THE SHOPPING BAG

For generations we have had a joint family tradition, consisting of an older man and his wife, his sons and unmarried daughters, his sons’ wives and children and so on. The family is headed by the patriarch, who would make decisions on economic and social matters on behalf of the entire family. The patriarch's wife generally exerted control over the household. and wielded considerable influence in domestic matters.  In fact the locality in which I grew up used to look literally like one  joint family as most of the houses were juxtaposed and resting against each other in such a fashion that one could leap from one roof to another and reach to the end of at least ten houses if not more. And in the process peep in to the courtyard or balcony of the neighbours, accosting and appropriately wishing anyone who cared to notice us. This also offered an opportunity to get a glimpse of the happenings in a particular household. Those were the days indeed!

A neighbour, Gupta uncle and his wife, however lived in a portion of the next door house separated from the rest of the members of their own family living in the same three storied house. Gupta aunty reportedly had problems adjusting with the rest of the family or vice versa. She was known all over the place as a belligerent and a bad mouthed person.

One fine morning hell broke loose in the neighbourhood. A couple of days back Sharma uncle, who again was a neighbour, while going to the market had borrowed a shopping bag from Gupta aunty, with an assurance to return it the same day. Now for over a week he was seen carrying the same bag for shopping passing in front of Gupta house. Gupta aunty noticed it and wanted it back immediately as she was concerned about its wear and tear with such frequent use. Prodded by her, Gupta uncle made several rounds to Sharma house. Sharma Aunty refused to return it. Tempers ran so high that the word spread across the entire neighbourhood. Residents of the colony appeared curious to have a glimpse of this now fabled bag that brought such a storm in its wake. The issue threatened to snowball in to an epic war almost of Mahabharata dimensions akin to Duryodhan’s refusal to part even with a needle point of land!

Old Polonius counsels his hotheaded son Laertes, who is about to embark for Paris for his gentleman's education

Neither a borrower nor a lender be,

For loan oft loses both itself and friend,

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
(Hamlet Act 1, scene 3)

Anyone can make an honest mistake of forgetting to return a borrowed item or money; no matter how aggravating it might be for the rightful owner or lender. From the legal perspective in order to be accused of stealing or theft, you would have to have the criminal intent called mens rea. But it was a case where Sharma aunty simply refused to return the shopping bag which was voluntarily lent by Gupta aunty. Gupta aunty claimed to have been bequeathed with this bag by her dying mother. Therefore it had a tremendous sentimental value. It was priceless like the Kohinoor, now a part of the British crown jewels that historically belonged somewhere else.

History illustrates a very important truth. Inventions, discoveries, modifications or improvement in an existing product are seldom the work of any one mind. These are either an aggregation or the final step of a progression. It is not known when the world started to use shopping bags and made of what stuff, but Walter H Deubner, who ran a small grocery shop in St. Paul, Minnesota was looking for a way to give his business a boost. He noticed that his customers’ purchases were limited by what they could conveniently carry. It took him four years to develop the right solution: a paper bag with a cord running through it for strength. Deubner named his new product after himself, calling it the’ Deubner shopping bag’ and sold it for five cents. He patented his product and within three years by 1815, was selling over a million shopping bags a year!

In 1852 the Queen Victoria decided to reshape the diamond and it was taken to a Dutch jeweler Mr. Cantor who cut it to 108.93 carats. Back home our Gupta aunty’s mother had specially hand sewn the bag customized for the shopping of groceries and vegetables for their household requirements. Gupta aunty claimed it to be an original innovation.

A very dear friend of mine, a famous person of great repute once visited my small library at home and borrowed two volumes from my collection of books with a promise to return these soon. Books are another item which once borrowed is very difficult to retrieve. A year went by. Another year went past. We met once or twice in the intervening years. I remembered but didn’t have the heart to remind him. There's just something in particular about books, which makes borrowers feel that it's okay not to return them. We could even find the borrowed book prominently displayed on the borrower’s coffee table. English writer and essayist Charles Lamb observes "Borrowers of books, those mutilators of collections, spoilers of the symmetry of shelves, and creators of odd volumes."

