Of droughts and espressos

I still enjoy my beverage,

Slow and sip,

And am sure as night

That you take them for work.

 

Do you still exist?

Your favourite comedian

Has started looking like you.

The way you spoke,

Wore your sweater,

Bit your lips to hide annoyance.

 

Somewhere out there,

That is just beyond my fingertips,

I found your strokes on the paper

In two languages.

 

Always the mindful.

And I vaporized

Some milliliters of tears - 

This drought can not afford more than that.

 

Will wait for our months, I suppose - 

Clouds - storms.

Will play on boost

And silent my hum.

Will prepare myself the leisurely beverage

And an espresso for you.

Don't let it go cold.

Do exist, for it.

Back, but Why?

It’s not just difficult going back to words written when one's profession requires words spoken at a constant pace, it's daunting. What do i have to say that others have not already expressed? What do I have left to argue that others have not already pointed out? But how does that lessen my experiences in any way? I never started this blog to gain popularity or gain followers. I knew that I needed to spread my words out into the world. How many do even follow me and follow blogs anymore after all? I wouldn't even consider a single person. and maybe that's why it's much easier now to write what I wish to - knowing that hardly anyone would be interested and reading this. Isn’t there a certain masochistic pleasure in knowing that no matter how much you express, nobody will ever understand what you are trying to say?

 

I’ve been within my house for the last 5 months and still counting. If anybody reading this doesn't understand the significance of that, you are lucky. Either you are oblivious to what is happening all around, or you did not bother to check the date on which I am writing and publishing this post. These are the days of Covid19 pandemic. Period. Nobody requires any more explanation.

 

I have always been habituated with a a considerable amount of sound and noise around me. I have lived in the suburbs but the kind that is trying to make its name in the list of urban areas with a lot of ambition and resilience. So naturally, we have had an alarmingly rising number of horns honking every year. And then I moved to a more urban and sophisticated part of the city which, ironically enough, is eerily silent after sundown. We have a shopping mall about half a kilometer from our house, and that's about the only place in the neighbourhood that sees any gathering. So the first one year or so in this neighbourhood was enough to make me doubt my auditory abilities remaining intact. However, just as any other cockroach surviving on the resources received, i too got used to the lessened noise and hushed tones.

 

The last 5 months have been different, for obvious reasons. Since the days of my starting with school, i had remained at home, without any occupation, for only three months at a stretch and that had driven me to almost insanity. These 5 months have not done that, i hope, as i still have my vocation and remain busy for the better part of the day. But it has definitely made me afraid of the voices in my head. Now I completely refuse to believe that only the cuckoo ones hear the voices and the better part of the population does not. i am a firm believer that most of us hear the voices that we consciously try to avoid, just that we are not confident enough to accept that we do actually hear them.

 

So my escape-route has been adding external noise to submerge the internal ones. By the way, I never deny that I am an escapist. And I don’t even take it as an insult if anyone else calls me that, for after all the greatest knowledge is knowing the self, right? All the while, as I am working or cooking or cleaning or even brushing my teeth, I keep some music or audio book or sometimes simply old movies playing on my phone. Needless to say, it drives my partner crazy, but I suppose it is better that he turns crazy before I do! Sadist meets masochist, you see!

Epiphanies and Bollywood disappointments

So as they say, it is really not the world outside but your own heart that makes you who you are. The eternal and irreconcilable conflict of nature versus nurture, where what you are and what you are made, try to balance themselves equally trying to share the credit or shrug off the blame for the ultimate result. And thus, after an evening all by myself at a busy square in a Spanish city, I come to conclude that the exterior can not change what you feel inside unless you are ready to change it with your own conscious decision. And then you may as well be in a remote village of an unknown district of an under-developed country, but you may be a happy and content being. Well, this may not be a new revelation to many but this epiphany - when it comes on a personal level - tends to throw light on the events and their respective responses by the surrounding people.

