Deepanjan Nag's Magnum Opus

Came to know just now that Arvind Raddi uncle passed away in 2011 after falling into a coma when a careless driver on a scooter knocked him down. I am deeply pained by this news. The cause of his demise fills me with anger.

Miss my dad very much. Countless moments left unshared.

Dedicated to my father on this 9th death anniversary. Unlike me, he was a theist. But he let me follow my own beliefs and happily accepted my atheism.

I was stunned to learn today that Google will be shutting down its Google Reader. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read it. How could this be? Has Google gone insane? Why did Google have to abandon its loyal ‘reader’ users? Over the years, I’ve grown accustomed to using Reader for virtually everything technically possible – reading the news and blogs, keeping an eye on comments, house hunting, job hunting, video searching for Indian Railways…the list was limited only by my imagination. Unfortunately, RSS requires a populace that’s a little more tech savvy than the current load of iCrap fed retards. RSS fell victim to an entire generation too used to a brain-numbing social-networking and share-everything phenomenon. My heart is broken. Goodbye, Google Reader. You will be dearly missed.

Pandit Ravi Shankar is no more.

The agony hasn’t receded a bit. Arihant would have loved playing with his granddad. Poor boy, he’ll never know what he has missed. Love you, Dad.

Dad breathed his last 7 years ago today. Your memories live on, Dad. Thanks for everything.

It’s 27 years since Indira Gandhi was assassinated. I have fuzzy recollections of a confused self amused at the sudden communal tension that surrounded us, even in the otherwise peaceful neighborhood of Telco Colony. I understood that Mrs.Gandhi was assassinated by two of her own body-guards. What I didn’t understand was how could all the Sikhs be held responsible for it. As I grew older and my understanding of worldly ways increased, I began to see how the blame fell squarely on an entire community. Sick though the realization was, it was a fact hard to reconcile with…and it remains so to this day. Mrs.Gandhi had a domineering influence on the Indian media. Open the newspaper and you would almost certainly see a photo of hers hogging the front page, her stylish image instilling pride in us. Mrs.Gandhi was definitely charismatic, and one of the most recognized leaders in the world of her day. This in spite of leading only a 3rd world country lost in the deluge of irrelevance. I remembe...

An entire day wasted.

I feel I’ve lost my voice since Dad’s demise. I remember calling him up every Sunday exactly at 5pm when I was in Ranchi studying for my Masters. Dad would be seated beside the landline, eagerly awaiting my call. No sooner had I dialed our number than Dad’s voice would greet me. Our lives were equally stagnant and uneventful without each other, and yet magically we had a lot to speak each time we could grab a conversation. Our last conversation over the phone was an out-of-turn one. I called him on 7-Dec-2004 to tell him about my appointment letter. Dad was delighted. I felt on top of the world conveying the news. Dad passed away within 3 days. I’ve never had to keep my 5pm appointment since then.

The launch of the cryogenic Geosynchronous Satellite Launch Vehicle, GSLV-F06, from Sriharikota failed today.

Remembering Dad today, the saddest day of my life.

I’m saddened to learn of the death of Malcolm Laycock on 8th November, 2009. Laycock had replied to me in a mail in 2007. It brought back a flood of good old memories of listening to BBC’s Jazz for the Asking with Dad.

The pain refuses to ease and my thoughts refuse to word. Love you, Dad.

I don’t like this at all. Why did Archie have to do such a terrible thing? Maybe to leave Betty for the philanderers!

Damn you dubbawala & people of your ilk It was too late even for butter milk

Dosa for lunch. Haldiram’s bhel , cakes and 2 chocolate bars for dinner. No matter how hard I resolve to remain off junk food, I’m hardly successful. What’s more, one of the straps of my slippers snapped and I had to walk home barefoot. To top it all, an innocuous tweet generated intensely cold vibes.

I learnt at a forum yesterday of the sad and untimely demise of Mrs.Meera Sinha, my former Hindi teacher and principal of GSPS. If I was mortified of school, Hindi must be partly to blame. The onset of every academic year was like an exercise in morbid speculation about who the new agent of terror would be in the form of my Hindi teacher. If it was a familiar face, at least I wouldn’t have to suffer all over again the ignominy of letting someone else gradually discover how poor I was at the subject. My formula for subsistence during Hindi period was simple: keep yourself glued to the bench as long as possible, hide behind anything or anyone, never utter a word and never raise your hand. In effect, keep a low profile and be as invisible as possible. I wouldn’t always manage to escape unnoticed though. When the piercing gaze finally fell on me, it was like laser cutting through my head and discovering nothing inside. I would then offer a silent prayer and hope for clemency. I knew it...