The Cosmic Relationship Conjecture: A Reappraisal of Christopher Nolan’s Films

Image Credit: charlieanders2 on Flickr

Bits and pieces of the thoughts below were put in written form starting from 2014 or so. I had shared my views in several conversations with fellow film enthusiasts over the years. With the release of each new film from Christopher Nolan, I found that I had something to say and loosely put down my thoughts in my notes. Until now, I have not felt the motivation to put together my (sometimes mental) jottings over the years in a coherent form. Now, I feel, is as good a time as any other to do so, not only because it timely – with Nolan almost certainly being awarded the highest laurel by his Hollywood colleagues later today, surely accompanied with salmon and potato salad – but also because it a good juncture in time to look at the quite remarkable – and also, in my view, quite unexpected – trajectory of his filmography in the last decade or so. Needless to say, this article is riddled with spoilers, so continue reading at your own risk.

(But how about Inception? Yes, I still stand by every word I had written in that review 13 years back, though I would certainly phrase some of my criticisms differently – I was just a schoolboy!)

Nolan started going in this new direction as early as The Dark Knight Rises, though it was not quite obvious to me upon the first watch. The film seemed strangely anomalous and haphazard, with some of its apparent deficiencies calling attention to themselves, which seemed to be quite inconsistent with my idea of Nolan as a filmmaker trying to show off his intellect to the audience with very precise – if convoluted – logical framework and clockwork precision of the narratives. Nearly all his previous films were emblematic of these tendencies, although the exquisitely built house-of-cards narrative often fell apart on closer inspection (take for instance, the contrivances in the Joker’s elaborately designed plan in The Dark Knight). In Rises, however, some of the plot holes were so prominently on exhibit that the film looked, uh, quite risible. It took me a while to appreciate that such glaring inconsistencies might have been left there somewhat “on purpose” because the maker’s attention was elsewhere. (I put the quotes in the previous sentence because I think it is often difficult to be certain about someone’s artistic intentions, even for the artist herself/himself). 

A Different Delta

(I had written this piece a little over a year ago, for an online magazine. However, the editorial team suggested some truly bizarre edits -- some of which were ideological in nature -- which would have disfigured my original article beyond recognition. Since I was not able to bring myself to subscribe to such exacting standards, the article was not published. Here is the article I had submitted, with almost no modifications; I have included and highlighted a silly error I had made.)

No, dear reader, I am not referring to the dreaded deltas you may have thought about. The delta I am talking about belongs neither to Dirac, nor to Kronecker – but to the people who are fighting an interminable battle for survival – day in and day out. I am talking, of course, about the Sundarbans, the largest delta in the world, on the Bay of Bengal. I had the wonderful opportunity of visiting remote villages in the Sundarbans and extensively interacting with their inhabitants, as I accompanied my mother on her trips to the Sundarbans for her many research projects.

My visits to the Sundarbans from my childhood have been an eye-opening experience for me – an experience that, more than any other, underlined the stark differences in privileges enjoyed between the people in that world and those in mine. Given the sad state of affairs the world is in – has always been in – we have become inured to the fact that some people live a harder life than others do. However, when it comes to the Sundarbans, “struggle for survival” is not just a throwaway phrase – it acquires a very tangible meaning. It is not only the socioeconomic situation that makes the lives of the inhabitants miserable; the most ruthless adversary they have to battle is Nature herself. Tigers, crocodiles, deadly serpents are part of their lives on a day-to-day basis. The region is ravaged by storms, cyclones, floods very frequently. Deadly diseases are rampant. In recent times, the region has been hit most severely by climate change, as rising sea levels have made several islands uninhabitable – displacing countless people.

It is a near-impossible task for me to describe the myriad complexities of the Sundarbans – and I have witnessed only a small fraction of it. In this article, I want to discuss an aspect of the Sundarbans that has fascinated me the most – its culture. To me, it is nothing short of incredible that people living such a precarious existence would protect and nurture their cultural heritage so lovingly. Mind you, their cultural activity is not merely a form of escapism – it is firmly rooted in the realities of their existence. It is nothing other than their assertion of survival.

