Cambridge Day Out

Cambridge. The farthest I have ever been from London so far! Our usual trio (Anil, Charles and self) went there during the Christmas holidays this year. For those of you who are interested, let me tell you now that Cambridge visiting season is summer, or late summer preferably. And that is true for almost anything to see in England. But winters here are boring and you need something to do.

Hence Cambridge. The best and cheapest way from London is via the National Express Rail and it takes you about an hour at the most to cover the 52 miles between the King’s Cross and Cambridge. You should pre-book your tickets to avail of any discounts or offers that are running around. Usually there is always something to be found if you look hard enough!
Cambridge is a day’s trip. We left the King’s Cross at 10:15am on the 27th of December 2010. And within an hour we were standing in front of the Cambridge station. It was quite chilly but luckily there was no hard wind. They always make matters worse. So we were standing in front of the station not knowing what to do and then we bought a guide map from the guide-map-vending machine. Cost us a pound. We figured out our north from our south next and headed out into the city.


Cambridge is not a big city. And you can manage by walking. We did. The tourist bus rides may sound tempting but they are costly for those who are not plush. The station is at the south-east corner of the city and all universities or major sight-seeing fall on the north-north-western side. We first went to the city centre with big malls and shopping complexes. Sale was on and the place was throbbing. We judged that we were cold (and the walk from the station had made us pretty uncomfortable) and needed something hot inside. We had our lunch at wagamama, tried Japanese wine ‘sake’. And so full we set out once again.


Punting in Cambridge is a must. And we were so very glad that is was still open in winter. Graduate students from the university give you a boat ride in the Cambridge river, locally known as the college river, and give you the facts and fictions that surround the great halls of this old and rich place. Our punter was a young graduate from York who’d come to Cambridge during holidays to earn some extra cash. We, a group of about 10 people, were made cosy in the small boat with quilts and hot-water bags. We sat at the head of the boat. Facing us was a really cute Taiwanese couple (I have been guilty of taking snaps of the girl more than once, but in my defence, the chill made her nose red and she was quite a sight :)). And further down were a Korean and a German family.


The punter hit us with little stories of the different halls on the Cambridge grounds; starting from the splendour of the King’s and Queen’s College to the not-so-cute Pembroke College and the bitter rivalry between Trinity and St. John’s Colleges, the history of the bridges on the river, their perfections (mathematical bridge) and imperfections (missing-a-section Clare Bridge), the tragic story of beautiful Elizabeth-de-Clare, who had three husbands, all of whom died soon after their marriage to her, and that the black widow derives its name from her, of present day not-so-smart graduates who'd crawl the roofs of King's College (the tallest structure within Cambridge bounds) and place souvenirs on the tower-heads.

All this was a pretty heavy dose of history and the graduate knew his audience well. We finally disembarked near the Anchor pub, which is rumoured to have had Pink Floyd artist Syd Barrett as a frequenter in the late 60’s and serves the best ale in the city. We then continued our journey on foot and visited the St. John’s and Trinity College grounds. While at Queen’s college on the Bridge of Sighs we witnessed something wonderful. A couple were marrying on a boat mid-stream.

It then became late and as it was getting dark we made for the station. We had a train to catch at 5:15pm. We were exhausted by the time we got home and I had a sound sleep.

A fortunate misfortune

Flight EK005 took off from Dubai International Airport at 4:30 pm (local time), a 300plus passenger boeing-777 flight, with all intentions of making it to LHR by nightfall. But someone somewhere must have had other plans. And so when the plane touched down in Hamburg at 8:00 pm in the middle of all that snow and an outside temperature of -9oC I cursed my fate for letting me being caught up in all this. They speak of it as the worst snow in a hundred years. And I did not, from the moment I came down the aircraft, feel that it was going to be amusing. The Germans were hospitable enough to take us in but we still had to go through a very rigorous administration process that took up 4 hours. They initiated some kind of paper visa with 48hr validity. Then there was talk of us being put up in the Marriott for the night. This brightened people up a bit. The next flight would be for 3:45pm the next day. Sad as it is the person in front of me in the queue was the last to be booked into Marriott. I and all who followed were put up in a smaller but neat motel. Once there I had a hot bath and fell asleep.


