Oh Calcutta!

Speaking for myself, I hate Calcutta in the pujas. I hate the crowds, the noise, the traffic jams, the din of the loudspeakers, the eternal shuffle-shuffle of feet all night, the bedecked people in "jeaner pant", and the pseudo intellectuals that abound. So each year I try to run away from it all, a few times I have even been successful. But yes, by and large, except during the puja madness, I do love Calcutta, (note, NOT Kolkata) and it is not something that came naturally although I was born here and the city has been my home for the better part of my life. No, this is a city that has grown on me, wrapped itself around my heart, its tentacles created by memories and nostalgia.
Yet, it wasn't always like that. As a child I quite liked the pujas, we had a family friend's place to go to and once there, the few days passed happily enough with me oblivious to the religious sentiments around me. Not being very religious by nature, or having any particular love and affection for the pujas, I never thought of coming home at the time while in college: so lazing on a hill in Pune or lying on a beach in Goa during the two days we got for Dusshera, I never even wondered what the fuss was all about. After I got married I learnt that people actually go for all night pandal-hopping and slt!!!! So I tried it once. Um, after an hour of so of jostling in crowds in the heat and dust and gazing at yet another brightly lit pandal shaped like (surprise!) a temple which you anyway saw better from the cool confines of the ac car, and pushing through endless traffic jams, and yet another Boltu and Bapi and boudis shouting "ei je, Pinku, kotahi geli?" at the top of her voice, and observing Roadside Romeos batting eyelids at Jhinchak Juliets and vice versa, I had had enough. Never again, I vowed! So nowadays even if I am stuck in Calcutta at this time of year, I hide away at home and hope I do NOT have to step out of the house for as long as it takes! But yes, the loud noise and shuffling feet and lights follow me into my bedroom and haunt my nights!
So even though I do not completely agree with all of it, today I came across this article shared by a friend on FB and thought I'd share this write up by Vir Sanghvi on Kolkata and Durga Pujas:

"What 'Pujo' means to a Bengali ?
Most modern Indian cities strive to rise above ethnicity. Tell anybody who lives in Bombay that he lives in a Maharashtrian city and he will take immediate offence. We are cosmopolitan, he will say indigenously.

Tell a Delhiwalla that his is a Punjabi city (which, in many ways, it is) and he will respond with much self-righteous nonsense about being the nation's capital, about the international composition of the city's elite etc.

And tell a Bangalorean that he lives in a Kannadiga city and you'll get lots of techno-gaff about the internet revolution and about how Bangalore is even more cosmopolitan than Bombay.

But, the only way to understand what Calcutta is about is recognize that the city is essentially Bengali. What's more, no Bengali minds you saying that.
Rather, he is proud of the fact.

Calcutta's strengths and weaknesses mirror those of the Bengali character. It has the drawbacks: the sudden passions, the cheerful chaos, the utter
contempt for mere commerce, the fiery response to the smallest provocation. And it has the strengths (actually, I think of the drawbacks as strengths in their
own way). Calcutta embodies the Bengali love of culture; the triumph of intellectualism over greed; the complete transparency of all emotions, the
disdain with which hypocrisy and insincerity are treated; the warmth of genuine humanity; and the supremacy of emotion over all other aspects of human
existence.

That's why Calcutta is not for everyone.

You want your cities clean and green; stick to Delhi. You want your cities, rich and impersonal; go to Bombay. You want them high-tech and full of draught
beer; Bangalore's your place. But if you want a city with a soul: come to Calcutta.

When I look back on the years I've spent in Calcutta - and I come back so many times each year that I often feel I've never been away - I don't
remember the things that people remember about cities.

When I think of London, I think of the vast open spaces of Hyde Park. When I think of NewYork, I think of the frenzy of Times Square.
When I think of Tokyo, I think of the bright lights of Shinjiku. And when I think of Paris, I think of the Champs Elysee.
But when I think of Calcutta, I never think of any one place. I don't focus on the greenery of the maidan, the beauty of the Victoria Memorial, the bustle
of Burra Bazar or the splendour of the new Howrah Bridge. I think of people. Because, finally, a city is more than bricks and mortars, street lights and tarred roads. A city is the sum of its people. And who can ever forget or replicate - the people of Calcutta?

