Ad Noise-eum

I was proud and pleased to spot the following ad (please click to enlarge) in the 'Metro' supplement of today's 'The Telegraph, Kolkata'. Having freelanced for the newspaper for about 5 years now, anything worth eulogising in its pages always helps make my day. Besides, it struck a chord with me because of a previous post I had made recently on somewhat similar lines.


It's nice to see the media doing its duty. Now, if only we would follow suit.

Blaring Horns

Why is it that I feel like seeking sanctuary at the Osho ashram in Pune everytime I'm out on the roads of Kolkata ?

Is it because I seem to hear nothing but car horns honking all the time : a cacophony that penetrates into my eardrums and threatens to deprive me of my sanity for good...a noise that I've been used to since school-going days and which I still can't suffer without feeling my blood beginning to boil and my senses reel from the almost tangible assault on my ears, my mind, my consciousness, my being ?

Is it because I feel like doing what many there were allowed to do (I wonder whether it's valid even now) : get into one particular sound proof room and scream their guts out like Preity Zinta's character in The Last Lear ?

Would that help ? Would it help get all that anger, frustration, annoyance, disgust, agony, angst, stress out of my system once and for all ?

Would it ?

MADLY BENGALEE : DURGA PUJO, HERE AND THERE

During our stay in New Jersey for a period of 13 months, we happened to visit the pujos at Ananda Mandir and Bharat Shevasram Sangha, the closest we could hope to approximate in terms of pujo porikroma in 2008.On the evening of Shashthi, after a sumptuous lunch at our friends’ place, a film at Regal Cinemas and a bit of grocery shopping at Patel's Cash & Carry in Somerset, we finally sauntered into the pujo at Ananda Mandir. The milieu was entirely akin to that of a ghorowa pujo, my perception owing much to the thinner but quite-at-ease crowd and the friendly banter that floated to and fro, across the hall when we ousiders entered it for the first time. It was rather chilly that day and the warmth of the gathering was infectious. We left after paying obeisance to the goddess and the ubiquitous round of photography. A tall gentleman in a rust coloured panjabi politely solicited us to partake of bhog. We said we would come back. We had other plans, none of which included paying $40 per head for a single night's dinner. More so when you still haven't outgrown the habit of calculating the rupee equivalent.

Bharat Shevasram Sangha was a pleasant surprise for the senses. It had already distinguished itself from the other pujos by its determination to rigidly adhere to the Indian time of worship. That was a feat, taking into account the fact that US pujo takes place only on weekends, auspicious time or not. But now, apart from that, there were other novelties. I wondered at the presence of so many Bangalis when I had already reconciled myself with the significant absence of the commmunity from the locality where we lived, Somerville. We were greeted by a crowd that jostled but did not push, where sarees and skirts, dhutis and jeans shared wardrobe space, where the infectious rhythm of dhaaker baajna intersected with the American accents of NRIs and an announcement of the "recitation of a kobita", where patiently queueing up for choronamrito, proshad and vegetarian bhog ( jeera rice, alur dom, chholar daal, papad, chaatni ) did not deter the public from generous donations in dollar notes and where traditional christmas tree decorations cohered with colourful hand-painted thermocol cut-outs of dhaakis. I was impressed at the disciplined mass that offered pushpanjali to the goddess and stood eating a spartan bhog in open spaces around a makeshift tent, respecting the spirit of the festival and the essence of the gathering. The volunteers were simultaneously friendly and firm, the children playful and difficult, the worshippers devout and doubtful but the atmosphere was indubitably peaceful and pious. My heart went out in reverence for the monks at the ashram who were managing so many and so much with so little help and so much humility. Tomosho ma jyotirgomoyoh.

What struck me most about Durga Pujo 2009 was the fact that it was the presence of our friends and family in Kolkata and the re-igniting of familiar sensations that made our homecoming so special for us. There was nothing very radical we did this year as a matter of fact. We did the routine rounds of Maddox Square, Dumdum Park, Labony Estate, Ekdalia Evergreen, Ballygunge Cultural, Paddapukur, FD Block, Bosepukur, Bagbazar etc amidst the usual maddening crowds and uneasy humidity. We did not cook at home, eating out instead at a couple of new restaurants and a few old favourites (by default, mindlessly opting for the standard Chinese and Bengali fare), totally oblivious to the mounting calories. We wore what the media impressed upon us as very unique and trendy attire this year and muddled up our aantel intellects by trying to make mental notes of the latest fashion dos and don’ts. We devoured the latest sharodiyo shonkhya of the traditional pujo magazines. We kept aside our most expensive and arresting attire for the Ashtami-r anjali and waited irritably for the pongkti-bhoj to start so that we could soothe our growling stomachs and disappear soon after for some wholesome adda and the indispensable diba-nidra. We sat fidgeting, only half-attentive to the nrityogeeti and natok at our respective para functions, wondering where the lady in the next row had bought that awesome dhakai jamdaani (damn it, she was looking so irresistibly glam) and who the neighbourhood heart-throb was spending the time of day with on such intimate terms !