In the morning when we were having breakfast news spread that snow had made it impossible for Heathrow to operate and that the flight would have to be further delayed. As if things were not already bad! I refused to be stuck in the motel with German TV and no laptop charge. The motel lobby had some 30 people gathered for breakfast. Soon people began clustering into groups, based on colour and culture. After lunch our little group moved out in a cab to see the city. The cab driver was an Iranian and luckily one of us spoke Parsi and we convinced him to take as around the city for 10€ per person. It was a nice little trip in the glum streets of west Germany. The large bare iron and burnt brick structures seemed to bear visages of the past, from the time of the World Wars. I had never seen so much snow and it was delightful. We stopped by the neat little houses and took snaps.



Then we drove down a once-lush-now-bare-and-white boulevard to a lake that had been completely frozen. The famous Alster was now like a huge ice rink and little Christmas carnivals had sprung up on its banks. There was this huge Christmas tree that stood in the middle of the lake, sparkling in all its glory. We drove round the big lake and saw the monstrous train stations of Hamburg. These structures seemed so solid that nothing but nukes would dent them. German engineering!


Thrilled and shivering we came back to our hotel in the evening. The night buffet was more tempting than the lunch had been. We had a small chat after dinner and then we slept. Good news was in store as we woke up the next morning and we left Hamburg airport at 11:30am bound for Birmingham. Yes, Heathrow was still closed. We had coaches that took us from Birmingham to LHR and finally when I got to my apartment it was 7:00pm Monday. I had left home on Saturday 7:00am from Kolkata and that made it a total of 2 days and 18 hrs of flight time! But I am glad that all this happened. Made some great friends and saw a city that would normally be out of my itinerary.
After all,
“Whatever is, is best!”
~Ella Wheeler Wilcox

And the longest break that I've ever taken since I got working ends today. I cannot say how the two weeks went by before I could actually take any initiative to begin enjoying them! Much like me (smile).

First Snow!

When I woke up this morning it was snowing and my city was all white. I had never seen snow before, and I felt as much part of a fairytale as any. Light fleecy flakes dancing with the wind hit my face and it was this funny childish itch that I had almost forgotten that hit me! Christmas is near. I am glad everything is turning out the way it has been for the last couple of months. I really love this city. And I would like to stay a little longer! My secondment ends in January but I guess I want to linger.

And there are loads still to do here, loads still to see. Who knows when I might get a chance again!Keeping my fingers crossed.

Had a pitcher of 77 Sunset strip http://www.coctails.org/77-sunset-strip, sizzling steak, burning shrimp and chicken legs last night shared between two good friends. Ordered my first bottle of champagne http://www.drinksdirect.co.uk/acatalog/jacobs_creek_sparkling_rose.html and to top it off a taquila shot on the house (courtesy of the cheerful barman Tony).

Friend speak:"Let's make this the most memorable b'day you ever had buddy! You gotto remember it!"
Me speak: "I would've remembered it for sure, if not for all this liqour being emptied into me!"

But amazing as it is, last night, we were left standing after all and today I am at work as I write this down. The stupor has passed mostly in my case. The friend seems to have an ill fate and has dozed off at his desk.

Performance Reviews: A Discourse

The psychometrics of man makes some things a necessary evil. Let us take the annual performance reviews in corporate organizations for example. There can be no denying that performance reviews are absolutely critical. Why? Because of the way we’re groomed from childhood. Because we were taught, when very young, that in order to expect good results we must perform. However, as it is with any other thing, this bit of information, gets twisted in our brain and by the time we graduate and are ready to migrate from a world of academics to one of economics, it reads something like ‘If we perform we must expect good results’. And as we proceed through the first year of our career, this faith is fed by our respective managers/mentors by constant appreciations of the things we learn (and here I must state that the intended audience of this blog are not the happy-go-lucky people of the world but that minute sub-set of them that consider themselves to be achievers and are ready to debate that fact!), for freshers are expected mostly to learn trade and not do trade!(again trade is used in a much broader sense here) And then suddenly we are expected to grow up and deliver. And we do deliver, sometimes to our own astonishment! As that happens we begin to expect: Work Done => Praise Hard-earned. But industry is a whole different ball-game. And it doesn’t necessarily pay you back in the same terms. When the year ends, not all things look nice and fair; if the revenues are not good the axe has to fall. And people walk away disheartened, feeling that Newton’s 3rd law is valid no more. That makes most despondent and they hold up another perspective of it. They migrate. Leave and let live. Descent by-product of human psychometrics based on above mentioned inputs. The strong have always conquered new shores. And the strong are usually capable to migrate safely, sometimes even with bumper bonuses.


