Individual Milestones

It's nice to be appreciated once in a while for what one does everyday on a regular basis, without stopping to consider exactly what one gets in return except for the mandatory monetary benefits. Immediate case in mind : K, who turned up on Tue afternoon, with a huge white carnation in his hand and a huger smile on his face. Now although he's the sort of husband who does like to surprise me once in a while by doing the very unexpected of things (good ones, fortunately), a weekday isn't really the time it'd occur to him to do anything of the sort. The most he'd rise to would be to say, "Let's cook some really spicy stuffed baingan masala" or "Let's go over to the Shindes' place for a chat or call them over" when he's not particularly bogged down by the burden of mainframes jobs. So I naturally wondered about the source of this floral extravaganza. He must have been more than a little ecstatic about it, for without even pausing for my volley of questions (now that's a rarity, I assure you), he pulled out a small piece of paper from his fluorescent green backpack and proceeded to wave it tantalisingly before my eyes. The typical Gemini I am, I didn't need any more foreplay (oops !) : I grabbed it. It was from one of the HR personnel from his office and was a simple acknowledgement of the efforts he put into earning his daily bread selflessly (it wasn't that dramatic really). You can have a look at the two for yourself, since I strongly subscribe to the school that believes in pictures speaking louder than words (although that doesn't deter me from using lots of them on a daily basis !):




I insisted on playing the role of a proud wife that day, despite K's assuring me that everyone had received the same set of things from the HR, and some had received pink and even red flowers. I told him that I didn't care, I insisted on treating it as an individual triumph.

Talking of individualism, I wonder why Rituparno Ghosh took so long to come out of the closet. Everyone's known about his alternative sexuality for years and for heaven's sake, it's as personal a preference as one's favourite colours or beverage or restaurant. Freud, himself a doctor and therefore a man of solid common sense, opined :

"There is nothing shameful in homosexuality, it is not a vice or humiliation, it cannot be treated as a disease, we count it to be a variety of the sexual function…"

If the conservative Kolkata crowd can turn up in the most bizarre of costumes (the grotesque Ascot hats, for instance) at the Statesman vintage car show annually, then I really don't see why the former couldn't summon up courage earlier to dress the way he wanted to. It's his recent revamping that's causing the gossip and exchange of looks, not the actuality of the thing itself. For those who have absolutely no idea what on earth I'm referring to, here are a couple of illustrations (the first one's from the Star Screen Awards Red Carpet 2009 and the latter from today's TOI, featuring numerous celebrities who turned up to exercise their right to vote):

Having titled this post thus, I am a bit hesitant about introducing the topic of my recently been re-diagnosed with hypothyroidism, since I always protest against being bracketed with those hypochondriacs who treat diseases or illnesses as individual success stories, as if remaining perfectly fit were not more of a merit in the contemporary world. I've not been too traumatised by the blood test finds, since I've been battling with the separately small but cumulatively nightmarish symptoms of this medical condition since I was in class VI, approximately 15 years now. I had always been taking synthetic thyroxine (marketed as Eltroxin in India) to keep my metabolism as close to the clinically normal as possible. My grieving parents were informed by our family endocrinologist that it was a condition that usually operated in cycles, waxing and waning, but it almost never disappeared. However, although most people dismiss it as not being as critical or dangerous as say, typhoid or malaria or pneumonia, it's the slow sapping of the abilities that you take for granted on an everyday basis that makes it a more potentially draining and even daunting one. It would account for things that had recently assumed seriously intimidating proportions in my daily routine :

Depression

Memory lapses

Constant fatigue and drowsiness

Cloudy thinking

Puffy face

Intolerance to cold

Muscle aches and pains

Constipation of an extreme nature

Excessively dry skin

Weight gain and difficulty losing weight

Heavy menstrual cycles

That's quite a list, I'm sure you'd concede. Believe me, I'm glad to be back on medication. It's not easy to cope with such a variety of symptoms when you're only in your late twenties and have most of your life ahead of you. It's not a nice feeling when everyone around you dismisses you as a mere hypochondriac.

James : The Singer

The pain, the angst, the fervour, the ardour, the poetry, the music, the symbolism, the sensuality, the fever, the passion, the beauty of it all....it's ironic that I had to listen to 'Bheegi bheegi' (Gangster), 'Alvida' (Metro) and 'Rishtey' (Metro) to assess his range and worth as a singer . I owe you a big thank you, K, for re-introducing me to James !




God forbid though, that I'd ever have to experience what this felt like, in reality.

K means the world to me. I'm incomplete without him.

Anniversary gifts

A Nikon CoolPix S550 :

For those interested, technical details are available at
http://imaging.nikon.com/products/imaging/lineup/digitalcamera/coolpix/s550/index.htm

Card & Chocolates :



Am so in a state of bliss :-)

And this is my gift to K, not as expensive, but with a whole lot of energy and enthusiasm underlying it all, not to forget the effort !

Muffler :

Well ?

V-Day etcetera

I'm still to recover from the surprise gift showers on our Registry Anniversary and V-Day...I just have to admit it : K took me totally by surprise !


Registry Anniversary gift (leather-suede tote bag):


V-Day gifts (Russell Stover chocolates, perfume, hairbrush) :

Although poor K had to go to office on V-Day, we made up for it with a sumptuous dinner at Shalimar, Edison (biriyani and the works), along with Madhav & Shilpa...

That reminds me, the mithai counter at Shalimar was a visual delight. Check it out :

Shilpa and I drooled over the confectionery almost to the extent the boys did over the goat curry !

Reminiscing Marriage

On the 28th of Feb, 2009, it shall be a year since we've exchanged vows to love, cherish and respect each other. When I reflect on the marriage rituals, I realise they really didn't imply much then (I cursed myself for prefering Hindi to Sanskrit as Third Language at school), although I recall being extremely alert during the whole process, trying to participate consciously in everything pertaining to it. My mind has rarely been so active and vigilant, not only noticing whether every single person who wanted but was wary of trying to draw my attention (since I was 'busy' getting married) was being accorded the necessary polite responses but also objectively attempting to comprehend the meaning of all actions that K and I were being asked by the priest to perform. I've often heard other brides recalling how their marriage passed in a trancelike state, their beings half-caught up in the wonder of it all. So it's surprising when I consider my extreme and even heightened awareness of the prolonged period of marriage that drew forth from my innermost recesses every shade of emotion known to existence. It was, without doubt, the most eventful phase of my life till then.

I might have struck terror in the heart of my limited number of readers with this sombre start. Fine. Let's move on to lighter episodes !

Some of the actual events of my marriage itself might perhaps interest readers of this obscurely narcissistic blog : (please click on photos to view enlarged versions)

For instance, how the bride sat down to her 'aiburobhaat' almost ravenous, a victim of what my male parent diagnosed as 'nervous diarrhoea', and eyed the lavish spread mournfully, finally eating a miniscule amount of it in the form of shukto-bhaat-payesh, while the maachh, the alubhaja and begunbhaja, the mooger daal, the chatni, mishti and the doi remained unscathed. And almost unfed throughout the next day, except the regulation ritual chnire-shondesh early in the morning. That naturally resulted in an extreme distaste on my part for anything edible late at midnight, after almost every guest had been bidden farewell and the immediate family sat down to the remains of the catered dinner.

Two days later, that extreme metabolic dysfunction precipitated horror on the face of the parlour personnel who were to 'make up' my person for the reception. Apparently, every single time they applied a layer of foundation and sprayed water over it to give it hold, my skin absorbed the water lightning-fast, telltale signs of extreme dehydration. Chumki Boudi finally handed me a bottle of glucose water and loomed large over me until I surrendered and downed the entire draught in one quick gulp. I still can't believe I received so many basketfuls of compliments relating to my beauty and poise at the event. I must have done much to prevent myself from looking visibly mystified.

Talking of make up, K had to spent a considerable part of his phuloshojya night patiently plucking hairpins from my hair. He un-haired almost 80. After applying hairspray to the entire hair, all possible paraphernalia and accessories had been employed to shape it into a retro updo. Apparently my hairspa sessions had done such wonders for the quality of the hair that its being so smooth and silky impaired all efforts to style it without the aid of chemical products designed to give it hold. Every female guest expended considerable energy and enthusiasm on hailing my hairdo. Poor K however was evidently at the receiving end. I spent an hour the morning after the reception in the shower, shampooing out all the mess and valiantly trying to retrieve what would have once been my hair.

