Distinctiveness - Travel and Lifestyle Blog

  Durga Ma is on her way, and Messi cannot contain his excitement. Sometimes, the wait for an event is almost as enticing as the actual occasion. The hours before a crucial football match. The final days ahead of a long-pending vacation. The morning of an eagerly awaited arrival. Quite similar to the drumroll - rapid beats on a drum, increasing in intensity by the second - before the extravagant ending. This drumroll is supposed to build up to the main event and often gets sidelined in the dazzling lights of the main event. However, I often find this anticipation, this wait, to be an endearing adventure as well.  I have been indulging in such thoughts of late. Perhaps there’s something in the air, or maybe it’s the season itself. Because, folks, it’s that time of the year again. The buildup to the grand occasion that gets Bengalis world over supercharged.  Durga Puja is less than a month away.  While others may indulge in the religious intricacies of the oc...

  What's life without fun and games? “Are you joking?” Messi froze in his tracks and narrowed his eyes. Minute creases of worry formed on his little forehead. I had just told him that I was contemplating making an omelette on his head. It was a warm, humid noon; the sun was glaring down on us with vengeance. I was picking up my six-year-old son from school. As usual, Messi rushed out of the gate, handed me his bag and water bottle, and proceeded to play with his friends.  When the fun time finally ended, I got hold of my exhausted son, who was now sweating from head to toe.  “It’s so hot,” he declared.  “Shouldn’t have run so much,” I pointed out. He simply shrugged. On the way home, I suggested that since his head was so hot, I could crack an egg to get my protein intake for the day. “Are you joking?” My son has a very clear understanding of a proper joke, and the intricate details associated with it, and for that, perhaps, I should take full res...

Growing Old isn't bad when you have the right people for company Does anyone know of a man who forgot his wife’s birthday? No, because he didn’t survive to tell the tale. Birthdays are special, apart from the fact that they arrive every year to remind you that you are growing old. I don’t usually wait a year to enlighten Sumita, my wife, with this sombre news; I point it out to her every day! Especially on her birthday, which falls on the 12 th day of September. But then, there’s a charm in growing old together. There’s a wealth of experience to look back upon. Stories to retell over the dinner table. Subtle moments of déjà vu. Been there. Done that. Among all the things I recall and relive is a memory from exactly a decade ago. The first time Sumita and I celebrated this special day together. We were young, freshly in love, seeing the world in each other’s eyes. Girlfriend and boyfriend, yet to be knit together in social binding. I recall riding with my trusted Intrepid...

  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...