Random Reading Project: Day 6

 So this is from a reel by Thera.find whom I follow on Instagram.

It made me think that this is one of the lessons we all have to learn in life, sooner or later.

Delayed updates

I just noticed that I've made no posts in a long time. Well, I'm not happy about it...that's all I have to say.

Have been feeling really down of late...totally swamped in work, checking all these annual exam answer scripts...the same answers, with all sorts of ridiculous variations in spelling, logic and creativity (not meant to be taken constructively)...pain in all my joints...dreaming of white sheets with blue and red writing on them instead of human subjects...meals and sleep becoming a painful but necessary interruption in my dreary routine...you get the drift.

On top of that, I've had to apply for permission to take my Spanish language exams at a later date because I was 1) not prepared for the exams, what with all these annual scripts and 2) the 4-7 pm time slot being inconvenient as my school timing is 11.30-5.30 pm. I wanted to sit for the exams on the first set of dates like most of the other students (although a sizeable number would be appearing at a later date, along with me, thanks to end-sems at college) and basically do the right thing at the right time. Plus, in the meanwhile, if I get out of practice, I'd have to struggle on my own, not having my Spanish teacher to guide me :-(

On a brighter note, people at the first floor staffroom (where I shifted after the puja vacation) have been very warm and welcoming. Of course, I have known some of them for a while now, being an alumnus as well as having taught there on a leave vacancy in mid-2006, but there were a lot of new faces this time, too. We went to a senior teacher's house for a scrumptious lunch one day and after that, it seems like we're one big family. Don't know about the future but right now, I look forward to going to work each day, thanks to my colleagues. Not everyone can boast of that, I'm sure.

We watched 'Tintin' and 'Breaking Dawn'. Well, yes, I did manage to make time for them. The counter attendants at Fame, Hiland Park, looked blank when I enquired about the Twilight sequel about a fortnight before it was actually released in India (a week later than the world premiere, as far as I can recollect). Well, maybe I was more enthusiastic than others might have been but that doesn't speak much of their ignorance either.They need to be updated in their knowledge database, methinks. Anyway, I personally think 'Tintin' (3D) was good but not great, The 3D experience is overhyped in most cases. Th edges of the screen seemed black both with and without the specs and the close-ups of the characters made them look strange. I think the 2D print might not have made much of a difference. in terms of viewing pleasure. But yes, I simply loved the animation that accompanied the opening credits, haven't watched anything like it in a long long time. The film was a spectacle of sorts. Shall later try watching it on my parents' huge Smart TV...hope the 3D does show up better over there at least. As for 'Breaking Dawn' , I do think it's the best of the four Twilight films we've watched so far. I don't claim to know much about direction but I do understand that the ability to translate a bestseller book into an equally compelling film would require genius. That touch is definitely there in this film. The vampire-wolf story is there but takes a back seat to the miracle of love, an inexhaustible theme. Bella's make up artist deserves to receive all the awards that 'Alice in Wonderland' won. And I had been curious to find out how part I of 'Breaking Dawn' would end. It was brilliantly done. I've tons to say on this film, but I think it merits a post by itself. Amen to that.

We bought a few DVDs at a decent discounted rate last weekend from Starmark. We watched 'Doubt' and 'The Reader', bleary-eyed, into late night, but they were totally worth it. More on them in another post. Shall just give you a list of the other titles :

• A collection, which apart from 'The Reader' contains 'Milk', 'Michael Clayton' and 'Babel'



• 'The English Patient'



• 'Seven'



• 'Requiem for a Dream'



• 'Saat Paake Bnadha'

Well, that's about it, for now. Hope to resurface soon. I do have a lot to say about 'Breaking Dawn' and the films we've been watching...oh, and quite a few observations relating to people and events in my totally non-filmi life, as well :-D

Holidays

The Puja vacations...

Once I used to plan so much to do during vacations and then ended up doing very little. Except maybe catch up with friends, spend lazy mornings reading on the bed or sunning myself after a bath on an easy chair in the late afternoon sun in the verandah and watching TV in the evenings.

Now I don't plan. I take things as they come. Like when I spent an hour every evening last week in Salt Lake out in our local park with my school cum para friend Juieen. We ambled along at a leisurely pace, sometimes pacing up when we remembered we were actually supposed to be exercising. We caught up on old times, friends and foes, introspection and analysis about almost everything under the sun. It felt nice to relive old times, contemplate the ways in which we've changed over the past few years, how marriage has affected our lives and so on.

Similarly, I'm enjoying my quiet hours at home. Experimenting slightly with breakfast options, tidying up my wardrobe, curling up in the afternoon with one or the other of the Twilight Saga books, watching some random movie being aired at the very time that I've chosen to surf channels on the TV, exercising on our terrace in the evening, a leisurely reading of the newspaper that encompasses almost the whole day (!), clearing the backlog on my reading of other blogs, Facebooking, practising my Spanish grammar and well...it's a long list really.

I'm enjoying my me-time. And the fact that I don't have to meet any deadline or go through the daily routine at a breakneck pace so that I'm punctual for ... um, almost everything that needs you to be on time.

I now realise how stressed out our life has become. And how teaching in a school has its own little compensations. Like these holidays.

Along the Way

Sometimes it seems like there's no hope and life will never turn around.


For you and I have walked a long way together but we still forget our destination and stop at every crossroad, wondering which road to take.


I keep on cutting my feet on shards of glass mostly invisible to the eye, but glittering deceptively once in a while. They confuse me into believing that I may find a few stars strewn across my path, which will guide me to my home.

You throw away the flowers that I had once plucked for you, complaining that they are now withered and dead.

I wander about, looking for more, but the weather has changed. The season, actually.

We both get distracted and frequently lose our way, sometimes stopping to stare at the cactus along the bank or the dead dog on the roadside.

We meet, of course and continue walking together, but the horizon now seems distant and uncertain.

Unfamiliar faces begin to look familar, friends become strangers.

My feet hurt, but I continue walking.

And yes, I do look around for you, once in a while.

Dead and Not Loving It.

I'm very down and out today.