Today, after a couple of depressing and distressing days in this foreign land, I decided to take a walk by myself. Well, I did not really walk that much, as my pedometer app showed a pretty dismal step count. Anyway, I took a tram and then a metro and went to a busy square of the city and sat there for sometime. And I spoke to two people who are pretty close to my heart, and in my home land. But those are just the inconsequential details. What I realized as I came back home was that it is really important to look at myself from a perspective. The more I am tied down by the strings and ropes of log-kya-kahenge and expectations, the less I give happiness a chance to find its way into my heart.

And the problem with happiness is that Bollywood has created such unrealistic picture of selfless love and selfless happiness that now if you try to talk of what makes 'you' happy, you sound like a selfish witch. *wink* And then again Bollywood has given such coming-of-age movies like YJHD where a Bunny still has to come back to a Naina to find true happiness and get tied down to family and Maratha Mandir's DDLJ show with popcorn. I still wonder, why couldn't he have chosen his kind of life and just gone ahead with his passions? Even at 30 and married, I simply don't get the logic of this movie. I can understand Aditi's decision that anyway she was not able to do anything worthwhile with her life, so she got married and the man was pretty docile as well, so I am sure she would have been able to continue with her wild ways every now and then that she got tired of being 'the good wife'. Anyway, it is always better to leave Bollywood to itself. May be I could write a proper review of any of the latest brainless creations like VDW. *wink*

Age has something to do with it

I know that I have never really felt my age and the post I am going to write today can be easily brushed off by terming it ‘escapist’. Yet, there is something more to it than meets the eye.

A month ago, I turned 30. Some say that age is just a number, while some say a woman should not reveal her age. I don’t agree with both groups. I don’t think that age is just a number, because every time we turn another day older, we have lost another day to time. We have lost another day to do something different, to do something better, something more. And no, we definitely do not need to hide our ages because it is not only insulting to our intelligence but also teaches us that it is okay to be dishonest and pretend that age has everything to do with beauty.

But the problem lies in the fact that I don’t think I am where I thought I would be once I reached the third decade of my life. It’s not that I am disappointed or regret anything. No, I don’t. And yet, I guess I thought I would have made at least one trip abroad by this time. May be saved more. Or been a better cook. Or even sing better.

Well, the singing part is mostly my fault, because I have stopped practising, and I hope to begin someday all over again. As for the cooking part, I try to whenever I can, and just like most people who have the luxury of hiring a cook, I like to try experiments and not the traditional dishes. But I need to concentrate on the day to day food as well, because it seems like these are the toughest ones. No, I haven’t taken any trip abroad yet, and I have not really saved up much. But the fourth day of the new year should be a good time to start doing so. And as for a trip, I did travel all by myself last year, which can be considered a real achievement for somebody coming from a protected household as mine. Well, come to think about it, I am really proud of that one trip to Bangalore.

 

And so, we come to the end of yet another post. I guess I just run out of things to write once I sit down and write. And at other times I have so much going on in my head. So it can be a good idea if I write down things at the moment and try to write them down late one. 

Bye.

BARO-BHUJA

দশটি-তে আর ঠিক কুলিয়ে উঠতে পারছেন না।

এক হাতে হাতা, তো অন্য হাতে ঝাড়ু।
তিন নম্বরে ঝোলে বাজারের  থলে,
তাতে থাকে পেঁয়াজ, আদা, আলু --
( টোম্যাটো তো আবার ওনার ও নাগালের বাইরে!)

চার নম্বরটিতে বয়ে বেড়ান মুদিখানার ফর্দ।
উনি সংসারের কর্ত্রী বলে কতা !
চাল - ডালের খোঁজ রাখেন মশাই ?

পঞ্চমে থাকতেই হবে একটি তানপুরা,
দেখে শুনে সংগীতজ্ঞা কন্যা আনা হয়েছিল যে!
ছয়ঋতু জুড়েই ষষ্ঠ হাতে থাকে একটি ছাতা,
আজকাল তো নটায় রোদ, তো এগারোটায় বৃষ্টি।
হাঁচলে - কাশলে সংসারটা কে দেখবে?

