Like most, I am also required to work for an average of eight hours daily. The regulations are not so strict and schedule is more relaxed. Also anyway, the workload requires one to be at work for a longer time more than often. However, I still like to come at around certain time and leave after around finishing eight hours. Of course, there are days when I leave quite early or stay hours later, but in general, I have this ‘schedule’. I generally prefer to come early, around 7-7.30, and leave sometime around 3-4 in the afternoon. I like to have most of my afternoon free and for myself to walk around, do necessary errands, relax, read a book, cook, work on my hobbies and so on..
But sometimes, like yesterday, I get hugely late and then the day seems so long. Yesterday, I was very lazy in the morning and came to work only at around 9. And because now I am in the process of writing a manuscript and finding it very boring to do so; I said to myself ‘I am going to stay till 5 at least and work’. I have less concentration in it as I find analyzing all my result and writing a manuscript, preparing pictures, graphs, tables etc annoying; therefore, if I do not force myself I would not be able to meet the deadline. Thus, there was this self-imposed rule of not leaving before 5 at least.
I started with work. Several printed sheets with graphs, notes, results were all around on my desk. However, the arrangement was much more than the work that was actually happening. I was so out of concentration, restless and hugely bored. To refresh myself I read the newspapers online. Then started again. The situation was still the same.
The clock showed it to be 11. On other days, I feel satisfied in working and do not notice how almost half of the day is gone. Yesterday each minute seemed like hours. But then it was not just yesterday. Most of the time when I am late, I have this feeling.
Somehow, when I notice that half of the day is gone, and realize that I was already working for quite some time, it gives a sense of satisfaction. I feel that I was being useful. I finished around half of the work I had planned to do that day. And then soon after I finish the rest I would be able to leave. Having most of the afternoon for myself, I then look forward to it. Concentrating back into work is easy. Soon I finish my work and realize that time has passed by without me noticing it. I enjoy the work then, feel satisfied about it, it gives some sense of positivity and happiness. I have earned myself the free afternoon, this is what I feel. There is no streak of guilt associated with it. On these days, 8 hours do not seem like 8 hours.
And, when I am late, everything change. At 11, I am still left with almost the whole of that day’s work. Realizing that almost half day gone without me doing much work because of being lazy in the morning without reason, I feel bad. Moreover, this also reminds me that to finish the work I need to stay longer and thus reducing my afternoon time. It annoys me. More so, as I know it was my fault in the very beginning. I look at the clock every five minutes and think it is moving so very slowly. Then I start getting bored, working slower and slower. This makes me more annoyed. And the whole thing just increases in a cycle, ultimately resulting in little productivity. Finally, unless I really have the need to finish something or too much workload, I just leave. However, I have this little guilt inside me saying I was lazy, and did not work with full concentration and productivity, and worse maybe if I had left it unfinished.
And the next day, when I am doing the same unfinished work and not getting bored or annoyed, I realize it is not about the work or the eight hours. If I start early and as planned, all goes good. The clock ticks on its own pace and in the end, I am leaving work satisfied and happy. If I am late, the clock stops moving. Minutes are like hours then, and hours are like forever. The eight hours become ‘nothing’ or ‘forever’ depending on when and how I start.
Bottom line, I should not be lazy in the morning to finish work smiling and satisfied.
November 25, 2010
November 15, 2010
Learning Slovene
It is after work, and I am waiting to head to the Slovenian language class. And then I decided to write about.. hmm… learning Slovenian language.
I truly admire those with a passion, interest and ability of learning languages. I have none. I enjoy and admire the beauty of a language, and play of words. But this enjoyment is limited to Bengali, my mother tongue; and English, which I had learnt when I was so young that I did not really feel the process of learning it. I admit that my pen is not most beautiful and flawless as I write in these languages, but I can read, write and talk in them fluently. And above all, I have knowledge enough to enjoy their beauty. Bengali to me is always the most beautiful, poetic and sweet sounding language. I am maybe biased to it, and rightly so. English is more international and allows me to enjoy great and interesting works. Besides these two, the only other language I sort of know is Hindi. Thanks to Indian television and Bollywood movies, I can speak and understand it completely.
And oh.. I can say that I know Slovene now.. well just a little bit, a very tiny little bit.