I don't know what it is that makes me feel this way. It might be the fortnight-old cold that just doesn't seem to cure. It might be the fact that S and I are off to catch 'Aisha' today but without Ko, whose grandpa's down with malaria. It might be because my friend's marriage is on the rocks. It might be because I have so little time for myself nowadays that I don't know what to do with my leisure any more. It might be because I want to blog but not to rant and yet that is what I'm only upto right at the moment. It might be because the brand new sharodiya 'Anandamela' is lying on the bed but I don't feel like reading it. It might be because there's so much of household work all around that I'm sick of my very existence. It might be because I feel the girl in me is wasting away, careful always to not tread on anyone's toes. It might be because my life seems all too predictable right now and that's the last thing the Gemini like me would wish for.

There's so much yet left to do : learn a language, test my interior designing skills, write a book, complete my anthology (long overdue), have a child, build my own house, visit new places (so many !!!), become famous...

But nothing seems to matter now...

Am I dying ?

Not literally, of course. That might have been better.

Beauty and Beyond

From my window

I had gone out this morning to exchange some T-shirts I'd bought at an unbelievable discount (but had forgotten to check whether they fit, so very me) this morning. I got down from the auto and was walking the last bit home when I had a strange emotional experience.

It started with this purple-and-lavender painted house I was glancing at as I passed by. It looked so cool and fresh to the eyes in the middle of the floating waves of white hot heat all around. Then within a couple of minutes, I came across this blue-and-navy painted house, equally soft on the eyes. Yes, I am a bit eccentric that way ; I don't mind spending all my leisure hours ambling along the streets of Salt Lake, thinking and feeling and considering houses. They are as individualistic to me as human beings, maybe more so. When I see a house that really pleases my senses, I feel a strange sense of contentment, as if I had created a masterpiece myself. The right colours, the sense of symmetry, the pattern of the grille, the shape of the doors and windows, the positioning of the gates, the lazy climb of the bougainvillea along the balcony pillars, all these things give me an immense sense of bliss. Strangely enough, 9 out of 10 people wouldn't think of me as materialistic in the usual sense. I'm not too picky about my food or clothes. All my friends gift me books (yes, all of them) on my bithday each year. And yet, I am particular to the point of obsession when it comes to colours of walls, shades of tiles and hues of accessories like curtain fabrics or bedspreads or cushion covers. I can't function in a room painted in a colour I abhor or take too seriously a person who wears colour-uncoordinated clothes. Strange, isn't it ?

And yet, even as I was living the beauty of these houses, I was also thinking of how lucky I was to be able to have eyes that could appreciate the beauty of things around me, to have the time to stand and stare amidst a life full of care, to be able to afford an umbrella over my head to shade me from the merciless sun. And then, I looked at the woman fast asleep on the footpath in the heat of summer and I realised with a strange keenness how life, beauty and happiness are shortlived and essentially transitory in nature. Sobered and checked, I felt like giving it all up and giving all I had away and seeking sanctuary somewhere permanent, with someone omniscient.

Sometimes, life has more meaning than I can make sense of.

DARE TO DREAM

All the things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams. ~Elias Canetti

Some days are just not made for waking up.

Open your eyes and the whole of life seems a lesson in disappointment. There is no sepia-tinted crumbling fort to spend a heady afternoon in. There are no forbidden rooftops where you can take in the whole countryside at a glimpse and weave enchanted dreams in a shady corner of. There are no passionate encounters where the hero is neither black nor white but a delicious grey, tempting you to succumb and yet himself resisting your desires. There is no mesmerising moment in a dangerous alley when your cherished ideals are dramatically deconstructed. There is no friend whom you can adore and give up your life for at a moment's notice, with the sweet certainty of its being a cause worthy of such a sacrifice.

Instead, there are umpteen shopping malls where you can go and squander all your hard-earned money on silly trinkets and superfluous garments. There is a flat which is located in a dusty neighbourhood still under construction, with rickshaws, handcarts and lorries competing to blow dust into your weak respiratory system. There is a husband who loves you, but is unable to empathise with the tragic poet in you. There are friends but none who merit such utter devotion.

In short, there is no drama in your moribund stream-of-consciousness. The last time you thought you had somewhat approached it, you were languishing in a 12 hour long flight, watching Jodhaa-Akbar and your psychedelic euphoria was exhaustion-induced and alas, too short-lived. You woke up to realise that you were a bored and unwilling participant in the rat race that is the professional arena. Where socialising mainly involved bitching about one friend or neighbour to another, success was measured in terms of your take-home pay, your financial stability was reflected in the size of your car and the tip you paid at each restaurant you ate out in, your personal worth depended on your eloquence in self-appraisal and the depth of the romantic in you was revealed in the expense of your honeymoon destination.

What shall we do then ? Where shall we find a more glorious retreat ?

Sleep on, I say. And dare to dream. Or maybe pen another post or poem. The virtual world is still virtual enough to tantalise !

Dare to Dream

Dare to dream of far off lands,

Dream of deserts, covered in sand.

Dream of rainforests, trees high above

Dream of finding your one true love.

Dare to dream of lies or the truth,

Dream of never losing your youth.

Dream of battles, dream of a spark.

Dream of light, a light in the dark.

Dare to dream of fighting and sadness,

Dream of men, succumbed to madness.

Dream of warmth and heat and flame,

Dream that your life is just a game.

Dare to dream of hate and mistrust,

Dream of all that’s true and just.

Dream of drowning, drowning in the sea,

Dare to dream of dreaming, yes dare to dream with me.

Lexi Smith

Ad-ing to our Woes !

At last, we’ve managed to sell off all our living room furniture. The latter included a sofa set, a coffee/centre table, a TV with wooden stand, a floor lamp and a small storage unit, popularly known as a microwave table. With the disposal of these items, it feels like a huge load of responsibility has been taken off our minds. Another actual proof, I suppose, of how material issues engage our lives to an idiotic extent. Among the residual and mostly minor items left is a metal strolley, a bucket, a pedestal fan, an iron and ironing board, a toaster and a couple of chairs. The car has verbally been booked, a monetary advance due over the weekend and a deal worked out that’ll keep both parties happy, that is, the buyer pays a certain amount less and we keep the car till the last possible day. Now all we have to bother ourselves with, one would presume, are the cleaning and packing. But well, the amount of trouble I had to go through to sell off the furniture was enough to make me feel like I should purge myself of pent-up stress by penning the whole saga.