Based on the above, one should ask, whether or not is it worth the man-hours spent on achieving such a review. But the answer was clear at the beginning. It is absolutely critical to have one! It doesn’t hurt the movers for vertical change is good. It doesn’t hurt the absorbing organisations as they gain resource wealth. And lastly, it is good for ailing organisations in the sense that it gets you on a platform where you have to rethink your position and strategy and approach and that means change and change is better. Performance reviews are not de-motivating. They just are the kicks that make change necessary by placing your motivations correctly.

Pujor gondho marattok!

pujotey ami baritey nei
mone amar dukhho sei
london e teo pujo hoi
tobe dekhbar moto temon noi.


ki j kori, ki j kori
eri modhye fb-r barabari
ebar pujo holo naa
tai bole aar jalio naa.

bhallagey naa dhutteri
firle baNchi taratari
anonde chhora likhchhe loke
ami 'as usual' likchhi shoke.

I was callin' since I remember,
But nobody came, but nobody came,
Ain't no party, when partin' alone,
Ain't no party at all.

Bad Weather

I had said that my blogging about London would begin through a change of perceptions. Apparently, they got changed enough not to be reflected in my writings. Nearly a month I have spent here now.

I began with the sun and now I have not but shade.
And I still wonder whether this be a fair trade.
Of life as it were, and life that is now,
Of all the feelings I had, mixed, bad and plain sad,
Now most seem passé.
God doesn’t speak to me anymore.
And there is no sun, just the rain.
It simply doesn’t stop raining.

Bad weather. Bad mood. And an equally bad poem (if one can call it that!). I had given up on two things once; well three to be exact! But two of them haunt me still. And they haunt me bad.

"Wahan kaun hai tera
Musafir,
Jaega jahan!

. . . . . . . . .

Koi bhi teri
Raah na dekhe,
Nayan bichhaye na koi
Nayan bichhaye na koi.
Dard se tere
Koi na tadpa,
Aankh kisi ki na roi
Aankh kisi ki na roi.

Kahe kisko tu mera
Musafir,
Jaege jahan!

. . . . . . . . .

Hai sab ki dekhi,
Hai sab ki jaani,
Haath kisike na aani
Haath kisike na aani.
Kuch tera na mera
Kuch tera na mera,
Musafir,
Jaega kahan."



---------- Guide

The London Post: Part 4

It’s been two weeks and I have a feeling that I am going to like this place. It was a blast this weekend. Went to the Tower of London and Madame Tussaud’s with Charles. If I haven’t mentioned him before then let me do so now. Charles is my saviour in London. When it comes to cooking or showing me around this place, Charles goes to great lengths (he’s short but by Jove can he stretch! :P). Sometimes I feel that he knows the city better than the Old Prince himself. He’s currently trying to teach me the fine art of cooking but I guess he’s understood by now that some things are better left alone.


To be continued......

The London Post: Part 3

“London Bridge is falling down,
Falling down, falling down,
London Bridge is falling down,
My fair Lady.”

I loved the tune when young. I hum it sometimes now. I sure do hope that it doesn’t happen. I haven’t gotten to see it yet.

Hays Galleria.















Oxford circus.







Piccadilly circus.











My first phoren weekend. L-O-V-E-L-Y. See the pics. They speak.



To be continued............

The London Post: Part 2

Office. Canary Wharf. London port area. Big tall buildings, 30-40 stories each. Steel and glass. I work on the 24th floor in one of those. Let’s leave out the details here because I don’t find what I do here least bit interesting. Only good thing, I get in at 9:30 and get out by 5:30 and nobody makes me stay any longer. Cheers to that!