মেজাজ সপ্তমে চড়ানোর জো নেই,
তাই সাত নম্বরে থাকে ওয়াশিং পাউডার Nirma,
মেশিন থাকলেও, "একটু হাতে করে রগড়ে নেবে বৌমা?"

আহ্লাদে আটখানা হয়ে সপ্তাহের আট নম্বর দিন যখন যান বাপের বাড়ি,
আট নম্বর হাতটিতে থাকে মিষ্টির বাক্স,
বাবা-র বড় প্রিয় নলেন গুঁড়ের রসগোল্লা।

নবগ্রহের প্রার্থনাতে নবম হাতে শাঁখ,
দশ নম্বরটিতে পূজোর ঘন্টা।

এগারো নম্বরটির প্রয়োজন পড়ে ফাটা গোড়ালিতে বাঙালির প্রিয় বোরোলিন লাগাতে --
আর শেষ টা?
কলম ধরতে।

Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction and is in no way intended to hurt anyone's sentiments or sensitivity.

Evening walk thoughts

As I was having a brisk walking session in the joggers' park beside my house - all in the attempt to go back to the pre-marital shape and size, I couldn't help but overhear a couple of old ladies. Early at this point, I should mention that I was just passing them as they were sitting on a bench beside the joggers' lane and have no habit whatsoever of eavesdropping on others' conversations. Anyway, one of them was complaining how she gives her son two pieces of fish and her son shares it with his wife whom she has given only a single piece. And the old lady seemed pretty indignant at the fact that the son's wife gets to eat a share of the fish that she had given to her son.

Here my question arises that, had the  woman had a daughter, she would have praised her daughter if she had kept the bigger piece of fish for her husband. She would have been proud that she had brought her up with good manners where she prioritizes her husband over her own self. And here, she was angry that her daughter-in-law got a share of the fish she had given to her son.

So basically, if we take her as a prototype of the orthodox society with misogynistic attitude, then how is a woman going to be empowered? When sacrificing is taken to be the ideal path for a woman, while a man is termed a 'man' if he can earn his bread and enjoy it, how can we make women happy and independent?

Now I am a firm disbeliever in the policy of sacrificial happiness in every step and sphere of life. Of course giving up something for a loved one gives immense joy at certain times, but if that becomes the habit, one day very soon you'll be in need of a messiah to deliever you. And I believe in being my own messiah, my own saviour.

Musings on loneliness

As it's the 27th day of 2017, I suddenly felt the urge to go back to where I first started. Writing. And today, I shall not speak coherently or about any particular topic. I have been wanting to write on quite a few interesting topics for sometime now, but being the lazy, laid back that I am, it has not come to success. So, here's what's happening in life.

My favourite teacher, who has also been my colleague for the past 3years, is about to retire in a couple of months, and the very thought of it makes me sad, really sad. She has been the guiding force for many of us at work place, helping and guiding us whenever we asked her.

I am witnessing my first batch of students passing out of school as they are all prepared to it for their 12th standard board exams. It is such a humbling experience that more than making me proud, I am trying to find humility in the fact that life goes on.

I am a new aunt, as my elder brother welcomes a son in the family. The feeling of holding little Simba in my arms was out-of-the-world, for the lack of a better phrase. That little heart beating, those big eyes looking at me, the helplessness of that tiny soul was scary. He slept on my lap, listened to all the songs I hummed and looked at me with wonders in his eyes. What better gift can a new aunt get?

And with husband abroad for a few weeks, every responsibility seems double, and every happiness seems half.

Then there are friends getting married every week. Some I approve of, some I don't. Not that my approval matters, or should matter. Just that, sometimes the vibes are not very positive. Sometimes, though assured a hundred times,my intuition tells me that one is not a very good person. And there starts the problem, when proofs for one's goodness cannot surpass my intuition and I am unable to give one the benefit of doubt.