There were too few people left to occasion a memorable bashor raat. Dhrubo, Babai, Bumba were the brave few that were determined to see it through, all the same. Most of my friends left for their respective residences, citing work next day. To be fair, one can't expect to have much fun if one insists on getting married on a Thursday. The bleak scenario dissuaded us from testing the patience of the worthy bystanders. We dispatched them summarily. The rest of the night was spent by K and Appa Dada at our Salt Lake residence, warding off the assaults (quite literally) of my worthy sibling and mamato cousin, Mohua, who refused to return his wallet, watch and mobile until he made a verbal commitment to gift (!) them a considerable amount for their trying to engage us all in a productive bashor. (Shudder.) Appa dada was dismissed as a traitor for attempting to side with the poor, solitary bridegroom, despite being the bride's cousin.
This rigmarole, it seems, had lasted till 3.30 pm, when everyone submitted to a state of deadlock. The exhausted bride, btw, had been fast asleep since 2.30 pm. Several were left wondering at the bridegroom's acidity (literally and medically) next morning. The bride's father, a doctor, fortunately resolved the problem in time with some medicine. Mitu began to cry so much in anticipation of my departure that K, downright scared, promptly handed over 3K to pacify her. Unfortunately, she persevered.

The bride hardly shed any tears at the bidaai. This unprecedented proof of heartlessness secretly owed much to the bridegroom, who had earlier expressed his extreme fear of being made to feel like an abductionist on the aforementioned occasion. The anticlimax came much later, when he actually enquired of the bride what had caused her lachrymal ducts to dry up so unexpectedly. He hasn't heard the end of that, ever since.




I was supposed to be exhausted after the whole marriage event and encouraged by my in-laws to retire early on kaal raatri, so that I would feel quite myself on the day of the reception. I shared a bed with Titai (my beloved sister-in-law) and Muniya, a friend, and we exhanged the raunchiest anecdotes we knew of till about 2 am, several times nearly rolling off the bed with laughter. So much for the cause of slumber.

Poor K was accused of stealing longing looks in my direction everytime his eyes happened to be in any direction except straight. Indignant, he left for Titai-Abir's place, a 10 mins' walk from our place, to spend kal raatri . Apparently he and Abir shared a bed. I don't think that contributed much to Titai and the latter's marital felicity. I myself overheard Abir grumbling at the injustice of it all. After all, it was only 3 months that they had been married. One couldn't possibly find fault with his wanting to share his bedroom only with his wife.

There are several such small and funny incidents related to our marriage. More of that some other day. I myself am too tickled at this moment to continue, even if you insist.

Somerville Photos

Armed with K's anniversary gift, a beautiful plum coloured Nikon Coolpix S550, I've been doing the rounds of the locality of Somerville, capturing memorabilia :

Please click on the photos to view their enlarged versions :

A Costume Shop on West Main Street :

An antiques shop on West Main Street :

Dunkin N Donuts : American counterpart of CCD

Alfonso's- the best local pizzeria, downtown Somerville :

Somerville Public Library :




Somerville Town Hall :

Somerset County Administrative Building :

First Reformist Church :

Methodist Church :

United Reformist Church, West Main Street :

Baptist Church :





Stained glass window panel on church tower :

Historic County Court House :

Senior Citizens' Housing :

An Interesting House Nearby:

West Main Street :



East Main Street :

Spinning Yarns

I learned knitting way back in school, in MHS, in class VII. I remember picking up the nuances of the craft quite easily and enthusiastically. A little too enthusiastic perhaps. We were all asked to knit a set of clothes for a newborn baby, as per instructions, to create a sleeveless woollen vest (the sleeveless part has always struck me as absurd), a bonnet and a pair of booties (socks). Mine eventually translated into one that when cheerfully displayed to our needlework teacher, Mrs Srivastav, struck her speechless with amusement. After her recovery from a bout of inane toothing, she managed a benign grin and said she was quite pleased with my performance but I needn't really have exerted myself to such an extent. Apparently, my creations were big enough to apparel a six-month old baby quite effortlessly. I packed my bags after the class, hurling imprecations against the world in general for not having offered me any opportunity to develop the slightest idea of the relative difference in size between a newborn and a six-month old baby. No wonder Siddhant struck me as miniscule in terms of magnitude a few months back.


There was a particular reason for my disgust. Salt Lake was almost an island in those days, in terms of transportation options. It did not help that my father is a doctor by profession, too busy to lavish much attention on our arts-and-crafts-related (and therefore entirely optional and futile, according to him) needs. Ma, though extremely street-smart and intelligent, was only courageous enough to venture bravely into the New Market shopping territory. Salt Lake itself suffered from a gigantic dearth of shopping destinations. Hence, procuring all needlework etc related raw materials was really an issue of sorts. After several sharp reprimands in needlework classes for my failure to produce the necessary knitting paraphernalia, I ultimately effected a showdown back home, threatening to boycott education until my needlework needs were taken seriously. Results were prompt. After considerable gnashing of teeth and directing of choice expletives against my hallowed academic environs, Baba took a trip to Gauranga Bastralaya in Gariahat and returned with wool in the brightest, gaudiest shade of chrome yellow imaginable. Even now I shudder when I care to imagine any newborn or even six-months' old baby being attired in clothes of that colour. I wouldn't want this type of misfortune to befall even the child of my worst detractor.


Well. That is my point. Baba excused his colour-blindness by citing the inability to procure so many yarns of such a ply simultaneously at the aforementioned store except in this garish hue. Mrs Srivastav's matter-of-factness therefore had every potential of triggering off any latent hysteria in me. To undergo such histrionics for all that knitting and then its being considered as superfluous. Well, no wonder I've been short tempered since.


Why return to knitting at such a belated stage of life, you're obviously wondering, when it's evident I've unresolved neuroses regarding this area in my unconscious. Turns out Tanima inspired me to re-tread dreaded territory with a very sacred purpose to fulfil this time. Namely, a muffler for K. I wished to gift him something that incorporated my signature and which, he would therefore, treasure for years to come. Maybe he'd show it to our children some day with a glow in his eye, reflecting all the warmth that it bestowed on him and the sense of his worth it distilled. So, though with quite some trepidation, I did buy some wool at Walmart and left him to shortlist the multicoloured yarn he wanted spun into a muffler. It wasn't the typical Libran indecision that he battled this time. The place does offer you exquisite colour combinations and left to me, I might have ended up purchasing more than what figured on my initial agenda. I called up Tanima and verified that I was getting the right raw materials. The needles did scare me a bit, being miles long (not literally, silly) and of Christmas tree ball hues: gold, purple and deep blue. I settled on purple (predictably).


On Monday, after K left for office, I downloaded a couple of DIY (Do It Yourself) knitting videos on YouTube and set about charging my knitting batteries. It took me a day to gain courage and finally embark on the decided project. When I did, I don't mind confessing that I had to unravel the entire thing thrice. The first time, I took too many stitches and then realised that I wanted a muffler, not a shawl. The second mishap was occasioned by my discovery that I was not doing the 'purl' correctly, forgetting to bring the yarn towards the front every time I changed from 'knit' to 'purl'. The third (and fortunately the final) setback was owing to my flipping through a couple of webpages and determining that what I actually wanted was the ribbed look for the muffler. Happily, I still had enough motivation to allow me to proceed. Even after all these unhappy incidents. Only goes to show how badly I wanted to get this gift going. For our sake.


Here's how it looks at this moment. Wish me luck (and no more mishaps) with the rest of it !



P.S. Here is the link to the 2 knitting videos that caused me to sally forth on this voyage, in case you too are stranded in deep waters and need immediate aid.

Btw, I discovered I'm not alone in knitting related fears. Check out this one, if you don't believe me.

Blueberry Vanilla Cake

My latest concoction...specially for K, who adores blueberry muffins...I thought, ok, I'd bake him a whole cake with blueberries in it. He's elated, naturally.

Every ounce of credit for the recipe goes to Moumita, who also inspired confidence in a very cooking-diffident me, to go right ahead and embark on the adventure that is baking. She was always on the phone to provide any other advice, suggestions or solutions throughout the experimental endeavour.

A great big thanks to Tanima, who told me to simply 'go for it' and also helped me out with another recipe and a photo from far-off Calgary (Canada), so that I would receive some visual motivation too !