What then was unique about this pujo ? Maybe it was the sheer creative spectrum embodied in each pujo mondop, big or small, defiantly countering in art the lurid political panorama looming over our deceptively stable social microcosms ? Maybe it was the relief at being able to sense anew what every Bengali feels during this festive season : that these sacred five days will pass by all too soon and then there shall be the entire one year (of endless bandhs, bypass surgeries and bland jhol-bhaat) to endure before we are all together in spirit once more, celebrating our culture and our lifestyle. Maybe it was the realization that this one time of the year, we manage to forget our mundane existences and live on in a trance of dhaaker badyi induced psychedelia, certain that we can garner from the auspicious montro and the blessed bhog the shokti to metamorphose the humdrum into the hallowed, the chaotic into the cosmic.

Otherwise why was it that after a whole year of absence in my motherland, my pujo reconciled me to all that I had missed in a whole year and made me feel that it did not matter after all : I was home at last ? Ma Herself had accompanied me here and although she returned to her husband’s abode all too soon, she did leave me a happy human being : Madly Bengalee !

HOMEWARD BOUND !

We're finally going home, early in September. No, the date hasn't been finalised yet, although it'll probably be on a weekend so that K can get some rest before he joins the TCS Kolkata office on Monday. We're in a mad, chaotic situation now, selling off furniture items and the car. My last few days have been and the coming few are likely to be occupied mostly with frenetic scrubbing and dusting and packing and planning. You'll find me on my knees, armed with latex gloves most of the time now, trying to get the apartment back to its former pristine condition, which is proving to be a feat of sorts as we've been here for a year now and have definitely 'used' it. My principal areas of jurisdiction include the gas range, the refrigerator, the kitchen floors, the kitchen walls that loom above the gas range (spotted with yellow from our turmeric-heavy Indian cooking), the window frames, the bathtub, basin, commode and floors and the display rack in the living room. Yesterday, I spent the entire morning trying out numerous solvents and cleaners on my turmeric-stained kitchen walls without any success whatsoever, until I returned to my faithful original, the Vim Dishwash liquid. It lived upto its record of conquests, once again, although a whole year of stains meant I had to strain my back and waist muscles for over half-an-hour, eliminating the incriminating marks. But at the end, the result was marked. The impression from half a feet away was that of a white and not yellow-splotched wall. Vim Dishwash liquid ke jai ho !

Besides this, of course, I'm checking the email every half-an-hour, replying to responses - of ads put up on craigslist.org and sulekha.com - from prospective buyers of our furniture etc, half of whom are not even remotely serious about the entire deal, and mostly just end up wasting our time and wearing out our patience. There's this one guy, an Arun from Woodbridge, who called up thrice about the sofa set and center table and car, but hasn't been able to make it yet thanks to the lack of availability of his friend, whose car was supposed to convey him here. The very first day he called, he sneezed thrice on the phone, straight into K's ear, much to the former's discomfiture and the latter's disgust and even dismay, who was seriously convinced that the said Arun might have swine flu. It was too much for me when he even suggested calling off the deal because the guy might infect us. I couldn't but rubbish that and told him firmly that he was to ask the guy to come over at his convenient earliest, although I did commiserate with K on the affront to one's hearing if one was sneezed upon so loudly and so many times in one phone call. That certainly would have been a novelty for most and not in a happy sense at all !

This afternoon saw us embark on a shopping spree for the folks back home, that ran its course right through the evening, interrupted once in the middle only for a small evening snack and marinating the chicken that is to be our dinner tonight. The weather has been dismal today, raining non-stop since 1 am early this morning, when the thunder and lightning was as bad as it could possibly get, the entire sky a grim yellow and the extreme flashes of light & sound not in the least conducive to a peaceful weekend sleep. That continued into this morning, after stopping in the afternoon for a couple of happy hours. Having checked weather.com before we left home in the afternoon, I was to discover to my chagrin that the forces of nature are after all as unpredictable as they're reputed to be. We made a trip to Bridgewater Commons Mall to check out the formalities of disconnecting our T-mobile connection but were re-directed to a direct sales outlet of the company concerned, a few miles in a totally different direction. Rather annoyed at this unexpected disruption of our list of things to do that day, we pondered for a few mins, before cheering up and deciding to go ahead with at least our shopping plans for that day.

