Life and Lies of M R Maiti

"It's a typo," I interrupt my sister. "Correct it." She's working from home and I am on leave and have got nothing better to do. "No, it's not," she replies after pondering for a while. "Ok, there's no such thing as CECPA," I begin. "It's CEPA - free trade agreement between India and South Korea. Don't you remember? A year ago, I told you that this will be the first thing your interviewers ask you. And then...there's CECA - a free trade agreement between Indian and Malaysia, and I think Singapore also. Anyway, my point is... there is no such thing as CECPA." "Actually, my dear brother," she smiles. "There is. CECPA is a free trade agreement between India and Mauritius." I stand there silent for a moment. Didn't I have all the FTAs on the tips of my tongue? Yes, I left college almost four years ago but I did teach all that stuff to my sister, just a year ago. I go over the acronym again

A backpack of responsibilities She carries on her shoulders Leading a team of 23 More or less Yet at the end of the day Appears so carefree Over every high rise Down every descent She walks with a spring in her steps She's fit And she's cute She also maintains a calm composure Just like the company of mountains she keeps And whenever she passes you by Through her teeth, she smiles Draining your fatigue away And at the end of the day She spouts words of wisdom One after another It all makes me wonder God, is she really 23 Now, we are in Gurdum And our journey is almost done I hope she's satisfied That we stayed true To what she believes in That we left the mountains Better than we found it. Dedicated to my Trek Leader on Sandakphu Phalut Trek - Swarada

Seven decades and a half It has been that long Since the tyranny ended. The looters galloped away On their high horses Leaving us broken In parts and pieces.   Their horses today Graze on grassy highlands. And from top of their mount They laugh, Watching their vacant chairs Occupied by men well-chosen Still, tyrants in their own right.   Seven decades and a half We have built a lot But freedom goes either way. Free to rise, free to fall. Where do we go from here? So we don’t end up where we were Broken in parts and pieces. #HappyIndependenceDay #IndiaAt75

Dear Modi Ji, Thanks for the honour. It feels great to know that even after all these years, my achievements are brought to the fore and regarded in such a manner. Though, I feel you shouldn't have taken the trouble. I, anyway, receive a lot of love when everyone celebrates National Sports Day on my birthday. Now by renaming an award that was formerly dedicated to an erstwhile PM, you have dragged me into something I was never interested in. Politics. As usual, the tirade will follow. Congress lamenting: WHY? Your party commenting: WHY NOT? Amidst all this, the men and women who have done nothing but strive for success, who rarely receive the limelight will recede in shadows once again. Someone as competent as you must have seen this coming for I'm sure this wasn't deliberate. You had your heart in the right place and you just wanted to honour me. But this honour that you bestow on me is also accompanied by a sadness, a realisation that in light of our recent achievement, y

They have gathered once again Like every other year In spite of the outbreak Plaguing the entire land God is their last resort Having lost their hopes in men God brought the pandemic God will bless this cursed land Or so they have come to believe.   They have gathered once again Out on the streets Listening tentatively To the promises made To the slogans in the air For in that moment All of it matters Their voice, their choice Or so they have come to believe.   They have gathered once again Glued to the screens Cheering the champions Who are well out of earshot A game of gentlemen Two play at a time The rest of them await their turn It's all spontaneous Or so they have come to believe.   They have gathered once again In a suspended ambience Glasses in their hands Smoke in the air Ash on the ground Boasting about Women they bedded Men they punched Unmindful of all the gatherings everywhere.  

  “We should have booked a four-wheeler for today,” suggests Ajay, taking a break from kick-starting his bike. Sooner or later, the wisdom of hindsight comes to all of us. And right now, it pours out of my friend, only to be frozen mid-air. Just like me, he is covered from head to toe in multiple layers. There is no one in sight except the two of us and the occasional vehicles passing by, halting at the sight of our thumbs out, only to refuse to give us a ride. “Maybe, we should chuck it and chill in Lachen itself.” NO. The voice in my head shouts then takes a moment to think, dials it down to a pleading voice: No no no. This can’t happen. We are not far from the homestay we had stayed last night. I find some comfort in that as Ajay now has to roll it downhill back to where we had begun in the morning. The owner’s daughter smiles at us from the balcony when we reach the homestay. She is a good company but right now I need to be someplace else. After all, we had come all the

Somebody whispers my name from the back. I ignore it for the umpteenth time, concentrating on the homework. Six to eight in the evening is called Prep time. Once the games period is over, we spend two hours in the classroom going through our books and notes. At least everyone pretends to. The two hours are spent scribbling on notebooks, playing TIC TAC TOE and for the most part poking the guy sitting in the front. "What!" I turn around, glaring at the boy who poked me. His name is Ujjwal, one of the infamous lot, the kind whom my mother warns to stay away from. “Here, see this,” he produces a piece of paper, completely unfazed by my irritation. I take a look at the paper and then at the teacher sitting in the front. Our English teacher. He is old of age and nearing retirement. For the entire two hours, he remains confined to his chair. And his nodding- off serves as an artistic inspiration for many, who crudely put it on paper. One of those many sketches is right befo

  “So that’s why the name Varanasi,” Vishal uttered his epiphany out loud. “Varuna plus Assi?” “Obviously,” replied Somnath. “Didn’t you know that?” “Never thought about it. I guess, for me, it has always been Benares.” That was then, more than two years ago. As of this moment, Vishal could give a personalized tour of Benares, all by himself. And that is exactly what he has been doing with Sheth and Ajay for the past few days while Somnath was making arrangements for his wedding. Still, Vishal won’t go as far as comparing himself with the resident Benaresi, who according to his plan, has joined the three of them tonight. A day after he got married, miracle, huh? Well, things always line up for Vishal when it comes to these sorts of things. In this case, a custom called: Kaalratri, where the boy – scratch that – groom – no – husband cannot see his wife, post-dusk, one day after marriage. So here was Somnath, the oldest one of them, telling stories about the oldest city known; an o