When I was in the 6th standard in school, we had to take up a third language. And the only option was taking Sanskrit. I was not very happy with the idea of it. Though the rich world of Indian scripts, mythologies, epics, religious texts is explored in Sanskrit; to me it was still a dead language without much of practical use. And with all my love for reading, I could not imagine myself reading much of Sanskrit texts in future. But anyway I had to take it. Learning the Devnagari script was easy. And then it started with easy words etc. But as it came to grammar, with learning to write even simple sentences my annoyance grew. People said that the grammar is like math, simple logic. But to me it was most incoherent and without any logic. As I struggled with the language, I was every time wondering how people could talk in a language as complicated as Sanskrit. I heard that having an understanding of this language will make learning some European languages easier. I never believed it. Who on the earth talk and think like that? In which modern language can there be complications like seven declinations, duals, genders, complex rules for verbs and sentence structures? There can be none. And I was relieved as two years of this Sanskrit phase got over. Little did I know that I will again land in the mess of these complex rules!!
I was wondering where on earth people speak in a complicated language similar to Sanskrit. And now I know. There can be many places, but Slovenia is definitely one of them. When I came to Slovenia as a researcher, I made sure that all communications in the lab and related to academics will be in English. Otherwise I would not have come in the first place. And though most people speak English, Slovene is the official language. Therefore, all official documents are mostly in Slovene. And as I have plans to live here, I would not be able to escape without learning the language. It is must to be independent in the country. And also who likes to look at the bill boards or listen to a conversation and not know what is up. So, I joined the afternoon courses at the faculty, and there started my struggle.
The vocabulary is not an issue, I learn that slowly and know that I will build it up over time. But the grammar, it is terrible. Six declination, duals and genders play with the ending of words and verbs. To top it all it was full of strange complex rules and even exceptions! Nothing made much sense. I could not find any logic. Okay, I can learn that to change into accusative case, I have to change the ending of singular female words from ‘a’ to ‘o’; but singular male and neuter words will undergo no change. Easy huh! But wait, if the word is for a living male (man, animals etc), I have to add an ‘a’ at the end. I mean why to be partial about living males?? And this is just only for singular, and then there are duals and plurals. Ah!
The pronouns are funny with all the ‘n’, ‘j’, ‘i’, ‘u’ in them making them hard to pronounce and remember. The language drives me crazy with the different endings for neuter words, but then, along with ‘him’ and ‘her’, there is no ‘it’! ‘I like to watch television and I watch him every evening’. Calling a television ‘him’ is just crazy!!
Just in the last class we were doing possessive pronouns and how to change endings of words to get their possessive forms. For male words, one add ‘ov(a)’ in the end. But wait, if the word ends with ‘j’ (or also ‘c’, ‘č’, ‘š’, ‘ž’), the ending will be ‘ev(a)’. Rule two, if it ends with ‘r’, add ‘j’ and with this now new ending, add ‘ev(a)’. Rule three, if the last but one alphabet is ‘e’, eliminate it. These are a few of the many rules. Okay, you learn the rules and it is easy. But hey wait a minute. What about if we wish to make the possessive form of the name ‘Peter’? Well, it ends with ‘r’, so according to rule add a ‘j’ and then a ‘ev(a)’; and because there is an ‘e’ just before the ending , remove it. So, ‘Petrjev(a)’ right? Wrong. It will be ‘Petrov(a)’!! When you remove the ‘e’, even if it is ending with ‘r’, do not add the ‘j’ and thus the ending becomes ‘ov(a)’. Now why will I not claim it to be a crazy complex language?
Well, I must not just complain that it is hard. It is also my fault why I am so slow in learning it. Learning a new language calls for using it as much as possible; and I use it as little as possible. Well, no, it is not just my reluctance or negligence. Being a talkative girl, I am supposed to have no problem in trying to talk in a new language. But I do. I am introvert and shy enough to not just talk with anyone, more so in a language that I barely know. I do not yet have the confidence and I am afraid of being wrong. With people in front of whom I am not afraid or shy, it takes so long to structure a sentence that I rather say it in English. Being talkative is thus a disadvantage in my situation because trying to speak in Slovene reduces the speed so badly that the flow and interest is lost. But well, I do try to talk. I try to say sentences in Slovene in shops. Also I try and use it with Blaž’s grandma. And every time I am able to say something or understand her sentences, the way she exclaims about ‘how much’ I know makes me smile and feel encouraged.
This time I am doing the intermediate level course and I feel glad when I see I already know a bit. The first two levels felt complete mess. I was then unable to understand anything. This time it is more comprehensive and makes sense. Well, not that it makes a complete sense; I still get lost in all the crazy ‘rules’ and numerous ‘exceptions’; but there is still some sense in it. I can understand and make simple conversations. I am not completely blank when two people are talking. And that is definitely an improvement. Especially when the student is me. And for the technical part of the knowledge, the short test I have this week will show my knowledge..