After paying 5 pounds as entry fee I entered Her Majesty's Royal Palace and Fortress, known as the Tower of London, a historic castle located on the north bank of the River Thames in central London, the other day. It houses the crown jewels and the star attraction is the Kohinoor. It was indeed a tribute to the British business sense that you were paying to see something that belonged to you

It is believed that the diamond was first mentioned more than 5000 years ago in a Sanskrit script, where it was called the Syamantaka. Until 1304 the diamond was in the possession of the rajas of Malwa but back then the diamond was still not named Kohinoor. In 1304 it belonged to the emperor of Delhi Alauddin Khilji.

In 1339 the diamond was taken back to the city of Samarkand where it stayed for almost 300 years. In 1526 the Moghul ruler Babur mentions the diamond in Baburnama. The diamond was gifted to him by Sultan Ibrahim Lodhi. Later, Auranzeb protected the diamond diligently and passed it on to his heirs.

Mahamad, the grandson of Aurangzeb was not a great ruler like his great father. He in 1739 lost the decisive battle and had to surrender to Nadir Shah. It was Nadir Shah who gave the diamond its current name Kohinoor meaning “mountain of light”. But Nadir Shah did not live long because in 1747 he was assassinated and the diamond got to one of his generals Ahmed Shah Durrani.

A descendant of Ahmed Shah, Shah Shuja Durrani brought the Kohinoor back to India in 1813 and gave it to Maharaja Ranjit Singh. In 1849 after the conquest of Punjab by the British forces, the Kohinoor was transferred to the British East India Company in Lahore. One line of the Treaty of Lahore was dedicated to the fate of the Kohinoor.  The diamond was shipped to Britain. In July 1850 the diamond was handed over to Queen Victoria who wore it occasionally afterwards. After her death the Kohinoor became part of the crown jewels, notwithstanding an unceasing, relentless, emotional and patriotic rhetoric to restore it where it rightfully belonged.

Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, the German philosopher said “We learn from history that we do not learn from history.” 
Indeed we keep on repeating the same mistake over and over again and do not take note of how the wise men and sages dealt with many such or similar vexatious issues.

A friend asked Molla Nasreddin, "Can I borrow 1000 toman from you for three months?"

"Well," Nasreddin replied, "I can fulfill half of your loan request."

"Okay, that's fine," the friend said. "I'm sure I can get the other 500 toman somewhere else."

"You misunderstood me," Nasreddin replied. "The half of your loan request I agreed to was the time: the three months. As for the 1000 toman, I cannot give it to you."

WHERE IS THE CONTINGENCY?

I was posted for some time in the Intelligence Branch of the West Bengal Police as the Special Superintendent, looking after the VIP/VVIP security including that of the Chief Minister. In accordance with the charter of duties, I would accompany the Chief Minister on his tours. The close proximity to the Chief Minister both in this and some other field assignments, afforded a good insight in quite a few unforced oversights and faux pas that occurred on some occasions, compelling me to be increasingly convinced of the Murphy’s Law.  

Captain Edward A. Murphy, an engineer working with the American Air Force sometime around early fifties, is credited with the universal coinage, known as Murphy’s Law: If anything can go wrong, it will.

The Chief Minister was staying overnight in a Government bungalow off LRP Road in Siliguri. As usual, I had accompanied him from Kolkata. A team of officers from IB was also there for his proximate security. The district administration and the department, to which the bungalow belonged, had made all the necessary arrangements for the comfortable stay of the VVIP. A generator was also hired and installed in the bungalow campus to take care of any sudden power break-down or load-shedding that was quite frequent in those areas.  After lunch, the CM had retired to his suite before his next engagement a couple of hours later and we and the top officials of the district administration would now settle down for our Lunch. But you can’t push the Murphy’s Law under the carpet. There was a sudden power outage and each one of us jumped to his feet. Quick, quick! Switch on the generator! An officer was sent to nudge the generator operator to start it. But soon the officer came back running; ‘Sir, the generator operator is not there. He has gone to poop!’ I am not sure if this officer was providing a protective cover to the truant operator for his recalcitrance but I am positive there is no Murphy’s Law to cover this contingency.

In Banga Bhawan, New Delhi, I was, escorting the CM up to his suite in the VIP lift. His personal security guard of over three decades was also with us. As I pushed the button of the lift to the desired floor, little did I realize that we were embarking on an odyssey.