K waits for the rain to subside :

Poor visibility :

However, as I hinted at, the weather gods played havoc with our intentions and we actually had to pull up along the wayside, for the rain became so torrential that visibility at a distance of more than half a foot was nil. After 15 mins in the car, K rebelled and announced his determination to drive on, braving the odds. I gave in, also annoyed. So we drove on to 'Marshall's' and 'Bed, Bath & Beyond' at Bridgewater Promenade and later to Walmart, to indulge in some hardcore shopping till my feet went to sleep and we had to give up and go home. The shopping saga continued late into the afternoon on the next day, mercifully a Sunday and what's more, one boasting better weather. In between, K's college batchmate Jhuma called to enquire if we could possibly return via Heathrow, since I've become really pally with her via orkut, but am yet to meet her in person. So now, we have a total of 3 invitations from friends to make a stopover at their places via home. The others are from Shobhana, my happily married and dearest school friend in Singapore and another dear friend of K and mine, Ayan, who's based in Bangalore. Now that I think about the invitations, it strikes me that we've actually gone global !

Btw, I almost forgot : we spent a most unpleasant 15 mins - hot and bothered, with menacing drops of rain leaking onto us from a grim black-grey sky - in one of the several parking lots of the Bridgewater Commons, hunting for our car. After we had almost given up, K noticed that there were two entrances to Bloomingdale and we had parked our car near the other one. I was too disgusted at my poor observation skills to experience even a passing sense of relief.

More updates soon...

ENVIRONMENTAL OVERHAUL

From : THE TIMES OF INDIA, 31-07-2009

RIGHT TO CLEAN AIR

Vision of pollution -free Kolkata

Subhro Niyogi TNN

What will happen if the high court order is followed in letter and spirit and all polluting vehicles are booted out. You will live four years longer. Babies will be born healthier. And Kolkata will no longer be the asthma and lung cancer capital. Automobile engineers and experts are confident that air toxicity, which is at alarming levels in Kolkata, will dip sharply once the old smoke belchers are gone. There can be only one outcome the city's air will become cleaner. There will be a perceivable drop in carbon monoxide, hydrocarbons, polyaromatic hydrocarbons and other toxic elements , state pollution control board chief scientist Dipak Chakraborty said on Thursday , just two days before the blanket ban on pre- 93 commercial vehicles, including twostroke non-LPG autorickshaws.

Clean Technology

Kolkata's air quality is among the worst in the country, which gets even more dangerous in winter. If the government cracks down on 15-year-old vehicles, there will be a remarkable change from day 1 itself , said automobile engineer Prabir Kumar Bose, director of the National Institutes of Technology in Silchar and Agartala. New vehicles have more fuel-efficient engines. Not only do they use less fuel for combustion , the process is more complete. Hence, there are less pollutants in the emission, he explained. The vehicles that face the phase-out axe were built at a time when engines in India did not incorporate lean burn technology . They emit a lot of particulate matter because of incomplete combustion of fuel. Technology has since advanced manifold. Now, the amount of fuel to be fed into the combustion system is electronically controlled . It is much more efficient, Bose said.

City Livable Once More

The epidemic-type situation, specially with regard to child asthma and lung cancer , will change. Kolkata will become a livable city once again with a better quality of life, said Centre for Environment director A K Ghosh, pointing to a National Cancer Research Institute-Calcutta University research that showed how lung cancer among non-smokers was at an alarming level in Kolkata due to vehicular pollution. The study had conclusively shown that the so-called lifestyle diseases heart attack , kidney failure, lung disorder, impotence and memory loss could also be triggered by air pollution. Researchers found evidence that foul air is responsible for rise in morbidity and mortality. Pollution is the catalyst that triggers cardiovascular and respiratory diseases in Indian cities. Urban stress, sedentary lifestyle and genetic disorder compound the risk, acting as a fatal cocktail, says Twisha Lahiri who was the lead author of the study. The team had initially focused on high incidence of lung cancer in Kolkata (a shocking 18.4 per 100,000 against 11 per 100,000 in other metros). But it soon discovered that while lungs took the first hit (45% people in Kolkata have reduced lung function), nearly all vital organs were subsequently affected by pollutants.