And I have been trying to follow at least one TV series for the past few months, and have failed again and again. Started with Bengali, moved to Ukraine's and then Turkey's, but in vain. Somehow it's very difficult to follow the same story everyday at the same time. For that, I prefer Hotstar.

Being ill with no mother or husband to take care, is a painful business.

As I was at the doctor's chamber this afternoon for some stomach ache, I met an elderly couple. They have moved back to Kolkata after 35years in Hyderabad. Their son is settled in some other city. The old man waits for his son to visit and on the other days, remains quiet all day long. The wife seemed more in control of the situation and acknowledged that these are the prices we pay for living independently. It felt heart-wrenching to see the couple at the doctor's chamber. And suddenly, I found immense respect for my husband who is strict with maintaining family relations and valuing the knitted bond of the same.

Can't bring the post to a proper conclusion, sorry. Bye.

Of Hopes and Lanterns

I don't know why there is this illogical obsession with flying lanterns. Or rather, is it my anger with them that is illogical?

Flying lanterns make me sad. Very very sad. Almost to the verge of tears. Just look at them - these forlorn lonely creatures sent upwards by humans, without aim or power, just giving a faint false hope of life and love. Is it really justified to attach such hopes to lanterns whose basic nature is to fall down on the ground the moment the candles die out? Where is the hope? Where is the love? The recent craze has probably been the effect of Disney's Tangled, the story of Rapunzel. As if, the lanterns are the symbol of a traveller on his voyage to a far away land - an adventurer. In reality, these lanterns are a symbol of us - human beings. We attach our hopes and dreams to flimsy ornaments like these flying lanterns, and hope that someday these will take us away to the land of the unknown and we will - finally - find our happily ever after. What a sham!

On the other hand, look at the light crackers. They have their life in a moment. They burst in glory, spread the gorgeous shower of light for a few seconds, dazzle people and die in their glory as well. These crackers are the symbol of unreality. As if, our lives are to be lived like these crackers. As if, once we dare, we can become as glorious as them. As if life will allow us to live and die in our moments of glory.

Then why is it that I can only see the sham in all of it? Why is it that the lights and lamps and sweets and music - are all unable to cheer up a single heart?

May be because it is the toughest thing to do - to strip oneself of its bare minimum to be able to be honest with one and oneself. May be, after such moments of cruel honesty and sincerity towards one and oneself, the bare minimum is only the expectation that the bravery will be acknowledged. And there lies the hamartia of the human soul. Leaving behind everything, it still expects. It still looks for a ray of hope in the lanterns and crackers. That this hope is what will remain, and continue. That he who said that "the world will not end in a bang, but a whimper" was absolutely wrong.

But.

Is it really so easy to find an "old love"? The one that is older than the body and as old as this soul? I leave this thought here, to search for a ray of hope and bring it to me, one day - someday.

The 'driving' force

A sister-in-law sent this photograph to me last week. Yes, that is me, 6 years old, on an uncle's scooter back in NB. I still remember how I used to visit these neighbours almost every day, stand on the scooter and pretend that I could drive it. This was back in the early 90's, when there was no searching of imaginary characters on the mobile, or crushing candies in a virtual world, or teenagers - in general - did not have the money or permission to party till late at night and get drunk and kill each other. This was a time when even an extra pencil, a surprise chocolate, a Nonte-Fonte comic book were the luxuries we looked forward to.

But this post is not to reminisce about being an early 90's kid, neither about the pros and cons of allowing too much to the kids these days. This post is about finding an old dream, hidden somewhere behind the shelves of deconstructionism, post colonialism, feminism, and intellectualism. This was a dream I had since I was literally a child. I wanted to learn to drive.

the sudden reminder of this dream has somehow brought back a realization to me - that all that we want to do now are probably rooted in something we have always wanted to do. Though I can not remember for how long I have been wanting to learn driving, this photograph is just a reminder that I have actually wanted to do this for longer than I can remember. And this is, for some reason, a very strange realization for me.

