City Centre II opens up for public

A string of commercial Bengali movies manage to draw city crowds to theatres

Cyclone Aila uproots nearly 10,000 trees in the city. We never knew there so many of them still

Come guys add up to this list what you think I have missed.

However, if the metro railway authority wishes to earn some revenue, they must watch their steps. At present, most of the turnstile gates where we punch our tickets are defunct. Which means, on their way out from the metro station, passengers are not being asked to punch in their tickets; at least two of the gates are perpetually kept open - partly to control crowd pressure and partly to save themselves the labor of mending the gates. This situation has trigered a new type of problem. As we all know, the metro fare increase by Rs2/- for every zone. Zone 1 ticket costs Rs4/-, zone 2 costs Rs6/- and so on. Due to this unique situation of gates, the smart alecks who populate the streets of Kolkata in hoardes, are purchasing a Rs4/- ticket instead of a Rs8/- or may be Rs12/- ticket that they are actually supposed to purchase. And they can do this because they don’t have to punch in the ticket at all.

I am not sure if the Mtero railway authorities are even aware of this, but if they are, I believe they have to look into it.

In the company of tears, I feel ecstatic; the experience of crying can only perhaps be compared to making love. If you watch your tears closely, you will notice they come and go like an orgasm. After some time they just go; they disappear and dry up. And then you just cannot do it again. Not until your mind and your body is again ready for it. Ready for another outburst that is. And here’s to a lovely bunch of tears; I am sharing with you something that always gives me that ecstatic feeling. It makes me feel as if I am on cloud 9.

If you go away