Three goddesses reign supreme in the cultural milieu of the Sundarbans – Banbibi, Manasa and Shitala. According to the people of the Sundarbans, Banbibi saves them from the menace of tigers, Manasa from snakebites and Shitala from deadly diseases. All these deities have performance forms (known as palas) dedicated to them. The forms, growing out of propitiatory rituals, have now metamorphosed into independent performative forms, rigorously nurtured and practised as manifestations of religious faith and devotion.

Of the three goddesses, Banbibi – the Lady of the Forests – is unique to the Sundarbans for obvious reasons. Incredible as it may seem, Banbibi is worshipped by Hindu and Muslim communities alike. The people of the Sundarbans, therefore, illustrate the perfect example of a closely-knit community, which has essentially dissolved any extraneous factors of division -- an example, if emulated widely, would make the world a much happier place. God, to these people, is not an abstract entity ruling them from up above the skies – divine beings are as real as you and me. I was able to understand how important the goddess was to the people in a conversation with a villager who had once managed to escape from a tiger. He was caught by a tiger in the river when he went to the forest for collecting honey. According to him, the tiger released him the moment he shouted the name of the goddess. The villager did not appear to suffer from any delusion – the wound left by the tiger was still visible. “Banbibi keeps saving us this way,” echoed other members of his community. Who were we to say otherwise?

The performance forms dedicated to Shitala were very interesting as well. Shitala is worshipped to keep all deadly diseases, most importantly pox, at bay.  One can find temples devoted to Shitala even in Kolkata – including one near my home. The most curious aspect of the Shitala pala was the similarities -- and the dissimilarities – between the tunes that emerge from the small Shitala temples in the city and those heard in the pala.

The worship of Manasa, to me, is the most notable one to me in several respects – primarily because it offers a valuable case study in differences of perception. The legend of Manasa goes something like this: Manasa, the abandoned daughter of Lord Shiva, (this varies from legend to legend: according to some legends, she is the daughter of sage Kashyap) tries hard to be accepted as a goddess. In order to gain acceptance as a goddess, she must first be worshipped by Chand Sadagar, the rich merchant and devotee of Shiva. Strong-willed as he is, Chand Sadagar is steadfast in his refusal to worship the vile and vicious Manasa. He is ultimately coerced into worshipping her after Manasa kills all her his children.

Chand Sadagar is celebrated as a symbol of triumph of humanity against the divine by the urban atheists (a category to which I consider myself to belong). In fact, Sombhu Mitra, one of the most illustrious playwrights of Bengal, celebrates the virtues of Chand Sadagar in his most acclaimed play, Chand Baniker Pala. The perception of the people in the Sundarbans, however, is completely different. From their perspective, it is Manasa who is the victim. Manasa, the mother who protects them from serpents, is the one wronged by everyone else, they think. She is the symbol of resistance against oppression by the upper castes – a cruel reality that is as true today as it was five hundred years ago. “What wrong did Manasa do?” they ask.

Watching a performance dedicated to Manasa is simply enthralling. Without expensive visual effects or nameless body doubles at their disposal, they take a live snake in the mouth for the performance (as shown in the image; small trivia: the actor was rehearsing the performance for us in front of car headlights, as there was no electricity) – this is how important the ceremony is to them.  As I have said before, the performative forms are not merely a source of entertainment for these people – well it does entertain them, but it is so much more! In a certain sense, this is how they are able to make their lives meaningful. The labourer who incessantly toils in the field through the day gets to enact the role of a rich merchant in the evening and in doing so, pays tribute to the entity that he thinks keeps him safe. How many of us can claim to lead such a meaningful life?

The people in the villages are an epitome of kindness and warmth. The way they received and greeted us was wonderful -- they were like long-lost family members. Meeting them was as much emotionally fulfilling as witnessing their adverse situation was heart-breaking. Their indomitable spirit is something every human being should be inspired by.

I have not been to the Sundarbans in quite a while. I am now closer to the Arabian Sea than to the Bay of Bengal. But as I take the customary evening walk by the shore, a distant boat sometimes evokes even more distant memories. The people would then be heading back home after yet another hazardous day and prepare for their next performance, I guess. I wonder when I would be seeing them next. What if they could come and meet me here? Can’t the rest of the country know and get encouraged by how lovingly they preserve their cultural heritage? The Arabian Sea and the Bay of Bengal become indistinguishable for a moment, before I remember that I have to get all the Dirac and Kronecker deltas right for the next assignment.

