Beauty and Reality

Beauty is highly overrated, I think.

No, I wasn't always so progressive in my thoughts. In fact, I shed copious amount of tears when in class X because of the dubious power of this strange myth of beauty. I was very much in love with a classmate and he didn't reciprocate. A close common friend consoled me by what now seems like a most unappropriate piece of wisdom. That I should get used early to the fact that only beautiful people are always going to be in demand. Moral of the story : I wasn't beautiful.

I was silly enough to believe in what she said and withdraw into a shell. It took me many years, a very dear friend (whom I might almost have married, he was so kind to me), several marriage photographs and a lot of adoring youngsters to convince me that I was actually beautiful.

Mind you, that beauty has not been conventional, nor merely physical. I often wondered why so many people have called me beautiful when I myself saw nothing in the mirror to allow me to agree with them. I realised that much later when I wondered why so many people either loved me or hated me, but certainly couldn't overlook me. They saw in me what I failed to see myself : confidence, sincerity, charisma, dignity, goodwill, optimism, hope, contentment, potential, happiness. In short, it was what I felt inside that lent that radiant glow to my face. In other words, I had then looked as if life suited me. And that made me beautiful to them.

It makes sense, I've realised since. Don't we all consider our mothers the most beautiful women in the world ? In most cases, their features are neither the most symmetrical, nor the most regular in the world nor their smiles as dazzling as those of Madhuri Dixit or Julia Roberts. And yet, we insist on considering them beautiful enough to light up our lives and hearts. What is it, then, that makes us feel that way ?

And what about our partners ? My husband doesn't know whether to laugh or cry when I tell him he's the most handsome man in my life. He insists that he's tall and dark, but that the last adjective is something my enormously fertile imagination has conjured up out of my lingering adolescent attachment to Mills and Boons-esque heroes. I persist and believe me, I still think that way after three years of marriage.

That accounts for a lot, I would say. I have often called beautiful a lot of people in whom acquaintances saw nothing worth eulogising. Naturally, that has often perplexed me. Later I reasoned that it was probably because I had seen a side of these people that the pessimists around me hadn't. A flash of kindness, a streak of sunshine, a tang of truthfulness that had eluded the kaleidoscopic attention of impatient passers-by. Some little iridescence that had branded them as beautiful to me forever.

Labels have always evoked negative emotions in me. Even when they have not affected me on a personal basis. However, if a label brings a smile to someone's face, it's worth it. So go on, call the people in your life beautiful. But please don't do it because of the wrong reasons. Do it because you believe that it's true. Your soul should show through.

This post is an entry for the Yahoo! India and Dove 'I Believe in Real Beauty' contest. So do drop by at



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Re : updates & a Birthday

It seems like ages since I've last posted. And indeed, so much has happened in between !

Bapi turned 60. For the first time, all the members of our apartment celebrated Saraswati Pujo together, as one big family. K and I participated in the Republic day annual sports at my baaper baarir para (the locality my parents reside in) and didn't fare as miserably as we thought we would. One particular Sunday, we survived a whole night of dirty abuse, brick and glass pelting precipitated by our attempt to get rid of some rowdy neighbourhood mischiefmakers and had TV channels and the police put us all under literal house arrest as they seemingly took action against the anti-social activities of the former. Our ancient (the style, I mean) windows are about to be replaced by aluminium sliding glass ones and the entire house painted. I'm back in academics, doing an evening course on Editing & Publishing at Jadavpur University. Rashi and I visited the Kolkata Book Fair after several years and found it as poorly managed as ever, probably just a wee bit less dusty. Yes, there's a lot that you guys have missed and which I hope to be able to update you about (well, not at one sitting perhaps, but soon).

