Few months back, I had written a post about my hometown and few people I grew up with – Nostalgia, named it was.

Today, it is time to add some more of my memories to this blog.

The family, that stayed in our block, just below S’s house, was much more than a family to me too. My mother tells that, when I was few days old, she used to take me to their house and everybody in their house took care of me like a new member to their house.  I literally grew up as a member of their family. There were Mama, Mausa, D-bhai, T-nana and Nana. They have been knowing me since I was 1 day old. I have grown up with all of them around me. It was like a ritual to visit their house at-least once a day.

I remember T-nana, getting married; I was in class 4 probably. Then after 0ne or two years, Goodly was born and  I still remember, how small and soft she was. When she grew up enough to babble, she called me ‘Mausi’ … For the very first time somebody as sweet as her called me ‘Mausi’.  

I was very close to T-nana from he beginning. I used to be very shy and obidient child back then… (not anymore ). So T-nana used to take me to her friends’ places, and sometimes to the nearby markets. After she got married Nana became my favorite. I used to stick to her… She is 7/8 years older to me and she is like my elder sister.

Then Laadly, the second baby of T-nana was born, but by that time I was busy studying and due to some stupid reason, my involvement with that lovely family had been reduced. Then D-bhai got married. And then they moved out to their own house after Mausa got retired.

I still talk to Nana over phone sometimes. She has not got married and stays with her parents. So when the last time I was talking to her, she told me that T-nana, Goodly and Laadly are coming for new year. So I decided to go to their place during my new year Bhubaneswar visit. And I went…

It was after so many years that I saw T-nana, and her daughters. The Goodly who crowned me as a ‘Mausi’ for the first time is now a class 9th student. Yes, that many years have passed. She is almost half a feet taller than me.. well, that does not give much credit to her… thanks to my height… or the lack of it

What I wanted to write is that, the warmth is still there. I mean I still feel like a part of their family. I still cherish the ease with which I hug Mama… (I never called T-nana’s mother aunty… I called her what her 3 children called her… ‘Mama’). Everybody is growing old, that includes me. Sometimes, it seems strange. There used to be a time when I could not eat if I did not go to their house. Then the interaction slowed and finally stopped. All of a sudden I went back to that phase of my life where I was still just a happy child…

I don’t know, when I will be meeting them again. But there will always a special place for all these people in my life.

Koi mulakaat aisi bhi ho

Ke zindegi thahar jae,

Labz aansoon banke

Ankhon se beh jaen….

Koi mulakaat aisi bhi ho

Ke Saansein tham jae

Hazaaron kwahison ki yeh zindegi

Bas usi pal me goojar jaen….

Meet my friend Shalu...

It is not always that you meet a “tall-dark-handsome” guy in your life. It happens once in a blue moon and on that holy day (Coincidently, it was a BLUEMOON on 31st December), we, Shalu and me, boarded the train from Howrah to Bhubaneswar. As usual, our coach was filled with irritatingly super-exited Bengalis.

As we sat there with our vehement moods, he appeared out of nowhere. He talked to one of the screeching Bengalis about where they are going with such a hullabaloo. That high-with-excitement-as if- boarding-the-train-for-the-first-time Bengali answered that they were going to Amaravati for some Indian Air Force training. Then he looked at us and we might have looked like a set of shrunken kittens, to which he smiled and asked whether we were also going for the same training. I said, ‘No’… But then Shalu, angry with the high-pitched Bengalis, replied rather rudely that we were going home. After that he did not talk to us. Later, Shalu and I, both realized that he was not a Bengali, but somewhere from South India and he did not belong to the screeching crowd… More over… he was sooooooooooooooo handsome. So we regretted Shalu’s rude behavior which might have been one of the reasons that he did not talk to us throughout the journey.

But Shalu and I were by then, high-spirited and tried in every way to convince him that we are not so rude girls and we were very cheerful (by laughing constantly). But obviously that did not help. He rather paid his full attention to another non-bengali , non-screeching guy and started explaining SAP to him. Shalu tried to distract him by her ‘yeh-reshmi-zulfon-ka andhera-na ghabarayiye’ style by untying her hair; and it did not help. We did not sleep till 1.30 AM, just thinking that he might get interested and start talking to us.