Published Elsewhere: The Glow of the Rising Sun

[It's been quite a while since I wrote anything on the blog, but that doesn't mean I have stopped writing. I have written many pieces in the intervening years. I did wish to write a few long-form articles exclusively for this blog but I was unable to invest the time needed for such an article because of my involvement with my studies. However, I thought I should put up all my writings on my blog. This is the first in a series of articles that have appeared somewhere else.]

(Former readers of my blog will probably remember my Japan posts. I had written this seven years back after returning from Japan. This was published on July 27 2008 in Voices, a supplement to The Statesman, a reputed Indian newspaper. To my utter surprise and delight, the 2000-word article was published untrimmed and was featured on the back page!)

The Glow of the Rising Sun

Tall skyscrapers… manufacturer of the hi-tech cameras we use… cutting-edge robotic technology… four earthquakes a day… These are the first images to invade our minds whenever we hear the word, Japan. But what I saw in Japan, what I experienced in Japan was very different and much broader than the stereotypical concepts we have about the Land of the Rising Sun.

But my journey from the Incredible India to the Beautiful Japan as a part of the Japan - East Asia Network of Exchange for Students and Youths (JENESYS) programme (a joint collaboration between the Government of India and the Government of Japan) did not start off the way I dreamt. For a variety of reasons, I was completely engulfed by anxiety and tension. I didn’t have an international phone card to talk to my family just the day before we left and neither was my baggage within the weight limit set by the airline. Thus, the pre-departure session wasn’t exactly I’d call pleasant. Just when some the difficulties were overcome a couple of hours before the departure, a greater misery awaited me. I was still not realising the absence of my family there since my mother accompanied me to New Delhi. But on May 12, 2008, at afternoon, as I entered Indira Gandhi International Airport and boarded the Japan Airlines flight no. JL 472, a very powerful sensation struck me. I was leaving my motherland for the first time and that too, without my family! I had a feeling, which was completely incomparable to anything else. I was feeling away from home and a new kind of despair enveloped me. Even the flight wasn’t a very cheerful one. But as time progressed I was so anxious and depressed that my mind went fully blank and no other bitter thought could assault me.

But all my grief vanished at once when the aircraft landed at Narita International Airport, Tokyo. I was filled with the excitement of visiting the country Rabindranath had visited decades ago. We landed in the Land of the Rising Sun just after the sunrise. But the sun remained covered by grey clouds and a new snag came up as I came out of the airport. A typhoon had hit Tokyo the day we arrived there. So, it was impossible to defend against the cold that came seeping in through the two sweaters and non-stop rainfall was even more painful.

Just as our bus advanced towards the main city all the visuals I had imagined about Japan came into full view. Tall skyscrapers, smooth roads, speeding vehicles, innumerable flyovers – Tokyo has it all. Just as I entered the main city and got excited once again, I also became immune to the terribly hostile climate. The Imperial Palace was the first place we visited in Tokyo. It was an immensely beautiful place one can never have enough of.

One of my main concerns about visiting Japan was the food. As a person not accustomed to Japanese food habits, I thought it would not be easy for me adjust with their cuisines. But, to my very pleasant surprise, this wonderful programme booked some Indian restaurants for us to have our meal.

This and That . . .

It's been ages since I logged on to Blogger. Much to my delight, the homepage informed me that four comments were waiting to be published. I could hardly hold myself. Who could leave comments on a blog that's as good as dead? Who could possibly care about my random opinions? No one, I thought. And I was right. But the comments I saw pleased me in a different way. It's always a good sign when spambots leave ads on your blog. That means your blog's getting popular (among spambots, of course).