Now Or Never

Ultra-fine particles (0.1 micron) slip into the bloodstream, and invade the heart, kidney , liver and brain. During autopsy in unnatural deaths, we have found that pollution affects the brain. It causes transient loss of memory, an Alzheimers-like disease. Continuous exposure to high levels of pollution, as we have in Kolkata, could even effect the gene pool. Already, a lot of congenital problems are being detected among children in this city. Since it takes 15-20 years for a disease to manifest , it will take a while to know how bad weve been hit, said Lahiris co-researcher Manas Ranjan Roy. Alarmingly, nearly 50% of children in Kolkata suffer from respiratory diseases like asthma among the highest in the country.

Live Longer

But doctors are confident that if the polluting vehicles stop plying, average life expectancy can go up by at least four years. If we dont act today, life expectancy will dip further. Pollution is gnawing at life, corroding organs and even affecting babies in the womb. It is responsible for rise in pre-natal diseases, said Institute of Child Health professor and National Neonatal Forum of India secretary Joydeb Roy. An hours stroll in Kolkata is equivalent to inhaling particulate matter and toxic gases in 20 cigarettes. If the foul air is cleaned up, healthier babies will be born and they will grow up as healthy children, said Roy. Neurologist Sandip Chatterjee is confident that the increasing incidence of Alzheimers and brain stroke will be checked once pollution subsides. Pointing to a Dutch experiment on the effect of diesel emission that was nearly 70% less polluting than the fuel in use in Kolkata, he said a half hour exposure had led to significant changes in the brain. A series of experiments in Mexico City showed that pollution led to collection of peptide AB42 that causes Alzheimers . In Taiwans Kaohsiung, a study of 20,000 hospital admissions showed incidence of brain stroke was higher when the city recorded higher levels of pollution. In California, there were several cases of firefighters suffering from brain cancer due to inhaling diesel fumes. Since all these cities are less polluted than Kolkata, that is what is happening to our brains too. Hopefully, everyone will understand the need to cut down on pollution and act responsibly, Chatterjee said.

How Pollution Is Affecting You

LUNGS:
Macrophages a vital defense mechanism against bacteria and virus get so busy fighting the pollution that they forget the real function, leaving the lungs vulnerable to bacteria and virus attacks. During this, an enzyme called elastase is released which degrades the lungs elastic tissues.

HEART:
Ultra-fine particles (0.1 micron) break down low density lipoprotein measure, forming a plaque on the arterial wall and reducing the space for blood flow. This triggers heart attacks.

LIVER:
They stimulate blood clotting mechanism, causing thrombosis or cardiac arrhythmia.

DNA:
Gene pool could be affected. Congenital problems are being detected among kids. It will take 15-20 years to know how badly we are hit Lung cancer is highest among metros at 18.4 per 100,000 ( national average 11 per 100,000 ). 45 people have reduced lung function. 50 % children have respiratory problems .

(* National Cancer Research Institute-Calcutta University research)

From : THE TIMES OF INDIA, 01-08-2008

GREEN LETTER DAY

City Breathes Easy As Pre- 93 Vehicles Comply With Order

Team TOI

Kolkata: A new Kolkata was born on August 1. Or should we say the city of joy went back to the golden days of the early 1980s ? It certainly felt that way. Minus the toxic fumes, minus the smoke-belching buses and autos, Kolkata was sheer delight on Saturday.

A survey done by Saviour and Friend of Environment (SAFE) and commissioned by The Times of India confirmed that the air the city breathed on Saturday was never this clean in the last two decades, thanks to the enforcement of the high court order to ban pre- 93 commercial vehicles.

It was as if Kolkata had travelled back in time, to the days when cars didnt jostle for every inch of road space, buses were fewer and autos were yet to arrive. Commuters, even though inconvenienced by the withdrawal of autos and older buses and taxis, loved the transformation. At Shyambazar crossing, where the hydrocarbon count plummeted to just 1 ppm from 19 ppm, people stood on the road in disbelief. Many got down from cars for a breath of fresh air.

Readings taken by SAFE at Dunlop crossing, Shyambazar five-point crossing , Park Circus and the Rashbehari Avenue-SP Mukherjee Road crossing revealed that hydrocarbon levels (which cause liver, kidney and brain damage, and even cancer) dropped by more than 50%. Oxygen count shot up by around 15%, leading to a drop in the percentages of carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide. Suspended particulate matter which causes bronchial diseases and is chiefly responsible for making Kolkata the asthma capital of the country nosedived by 50%. The findings vindicated the green activists stand against older vehicles.