We sat in front of him and kept on trying our best to start a conversation. But he got on to his upper berth and went to sleep where we were still sitting with a hope that he would talk. Then we decided to sleep as our target seemed to be still hurt with Shalu’s rude behavior.

It seemed that, the hunk did not leave us alone in our dreams even. Both shalu and I had dreams about him. Shalu’s dream had a happy ending, that before leaving he left her a letter, written in hindi, with his name and address :). And as of my dream, even if he was there in my dream, I was committed to I~) only…”Sapne me bhi I~) ko dagaa nahi de paayi” hehehe… Shalu is still searching for him. So anybody knowing anyone from south india who is really handsome and travelled in Amaravati Express, coach no s7, berth no 43 on 31st December, 2009 then please let him know about Shalu…

Today I woke up at my usual time for the morning walk. Got dressed up and switched off the light in my room. Suddenly the room was dark. I checked the time, 5.50 AM. Even if I was 5 mins late as compared to my usual time, it was not dawn till now. Strange. My window has glass shields, so my room also becomes lighted by that time. So I opened the balcony door and to my surprise, I found the thickest fog of this winter season up-to now. It was so thick that the buildings near to my flat were only partially visible and if you look little beyond them, then you will see nothing… just a white blanket of mist, spread for yards and yards ahead of you. 

Mist in Kolkata

 As I stood there at the balcony, the fog floated towards me. I could feel the chill as the tiny droplets got deposited on my bare hands. My nose was so cold that I started to have doubt about its existence. When I was younger, I used to get fascinated about this whole foggy thing. I used to stand by the window and let the cold breeze along with the mist touch my face. Most probably it was all those hindi movie scenes where the hero-heroine duo sing and dance in some badiyaan of Kashmir or Shimla, that made me to have this likeness for mist. My parents would come and scold me for standing there at the window as they were afraid that I would catch a cold… And I always did. But then, I used think that when I will grow older and stay alone somewhere in those high-altitude place then I will roam around in fog. Kids are so optimistic . 

Can you see the coconut trees?

 But today, when I am actually a grown up and staying alone (though not at any of those pure romantic places), I behaved like a grown up and did not go for the morning walk. Reason being the same, I may catch a cold and with that another reason, the security. Later I thought that along this road of growing up,  I am losing so many things. I lost my childhood somewhere back there. It seemed as-if, I will just turn around and will see myself running in this fog all alone. I asked myself, did I gain anything at all (barring the extra pounds that I trying so hard to get off me) by this process of growing up?  Answer was, Not much. So why did I grow up even? I never wanted this uncertainty in my life; Could have gone to the NeverLand and stayed there instead. I imagined, a cold morning and I wake up in NeverLand and see the fog in front of me. I would have collected jars and jars of fog so that I could enjoy with these fog in all those non-foggy days.  

Two early risers as mysitfied as me

 Life, I tell you, is so strange. When you are a small child, you can’t wait to grow up and once you grow up you want the childhood back. Today morning’s mist faded out slowly, but I don’t know when the mist that surrounds my life will fade off.

Kabhie fursat me yun hi agar

Dabi woh har gham bata dein

Chhupi woh har nafrat dikha dein

Bikhre woh har khwaab suna dein

Simte woh har khouf feilaa dein

Kya tab bhi yeh zindegi jannat kehlayegi?

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Kabhie fitrat se yun hi agar

Jalti woh har shamaa bujha dein

Mehekti woh har fizaa lutaa dein

Sarmaati woh har hayaa mita dein

Lehraati woh har nadi sukha dein

Kya tab bhi hume yeh zindegi jannat dikhaegi?

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Magar na hume woh fursat hain

Jo yaad karein us bewafaa ki bewafaai

Aur na hi yeh fitrat hai humari

Jo jiye hum woh jillat ki tanhaayi.

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Magar phir bhi,

Kabhie fursat me yun hi agar…

People here in Kolkata are Jhaal Mudhi (Spiced Puffed Rice) fans. If you step out of your office anytime after 4 PM, you will find the Mudhi vendors with their stalls. You will easily recognize it if you find a big transparent polythene containing puffed rice on one side of the open stall; then there will be rows of glass jars with different kind of Namakins, peanuts, pickles etc, bowls containing minutely cut onion, ginger, green chilies, coriander leaves, coconut, boiled potatoes, raw tomatoes, & spice powder, salt and sometimes sprouts of chana.