First, let’s talk of the ads. Nothing in the ads, be it the tagline (enticing words like ‘great price’ or ‘’real deal’ or really cheap’) or the content (where my favourite pastime, photography came into play) or the actual low prices quoted seemed to be of much help in drawing customers in person. I first advertised on a Thursday afternoon and hardly anyone responded till the weekend except one lady named Virginia, who wished to buy the 5-bulb floor lamp with colourful shades and recently purchased CFL bulbs. She was the only person who was prompt in replying to the ad by mail, following it up with another mail (once we gave her our contact details and fixed up an appointment), then a phone call, and finally her august person on Sunday morning. She didn’t even require any assistance, although K did offer to dismantle the lamp for her, in case that made things easier to handle. Politely turning down the offers to help, she paid the amount quoted in cash without the embarrassment of bargaining and ended up carrying the unwieldy Hydra of a lamp back to her SUV on her back herself. We couldn’t but help be impressed !

But then she was an exception. Even the car ads on the weekend triggered off several phone calls but produced no one actual customer, who was resolved to come over in person to show proof of his interest in the item on sale. I tried refreshing the furniture ads on sulekha and craigslist, which was executed without much of a problem on the former, but met with an unexpected obstacle in the latter. I was warned that if removing the ad only to repost it for the sake of top-posting took place within a specified time and date, my ad was in danger of being considered spam, or worse, deleted. Now that was a setback of sorts. And yet, top-posting was a compulsion, since hundreds of ads were posted in a particular category per day and it was practically impossible to expect potential buyers to spend hours poring over the list for that day with endless energy. Finally, after racking my brains for several mins, I came up with a solution. Of course ! I could re-post it as a fresh ad from K’s a/c in that particular site. No sooner said than done. I made some other changes as well. I converted the keywords’ font to bold and upper case with a bit of lower case thrown in between to provide relief to one’s eyes. Other baits were thrown in, in the form of free bonuses like vases and soft toys (which we’d have given away in any case). I also reduced the asking price of the sofa set by about $20.
I wondered what would happen next.

A lot, it seems. I was flooded with phone queries regarding the availability of the sofa set that afternoon. The queries incorporated some odd questions like whether we had pets and whether the fabric of the sofa was cotton or not. The latter was tough on me, I being so ignorant about fabrics in general. The only thing I was able to confirm with reasonable confidence was that the material was definitely some sort of natural fabric. Another caller wanted to know how long we’d had the sofa or been using it. The next few phone calls were more forthright and mostly from Indians responding to the sulekha ads, The callers were men and asked more relevant questions relating to when they could actually come down and have a look at the articles on sale. One of them, a stammering South Indian, called from his office in Princeton in the evening and wanted to know if he could come over within an hour. I was in a bit of a fix, as I'd already assigned the respective times of 6.30 pm and 8 pm to 2 other parties who’d expressed interest in coming over to inspect the furniture that evening. I didn’t want to put Murali (the aforementioned S Indian with a nervous stammer) in an embarrassing situation, where multiple parties were bidding for the same object of contention. Fortunately, K entered at that moment and told me to go ahead and ask him to come over straightaway as it's a quite common experience to find most of the expected parties not turning up after all. In fact, the 6.30 pm party belonged to that species of traitors. But Murali did keep his word and was impressed enough to buy the coffee table and microwave unit and carry it off straightaway. K helped him with the latter, pleased to finally be able to dispose of these major furniture items, now that we were actually heading home. They took such a while to get the coffee table into the back of the car that I called up K on his cell to ask if there was a problem. He said no, Murali had just been taking his time to adjust the car-seat (for infants) at the back to make way for the microwave table. I was glad to hear that, for the next thing I did was to put a couple of soft toys we had in the inner panel of the microwave table and ask Murali to consider them a gift from us to his little son. He looked really pleased and touched at that and thanked us in his own special stammering manner.

A couple of hours later, the 8.30 pm party, two brothers named Vishal and Vikas arrived to take a look at the sofa. It was sweet the way the two interacted, the former so evidently protective of his younger sibling and eager to see him settled in a reasonably comfortable surroundings, which occasioned their interest in our sofa set. I was discussing the merits and demerits of the sofa but was interrupted midway by Vishal, who announced in a hearty booming voice that the only criteria that the sofa needed to meet for them to approve of it were his brother’s taste and the said furniture’s ability to withstand his own weight without totally giving way under it. That was plausible, considering that Vishal was a 6 foot tall strapping hulk of a fellow, as broad as he was tall, with a considerable paunch and a lot of excess fat at his disposal (besides the extreme patience he sported in answering umpteen phone calls within the short span of time he spent at our place that evening). I laughed, saying I wouldn’t want to comment on that anyhow. Vikas looked quite comfortable, once he'd made himself comfortable on the three-seater. They were, a s a matter of fact, unexpectedly polite, not even venturing to touch the sofa unless I gave them a go-ahead of some sort. That was a novelty in my experience and indeed that of many others, as far as I’m aware of. Well, to cut a long story short, they decided to buy the sofa set and carried it out to their cars with K’s help. Here, we were in for a pleasant surprise. K came back after his second exit (with the loveseat) beaming. On being asked about the source of such glee, he announced that the brothers Sharma had decided that the deal we were offering on our TV and its stand (which I'd casually mentioned to them, wondering if they knew any interested parties) was too good to be passed over and so they were going to take immediate advantage of it. Now that was good news indeed ! It only meant that there was going to be no TV for us for the next week or so, which caused K more sorrow than it did me, since I only watch a couple of cooking and travel shows at lunch and a sitcom in the evening or night. K however looked and indeed confessed to feeling quite unhappy at this sudden turn of events, used as he was to his daily dose of ‘Everybody Loves Raymond’, ‘Friends’, ‘Seinfield’ and ‘George Lopez’. But of course, at that particular point of time, selling off all the furniture seemed overwhelmingly more of a priority than getting our usual fare of TV programmes. So we reconciled ourselves to the unhappy truth that ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ was the last film we’d watched on our beloved piece of electronics. So Sharma and Co departed soon after, with a bonus in the form of a couple of glass vases in excellent condition, one of which I was particularly sorry to part with, as it had been a gift from a dear friend on our 1st marriage anniversary, which we’d spent here. But it was impractical to carry back home and I had long since hardened my mind to the anticipated inevitability of its sale.