To be continued.....

The London Post: Part 1

When I arrived at the Gatwick airport on the night of 5th September, I found a Mercedes waiting to pick me up. London. I liked the welcome. It wasn’t as cold as I’d expected. It was mildly cold and very pleasant. It was a long ride from the airport, which was far from the heart of the city, to my apartment in Camden Road. The guy who’d come to pick me up had a funny accent and I wondered whether he was English. Turned out that he was Polish. He didn’t talk much and was happy to stand aside while I shoved my luggage in the trunk.


When I got down in front of my apartment it was 10 at the tops but the place seemed sound asleep. I’d noticed that as my car drove inwards towards the city, the shops had already begun to close. There was no one around to greet me at the flat (I’d been warned that it could be the case given the late hour), so I got into my room and slept. I remember waking up early the next morning (guess my body still ran on IST) and feeling, well, alone and not very nice. I didn’t need to go to office till noon that day and hence I decided to stroll around a bit, explore the area. It did me good. As soon as I’d stepped on the street I felt cheer return to my cheeks. The sun was up high and it was perhaps the best time to be in London, the end of summer.


Camden Road is part of the Camden town. It hasn’t got the city rush. Instead it is full of 3-4 storied apartments and standalone little cottage houses. And they are beautiful. As I made my way through the alleys and stony lanes (and some footpaths were carpeted with grass!), I spotted little brown-wood-n-stone churches and cosy little bars and bistros. I had to move to another apartment later that very day, so I took in the feel of that little town as much I could.
Then I took a cab and went to office.



To be continued........

Away from Home

It is funny the way you think you are certain about some things, that you know you’d not easily change your opinions about them, that you’d seen enough of them; and then suddenly you change your mind. It happens to everybody. It has happened to me before. It has happened to me again.

This is how I begin blogging about London. Through a change of perceptions. Of how things are, and how they seem.

Why is it that having my back against the wall makes me react the way I would’ve always wanted to react? Why is it that I cannot conjure up the words when I most need them? Why is it that things are never too simple for me? Why can’t I take the obvious hint?

I have wandered the earth for 500 years of man, and now I have no time.
-Gandalph, Lord of the Rings:The Two Towers

Rain rain... don't come so often

It rained hard last night. Very. And when I woke up I woke up with a heavy head. And the strong morning tea didn’t cancel that. Rains have never been an object of admiration for me. I have never been able to quite understand the so-oft-described romanticism involved in it. For me rain is trouble. The city in which I live seems to share my feelings. Rains here are like the mother-in-laws who when return after you were succumbing to domestic violence (and thought that now maybe you’re enemy will be otherwise engaged while you may savour some peace), are welcomed with open arms but after few days have passed, you know that you’ve had enough of this shit and living with them thenceforth is impossible. I know this is the saddest and remotest analogy ever, but well, it’ll have to do.

But then, I guess, I am not to judge. The neighbourhood I live in is seldom water-clogged. And all my troubles end if I decide to sit back home and relax. I can even look out my window and take in the smell of wet earth beneath and feel blessed. But life and luck don’t treat everybody the same. I have a relation who has a relation who is well beyond his prime and is roughing it against the weather. The rainwater has invaded his bedroom and he is having to negotiate green little slimy snakes with a walking stick.

All this is fun to here now. But future for me may not remain so bright after all. I just had a ruckus with my promoter about whether or not he should do something about all the water that is clogging in front of my apartment. “You’re on the 3rd floor sir. And you shan’t have anything to do with water there. The rest is not included in the contract.” –blunt and sharp was his reply.

It is night and the rains have started again.

Not My Land

The nights and the days,
They are the same;
The music you hear, the same stale band.
But this is not where you stayed,
This is a void you do not understand.
What led you here?

Where you come from,
The stars were different,
The sun gave a darker tan;
The bedouin do not for long linger,
On this dust and this sand.
What led you from there?
To this faraway mundane land.

What led you?
When you had such makings of a distinct brand.

