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Cliches

are the unfortunate truths that the discerning intellectual uses to clean his backside. Honestly, I haven’t seen any other word/property so freewheelingly castigated from it’s righteous rewards.

Feb 14 is on its way. What exactly would you call the mile-long queues in front of the Archies stores as?

Impulse? Einsteinian realization about gifting your loved one something on that day? Or, well, the bare, the simple thing called ‘Love’? What’s your problem accepting the fact that you too belong to the primate Neanderthals who mated and head hunted for living on a wilder and hugely Nature-dependant planet?

Believe me. We’re just like little blip in the whole scheme. We are alike, you like it or not. We respond to the same stimuli, react with a range of expressions, because, you, my dear is simply, one of us. 

There was this India-touring travel programme I watched in passe, and there was a passing comment one of the women anchors met that I really liked. She was at the Meenakshi Temple in Madurai. Facing the fanatic crowd of worshippers whose volume increased in consistent spurts throughout the unbearably hot May Day, she faced the camera and said,

I am amazed at the collective devotion that we have.”

Take the Kolkata Book Fair for instance. You have to set foot there to believe what happens there! I was there on the first day, Jan 26th, 2012, that happened to coincide with India’s Republic Day as well.  I was there mainly to get a sneak-peak at the Kolkata Literary Meet, the first ever literary seminar of considerable capacity to be held in Kolkata. By the gracious help of one of the speakers and translator of distinguished merit, Arunava Sinha, who managed a pass for me from his own circle of friends, I reserved a seat inside the igloo of concentrated literati. I spent about 2.5 hours of memorable cerebrally invigorating talks by prominent literary figures, such as, Sunil Gangopadhyay, the famous Bengali poet and writera and Vikram Seth, of Suitable Boy fame.

It was understatedly a thrilling experience to litsen to them talk. Mr. Seth was impressive in his erudite explanations of his latest, ‘The Rivered Earth’ which is described as a literati, an operaic term used to describe the lyrical assistance provided to the opera audience to to unveil the opera chorus. As I have noticed, with almost all people with an artistic bent of mind, Mr. Seth too, displayed an irreverant passion for the arts, which ranged from poetry, music to Chinese and Arabic Calligraphy. Interestingly, he admitted to treating each in its own right, such that his diligence, grasp and knowledge in each of these artistic disciplines was absolute.

My left temple had inconveniently started throbbing, and to my dismay, I began to anticipate another of my famous ‘migraine attacks’. I was not carrying my painkillers and was miles away from home, so I rushed out to buy the books I had planned.

It was absolutely bewildering to notice the collectiveness of our love for books. The neons were up, the crowds were in. A few mute seconds in a non-migrained brain could be very revealing at the face of such a crowd. The crowd consisted of various elements.

(1) The upper class intellectuals – some of them visibly book teetotalers

(2) The famous Bengali intellectuals – disheveled hair, beard, thick rimmed specs, the unanimous sack bag et al

(3) The museum visitors – couples with their toddlers for general sightseeing

(4) Gen Y – the cool college crowd. spike haired (check), guitar (check), smoking (check)

Something bound them all. That something which is the basis on which certain books, songs, poetry, places and so on ring the right note with all. That famous Worthsworthian belief that the same force runs through us all – something which touches you may well, touch millions as well.

It may be the chocolate+roses for your beloved. Or Baywatch for the adolescent. And let’s face it, it makes things a lot simpler!

We’re so beautiful in our sameness. And so brilliant in eschewing our sameness.

Ladies, I tell you, if you aren’t really prepared for your valentine, a home made cake will be just fine!

The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach!

Amen 🙂

Yours Joblessly,   The Jobless Ideator

 

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