Dictionary defines odyssey as a long wandering and eventful journey. I was very sure that I had pressed the correct floor button but instead of stopping at the desired destination, the lift went up to the top floor and before I could react or think of any corrective measures, it began moving down and the LED indicator showed it had reached back the ground floor. The door wouldn’t open. So thinking fast, I pushed the desired button again taking extra care to ensure that I was pushing the right button. The lift again embarked on its journey and again overshot the destination and again returned to the ground floor. This time the door flung open. The CM got out to the shocked and panic stricken look of the senior functionaries of the Banga Bhawan huddled in front of the lift. Other than mildly inquiring ‘ki holo’ the CM simply walked to the other common lift. 

CM was visiting the district where I was the district officer. He was put up at an irrigation department bungalow which the district administration had selected for it was a relatively new property compared to the old circuit house that was in every respect a relic of the British raj. After breakfast, the CM left to see some World Bank aided projects in the countryside of the district and was to return at lunchtime. As scheduled, he came back around mid-day. In a while his confidential assistant (CA) came out rushing. The geyser in the bathroom was not working. The CA asked if a bucketful of hot water could be arranged instead.  Immediately the chowkidar of the bungalow was summoned and asked to do the needful. Considerable time elapsed and our nerves were almost on the verge of getting shattered. Yet there was no bucketful of hot water in sight. Information arrived that the peon had gone to procure firewood! It seemed like ages when the bucket with hot water finally arrived. But wait. The story did not end there.  Again the CA rushed out; there is no soap and towel in the bathroom.

Now this was like the proverbial last straw. The hugely upset District Magistrate wanted to see the concerned engineer responsible for the maintenance and upkeep of the bungalow forthwith. I distinctly remember it was a Sunday. A police officer was sent to fetch him from his house. A body mass of a panting and profusely sweating human being, whose belly preceded him, appeared. ‘Ki hoyechhe Saar’, asked the nervous engineer. The DM told him, ‘The Geyser is not working. There is no soap, no towel in the VIP bathroom.’ Suddenly the engineer breathed easy. ‘Apni ei jonyo amake dekechhen? Amader contingency kothai?’ (You called me for this? Where do we have the contingency fund?). And before anyone could recover from the shock of this argument, the Executive Engineer of the Irrigation Department of the Government, responsible for the maintenance and upkeep of the property, was gone.

Every Independence Day the CM hoists the National Flag in front of the Writers’ Buildings and the National Anthem is played by the Kolkata Police Band to the Rashtriya Salute by an attending contingent of Kolkata Police. The responsibility for fixing the pole and preparing 

an elevated platform rested with the Writers’ unit of the PWD and for fixing the flag, with the unit responsible for everyday hoisting and lowering of the National flag on top of the Writers’ Buildings. The national flag folded with rose petals was up on the flag pole to be unfurled by a pull of the rope with the simultaneous playing of the national anthem and salami shastra by the police contingent. The CM arrived at the appointed hour, stepped on to the elevated platform erected for the purpose. The parade commander paid compliments to him. The CM now turned facing the flagpole. A subedar of the Kolkata Armed Police designated to assist him, handed over the end of the rope to him and the CM pulled at the rope. The loop holding the folded flag on the top end of the pole did not slide to release the flag.  The flag did not unfurl. He looked up the pole and gave a hard jerk to the rope. To the shock and horror of everyone present, the folded flag got unfastened from the pole. It dropped in the out stretched hands of the alert subedar who was stationed below the flag pole to fasten the rope once the flag was unfurled by the CM. However the moment the CM was seen pulling the rope, the contingent commander’s loud and clear command for the Rashtriya Salute was executed. CM saluted and so did all the uniformed personnel present. Thereafter the CM stepped down the platform and acknowledging the greetings from a sparse gathering of top functionaries of the government, walked up to his car with the Police Commissioner, the Chief Secretary and the Home Secretary in tow and departed. I was ordered by the Chief Secretary to inquire in to the circumstances leading to this unprecedented mishap and fix the responsibility. In due course, I placed my report before the Chief Secretary in presence of the Home Secretary and the Commissioner of Police. Whatever was my finding and whatever follow-up measures were taken, you can’t guarantee that such or similar mishaps would not happen again. You can’t defy Murphy’s Law.

One dark evening in the U.S., Murphy's car ran out of gas. As he hitchhiked to a gas station, while facing traffic and wearing white, he was struck from behind by a British tourist who was driving on the wrong side of the road.  

Edward A. Murphy, engineer, working with the American Air Force and the discoverer of the time tested Murphy’s Law was dead.