I remember when I was little I used to dream about learning as many languages as possible when I grow up. An idea that formed up as a result of my love for books. I thought, reading books in their original language would be such great! But now, I dare not think of this idea. And thanks to the good quality translations available, I can satisfy my urge of reading. Those thoughts of learning different languages do not even come in my wildest fantasies now. If I manage to learn Slovene properly, that will be enough an achievement.
Languages for me are hard nuts to crack. And I am struggling with one of the hardest ones..
I truly admire those with a passion, interest and ability of learning languages. I have none. I enjoy and admire the beauty of a language, and play of words. But this enjoyment is limited to Bengali, my mother tongue; and English, which I had learnt when I was so young that I did not really feel the process of learning it. I admit that my pen is not most beautiful and flawless as I write in these languages, but I can read, write and talk in them fluently. And above all, I have knowledge enough to enjoy their beauty. Bengali to me is always the most beautiful, poetic and sweet sounding language. I am maybe biased to it, and rightly so. English is more international and allows me to enjoy great and interesting works. Besides these two, the only other language I sort of know is Hindi. Thanks to Indian television and Bollywood movies, I can speak and understand it completely.
And oh.. I can say that I know Slovene now.. well just a little bit, a very tiny little bit.
When I was in the 6th standard in school, we had to take up a third language. And the only option was taking Sanskrit. I was not very happy with the idea of it. Though the rich world of Indian scripts, mythologies, epics, religious texts is explored in Sanskrit; to me it was still a dead language without much of practical use. And with all my love for reading, I could not imagine myself reading much of Sanskrit texts in future. But anyway I had to take it. Learning the Devnagari script was easy. And then it started with easy words etc. But as it came to grammar, with learning to write even simple sentences my annoyance grew. People said that the grammar is like math, simple logic. But to me it was most incoherent and without any logic. As I struggled with the language, I was every time wondering how people could talk in a language as complicated as Sanskrit. I heard that having an understanding of this language will make learning some European languages easier. I never believed it. Who on the earth talk and think like that? In which modern language can there be complications like seven declinations, duals, genders, complex rules for verbs and sentence structures? There can be none. And I was relieved as two years of this Sanskrit phase got over. Little did I know that I will again land in the mess of these complex rules!!
I was wondering where on earth people speak in a complicated language similar to Sanskrit. And now I know. There can be many places, but Slovenia is definitely one of them. When I came to Slovenia as a researcher, I made sure that all communications in the lab and related to academics will be in English. Otherwise I would not have come in the first place. And though most people speak English, Slovene is the official language. Therefore, all official documents are mostly in Slovene. And as I have plans to live here, I would not be able to escape without learning the language. It is must to be independent in the country. And also who likes to look at the bill boards or listen to a conversation and not know what is up. So, I joined the afternoon courses at the faculty, and there started my struggle.
The vocabulary is not an issue, I learn that slowly and know that I will build it up over time. But the grammar, it is terrible. Six declination, duals and genders play with the ending of words and verbs. To top it all it was full of strange complex rules and even exceptions! Nothing made much sense. I could not find any logic. Okay, I can learn that to change into accusative case, I have to change the ending of singular female words from ‘a’ to ‘o’; but singular male and neuter words will undergo no change. Easy huh! But wait, if the word is for a living male (man, animals etc), I have to add an ‘a’ at the end. I mean why to be partial about living males?? And this is just only for singular, and then there are duals and plurals. Ah!
The pronouns are funny with all the ‘n’, ‘j’, ‘i’, ‘u’ in them making them hard to pronounce and remember. The language drives me crazy with the different endings for neuter words, but then, along with ‘him’ and ‘her’, there is no ‘it’! ‘I like to watch television and I watch him every evening’. Calling a television ‘him’ is just crazy!!
Just in the last class we were doing possessive pronouns and how to change endings of words to get their possessive forms. For male words, one add ‘ov(a)’ in the end. But wait, if the word ends with ‘j’ (or also ‘c’, ‘č’, ‘š’, ‘ž’), the ending will be ‘ev(a)’. Rule two, if it ends with ‘r’, add ‘j’ and with this now new ending, add ‘ev(a)’. Rule three, if the last but one alphabet is ‘e’, eliminate it. These are a few of the many rules. Okay, you learn the rules and it is easy. But hey wait a minute. What about if we wish to make the possessive form of the name ‘Peter’? Well, it ends with ‘r’, so according to rule add a ‘j’ and then a ‘ev(a)’; and because there is an ‘e’ just before the ending , remove it. So, ‘Petrjev(a)’ right? Wrong. It will be ‘Petrov(a)’!! When you remove the ‘e’, even if it is ending with ‘r’, do not add the ‘j’ and thus the ending becomes ‘ov(a)’. Now why will I not claim it to be a crazy complex language?