"This was bound to happen. The sharp drop in the hydrocarbon level proves that older vehicles are the major culprits. They emit unburnt fuel into the air that pushes up the hydrocarbon level to dangerous levels. Let us hope that Kolkata will breathe freely like it did on Saturday ", said green activist Subhas Datta, who had filed the petition seeking the withdrawal of 15-year-old vehicles.

After a decade's struggle against pollution , it was a green letter day. As many as 32,000 non-LPG autos, 3,000 buses/ minibuses and 6,000 taxis of pre-1993 make as well as 22,000 trucks stayed off the road. Chief secretary Asok Mohan Chakrabarti confirmed that there had been near total compliance by transport operators in Kolkata and there were no major flare-ups . Transport secretary Sumantra Chowdhury admitted to some violations on the outskirts but assured that the drive against polluting vehicles would continue unabated.

The 3,000-odd green autos usually crowded out by the black & yellow cousins that use adulterated fuel and spew toxic fumes ruled the roads on Saturday . Though there were no autos on some routes, commuters didnt seem to mind.

Brand new LPG autos cross the second Hooghly bridge while entering Kolkata on Saturday

I can't help saying it now : " Jai ho !"

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.

Yeahhhhh !

Ok, so my favourite couple is back. Moumita and Sabya Da, of course. Yesterday evening, by Lufthansa (on which the food seems to be getting cheesier, both literally and metaphorically), via Frankfurt. Spring's certainly the harbinger of better things !



Not so in Kol, it seems. Apparently, the temperature there was 41 C yesterday, as Titai announced over the phone, sounding thoroughly disgusted. Mamoni tried to sound merry as she described their collective efforts at minimal yet decorous attire, but wasn't very convincing. With elections approaching, power cuts are likely to get more frequent and worsen the already bleak scenario. It was only 24 C here on Sat and people seemed to have gone berserk with joy. We could hear children playing outdoors till almost 9 pm and past, the neighbours were all outdoors in the skimpiest of attire : shorts, spaghettis and tanks, hosting full fledged barbecues ; we ventured out to clean the car and then take a walk, without a single sweater or jacket and me actually in a skirt ; K got a haircut and we kept on downing bottles of water. We actually had to switch on the AC on Sat night. Wonder what on earth we're going to do back home. Well, at least we'd be returning to summer from summer, so there won't be as drastic a change as it could have been at any other point of time during the year.



Abir's film, Cross-Connection is ready for a May release and the crowds at South City Mall are getting worse. Moumita was astounded by the spectacle of a queue that stretched right till Jadavpur Thana ! That reminds me, I again forgot to congratulate Mamoni for winning a prize at the Spencer's Hypermart quiz, organized by Sananda Club. Mani Square seems to be getting its fair share of attention too, what with irs first IMAX and the inaugural Rs 177 worth food buffet at Haka. However, people are as ill behaved as ever, disowning all etiquette when it comes to getting their money's worth of meat. Well.



K got his narus (he calls them 'diabetes inducing agents') and I got my medicines (he calls them 'diabetes reducing agents') and my hair serum 'Silk-n-Shine' from back home. So we're both happy people right now.

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.

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 !!!

Vir Sanghvi on the pujos...

This was the first thing my eyes rested on when I checked my email this morning, shrouded in the poignant pathos of Bijoya Dashami...thank you Rahul Da...I can't elaborate enough on the extent to which it moved me, a girl who is away from her parents, parents-in-law and all other friends and relatives on the occasion of her very first pujo after marriage. I myself only know what I have missed this year. Even Maa Durga made it to her baaper baadi. I couldn't. Some day, I hope, K would appreciate how much I value him to reconcile myself with such circumstances at an age and point of time in life when the absence of all these still makes a difference.