For friends and family (just to name a few : Rashi, Abir, Priyanka, Banu & Debarati, Bor-Di) drooling over the photo at home, not to worry. I'll bake you all the cakes you want, in any flavour you desire, the moment I'm back. Ok well, not the moment perhaps, literally. But as soon as I finish unpacking !

Holidaying, our style

Spent Christmas in Washington DC. Rented a black Chevrolet-Cobalt and started out at 7 am sharp, Christmas Day, at daybreak. Reached Somerset uneventfully half-an-hour later. When we next took off, it was a full house (passengerwise and luggagewise !). Stopped for breakfast about an hour later, where the boys (Sabya Da and K) had coffee and cookies while Moumita & I settled for just the food part. Unexpectedly cheerful weather with lots of sunshine, a blue sky (a rare event nowadays) and beautiful cloud patterns high up above, looking like a customised ceiling. Quite a few toll booths and phone-calls-back-home-along-the-way (Moumita with Chaitali Di and us with the folks all assembled at Papi's place for the annual Christmas bash), drove into the parking lot of the Greenbelt, Maryland Holiday Inn, where we had one night's reservation. The usual ruckus centred on check-in time officially being an hour later at noon and our ( the boys' actually, we were busy checking out the Christmas decorations in the lobby and snapping away to glory) determination to pre-pone our entry, by hook or by crook.

Rising costs and real fun

Brookside Gardens has decided to introduce separate heat inflow and water outflow meters in each of our apartments. This means that they have very considerately decided to not increase the monthly rent for the following year but burden us with excess expenses instead, depending on how hot/cold a climate we'd rather live in and how wisely we'd be utilising one of the world's most precious natural resources. They cite increasing utility costs on their front as justification. Rubbish. All they want to make is more money out of their tenants. But they do reserve the right to introduce new and alter old clauses in our 13-month apartment lease (why on earth did we agree on such a long one !) and so all we can do is grumble and sulk. And of course shell out more money at the end of each month. Damn.


Anyway, thanks to the notice we received from them informing us of little or no water availability from 8am to 6pm from the 10th to the 16th, we had to reschedule our daily routine, getting up at a painfully early 7 am and going to bed with babies at 10 pm. Hummmmph. It also meant doing bizarre things like taking a bath at 7.10 am, going back to bed at 8.30 am (after K left for office) and filling all available juice bottles and the bath to the brim with storage water for emergencies. No wonder I wasn't in the creative mood for quite a few days. The most annoying bit was that the plumbing lot (doing the water meter set-up) decided to turn up on the very last of the allotted days. Naturally, just my luck. The good part was that K had come home around lunch, feeling feverish. So I could take a nap while he supervised the maintenance guys. Not that they seemed to be waiting to take orders, trampling all over our freshly vacuumed floors and carpet in the very shoes they must have traversed numerous restrooms in. Eww. Gross. I think I'll do another round of vacuuming before we return the apparatus to the Shindes.


Returning to the former weekend. Friday evening was spent at Walmart, where we bought new beige-grey floor mats for the car besides a small pack of 200 buttons (in every shade you can think of) and a set of 24 spools of thread (rainbow hues) and three needles, each of the two costing just 88 cents. Also did some gift shopping, consisting of a beautiful set of bath toiletries in lavender (my favourite fragrance) for Moumita's b'day (long overdue, as it had been on 27th Nov) and a make up accessories set for Mitu. K had developed a crick at the waist (God knows how he managed so much activity at office) and was groaning and moaning in pain, but was extremely generous and waited for me on a seat in the ladies' shoes section while I tried on some of the cuts that appealed to me. My sincere efforts to discourage him, saying that it wasn't an emergency purchase, gave way before he insistence. I suppose he too (like me) is tired of seeing me wear everything (trousers and jeans at the moment) with a single pair of white sneakers. I was so glad that there are so many beautiful designs in my own size. It is tough to find any decent design in my own size in any good shoe shop in India. I always end up frustrated, hurling expletives at the genetic map that has endowed me with my big feet. After trying on three new cuts in my favourite neutrals (grey, beige grey and navy), we decided to look in the boots section. I love boots but don't want to buy something that won't be of much practical utility in the tropical climate when we return (oh, don't worry, my shoes do take a long time to wear out) and so, K and I hunted for something that would fall somewhere between an ankle boot and a pump. We found the perfect pair in a beautiful dark tan. The name of the model is 'Shani' (bizarre, to say the least) and it's a (gasp) size 11. Well, 10 was a wee bit tight and so I decided to not take chances. Here it is :


I helped K with dinner preparations after we finally arrived home. K did an excellent chicken curry (attested to by the currently much commented on photo of K in my orkut album) and we had rice instead of ruti while watching 'Major Saab'. Aaaah, nothing as good as our traditional mangsho bhaat.

Spent the entire Sat morning helping K to vacuum the place with the help of the Shindes' vacuum cleaner, which is weirdly different from the Eureka Forbes vacuum cleaner I've been used to all my life. The latter was a compact horizontal apparatus in a dirty chrome yellow and beige and I was glad that it was Baba who did the vacuuming most of the time, since I have a colour fetish and can't function when objects and accessories around me aren't my colour. Mamoni has got the hang of it by now but the rest of the world probably hasn't. It's a skeleton in my cupboard, if you will. But let's not meander. The Shindes' machine is vertically structured and an understated red and black (photo below). No wonder I was disappointed that I wasn' t the person allowed to do the vacuuming (to be honest, I was talking nineteen to the dozen with Titai and didn't even notice that K had begun !). But I did at least prove useful with moving things around and re-placing them after K was done with the whishing and whooshing. We both felt rejuvenated after the whole process, believe me, for some obscure reason, it actually felt cathartic.

Took a short nap after watching half of 'Dhonyi Meye' on the laptop while blowdrying our hair (did it for K too, who was amazed at all the extra hair he seemed to have developed at the end of the session, provoking much mirth in me). Had to go to Walgreens around 6.30 pm to replace a large plastic container that used to do double duty as the flour bowl and the marinade tray. Found one slightly smaller but almost a replica of the former. Then did a tour of the locality, taking photos of Christmas decorations for the folks at home. Almost froze to death at Adamsville, where my passion for photography took precedence over my sense of numb fingers and a bare head. An early dinner with shorshe begun followed by the online form submission for my EAD did wonders in warming up the body and cheering the spirit.

Sunday morning, following breakfast, was a mad scramble to complete preparations for the cooking of lunch (K did all the cooking eventually, helped by my cutting and washing and getting the ingredients ready) amidst Skype-chatting with Ma-Baba-Mitu, giving them a virtual tour of the entire apartment via webcam and feeding instructions to the GPS for our afternoon destination, the Regal Commerce Center 18 in North Brunswick. We managed to turn up late for the 2.20pm show, thanks to my misreading GPS instructions and consequently missing turns at two consecutive points (it was my first day after all) but luckily made it with enough time in hand for the 2.55 pm (which thank goodness, also offered low ticket prices at $8 each).

'Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi' being a Hindi film, one can make a good guess at the nature of the audience that day. They turned up in true desi style, late, the fat people armed with more fat (disguised as popcorn and colas) treading on exposed toes at the last moment and sharing the most eventful details of their rock-star lives into the opening credits for a good 5-7 mins. Until King Khan appeared. Then there was pindrop silence. As if someone had just silently ordered everyone to stand at attention.

It was a totally-feel-good knockout slick commercial package that clicked. Quality acting, excellent Salim-Suleiman music, a fresh female face with a figure-to-die-for and that surpassed by her being a miracle of a model who could act and act well too, at that. Kajol (a classic, gasp, wow, with still that figure !)-Bipasha (understated and charming)-Lara (sultry seductress)- Preity (pretty-as-a-picture)-Rani (disco diva) guest appearances, witty dialogues, a strong sidekick in the form of Vinay Pathak (capitalising on the critical appreciation of 'Dasvidaniyan') bringing the house down with a paisa vasool Bobby-the-faithful-hairdresser-friend-with-outrageous-hair-and-role, colourful cinematography and a simple plot with excellent handling did wonders for us all. Down to the toddler who insisted on changing his seat at the climax and forcing his poor harassed father to sit on the stairs between the aisles and watch the last few minutes there with him. The four of us (esp Moumita and I) laughed helplessly throughout and I cried twice, which means that it was a hit for me, at least. That included crying at the sight of the Golden Temple and the beautiful natural landscapes of Punjab, which all of a sudden aroused an intense sense of nostalgia within me. If it wasn't due to Moumita's wonderful collection of snacks (including a deliciously fluffy homemade cake and scrumptious kima patties), I might have been a soggy heap of tissues at the end of the day. However I cheered up enough to negotiate GPS directions more successfully this time, reach home by 8pm and turn in by 11 pm after watching the rest of 'Dhonyi Meye', which proved great fun. K had enjoyed it enough to voluntarily call up Sushmit and give him his impression of the entire experience. We are already making plans for a Christmas excursion with the Maitis. The only unpleasant part was K's persistent complaints of feverishness, which did actually result in his feeling queasy enough to work from home half of Mon and the entire Tue.