In my place, it was always Mudhi and Mixture. I loved that. The crispy puffed rice and the tangy mixture was a delightful treat for me.  I never preferred anything else to be added to eat. Here I tried eating the Jhaal Mudhi, but it was too much spiced for me. Even if I tell the Mudhi wala to make it less spicy then also the end product is always too much for my taste buds, because less-spicy does never find a place in Bengalis’ dictionary; either it is spicy or it is too much spicy!!! Bengalis love spicy food, so the vendor can never make what I demand for and I always get the after effect of eating their version of less-spiced puffed rice with a running nose, teary eyes and a red tongue. I am kind of allergic to chilies, cannot take even a little bit. (Most of the time I avoid putting chilies in any form while cooking.)

Anyhow, recently I discovered a way to make the vendors to prepare exactly what I want to eat. I wait for somebody to order his/her Jhaal Mudhi with all the spices and namkins and potatoes-tomatoes in it. After the vendor prepares it, he pours the whole mixture to a paper packet and then I jump in to order mine. I told him to add the puffed rice, one specific kind of namakin (called jhuri bhaja) and small amount of peanuts. No masala, pickles… nothing… not even salt. He gives me little more of the peanuts or Jhuri bhaja as there is no other ingredient in my version of Jhaal Mudhi and mixes it in the same container where he had prepared the earlier order. Getting mixed with the left over powdered masalas my jhaal mudhi becomes exactly what I want it to be. Some tiny pieces of ginger or onion also find their way to my jhaal mudhi. I find various kinds of tastes, but at the same time in the minimum amount one can imagine. And the puffed rice remains crispy as the potatoes, tomatoes, oil, pickles are not added to it.

At-least now I have mastered the art of ordering a perfect crispy not so jhaal mudhi. With this achievement in hand, I look forward to other such intelligent inventions and thus successfully surviving in this spice land. Wish me luck

Scenario 1:

You go to one city on a vacation, you roam around, you visit the city’s famous tourist places, you go for shopping in the city’s biggest shopping area, you eat at the city’s famous food joint and you find the city interesting; you fall in love with it almost instantly. After going back to your own place you keep on telling about how you enjoyed staying in the city, and how you find the people so welcoming, and how the unknown language spoken by them was so sweet to your ears even if you do not understand a single word of the entire conversation.

Scenario 2:

You go to the city because your company posted you there, you don’t get too much time to roam around apart from going to office and coming back to the place where you stay and call it “your room”, you visit the nearby bus sop to catch a bus and go to office daily, you go to the daily market near your place for the vegetable and grocery shopping, you eat at the office’s canteen or any food joint that is available near to your place which serves the most non-edible food you ever tried (forget about a decent vegetarian dish if you happen to be a vegetarian and the city happens to be where I am staying) and believe me or not you find the city disgusting; you start feeling the first kind of emotion which cannot be called love in any way, the very instant. You long to go back to your place and once back you want to forget your stay in the city as a nightmare which you never want to have again. Sometimes though you love to rant about how you survived there and how you found the people so selfish and how you were forced to learn the alien language as that is the only language people spoke there, even in the office, during any official meeting.

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AND you guessed it right, I am ranting now. After spending more than 3 years in Kolkata, at-least I cannot stop myself from ranting. People (Except few) here are kind of people who dance upon seeing money. If they see you are paying 200 for something without complaining then the next day they will ask you 500 for the same thing. Nothing is what you call a smooth-process over here if you are not ready to spend as much as they are demanding, even if it is almost same as getting bankrupt after spending that much. The way they behave is the most irritating thing. You go to a vegetable vendor, even if you are in the best of your moods, I give you my 100% guarantee that at the end you will get frustrated. They behave as-if they own us. In office, if you behave little saintly and extend your hand for helping somebody then be sure that you are going to be gulped down by the same fellow.

Yes, people here are too much proud for their heritage. But these are not the places where you go daily. And the place you spend maximum of your stay, makes you feel the instant need of resigning and running back to your Mom.