Let's get started. Bapi turned 60 and we decided to host a party at our flat. It was on a relatively large scale, considering our flat isn't big enough to comfortably contain 30 plus people at any given moment. We decided to save ourselves from overexerting ourselves and so outsourced the food. The menu consisted of crispy chicken and vegetable pakoras from our local favourite GOCS, as starters, while dinner comprised chicken biriyani and chicken chnaap from Shiraz or veg pulao, dal makhani and matar paneer, home-made raita and payesh and store-bought nolen gurer (molasses) rosogolla. The highlight of the party, I personally think, were the cake itself and the decorations (the latter courtesy me). Each experience has its bitter side, though, and this was no exception. Some invitees showed their utter lack of social etiquette by trying to be forcibly didactic in the kitchen (which already contained too many kitchen paraphernalia and four very hard-working people, two of them by nature extremely antagonistic to any unwelcome intrusions). One (gentle)man unabashedly announced that chicken biriyani with chicken chnaap was a silly combination (we should have considered asking him to sponsor the event). Another (lady) behaved as if our kitchen was a public hotel,placing random demands for onions etc to the concerned staff. A few people claimed they were ill and yet, continued to talk into their cellphones nonstop, as if there was nothing called society to take into consideration. Somewhat miraculously, all these histrionics - besides my cutting my fingers on some shards of glass while cleaning our bathroom and taking a painful tetanus injection that very evening - did not result in impairing my mostly stoic appearance. Titai (my sister-in-law) was a revelation though, managing to manoeuvre all the tortuous challenges of entertaining with consummate and disarming ease. I must say that I was very glad when the rigmarole ended though. One can only put up with a circus for a limited amount of time.

The cake :

The gathering :

Dinner :

Adda :

Nicotine and alcohol :

I hope to be able to update you all about the other events too in equal detail. Next day ! :-)

Baby Banerjee

My friend D just had a caesarean. She was supposed to be operated on around late February, but due to complications (which involved a sudden and sharp decrease in the amniotic fluid, triggering breathing trouble in the baby), the entire process of delivery was precipitated much earlier than it would have been otherwise. Her hubby, B, a close friend of ours, called us the day before the procedure took place to inform us about this unexpected development. So, one the next day, we reached the Bhagirathi Neotia nursing home (supposedly the best in maternity and child care right now in Kolkata) and narrowly missed seeing our friend being wheeled into the OT. There was a period of anxiety, excitement and feverish anticipation as I waited downstairs in the lobby in the company of both sets of parents, D's elder brother (who insists on addressing me as a senior each time we meet for reasons best known to him), B's maternal aunt and uncle and a colleague of B. I proved to be an unexpected moderator for the smalltalk that was evidently a strained effort to conceal the concern underlying the apparent composure on everyone's faces. K informed me later that he and his friend were extremely jittery as they sat upstairs, just outside the OT, wondering whether the operation would go off uneventfully or...

Fortunately, everything turned out fine. Debarati gave birth to a bonnie (if slightly premature) boy of 2.7 kg weight at around 11.45 am on Sat, 6th Feb 2010. Everyone immediately embarked on frantic efforts to trace similarities between the facial features of the parents and that of the newborn, much to our mirth. The only assertion that one could possibly and justifiably make at that point of time was that Baby Banerjee sported a fine growth of hair already on his baby head. The proud mama (maternal uncle) insisted on treating us each to Rs 8 worth of gooey, high-cal gulab jamun at the T-Junction stall within the premises of the clinic. We went home, a happy couple, calling up friends and relatives on the way to give them this good news and assuring them that we'd provide concrete follow-ups on the former by way of photos on orkut or via email.

The entire incident succeeded in creating one serious point of contention between K and me : if I insisted on being Mashi (maternal aunt) to the baby and K insisted on being Kaku (paternal uncle); how exactly would bystanders interpret our own relationship ?