What 'Pujo' means to a Bengali

Vir Sanghvi

"Most modern Indian cities strive to rise above ethnicity. Tell anybody who lives in Bombay that he lives in a Maharashtrian city and (unless of course, you are speaking to Bal Thackeray) he will take immediate offence. We are cosmopolitan, he will say indigenously.Tell a Delhiwalla that his is a Punjabi city (which, in many ways, it is) and he will respond with much self-righteous nonsense about being the nation's capital, about the international composition of the city's elite etc. And tell a Bangalorean that he lives in a Kannadiga city and you'll get lots of techno-gaff about the internet revolution and about how Bangalore is even more cosmopolitan than Bombay.But, the only way to understand what Calcutta is about is recognize that the city is essentially Bengali. What's more, no Bengali minds you saying that. Rather, he is proud of the fact. Calcutta's strengths and weaknesses mirror those of the Bengali character. It has the drawbacks: the sudden passions, the cheerful chaos, the utter contempt for mere commerce, the fiery response to the smallest provocation. And it has the strengths (actually, I think ofthe drawbacks as strengths in their own way). Calcutta embodies theBengali love of culture; the triumph of intellectualism over greed;the complete transparency of all emotions, the disdain with which hypocrisy and insincerity are treated; the warmth of genuine humanity; and the supremacy of emotion over all other aspects of human existence.That's why Calcutta is not for everyone.You want your cities clean and green; stick to Delhi. You want your cities, rich and impersonal; go to Bombay. You want them high-tech and full of draught beer; Bangalore's your place. But if you want a city with a soul: come to Calcutta.When I look back on the years I've spent in Calcutta - and I come back so many times each year that I often feel I've never been away - I don't remember the things that people remember about cities.When I think of London, I think of the vast open spaces of Hyde Park.When I think of New York, I think of the frenzy of Times Square. When Ithink of Tokyo, I think of the bright lights of Shinjiku. And when I think of Paris, I think of the Champs Elysee. But when I think of Calcutta, I never think of any one place. I don't focus on the greenery of the maidan, the beauty of the Victoria Memorial, the bustle of Burra Bazar or the splendour of the new Howrah Bridge.I think of people. Because, finally, a city is more than bricks and mortars,street lights and tarred roads. A city is the sum of its people. And who can ever forget or replicate - the people of Calcutta? When I first came to live here, I was told that the city would grow on me. What nobody told me was that the city would change my life. It was in Calcutta that I learnt about true warmth; about simple human decency; about love and friendship; about emotions and caring; about truth and honesty. I learnt other things too. Coming from Bombay as Idid, it was a revelation to live in a city where people judged each other on the things that really mattered; where they recognized that being rich did not make you a better person - in fact, it might have the opposite effect. I learnt also that if life is about more than just money, it is about the things that other cities ignore; about culture,about ideas, about art, and about passion.

In Bombay, a man with a relatively low income will salt some of it away for the day when he gets a stock market tip. In Calcutta, a man with exactly the same income will not know the difference between a debenture and a dividend. But he will spend his money on the things that matter. Each morning, he will read at least two newspapers and develop sharply etched views on the state of the world.Each evening, there will be fresh (ideally, fresh-water or river) fish on his table. His children will be encouraged to learn to dance or sing. His family will appreciate the power of poetry. And for him,religion and culture will be in inextricably bound together. Ah religion! Tell outsiders about the importance of Puja in Calcutta and they'll scoff. Don't be silly, they'll say. Puja is a religiousf estival. And Bengal has voted for the CPM since 1977. How can godless Bengal be so hung up on a religions festival? I never know how to explain them that to a Bengali, religion consists of much more than shouting Jai Shri Ram or pulling down somebody's mosque. It has little to do with meaningless ritual or sinister political activity.The essence of Puja is that all the passions of Bengal converge:emotion, culture, the love of life, the warmth of being together, the joy of celebration, the pride in artistic expression and yes, the cult of the goddess. It may be about religion. But is about much more than just worship. In which other part of India would small, notparticularly well-off localities, vie with each other to produce the best pandals? Where else could puja pandals go beyond religion to draw inspiration from everything else? In the years I lived in Calcutta,the pandals featured Amitabh Bachchan, Princess Diana and even Saddam Hussain! Where else would children cry with the sheer emotional powerof Dashami, upset that the Goddess had left their homes? Where else would the whole city gooseflesh when the dhakis first begin to beat their drums? Which other Indian festival - in any part of the country- is so much about food, about going from one roadside stall to another, following your nose as it trails the smells of cooking? To understand Puja, you must understand Calcutta. And to understand Calcutta, you must understand the Bengali. It's not easy. Certainly,you can't do it till you come and live here, till you let Calcutta suffuse your being, invade your bloodstream and steal your soul. But once you have, you'll love Calcutta forever.Wherever you go, a bit of Calcutta will go with you. I know, because it's happened to me. And every Puja, I am overcome by the magic of Bengal.It's a feeling that'll never go away."

