Being Arkarup

The name is a person’s primary identity. The association of a person with his name is ‘till death do us part’. As a child one learns to associate himself with his name and I think meeting a new acquaintance becomes a dreadful affair ever after. Every time someone walks up to him for the first time, with a big smile he is confronted by that same question: “What is your name?”

Most love their names by default and I am quite certain that to live without loving your name is miserable and unfortunate. The choice of name depends upon country, religion, sensibility of the parents and other such factors. It does not depend upon the wish of the person concerned (unless it is legally changed later which is still rare).

Throughout my childhood I have heard many names incompatible with any degree of rationality. On the contrary I have always enjoyed the distinction of having a nice and unique name with a ‘meaning’. If Google is to believed there is no one except me with my name. I really love my name. But things started changing once I moved out of Calcutta during my undergraduate days.

I first realized in Delhi that my name is difficult to pronounce. My friends and teachers took over a week to pronounce it correctly. Some have not yet succeeded. No stranger could ever understand my name in the first attempt. So instead of saying my name I started to spell it! This saved time but nonetheless was awkward to say the least.

At present there are half as many versions of my name as the number of people I know. Starting from ‘Arkroop’ to the weird ‘Aur-kurup’ which means something else altogether in Hindi. Weary of saying such a long name, some choose abbreviations like ‘Orky’ or just ‘Aur’ or a little more generous ‘Aurko’.

More recently my well-wishers have found a queer phonetic connection between my name and ‘Orkut’-the internet menace that takes up half the net surfing time of many of us. And some have already started to call me so!

I thus being honoured of having a million versions of my name (a moderate overestimate), respond with equal cheer to whatever people choose to call me. I am amazed not to suffer from identity crisis yet.

The journey of my name has been quite a long one and it is just the beginning I guess. It has picked up so much momentum in the last few years that I have no idea where it will stop. Or it may never. Is that what is meant by ‘Journey of a life time’?


TIFR,
Mumbai.
12.04.08.

Okaron Anmona

Janina aaj bajjhe keno moner kone banshi
Hotat keno bhasche chokhe tomar madhur hasi

Janina shudhui keno porche tomai mone
Ei kothai bhabchi kebol boshe ghorer kone.

Janina abar kobe hobe tomar sathe dekha
Tomar chokhe chokh rekhe melbo moner pakha

Janina totodin amai rakhbe kina mone
Ashatei manush banche tai mon swopner jal bone..


TIFR
31.5.08

Love's Paradox

When you are far and I am here,
I think of you oh my dear,
When you are near and yet so far,
I wish you were not here…..

Mumbai.
7.1.08

Oppositeness

The mornings that are spent sleeping
As if no worries ever touch me,
Or the sleepless nights that pass by
When thoughts won’t let me sleep.
The songs, the joys and the laughs
When I am lost in a crowd,
Or the solemn poems I write
In the loneliness of the night.
I sometimes wonder which is the real me
But isn’t reality just a mirage?
The moment I get a glimpse of myself,
The vision is lost, forever.

TIFR, Mumbai
May 2008.

Suddenly At One

I believe that I am more rational than instinctive. This is because of a strange importance I attach to reasoning as compared to impulsiveness. So suddenly when I felt an urge to write, I, out of habit didn’t pay much heed. Strangely the impulse grew stronger and I found myself searching for a pen and a paper at one in the morning. I was about to start. But what did I want to write? I had no answer. It felt awkward. May be I should write about the wonderful time I have had in the past three years in college. I started to write but I didn’t like what I wrote. I tore off the page and it rightfully went into trash. I told to myself that fond memories are like wine, they become better with time. We should fall back to our past only when the present becomes insignificant. Let the memories mature, let it pass the test of time. Let me save it for the moment when the thought of college will simultaneously make me smile and cry. The time is not yet ripe. With this realization, I was left with nothing to write about. I stopped. I tore off this page and I should have thrown it into the dustbin.

Rehovot, Israel
18.07.07