If you are an observant female, then it is probably not new to you that women are ridiculed for their driving skills every where. That they are slow on the road, slow to take decisions whether to take a right or a left turn, slow to park or that cannot parallel park, and so on. The feminist in me has wanted to break all such notions, and show that it's not the gender that is bad in the task, but the pressure of certain expectations on the gender that make them do so. Why, women are supposed to be gentle and polite, soft and kind, submissive and understanding. And who does not know the the roads are unforgiving and do not care whether it's a man or a woman driving? Then if we prepare our girls to be submissive and want them to follow their gender roles, how can we blame them for being non-aggressive drivers? And don't the men raise their eyebrows half-a-mile if there is a woman on the road driving something 'manly' as an XUV?

But what I realized when I saw this photograph is that these aspirations and ambitions have been in me since long, much before I was aware of these hypocrisies and gender roles. And this is a relief to me, that my dreams and hopes and aspirations are not a product of the society. Rather, I have had them all along, and now I simply have a better reason to follow them.

The new old-fashioned one

"...and love, so wrought,  
May be unwrought so. "
                             - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

It was just a couple of weeks back that I was teaching the poem to a class of 16-year-olds, where it took me sometime to explain the historical background of the poem, how Victorian women had so freedom of speech or expression, even basic education was not available to most and how looking after the household and giving birth to healthy heir to the family legacy was the only criteria sought after. Living in those times, it must have taken a great deal of courage on E.B.Browning's part to write a poem where she asks, rather demands, to be loved for who she "is" and not what she looks like or what qualities she had. But didn't it take a lot of her husband's encouragement and support to come out and write. And not to forget that she was whhelchair-bound, which must have been enough to ignore her completely in the "marriage market".

2016. It still takes fair skin, slim figure, sharp features and convent education to make oneself valuable in the "marriage market". And if someone even dares to look beyond this, it still takes a soothing voice, or gentle manner, or matching the wave length, to fall in love. And so I began the post with the quote -
                                                         "...and love, so wrought,
                                                          May be unwrought so. "
Can we not love a person just for the person that he is? Not because he is your brother, or father, or husband. Not because she is your sister, or mother, or wife? What if none of these or any relation whatsoever fits the bill? What if it's just a person you've known, and you've come to respect and care for, just for the person that he or  she is? Not because she has been your childhood friend, or he has been your rakhi-brother.

Even while writing this, I feel it might be a Utopian idea, because who has the time to love for love's sake? These days, we don't want to go to the market to shop, so we choose the various online websites. We don't visit each other any more, because it takes time. So we update our "memories" on Facebook and Whatsapp each other in groups, rather than meeting in person. Yes, the barrier of states and countries is there, but it was still there a couple of decades ago. Our parents would still write letters and visit friends and relatives. They would still take a bus or a taxi to visit Gariahat or New Market for puja shopping.

So, am I being old-fashioned? I haven't really given it a thought. And all this thought is definitely triggered by my husband, who is a self-proclaimed "old-fashioned man". May be sometimes it's better to be old fashioned than being too knowledgeable. It's sometimes better to know less than to know more. And probably it's sometimes better to hold on to one's dignity and conscience than to just 'let it go'.

Game of Thrones - in real life

When you've remained protected from all sorts of storms all your life; no matter what the situations, you've been saved by your family members - though not really pampered or spoilt - but simply "protected" because they've faced the storms and have known that when your time comes no one will be able to fight your wars for you - that's when you know that it's finally your war that you have to fight.