P.S : This is for the dance-challenged, who like me, just can't get enough of the song 'Dance Pe Chance'. With lyrics like these (and a dance instructor like Anoushka for the guys), we too might possibly have the chance to achieve stardom !

Weekend hangover

K greeted Fri evening with a heartfelt "TGIF" ! I amended that to TGIFF. Thank God It's Finally Friday. Can't really blame either of us for feeling that way. For him, it's been an exceptionally long week due to not the number of hours he's been putting in at his Piscataway office, but the sheer intensity of the work itself plus all the stress and anxiety that come as an unwonted package deal with it. As for me, spending most of my waking hours at home (and in the virtual world), I can't distinguish most week days from each other, except a Mon by K's long groans and moans prior to slipping on his formal shoes and Fri by the smile that replaces his usually nonchalant expression, a smile that broadens remarkably as the weekend approaches and starts waning predictably, Sun evening onwards.


K's office registered an unpleasant aberration from its usually monotonous routine this week. He came hom early on Tue afternoon, explaining that there had been a leak in their water pipes at Boundbrook. That ended up in a massive shortage of drinking and running water, necessitating that their canteen be shut down too. I was glad about the unexpected company at home (to think I'm saying this about my own husband gives an idea of how lonely I must usually feel at home) and made the most of it of course in terms of well, you know. Shouldn't have to elaborate on everything in life. One should a little leave something to the reader's imagination as well ! LOL. Anyway, my good fortune proved to be quite shortlived (as usual). K was back at office next day although he had a hard time along with others, trying to cope with purchases of miniscule bottles of drinking water. For 8 hours. The HR hadn't bothered to email employees about the still unresolved water crisis. Needless to say, he went to school...er, office...armed with a huge water bottle the next day.


Dinner on Fri night (when we finally managed to find enough will power to resist inertia of rest) consisted of mix-and-match (K has inherited Mamoni's culinary genes after all, it seems !). The previous day's leftover rajma curry with that day's mixed veg khichuri and fish fries. Dinner was fun as we ate while watching 'Ratatouille'. I'd somehow never managed to get around to watching it earlier on. Quality animation and novelty of storyline plus lots of witty dialogues. A combination that defintely worked for us. I was logged on to Skype and thought I'd heard a missed call. It was from Rony. Tried to call back but he seemed to be offline after that. Caused a bit of confusion as I couldn't make out whether it had been a test call or a missed one.


Saturday saw the Mukherjees (us, silly) getting up at dawn (9 am) and eating the shortcut breakfast. Soup and toast. Soup sounded fancy, 'chicken with wild long grained rice'. Tasted just about ok. Experimentation doesn't always work, I realised ruefully. Breakfast over, I went for a bath while K called home. We had missed the 1st wedding anniversary celebrations of Titai & Abir, my nonod and nondai although we did call up to wish them on 21st Nov, the red letter day. But somehow, hearing lots of cheerful voices in the background coupled with the info that Mamoni-Bapi were there besides several of the couple's relatives and friends alongside Rimjhim and quite a few other of Abir's actor colleagues from the mega-serial 'Khnuje Byarai Kachher Manush' while we were missing out on all the fun hadn't done much to console us for our stay here. Talking to Mamoni and Bapi somehow partly made up for all that as they were unusually eloquent (especially Bapi) and managed to provide a lot of fun bits & pieces and scatter considerable local colour on the persons concerned. Titai was elated at her anniversary gift from Abir, a pair of diamond earrings (especially as she had demanded it as a reward for tolerating his persistent presence for a whole year) and Abir proved to be quite satisfied with his gifts too, a watch and a pair of branded trackpants. Mamoni and Bapi had proved quite uneventful and predictable in their choice of gifts, clothes (Titai's candour will definitely be her undoing some day, LOL). Bapi had been quite upset at Mamoni's not wearing the costume jewellery he had got her on their anniversary to Abir-Titai's party although she did don the Bomkai that had also been his tribute to their 31 years tempestuous years together. He finally relented when she showed him that pink jewellery did not go with a maroon saree (I thought Bapi had already conceded before family members that the light in the saree cum jewellery showroom hadn't been strong enough to distinguish nuances of colour) and so they had better let the matter rest. Abir had decked up at the party in Rimjhim's gift, a nagra, and Ma-Baba's gift to him (which had been part of our post-marriage pujor totwo) this year pujo, a white panjabi.



Anyway, after that, it was time for our round of groceries. The fridge had worn a very miserable look for the last week or so as we had exhausted our stock of 'fresh' as well as frozen vegetables and had been living off rajma, pindi chana, various types of pulses and lentils and soyabean for the last week. Witness to K coming home after a hectic day at work and looking too tired to take the car (and me) out again after that, I didn't have the heart to push him too hard. This time though, we didn't buy too many veggies and fruits since we would be leaving for Atlanta early Thu morning and so it would be rather a waste of time and energy at the moment. So we just bought relatively reduced quantities of most of the usual stuff like soup, granola bars, garlic bread, cookies, juice, bread buns, chicken, cheese etc. In fact, we did buy a couple of new things this time instead. That includes a jar of honey mustard dressing, a packet of vegetable chips, a large pack of chicken patties (for sandwiches) and a box of blueberry muffins. There was also a packet of pre-cooked shrimp this time for Madhav, K's colleague, whom we had invited to dinner the next day, disguising it as his unofficial 'aiburobhaat'. Poor fellow, he's soon to be a martyr to the cause of marriage. So you are allowed to interpret this as our attempt to cheer him up on the (un)happy occasion and prepare him for the prodigious quantities of food he would in any case have to be mentally prepared to consume at all occasions appertaining thereunto, back in India.



The major part of the next day was spent cooking. The menu planned ran thus : Fried rice, paneer butter masala, chicken masala, chingri malai curry, tomato-raisin-cranberry chutney. K plumped for the shrimp and fried rice while I decided to do the rest. Inviting guests over is certainly fun, but it's a lot of hard work too over here, since the whole process includes doing the dishes, cutting and washing the raw material, heating, cleaning the gas range and countertops before and after, marinating the chicken and shrimp, often recollecting the ingredients we've run out of and making a quick sortie to salvage the situation etc - steps that are usually excluded back home where the division of labour always makes entertaining easier and less onerous here. This time, there was an unusual setback in the form of the hot water taps running dry. Although maintenance was already working to resolve the issue, we didn't have the time to wait for them, which meant a repeated heating of water in the saucepan for various pre-cooking chores. In between, K managed a trip to the local Indian store to procure coconut milk and green chilli. He came back unusually elated, following his discovery of a newly introduced halal section functioning there on Fri, Sat and Sun. Men are such cannibals.


Despite the water issue, we managed to get everything done by 2.30 pm, after which I went to take a bath and prepare lunch. What with my gastric problem and a heavy dinner awaiting us that night, K and I agreed to lunch on soup and toast. We took a short nap and woke up around 6 pm. Madhav had to receive a friend at the airport, so he told K that he would be rather late and so, we had tea and muffins while watching 'A Big Fat Greek Wedding' , which I quite liked. It was a refreshing change from the usual Mills & Boon stuff that I'm generally attracted to most of the time. I can spend a lifetime just watching romantic comedies. I don't think I'll ever have enough of them.