Blogging will not as sporadic this year as it was the last year, because I won't be blogging at all. You might see a couple of posts in the next few weeks. This is my final year and the NEWTs are very important. Since laying out my thoughts on the blog isn't as important as saving the world from the Dark Lord, I'm afraid you won't be seeing much of me in the year ahead. There are a great many things I wanted to write about. At first, I wanted to go back to the Leaves from My Japan Diary series. But I don't think I'll be able to do that because it will consume much of my time and energy. But I will write a few posts in the coming weeks. An incomplete overview of my Galilean Nights event has been gathering dust (the Pullmaninan one) in the drafts folder for about six months. I will also write about a major astronomy event I did in December. I will try to  write about some films I saw recently. I hope I can write about Avatar, which has provoked my thoughts in a way I did not expect it to do. I had some film and book-related posts in mind, but . . .

Gosh! I almost forgot why I started writing this post in the first place.

Happy Bengali New Year! It's 1417, folks! Last year, I wrote a post on the Bengali New Year. Looking back, it surprises me how much effort I put forth for that little post, with diacritical marks and all. This year, I have decided to do away with the diacritical marks. Instead, I will use the Bengali script.

শুভ নব বর্ষ 

This is exactly what the title of that post is. The arrival of Boiśākh means a lot to me, as I have discussed in that post. 24 days from now, the celebration of the 150th anniversary of the birth of Rabindranath Tagore will begin. I was delighted to find his mention in the New Year wish from Mrs Hillary Clinton, the US Secretary of State. It that is any indicaion, I am sure the worldwide celebration of his birthday will be hugely successful. I hope the entire world rediscovers Tagore's works and looks at the Bengali culture with a fresh perspective. This effort will be immensely important for the growth of the Bengali language and culture and how the world perceives the Bengali culture.

Hope this year brings happiness to one and all. But the beginning of this year shows little promise of happiness for us in this part of the world. It's freezing in Kolkata. As I write this, I can see flakes of snow outside the window. A thick sheet of snow has covered the entire country. It will only get colder in May. I don't know what I'll do then. Fascinating, no?

Remembering Titanic

As the whole world gets ready to embrace the new James Cameron film, I decide to revisit a film which fascinated a child 11 years ago.

I was hardly five then. But to this day, the sunny April day of 1998 is as clear in my mind as anything else. A new English film had become the talk of the town. It had won 11 Oscars (I didn't know what an Oscar was) and became a global hit. (As though they were the only criteria for a good film) It had come to Kolkata and as expected, became an instant smash hit. People all over were rah-rah-ing about the film on the sinking ship.

My relationship with cinema till then was not very developed. I don't remember seeing many films before that. (You certainly wouldn't expect a five-year-old to appreciate Orson Welles or Satyajit Ray, would you?) I was taken to movie theatres a couple of times before but the experience at the cinema hall was nothing memorable to speak of.

We didn't know anything about this new movie except the fact that the protagonist was a sinking ship. I remember that Aunt managed to get five tickets for Mum, Dad, Sister, herself and well, that little child. I was very excited. I was going to watch a movie!

The day finally arrived and we were all ready to go to the movie theatre. Multiplexes were strangers to Kolkata until 2003. Single-screen halls were all we had then. We went to the Globe Cinema to see the movie called Titanic which was "edited to suit the family audiences in India". It was as clean and family-friendly as a five-year-old can possibly see.

Happy Teachers' Day!

For me Teachers' Day is one of the most anticipated days of the year. I don't look forward to this day because this day offers us a chance to express our gratitude to our teachers and tell them how great they are. That should be done everyday. We need to thank our teachers 365 days a year from the bottom of our heart. We deliver some very emotional speeches on this day but once the day is over do we really believe in what we said?

Everyday, there's a news headline indicating the steadily deteriorating teacher-pupil relationship. What is the significance of September 5 if students don't respect their teachers as much as they should? We need to observe Teachers' Day everyday by being obedient to them and showing them proper respect, not by giving them flower bouquets. I'm not saying that giving them flower bouquets is not a good thing to do, it'd just be better if the bouquets were accompanied by true respect and love. Otherwise, the observance of Teachers' Day becomes an exercise in pointlessness and falsehood.

However, I await September 5 with intense anticipation because of the mad celebration that takes place in our school. "Dazzling" would be another word to describe it aptly. We have, to use a much-abused phrase, loads of fun on this day and today was no exception.