If anything can go wrong, it will.

DON'T SMILE:WE ARE INDIANS

A few days ago I was travelling to Mumbai on an Indigo flight. It was not such a bright day both literally and figuratively. I was travelling to be with the bereaved family of a close relative who had expired suddenly the previous day. It was a cloudy sky and showers were forecast. We took off on time and were airborne reaching the 35,000 feet above the mean sea level. Soon, we started experiencing mild turbulence such as generally happens in monsoon due to clouds hanging heavy in the sky. The seat-belt signs were on. It was an early morning flight necessitating the travelers to rise early. Most of them were catching up with their lost hours of sleep when suddenly everyone was jolted out of his/her slumber. The aircraft was rocking from side to side and with occasional thuds it seemed like it was hitting a wall. It almost felt like travelling on a Kolkata road full of craters where the drivers try to avoid the ditches moving this way or the other. I held on to the arms of my seat tightly although I knew the futility of such exercise if things got worse.   The strutting was intermittent and with each thud there were shrieks and groans.  But what struck me was that each time after each thud, the lady sitting across in the aisle seat would turn and exchange a glance with me and smile. I would also return her smile. I had a brief moment of disbelief that one could smile in the face of such an unnerving event. And that too share that smile with a stranger. As the aircraft stabilized after what appeared to be an eternity and the seat-belt sign got switched off, I caught my breath, reclined my seat and leaned back. I glanced at the lady to catch her eye, half expecting her to smile back, now that the nightmare was over; to my disappointment I found that she looked through me and took her gaze off without smiling. She appeared to have switched off along with the ‘fasten seat belt’ sign.

I landed in Mumbai safely though the announcement by the cabin crew ‘hope you had a pleasant flight’ sounded out of place and bizarre. But one question has bothered me ever since. Why did the two strangers smile at each other in the midst of such a scary scenario, when everyone seemed to be in panic, when everyone was extremely nervous with heart in mouth? And again where did the smile vanish when we were assured of a safe landing?

At my daughter’s home in Mumbai, I was checking out the chart for my 3 year old grandson’s progression, history of vaccinations and inoculations and the steps a normal child takes in course of growing up. This informative booklet was given to my daughter upon discharge from the hospital after the delivery. It contained a lot of useful information and valuable tips on tending a growing toddler. Of these, one that caught my eye was about ‘social smile’ that a child starts to display when he is two months’ old. A small note at the bottom said: ‘By encouraging your baby to smile, you're helping your baby develop self-esteem. It lets the baby know that his/her feelings are important and that he/she can affect the environment. It's also important for a baby’s overall brain development.’

 After two tough months of late-night feedings and diaper changes, you're in for a big treat -- a smile from your baby. Newborns often smile in their sleep. But starting between 6 and 8 weeks of life, babies develop a "social smile" -- an intentional gesture of warmth meant just for you. This is an important milestone- baby is growing up and starting to figure out human behavior. Baby realizes that smiling back at you gets your attention and it also reveals that his/her communication skills are on track. Even at 3 years of age when my grandson committed a mischief or dropped or broke anything, he looks at his mother and smiles that disarms her and deters her from scolding him.  On the contrary, she smiles back too!

Standing in front of the framed and famed picture of Mona Lisa in the big hall at Louvre in Paris,  I wondered why the Mona Lisa became one of the most famous paintings of all times. That’s a question an incredible amount of people have asked themselves in the past. Mona Lisa's smile has repeatedly been a subject of many—greatly varying—interpretations. Some have described the smile as both innocent and inviting. Many researchers have tried to explain why the smile is seen so differently by people. The explanations range from scientific theories about human vision to curious supposition about Mona Lisa's identity and feelings. And one possible answer could be: because of her unique smile.

As a district officer, I was asked by my grumpy Range DIG to come over and meet him for some official matter. He always appeared to be in a foul mood and I had rarely seen him smile. Late in the evening I landed up in his office chamber. As I seated myself across his table, he summoned his office orderly and asked for tea to be served. We began chatting while we waited for tea to arrive. We were in the middle of some discussion when, after considerable delay, the orderly returned to the office chamber and with a broad grin on his face said ‘Saar, cha to aar paoa jaabe na’ (Tea will not be available anymore). Instead of taking the import of the communication as it was, the DIG literally took him on his ‘face value’. He glared at the poor harbinger of the tidings of a failed mission and shouted ‘Ta hole haashchho keno?’ (Then why are you laughing).