Madhav arrived just as we were getting involved in the second film, 'Monster-In-Law'. J-Lo is so sweet. It was getting late in any case and past 9 pm. Since Madhav was absolutely adamant about not having any snacks, we headed straight for dinner. It was a fun affair, though the usual messy one, with newspapers spread out on the carpet and the aluminium foil trays laid out in the middle for easy access while we sat around them and ate buffet-style. I was relieved that Madhav took to all the dishes and had second helpings of most and even a third helping of rice. I'd been a bit apprehensive about the paneer as it was the first time I'd made this dish and wasn't sure that I'd got the masala : paneer ratio right at the end. Thankfully it tasted delicious. K's malai curry was evidently a hit as Madhav even asked for its recipe. Shob miliye amader mukh roilo, in short. It was a bit tough for Madhav to sit on the comforter and eat as he seems to have a knee ligament problem, but I tried to somewhat sort that out by fashioning him a makeshift table out of the box in which we'd bought our floor lamp. The oven is really turning out to be a great help in terms of heating food like chicken and rice, especially as we still haven't got ourselves a microwave. Quite a few people tell me that an oven is actually better than a microwave when it comes to heating food but I guess I'm not experienced enough to judge that for myself yet.


We all had diet pepsi to wash down the dinner and Madhav left soon after, since he had a lot of packing to do before he left for India but very little time to do it in, the next two days being weekdays and therefore necessitating that a whole lot of time be spent at office. We've promised to host a welcome party for Silpa and him, after their post-marriage return to USA. I'm quite looking forward to meeting her, especially (despite K's disgust at my Linda Goodman phases) as she happens to be a Gemini. Till then, so long.

Shopping and Ethics

Backlogs scare me, especially as they are second nature to me when it comes to things which I'm passionate about and yet have managed to neglect completing. I keep on coming up with all these silly defences, like one needs distance to gain perspective, in the spirit of Wordsworth's 'emotions recollected in tranquility'. Unfortunately, too much of tranquility doesn't seem to leave me with any emotion at all. LOL.

We watched 'Quantum of Solace' last Saturday and I must admit, it was definitely more than a mere quantum of solace on a very rainy Saturday, when the only other consolations were a lunch consisting of paneer paratha (yippee) and my latest creation, a chicken korma (well, it was described as a 'mild chicken korma' in the net recipe, but I don't think that sounds very gastronomically tantalising, so I'd leave the mildness out) besides a round of shopping at Walmart, seeking a gift for a not-even-a-month old baby (Siddhant, of course).

Shopping first, I think. Apart from bread and desserts (which I'm perpetually mystified as to how we manage to consume so much so fast), there were two important things on our mind this time, trackpants for K (thanks to our extreme show of torpor which explains the monthly visit to the laundry) and a befitting present for baby Sid, my latest preoccupation (I so need a child of my own). The first was hard enough to locate since we wanted low prices and tasteful designs (in a trackpant?...I know, I know...but...er...that's so me) and flannel, so it took quite a bit of time. Turns out that buying gifts for children is a challenge. I mean, you have to know exactly what you want, otherwise there's too much variety out there for the not-so-ingenious (and the not-so-patient, by which I defintely mean K) to get anything at all at the end of the day...er...search. I don't recall so many options when we were children ourselves. Well ok, that was some twenty odd years back but children still are children aren't they? How much change could they possibly have undergone in just two decades.

A hell of a lot, it seems. My jaws dropped at the sight of the huge space and several aisles that were devoted to children at the W. Toys, games, board games, books, cards, dolls, rides, gadgets, musical paraphernalia...wow. K seemed literally dumbfounded (not that it's hard to say that about him on most occasions) and was all in favour of coming back another day, especially since Moumita called to say they were running late and to ask whether it would be possible for us to get the movie tickets. I voiced a vehement no.I don't think I could have taken the trouble of patiently exploring each and every single one of all those aisles and after that, lived to face an empty-handed me. Well, you may naturally ask, since there were so many options, what was the problem. Aha. That was the problem. Too many choices and two clueless adults. There seemed to be so much for children but not much for babies (obviously it had to be that way, since that was what we were looking for in particular). And certainly not for babies less than 6 months old. Hello? What are they supposed to be, non-human? I suppose the manufacturers think that the only things that would suit them are clothes and adult-chosen toys. Don't even ask what we ultimately bought. (It's a surprise in any case for the Baby, so hold your breath till post-Thanksgiving,will you ?) Just a hint. Something that K seems to want to be allowed to play with, too. I know I would so love the expressions on your faces if I could see them !

Now for 'James Bond'. I know that that's not really the name of the movie, but several people at the Reading Cinemas ticket counter seemed happy to think of it that way. Fortunately, the tickets were not very expensive. That would have triggered on dollops of guilt in me, I being the half of the Mukherjees that was extra-hyper about watching the film on the big screen. Well, it was definitely worth the hype (and the 400 odd rupees spent respectively). I am totally converted to Craigomania and over Brosnan (who looked a tad too flirtatious, I always thought). Olga whatever was a great performer too. I loved the action sequences especially the airborne one and the initial chase. The opening song was slightly misleading, I thought. It looked like Bond was going to be The Man in a film where all the heroes, villains etc consisted of solely women and the action sequences were all likely to take place in bed. And the principal issue, the question of the ethics of revenge, made me very happy. It called back memories of all the ecstatic hours I'd spent in JUDE days, contemplating Hamlet. For the forgetful many, I reproduce the classic soliloquy :

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.


(Act III, Scene 1)

Of course, it always seems to be easier to preach than to practise. But with time and determination, I have learned not to hold malice.I am not saying I forget, I only forgive. And the most important thing here is to remember that revenge destroys you as much as it would the potential victim. It's not important who started it all. It's so much more meaningful to be the magnanimous one who learns a lesson from the past and simply moves on. And lets go. You must exorcise your own demons at the end of the day. For as Hamlet saw it, murdering the murderer would be akin to stooping to the murderer's own level. Therefore, he simply could not initiate action until Laertes had dealt him the death blow. Being attacked, he could retaliate, knowing that Laertes and he forgave each other even as they died. But Claudius' death does remain controversial as the question of ethics still hold. A modern day Hamlet, Bond works at the Freudian cure, reliving his past and thus overcoming it. I'm glad I did watch the film. I'd been going through a traumatic experience myself and it kind of purged me of my hurt. I'm no longer in rewind mode.

K says I think too much. On this occasion, I think he would be glad I did since the results are so positive in nature. As for the person who tried to hurt me, his/her dwelling on the past while I live in the present is ample punishment. What say you?

Btw, here you will find a simple and sensible essay on the theme of revenge in Hamlet, for those interested.

For K

It's a very dreary sort of rainy day today...plus that time of the month when being a woman doesn't seem a very pleasant thing after all. But it's better than yesterday, when dysmenorrhoea pained the hell out of me. I was in no state to do anything productive, K rushed back home early and dinner consisted of a marvellous khichuri that my poor K had to prepare and I must say did a commendable job of. Anyway, to cheer myself up, being all alone with my thoughts today, I've been recalling bits and pieces of the past through songs and poetry. And came across this jewel from Neruda.

If You Forget Me

I want you to know one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

If you, like me, just cannot have enough of Neruda, try this link :

http://www.poemhunter.com/pablo-neruda/

P.S. I know you know it all, but I feel like telling you, all over again.

Film and fiction plus a rainy day

We got our new numberplates on Saturday and I came home while K got the car inspection done at a govt-authorised private inspection centre, dropping me off on our way back from the dealer's centre at Raritan. I prepared lunch, a simple repast really but a rather gloomy one, if you take the weather into consideration. The latter is becoming moodier by the day, so that we are rolling our trackpants into shorts one evening and freezing under the comforter while watching TV, the very next day. And it's not really so bad unless it's raining. Then it's properly depressing. It makes you just want to go back to bed, wanting to wake up to a clear blue sky, lush greenery and sunshine streaming onto your warm face. Anyway, we settled down to watch a movie after that. 'Shoot on Sight' seemed rather cliched in terms of storyline and slow in terms of narrative progression, so we moved onto something more light and lively, namely 'EMI'. Unfortunately, the last part didn't seem to be available but what the heck...we got to watch the film first day, first show (well, not exactly perhaps, but it felt like that) and we liked it. Or as much of it as was within our access. Of course, we were lucky enough to locate the last part the very next day. It was a bit of a letdown. The slowly and smartly built up quartet of drama and crises seemed to resolve itself all too hurriedly, so that what was gained in terms of time was definitely lost in terms of credibility and audience satisfaction.