Italian Night Out

K finally got to meet Shobi. Ooops, sorry. We finally got to meet her. At our usual hangout at Haldiram’s, Exide. Well, we waited a good 30 mins for her. All the more noteworthy an occasion since I actually reached 10 mins before the appointed time (thank you for the applause, I hereby take a virtual bow). But Ma’am had the misfortune to fall asleep while reading and turned up uncharacteristically late. Anyway, we as usual ended up wistfully recollecting our good old days at school (in the dual capacities of teacher and student) and boring the hell out of poor K. Who had the decency to let us catch up while he went and got something in the nature of beverage to revitalize us. And chivalrously chose to overlook the fact that none of us was courteous enough to go help him fetch the tray containing the three glasses of thandai. The good part was that they seemed to like each other. Which is natural, considering that every one likes both K and Shobi. (Can’t say the same for myself, though.) Shobi looks great. She has a glow on her face. She dismisses my admiring glances by attributing it to her beauty sleep. I don’t care what it is. I just love the fact that my friend looks so beautiful and cheerful.

Well then, we went to meet AG. K is growing increasingly lethargic. He actually took a taxi from Exide to AG’s place, a mere 5 mins by bus ! I’m ashamed of his lack of activity, which is seemingly turning into a habit. (Although I secretly adore every move that he makes.) I was extremely indignant at his anticipating with sadistic relish the spectacle of a T-shirt & jeans clad me touching the feet of AG’s old-fashioned (?) parents. I was secretly hoping they’d be taking a prolonged nap in the midst of the delightful afternoon drizzle. Well, his mother wasn’t. AG was tickled by my confusion at the spectacle of a parent who looked more like a married elder sister than the clichéd mother figure.

Sush was as usual late. First, it appears that he had been buying slippers for Namita (whose were en route to Kol via the Packers' and Movers’ stuff).And then, he was taking a bath. Namita was ready and raring to go. While K, AG and I watched the new set of ads on TV (including the arresting Radio City ones), Aunty treated us to tea and samosas. A few practical suggestions that they be packed and carried to the flat for the sake of the presently un-hungry few were not taken seriously and the food was promptly disposed of.

Everyone seemed to take to our flat. Particularly, Bapi’s new device that aims to electrocute offending mosquitoes. It started raining soon after and we were soon on our way to CC. Nam declared that she was not going to settle for anything less than continental cuisine on the occasion of this great get-together and we meekly gave in.

At CC, considerable time was invested in locating a secure niche for AG’s beloved. The Red Swift, I mean. Then, we sent the boys on ‘Mission Italian Cuisine’ while we ladies sought Nam’s immediate and specific object of desire, an asymmetrical kurta. As usual, we wasted a lot of time at Shoppers’ Stop and were not done when the boys abbreviated our sortie by giving us extremely obscure directions to the Italian restaurant they had managed to unearth.

Much of the humour that night centred in the guys having ordered drinks for us, which I was unaware, contained a strong dash of white rum. My suspicions were aroused by the fact that Nam seemed to be growing increasingly ‘high’ while my natural sense of orientation seemed to be slightly in disarray. The tiramisu was an anticlimax although the main courses had not been very disappointing, on the whole. My penne, however, was simply dripping with cheese, which seemed to repel everyone except a very stolid me. K was slightly bewildered as to why I insisted on eating all the fried potatoes off his plate, despite my having sufficient undisposed of food left on my own. Then there were numerous unresolved questions. Why the waiters were garbed in a funereal black garb from head-to-toe. Why K was guzzling down all that extremely bitter beer despite being fetishistically attached to sweet dishes. Why AG thought that every time Namita and I started laughing merrily after a bout of desperate whispering, we might be badmouthing him. Why K refused to let me kiss him in the unpopulated washroom corridor although he had formerly stood up solidly to the challenge of allowing me to kiss him in public view (ok, ok, I do concede it was just a cursory peck on the cheek). Why he finally decided to do away with social decorum and hold my hand tightly in full view of all of his friends, overlooking their cheers or chuckles. And so much more.

But then, did I really want the answers? In retrospect, I think, I had been in too euphoric a state of mind to care.

Phewwwww.....

Yesterday afternoon, the waist level water in front of our house subsided in the late afternoon and I decided to attend office in the 2nd half for mercenary reasons.I actually rushed through the Bengali rainy day culinary speciality (yup, khichudi, what else?!!!). The moment I stepped out....mannnnn...it began to pour...I was simply disgusted.Came back and changed once again and went to sleep.Yup.I was that disgusted.

And don't talk about today ! There was no auto available to Sector V for a good 15 mins, it was raining non-stop all the way to office, my umbrella got caught in a strong wind just outside my office and a total stranger volunteered to help me to straighten it out (before that, I was standing paralysed for 2 whole minutes at a point just a few yards from my office staring dumbfounded at the umbrella !) and just in front of my office there was a huge and dirty pool of water that I had to wade through before I could enter the building. Gross.

The only good part of the day - high tea with K at Fingertips in the evening. After that I felt really high.