Once, in school, I was punished for something in the class and the teacher ordered me to stand upon the bench for the whole period. My standing on the bench could not have been worse timed, as just then I saw outside my mother passing by in the courtyard, it being a shortcut to the market. I must have smiled perhaps either out of guilt or shame or whatever, but my mother wore a very shocked and embarrassed look and quickly moved away. The criminal jurisprudence does not apply in such circumstances where the dictum says you cannot be punished twice for the same offence. Needless to say my mother’s retribution awaited me as I smilingly entered home later in the day.

According to studies smiling reduces stress that your body and mind feel, almost similar to getting good sleep, and smiling helps to generate more positive emotions within you. That’s why we often feel happier around children – they smile more. On an average, they do so 400 times a day. Whilst happy people still smile 40-50 times a day, the average of us only do so 20 times or even less.

Why don’t we smile more often?  Why don’t we exchange ‘social smile’ when we come across each other, even strangers? Overseas, I have noticed that most people greet with a smile, nod or a hello, when they pass each other. However, such rule doesn’t apply when Indians encounter other Indians. Back home too, we don’t smile at each other. Most of the women reflexively don’t respond with a smile (unless there is turbulence in the sky!). Not many of us greet strangers or unknown people. We stare at the other person with a serious face and walk past.

Mohammed Rafi was one of the most popular singers of the Hindi film industry and certainly one of the greatest in Bollywood history.  He was noted for his versatility; his songs ranged from classical numbers to patriotic songs, sad lamentations to highly romantic numbers, qawwalis to ghazals and bhajans. He was known for his ability to mould his voice to the persona of the actor, lip-syncing the song. Have you ever seen any photograph of his where he is not smiling? May be it is the secret of the sweetness in his voice. He transmitted the positive energy of being happy that perhaps made the generations to smile to his beautiful and soulful renditions.

Smiling is definitely more than just a contraction of muscles in your face or corners of your mouth or sockets of your eyes. In fact Mother Teresa’s “We shall never know all the good that a simple smile can do.” reaches probably even farther and beyond than imagined. A smile can cause boundaries to melt, hearts to warm up, and distances to reduce. When we smile, we share happiness with ourselves first, before we do that to others.  

I was smiling to myself as I was walking in the morning and enjoying fresh air. A stranger coming from the opposite direction smiled back at me and said, ’Nice to see you’. I was startled. ‘I’m sorry. Do we know each other?’ ‘No’, the stranger replied. ‘I just enjoyed your smile.’

Today this stranger is my best friend on my morning walks!

ADDA INFINITUM

The new academic session for my son’s school had commenced. I was required to deposit his fees in a nearby branch of a Bank. Accordingly after dropping him to school and before going to my office, I proceeded to the designated branch for the purpose. I was directed to a dedicated counter receiving the payment. A young man sitting across the counter was in the midst of an animated discussion with a colleague sitting in the adjacent counter as others looked on. The bits of the conversation are reproduced below:

“Where were you yesterday morning?

The guy across my counter replied: “I had gone for a haircut.”

“During office hours?”

“Of course! My appointment letter says that whatever you do, do it during the office hours!’ 

While the other guy, who appeared to be quite amused at this argument and was in the middle of his next query to take it to a logical finish, I addressed my handler: “Dada I am in a hurry. Will you please…” Even before I could complete my request, he glared at me and disapproving this interjection raised his voice: “Dekhchhen na katha bolchhi? (Can’t you see I am in a conversation?).

Snubbed and browbeaten, I realized how intensely my friend across the counter missed an Adda compelling him to recreate one during the business hours on a working day in office. As Mathew Arnold, an English poet in his famous poem ‘Scholar Gypsy’ would say “This strange disease of modern life/ With its sick hurry, its divided aims” made it impossible for him to take a siesta, have a bath, wear a kurta- pyjama , slip on a hawai chappal and walk over to join his regular adda group in the afternoon. I later realized that my appropriate reaction to this dialogue should not have been one of anger or dismay but of compassion and empathy for his loss of a treasured activity.