That reminds me. I've been reading a collection of 5 Agatha Christie novels entitled: ' Murderers Abroad' : Five Complete Novels'. Three of these novels (They Came to Baghdad, So Many Steps to Death and Passenger to Frankfurt) run concurrently on a fairly complicated plot against a bizarre backdrop, anarchy and conspiracy in and around the times of the post-cold war and in the sombre aftermath of the first world war. One motif is strangely similar, the inconspicuous - because plain and naive looking - woman getting to the bottom of it all by simply letting the villainous lot interpret her in the most obvious manner, thereby underestimating the worth of her solid common sense. This struck a chord with me as it reminded me of several instances when my mother/sister or a certain friend insisted on a particular person or incident making them feel uneasy and I had just shrugged it off as nerves. They were almost always annoyingly right. Whereas my father always overlooked these gut feelings, dismissing them as feminine fears and now K seems to do the same, as if concrete evidence could always account for something that later goes irretrievably wrong. I think all these people (the nervy ones) might have one thing in common, the fine power of perception combined with an instinct for survival that unconsciously alerts them to a potential crisis , thereby making it easier to react to people and situations who/that may be too opaque to the rest of us, futilely trying to balance the logical and the lyrical.

I never respected the Kolkata weather until I had to be at the rceiving end of snowfall in Oct and minus temperatures dropping sharply in Nov. Titai, my nonod informs me that it's still hot and humid there and that's a saving grace when you consider all the successive outdoor festivities, where the weather does make a marked difference to the extent people do or do not enjoy themselves. Here it's a bit scary as influenza is secretly at large and flu shots have been made available at your nearest pharmacy for $30.

It's tough if you have long hair. You get dandruff both when you wash it and it doesn't dry fast due to lack of sunshine and even when you don't wash it often enough. It's just a matter of choosing what type of dandruff you'd rather have. The hairfall is equal for both dry and oily dandruff, by the way, FYI. I was all for cropping my hair short and growing it back after winter here, which would mean post-March (post-April, if I'm singularly unfortunate). It wasn't a happy thought, considering the frustratingly long time my hair took to reach the mid-back length and I was petrified at the thought of all the oiling, shampooing, conditioning, seruming and hair-spaing I would have to do to regain the lost treasure...er, I mean tresses. K was traumatised at the very notion of re-trimming my hair (I had subjected him to that torture a month and a half back) and bought me a hair-dryer at the very next opportunity. Now, I wash my hair twice a week and dry it immediately afterwards. It seems I might not go bald after all.

We also watched 'The Omen' on Saturday evening. This was my latest sortie into the arena of apocalyptic reel fiction and I must admit that it was scary enough to satisfy my gargantuan appetite for the supernatural in Christian religious mythology. It took me back to my 'Exorcist', 'End of Days' and 'Stigmata' period, which I didn't recall with much nostalgia until now. I guess I haven't paid my preferences much of their dues. But I think I can afford to do that now, with a 100 mb/sec net connection at my service. I love the thought of being scared !!!

Stomach and Parking Woes

I've had a bad scare yesterday. For the last two days, my stomach has been feeling hot and spicy after each meal, until things came to a bad pass yesterday afternoon when the condition began to cause me such discomfort that I interpreted it as gastric ulcer for sure and was forced to frantically call up my school-friend, Sharmistha, now in Flanders, ,and ask her advice. Medicines with the composition Ranitidine or Famotidine were what she suggested, besides the compulsory biscuits every hour. I was utterly perplexed (and highly annoyed by my lack of foresight) to find that we had no Omeprazole or Zinetac among the huge heap of medicines we had carried over from India. K was taken aback by a very evidently-scared-out-of-my-wits me bursting into tears over the phone and asking him to come home as soon as possible. Despite a steady shower, we left for the closest pharmacy (RiteAid, of course) immediately after he had had tea and an evening snack and hunted down the aforementioned medicine. Luckily it's an over-the-counter drug, so all we had for concern was the price tag. We chose the in-house RiteAid product with the exactly similar composition but a lower price tag. All the same, it came to about $6...if you convert that to rupees, you'll probably empathise with my mental state after that. The more I try to save money, the more I somehow end up wasting it in some way or the other.

We had a hard time parking the car. It was raining non-stop and there seemed to be more cars than usual along the kerb, so that there was hardly any space big enough for a newly trained driver to easily manoeuvre the car into a straight (and legal) position. We wasted a lot of time in one smaller spot before K had the good sense to surrender and move on to a much more larger slot. I had volunteered to get out and give directions to help park but I don't think I proved to be of much help after all. I made a sorry sight in a white hooded jacket, clutching two umbrellas (both open, for some strange reason), a crumpled white polythene carry-bag (in which to deposit the wet umbrellas and thereby protect the car) and a white paper packet containing the treasure of the moment (my medicines, silly). But it felt good to feel that I had a loving husband, who, even after a hard day's work, gave precedence to my miseries over his own. It is something most women dream of but few realise. I'm glad to be one of the blessed ones.

K was decent enough to cook dinner yesterday, one of his specials, the chilli mushroom-and-vegetables that he does occasionally. For the first time in my life, I made narkel laddoos and they turned out quite well. So good, in fact, that after a trial in the evening, K looked crestfallen at the sight of just one as dessert for dinner and demanded another. I can't describe the sense of achievement that I woke up to after that. It was a great feeling.

That reminds me, we noticed something strange at RiteAid. They've happily put Halloween miles behind them and have promptly and unceremoniously replaced all Halloween decorations and puppets with the same having Christmas as the new theme. People here must really be short of enough festivals to go around.

Mitu (my sibling) has a fashion show around the corner and has, as usual, assumed with impenetrable (outrageous) composure, that I am naturally going to edit her accompanying write-up for her. She called me up on GTalk to brief me on the theme and what she wants from me. Sigh, younger sisters !

P.S. I just discovered that the writing behind the Ranitidine tablet runs thus, "Dr Reddy's Laboratories Ltd, Bachepalli -502 325 INDIA".

Of all the */#%@* !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Two Libran Birthdays

Traditional Libra Traits:

Diplomatic and urbane
Romantic and charming
Easygoing and sociable
Idealistic and peaceable
but
Indecisive and changeable
Gullible and easily influenced

We celebrated two Libran birthdays very recently...that of K and Sabya Da, K's colleague and our mutual friend now...it was funny, the fact that we celebrated them in a somewhat similar manner, having dinner together, but then, there were marked differences too. A bit about those in detail, if you please.

K's birthday was ushered in by scraps on orkut greeting him before midnight of the Birth Day here, since it was already the 11th of Oct as per Indian time and Indians were busy celebrating it everywhere across the country, possibly with huge fanfare. Why is it 'Birth Day' and not birthday, do you dare to ask? Because K means the world to me, for starters. And then, yes, if that doesn't count as a valid reason, he does share his birthday with the Big B. Now if that doesn't make a mark, you couldn't really be bothered. To continue.

We had been cooking late in the evening when Baba called from Ahmadpur, so that K had the good fortune to be blessed by my aging paternal grandparents. I don't mean to be fatalistic but they have both been ailing recently and I don't know whether he would have the same good fortune in future.Baba was impressed by the menu I told him we had all lined up for tomorrow and actually requested me to try out some of the recipes when I came back to India. I was moved, which wasn't strange, considering that it has hardly been within my scope or capability to give my father anything worthwhile, since till my marriage, he was always the 'giver in general', being the head of the family. Next, it was Sushmit and Namita's turn to greet K and us to wish them shubho bijoya in turn, along with Kakima (Sush's mother) and Aunty (Namita's mother).

Anyway, after that, K called home and gave his parents his pronam on this auspicious day. Basically, for the non-ritualistic, that can be summed up as paying obeisance to his parents for having the brilliant presence of mind to create him !:-))) Mamoni requested him to wear something new and Bapi just blessed him, having earlier already transferred enough money to his account to buy himself a few decent clothes, which K interpreted as 'sweaters and jackets', now that winter is making its icy presence felt at abrupt turns and awkward times. While he did that, I was writing in the card I had secretly bought for him at the main street dollar store, since it was the only place (apart from the Somerville library) , where I was allowed to go unchaperoned and that too, because I had groceries to do. I sliped it under his pillow and made no mention of it until it was past midnight and he was getting ready to go to bed. I asked him to go look under his pillow and then smartly shut the bathroom door on myself. I went directly to the kitchen after that to get some water to drink. He was so silent for a while that I thought he hadn't taken to the card. The thought scared me. But then he just came out of the bedroom into the kitchen and held me close for a minute as if he would never let me go. So I guess he liked it after all.