Who am I?
I am your friendly neighbourhood IT consultant.
I am common and I am at large.
I am a late riser. I am most often late to work.
I throng the busy streets at morning and at night.
I am not rich enough to buy a car (I can buy one but maintaining it is an issue). And I am too proud to travel by normal public transport. So I have a peculiar form of transport named after me – the shuttle. Anything from HM ambassadors to Tata Indicas to Honda civics to ambulances, government vehicles to private 4-wheelers ferry me from home to work.
I go to the Sigree and Oh!Calcutta for together-dinners and I drink the lemon masala tea at roadside kiosks.
I don’t vote (because I feel it’s useless) and I don’t donate blood (because I am afraid that I may need all of it someday?).
I am bugged by investment bankers and house loan providers; I am bugged by promotions from my own mobile subscriptions.
I work long hours and I also am distracted enough so that nothing substantial comes of it. I change jobs frequently but I hate it.
If I am single I hate it, if not I hate it even more.
I judge my friends and family, my colleagues and my manager.
I can’t ever own a Ferrari, so I buy a perfume of the same brand.
I have almost no power over things that influence me, over people who hurt me, but I can’t give up scheming because my ideas (good or evil) make me God.

I have learnt that I will never learn to be content.

Urban Desi. 7:30pm. Germany leading 1-0 at half time. Four friends high on vodka, beer and the likes. Smart ambience. Talking soccer and rot. Friend 1 has to go back to his MBA in Trivandrum the day after. Friend 2 has lost 10 kilos in one-sided-love. Friend 3 knows all about that shit and gives some uncanny advices as to how better on the ongoing depression.
Friend 4 is a scientist now, and a government paid one at that. The dignity of it may have still not settled with him as he tries to look fine with glasses and sport tees.

A weekend to remember! One for the tops!

How exactly does it fill when you try to make a point, that you think is proper and just, and someone shuts you up, and does so in a very demeaning way. Let alone the feeling, what are you going to do about it? Nothing, for the time being. You do not have the means or the methods with which you can fend him off.

You bottle up your frustration. You wait. Every story that has a beginning ............... has an end.

If you think that when I smile at you, after you burn my back, I do so because I am naive..... My friend you are WRONG!
There is not a more vengeful person near you, or one more deadly. Watch your step from this day forward. For all you know, I may be planting mines in your path.

“My Lord! I am but a young soldier, and this be my first fight....and I am nervous. But I can strike a blow nonetheless. And I can strike it hard. ”

“How far doth the repercussion of your actions stretch?”

I have just made up my mind regarding the one thing that has been nagging me for the last couple of weeks. The decision would have an impact, no matter however subtle, on my career (and here I am being a little optimistic when I stress on the word subtle).
I feel like a man who’s sitting on a barrel of gunpowder, the ignition line to which has already been lighted and is burning up fast.

A lot about me has become open to question. And my answer is simple, “I will not always oblige.”

What is to come, will come

"Sit tight! Those are your orders!"


The obedient do not beg to differ, the obedient cannot choose.
All world around may be in chaos, all hell breaking loose.
Then there are those that sit and smile,
And smoke the butterflies away.
* * *
Nonchalance has its charms.


"Which side are you on..."
Death does not pick sides.

Came across two good lines today -

“All men are born true, but die a liar.”
“Crappy women weep when unhappy, smart ones just go shopping.” :)

Iron Man 2: Review

Not many nice dialogues. Robert Downey Jr. is impressive, as always. But sequels have to prove something, they inevitably have to. From that point, what Iron man 2 serves on plate is a bit less than enough. Scarlett Johansson goes to a complete waste as the black widow(Avenger fans do expect a bit more). And the disappointment is not in what she does but what she doesn't do.

But action is nice in bits, especially where Jr. unleases his super weapon, cutting through the drones like winter wheat. The obsession of the rival mastermind with the neanderthal energy whip, however, is unclear.

Final verdict: Watchable.

And justice is done!

Subha Nababorsho!

I am a datawarehouse developer. I develop performance reports for big small companies (can’t think of any simpler definitions for what I do). In all such projects majority of the work is driven by fiscal calendar. And it is very confusing sometimes. We Bengalis were smarter that way. No such Julian/fiscal rubbish. Year begins with halkhata.