The house looked strange indeed after the sale of the major items of furniture ; and that is something I find very unnerving, the anguish that attaches to a house that is no longer home. I couldn’t help feeling that there’s nothing half as upsetting as the look and feel of a house that is soon to be vacated and all I could think of was my relief that our days in that apartment, and indeed, this country, are numbered, and that there is a permanent home that we are soon to return to after all.

Happier times :






(more updates later...)

APOCALYPTICA

This poem was influenced by the film 'The Seventh Sign'. It's sombre and stark, something in the line of Eliot's 'The Wasteland' (dare I be so presumptious ?!) and my own nightmarish take on the world as it is now. I'd like to preface it with the following words by my favourite writer :

"But one is left with the horrible feeling now that war settles nothing ; that to win a war is as disastrous as to lose one ! War, I think, has had its time and place; when, unless you were warlike, you would not live to perpetuate your species - you would die out. To be meek, to be gentle, to give in easily, would spell disaster ; war was a necessity then, because either you or the others would perish. Like a bird or animal, you had to fight for your territory.War brought you slaves, land, food ,women -the things you needed to survive. But now we have got to learn to avoid war, not because of our nicer natures or our dislike of hurting others, but because war is not profitable, we shall not survive war, but shall, as well as our adversaries, be destroyed by war. The time of the tigers is over ; now, no doubt, we shall have the time of the rogues and the charlatans, of the thieves, the robbers and pickpockets ; but that is better - it is a stage on the upward way."

(Agatha Christie, An Autobiography)

END-GAME

You know it’s judgement day
When sober clouds slip-sweep away,
Sweet passion holds lusty sway,
And conscience calmly gives way.

It’s time I rose to power :
Subjected fate to yield or die ;
Hammered people into puppets
To accept what truth I lie.

Many shall not simply survive ;
Evolution dreads a sharp nosedive ;
It’s not about staying alive :
I need to conquer to thrill, to thrive.

We all cannot be right,
To be right, you must fight ;
The loser’s soon out of sight…
Co-existence is God’s great blight.

Emerge then, armed with life,
Let us play the game of strife,
Throw dices for the knife,
Smoke out the Queen in the hive.

Pairs always wreak havoc,
Marriage puts love on the block ;
Friends stay alive and mock,
I’d best sail single to dock.

Peace would make the world run amok,
And yes,
Truce is simply deadlock.


--- GARGI MANDAL-MUKHERJEE

Photograph/poster : courtesy Carlos Latuff

SONG OF INSPIRATION

Extract from THE TIMES OF INDIA, Sunday, July 26, 2009 :

Column : SOUL CURRY

Title : SING ME A SONG

Subject : After years of domesticity, Ishwar Pati's dream comes true as his wife fills the home with the sound of music :

"The songs are blossoming again, struggling to come out of their vocal pods after a long, dry hibernation. My wife's singing is somewhat scratchy, with her lyrical chords gathering rust all these years.

Time was, during the days of our courtship, her beautiful, captivating voice flowered from her lips like a splendid orchid before large gatherings . But her singing could never attain full bloom, wilting under the pressure of marriage and consequent relocation . In the domestic cacophony that followed, her musical notes withered and then fell silent. So keen she was to fulfil her role of a dutiful daughter-in-law , and then a responsible mother, that she was left with no time for music.

I did make an occasional effort to persuade her to sing, at least in small friendly get-togethers . But my request fell on deaf ears. You think singing is so easy, do you- she would snap at me. A lot of devotion and concentration goes into it, you know. Can you ensure me that ?

I was silenced. I knew my transferable job and our growing kids were hardly conducive to furthering her musical aspirations. Though she never spoke of it, I could sense that in her heart of hearts she held our marriage and especially me guilty of strangulating her budding melodious career. I swallowed her unspoken indictment , though I still nurtured the hope that some day after the children had grown up and left our nest, the ember of singing lying dormant in her soul would be rekindled.

But when the thaw came, it was so unexpected that I was literally blown off my feet. In one of the cultural evenings taking place in our colony, my wife was somehow cajoled into singing. She joined the voices and soon she was intoxicated with the flow of songs. When the game ended, she was swamped with compliments. After the party, there was a palpable restlessness in her steps as we made our way home. She started humming to herself too! I smiled and let her be. Next morning I was not surprised when she told me that she missed her old harmonium. It had been abandoned at her parents house along with her musical muse after our marriage. But I detected in her remark something more than mere nostalgia for an heirloom. I could discern the spark of revival in her heart, that overwhelming urge to sing. Under the circumstances, I indulged her whim and instead of opting to buy a new harmonium locally, I went all the way to my in-laws place by train to fetch her favourite one. She is still tuning her harmonium and taking her time about it. No reason to hurry, she says. All the dust gathered by the instrument will take time to be brushed off after such a long period of idleness. Her voice too will need to break out of its self-imposed confinement. So I am waiting, patiently. But I can feel the breeze that has started blowing from her newfound buoyancy. Her lilting voice suddenly wafts from the kitchen, humming odd bits of ragas or a mix of old songs. It starts slowly like a cuckoos , unsure of itself, then rises sharply to soar over mountains and flow into rivers before plunging down to earth as her breath gives way from lack of practice. But she doesn't give up. She breathes in again before launching her voice once again on its tuneful plane into the skies. The barrenness of our home is now pregnant with a melody reborn. Yes, after all these years the song blossoms are flowering again and the air is filling up with their fragrant decibels. "

Photo : Courtesy TOI

RANDOM LIFE

The newspaper is getting increasingly interesting by the day. Take the TOI, for instance. It is finally reducing sensationalism to the span of its city supplements and producing some 'real' news. Check out a random selection of news items here :

1 ) Effect of Mamata's annual rally on the routine of the citizens

2) The sorry side of the above story

3) How greed might prove to be one's undoing

4) The actual, insidious effects of increasing pollution

5) How airlines are trying to be indiscriminately careful

6) Making a mountain out of a molehill

7) How the needs of women are currently being capitalised on

Whew, quite some variety, I must say. Makes one regret that one can't really somehow manage the time to read the newspaper from cover to cover on a daily basis. It would evidently prove be both informative and entertaining. Of course, a lot of people don't like to read real news, just the relevant gist. But I find the whole rigmarole as absorbing as that of a good crime thriller : a lot is said, a lot is left unsaid. It's upto you to fit the bits and pieces together to decipher what the current state of the nation is like. Often it's painful, cutting you yourself to bits and pieces before you manage to desensitise yourself to emotions and indignations and just watch and wait. For the reality that is more a solution than a problem in itself. Which might mean waiting for a long long time, really.

