Monday, March 22, 2022মঙ্গলবার ৮ই চৈত্র ১৪২৮ বঙ্গাব্দ
"Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who's in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It's like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven't seen in a long time"...... Haruki Murakami; Kafka on the Shore
That concept above is not easy to understand, but once you do, it is impossible to forget. Typically our whole life is a series of nostalgia, and there are parts of it we like and parts of it we don't. When we are younger, we typically miss the parts we like, and when we get older, we even miss the parts we didn't like!
Today is the 75th time I am writing this column, and I remember when I first started this. The discord at BDC was different back then. People had more time, there were a slightly different group of people there as well. Some are still here as fixed elements, like a few of us, who have become mostly 'furniture' :) While there are others who are currently active and were not here initially. Lots of the new faces are in charge of the editorial board now, which is an excellent thing. I always prefer some rotation in repetitive activities that helps prevent burnout.
I grew up as a kid in various places. Kolkata, Jhalda, Purulia, Ranchi, Darjeeling … My dad had a transferable job that required him to move to multiple places. Each place left a long-lasting impression on me, and there are things and elements of my childhood that I miss. I especially miss Jhalda, which was a lonely outpost back in those days. There was an open sky, hard-working people with big hearts. Lots of barren lands, granite hills, and Polash trees! I can still smell the burned petrol of my dad's old Mahindra Jeep (which was a govt. issue), as he would take me along some of the dirt roads up the hills of Bihar back in the days. I have been to Betla Forest and Netarhat many times, for those we remember Anaryer Din Ratri by Satyajit Ray. It was untouched back then. A few days back, when I was driving my jeep up a dirt road on Mouna Kea Volcano, I was thinking about it myself. At 13,000 ft, as I pulled above the cloud, I could see on the cloud below me and a clear sky with sun and a few volcanoes above. Somehow, it reminded me of those granite hills of Jhalda and Ranchi and those old 4WD jeep trails. Am I a better driver than my dad? Nah! I don't think so. I certainly have better equipment, so I can do further, higher, faster….but what he used to do on those old Mahindra Jeeps, with no power steering or ABS or traction control…Nah! I can't dream of it!
Travelling is always a fascinating thing to most of us. But only a few could fulfill the desire as they pleased and while on a trip one has so many things to experience. The more varieties the place has, the more experiences one gathers on his walkway. So this week's featured author shared his experience during his trip to India, a nation of vast culture and immense natural beauties. Dive deep into the journey through his experience.
Author 
We are also delighted to announce two honorable mentions of the week.
| Authors | Highlights |
|---|---|
 | BY THE TIME I'M 60 YEARS OLD I WANT TO... |
| - | - |
 | MY THOUGHTS ON SIMPLE WAYS TO GIVE TO LIFE AND PEOPLE |
-- by @Deepu7
If I am asked, it would be a little arduous to pick a specific event or place that makes me nostalgic. When I started exploring this week's topic of Turni, I Started thinking to find which events or places that propel me towards nostalgia.
Is it the MacGyver knife that eventually rusted over time? I had bought it with so much effort given trying and persuading my parents back then. These days, when I look at it, it reminds me of my sweet preadolescence. Or maybe it is the peacock's feathers I have? I found it while flipping through the pages of an old book covered in dust. What a superstition I had as a child that if I hid peacock feathers in a book, new feathers would grow out of it after a particular time!
When I was skimming through the pages of an old album, I found a few of my grandma's pictures. She was the only protected zone in my childhood. With a smiling face, she is still holding me in her arms in the photo frame. It is a selfless love that is lacking now in my life, and I will miss it until death.
However, drowning in excessive nostalgia guides me to the old memories, and I think I should get out of it. I digress. Let's take a few steps back.
I first went to Saint Martin about twenty years ago. Then not many people used to go there. I went there again last month. I became really nostalgic while exploring it for a second time. However, St. Martin's old natural beauty has perished mostly. Even then, I felt peace in my mind after going there, recollecting my ageing memories hidden in the past. These are a few images from that visit.
But the most nostalgic emotion that came to me recently was when I went to my primary school on the 17th of this month. This is the place from where I started my academic life. As soon as I went through the front of the school gate, it was as if I had gone back to my boyhood. Everywhere I gazed, I saw myself. I felt like time-reversed somehow, and I went back to a moon a bit younger than now. The little boy, little me, is having fun with his friends sitting in the classroom, running on the playground, chasing butterflies and many more events. My eyes had flooded for a second. I realized so late that childhood memories are really precious.