April 15th, dawn of another Bengali new year. 1417. A very hot day, with frequent power cuts. My pc monitor’s gone bust. Because of the heat or me consistently fisting it (that’s what has been recently needed to get it started) I don’t know.

Thought of taking a nap in the afternoon but my manager called me up and said that I had to fix a bug in my report. And that was urgent. Like it ever was otherwise! By the time I was done I was feeling none too sleepy.

Went to my would-be apartment for want of anything better. The place cools my nerves. My promoter says hopefully he’d finish my apartment by this year. I tell him that I am in no particular hurry as the more he makes me wait the more will I be able to appreciate the money I am putting in. Spent the evening discussing marble and tile shades with ma. The discussion didn’t go so well and one thing led to another as she ended up prophesizing that I will be going for cheap hotels in my post-marriage vacations. God bless womankind!

Downloaded some old melodies from Guide, Nikaah and some Ghazals. Having a great time grooving to them. S.D.Burman rocks, and so does Rafi.

There are some people who are exceptional abiders of courtesy. It is nothing short of a pleasure to have them as clients.

Fortunately in my case, last impression is not the lasting impression. Fortunate for others that is.

Review: Clash of the Titans 2010

Clash of the Titans is a disappointment. The movie had a great story-line; an improvised version of the actual tale of the Greek hero Perseus. The journey of the brave soldiers of Argos lead by young Perseus to save the Greek city of Argos, is a fascinating read. But the movie fails to leave any mark, thanks to some very poor screenplay, cliched dialogues, and a disaster climactic battle (no battle at all). The stellar cast is no help. Goes to show that big names do not make a big movie. This Avatar guy fails to impress. Liam Neeson and Ralph Fiennes cannot do enough to salvage anything out of the general wreck. Only plus, Gemma Arterton (remember the oil-painted girl from Quantum of Solace?) looks ravishing, so much so that you don't mind her being brought back from the dead. She is clearly out of little Sam's league as the couple don't ever kiss. Visuable effects are good but do not inspire awe.

Now I feel like I should go watch the MGM version of 1981.

Kolkata Knight Riders lose despite posting an incredible total. A dismal sunday. I hate sundays. And it's not just the cricket. I am, truth be told, the most indifferent person when it comes to cricket, or any sports that is. I was watching KKR in their defeat for want of anything better. And they lost and made me unhappy. And my 500 gig harddrive's wiped clean. So no finding sympathies in movies.
I hate sundays. Only reason I can find to do otherwise is to look forward to my monday blues. I look best in blue. And monday, albeit with so much workload, is the day I love the most. Remember good old school days? How each one of us loved to be at school. Well, if we did not relish it at the moment, it must have left the most definite after-taste.
Personally speaking, I know good when it hits me. I loved school. I hated high-school. I fancied college, to a considerable extent. But there was always something missing. I could tell. In college, I did not have a goal. I was just following brownian motion. Some may love this random non-chalance. But I could not.

I love mondays. Because I love my work. I love my work. Because I like the people that surround me there. And most importantly, it gives me a goal, no-matter however mundane. It requires not just brilliance but also some cunning. It is strange how managing your success sounds so much better than manipulating your way, though both imply the same. Some part of me would like to believe that a broken poet deserves much better. I feel, "A broken poet couldn't have done any better."

Till tomorrow. :)


P.S. An oppurtunist is a hero who makes good of the oppurtunities presented. Like Jack Sparrow says, "There is no good or bad, there is just that which you can do and that which you cannot!"

There was a time when I maintained a half-descent blog. I still like to read some. It was good to see an old friend return to his writing ways. That he did a long time ago, but it was tonight that I realized this, (although now I remember him mumbling something like that to me over the phone a few weeks back) following this link and that until I bumped into him.
Then there is a dear friend abroad who has taken up blogging of late and makes good of it. And ofcourse there is one other who I have followed religiously (no prizes for guessing WHO!). Many of my friends wish that I'd keep blogging. For among close friends I was better off than most, what with working from my hometown and living with my parents. Little-or-no-worry lifestyle they'd say.

The truth is my blogging is like my behaviour - abrupt. Bold! Maybe sometimes, but mostly abrupt.