On a lighter and more random note, you might, like me, prefer to watch other people wait for irresponsible others who leave them locked out of their own home. My lunch was interrupted yesterday by the most awful hammering and shouting possible, almost precipitating a heart failure. It turns out that a couple opposite were unable to enter their own house, since a certain 'Henry' was not answering the door. They screamed the whole neighbourhood down in his name, peeped through the animal entry/exit slit lower down on the main door, banged their fists against the former (it's a wonder it didn't collapse under the assault), went down the back stairs into the parking lot only to return in a moment or so (just when I had been about to feel relieved and jubilant at their departure) ; in short, they did everything to arouse the curiosity and annoyance of the entire residential complex.

Pre-Henry :

I just didn't get it : was it a child they were calling out to and who might have fallen asleep or who was ill and who therefore they shouldn't have left alone at home in the first place or a guest or family member who was taking a shower perhaps and therefore simply couldn't hear them ? I mean, why couldn't they just sit down on the steps and wait for for a little while for the person in question ? By the time the two were done, exhausted, I was too. My audibility limits had been severely challenged and to top it all, it had worsened a migraine attack which had started that morning. By the time the said Henry turned up on the scene - a 30 something hefty young man with a very red face, an unassuming, cheerful voice and a receding hairline - wiggling his way fast to the source of all the chaos with a huge soda in his hand, I was ready to beat the hell out of him for making all our lives collectively miserable by his unexpected and untimely disappearance from the scene.

Post-Henry :

In fact, I wonder what we'll do back in Kolkata, after all the tranquility we've become habituated to here now. This place is definitely a quiet, picturesque residential locale, and we often speak in whispers or at least hushed voices in our bedroom or over the phone or lower the volume of the TV at night, fearing that even the normal pitch of our voices or the latter might sound loud to neighbours because of the extreme quietude of the neighbourhood. Although this is much more peaceful than what I myself have been used to all my life in my own locality at Salt Lake, it's not half as cacophonic as our current home, post-marriage, at Kalikapur, where rickshaws, autos, taxis and whimsical microphones seem to own the place, rendering us residents an intimidated and even apologetic (!) lot. Add to that my extreme edginess and irritability after facing all the honking, hooting and hawking on the busy intersections of Gariahat and Ruby General and there you have a very jittery me, contemplating the distinct possibility of not being able to pen a single line of poetry for the rest of my life. Talk about stark contrasts and bleak prospects. I'm beginning to feel quite sorry for myself, after all.


Our neighbourhood (photo : courtesy K-Factor)

NOVELTIES

Moumita just called and only confirmed what others are already suspecting : that I'm in a phase of extreme lethargy, which would be termed in colloquial Bengali as 'churanto lyaadh'. I plead guilty, of course. I've always been extremely transparent about my ideas, opinions and intentions,and would be only too pleased to have people consider me so too.


Well, this is not going to be a post dealing with righteous self-justification. I just wanted to keep the nominal few who are good enough to read my blog updated as to my current preoccupations. Now that summer has arrived (yes, at last !), I've undergone a radical transformation in my daily habits. What is torpor for others is actually a state of extreme planning and preparation for me.


Firstly, I mean to take my blog more seriously than ever. That has finally determined me to learn HTML online, which was precisely what I was doing before I decided to do this post. I was tired of googling websites all the time for help on how to make 'n' number of changes to my blog and I decided to make life simpler by learning the language myself. There seem to be quite a few good online and what's more, user-friendly tutorials on HTML and I mean to make good use of them. Perhaps I shall even go in for a certification later (hoping I continue in this enthusiastic vein for long, which is rather unlike me). As they say (well, maybe not exactly verbatim) : 'Laziness is the mother of invention'.


Secondly, also inspired by my blog and Orkut-olleagues, I am taking my photographic skills seriously. Which means, I'm venturing out into editing in a big way. I plan to apply this in future, of course. I may not turn out a Raghu Rai, perhaps, but any of the creative careers I might choose to take up back home would only serve to profit by such add-ons. Hence, I spend a couple of half-hours each day practising various editing techniques to keep my hand in, so to say.


Thirdly, I'm back to my voracious reading self. I have a whole set of books lined up for my express (pun intended, people) perusal and it's all the more challenging when I insist on reading more than one at the same (one of my numerous eccentricities, as K is only too familar with). Here's the list :


The Winter of Our Discontent - John Steinbeck
The Age of Innocence -Edith Wharton
Kim -Rudyard Kipling
Lucky Jim - Kingsley Amis
Shirley - Charlotte Bronte


Of course, I'm also reading an Agatha Christie (for casual relief) on the side. I just completed her 'A Caribbean Mystery' which I had been following not only for the story, but also other reasons, which I'll return to in a moment. And I must say, I was as impressed as ever. She's certainly the 'Queen of Crime'.


I also tried to learn Spanish from a book I found in the library and which I had issued once in the not-too-remote past also. I say 'tried' because I just returned the book, having failed in my attempts to learn the basics of the language all by myself, without any tutor whatsoever. I really had my work cut out this time. It was hard to try to remember the Spanish equivalents of words without knowing for sure whether I was pronouncing the Spanish words themselves correctly. I think I'll buy some software/CD instead, to make my job easier. I spotted some language software packs on sale at the nearby Bridgewater Commons Mall and I think I'll go back and have a serious second look at them.