A Moment of Ecstasy

How else can I define it? I fall short of words to describe the moment that's coming in a few hours. It will be erroneous to describe my feelings as ecstasy. What I am feeling now is something I've rarely, or maybe never experienced. It's not elation, it's something beyond that. It's that something plus anxiety, fear, anticipation, awe. Now that would be a more apt description. I think I have written ample words trying in vain to do what is beyond my ability.

Let's get it straight. How would you feel if you were an astronomy enthusiast and got to express yourself in front of the top astronomers of the world? How would you feel if you were being featured at the convention where world's best astronomers meet and where every major decision about astronomy was made? How would you feel if you got the chance to represent your nation, acknowledge the part of the most important people in your life and say what you want to at such a convention?

See? Don't all these feelings obstruct your thoughts? Oh, I forgot to add: how would you feel if the highest governing body in astronomy gave you an award for your work when you are still in school?

Leaves from My Japan Diary: Sunshine

I awoke on this day with renewed enthusiasm. I knew at once that I’d not be feeling drowsy anymore. But when I looked out of the window the sight didn’t match my anticipation at all. I expected a genial, bright, warm day. Much to my disappointment, the sky was still overcast. It seemed the cloak of clouds was not to lift itself anytime soon. On the positive side, it was much less cold than it had been the day before. What I knew for sure was that I was going to enjoy this day better. I woke up very early in the morning and got ready. I felt refreshed; I saw clearly what a good sleep could do to me. Soon, the Wise Brother and the Silent Guy were ready and we were off to breakfast.

Breakfast at the Atagoyama Tokyu Inn was very interesting. I got to taste some delicious Japanese cuisine at breakfast. I always preferred chopsticks to forks and spoons while in Japan. It made me feel more Japanese. After a nice and filling breakfast, we gathered once again. I kept chatting with my friends (also from other groups). I kept saying “Ohay­ō gozaimasu” to everyone I met, Indian and Japanese alike. I had a feeling that I wasn’t in a foreign country at all. It felt like … my own.

I was introduced to another member of JICE, Hiromi-san, a wonderful lady. She and I had quite a lengthy conversation about our culture. (I had a similar exchange with Rie-san the day before.) I’ve just thought about two more names for the girls in our team: one will be called Pinkie Kaka (she too was a football fanatic, but two names like “Football Fanatic Guy” and “Football Fanatic Girl” may be misleading for non-Saga readers; therefore, this name, but I don’t have any particular reason for this, it’s just random) and the other, Ms Juiceless. Now everybody knows who Ms Juiceless is. And no, this isn’t a name I’ve invented. In fact, she was the one to coin the term. I’ll discuss the reason for this christening in a few days.

However, let’s get back to the day. When we went outside it was raining a bit, but it was nothing uncomfortable. In fact, I started enjoying the rain. There was a lecture on Japan at 9 o'clock. We were all going to Toranomon Pastoral (Mint), just five minutes’ walk from our inn. We were to learn a great deal more about the past and present of Japan. We arrived at the conference room in no time. Rie-san introduced us to our lecturer, Mr Takeshi Mura from J. F. Oberlin University. The lecture began at 9:05 a.m. sharp, not a minute before or after the scheduled time. Mr Mura started his lecture and slideshow. He spoke in Japanese and his words were translated by Hirooka-san. The lecture was for one hour and a half. But when the lecture finished, I didn’t realise how long it was. The lecture, as well as the slideshow, was so engaging, so interesting that I sat there captivated; I wish it were longer. The lecture was another eye-opener on Japan for me. I was getting more and more amazed and this lecture changed my perception considerably. We students were guests to Japan for cultural and educational exchange. So naturally, it was expected that we’ll be shown only about the positive side of Japan. We were indeed shown the advancement of Japan over decades and the uncountable technological achievements of Japan. I was stunned when the lecturer also chose to highlight the not-so-good aspects in the history of Japan, the mistakes Japan had committed in the past. I loved this tremendous honesty as very few dare to be self-criticising – a good sign for the progress of any nation. This highlighting of the mistakes didn’t make me any less respectful to the Japanese. On the contrary, my admiration and respect towards them increased even more after this wonderful gesture. Learning from mistakes: that’s what everybody needs to do, most don’t and Japan certainly did.