DOLLING UP

Everyone seems to be getting hitched of late. I wouldn't mind that, except that we get invited to celebrate all the occasions.Yeah right, I know you're saying. How can one rant about dressing up and indulging one's taste buds at all ? Well, if you were in my position, you'd know. I've been attending invitations from the 21st of Nov and there are several more queued up right till mid-Dec. Of late, I seem to be seeing too colourful versions of myself in the mirror each evening and ransacking my wardrobe for the most elegant saree to wear next day. Even K (who can't be too bothered about dressing up and is usually glad to leave all clothing options to my prudent self) got worked up enough to turn out and address the stock of ethnic clothes he possessed and even perturbed enough to accompany me to buy a new kurta from Prapti (which I'm sure, Abir and he have been enriching financially for the last couple of years). My stock of sarees, I'm happy to let you know, is still good and I do have alternatives enough to confound me most of the time from making a rapid choice. The miracle of course is due to my absence in India for over a year succeeding my marriage, which means that most of the sarees that were part of my wedding trousseau or gifts from generous well-wishers at our biye/reception are still new and compliment-worthy (well, that might be a hint, I suppose !).

Not so with my jewellery which K has been scandalised to find that I'm quite content with and not at all in any hurry of replenishing or adding to. I love pearls and got several sets of them as wedding gifts and a few invitees were decent, daring and darling enough to give me cosmetic jewellery, which are very tasteful and trendy. Oh well, at least in sync with my taste. K however insisted that I had nothing to match my zardosis and dragged me along to Chique in Metropolis Mall, Hiland Park, to buy me a beautiful set of silver pendant and earrings to compensate. I'm grateful he did but not overtly exuberant. Jewellery never did figure in my list of flauntable assets. What I am increasingly enthusiastic about is footwear and my last minute purchases for my wedding featured two expensive silver and gold slip-ons from Kamal & Kamal near Gariahat More. Otherwise though, I'm sorry to say that my taste in shoes is quite conservative and the most adventurous I've been in terms of colour is buying a pair of slip-ons in plum and a couple in cream. Sneakers in all colours keep on tempting me though and I somehow fear that I shall eventually succumb and buy a pair in green or blue or even purple. Sneakers shall be my doom, methinks ;-)

As for hair, I have finally returned to layers from the much-overdone steps and can safely say that I find this easier to manage, versatile enough to address or vary the look of and yet, simple enough to handle on an everyday basis without tooking too plain-Jane (or in my case, plain clueless). Formerly, if I went to a biyebari , I never know what to do with my hair. Usually, I hated long hair because when I kept it open, I looked good but sweated like a pig. If I tie it back, I feel good but look chubby cheeked and rotund in all the photos. Now, I just keep it tied in a top-knot or blow-dry the roots before I venture out and I'm done for the day (or to be more precise, the occasion).

As for make up, I have finally learned to be on time and almost as swift as the boys by totally dispensing with the pathetic goo that is foundation. The amount of effort that went into applying and then later in the night, removing the mess, was enough to make me hot and bothered, which must, after all, have visibly impaired my cheerfulness at parties. Now I religiously follow the cleansing-toning-moisturising routine and devote a little more time to eye shadow. All that goes to highlight my face is compact and blush. The first evens out the skin tone (and I've heard, makes for better photos) while the latter contours the face, enhances my so-so cheekbones and gives my nose the merit it duly deserves ( I really can't be bothered to be modest about my nose, it's the best part of my physiognomy after all). So, spared of all the foundation and concealer nonsense, I'm on time, look presentable and feel festive. That keeps everyone happy. And saves my energy for channelising into more worthwile things like photography, observing human failings and dessert.

Turns out, I'm not too disgruntled after all. Whassay ? ;-)

MY FIRST BADGE :-))))))

Well, here I am, at last with enough time and honesty at my disposal to accept with great humility and happiness the first badge that I’ve been awarded, and that too, by one of my favourite blogolleagues : Discovering M.

Yay !!!!!!!!!!

Dear DM, here’s a big THANKS for the honour and a bigger SMILE for cheering me up with your flowers (for the confused majority, I suggest checking out his comment on my last post) !