When I first came to live here, I was told that the city would grow on me. What nobody told me was that the city would change my life. It was in Calcutta that I
learn't about true warmth; about simple human decency; about love and friendship; about emotions and caring; about truth and honesty. I learn't other things too. Coming from Bombay as I did, it was a revelation to live in a city where people judged each other on the things that really mattered; where they recognized that being rich did not make you a better person - in fact, it might have the opposite effect. I learn't also that if life is about more than just money, it is about the things that other cities ignore; about culture, about ideas, about art, and about passion.

In Bombay, a man with a relatively low income will salt some of it away for the day when he gets a stock market tip. In Calcutta, a man with exactly the same
income will not know the difference between a debenture and a dividend. But he will spend his money on the things that matter. Each morning, he will read at
least two newspapers and develop sharply etched views on the state of the world. Each evening, there will be fresh (ideally, fresh-water or river) fish on his
table. His children will be encouraged to learn to dance or sing. His family will appreciate the power of poetry And for him, religion and culture will be in
inextricably bound together.

Ah religion! Tell outsiders about the importance of Puja in Calcutta and they'll scoff. Don't be silly, they'll say. Puja is a religious festival. And Bengal has voted for the CPM since 1977. How can godless Bengal be so hung up on a religions festival? I never know how to explain them that to a Bengali, religion consists of much more than shouting Jai Shri Ram or pulling down somebody's mosque. It has little to do with meaningless ritual or sinister political activity.

The essence of Puja is that all the passions of Bengal converge: emotion, culture, the love of life, the warmth of being together, the joy of celebration, the pride in artistic expression and yes, the cult of the goddess. It may be about religion. But is about much more than just worship. In which other part of India would small, not particularly well-off localities, vie with each other to produce the best pandals? Where else could puja pandals go beyond religion to draw inspiration from everything else? In the years I lived in Calcutta, the pandals featured Amitabh Bachchan, Princes Diana and even Saddam Hussain! Where else would children cry with the sheer emotional power of Dashimi, upset that the Goddess had left their homes? Where else would the whole city gooseflesh when the dhakis first begin to beat their drums? Which other Indian festival - in any part of the country - is so much about food, about going from one roadside stall to another, following your nose as it trails the smells of cooking?
To understand Puja, you must understand Calcutta. And to understand Calcutta, you must understand the Bengali. It's not easy. Certainly, you can't do it till you come and live here, till you let Calcutta suffuse your being, invade your bloodstream and steal your soul. But once you have, you'll love Calcutta forever.
Wherever you go, a bit of Calcutta will go with you. I know, because it's happened to me. And every Puja, I am overcome by the magic of Bengal.
It's a feeling that'll never go away."


well, then, happy pujos, everyone, let the madness begin!!

An irreverent look at : Karma.

I hate waking up in the mornings. Yet, each day these days you will find me up at an ungodly hour (yes, even 6 o clock is ungodly as far as I’m concerned) wishing I were back in the land of Nod. Why? Karma of course. And the fact that my daughter’s not very good (read: weak) in Maths! Now my dad always used to say that the best time to do math is early in the morning while the mind is still fresh and undisturbed. So following his advise I am experimenting with my daughter in the hope of early morning mathematical enlightenment to dawn!
Of course all through my growing up years I always was told that my life would come to naught because I woke up at 5:57 am and somehow brushed my teeth and changed (no, night clothes were not allowed in the dining room!) and reached the breakfast table by 6 am with seconds to spare! My father pointedly looked at the watch, my grandfather would loudly say that now since everyone was finally at the table, could he have his tea as it was going cold, and my sister would snigger at me from across the table. You see they were all early birds and had been awake for hours: busy at their morning walks and yogas and stuff and generally doing whatever early birds do at that hour!
That is a trick I rarely duplicated after I left home. The only sunrises I have hitherto seen are when I have been awake all night, or HAD to get up for a family puja or an early morning flight! Waking up early has never had any charm: the chirping of the birds, the light peeping over the roof of the next building, these things leave me unmoved.
Which of course brings me to the other reason why I am up. Why, Karma of course. That damn bugger has been deciding my life from day one! When Karma said “clean the kid’s poo” that’s what I did, when karma said “stay home and cook” or “now you can be the cleaner” or “today you are the bloody driver ‘cos the driver is too drunk to come to work”…..guess who fell in line? I did. So this Karma fellow has me running about trying to catch my own tail all day long. Sometimes I want to kick it in the balls: “hey, this is not my life, my life is simple and carefree and I do not have to get things done, they get done by others, I’m the one who orders everyone around!” Karma grins and says nothing. One more kick in the butt and I’m racing about again…..from piles of paper work to unfinished drafts to snotty clients to harassive solicitors to whiny kids to glowering judges to a bunking part time maid to a half wit driver to TV gobbling kids, I have it all! I feel like a hyperactive cowherd most days, constantly chasing after everyone in an effort to stay in one place and hoping to hang on to what’s left of my sanity too!!!!
Anyway early morning has one advantage, save for my daughter occasionally poking me to ask yet another daft question, which I try to patiently answer, I have the quiet smell of fresh coffee and silence around me. My thoughts fall in place, the clutter clears up and suddenly I find the room in my mind is cleaner, the windows are less dirty and there’s more light coming in! Memories suddenly become more lucid too and I start to think that I am feeling calmer………until I am jolted back to reality “Ma, do I divide or multiply?”
“Obviously, if its not one, it’s the other, read the sum again!” (yes, before you ask, for me, that is a LOT of patience!)
The daughter reads the sum over, I inspect my now empty coffee cup and sigh as I turn to her with an amount of frustration in my voice. I can hear the lock turn in that clean light-filled room in my mind! Karma rubs his hands in glee, he has a long "to do" list in his hand....I'm cornered, and I know it!
Until tomorrow morning, then!