I'm back to poetry. Yes, I know. I do hear the applause. But as I did warn everyone, I do possess the artistic temperament, which renders me extremely sensitive and susceptible to the influence of such frivolous factors as the weather. I've really tried, but winter in New Jersey is just too severe to nurture my creative urges. And the good news this time is that I think I'm improving as a poet, favouring themes and topics athat appeal more to my sense than merely my sensibility. Which is not to denigrate the latter. Only reminding myself that I'm ageing and consequently need to address commensurate issues.


Last but not least, I've been influenced enough by Agatha Christie's autobiography to try my hand at story-writing. No, I haven't started yet. But I'm mentally preparing myself. A miracle might just happen soon. For the eager and impatient, I quote the Queen of Crime herself :


"It is an odd feeling to have a book growing inside you, for perhaps six or seven years knowing that one day you will write it, , knowing that it is building up, all the time, to what it already is. Yes, it is there already - it just has to come more clearly out of the mist. All the people are there, ready, waiting in the wings, ready to come on to the stage, when their cues are called - and then, suddenly, one gets a clear and sudden command : Now !


Now is when you are ready. Now, you know all about it. Oh, the blessing that for once one is able to do it then and there, that now is really now."


I rest my case.

P.S :

Speaking of novelties, here's the most recent one: Some weirdo named Paul Recherche just added me to his contacts list on Skype (where I have neither a photo nor any sort of personal details that would be even remotely likely to make myself sound attractive to anyone of his sort !) and sent me a message in French, which I not being very conversant with, just got translated on another website. I reproduce the English translation of the original message.

"Hello, this is Paul Recherche here. I'm looking to establish a serious relation that might end up in marriage. Here is my number" (I refrain from reproducing the latter).

What the hell ?!

For the real slumdogs

FLOWER OF THE SLUM

Give it just a little love
Even if it’s all
You have
Every day at dawn,
Each night forlorn,
Some grey,
Some bright,
Meet offerings of critique or spite
With an even gentle sunnier smile
And let it sleep a longer while
Allow it the taste of sweet respite.

And love it just a little more
This soul that seeks
Soft succour.
It’s wandering,
Mud meandering
It’s learning to walk,
Trembling and tottering,
Support its unsteady steps
From embracing the cold floor.
It’s wondering,
Vaguely blundering,
Grant it some credit
To reach desire’s door;
It needs a guide
It needs a family
Throw it some anchor
To safely shore.

Let every slumdog
Grasp at one fair chance
Wreck it not
Into doomed defiance.
For every Twist,
One loving glance
May work miracles
To treat its
Malnourished trance.
For every Apu,
Orphaned so young,
A gentler glance
Might glean romance.
For every Jude
Who speaks so rude
Our prayer might redeem
Foul mischance.


We who may torture it to tears
We who may fan its furtive fears
We who steal its childhood joys
We, who’d willingly die for our own boys :


Let’s coax out
the best
In a being
So small
Whom our careless barbs
Could weedy wounds befall
Let us not crush it
Beneath that wanton wall


Of indifference


Basking in the sunshine
Towering above all
Let it bloom
Beautiful
A credit to us all.

GARGI MANDAL-MUKHERJEE

08-04-2009

Thundershowers et al

Well, we had quite an experience last Sunday evening. K and I had almost covered 4/5th of our walk route when we suddenly recalled that we were out of green chilli sauce, muri, chanachur, paneer and garlic paste ; we decided to take the road past Desi Bazaar so that we could purchase the necessary items on our way home (how easily we manage to use the word 'home' now to describe a rented apartment in a totally different country, though we're just here for a year or so now never fails to amaze me). Well, we'd just finished buying the things and were preparing to leave the store when we opened the door with dismay to find that the anticipated weekend thundershowers had actually (high time, since there had only been the intimidating inky black/slate grey cloudy skies and dense suffocation for the past two nights) begun and we had no umbrellas, raincoats or the car with us to bail us out. Unpleasant state of affairs, of course, particularly when you have two reasonably heavy polythene carry bags in both hands, including one containing incense).


Well.


After considerable chaotic thoughts and discussion, we decided to call up Abhishek Shinde, our neighbour and friend at Brookside, to come with his car and help us go home, particularly since it being a Sunday, the store in which we seemed to be stranded would itself shortly be closing (around 8 pm) and it was already a quarter past 7. K's call led to the latter's voicemail however. It was my turn. Despite K being awkward about all this asking for aid business, I decided to call up Mansi, Abhishek's wife and explain our situation. I'm glad I overlooked K's hesitation and called. Mansi was very prompt. She explained that Abhishek had been attending a call and had therefore not been able to answer K's call. But she'd pass on the message and see to it that we were 'rescued' pronto. Relieved, we strolled around the shop, trying to look sincerely interested in all it had to offer (not very convincing though, considering we'd been there many times and had by now almost memorised the contents of its whitewashed shelves) .

Luckily, Abhishek Bhaiyya turned up very soon, in dripping jacket with equally dripping umbrella (obviously the latter was rendered practically useless by the merciless onslaught of the thundershowers). We went to the car in pairs, K coming back to retrieve me, both at the shop and at our complex front parking area. He was keen on going home but the Shindes insisted that we stayed on for tea and an adda session and so we surrendered. K was baffled by my not being concerned so much about catching a cold in the pouring rain without mufflers etc to ward off any potential infection as not having my camera on me at that point in order to capture the beautifully vivid surreal looking clouds in the overcast sky. He thinks I'm becoming batty, what with all this 'I just have to get a photo now' phases of mine taking place too frequently nowadays for comfort. LOL.

Well, it was nice though, the long chat session. The guys had beer (I relented for a change) and we had tea. We started with thunder, hopped on to the smoke from Apt #1 in our complex early that morning and then went on to horror films and somehow finally ended up with Varun Gandhi's histrionic skills. The last would have left a bitter taste in the mouth, had we not ended with K's jeera rice and chicken keema that night. With walnut maple icecream for dessert. Yummy !

Spring

You can feel it all around.

