Daddy, please buy me a DSLR. Yeah, those heavy cameras you have to manoeuvre with both hands, twirling its fancy snouts with an attention that is directly proportionate to the seskiness of the passing boy/girl. And I promise, I will visit Kumortuli at the drop of Autumn. I will take pictures of ALL the pandals in the city with ALL its deities. I will pay equal attention to ALL the insects sitting on the faeces of ALL species. I will make optimum use of the zoom and the Macro facilities on the camera and make the mundane 'phuchka' look like Jupiter. I will have at least a dozen pictures of women in red-white sarees, their faces smeared with 'sindoor'. I will use the self-timer and take pictures with my friends outside the pandals holding up bottles of beer. In short, I swear I will conform, for now and forever, to ALL visual cliches.
And I promise, I won't even ask you, what DSLR stands for.

Was suddenly reminded of this incident: A few weeks down our marriage, when all our meals would still be sent over from our in-laws', breakfast arrived one particular Sunday - just one plate of sandwiches stuffed with cheese, chicken and a whole lot of other goodies. Embarrassed and miffed, the husband instantly called the mother-in-law up, in a bid to stand up for the "basic rights" (read roti-kapda-makan) of his newly wedded wife. "Why have you sent just one plate? What do you think Paroma will eat?" Mamma-in-law very coolly replied, "It *is* for Paroma; you always have luchi-chholar daal outside with your friends, so we didn't think you'd want any breakfast at home". I rue the fact that I couldn't photograph the utterly zapped look on poor Sourya's face that day, as I chomped down my yummity yum sandwich, without bothering to share! 

Was suddenly reminded of this incident: A few weeks down our marriage, when all our meals would still be sent over from our in-laws', breakfast arrived one particular Sunday - just one plate of sandwiches stuffed with cheese, chicken and a whole lot of other goodies. Embarrassed and miffed, the husband instantly called the mother-in-law up, in a bid to stand up for the "basic rights" (read roti-kapda-makan) of his newly wedded wife. "Why have you sent just one plate? What do you think Paroma will eat?" Mamma-in-law very coolly replied, "It *is* for Paroma; you always have luchi-chholar daal outside with your friends, so we didn't think you'd want any breakfast at home". I rue the fact that I couldn't photograph the utterly zapped look on poor Sourya's face that day, as I chomped down my yummity yum sandwich, without bothering to share! 

Parar je goli tay aalo taman teebro noy, du-ekta cycle chhara gaari-taari-o beshi jay na, badminton er net tangiye khelar prostuti cholchhilo dekhlam; full shirt er haata khanik gotano dekhe mone holo eder keu keu office ferta pothe CCD te girlfriend er sathe 'appo' korar cheye akhana khelte beshi bhalobashe. Sheeter Kolkata. Bhaggyish kichhu janish paltay na

"Na dada, I don't want this pair, I can't wear heels, I'll fall if I wear them", I tried to reason, somewhat sheepishly with the shoe guy at Gariahat. 
"Nonsense! You HAVE to start wearing them. You *cant'* be this "unsmart" all your life now, can you?" came the instant admonition in FULL public view. 

I came back with the shoes. 
Seated at a revered distance from me, I swear I could hear them sniggering away, even as I sulked and sulked and sulked some more.

Marketing honchos, take a cue. 
Take a bow.

Its unwise to remove that rather crucial space between boy and friend. Its there for a reason, I realise.
Remove it, and the latter begins to get squished under the weight of the former. IMHO.