I live upto the legacy of my illustrious predecessors by naming 7 honest blogs and revealing 10 honest things about myself :-)

The honest blogs I can personally vouch for are as follows :

Barnali's World

Sunny Days

Crumbs of Life

Buckets of Rain

Just Like a Watermelon

myselfpallavi.com

The City in July

And well, here's a random 10 honest things about me :

1) I’ve a thing for colours. Almost an obsession. I can't function in a room where the colour of the wall jars on my senses.

2) I believe in the supernatural. But I’m not scared of it. Death has always fascinated me. I don’t think I’ll be afraid to die.

3) I can’t be bothered to small talk or go out of my way to try and impress my intelligence on others. You have to draw me out. Lots of people consider me aloof. I think I’m just reserved.

4) I often hate my closest ones as much as I love them. There. I said it.

5) I detest alcohol. In all forms. Even if I happen to say it’s ok to drink socially.

6) My first ever crush was Ajay Jadeja. I even wrote a 37 page romantic novelette starring him and me. Man.

7) I can’t write happy poems. Sadness inspires me.

8) To me, plagiarism, racial discrimination, gender discrimination, war-mongering and snobbery are crimes. When caught, the guilty should be hanged. Well, at least boycotted.

9) I need to learn diplomacy. But using tact somehow makes me feel like I’ve been lying.

10) I’m afraid the Kolkata Metro automatic ticket checking gates won’t let me past some day. No particular reason. I might have an ‘I, Robot’ or ‘Eagle Eye’ hangover, perhaps.

For more on this note, you're welcome to check out a former post that was actually a response to a Facebook Tag.

tada, guys. I'm off to arrange a belated badge-day celebration !

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 !

TRIBUTE : NIAGARA

NIAGARA

Life ventured into vague debenture,
Spent in sordid fits and starts ;
A dream devoid of adventure,
A fiasco of cynic hearts ;

I groped about each morning
For fabulous grapes, however sour,
Stumbling, often, into obscure yearning :
For one brief, magical hour.

Then, one sultry summer evening,
You stunned me from grey slumber,
Sung me into swift, simple meaning
Stoked strength into my dying ember ;

I drank nectar of mist and water
Smiled rainbows of solace
Rose to froth, all a-flutter
Seeped in iridescent grace…

Nightmares thinned to nothing.
Doubts died of sheer exhaustion.
I found my own Xanadu :
Wisdom to ease each question.

Resurrected by nature’s own creation,
I now stride centuries tall,
Humbled by revelation :
Oh Niagara, how proud you fall !


08-07-2009

Go Green !

Officially our Brookside Gardens monthly brochure says Tue, 17th March is St Patrick's Day , but we'd forgotten all about the parade to take place here, on Main Street, on 15th March since it's a Sunday and everybody would actually be able to participate. I was a bit taken aback by the merrymaking over Durga Puja here, which seemed to be taking place over a period of several weekends rather than on the panjika-designated 5 auspicious days, which we'd been accustomed to, since childhood. Convenience seems to be the keyword here rather than custom. I wonder how NRIs of Indian origin explain pujo to their children, the occasion losing so much of its authenticity of appeal or mythical mysticism by taking place consecutively at one weekend at Plainsfield, another at Edison and so on. In any case, it's not so much of a manifestation of divinity as a regulation reunion of sorts. One of the few occasions you get to wear a saree, deck up in your marriage jewellery and stand patiently in a queue to partake of bhog. And then go back to routine jeans-tee life the next day.