Now if you are wondering what exactly the thing that made me writing this post is, then say thanks to the flower vendors near my apartment for inspiring me. After coming to Kolkata, if anything in my behavior has changed then it is my temper; I have become short-tempered. Just a single person’s behavior in the morning can put me in one my worst moods for couple of days. And that very thing happened with me today. Normally I do my Puja with incent sticks and a diya. For some special occasions I buy flowers. As Bou is here, I buy her flower for daily Puja. Today, when I went to the flower vendor after the morning walk and asked him for 2 Rs worth loose flowers, he straight said “Chaar taka r niche kucho phool habe na” [You can't get loose flower worth below 4 Rs]. I expressed my astonishment as every day I buy 2 Rs worth flower only. But he simply said “Habena” [You can't get]. Okay fine, even if the rates have increased, he could have told me so, but the tone with which he addressed me, made my temper show its signs. I could have bought 10 Rs worth flower if he were not have made that disgusting face and showed me that attitude. I did not buy anything and returned home empty handed and told my mother to do her Puja without flower.

No intension of self praising, but I am soft spoken person. I behave very politely and give respect to everybody irrespective of the person’s position; He may be my manager or may be a rickshaw-puller. So is it wrong if I expect a more cordial answer from other people? I don’t think so. But here, people behave you like you are just not a human.

A city is not merely the pleasant things you get to see around when you visit. People staying in a city make what it is. You get a glimpse of the culture of a city from the behavior of the people belonging to it. There are monuments, temples, caves, beaches, market places, food joints, architectural beauties almost in every town you visit. It is just that they look different. I am not complaining about the dirt, filth, poverty, or the political Bandhs here. Being in India, you will get to see it everywhere, somewhere more, somewhere less. At the end of the day it won’t make any sense to you whether the Rabindra Setu, Victoria memorial, Esplanade or Botanical Garden was there at Kolkata or not. You will only remember how people behaved when you were there. And to speak of mine, I am very sorry, but it is not a very pleasant experience staying here.

Today I went for the morning walk little earlier than the time I usually go. I thought of start jogging today. It’s almost been a month I had started walking. The sole reason for the walk session was that someday, I would start running. I have already written here about my fascination for running which is growing gradually, without any reason. But once on the road, I feel it difficult to start running. I just walk… what you call a brisk walk of 45/50 minutes. My heart advices me to take a leap and just run like a wild horse, but my  brain gives many reasons why I should not. It shows me the fellow morning walk goers and makes me imagine myself running… err rather huffing-n-puffing in front of all those people. In my imagination, I look like a big ping-pong ball bouncing up and down on the road. So, even-if my heart keeps on trying to get my bulls**t brain washed away, I cling and listen to my brain only and never run.

Today, I decided to go with my heart, as it assured me that if today I run then all those office politics getting jammed in my thoughts will be blown away with the wind. It takes me around 15 minutes to reach the place which is almost vehicle free and the road is comparatively smoother than the road near my house, so a safe street to walk/run. Let’s call it Jogger’s street . So once I reached at the Jogger’s street, my heart again started pushing me for “The Run”. But still I was not quite comfortable. I don’t know, but I just could not start it.

While I was tossing and turning between my brain and heart, a boy came from one of those side lanes, went to the road-side temple, took a bow and then started RUNNING, just like that. It was so easy for him… he just ran and I kept on looking at the merrily running figure getting smaller and smaller with every passing second and finally disappearing from my sight. It was so pleasurable (but I was jealous of him too) to watch him run like that. My heart started pushing me harder and with each of its beats, I could hear one thing “NOW OR NEVER”. I looked back; there was nobody… that means it’s safe to start running without anybody seeing me. But my legs were not permitting me to take the leap as my brain had enslaved them. My brain was still busy calculating how many times I can actually bounce up and down with this heavy body. I was becoming more and more restless.

I don’t know how much time passed by before I realized that there was wind on face and I was speeding past few people walking on the road… Yes, I was running… my heart beat increased and with that increased my speed. Well, it did not last for more than 2 minutes; but what matters is that, I finally RAN and that made my whole day, as I said,

I wish I could run,

At-least for a while,

If not a mile…

… When I grow one more year older once in every 365 days…