The Crush that never Was..

‘I can’t see me loving nobody but you
For all my life
When you are with me
Baby the skies will be blue
For all my life’

Don’t look at me like that! That’s one extremely sweet song by The Beatles. (And now imagine me, puppy dog eyed!) There, you’re doing it again… This is a special song – for it’s the one that was always on ‘auto-play’ whenever I came across her.

Her is (rather, was) one particularly tall, straight haired, fair, dark-eyed girl in my college. Was-? No, she isn't dead or anything like that, she just passed out (in a non-medical 'passing out' sort of way) - a senior, from an unrelated department. Always the one to be noticed dressed only too nicely: simple, nothing flashy, yet trendy. Earthly, yet bright colored kurtis on a pair of dark colored leggings usually. She had a mole on her nose, to the right side. Small one, but prominently pretty. Jet black eyes, with a sharp gaze about it. Even her teeth were set too perfectly! But the thin crazy streak of blood-red color in her hair was the first one that caught my attention.


A friend calls me out early in the morning on a Sunday, ‘Deep, come to the campus and get me your biochem class notes. I missed Friday’s class!’ I don’t get it how confidently the smart-ass (yes, they're almost a league now!) call me early in the morning and demand something that requires me to brush, get dressed and walk all the way into the campus just to deliver one notebook! But I never have complained…

‘Meet my friend here!’ says she as soon as I reached. My eyes were still semi-closed so I took my time to notice the other person along with her.

I pulled a face at her, for I think I just sleep-walked my way from my hostel room to where I stand right now. And then it hits me like a rock - a streak of red flowing hair. Why Hello, good morning!!


My mind raced. It immediately started back calculating. Its just been about 3 days that the fresher batch have come to college. This one has to be a fresher! Yeah, or else I must’ve noticed for sure. Aah, the red streak within jet black free-flowing straight hair is a concentration breaker! And how does our mutual friend know her from? Must be from back home! My mind’s still pacing, as she’s still waiting for me to be polite and reply back a ‘hi’ to her.

Mental bubbles started appearing: Keep it cool, Don’t smile too much Creep! Damn it, should’ve brushed longer, is my breath bad? KEEP IT COOL.. BE COOL!

‘Hi!’ she repeated again, smiling cautiously – Trust me, BEST SMILE EVER!

‘And this is Deep, the creep we told you about..’ said our mutual friend, introducing me to her.

‘..Just the good things I hope?’ I said, ‘These girls won’t tell you of the good in me! But I’m as good as a Galaxy bar..’ - WHAT-THE-FUNK was that! - ‘that is, if you like Galaxy bar, I can be Mars too..’ - I should've really tried shutting up by then! - ‘However girls tend to like Bounty better, I think..’ - I SHOULD IMPLODE! - ‘..or Milky Way?’

Who the heck was this 'stranger' talking in through me?

From there, I think I went on telling her about the professors she’s going to encounter, how to tackle a few crazy ones, how is the general trend of the campus - which clubs are 'happening', about the festival time, the hangout places, booze-able places, and even smooch-able places etc. Made clear that if she needs any help about anything, Deeptiman (i.e. myself!) is her man.

I’m unwilling to discuss the next few moments where she told that she’s A YEAR SENIOR TO ME! All I remember is that I stared straight at my friend - almost wishing I were Cyclops from X-Men - who was laughing her fat-ass off! Couldn't you have given me a tip off earlier, ass?


Crushes change you.

You become a total joker. I remember how I would catch a glimpse of the red hair on my way to a lecture, and stay Mr. Smiley-Face all the way to class, and for long after that too. I would change my routes accordingly, to do what? Talk? Nope! Too chicken for that, I’d rather just stare from a galaxy far far away. You didn't interpret it as ogle and drool, did you?

And did she know? Hell, I don't know about all that, and I didn't care! Crushes aren't meant to stay, they're just meant to temporarily disrupt your system. Its an aptly named word. It crushes emotions if allowed to take control and is rather fun, if taken lightly. Thank God for my girlfriend, I'd rather stick to the latter plan. And thank God for me, she doesn't mind.

Hell, she must have more crushes than I do!

Intellectual Cravings of the Bong..

If there’s something I could ever be guilty of, it should be eavesdropping.

Yes, it so happens that I find it extremely pleasing to my curiosity. Eavesdropping can become quite a hobby; or what many may stretch to call, a habituation. And I’m the addict here. In a cosmopolitan campus such as that of my University, you get to hear about ten different languages easily, and not all of them are strictly Indian. Adding to that, my being a Bengali gives an added advantage towards my mother-tongue! Unsuspecting Bengali couples in the campus (everyone agrees to it: we bongs, are everywhere!) fight, talk, or even do their typical coy-stuff, while I immediately tune my ears to that frequency..

