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Being the guy you have written about, I loved that you have taken the mission of Customs Superintendent Souza to the world. Truly appreciated, and thanks a ton.
Great story telling quality, without losing the facts. Interesting reading.
For all who read this blog – I was 25 when I left smoking, thanks to Mr Souza, and I am 65 now. Have managed for 40 years. I hope the young 2nd Mate, Souza, rests in peace, and the story inspires others.
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thank you very much. its your story, im merely the reteller
This Fathers Day, there were instances, where the son and self clashed due to a couple of poor (my opinion) decisions of the Indian captain , but, thanks to the shoddy (and yawning) Pakistanis, the mini-war between the father and son culminated into great bonhomie, once India won, close to midnight.
Your article also brought back old memories, when I would deliberately lose to my son in all games. There was happiness in general, and especially for the son and his proud mother.
Extremely hilarious and very true of Punjabis and their weddings.
I did not know that a big breakfast, followed immediately after by hearty beer and lunch, as experienced by me in a couple of Sikh weddings I have attended, is the norm. Thanks for the useful (for the future) information.
Simply hilarious. Ingenious methods, must say
I have been to Sanitiniketan twice and Kankalitala , once. But did’nt know about the eerie atmosphere there, rather a pristine beauty of winding river, open fields and a sacred temple of Ma Kali , being one of the 51 Piths all , I remember. If I knew about it at that time , don’t know ( dare to think) what my feelings would have been. Neither i knew about this Boul Mela happening there. But santiniketan and the place Kankalitala ( after crossing the railway line going to Rampurhat – way back in 2000 or 2002) was fascinating, with picturesque view of steam engine lead trains being seen form my room window, the canal with gushing white water, the Khowai, the small country shops offering “telebhaja and cha” in the afternoon and ” musurir dal, aloo bhaja, dimer jhol and bhat at night ” till eight in the evening was some other world to a wholesome city dweller like me. That was my college days. Way after in 2013 ( my last visit), i stayed in those bungalows , just behind the canal, and experienced the new concept of hosting guests there.
The picture of Parbati Boul is awesome , reflecting a perfect mood of the person
Very relatable to me as I did my years through the ICSE board as well. We had European Fathers who almost made us memorize Julius Caesar., yet I will speak. I kissed thee ere I killed thee, no way but this . killing myself to die upon a kiss.
it seemed a burden at first with the thous and thees and doeths and so on but later we started enjoying it.
This open up our window to more works. The popular ones being Othello, Hamlet, Romeo and Juiliet and of course Merchant of Venice.
This piece takes me ack in time. More than Antony’s ” Friends Romans and Countrymen lend me your ears” there are a few lines which are etched in memory like “Cowards die many times before their deaths, The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard. It seems to be most strange that men should fear, seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come”.
Hamlet: To be or not to be is the question.
Macbeth: There would have been a time for such a word. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
Romeo and Juliet: Good Night Good Night parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Othello: To mourn a mischief that is past and gone is the next way to draw new mischief on.
Merchant of Venice: The quality of mercy is not strained. It dropeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed. It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
Yes the Bard has been omnipresent, omniscience, supreme.
No comparison though and no value judgement as well. Later as I grew I was fascinated to our very own bard the one and only Tagore. Stories, novels, poems, essays , speeches, songs with his own notations and I was mesmerized. The sheer volume of his work is mind boggling. Even if we assume that he began writing at the age of 14/15 and wrote for 12/13 hours a day till his demise the math does not match.
Personal Opinion: you think of any situation/set up / scenario and Tagore has something around it.
Take a bow to both….
Thanks for the piece. Captivating.