Days, months and years have passed at their own pace. From childhood to adolescence, then to youth and now to middle age. All the way, I am carrying those memories, which are mixed feelings of joy and discomfort in my mind. I am writing after many months on a topic which is nostalgia. Really feeling nostalgic.
My school, my pride
Every school is special
But for me, for a old Dhaka dweller
St. Gregory’s High School, it would always be something special
A crucifix above the church, standing tall with pride
Like there is no tomorrow.
It was 1882, when it started
Talk about world war, or liberation war
Nothing could hinder its streaming glory
And I left my alma mater, back in 2010
But from the core of my heart, I still love and adore her
It’s just a mere school
Some memories trapped inside some walls,
Oozing through the old statues.
Nothing more, nothing less, eh?
But no!!! Everytime I would enter the arena
My basket-ball court would whisper my name
Our football ground is almost dead
But would look as beautiful as ever
I would walk down the memory lane
Smell of the Spanish Cherry, would hit me hard
I would start to reminiscence my sweet old memories
We used to fill scutch grasses with spanish cherry & collect plumeria
Oh the sweet adrenaline rush!
Later we used to give those flowers to our teachers
The smile that ran through Florence Rozario Madam’s cheeks
That hooked me for life!
I used to eagerly wait for our co-curricular class
Or Brother Marshall Memorial Club
Darjeeling building is no more now
We used to sing like there was no tomorrow
Those tin-shed walls of Darjeeling building used to buzz with life.
I wish there was a way to know that
You are in the good old days
Before it was over!
I sympathize the old myself
I waited eagerly to my school life to end
But now I feel like those were the days of my life.
But, yes!
I would never forget the room beside 5D
I would always be grateful to my school for this
This is where I first met her.
It was 2009, a beautiful girl came our school in science fair
With whom I fell in love
Whom I married
Who is just beside me, waiting for me with dinner.
--
Is it the soothing echoes or the bombarding blasts that drag my existence towards, theatre? I am still unable to figure it out. Every time I make a visit, which is surely a rare case, I am met with the fragrance which seems too close to my heart.
The drama was always my soft corner. In my days at the university, it was the only place I could take shelter and forget all the reality of the world which my present then mind was unable to take in. All the rough bridges and words that tore me apart, were a memory that is still scary but bearable.
After days of torments if I had one thing beside me was my love, my passion for drama and poetry which kept me alive from 2013 till now. How do I see myself without them?
Every time I visit the ocean, every time I visit the morning sky, every little to significant thing makes me sync with my love for drama and theatre. But, do you know, not everybody can choose to live what they hold close to themselves.
No matter how much I yearn for nights spent in making the performance come to alive, no matter how much I yearn for those many nights to return and make me alive again, I no longer belong there to demand.
Yet the yearning soul yearns for it. Theatre holds a very close place in the deep corners of my mind. It can never be uprooted, it can only grow, bigger and bigger. Can you relate to my yearning mind?
I feel as though I am a gypsy. At heart, I am one. Maybe, it’s an inability of mine to feel attached to one place or it’s the idea that “the whole world is my home” is so deeply established that just one corner doesn’t leave me sated and I have to explore it all.
There are only so many places I could feel revisiting, but I don’t. In my childhood home, where I grew up with the neighboring kids playing all sorts of outdoor games, I pass it by often but I don’t step in. The place I stayed most of my life is still just as beautiful as it was before - parting with it was painful, and still, I don’t wish to go back there. I revisit my ancestors’ home, but it doesn’t feel the same. Nor the places and the neighborhood I grew up in. Yes, the places have seen significant changes and I have this irritation that they should have stayed the same but I push back the thought. Nothing remains the same - neither places nor people, nor me. I realize, even if they haven’t been through changes, I’ll not go back. I’d always look for other places to go to. Not having my feet cemented in any place and moving on, always moving on, that’s how I live by.
It's not only the place that gets me nostalgic but the company.
My feelings for people and places aren’t the same, just the same as you. It is entirely possible that my interest in one place is very short-lived, then again I’m not running out of places to go to but only lacking the means. And as much as I enjoy my own company, I do love being around people - I like hearing them talk about themselves or how they view their lives or anything at all, however gibberish it sounds. The memory of the place gets tied to the people that were there with you at that moment and you become nostalgic to both. Even if you go to a new place tomorrow all by yourself and revisit a few years later you’re only partially nostalgic, because you’re not the same you anymore. It’s not the place that holds the memories for you, it’s you who holds it. And I will carry mine with me wherever I go.