We had about half an hour to ask him questions. He was completely flooded by enquiries from the students. He answered them impeccably. I had thought of a question. But we ran out of time long before my turn came. But I did manage to take a photograph with him. He was very kind to let me (and others as well) take pictures with him.

After I came out of the hall, I saw the sky was still cloudy. But it had become a sunny day for me. Nothing could hold back my enthusiasm that day, nothing could … and nothing did. I was completely overpowered by endless – what do I call it? – joy, elation, ecstasy and what-not? I lost my self-consciousness and forgot to care about how I appeared. I didn’t notice how ludicrous I’d looked in that black jumper and scarf or how badly I’d worn the scarf until I looked at the pictures after my return home. I looked at my reflection many times that day but nothing seemed to be wrong. That was probably why many of my friends seemed to regard me as some sort of prankster. (The Vampire Addict was among them; oh, christened another girl!) But guess what, I didn’t care about that either (nor does it make me uncomfortable now). I was lost in my thoughts. I never thought about the quality of food I got because it was too insubstantial a subject to me and … I was getting something to eat. It didn’t matter to me what I looked like or what I ate or how I was perceived. All that mattered to me was what I felt. I won’t probably exaggerate when I say I was the most jubilant person there.

Leaves from My Japan Diary: The Land of the Rising Sun

Finally I was in the Land of the Rising Sun shortly after sunrise. As the plane came to a halt, everyone stood up. I took out my bag and followed the crowd to the gate. All members of the Saga Group stayed together. We could see Yamaguchi-san and other Japanese supervisors waiting for us. The pink flag of the Saga Group was in the hand of Yamaguchi-san. We followed her outside. Just as I exited the plane I got a big shock. I could see the rain from inside the plane but never did I realise that it’d be skin-piercingly, mind-numbingly cold. I was shivering. (I later knew that it was a typhoon which caused such cold on a summer day.) I was caught unawares by the extreme cold. My teeth were clattering. Thankfully, I had two sweaters in my hand-baggage. I put them on immediately. I had a scarf. I put that on as well. (You have to see it to believe how hilarious I was looking.) However, I followed the pink flag and went ahead. Here, I must note that Japanese supervisors of other groups were very helpful. My bag was heavy. I carried it on and arrived at the immigration counter. It was a smooth process. I arrived near the baggage belt before most of my friends did. I saw a Japanese gentleman coming towards me, smiling. He was, expectedly, from JICE. He helped me retrieve my luggage. I kept saying “Ohay­ō gozaimasu” to everyone. Maybe because I was coming to Japan as part of JENESYS, there was no hassle with the customs at all. Soon all Saga Group members formed a queue and followed the pink flag.

Leaves from My Japan Diary: On Board

I entered the aircraft. In a few minutes’ time, I was going to fly to the Land of the Rising Sun by Japan Airlines flight number JL472 (I also saw JO472 on my baggage). I’ve already said that I didn’t have any feeling (any feeling at all) when I was entering the plane. My mind was completely blank, overpowered by an unknown something. But thankfully I didn’t lose my sense. I was able enough to walk and talk and laugh and of course find my seats. I found it. I took out my passport and locked it safely inside my carry-on bag. After everything was over, I sat down. I was one sit away from the window. I’d have preferred sitting beside the window. But I didn’t care to choose a seat for myself. (I was misinformed by a probably misinformed friend.) To my relief, however, my roommate, the Wise Brother, was there. At least, I could chat up with someone during this 8½ -hour-long journey.

Leaves from My Japan Diary: In India 2

I awoke on the 12th at exactly 4:30 in the morning. As soon as the wake-up call was heard, I sat upright. The dread of the past two days kept coming back to me. I said earlier that I discovered myself during this trip. On the very first day of the journey I noticed something interesting about me. While I was home, sleeping in my comfortable bed, even the sound of a canon couldn’t wake me up. It took a great of effort on everyone’s part to wake me up. But as soon as I was away from the homely comfort I was conscious and careful. It happened automatically. In the following days, every wake-up call or alarm I set awoke me without failure. (There was only one event when I woke up late, but that was during the homestay. Will discuss it later.) I also got two calls from Mother and Sister early in the morning.