Well, I must not just complain that it is hard. It is also my fault why I am so slow in learning it. Learning a new language calls for using it as much as possible; and I use it as little as possible. Well, no, it is not just my reluctance or negligence. Being a talkative girl, I am supposed to have no problem in trying to talk in a new language. But I do. I am introvert and shy enough to not just talk with anyone, more so in a language that I barely know. I do not yet have the confidence and I am afraid of being wrong. With people in front of whom I am not afraid or shy, it takes so long to structure a sentence that I rather say it in English. Being talkative is thus a disadvantage in my situation because trying to speak in Slovene reduces the speed so badly that the flow and interest is lost. But well, I do try to talk. I try to say sentences in Slovene in shops. Also I try and use it with Blaž’s grandma. And every time I am able to say something or understand her sentences, the way she exclaims about ‘how much’ I know makes me smile and feel encouraged.
This time I am doing the intermediate level course and I feel glad when I see I already know a bit. The first two levels felt complete mess. I was then unable to understand anything. This time it is more comprehensive and makes sense. Well, not that it makes a complete sense; I still get lost in all the crazy ‘rules’ and numerous ‘exceptions’; but there is still some sense in it. I can understand and make simple conversations. I am not completely blank when two people are talking. And that is definitely an improvement. Especially when the student is me. And for the technical part of the knowledge, the short test I have this week will show my knowledge..
I remember when I was little I used to dream about learning as many languages as possible when I grow up. An idea that formed up as a result of my love for books. I thought, reading books in their original language would be such great! But now, I dare not think of this idea. And thanks to the good quality translations available, I can satisfy my urge of reading. Those thoughts of learning different languages do not even come in my wildest fantasies now. If I manage to learn Slovene properly, that will be enough an achievement.
Languages for me are hard nuts to crack. And I am struggling with one of the hardest ones..
November 14, 2010
Just another autumn day
It was a very beautiful day outside my window and I decided to go out for a bit longer lunch. The sun shone after days of cloudy sky. Everything was bright and cheerful. A perfect day it was for walking to the city center, enjoying a leisurely lunch and then coming back to work again. It was not that I had any less work, but I just decided to treat myself and enjoy the day.
As I wrapped the autumn coat around me and stepped out, the cold refreshing wind touched me. It was a play of colors all around. Everything looked fresh, crisp and smiling. The trees were bright with their display of few remaining golden leaves. And there was beauty in their barren look. On one of these trees, there was just a single yellow leaf still clinging to the branch and fluttering in the wind. And with it, there was beauty, there was life.
I walked on the soft carpet of dry brown leaves. They murmured with music as I made each step. And then, with the gust of wind, they danced in a whirlpool. Along with the wind the leaves ran over the asphalt road and paved sidewalks. Creating music as they ran. A continuous murmuring sound it made, like a heavy rain on the roof. Dry leaves were falling all around me like little bright dots. One got caught in the mess of my hair.
The big willow trees in the park were dropping down to the little Gradaščiča stream. It was a magnificent display of bright yellow and fading green against the bright sky and green grass. Trnovo church was visible there behind. People were taking walks by the river, mothers with their babies in prams, a grandmother walking slowly with her little bag, a few young people sitting down on the bench and reading a book. Everyone was enjoying beautiful nature.
I turned towards the city. Trees in different shades of reds and oranges lined the roads. The bright sunlight seeped through these colors illuminating everything with this reddish golden hue. It was a mesmerizing play of lights and colors. Below the trees, sun created patterns. The houses looked brighter with the red creeper decorating their walls. Everything was set in the fiery hue. I crossed under the old Roman wall; feeling tempted to seat on its grass and read a book. I was close to the faculties now.
By the faculties, students were busy with their classes. They were talking in groups, hurrying to their class, or going for lunch. I walked on and reached the little park. It was covered with a blanket of pale yellow. Pretty leaves were fluttering in the breeze. I stooped down to pick a few. And walked on to the city center.
What I always love about the Ljubljana city center is that it is always buzzing, cheerful and yet has some relaxed flavor. The Prešeren square by the three bridges is always a happy place to be. Especially so if it is a sunny day. It is always full of people and music. It is colorful and refreshing. Young people in groups, busy office goers, grandmas walking slowly, couples strolling, mothers walking with their babies, someone on a walk with his dog, a girl on a bicycle passes by, people sitting in the sun enjoying coffee, someone is playing on his guitar, a homeless sits in the corner, people eating slices of pizza or biting a burek sitting on the green benches, a tourist boat floats in the Lljubljanica river, and the castle shines brightly in the sun overlooking the city from the little hill as its flag unfurls in the breeze. It is always so colorful in this old part of the city. I stopped for a few minutes and let the liveliness around touch me.
