Life and Lies of M R Maiti

The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand My rating: 5 of 5 stars This is the first book I started reading straight after a friend's - a political science student - recommendation. The philosophy of 'Objectivism', that’s what the author is famous for, my friend told me, and the book celebrates that. I took this book to challenge myself as I felt that I was restricted to only limited genre. I didn't google the word 'Objectivism'. That would have been the easy way out. Instead I started on a self-appointed quest hoping to reach the finality of it.      After reading the first page itself I knew I was going to like this book. Maybe, because as it turned out the protagonist was the same age as I. Therefore, I could empathize more with him. Not that I have the caliber to be studying in Stanton Institute of Technology. It's the way Roark is, his attitude of not following the usual order but creating one of his own. Not only that he has his own ideology but also he never f

I am a bouquet My life began yesterday Gathering all sorts of flowers, the florist could get I was brought to life at the SDA market Piece by piece and part by part These flowers became a part of my heart Held together by a harmonious string I was excited about life and the adventures it would bring Brought to the stage, enclosed in a silver wrapping I felt overjoyed seeing all the people clapping Flaunting reputed companies’ logos, stood a tall banner Under it sat dignitaries in a sophisticated manner Now, before I could have a chance To take another glance In a brief rush of moments, I exchanged hands Then left forgotten in some forsaken lands Stood beside me two acquaintances, I had just made A bottle of Kinley and a bottle of Minute Maid Such a huge crowd who would not adore But these two remained indifferent to all the galore They say it’s nothing new they are witnessing It’s in their JD to be part of such

Lights all around I watch her dressed in all red Her mehndi covered hands  Wipe away the tears that she shed People all around She makes her way up to me Forcing a smile I fight the urge to flee Life would have been simple Were it not for that dimple Those kajal coated eyes A part of her, not a disguise She always was a beauty Making her smile, I considered it my duty Why I fell for her, reasons can be many Her eagerness for my poetry being as good as any A thousand questions I asked, all she answered But never asked the one that really mattered She was such a great catch I fell long short of being her perfect match Never tried to make her mine Always said to myself, I will be fine Even after she does leave Promised myself, I’ll not grieve She hugs me, I hug her back Only to let go Every moment I stay  Serves a severe blow She asks me Why do you have to go? I say It’s better if you do not know.

Jerked awake by the sudden loud alarm I realize, my favourite tone has lost its charm I run to the washroom holding my toothbrush Like every other day, I need to rush Breakfast seems like a thing of the past Don’t even remember when I had it last Hurrying along, I reach the college gate The guard smiles at me and I know I’m late Beyond this gate, lies a whole other kingdom Holding its banners stands the Wings of Wisdom A vibrant democracy you might want to see But this kingdom is run by IMF and PC There’s no thrones, no games to be won Forget the winter, ‘You-know-What’ has begun No longer a child, I’ve reached a certain age My biggest worry is my CV, still half a page Sitting in class, staring at empty space Wondering what awaits me at the end of this race GCPL, ITC or some company further down the row Or maybe I’ll end up with TCS or Wipro To change into formals, I run back to C9 Have to be seated in Audi before 4:2

Every day, same fight Trying again with all my might To avoid any sleep During the lecture of Mr. Jaydeep One slide comes, another slide goes What you speak seems verbose The words you highlight Are they not spelled right Nothing seems familiar, it’s all international But we all love you, Mr. Singhal Miss Symss, you are so full of credit But I don’t understand one bit of it When you teach, my headlight dims In a pool of dark water, my dead brain swims Miss Ruppal, the way you go Speaking in one flow I wonder if you breathe Or you are a sword forever out of its sheathe Miss Parul, when you say, ‘right’ Your eyes shine bright Then your forehead folds into a crease And out of your mouth comes, ‘QUIET PLEASE’ Tick tick tick Bring me a stick Hush hush hush Sir please elaborate, don’t you rush Has it been a day or a week Mr. Das, time stands still when you speak Your lecture sounds like a lullaby

   Go to sleep, you tell yourself for the umpteenth time. You have a test tomorrow.    Worried about the prospect of the next morning, you take a detour from your usual routine and go to bed early. And early for you means 2:00 AM. You lie on your bed and let out a breath of sigh. Then you close your eyes and urge yourself to sleep. Your brain, however, has something entirely different planned for you.    Why are there more than one movie based on Steve Jobs’ life. He died of Cancer, so sad. The world lost a gem. What would he have felt while dying? Where would he be, now: some heavenly place or is he just…… absent?    When will George RR Martin release the next book? So much time has passed. He has grown old. Please don’t die before completing the series. That’s so selfish! But, whatever!    Then someday J K Rowling……OMG! No, not her. But death is a certainty which none can escape. Still, the realization that she will be gone one day never occurred before. What a

Train to Pakistan by Khushwant Singh My rating: 5 of 5 stars At the juncture of Independence, Freedom was interpreted differently by different sections of society. For the well to do, it meant good jobs vacated by the British whereas it made no difference to the poor. They even felt more secure from dacoits and bandits under the British rule. The book is set in such a background. It describes the events that occurred during the partition process in a fictitious village situated on the Indo-Pak border. Man Majro, a village where people did not wake from an alarm clock ringing but by listening to the mullah's call to prayer, which in turn, was a function of the punctuality of the trains that arrived at the Man Majro railway station; a village where Sikhs and Muslims lived together as brothers. The book showcases how the irregularities that began with the late arrival of trains impacted the lives of villagers both directly and indirectly. Man Majro had so far remained total

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee My rating: 5 of 5 stars We have an innocent girl, not even in her teens yet, unaware of the prejudices all around, questioning everything, hardly subdued when confronted. One cannot not help but appreciate the brilliance of Scout Finch pointing out the hypocrisy in Americans criticizing Hitler of discrimination against Jews while they themselves were doing the same to their black folks back home. Midway through her childhood adventures, her father, Atticus Finch, a lawyer by profession, is appointed by the court to defend Tom Robinson, a Negro. Things were not in favor of Tom. First, he was accused of raping a woman which in itself is such a heinous crime that the public convicts you even before the court does. Second, he was a Negro and the woman concerned was white. The prejudice only made it worse. According to the law, any person whether white or black has the right to defend himself. But defending a Negro is a disgraceful ac

   What's wrong, my mother asked. She must have noticed something off in my voice. So, I tried my best to bring out my normal voice and replied, nothing, why!?    She didn't persist. We went about our usual talk on the phone; how was I, how was my day, did I have my dinner etc. But after a while, she asked again, what's wrong; this time she persisted.    Remember, Harry Potter?    Hmm, what about it!    One of the actors died.    Who? Hermione? My mother is not a Harry Potter enthusiast but she tries to keep up with her son's interests.    No, Snape.    Ohh!! That bad teacher. Normally, I enter into a debate with whosoever makes a bad remark about Snape. But, my mother hardly knew what she was talking about.    Wow, son!! She said after a pause. You are grieving for a person you didn't even know. I wonder what you will do after my death.    MAA!!    She started laughing.    I'll talk to you tomorrow after you......