And hurrah for my jeans.They saved my day.Yes, I know, I had no business wearing casuals on a Thursday to office but who the hell cares in this weather what the HR etc think? They were probably too busy signing leave slips to notice anyway.

Democracy of Devastation...

Kolkata is going through an intensely bad time. And that too, not due to any natural calamity, but an artificial one. The monsoons are in full force and heavy rains lashed the city on the night of 2nd July, 2007 and in fits and starts throughout 3rd July. The result - a waterlogged city, exposing all the municipal torpor that has caused routine life to come to a dead halt since yesterday morning. I, for one, could not go to office yesterday. But that was initially cause for celebration and I did take it in the spirit of an unexpected holiday. Or, as we used to term them in school life, it was just another ‘rainy day’ I found occasion to catch up on my reading ,watched one and a half films, listened to Big FM and enjoyed an afternoon nap. In fact, I even went out in the evening yesterday to buy a cashcard, which was actually just an excuse for a leisurely walk through the freshly bathed streets.

But. Yes, but. The enormity of the situation that had engulfed the rest of the city dawned on me when I woke up this morning, peered outside with sleepy eyes and suffered a mini-hallucination. Which was actually reality. Yes, a murky river had sprung up overnight just in front of my house, which disappointed any latent hopes of turning up at office today. And the worst part is that no one believes that my locality could actually be flooded because it is studded with residences of state ministers and MLAs. But I realized that my plight was nothing when compared with the miseries of other Kolkatans. From 9.30-11.30 am, I have been squatting in front of the TV, watching Star Ananda live coverages of the current misery of citizens both of the city proper and the suburbs. Celebrities like Suchitra Bhattacharya and Bani Basu the authors, Tridib Chattopadhyay the publisher and Bibhas Chakraborty the theatre artist spoke animatedly of the fear and suffering they have witnessed or been a part of since yesterday. Numerous people called up to report first-hand their terrible predicament due to lack of drainage facilities, loadshedding, lack of drinking water supplies and even food. At the Sukhia locality of APC Road, people cannot even come to collect the drinking water being provided on an emergency basis due to the waterlogging in their area. The photos being broadcast, still and video, of the spectacle in suffering that is Kolkata at the moment, seems unbelievable.

Amaresh Chatterjee, a senior citizen hailing from Baranagar, deserves special mention. The entire ground floor of his home was under 1 and a half feet of water yesterday. He and his aged wife removed almost 600 bucketfuls of water to make it somewhat more habitable. He even did some thing that should put us young and inert citizens to shame. With his own tired hands, he cleaned out the open drain that spans the area surrounding his place. The local councillor was unabashed by his efforts and his surprised queries regarding the absence of municipal workers on this day of need generated the curious interpretation that he was speaking in a ‘motivated’ tone. So much for democracy and freedom of speech or for that matter, right to information.

The Mayor has been presented with numerous bouquets on this (un) eventful occasion. Don’t be surprised. The opposition councilors have been enterprising enough to capitalize on the success and popularity engendered by the message of Gandhigiri upheld in ‘Lage Raho Munnabhai’. They are not really doing anything very original.

The Asian Development Bank is helping Kolkata Municipal Corporation out with a loan of 1800 crore rupees to better its civic necessities. But don’t feel elated about it. The money is to be channelised into pumping stations that will filter the sewerage water from the city and ensure that the river Ganges does not suffer more pollution than it is already facing. Which means that we will remain as worse off as we were formerly with this antedated drainage system or the lack of it.

And yes, it seems that in a city which will soon house more shopping malls than hospitals or blood banks, the ravages wrought by the intermittent rains has driven home a picture of the ‘democracy of devastation’ ( in Bani Basu’s words). The general picture that came across from the phone calls, video stills and live reports on the channel was that - the more we progress, the more things remain the same. An NGO in northern Kolkata has helped the local slum residents to move into a vacant school building in the area and has been providing them with ‘chnire and gud’. Kolkata it seems, is receding into prehistoric primitivity.

And oh, one last thing, for the moment at least. The honourable Mayor has taken the liberty of comparing our beloved city to London. But you will feel more stunned than ecstatic when I inform you that he was talking about the crisis that that celebrated city also has to undergo throughout the year. ‘We should be happy that the monsoons don’t last forever’ is what he seems to be trying to say, albeit in a rather tangential way. Well, then, let us raise some funds and undertake the liberty of exporting him to London. Pronto. I’m sure the Londoners will be less happy to see him there than we are to get rid of him. And his lesson in lethargy.