Girls, girls, girls!!!

A few weeks ago, a friend came over and she and I sat with our drinks on the balcony, savouring the soft breeze and the easy companionship which does not have to be expressed in words, a friendship that does not need to be defined or expressed in speech. Ah girlfriends! What would life be without them? For at the end of the day, only a girlfriend will understand why you are upset that the pudding has not set or why watching the advertisement with that sweet chubby kid brings a lump to your throat! You can share your angst your joy and your pain and the girlfriend will be there to help you laugh it off, giggle at what you cannot change and give a fresh perspective on who you are. They are the cornerstones of your existence they sit and listen to your ranting AND they come back for more! That’s more than one can say about most men!
Having come from an all girl’s school, I should have more than my fair share of girlfriends and yes, I guess I do. But the ones that really count are ones who do not need a reason to be my friend. One look, one glance and bingo, there they are! It does not matter that there is almost a decade between us, it does not matter that oceans divide us or that the last time I spoke to her was over a year ago on her birthday and this year I didn’t get round to calling. Who needs a reason? I can call now, meet after days or months or years and I slip back into the friendship like that old slipper you never forgot. Take for instance this school friend who left school suddenly when we were in tenth grade. She was one of my best friends and I was pretty cut up about the way she suddenly disappeared. Now, two days ago, I reconnected with after twenty-five years! I had searched for her but had given up on ever finding her. Then, lo and behold, she pops up on facebook (of course) and we chat on the phone and I can feel the years melt away, we remember the old times, the quiet times and it doesn’t really matter, that gap of a quarter of a century! Who, but another girl will understand that?
So here’s to all my girlfriends, the ones we giggled about boys with, the ones who laughed at us because we were stupid or stood by us when we were hopelessly wrong, the ones who understand that the husband is being crabby so we have to cancel that lunch appointment, the ones who know kids can be so demanding at times they won’t let you talk on the phone in peace, the ones with who nothing is taboo and you are not judged or patronized, the ones who will agree to go on a bike ride with you at two in the morning “just because’, the one who will wear a swimsuit and get into the water with you even though she does not know swimming, the one who will take the blame when your father frowns at you for being late, the one who will take responsibility for she is the teachers pet, the one you can wake up at any hour of the night by honking loudly outside her door (never mind the neighbours!), the one who will agree to go “paaaarp” in a loud voice because your bike horn is not working, the ones who will sit with you in the moonlight on the top of a hill and let you shout into the darkness and then laugh herself and you silly afterwards, the ones who insist on writing your paper for you for otherwise you are not ready and might flunk, the ones who will share their last drink and last drag with you because you’re feeling like a lost kitten, the ones who will bring you in out of the cold and make you warm again, the ones you who soothe you when you are hurting so badly you cannot think, the ones who pick up the phone and instantly know that something is wrong, the ones that laugh with you and cry with you, the ones for whom a little silence is enough, the ones for who words are not necessary.
I think about all this and then I think there is so much much much more….and then I think one thing: I am so blessed to have friends like you. Thank you everyone, you know who you are!

RIP

An Obituary printed in the London Times.....

 
Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense , who has been with us for many years.
No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.
He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:
- Knowing when to come in out of the rain;
- Why the early bird gets the worm;
- Life isn't always fair;
- and maybe it was my fault.
 
Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).
 
His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place.
Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.
 
Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.
 
It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.
 
Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.
 
Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.
 
Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.
 
Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust, by his wife, Discretion, by his daughter, Responsibility, and by his son, Reason.
 
He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers;
I Know My Rights
I Want It Now
Someone Else Is To Blame
I'm A Victim
 
Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone...

Open letter to my son.

Dear Rubic,

I would be lying if I said I loved you from the moment I saw you. It was my wedding day and you had come to my house with Ziggy and my first memory of you is of your face peering at me from behind the curtain, big eyes, uncertain and hesitant: you were just a little boy in this extensively large family that I was marrying into. But then you wormed your way into my heart, you with the shy smiles and two fingers in your mouth! I had not shaken the rice from my hair when I found you and Zim often peering out at me from behind the door, tiny faces full of curiosity, smiles instantly heartwarming. You had turned three and your sister was almost two and it did not take us long to become friends. I had entered an adult world to play adult games but you made me a child again. You happily adjusted your lives to make space for me and I learnt for the first time, what it was to have children in one’s life!
Real affection, contrary to popular belief, does not come out of thin air or at first sight, it is built with blocks of mutual love and regard and needs nurturing. I proudly say today that many unfortunate people do not get the love, respect and affection I have received from you even from their own children! And I don’t think it was only because you were a well brought up kid!
And of course we have the memories: joyrides in the Maruti van…sticking you two on the baby seats in the dicky….”when Chachi says jump”…. Swimming in Saturday Club (I’m still faster than you!)…gorging on chips and stuff….unlimited coke…..hopscotch on the terrace, those crazy running-catching games we played…you walking into our room unannounced (ask your mom about that one!)… dark-room and ‘chor-police’…..football downstairs with Isha in a sling!….getting wet in the rain….our escapade to the video parlour in pajamas!….and the Mulberry Bush thereafter!…..music blasting in the car…fighting about the front seat…”Chachee, I want a brother” when I was on my way to the nursing home for Amisha and being happy about yet another sister!….gorging on brownies…and candy…..your ‘poite’, the shaved head, those earrings we pried out of your ear…. ‘Buddhi’…. ‘upparwali’…. ‘halooom!’…..The Christmas breakfasts, the family gatherings.....the swimming pool at Puri….. the trip to Pantaloons...changing in the elevator!!!!!!!!......cockroach in the daal.....fresh lime sweet and salt...........4 pm rum n coke!.....the moonlit feast, the sound of your laughter as it echoes its way into my heart….memories too vivid and dear: too many to put down on paper, I thank you for each one of them!
My heart is full. Over the years, I have come to learn that this family is not just extra large in size but also has an extra large heart to match and you are no exception. Love you for it and for all the love and affection you pour into your sisters’ lives and the lives of your elders!
As I write this I can imagine you teasing me, “wot, you senti?” Yup. For you are the first of my children to be leaving home: unimaginable, but last night after we returned home from dinner, I lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep, initially refusing to admit that the softness in my eyes was there because I’ll miss you! But even as I know we all will miss you, I am also very happy for you. So go out there and do us proud, as I know you will!
(And farewells? Don’t be dismayed at farewells; a goodbye is necessary before people can meet again! That’s Richard Bach for you, not Chachi gyaan!)
So…. Spread your wings, fly free and unfettered, live, be happy, laugh a lot and I’m sure we’ll meet again and again in the midst of this celebration that has no end!
Love you,
Chachi

Manic mothering!

I’ve been quiet for a while, I guess routine got to me. Routine and the skullduggery of a mundane unexciting existence! Its not that I haven’t been writing either but most of it have been words and thoughts that drummed about in my head, destined to stay unread, lost long before it got to see the light of page.
But even that’s not what’s on my mind just now. Its this mess I have made…..It's the girls, it's their childhood, it's their days when day after day they come home to prepare for yet another test, collect stuff for yet another project on a MUST DO basis. And I am on their case as soon as I am home, from the minute I see them I think I run out of patience and tolerance! Later, much later, when they are fast asleep, sometimes a wave of tenderness overcomes me and I actually have my quiet moment with them secure in the knowledge that they cannot hear me. So what a surprise it was a few nights ago to sneak onto my daughter’s bed and kiss her and say, “Goodnight, I love you” only to have her mumble “I know, I love you too Ma” back at me. Awww. Seriously. Moments like these warm the cockles of my heart, I resolve then and there that I will be more indulging and kind and give in to their chocolate cravings. But no, next morning I am back to being a harridan again, the monster mother who hounds her kids off to school! So will they look back in frustration at their childhood and find it in themselves to laugh about it or shall they wallow in dread and suffocation and curse the Gods for a traumatic time?

