Adventures

What are adventures? Lexicon-wise: 1. a. An undertaking or enterprise of a hazardous nature. b. An undertaking of a questionable nature, especially one involving intervention in another state's affairs. 2. An unusual or exciting experience. The adventures I had in the past few days were not of an hazardous nature, nor did they involve intervention in another state's affairs. They were unusual activities, of an questionable nature, maybe, given the time, place, and circumstance. They didn't excite me in any way. They did keep me occupied and distracted, though. From my blog, from that corner of my mind, where everything leads to fear and depression. Firstly, I finished with the sit-com F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Watching the ten seasons were an adventure in itself, given the undulating emotions and opinions I had throughout it. When I'd started with it, it was unpleasant comedy. After three seasons, I was in love with the six people, and I missed them when I didn't watch them. After six seasons, I hated them again. After the seventh season, I was irritated with them, for two reasons. One, it all seemed horribly wrong. Two, no matter how much I disliked the episodes, I couldn't get my mind off them, after watching each. I wanted to finish off with the series as soon as possible. I spent four whole days at home, without food, bathing, and minimal excretional activities, on my swivel chair, watching the episodes one after the other. That was another adventure in itself. I was cut off from the rest of the world, well, almost nearly. I kept my cell in silent, and tucked it away from sight. I avoided all forms of conversation and social activity with people (including my father). The night I finished it (and found that patience had paid off, the ending was not too different from what I WANTED), I had the most enlightening conversation in years. Too much of information, too much of unexpected facts stared at me in the face, literally (it was an online chat, you see!). F.R.I.E.N.D.S started making sense, gradually. The next day, I went to Durgapur, without informing my family in Durgapur about it. This was a first time. The old habits of travelling on the roads, keeping an eye for my Mum's car, walking close to the alleys, so that I can duck into them if I happen to run into Bhai or Ma, paid off. I had gone to meet Sritama, primarily. I couldn't stay more than a few hours, thanks to my "tuition" check on freedom. I went to her place. Sayak joined. We had a good lunch (wonderful fried rice, and well-cooked home-made chicken by her Mom). We met Shraboni Mukherjee afterwards, a person who had an immense role in the stories that I had once pictured in my mind night after night. The four of us went to watch a low-budget film called Love, Sex, and Dhokha (LSD). Till then, I was expecting the movie to show how love, sex, and dhokha (betrayal) and the Lethal Seductive Drug are similar. The movie wasn't so. Later, Sayak told me that the main reason I found the movie exceptionally brilliant is because I haven't watched Tarantino's Pulp Fiction yet. That would explain the screenplay. Sayak also pointed out why it was a brilliant movie; it's the first of it's kind in our desi industry. Screenplay apart, the way three stories about love, sex, and dhokha, respectively have been interwoven, is a creative marvel in itself. The use of unconventional cameras is meaningful too. Including the down-to-earth dialogues, everything in the movie was ambiguous, thus lending it more intellectual value. Sritama and Sraboni hated the movie completely. I felt bad for having tortured them into experiencing such painfully real complications, on reel! I came back, heard about the massive fire-break at my second favorite place in Kolkata. The building on Park Street that houses places like Peter Cat and Cafe Coffee Day. Places that have witnessed some of the most important events of my life. Puspen put it right: it's like having my own home in fire. A lot of people I know witnessed it. And I was shocked at the mere fact that such a thing could happen in a matter of a few hours, a few hours that I wasn't "home"! I read about the unusual number of casualties, I also heard about one of them being close to someone I know! It's traumatic. Meanwhile, I'd been reading the book Dr.Zhibhago. I'm reading a classic novel instead of paperback fiction, after a long, long time. The imageries of the snowy streets and the windy meadows, coupled with the ones of the house interiors, of both the rich and the poor, takes me back to those days when I used to read Charles Dickens and likewise. A socio-politico-economic analysis of a certain historical period, shown through the eyes fictional common men; it's definitely better literature than what Chetan Bhagat and his fellow engineer-turned-authors can ever write. My mini-adventure through Russia also makes me contemplate on what "literature" actually is. Last night, I watched a dark humor movie Annie Hall by the famous Woody Allen. Every dialogue and circumstance of the movie is quotable. My favorite one would be the one where life is classified into horrible and miserable. The ones with diseases and handicaps are the horrible cases, while all the rest are miserable. Wish I could throw it on the elders who always told me that I should appreciate my life when I see the "horrible" ones. Sayak came to Kolkata. Anshul is leaving for Darjeeling today. He'll be away for more than a week. We're planning to make full use of this hard-found freedom. We're planning something. But, finances and other responsibilities withstanding, I wouldn't like to get my hopes too high. The splendor of our Mondarmoni trip lay in the fact that it was sudden. It scares me if any other trip would be as successful, since the "suddenness" will always be missing, and as I often say, the first is always the best. Another adventure ahead!