While creating memories, a place isn’t the most contributing factor. It’s a good thing to keep memories at heart, you can shuffle through the pages of your memories but also accept that there will be changes - the places won’t stay the same, you’ll grow in more ways than one. You’ll meet all sorts of folks in your life, and for better or worse, they’ll leave their memories with you just as you will. Change, as scary as it looks, will come upon you and you’ll adapt to it. You adapt to changes within you and everything around you and you’ll realize, you too are a nomad to an extent.
Places evolve, so do people and both are transient.
Sohagpur SK Pilot Model High School
Since I was ten years old, I've had a deep attachment to this area. This is where I went to high school, where I had the happiest moments of my life. It was there that I met some of my closest friends. I haven't been back here in a year. This site evokes such strong feelings in me that it makes me homesick just thinking about it. There is no substitute for the memories I gathered from here. There's a lot of love in the air here. This site has a special place in my heart.
A high school campus isn't simply a place to go to school; it's also a place where I met some of the most important people in my life. I am now the person I always wanted to be because of this location. It shaped me in a manner that no other experience has ever done. It made me in a way that no one could replace. To me, this place is second to none. I still remember the first day I went to class; it was February 2010; the first day was scary; my dad left me alone at school, I was scared. But when I looked to my left, I saw a boy; he was scared too. That was the day I met my current best buddy, and we've been friends ever since. It might be a silly circumstance to many but my feelings were quite strong ever since.
My high school was about 6 kilometers away from my home. It was far enough to give my dad an excuse not to go to school. The week after I was admitted, my dad bought me a bicycle. I have spent five long years in this place from morning to evening. The best thing about high school was my friends and teachers, for whom my high school life became golden. All my friends, including me, have been busy with our own lives for the past year. When I went back to high school for the first time in a long time, I ran into all of my old classmates. It brought back memories for me. I felt nostalgic.
Sometimes life just isn't fair enough. The game of 22 men isn't fair either. Sometimes bad things happen, and they leave long-standing repercussions.
Let's rewind the clock some 72 years in the past and go to the other side of the world, Brazil. To be more precise, The Maracana. It's an old story, so you may or may not have heard about this one particular game. But there are some stories about this day that haven't reached many human ears. In the 1950 world cup final, Brazil struck home at 47th. We must note that Brazil needed only a draw to win the world cup, whereas, at that point, they were leading 1-0. The whole of Maracana exploded in ecstasy. But for Uruguay, it felt like the sky surrounding them had erupted. It's not unusual to be afraid when you have some 210 thousand people cheering against you right in your ears. But well, little did those Brazilians know what was about to happen. And as the history books suggest, something terrible happened.
Brazil dug their own grave by not advancing when their opponent was retreating. After scoring, they sat back with an attempt to endure Uruguayan attacks. And as like even today, and like most other times, this strategy, as usual, backfired 72 years ago too. Uruguay's constant pressure brought fruit. As they scored at the 66th minute. You'd expect your home crowd to be behind you when you need them. Brazil needed Maracana there to condemn Uruguay. But Maracana went silent, in shock after that goal went through. Even though Brazil was still on course to win the world cup, Uruguay got the best bit of the sports. A shocked crowd and a stunned opponent, Uruguay was in control behind enemy lines, in the enemy's own home ground. Their constant attack resulted in scoring another goal at 79 minutes. And it felt like Maracana was a desert. 210 thousand people, eh? Felt like it was empty. Within 13 minutes, hell broke loose on those people, from this side of the pandora's box to the other.
In the second goal, Brazilian goalkeeper Barbosa could've claimed the incoming cross, which resulted in the goal. But he stood his ground, and when the cross was met in the box by another player, he failed to save it. That was it. That was enough to ruin his career. A moments' decision and his life had changed. Fans had fits of hysteria, some cried their hearts out, many fell ill in disbelief, doctors had to work overtime to treat them. Brazil changed their away kit of white with blue necks to all blue in the fallout. Until they decided to get over it and release a new version of it a few years back. As for Barbosa. He was cursed by the people of Brazil. He even burnt the goalposts to rid those haunting memories, but people did not let him forget. Even 20 years later, he was once shouted at with words like, 'look, that's the guy who made Brazil cry'. Barbosa died in 2000. And on his 79th birthday, he made a damning statement.
"Under Brazilian law, the maximum sentence is 30 years. But my imprisonment has been for 50 years" Quote Source
The people of Brazil haven't forgotten it even though there are many other failures in Brazilian football. The tragedy of Maracana still haunts them.
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