The next morning, we woke comparatively early for us (on a weekend) at 9 am. I wished him, woke up (yes, in that order )and went to make tea. He completed his usual round of bathroom activities and then called up Titai in Vizag, where Abir, her in laws etc and she were holidaying, post-Pujo. Bapi had called while K was still asleep and informed him that his sister had been unable to get through to him to covey her birthday wishes. I guess it is kind of odd calling up folks at home so that they can wish you and not the other way around. But of course, staying abroad does have its limitations too. Anyway, their birthday and our bijoya wishes coincided, so it was a meaningful phone coversation after all. After that, Ma and Mitu called and wished.

I really thought it was going to be non-stop phone calls and sms-s that day, until I woke up to the fact that we were not in India. Most of the wishes from back home came over the net and some took the opportunity to conveniently overlook the birthday thing, which I found quite obnoxious.Anyway, we partook of a spartan but healthy breakfast of garlic bread and pasta in vegetables soup and got down to business. Well, for me , that meant successively getting all the recipes and ingredients ready for chilli paneer, chicken chettinaad, ghee bhaat and shimayer payesh, though it was K who ultimately took over the ghee bhaat or polau from me. I'm glad he did, because it was 4.30 pm when I was finally done with the payesh. He had earlier spent the entire morning working on office projects and talking to colleagues on the phone regarding them non-stop and quite enthusiastically until I was ready to scream with frustration. I mean, one's birthday comes only once a year and how can you possibly want to work on that day, of all days.? Sometimes, honestly, from that point of view, I think K becomes a total stranger for me.

To return to the point. K left at 5.30 pm to have a look at a car that he had shortlisted over the net and thought might turn out to be a good deal. The next thing I knew, ( I had been taking a short nap to look fresh before our dinner guest were to arrive), he was calling me to inform me that he was at the ATM, extracting money to book the car and asked me for my feedback. Turns out he had flipped over it the moment he had had a close look at it. It's a 2000 Hyundai Elantra GLS Sedan, bottle green in colour, has had only one owner, is in top condition and boasts the usual features.... a 4 cylinder gasoline run engine, tan interiors, AM/FM stereo, AC, driver and passenger air bags, rear window defroster, power windows, power door locks, power steering, power mirrors, tinted glass, matching set of Toyo tires in prime condition with a mileage of about just over a lakh miles. Everything, including the price, added up to a good deal and one that K promptly sealed, as soon as I gave the go-ahead. Not that I could have done otherwise, seeing that we had been ransacking the net for a decent car for over a month now without having clinched a bargain till then. All the cars that we had been shortlisting were either 'sold' when we called to enquire or else located too great a distance away to go over and have a look or generating weird car fax reports. A certain Lakshmi Narayanan must have become rich, if we calculate the number of times we paid him the recurring amount of $2 to get us our car fax reports. A few days later, he emailed us one night to say that he wouldn't be able to provide us with any more reports as his account was nearing its expiry. It sounded as if he had been offering us honorary services so long. Hummmmmmmmph. Anyway, K assured him not to worry about us or our car-related fates any longer as we had already booked a car. What the *#@^#!

Anyway, I suppose the car could be considered K's bithday present to himself, which is why I am happy that the day of its booking coincided with K-Day ! After all, all I could come up with for him this time were a card and a decent dinner. I had planned so much last year, hypothesising the day being celebrated with friends and family in India. The entire flat would have been tastefully decorated, Mamoni and I would have jointly hosted a lavish dinner party with cakes and candles and the works. He would be surprised to find all his close friends reunited at his place on this day to tearfully thank him for his existence in their lives etc. Well. It might not have turned out quite as melodramatic perhaps in actuality but the bare outline would probably have been the same. Alas, the gulf between the ideal and the actual. It always remains, do what you will.

The actuality turned out to be not quite as dreary as it could have been. Moumita and Sabya Da were unexpectedly punctual and surprised K with a thoughtfully purchased gift of a full-sleeved baseball t-shirt (see adjoining photos). Moumita even remembered to get me an entire packet of colourful rubberbands, erstwhile non-entities which had gained considerable value in my eyes ever since I found that they were not so common after all, in this country. All the stores here seem to use a length of fine metal wire encased in a bright green or white plastic sheath which they twist around plastic carry bags in lieu of a rubberband. After the Maitis' arrival, I ordered K to change into a white pyjama -punjabi, more suited for the occasion than the regulation jeans and T-shirt that he seemed to be more keen on being attired in, immune to my neo-cultural aesthetic fervour. To inspire him, I myself gave up my blue skirt, black T-shirt for a black salwar kameez and thus decked up, we all left for a visit to the Bridgewater Temple, where it proved more than usually difficult to find a parking spot. Everyone seemed to have procrastinated their religious fervour so long, timing it to climax on this particular day, when it meant so much for us to receive the blessings of our deities and let them know that on this one day, we do know that we owe more to them than just our habitual prayer in times of adversity and distress.

When we did finally locate a slot to park, the interiors of the temple suitably rewarded our perseverance. It was squeaky clean, enough to immediately prompt reverence from the most atheistic amongst our community. Apart from that, I was extremely impressed by their shoe-deposit room, where there are numerous wooden shelves to safely stow away your shoes and not have to worry about washing your hands after that dirty bit of work, since you even have a convenient low basin to wash your hands after that. To the left of the entrance, by the way, was a large souvenir/worship shop, where you can buy keepsakes etc to satisfy the religious side of your personality and to the right is a deck for the deposit of shoes by the physically challenged. An elegantly carved flight of stairs led to the first floor, which housed all the deities. Almost all the significant Indian deities were enshrined here in separate mini-temples, distinguished by their respective 'donate money' dropboxes and 'apna tika aapne aap lagao' powdered kumkum/ash circular containers. What intrigued me and K were the peaceful co-existence of fair and dark complexioned idols,which would have, back home, sharply demarcated the north and the south indian gods and goddesses. Here, they seemed to provoke equal devotion and perhaps (of course, I may be imagining it all), a sense of religio-cultural harmony.A huge queue patiently awaited the completion of the daily evening round of worship, so that they could partake of a bit of the sanctified water and the sacred flame and somewhat redeem the guilt of their absence from their native lands. We were particularly taken by a cordoned off area to the immediate left of the main entrance to the hall of worship, which for some obscure reason discouraged you for standing there purposelessly for too long by a warning sign. The unique feature of this spot was its arrangement of miniscule statuettes of all the major Indian deities in neat rows along a pyramidal set of shelves. Children, by the way, seemed to be having a field day, decked in their native dresses, which looked more like costumes on their settled-here parents. They ran about, laughing and shouting, from one corner of the huge hall to another, participating in improvised games and gimmicks. A wide variety of sacred Indian plants were on display along the landing just across from the staircase along with posters enumerating special rates for customised puja services and advertisements announcing the availablity of 'pure ghee laddoos' for prasad on the other side, where there seemed quite a crowd at a longish counter. The other thing that tickled me was K's elation at finding a goddess named 'Sridevi' to be the immediate neighbour of a goddess named 'Bhudevi'. He said that he had finally solved the mystery of the origin of the name Sridevi, which inspired immense mirth in my mind as it immediately reminded me of the actress who happens to be her namesake and her brilliant role in the classic film 'Mr India'. So much for religious ardour.

http://www.venkateswara.org/index.shtml

Back home at Somerville, Moumita was delighted to discover a huge and grotesque (if you ask me) Halloween showpiece across the road from our complex. It eerily resembled a few dead white men simultaneously and painfully trying to pirouette on a neon-orange basketball. I was glad she finally decided that it was more important to come indoors than stand in the bitter cold outside and admire that bizarre tableau. A Mexican family occupying one of the ground floor flats of our apartment seemed to have not quite ended an outdoor barbecue session and in fact, still toying around with the idea of spending the night outdoors planning the next day's menu, armed with beer bottles. We politely sidestepped them and ventured indoors to K's delicious ginger tea, Patel's namak paras (our kucho nimkis) and Stop N Shop oatmeal and raisin cookies. Moumita and I as usual, initiated our rounds of talking to the dozen and endless snacking in between (me leading the way), although K repeatedly reminded me of my hostly duties. Sabya Da was contented with his great find, a repetitive replay of 'Spiderman 2' while K was disgracefully rude and insisted on mixing business with pleasure by alternating rounds of abrupt car chatter with Sabya Da with office-related phone calls to a colleague and glimpses of spiderman mythology. We did not delay dinner too much as Moumita, Sabya Da and a could-do-without-it-candid K insisted on alleviating their hunger pangs with more food and less silly girly banter. So, Moumita and I and a very reluctant K got up to initiate the much awaited meal of the day.