It is exactly 411 meters radius of a walkway in this small park nestled in thick foliage and shaded by trees where I take my morning walk. The park is beautified and maintained by an adjacent nursing home.  In the midst is a natural water body inset with fountains that spring to life exactly at 6 in the morning. A lot of men and women of various sizes and shapes walk here - clockwise or anticlockwise. Some like me walk alone, some walk in groups of two or more, while some others, particularly ladies in a group would want to walk in a single file, occupying the entire narrow road width. Many of them walk briskly and others at a languid pace. Some others are propelled by a trail of posterior emissions that they blaze across the park trying to settle a score with the Mother Nature. Yet some others in violation of permissible decibel limits discuss the share-market and the economic policies of the Modi government scaring the chirping birds into silence. All told, this seems to me the mobile version of the fabled Adda. But wait.

On one of the corners of the park there is an elevated platform with a huge tree covering it. As the hour strikes 6, a young man appears regularly from nowhere with a stack of chairs that are set on this elevated platform in a circle. Not content with the mobile adda, a group of morning walkers then parks itself on these chairs and the real adda commences. The animated discussions, arguments, loud laughter and combined cacophony tend to disturb the ecological balance and threaten to drive the morning quiet and serenity out of the park.

Amartya Sen has found all Indians to be argumentative. After all, India is the largest and most vocal democracy in the world. Democracy is just another word for argument. Our parliamentarians will vouch for it.  As one writer has observed: 'Perhaps Shakespeare’s Hamlet was a Kolkatan as his famous self-argument shows: To vhi or not to vhi, / That eej thee kweschon….'

Argument is the essence of adda, its life line and its oxygen. If two, or more, people agree to the same viewpoint, there cannot be an adda. But if they see the same thing in two, or several different angles, there is the right opening to an adda based on the n^th scientific principle that every argument must have an equal and opposite argument.

Even before you could say Siraj ud Daula, Clive had won the battle of Plassey and laid the foundation for 200 years of British rule while they were busy arguing. After 34 years in power, the Marxists got themselves so embroiled in internal argument as to whether they were still communists or capitalist property brokers that they wouldn’t know when the tables turned on them. Adda, like history repeats itself.  

Adda, a term roughly translating to community chat sessions is a form of brain storming. The adda releases the thoughts of individuals that lie dormant. As an active participant of an adda one always has something to say. Whether or not he has solutions to problems, he always has an opinion. Topics for the adda are wide-ranging: from religion to politics, from football to mangalyaan, from Che Guevara to Albert Camus, from Ritwik Ghatak to Satyajit Ray, the list is unending. At times, some local adda can revolve around idle gossip about some local happenings or  a certain celebrity's   romantic escapades. 

As can be noted, the venue of the adda could vary depending on the context and milieu: that roadside shop next door selling tea, samosa and jalebi, the office or college canteen, some one’s residence or a  park or late at night on a pavement, around the carom board with a light bulb hanging overhead, powered by the street lamp-post.

In Kolkata, ‘Coffee House’ located on the College Street, has a great reputation of being the next level venue of adda for poets, writers, journalists, artists, philosophers, theatre  persons etc. who frequent it to have stimulating conversations, discussions and arguments over several cups of coffee. Sadly, however, it appears that it has somewhat lost its folklore glory of the past; it is not the same now. This has led to Late Manna Dey’s popular lament: Coffee-house e shei adda ta aaj aar nei…

Premendra Mitra was a renowned Bengali poet, novelist, short story and thrillers writer and film director. He was the creator of the famous fictional character Ghanada, who is the central attraction of all the addas.  Even after 40 years of its release who can forget Soorma Bhopali of Sholay and his tall stories keeping his audience mesmerized. The character played by Robi Ghosh in Satyajit Ray's "Agantuk" asks a pertinent question: ‘Rabindranath ki adda diten?’ (Did Tagore ever engage in adda?).

Many believe that the concept of adda is as alive as ever notwithstanding the phenomenal advances in electronics and communication technology. Others feel that it is gradually dying. Yet some others see a steady decline in the laid-back community gatherings and frequent meetings as Face book, Twitter, chat rooms and text messaging take their place. kothay hariye gelo shonali bikel gulo shei aaj aar nei (where have we lost those golden afternoons?)…

And will there be a final word in this never-ending argument? Doesn’t seem like so. For there can be no end to an argument. Which leads to a further argument that if there’s no end to the argument, then where does the argument end? Is that an end to the argument? Will there be any final word to an argument?  An arguable point indeed. We shall argue over it during our next adda…