I decided to try this little shop where I had heard there are excellent cheesecakes. It was a bit expensive one, but then I was in a mood of treating myself. I sat with the cheesecake on a table outside the shop. I watched people passing by as I indulged in the creamy taste of my cheesecake. I let myself free of all the thoughts and worries, and sitting there just watched the moving world around me. Sometimes it is great to cosset oneself and just unwind in the beauty of gazing at as a distant viewer.
As I passed the bookshop on my way back to work, I decided on making a quick visit. It was specially showcasing several culinary books. Therefore, I decided to check in if anything was interesting. Also I quickly browsed through the fiction and nonfiction sections. Spending some time browsing through books, and getting tempted to buy some, I finally decided to take my leave. The clock was ticking, and it was time to head back to work finally.
I made my way back on the same pretty roads; walking over the leafy carpet, I admired the colors. I wrapped the sun around me. I returned refreshed, my mind colorful and sunny.
As I wrapped the autumn coat around me and stepped out, the cold refreshing wind touched me. It was a play of colors all around. Everything looked fresh, crisp and smiling. The trees were bright with their display of few remaining golden leaves. And there was beauty in their barren look. On one of these trees, there was just a single yellow leaf still clinging to the branch and fluttering in the wind. And with it, there was beauty, there was life.
I walked on the soft carpet of dry brown leaves. They murmured with music as I made each step. And then, with the gust of wind, they danced in a whirlpool. Along with the wind the leaves ran over the asphalt road and paved sidewalks. Creating music as they ran. A continuous murmuring sound it made, like a heavy rain on the roof. Dry leaves were falling all around me like little bright dots. One got caught in the mess of my hair.
The big willow trees in the park were dropping down to the little Gradaščiča stream. It was a magnificent display of bright yellow and fading green against the bright sky and green grass. Trnovo church was visible there behind. People were taking walks by the river, mothers with their babies in prams, a grandmother walking slowly with her little bag, a few young people sitting down on the bench and reading a book. Everyone was enjoying beautiful nature.
I turned towards the city. Trees in different shades of reds and oranges lined the roads. The bright sunlight seeped through these colors illuminating everything with this reddish golden hue. It was a mesmerizing play of lights and colors. Below the trees, sun created patterns. The houses looked brighter with the red creeper decorating their walls. Everything was set in the fiery hue. I crossed under the old Roman wall; feeling tempted to seat on its grass and read a book. I was close to the faculties now.
By the faculties, students were busy with their classes. They were talking in groups, hurrying to their class, or going for lunch. I walked on and reached the little park. It was covered with a blanket of pale yellow. Pretty leaves were fluttering in the breeze. I stooped down to pick a few. And walked on to the city center.
What I always love about the Ljubljana city center is that it is always buzzing, cheerful and yet has some relaxed flavor. The Prešeren square by the three bridges is always a happy place to be. Especially so if it is a sunny day. It is always full of people and music. It is colorful and refreshing. Young people in groups, busy office goers, grandmas walking slowly, couples strolling, mothers walking with their babies, someone on a walk with his dog, a girl on a bicycle passes by, people sitting in the sun enjoying coffee, someone is playing on his guitar, a homeless sits in the corner, people eating slices of pizza or biting a burek sitting on the green benches, a tourist boat floats in the Lljubljanica river, and the castle shines brightly in the sun overlooking the city from the little hill as its flag unfurls in the breeze. It is always so colorful in this old part of the city. I stopped for a few minutes and let the liveliness around touch me.
I decided to try this little shop where I had heard there are excellent cheesecakes. It was a bit expensive one, but then I was in a mood of treating myself. I sat with the cheesecake on a table outside the shop. I watched people passing by as I indulged in the creamy taste of my cheesecake. I let myself free of all the thoughts and worries, and sitting there just watched the moving world around me. Sometimes it is great to cosset oneself and just unwind in the beauty of gazing at as a distant viewer.
As I passed the bookshop on my way back to work, I decided on making a quick visit. It was specially showcasing several culinary books. Therefore, I decided to check in if anything was interesting. Also I quickly browsed through the fiction and nonfiction sections. Spending some time browsing through books, and getting tempted to buy some, I finally decided to take my leave. The clock was ticking, and it was time to head back to work finally.
I made my way back on the same pretty roads; walking over the leafy carpet, I admired the colors. I wrapped the sun around me. I returned refreshed, my mind colorful and sunny.
My celebration
The past month was the month of biggest Indian festivals. Having grown up amidst this cheerful festivity, during this month, my heart runs back to Kolkata. And in some unexplainable way, festivity touches me even though I sit here kilometers apart from all the lights and crowd. I wonder, what is festival and festivity? What is celebration?