Dinner turned oiut to be a wondrously successful affair. K's ghee bhaat/polau was much eulogised, especially since it had been his first attempt at the same as well as the fact that the birthday boy had been noble enough to volunteer to churn out a part of the grand feast himself. I personally think his voluntary participation in the process owed much to his secret terror of there being no main course at all, considering the average rate at which my culinary efforts had been progressing that day. Anyway, let's not be mean on this great day. My paneer and chicken also seemed to have elated the taste buds of our guests, who I strongly coerced into having second and even third helpings of, declaring that deeds spoke more than actions and hence, the proof of the pudding lay in the eating or something to that effect. The bithday boy was persuaded to initiate the desert round by savouring the shimayer payesh I had made a mess of, by using 2 cups of vermicelli for 4 cups of milk instead of 2 fistfuls. K however doggedly declared that he preferred the dense texture and was in seventh heaven owing to the generous quantities of almonds and raisins that I had scattered in the dish. Our guests naturally could either offer polite praise or even more polite silence. I really and conveniently can't recall which route they ultimately took. Photographs acccompanied the payesh-eating and after that, it was more gaiety and gossip until Moumita was horrified by the clock, which showed that it was past 11 pm. After that, it was the usual quick flurry of goodnights and takecares and time for bed.

P.S. Moumita later called me to announce that they had overeaten the delicious food and were glad that they had the entire next day, a Sunday, to digest all of it. I think we may safely say that it was a gay birthday party after all.

Now, about Sabya da's birthday. For starters, I was excited about two things - buying a gift and eating out at a proper Indian Chinese joint. K is never too enthusiastic about buying things for other people, since it involves the typical Libran problem of having to make a decision, which basically boils down to the uncertainty of whether 1) our liking would match the birthday victim's preference and 2) one would find something unique among the monotonous variety list that immediately jumps to one's mind after being invited to a close friend's birthday celebration. Basically, you know, I think K suffers from the thought of the perpetual horror of not being able to bypass the usual pen/ perfume/ paperback and zero in on something drastically original ( but never radical when it comes to K, unlike I, who prefer everything out of the way and three cheers for all things utilitarian).

After over 7 months of marriage, I know when to take things firmly into my control. I make the decisions and K makes the payment (that isn't a generalisation, by the way...it's only now that I'm not working !). That way, both of us are happy. So, we walked into Rite Aid Pharmacy on the eve of Sabya Da's birthday to get him a gift. Yes, that's the best part. Pharmacies like Walgreens and RiteAid stock almost everything that you could possibly want in most daily life and yet, insist on being labelled a 'pharmacy'. The gift part wasn't too hard since I went for a multiple faceted one...an Axe deospray,deostick and deo-bodywash combo that looked great and smelled even greater. The challenge was finding a card that would fit Sabya Da's personality, our aesthetic sensibilities and our budget, too. Some cards here are massively overpriced ( and I had once upon a time thought Archies' overpriced !). That too was overcome. The last obstacle involved finding a gift bag (it's easy when you want one for a girl/woman) that didn't look very feminine and yet looked festive enough to suit the occasion. Surprise surprise. We nailed that one down too. A beautifully simple royal blue marble paper cut into a bag shape. It was a totally different story that on reaching home I thought it didn't look grand enough after all and replaced it with a much more classy yellow wrapping paper gift bag I had bought a couple of glass decorations in at a yard sale on our Labour Day trip to New Hampshire. But after the whole affair, K seemed very relieved that we had found a good gift after all, which always seems the tough part to him (unlike the budget part, which is always a problem for me when it comes to buying a gift for others since I almost always end up exceeding the targeted amount).

The best part of Sabya Da's birthday was that Sabya Da could pick up both K and I me together that afternoon on his way to Moumita's office at New Brunswick en route Somerset Mews. K had showed signs of bowel irritability that day and I had promptly discouraged him from going to office that day AND attending a grand feast at night without my soothing domestic administrations in the form of a light breakfast, sweet nothings and a punctual lunch. The result was that he worked from home and enjoyed a sumptous dinner as well that night. I'm afraid I really spoil him with all this affection.

Moumita had had a hectic day at office, but that didn't deter her in the least from playing the perfect hostess that day and feeding us non-stop and consecutively with home-made lobongolotika, chaaler payesh and chicken strips accompanied by Ranch salad dressing and garlic pepper sauce. The payesh made me very happy as K had missed out on that on his own birthday, Mamoni telling me that it was the family tradition that that type of payesh be cooked only by someone motherly. Our snacking accompanied the watching of a particularly hilarious episode of 'Friends', which meant that we were having a great time.

Thanks to Moumita's force-feeding, we actually had to take a walk around the huge complex of Somerset Mews so that we could re-create some space in our quite-full stomachs to show respect to the much awaited dinner. ( Incidentally, that reminds me of an ironic point in Strindberg's 'Dream Play' where a rich man tells his wife that they should go out for a walk to work up an appetite while some starving coal miners are awed by the fact that while they have nothing to eat, other people need to exercise in order to eat more than they are capable of.) Turns out, we were rather hungry by the time we reached 'Chopsticks' in Edison. Which was the consequence of driving 15 mins to another 'Chopsticks', owned by the same people and finding, to our immense astonishment and annoyance, that it was closed and dark. Too late, we began to regret that we had not just taken the straight route (quite literally speaking) and had a Thai meal at 'Me Thai' just across the road from Somerset Mews ! Arriving at one restaurant that was open after all, so late at night (just 9.30 pm and we previously assumed that places closed early only in Kolkata) was rather cheering a chapter after a bad scare (not not having any dinner after all ) along our drive when a particularly ill-lit area had caused Sabya Da to miss a turn and swerve sharply.For a brief and bizarre moment, I thought I might be sharing a table with God after all. Our own version of One Night @ the Call Centre, perhaps. Sorry for underestimating your driving capabilities, Sabya Da. He managed to not lose his nerves and just make a rather abrupt U-turn to bring us (and the car) all back on track. The anticlimactic statement came from Moumita who declared that the tension of the situation had made her feel rather hungry.

'Chopsticks' was a decent affair. The interior was promisingly well-lit and cozily small with interesting lamps, Hindi film song videos playing on an overhead TV and small tables with neatly arranged routine jars of tomato ketchup, soya sauce and vinegar. A starter of chicken lollipops (less salt is synonymous with bland to me) worked up everyone for the main course of chicken chowmin, chicken fried rice and plain white rice with chilli fish and sweet-and-sour chicken. I preferred the chicken to the fish in terms of my own peculiar gastronomic sensations and can altogether agree to call it a great meal. Including Moumita and my tendency to devote considerable attention to the huge aquarium by our table, where Moumita was wonder-struck by a yellowish white fish that seemed to be blind and therefore, hitting its nose against the glass walls repeatedly at the same spot. I was more intrigued by a a couple of fish that seemed to have orange-black-white floral outgrowths having their source in their mouths. I have never seen anything quite like it before. Moumita tried to urge the yellow fish to go and jump the queue in the line that the fish seemed to be forming at a certain spot towards the surface, explaining that handicapped creatures always received privileges here (this country, I suppose she meant, which is quite true and noteworthy). Sabya Da was rather tickled by all the attentions she bestowed on the fish and tried to comfort her by saying that it had probably already had its dinner and was in the land of dreams. Moumita retorted that fish always slept with their eyes open, so that one couldn't be quite sure whether this one was doing at any point of time. Sabya Da must have been relieved when the bill was paid and we were ready to depart. Pisciculture doesn't seem to be his forte.

Moumita later called to say that she was sorry, Sabya Da kept on telling her that she should have been a better hostess and urged us to eat more at the restaurant. I noted that it was an invalid request, considering that our stomachs could only be expected to process a certain amount of food per day and her snacks had already filled most of it previously. So there.