Anyway, I diverge. K and I were out for a walk on Sunday, trying desperately to lose our carefully cultivated winter fat, and providing updates on our respective mobiles to Sushmit and Ma of our not-so-eventful life. We were on our way home when we noticed a lot of people, entire families in fact, decked up in green ormamentation of quite a noticeable variety and all apparently headed for the Main Street, cameras, tents and water bottles in tow, despite the highly overcast sky. We rushed home, changed into green (I wore a green-black horizontally striped tee while K donned a green sweater), grabbed my camera and a water bottle and walked rapidly to the aforementioned centre of attraction. The entire town seemed to have descended on the scene. People had shown up in anything green they possessed, which ranged from green jackets or shirts or jeans or cardigans to green necklaces, green shades, green hats, green shoes, green streaked hair, green shamrock brooches, green wristlets. We even spotted numerous small dogs of all varieties possible decked up in green dresses (or whatever you'd prefer to call those items of apparel). There were even streetside vendors with green hued popcorn (bleh), green-tinted hot dogs (meh) and huge carts of green accessories, balloons and hats and dolls and streamers and fake furs and trumpets and what not.

My camera battery gave way much before the event actually started, which is why I don't have too many photos of the parade itself to show you. Basically, all the schools and clubs and committees and communities and squads and groups turned up in full force and more memorably, in uniform, to make the event a real spectacle. Young boys and girls from the local martial arts club strod past, very prim and proper. Middle aged men and women in cream and green cable-knit sweaters from the local dance school simpered and twirled along the grey road. Schoolbus loads of gaily waving champions of the Immaculata School basketball and wrestling competitions, tapdancing teenagers in black tanktops and lyotards creating a panorama of dancing flags in various shades of green and brown, schoolgirls dressed in fuschia dresses and tights performing a flag dance with bright green and yellow festoons, tiny tots who were simply small and sweet passed by in teeny weeny carriages past the madly cheering spectators. War veterans marched along with badges and brooches pinned on their spick and span uniforms, the local police musicians trumpeted by to the American national anthem while early Irish settlers of Somerville played their hornpipes, all very colourful in kilts and socks. Even the local fire brigades, rescue squad and paramedics' vans all slowly drove past, all freshly painted and adorned with balloons, streamers and ribbons. Certain parts of the procession involved throwing fistfuls of candy at the younger spectators, which met with immediate appreciation in the form of toddlers and teenagers gleefully running to and fro to snatch up the trophies and rush back to the safety of their guardians' sides, big grins plastered on their faces. But the highlight of the day was a trained and highly disciplined group of gigantic Irish greyhounds who walked past with their justly proud owners, a study in serenity. I was really upset at my dysfunctional camera at that moment. It was a moment worth capturing on film.

The main street bore a festive but uncluttered look as residents stood/sat patiently on either pavement, eager and enthusiastic onlookers who cheered when they spotted an acquaintance in the procession or identified a known officer among the numerous administrative personnel who allowed a glimpse of their most informal sides that day. Dogs or children, men or women, they all stood patient and expectant without any of the rude jostling that so characterises Kolkata crowds at Pujo pandals or mass revelries. It was an interesting experience that left a sweet green taste in the mouth.

P.S. Please click on each photo to view its enlarged version.

At Last !

We were almost dying of anticipation but this just revived us...what fun !

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 !

To Rashi, With Love...

The Art Of A Good Marriage

Happiness in marriage is not something that just happens. A good marriage must be created.
In marriage the little things are the big things.
It is never being too old to hold hands.
It is remembering to say "I love you" at least once a day.
It is never going to sleep angry.
It is at no time taking the other for granted; the courtship should not end with the honeymoon, it should continue through the years.
It is having a mutual sense of values and common objectives.
It is standing together facing the world.
It is forming a circle of love that gathers the whole family.
It is doing things for each other, not in the attitude of duty or sacrifice, but in the spirit of joy.
It is speaking words of appreciation and demonstrating gratitude in thoughtful ways.
It is not looking for perfection in each other.
It is cultivating flexibility, patience, understanding and a sense of humour.
It is having the capacity to forgive and forget.
It is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow old.
It is a common search for the good and the beautiful.
It is establishing a relationship in which the independence is equal, dependence is mutual and the obligation is reciprocal.
It is not only marrying the right partner, it is being the right partner.

Wilferd Arlan Peterson

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.

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.