I took a comforting bath and got ready in my school uniform as I was told. We had to check out from the hotel within 6:30-7:00 a.m. I attached the name tags (once again, pink and the tags were given by Yamaguchi-san the day before) to all my bags. I arrived at the hotel lounge of ABC hotel at 6:20, ten minutes before the reporting time. Presently everyone else started coming to the lounge, dressed in their school uniforms. My mother arrived there shortly and she gave me some important things. She told me that my mobile was still uncertain but hope was not lost. Rohit Uncle was going to try his best. I had no hopes then. I had a photo-session with my supervisors and team-mates. When I look at the photos now, I feel ashamed as I looked so nervous, so idiotic then. I was so nervous about everything then that I didn’t even realise that I was nervous. As instructed, we kept the hand-carry luggage with ourselves and brought the check-in luggage separately to the bus.

Leaves from My Japan Diary: In India 1

The sound of heavy raindrops hitting the window-panes awoke me on the 11th. For a fleeting moment, I came close to feeling cheerful. But as soon as the memory of the previous day started flooding my mind, the happy feeling was driven off. It was Sunday. No mobile shops were open nearby. I had to report to a hotel (let’s call it ABC Hotel, it’s a very, very famous one) at 2 p.m. So Mother and I decided against searching for mobile shops in the morning. Mother said she’d search for international connections in the evening after my reporting.

Leaves from My Japan Diary: The Beginning

As I have said earlier, I didn’t know how the 10th of May arrived. It caught me unawares. Only on the sunny morning of the 10th did I realise that the day had finally come when I’d be leaving my home to visit a country – all alone. But the realisation had vanished at once. For there were more things to pack and the mobile connection was far, far away. Everyone was trying his/her best to get me a mobile. The final packing was done in the morning. Sister created several lists for me to find my things in the baggage. My parents helped with the packing.

I was going to Delhi with Mother as Father had some important business to attend to. In the afternoon we were off to Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose Airport to board a flight to New Delhi. I was still unsure of the weight of my baggage. Till then, there was no chance to talk to my family from Japan. I was in an absolute confused state. I almost wished that I were not going. The check-in counter confirmed my assumption that my check-in baggage was underweight but there was another problem: the rucksack I took was suddenly torn at the airport. You can guess my feelings then, can’t you?

Leaves from My Japan Diary: Prologue

Before I begin my description of the tour, I must write the quite long story behind my journey. Believe me, it was full of what we may call suspense and drama.

I still remember the rainy September day (22nd September, Saturday) in 2007 when I was called to the office of our Vice-Principal. I was in IX then. Some other students were also there. Our Vice-Principal told us to sit down and began talking. He said that as a part of an international exchange programme between India and Japan, students from Japan were coming to India and vice-versa. Then he told us that if we wanted to be a part of this programme we should submit our names to him within two or three days. He said that we must treat the foreign students well and give them a taste of our Indian culture.

But there was one thing he almost didn’t tell us before we left the office. I thought we were supposed to welcome our foreign guests as I had been a part of many such exchange programmes. Naturally, I thought our part was to play the host. Suddenly he said, ‘Do you have a passport?’

Leaves from My Japan Diary: An Introduction

If you’ve looked at my earlier posts, you’ll know how much I like to relive my memories – little memories which have become an inseparable part of me. I really wish I could live my thoughts in the Pensieve (like many characters do in the You-Know-What series). I don’t have access to such an object, but there’s way I can plunge into the sea of my memories and make myself happy – writing.

I’ve already said that, pleasant or unpleasant, little memories are very precious to me. But there are some memories which, in no way, are little. Try as I might – but I’ll never dream of trying such a dreadful thing – I can never erase those memories. There were some experiences which are etched on my mind for ever. Such a beautiful experience was the trip to Japan last year, as a part of a cultural-educational exchange programme. I am not exaggerating even a bit when I say that I spent some of the finest moments of my life in Japan. The experience in Japan was full of some little moments I loved. But the experience was far greater than the sum of such individual moments.

What I got and felt in Japan is nearly beyond words. And indeed there were moments which I can’t describe. I made new friends during this trip: Japanese friends, American friends, Indian friends, young friends, friends of same age, some friends who are older than me and some who are much older than me. Never did I imagine that my experience would be so overwhelming. I saw a country. I saw a new culture. I saw nature. I saw people. I saw … well, too many things. And quite unexpectedly, I saw myself.