The four years I was in Pune for my studies, I missed the Kolkata Durgapuja. The first two years I visited the local Durgapujas in Pune along with my other Bengali friends. However, it was not the same. It was not the same place. There was no crazy and euphoric crowd, no grand displays of lights and pandal decorations. No street food. No planning the exclusive lunches and dinner for family. No family, friends and relatives. No new pujabarshiki. Kolkata Durgapuja is the one and only of its kind. Nothing can be compared with its exhilarating ambiance. Being in Kolkata for Durgapuja is a lifetime experience and nothing can substitute that. Yes, I did miss all of these in Pune, but I never missed the festivity. I celebrated. And I was happy.
In those years, I would go back home during Diwali, when the whole city is yet again lit up with lights. As sun would set, we would decorate the house with little lamps and candles; and wait for the moonless night when beautiful firecrackers will light up the sky. The classic mutton preparation would be on the menu. The day would end with a late night walk to the various nearby puja pandals and through the fair. But then again, now along with the festivity of Durgapuja, I had left behind the lights and crackers of Diwali as I came here to Slovenia. And yet somehow the festive mood came along with me.
In the later years in Pune, instead of going to the local puja pandals, I started celebrating in my own way. I celebrated in taking time just for myself and in doing things I love. It did not matter if I did anything special. As I did things I love (however mundane or commonplace those things are), I made my day special. I would maybe wear a new dress, or the dress that made me feel good. I would cook something special and enjoy in it. I would go out for a lonely walk. I would snuggle with a book. I would look out at the sky. I would indulge in the pleasure of simply doing nothing at all. And I would make sure to do all these things along with the demand of regular work. My day would be special. Doing things that give me happiness and pleasure made it special. It was festive because I celebrated being myself. I celebrated in little things around me that make my world.
The celebration still continues in the same way. When the Durgapuja came this year, it brought with it the festivity. My heart was fluttering and happy. I celebrated being with Blaž each day after work, talking and doing nothing. I cooked special dinners. I made the classic rasogolla for the first time. For the most important day, Blaž made it special by cooking my favorite chicken. I dressed myself up, and everyone at work knew I am celebrating something. The last two days required me to be in Belgium for work. I was alone there amidst strangers. And then I went to the zoo to watch the lovely cute penguins. Looking at them for hours, I smiled. I felt my day is special. I celebrated Durgapuja doing and experiencing things for the first time. I celebrated as all these little special things touched my heart with happiness. Festivity was all around me even when I was away from the crowd and lights.
Diwali came with a very beautiful sunny day. My hand was decorated with the dark pattern of mehendi, and I could not stop myself from admiring it. I went out for lunch. It was a bright autumn day. As the sun touched me seeping through the colorful leaves, I was exuberant. I walked on carpets of dry leaves; and leaves danced in the wind. I satisfied myself with a yummy cheesecake. A quick trip to the bookstore made it perfect. Few hours in the afternoon was spent in cooking delicious Indian desserts. And then as it turned dark outside, I lit little candles. Arranging them in patterns, I switched the lights off. The gentle warm candlelights filled the dark room. And my heart was filled with warmth and happiness of the festival.
I celebrate in little things that do not exactly look like a celebration. I definitely do miss my family and the festivity in Kolkata. However, I never feel sad thinking the festivity could not touch me. As it does touch me, makes everything cheerful. I would of course love to be with people whom I love on these festive days, and do something together. Go out in the crowd. But when I am alone, I would rather be alone doing little things that can bring this little special feeling inside me than be in a crowd and yet be alone. It is then when I realize the true meaning of festival and celebration for me. It is being with family, friends, doing something together, something special, something that radiates happiness. The people, the crowd, the lights add to the enjoyment. But, ultimately it is not about these things. It is festival because I am with special people, doing something special. And it is celebration because I feel special. In the end, this festivity is something that is simply a part of me. Festivity and celebration is when my soul smiles.
The four years I was in Pune for my studies, I missed the Kolkata Durgapuja. The first two years I visited the local Durgapujas in Pune along with my other Bengali friends. However, it was not the same. It was not the same place. There was no crazy and euphoric crowd, no grand displays of lights and pandal decorations. No street food. No planning the exclusive lunches and dinner for family. No family, friends and relatives. No new pujabarshiki. Kolkata Durgapuja is the one and only of its kind. Nothing can be compared with its exhilarating ambiance. Being in Kolkata for Durgapuja is a lifetime experience and nothing can substitute that. Yes, I did miss all of these in Pune, but I never missed the festivity. I celebrated. And I was happy.