Don't let the introduction make you believe that life is all thorns and no roses at all, because we all have our fair share of darkness and light. It's simply that when you are all on your own, all by yourself, you will find out - one mistake after the other - how you can survive the "game of thrones". Well, believe it or not, in real life as well, it is a sort of game of thrones, where everyone is trying to get their own motive fulfilled and keep their loved ones safe. Some of us are the loyal friends, who would go to any extent to save a stupid person who does not realize what's good for them. and some of us are so tied within the "bonds" of the family that they cannot see an inch beyond that limited space. Then there is the outcast who, contrary to everyone's expectations shines as the underdog, and though really deserves to come out as the champion, but in reality probably just dies an ignominious death. Only sometimes, rarely actually, do we come across the born leader, true champion of the goodness in mankind and benevolent conqueror, who conquers not just for the self but also for the people. It is in such cases, when the leader, the Mhysa, comes out of the protection and learns to fight her own battle. And whether or not she wins it remains a secondary question, for just watching her fight is a sheer pleasure in itself.

And why am I exactly bringing out so many Game Of Thrones analogies? Not only because I'm suffering from a post-Season6 hangover, but also because I find inspiration in her character. The ability to have faith in her conviction, take diplomatic decisions when and where required, have her focus undeterred and not shying away from accepting help and counsel from the deserved - one of her well-spoken lines are spoken in reply to "All men must die" as "But we are not 'men'..."

Even if I do not go deep into the troubles faced by a girl/woman in her everyday life, we are experienced enough to understand our own struggles and I hope compassionate enough to empathize with the fellow girls/women. And in such situations, a combination of Tyrion's diplomacy and wit along with Daenerys's confidence comes to the rescue. In such times, when it takes a lot to keep one's head from exploding do we need to remember that it does not help to challenge a giant as Prince Oberyn did or face the powerful enemy headlong like Ned Stark. Sometimes, one needs to bend temporarily to be able to survive permanently. And though such advice or musings may seem diplomatic and probably complicated to some, will anyone deny it - placing their hands on their hearts - that they do not follow this, not even once, not even a little? It's easy to judge. It's tough to face.

Comfortable

How about you start reading this post by not reading my personal views, but answering some very short questions? How about, do you like to eat alone at home or at restaurants? Or, do you like to watch movies alone at theaters? Or, do you like to take long walks or destination-less bus rides al by yourself?

If the answers to the above-mentioned questions are in the affirmative, and you are ‘single’, then it’s a pretty common habit that you have. And even if the answers are in the negative, the society is not realy going to bash you up for wanting human company. However, if you are engaged or married, and yet you enjoy your own company, there are chances that sooner or later, you’ll be termed ‘selfish’, ‘loner’, ‘strange’ or even ‘abnormal’.

I enjoy a lone meal, may be at KFC or Domino’s or even a restaurant. I don’t feel guilty having a long walk with a cup of ice-cream or frozen yogurt and wondering about the workings of the world. And I definitely don’t mind travelling by myself, even if it’s for the first time and it’s a long journey. It doesn’t always have to be the company of headphones to avoid unnecessary conversations. I can simply look out of the window and be lost in a different world.

But is this behaviour accepted? Once, I had heard a gentleman commenting about youngsters listening to music on their journey saying that if you are out in the world, you need to interact with the people and not hide yourself behind the headphones. I was too young to protest back then. But today, I would like to pose a question – Why should everybody have the same personality or attitude towards the world and interaction with it? It may so be that I am out in the world as a compulsion, and would very much like to sit back at home and read a few pages from n old, torn book. It may so also be that I enjoy my own company in such a manner that I don’t need anybody else to enjoy a good meal, or a good movie. I would rather watch a good movie separately and then discuss with someone interested about it, than gather people to watch a movie I am interested in but just afraid “What would people say!” if I go alone.

Also, why is it a ‘crime’ to be fluent and well-versed and comfortable in a different language than your mother tongue? Does it only signify how snobbish you are? Or can it also mean that your medium of instruction has been different and you are simply mean that you are more interested in the beauty of a particular language, without demeaning any other language of the world?

Why are we so quick to judge? Why are we hell-bent on believing and arguing and proving that what we know and believe is the only correct way? Why can’t it be an open-forum discussion? Why does always have to be a win or lose situation?