Distinctiveness - Travel and Lifestyle Blog

  My father gave me a very special gift, a present handed down through the generations, and it took me years to realize it. My father had an enormous passion for writing. His works now lie scattered across Dooars, the place he loved with all his heart. He wrote of the blues hills and the pristine rivers. The carpet of tea plantations covering the land and the joys and sorrows of its people. He spoke of life, love, pains, and celebrations. I looked up to him when I wrote my first verse decades ago. My father’s words shaped lives yet managed to outlive the man himself. On this day, eleven years ago, he quietly slipped away, the notebook open and the pen sitting idly on his study desk. My father left behind a room full of books and unfinished works and a massive hole in our lives. I have long believed that everything I have written since has been meaningless. All my efforts, wasted, because he would never read them. My father would never let out a disappointed sigh upon iden...

Messi listens to music while working on his next sketch. I have prepared a playlist for my five-year-old son. Whenever he falls in love with a song and declares it his favorite, I add it to ‘ Messi’s Favs ’. I have been on it for ages and it’s turning out to be quite the ensemble. He constantly discovers new songs that tug at his heart. And I silently add them to the playlist. Then, in the middle of the evening, when he comes to my desk to play, I subtly switch from my playlist to his, and watch his face glow. “This is not a good song,” I say, just to tease him. “No,” He screams. “It’s my favorite!” He proceeds to hum the tune and runs his toy cars on imaginary roads across my table. Over my half-read book. Through my open notebook. Some days, when he’s in a good mood, he also sings along, quite often improvising the lyrics. I often join him in a duet, because a few of his favorite songs are also close to my heart. We sway together to the tune, father and son, united by music....

  Lionel Messi created history three months ago on this day Is it three months already, Lionel? Seems just like yesterday, that my heart felt full And my life, complete. When we shed happy tears You and Me and millions of us And the night had no end.   I have lived that day over and over and over again. I am sure you have too The excitement, the tension stifling the air Agonies and ecstasies intertwined The elation of that final kick The realization of a lifelong dream.   I have lived that day from three months ago over and over again Well aware of the glorious end. And I have revelled in that excitement, that watershed moment. When the world bowed to your genius. I have bathed in that pure joy just like it was yesterday.   Is it three months already, Lionel? Perhaps Or perhaps I haven't aged a day, still living each moment, in fond remembrance, Of the greatest night of my life. Our lives.

Two Friends united by their love for Argentina, Manchester United and East Bengal This is a story of friendship and football. Or football and friendship. Or perhaps it's not a story at all. On the occasion of two months of Argentina's historic triumph at the 2022 FIFA World Cup, I ask you to accompany me for a trip down the memory lane, to an entirely different era.  The year is 1998. Argentina are preparing to run riot at the World Cup in France. We have Roberto 'El Raton' Ayala in defense. Ariel Ortega is the new Diego Maradona. Juan Sebastian Veron is pulling the strings in midfield. What could go wrong? Well, everything, it turns out.  The dream crashes against the Dutch in the quarterfinals. Ortega receives his marching order after head butting Edwin van der Saar. Dennis Bergkamp toys with Ayala and scores a typical worldie in the 90th minute.  Following the defeat, thousands of miles away, two Ninth Standard boys sit dejected at the Caesar School Assembly Hall. Tw...

  Mesut Hancer clings on to Irmak I don’t know you, Mesut Hancer Sir, but my heart goes out to you. How painful it must have been to hold Irmak’s cold, lifeless hand through the wreckage. How heavy her little fingers must have felt. How you must have yearned for one little sign of hope. To hear her voice again. To feel her palm wrap around your index finger one last time. 15 years of her life you held her close, protecting her, guiding her, ushering her through the crazy, cruel world. And yet on this day, this dreaded sense of helplessness creeping in through the corner of the door…. This is a moment every parent dreads, and it is a nightmare you are having to live. There are no words to console, nothing can be said to make things right. To make the day a tad brighter. To numb the pain. To stop that hollow feeling in your chest. Time? Time’s healing power is overrated. We look through the window and find our eyes moist. But you, my poor Sir, you are living that terrible dre...

My Five-Year-Old Proudly flaunts our jersey collection on the eve of the 2022 FIFA World Cup Have you ever been so happy that you began crying? So content that you sensed a hollow deep inside your chest? That you couldn't differentiate between sadness and joy? A month ago, I experienced such bliss, sitting in front of the TV. It was the final of the 2022 FIFA World Cup. Argentina were battling France for the Holy Grail of Football at the Lusail Stadium. Millions of miles away, I was living every second as if my last All of a sudden there was a big void inside my chest. I could no longer feel the ground beneath me. Gonzalo Montiel had just converted his penalty kick. Argentina had won the game. Lionel Messi. World Cup. My head was spinning. I was struggling to breathe. It was as if I was dropping down an exceptionally deep gorge. Clad in the sky-blue and white stripes, I couldn't hold back my emotions. It had been a draining game, with Messi and Kylian Mbappe taking us all for a...

One look at the Dal and Ramesh knew that it was not cooked properly. The colour was just not right; it was too yellow for his liking. Few people in the world knew about Dal better than Ramesh, he was what you would call an expert in the subject. For the average person, Dal is a simple Indian cuisine, a straightforward dish that anyone can churn up from their kitchen. However, there are numerous delicate intricacies that can affect the final outcome of the dish. And Ramesh certainly knew how to turn up a tasty bowl of Dal. His “Tandoori Dal” would run out every evening and people would turn away from the doorstep, dejected. Every night, when he would sleep near the tandoor, he would smile and remember the lavish praise that his creation had generated. The murmur of people around snapped him out of his daydreams. Ramesh looked to his side and watched families sitting by the roadside, devouring the lacklustre palate of Rice and Dal with glee. It was a stark contrast to the long lin...