In those years, I would go back home during Diwali, when the whole city is yet again lit up with lights. As sun would set, we would decorate the house with little lamps and candles; and wait for the moonless night when beautiful firecrackers will light up the sky. The classic mutton preparation would be on the menu. The day would end with a late night walk to the various nearby puja pandals and through the fair. But then again, now along with the festivity of Durgapuja, I had left behind the lights and crackers of Diwali as I came here to Slovenia. And yet somehow the festive mood came along with me.
In the later years in Pune, instead of going to the local puja pandals, I started celebrating in my own way. I celebrated in taking time just for myself and in doing things I love. It did not matter if I did anything special. As I did things I love (however mundane or commonplace those things are), I made my day special. I would maybe wear a new dress, or the dress that made me feel good. I would cook something special and enjoy in it. I would go out for a lonely walk. I would snuggle with a book. I would look out at the sky. I would indulge in the pleasure of simply doing nothing at all. And I would make sure to do all these things along with the demand of regular work. My day would be special. Doing things that give me happiness and pleasure made it special. It was festive because I celebrated being myself. I celebrated in little things around me that make my world.
The celebration still continues in the same way. When the Durgapuja came this year, it brought with it the festivity. My heart was fluttering and happy. I celebrated being with Blaž each day after work, talking and doing nothing. I cooked special dinners. I made the classic rasogolla for the first time. For the most important day, Blaž made it special by cooking my favorite chicken. I dressed myself up, and everyone at work knew I am celebrating something. The last two days required me to be in Belgium for work. I was alone there amidst strangers. And then I went to the zoo to watch the lovely cute penguins. Looking at them for hours, I smiled. I felt my day is special. I celebrated Durgapuja doing and experiencing things for the first time. I celebrated as all these little special things touched my heart with happiness. Festivity was all around me even when I was away from the crowd and lights.
Diwali came with a very beautiful sunny day. My hand was decorated with the dark pattern of mehendi, and I could not stop myself from admiring it. I went out for lunch. It was a bright autumn day. As the sun touched me seeping through the colorful leaves, I was exuberant. I walked on carpets of dry leaves; and leaves danced in the wind. I satisfied myself with a yummy cheesecake. A quick trip to the bookstore made it perfect. Few hours in the afternoon was spent in cooking delicious Indian desserts. And then as it turned dark outside, I lit little candles. Arranging them in patterns, I switched the lights off. The gentle warm candlelights filled the dark room. And my heart was filled with warmth and happiness of the festival.
I celebrate in little things that do not exactly look like a celebration. I definitely do miss my family and the festivity in Kolkata. However, I never feel sad thinking the festivity could not touch me. As it does touch me, makes everything cheerful. I would of course love to be with people whom I love on these festive days, and do something together. Go out in the crowd. But when I am alone, I would rather be alone doing little things that can bring this little special feeling inside me than be in a crowd and yet be alone. It is then when I realize the true meaning of festival and celebration for me. It is being with family, friends, doing something together, something special, something that radiates happiness. The people, the crowd, the lights add to the enjoyment. But, ultimately it is not about these things. It is festival because I am with special people, doing something special. And it is celebration because I feel special. In the end, this festivity is something that is simply a part of me. Festivity and celebration is when my soul smiles.
October 28, 2010
Patterns on my window
It is a heavy downpour and the raindrops are hitting the window pane hard. The drops barely stay on the glass for a second and drop slowly down. The raindrops have made everything blurred. This is what I think looking at the window of my room in a lazy monsoon afternoon. Then without paying any little attention, I turn towards the interesting book I am reading. I never give a second look to the raindrops on the window.
I never used to think those raindrops on my window as anything special.
I was then returning to Pune at the beginning of a new semester. The train journey was long, tiring, and boring. Having nothing worthwhile to do, I was lazily gazing out of the window to the same scenery I had seen tens of time. It was July, the monsoon month. And soon the rain blurred everything out of sight. I was still looking at the window. My mind was wandering around aimlessly. It was sometime before I realized I am following the path of the raindrops as they are hitting the glass of my window. And it was the first time I consciously notice the path and pattern of raindrops.
As my eyes followed a raindrop, I was quite amazed to see the path it is making on the glass. It was a somewhat slow path upward with a gradual ascent. As the drop moved, it left its trace behind on the sticky glass. It was interesting. I had never noticed before water droplets moving in an ascending direction ‘violating’ laws of gravity. It was kind of funny to realize the effect of wind and motion. I watched the drops tracing their paths. I watched those making unusual patterns on the glass. My journey was no more boring. I ‘discovered’ unusual and interesting patterns. I loved those raindrops.