Well, there’s hope for me yet. The other day I found this on a friend’s FB status and promptly shared it, many of you may have seen it and/or liked it:
‘My promise to my child: I am your parent first, your friend second. I will stalk you, flip out on you, lecture you, drive you insane, be your worst nightmare & hunt you down like a bloodhound when needed because I LOVE YOU! When you understand that, I will know you are a responsible adult. You will NEVER find someone who loves, prays, cares, & worries about you more than I do.’

And this is not for just my biological kids but for ALL my kids, and my friends as well, whom I look upon as my own (yes, Rubic, you may be going off to college in a few days, but it includes you too!) (And the message, I guess, is not just from me but from everyone one of us stumbling today under the magical and mystical demands of parenthood!) AND it justifies my short temper and cloaks it with the wiliest of all human emotions: love!


I fear, in my kids memory, I shall be the repressed unpleasantness who was constantly eating their heads and had no patience with their unending wants and questions and cravings! The times I indulge them are short lived, unfortunately and even then, its full of frowns and “behave”, “sit up”, “who was that you were talking to?” I’ve tried not to, but I do it with my daughters friends too. I’m the nasty wicked witch Aunty who is always frowning, warts and all! But are the kids conned? Nope, don’t think so!

There are the days when I look at them studying and feel like saying “to hell with it, studies be damned!” But do I do it? Do I dare?
Sigh. I wish at this point I could say how casual I am and how my overpowering nonchalance takes precedence over my conscience but no. I don’t. So every evening it’s the same…I get worried and upset and tense and here I am yelling and losing my temper at them! “Stop that at once,” “get the hell out of here,” “you live by my rules or go live on the road…” these are common expressions my daughters hear everyday! So do they care, are they shuddering individuals insecure in their own homes? Am I doing permanent damage to them somewhere?
In our house there’s not a single soul who is afraid or intimidated by me. Not that I am the Hindi movie “MA” either! Try as I might, my personality is not strong enough to evoke such extreme loyalties. So the iron hand I rule with, or think I rule with, is actually play dough! My words fall on deaf ears. I’m not dull but they must think I am for there they are listening to music even when I told them to put the damn thing off (they just turn down the volume and imagine I cannot hear!)…and they don’t practice the piano or do the sums I set for them or eat the fish I said they have to eat! When they were younger I admit I let them get away with it. But now they are older, they should be more responsible. The other day I told them, “ fine, I retire. It’s your studies, your headache do what you want!” There was silence as two pairs of eyes looked at me questioningly. With a superior sniff, I retired to my room.
For the next half an hour, there was silence. Feeling victorious, I peeped in their room with the expectation that I would find two heads bent over their tables, studying. Oh no. One was shaking her bum to something playing on the ipod and the other was lying on the bed, legs in the air, playing something on the PSP. I lost it. Rat a tat a tat……sizzle, fire burn. My daughters looked at me in shock, “chill Ma, its only studies!”
Now if only my girls were little Einsteins, I wouldn’t mind. But then at the parent teacher sessions I am left squirming on my chair feeling like a fourth grader. I try nodding wisely but the teacher sees through me. Her voice drops to a whisper: “They are not studying enough.”
“Yes they are”, I whisper back, hoping no one will notice that I am not making eye contact.
The teacher sighs despairingly until I am feeling appropriately inadequate and then I am allowed to depart. I rush home that evening determined to leave an impact on my children’s studies. So what happens?
Nothing. Believe me absofucking nothing. (Have you seen the tails of the stray mongrels of the streets of Calcutta, what they call ‘leri kutta’? Well they have these long tails that coil up. The only way to get it to stay straight is to hang on to it. Let go and it coils back up like a spring. My daughters and I are like that.) For a week or so there is discipline in the house, they are studying every evening and I am diligently checking all they do, then it slackens and slowly the tail is coiled once again..we are back to our undisciplined incorrigible lifestyles and here I am playing on the computer and the girls are busy with whatever is the latest thing they are busy with!
Yikes!

Inconsistent, moody and temperamental, I seriously think I am a mothering mess!

Tell me, am I the only one?