Skip to main content

Ritam

Ritam Banerjee has been a friend of mine since our days in Fergusson College, Pune. Potent enough to usher the hippie culture in India single-handedly (his living conditions could stun anyone!), he never ceased to stand out from the crowd. A maverick photographer (aren’t they all!), he has many accomplishments to his credit by now. He was already a freelancer for TOI Pune (contributing photographs and essays) during our college days and having him read one of his contributions to the paper, I can safely vouch for him.

Not only was Ritam good with prose, verse could also be considered one of his fortes – as was proven by an impromptu poem he penned for a couple who got too cozy during a journey by rail. It was the twisty brother-sister remark in the last line that was the real riot. I can’t get it off my mind even today!

Ritam has been very promising, and has delivered on them in full measure. I wish him all the best in the years ahead.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

This is what Bertrand Russell said about religion...

Religion is based, I think, primarily and mainly upon fear. It is partly the terror of the unknown and partly, as I have said, the wish to feel that you have a kind of elder brother who will stand by you in all your troubles and disputes. ... A good world needs knowledge, kindliness, and courage; it does not need a regretful hankering after the past or a fettering of the free intelligence by the words uttered long ago by ignorant men.

The year that was

I'm wearing a rather striking shirt, one that makes me feel like a clown fooling around in a graveyard. Roving eyes latch on to me and make me too conscious of myself. Checkered in red, grey, black and maroon, I've excused myself into donning it and looking silly for two reasons. It's Friday and…more importantly, the last working day of the year. Tailored half-a-year back, I never had the courage to wear it, not until today. It's that time of the year when it's time to reflect on the events that transpired. Last year ended on the worst possible note. Dad had expired and I was numb with shock. The repercussions rippled halfway thought this year. Things were so abysmal initially that I had lost the will to live. Acrid in everything I did, I was immensely angered by time phlegmatically flowing through its cadence. It was as if Dad meant nothing to anybody. What right did people have to live the way they always had when Dad was no more? Why was much of the world still