In my state of mind (euphoric) ; in K's state of mind (serene), in the energy and enthusiasm Mansi and I /K and I are beginning to invest in our habitual walks each afternoon/evening (considerable). In the amount of people you get to see oudoors early in the morning or late in the evening (lots !). In the call of the wild (birds chirping frantically and dogs too awed to start their barking-at-strangers routine). In the smiles you are bestowed on by utter strangers when outdoors (the Carnegie magic). In the maniacal sweeping and cleaning that seems to be going on all around (indoors and out). In the distinct difference in the nature of fruits and vegetables that are now available at the local greengrocers (better nectarines and strawberries and even mangoes, it seems !). In the budding leaves on every single tree, bush and shrub (dense clumps and tight clusters of white/green/red). In the gradually increasing amount of daylight (sunset after 7 pm). In the unwillingness of the boys to stay cooped up at office for prolonged durations , now that they want to be home while the sunlight lasts and venture outdoors for a walk or a game. In the huge clearance sales at most shopping malls, where skirts, capris, walking shorts, dresses and sandals are replacing the stale stock of trousers, jackets, coats, mufflers and boots. In the Walmart ads of early spring flowers already being on sale. In our looking forward to the next long weekend, which happens to be Easter. In the rising hopes and swelling hearts everywhere.

Crocus flowers : Heralding a new seasonal cycle

Yup, there's no doubt about it. Spring's well on its way. And it's just the harbinger of better things.

Mixed veg recipe

I've been trying to experiment with a simple mixed veggies preparation for quite some time now and this one's come up trumps each time, so I thought I'd share it with all you guys. Here's the recipe :



CREAMED MIXED VEGETABLES




QUANTITY :

Serves 4


INGREDIENTS :

Butter/Margarine – 3 tbsp
Flour – a pinch
Milk – half a cup
Table Cream/Sour Cream/Plain yoghurt – 1 tbsp
Onion -1 medium, finely chopped
Potato -2 large, cubed
Salt – adjust to taste
Sugar – adjust to taste
Crushed Black Pepper Flakes – 1 tsp

A big serving bowl of mixed vegetables:

E.g.
Tomato – finely diced
Capsicum –finely diced/cut into thin strips
Beans – finely sliced
Carrots –finely sliced
Mushroom – finely sliced
Corn
Peas


METHOD :

Boil potatoes for about 10 min. Keep aside.
Heat butter on low flame till frothy. Add a pinch of flour and stir immediately to prevent lumps from forming.
Add onions and increase the heat to medium. Stir often.
Add boiled potatoes. Stir well and often till mixture is fragrant.
Add milk and stir well and often.
Season with salt, pepper and sugar.
Add tomato and capsicum. Keep stirring till well mixed and you can smell the cooked capsicum.
Add the rest of the vegetables. Decrease heat.
Cook alternately on high and low flame till the mixture emits water.
Add the cream/yoghurt and stir thoroughly.
Remove when you have enough gravy and all the vegetables are tender.

TIPS :

To dilute the preparation or re-heat, add a little milk.
To concentrate gravy, add a pinch of flour and/or cream.
To add depth and flavour to the preparation, add paanch-phoron (Indian 5 spices) to heated butter.

Have fun !

Fwd : Love's Labour's Found

During a seminar, a woman asked," How do I know if I am with the right person?" the author then noticed that there was a large man sitting next to her so he said, "It depends. Is that your partner?" In all seriousness, she answered "How do you know?" Let me answer this question because the chancesare good that it's weighing on your mind replied the author. Here's the answer.

Every relationship has a cycle...in the beginning ; you fall in love withyour partner. You anticipate their calls, want their touch, and like their idiosyncrasies. Falling in love wasn't hard. In fact, it was a completely natural and spontaneous experience. You didn't have to DO anything. That's why it's called "falling" in love.

People in love sometimes say, "I was swept off my feet." Picture the expression. It implies that you were just standing there; doing nothing,and then something happened TO YOU. Falling in love is a passive and spontaneous experience. But after a few months or years of being together, the euphoria of love fades. It's a natural cycle of EVERY relationship. Slowly but surely, phone calls become a bother (if they come at all), touchis not always welcome (when it happens), and your spouse's idiosyncrasies, instead of being cute, drive you nuts. The symptoms of this stage vary with every relationship; you will notice a dramatic difference between the initial stage when you were in love and a much duller or even angry subsequent stage. At this point, you and/or your partner might start asking, "Am I with the right person?" And as you reflect on the euphoria of the love you once had, you may begin to desire that experience with someone else. This is when relationships breakdown.

The key to succeeding in a relationship is not finding the right person; it's learning to love the person you found.

People blame their partners for their unhappiness and look outside for fulfilment. Extramarital fulfilment comes in all shapes and sizes. Infidelity is the most common. But sometimes people turn to work, a hobby,a friendship, excessive TV, or abusive substances. But the answer to this dilemma does NOT lie outside your relationship. It lies within it. I'm not saying that you couldn't fall in love with someone else. You could. And TEMPORARILY you'd feel better. But you'd be in the same situation a fewyears later. Because (listen carefully to this):
The key to succeeding in arelationship is not finding the right person; it's learning to love theperson you found.

SUSTAINING love is not a passive or spontaneous experience. You have to work on it day in and day out. It takes time, effort, and energy. And most importantly, it demands WISDOM. You have to know WHAT TO DO to make it work. Make no mistake about it. Love is NOT a mystery. There are specific things you can do (with or without your partner). Just as there are physical laws of the universe (such as gravity), there are also laws for relationships. If you know and apply these laws, the results are predictable. Love is therefore a "decision". Not just a feeling.

Remember this always: God determines who walks into your life. It is up to you to decide who you let walk away, who you let stay, and who you refuse to let GO!!

Thank you for this e-forward, Priyanka...I owe you one.

Suppppper !

Hey you guys, just have a look at this ...



It's awesome. I cried too (as usual).
And do check out the numerous video comments on YouTube itself, it made me so glad to discover how, for a change, music instead of religion or politics or overhyped patriotism, could provoke such unity of spirit...hurrah !

P.S. This one was forwarded by Barnali and it's as moving as the other, if a trifle more cosmopolitan...