Yesterday, I sat beside one such couple in the Food Court – one of those intellectual kinds! And over the entire meal, this is, but everything they talked about:

Him: ‘Hey, I saw Abar Byomkesh yesterday! I’ll pass on the movie to you tomorrow..’
Her: ‘Aah! The great Sharadindu.. But I don’t understand how you still herald Satyajit Ray and his Feluda in the highest honor! He’s for them kids, you should really move on to Kiriti and Byomkesh now.’

Byomkesh Bakshi, Kakababu, Feluda a.k.a. Prodosh C. Mitter and Kiriti Roy are perhaps the greatest detectives in the history of Bengali and subsequently, Indian literature. They’re absolutely on the par with those of Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot and Father Brown! Popularly, they’re referred to as the ‘da’s of Bengali literature – ‘da’ is a way of affectionately referring to a person in Bengali, who is 'just about' older than oneself. Anyway, point is, look where the conversation is going..

Her: ‘Don’t you think Satyajit Ray was undervalued in his own country?’
Him: ‘Well.. I think they were just way ahead of their time. Like the movie No Smoking, Oye Lucky! Lucky Oye! and Premendra Mitra’s Ghana da?!

To talk about the da’s of Bengali literature and to miss the likes of Tenida and Ghanada, would be a crime worthy of a punishment! I’m not much familiar with Tenida, so I’d stick with Ghanada or Mr. Ghanashyam Das – a mild-mannered, middle aged man living with a couple of residents in an all-boys’ mess at the fictional Banamali Naskar Lane, and perhaps single-handedly responsible for the balance of power in the world! It is a collection of the most funny, yet very much accurate science fiction stories, where Ghanada is usually involved in some serious international business where the CIA and MI5 collectively need his help to infiltrate/dismantle some destructive secret projects run by the KGB! One such involving a bioweapons-project to develop mosquitoes, to be used as WMDs against the Western countries, and Ghanada being the one to kill the only mosquito that came out alive from it – be advised, that’s the only one he’s ever killed with his bare hands! His ancestors have brought about the Incan downfall, helped Sivaji’s escape from the Agra fort and he has even been to Mars.

Accept it, Curiosity! The Martian crater you landed on the day before yesterday, was maybe a remnant of his footfall.. Well, he’s is a class apart, and I can go on and on about him.
So, Must. Stop. Now.

Her: ‘You know, there used to be Indian literature that reflect the world history!’
Him: ‘Yeah, one man wrote the greatest adventure/thriller ever - ‘Chaand’er Pahar’ - in bengali and he’s never even been to Africa!’
Her: ‘You know, there are things lost in translation when people around the globe are reading them, that can never be fulfilled. Mother-tongue is such an asset! I mean, look at some Hindi, Malayalam and Marathi literature.’
Him: ‘…’
Her: ‘You know, you should try some Russian translations. Very left-bent, yes, but great stuff!’
Him: ‘There is one thing you should know darling, I don’t quite follow communism and hence, I don’t support it..’
Her: (Looking suddenly dejected) ‘Well I don’t understand it, and so I refrain myself from commenting.. and so should you too! All I can do, is but quote Arundhati Roy here - Communism is an edifice constructed by human intelligence, only to be undone by the human nature.’
Him: ‘Yeah, true that, but.. But, I wasn’t exactly commenting!’
Her: Another crazed look from her, brought the topic to an end. Thus giving fresh evidence to the much debated and hushed-about contemporary law, that states that women tend to have the last word.. and guys suck back at it!

The conversation further spiraled into the amazement that is science. The ‘Him’ talked about how math is actually a universal language of science and that ‘Biology’ is nothing but further culmination of physics and chemistry'. The ‘Her’ instead said, that math is an art and went on to quote Bertrand Russell. They went on to talk about what an irony it proves to be that Bertrand Russell suffered of Alzheimer’s disease in his last few years.

At this point, my cappuccino was more than just over and the sandwiches were being acted upon by them digestive juices. It was time for me to get up. But I couldn’t just leave like that.. After hearing all that I had to make a statement. And so I did. A typically ‘me’ statement.

‘You know, who my favorite author is?’
They looked discomforted and totally fazed. And I absolutely loved it!

‘Chetan Bhagat..’ said I, and got up.

I think they choked onto their metaphorical vomit upon my answer and suffered from a painful shock, at least for the next few hours. And of course, Chetan Bhagat was not my favorite author. What did you think? And the more I thought about what they were talking about, I jested at it lesser and lesser until I gave all of it, one serious thought. And then realization struck!

Dammit! The girl was so true! Math in all it’s reality, is an art.

Or the way I get it, ‘PASSING a Math exam is really an ART!’