For the next thirteen days or so, I will write my travelogue (it will be a part of the On This Day series), but it may not feel like a travelogue at all. It will be leaves from my diary at best. I warned you in my very first post that there would be occasions when I would be speaking to myself. I assure you that this series will be exactly that. It will be a totally personal journey down memory lane. I think that some of the opinions expressed in this series will be highly subjective. (I think all my writings are subjective.)

But if you want to be part of this journey … well, what on earth are you waiting for? Come and join!

Śubha Nava Varṣa (or Śubho Nôbô Bôrṣô)

[This is the first time I've tried my hands at flower-photography. I switched to the "macro" mode. But the result is not very good. Do tell me if you know how to photograph a flower properly.]



Here's Upamanyu wishing you: A Very Happy Bengali New Year (or Śubha Nava Varṣa or Śubho Nôbô Bôrṣô) 1416.

Today is the first day of Voiśākh/ Boiśākh (or Pôela Voiśākh or Pôela Boiśākh).

The first day of the Bengali calendar transports me back to a distant past, a past that was so dear to me. So many colourful events shaped those days. Those days were distinguished by simple, limitless and unadulterated joy. Every single moment those days was filled with wonder. I can never feel the joy and wonder again. That's why this day makes me simultaneously sad and cheerful: sad, because I know I can never get the days back, and cheerful, because I can almost feel the joy and wonder of those days.

100 Hours of Astronomy: The Final Word

It's finally over. The 100 Hours of Astronomy. The hundred hours went away as if they were a dream. But they were a dream. How else can I explain the immense joy I derived from organising the 100HA events? Now that the 100 hours are over, I'm looking back at the event and penning -- sorry, blogging -- my thoughts about it.

Ringing Out the Old

I realised only now that it's been two weeks since my last post. How could I not blog for two weeks?

Then again, I haven't really blogged since....,well, I don't remember. It may also be the exam hangover -- for the lack of a better word -- which prevents me from writing.

All these days, my life's been pretty irregular. Reading books, surfing the Net and spending "quality time" with the family kept me engaged and made me forget blogging.

[In an earlier draft of this post, I wrote a lot of stuff on The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. Then, bless my unlimited wisdom, the title of the post made me aware of the fact that I was writing about something different. Then I deleted all that I had written and started afresh. What a brilliant(ly bad) blogger I am! No?]

On the 8th of this month, I woke up at 8:30 in the morning. The morning filled me with a new kind of joy (the joy of the marriage mentioned in the last post) and refreshed me. I could not but be gay (yep! The Daffodils is one of my favourite Wordsworth poems.) as this was the first morning after ages which didn't greet me with the tension for the Board exams.

Little did I know that ten minutes later I would be overcome with a sadness for the very reason which gave me joy. When I went near my study-table I found my parents gathering all my books of IX- X in a corner.


Father was removing all my text-books and stuff from my shelf (he wasn't throwing it away) and carrying it away to our library (which is located elsewhere in our house). He was "freeing" my shelf for other books to occupy them. I must tell you that I haven't yet got "other books" i.e. textbooks of XI. Why read them now when I have so many other "other books" i.e. stories to read? So my favourite fictions occupy the shelf now and will continue to do so, at least, till I am admitted to class XI, probably in June. But that's not the point. Lemme get there.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I'd actually feel sad to part with my text-books of IX-X. For two years, those books frightened me and almost enveloped me like an octopus.Before my exams all I wanted was to get rid of them as soon as possible.

Then why did it hurt me when I was getting rid of them? Why did I feel sad when I realised that I'd never make notes of the pages and underline important sentences? Did the books anyhow became a part of me without my knowledge or realisation? Was it that I started loving them while disliking them?

These are the questions which I asked myself for the past few days.

Another question bugs me: Can I actually avoid these feelings ever in my life? You don't have an answer, do you? Nor do I.

I know that we must "Ring in the new/ Ring out the old." But doesn't this ringing-out-the-old gives us the "grief that saps the mind," sometimes? Oh, we have to ring that out too.