Paradise Lost

I was just wondering how we react to changing circumstances and whether that really makes us master of our own fortunes to the extent we'd like to be. A friend put up photos of her sister's newborn baby yesterday and that was the trigger for these reflections. I just can't get over the wonder of the process of growth of a newborn into a full fledged adult and then actually leaving the nest to discover life. The sheer contrast between the helplessness of the infant and the ruthlessness of the adult astounds me. I was watching 'To Kill a Mocking Bird' yesterday and the experience of innocence transforming into experience was a marvel indeed. It's been going on for ages, this metamorphosis, and yet one wonders. At the cycle of life that fuses good with evil and makes us embrace both to attain wisdom. No use grieving over the once trailing clouds of glory and the angelic (if limited) existence that we were cocooned in. Much as they might have wanted to, parents have never been able to shield their children from the darker, baser side of life. It will happen. One way or the other. And they all (even the victims, at times) remain unhappy onlookers (and even participants) of that momentous occasion.

Ma slipped and fell down the stairs of our home on 17th Feb, 2009. Her nightdress and chappals caught on the rails of the collapsible gate that looms midway between our ground and first floor and dragged her down several stairs, taking her by such shock that it was all over before she realised that something had happened, and further, not being able to get up indicated at some unpleasant development. Mitu called me up frantically here and I ransacked my address book to locate the phone numbers of a couple of neighbours and relatives who might be able to reach the spot fast before the situation took a turn for the worse. Both Mitu and K tried Baba's cellphone but it went on ringing without any vocal response. It was 11.45 here at night and we had just been about to turn in for the night. Finally, we managed to communicate with Dr Sur, our neighbour (a very old gentleman) and Pranab Kaku. They promised immediate aid. A couple of hours later, K woke up a headache-treated-with-crocin-groggy me to offer the information that Baba had arrived and they had reached Baba's hospital to get an X-ray done. Ma had torn 60 of the 1000 ligaments of her ankle, the condition being serious enough to be bracketed as a simple fracture and impair normal movement for more than 21 days. Three whole weeks has now been extended to a month, Mitu tells me. The whole world has gone topsy turvy at the small Mandal microcosm and I'm just sitting here and drowning my helplessness and pain in words. I now realise what most women in patriarchial society lose with marriage : the solace of happily executing their own small but well-demarcated duties to parents and siblings in an oh-so-familiar world. My own situation is not the general one perhaps. Not everyone is living in a different land after marriage. But you can't but concede that yes, it has the potential of developing into the permanent and general situation some day in this era of mass migration and globalisation. The trauma of being a hapless (n)on-looker of the trials & tribulations of one's immediate family and too far away to be of much practical aid is an agony I don't possess the audacity to express in words.

This is the same parent that carried me in her womb for 9 months and nurtured me for God knows how many sleepless nights and days. Maybe she continues to do it even now. And here I am. A sphinx of solipsistic splendour.

Dishwasher's Day Out

We brought a small bottle of 225 ml Vim Dishwash Liquid, costing just Rs 25, from Gariahat More to USA and guess what, we managed to use only 95% of it in a total of 5 and a 1/2 months ! Can you beat that? No, I'm not stingy by nature, certainly not so when it comes to dishwashing. Neither am I exaggerating. The bottle is designed to deliver exactly one drop per push and that one drop, I once noted, could clean no less than 4 extremely greasy, typical-Indian-oil-and-turmeric-cooking tainted dishes. I still have 5% of it stowed safely away (you can see it in the photo), for cleaning my gas range top. In mid-Dec, I bought this huge bottle of Palmolive Dishwash Liquid (25 oz/739 ml) from 'Stop N Shop' and 2 and a half months down, there's only about 2/5th of it left. It's fortified with the extracts of aloe and supposedly 'softens your hands while you do the dishes'. That's nice, no doubt, but I wish it would live upto its promise of being 'Tough on Grease, Soft on Hands' in a more practical manner. There's a whole lot of foam and suds generated when it comes in contact with water to be sure, but I have to use quite a generous dollop of it to get my dishes spanking clean. Dawn and Palmolive being the most widely used brands over here and available in quite a few variants (not to speak of colours, where they might match upto VIBGYOR effortlessly), I certainly harboured a lot of expectations from them. And now that I consider, I think I'd rather stick to my moisturiser for a handcare routine rather than a dishwash liquid. If it's so hell bent on skincare, why don't they store it in the cosmetics aisle instead ?


And when it comes to cleaning my spotlessly white (well, initially, I mean) gas range, that's what I've actually reserved the rest of my Vim Dishwash Liquid for. The lemon in the Vim just brushes away the dirt like magic. I once tried using the Palmolive one, but it just turned the black marks into light brown and then gave up. May it rest in peace.

Oh, and I mustn't forget to sing paeans to Scotchbrite. I got two teeny weeny bits of them from Spencer's, Kalikapur, prior to our arrival. Over 8 months down the line, they're still alive and kicking, though a trifle discoloured and denuded of their initial evenness and flawlessness. No, I'm not about to compare Scotchbrite bought in USA to those bought in India. I'm just lost in wonder at the versatility and durability of the article concerned. Its abrasive surface is rough enough to remove all the cooking generated scum and grease and yet soft enough to scrub the bathtub surface with it. And no, I don't (shudder) use it for the two simultaneously; I do actually have two. One observation I just need to make is that the two pieces I brought over from India are almost 1/6th the size of those available here. That makes me infer that we in India could perhaps afford to be much more economical in our lifestyle (though I shouldn't generalise, keeping in mind the mysteriously open taps on streetside corners, irrespective of human presence/absence). Well, the small sized Scotchbrites should at least inspire us to make the most of limited resources. Less Scotchbrite obviously would need less water to moisten it and therefore lower water consumption etc. That makes sense to me for sure.

Following this chain of association led me to discover some interesting ads in YouTube on saving water. I give you the best of the lot below:

Funny Fish Cartoon:




A child's cry:




Simple, stark contrast :




This was just plain brilliant :




Although I do consciously try to minimise the wastage of water in my everyday chores, I think I've probably still got a long way to go in terms of my water management skills. What about you ?