And from then on, I often notice the raindrops making patterns. Sometimes the patterns are interesting and different. Sometimes they are usual. But they are always captivating. I find it amusing to watch the droplets moving up the windscreen of a speeding car. I find the first few drops of rain on the glass beautiful. When each one is still so very distinct.
The big fat rain drops make those interesting circular patterns. Looking out of the window I find the blurred world outside. It looks like a colorful picture with some photoshop editing, framed at the window. To me it is a new way of looking out at the world and the images it creates. The other day, I was in my office. It was rainy and yet sunny. Those big drops falling on the skylight created big roundish patterns. The sun shining through the mosaic of raindrops played with light and shade creating a mesmerizing image.
As the rain pours, it creates those almost vertical lines on the window glass of my room. And then suddenly the wind changes and so does the pattern. From vertical, it changes to diagonal lines. Making a crisscross pattern as it slowly erases the previous vertical lines, I admire the beauty in its symmetry. When it is just drizzling, the tiny droplets shine on the glass. The speckled glass looks like a shiny gift wrapper. And when the rain hits hard, it creates patterns imitating fancy frosted glass.
The raindrops play. They create patterns. They wash them out to draw new ones. They play with creativity in their apparent symmetry. It is mysterious, it is mesmerizing. And I remain silent admiring the patterns on my window.
I never used to think those raindrops on my window as anything special.
I was then returning to Pune at the beginning of a new semester. The train journey was long, tiring, and boring. Having nothing worthwhile to do, I was lazily gazing out of the window to the same scenery I had seen tens of time. It was July, the monsoon month. And soon the rain blurred everything out of sight. I was still looking at the window. My mind was wandering around aimlessly. It was sometime before I realized I am following the path of the raindrops as they are hitting the glass of my window. And it was the first time I consciously notice the path and pattern of raindrops.
As my eyes followed a raindrop, I was quite amazed to see the path it is making on the glass. It was a somewhat slow path upward with a gradual ascent. As the drop moved, it left its trace behind on the sticky glass. It was interesting. I had never noticed before water droplets moving in an ascending direction ‘violating’ laws of gravity. It was kind of funny to realize the effect of wind and motion. I watched the drops tracing their paths. I watched those making unusual patterns on the glass. My journey was no more boring. I ‘discovered’ unusual and interesting patterns. I loved those raindrops.
And from then on, I often notice the raindrops making patterns. Sometimes the patterns are interesting and different. Sometimes they are usual. But they are always captivating. I find it amusing to watch the droplets moving up the windscreen of a speeding car. I find the first few drops of rain on the glass beautiful. When each one is still so very distinct.
The big fat rain drops make those interesting circular patterns. Looking out of the window I find the blurred world outside. It looks like a colorful picture with some photoshop editing, framed at the window. To me it is a new way of looking out at the world and the images it creates. The other day, I was in my office. It was rainy and yet sunny. Those big drops falling on the skylight created big roundish patterns. The sun shining through the mosaic of raindrops played with light and shade creating a mesmerizing image.
As the rain pours, it creates those almost vertical lines on the window glass of my room. And then suddenly the wind changes and so does the pattern. From vertical, it changes to diagonal lines. Making a crisscross pattern as it slowly erases the previous vertical lines, I admire the beauty in its symmetry. When it is just drizzling, the tiny droplets shine on the glass. The speckled glass looks like a shiny gift wrapper. And when the rain hits hard, it creates patterns imitating fancy frosted glass.
The raindrops play. They create patterns. They wash them out to draw new ones. They play with creativity in their apparent symmetry. It is mysterious, it is mesmerizing. And I remain silent admiring the patterns on my window.
October 27, 2010
It is a sunny day
It is a sunny day outside. Everything is drenched in the golden sunshine. The autumn colors are bright. The sky is blue. The snowcapped mountains are visible at the distance. Everything is so fresh and clear. It looks bright. It feels cheerful. It is sunny. And it is sunny after a long time.
I had never realized how special sunny days are before coming to Slovenia. Initially I would be amazed by people talking about and waiting for the summer and the sun.
Growing up in India, I had experienced the glaring sun and scorching heat for most of the year. The winter sun was pleasant; the autumn and spring sun was cheerful. But those were only for a shorter period of time. Mostly it was the sizzling sun. Therefore, in those dark cloudy days of monsoon, I rarely missed the sun. Even though I always find cloudy days gloomy and melancholic; there used to be a strange beauty in that melancholy. The poetic rhythm of rain, the dark clouds covering the sky, everything used to make the ambience somewhat romantic. Specially so when I did not need to get out. On the other hand, a sunny day, even though brighter and cheerful, was not pleasant as it would bring sweltering heat. Moreover, I am never much inclined to be out in the sun for long as it makes me sick. Thus in summer, I rather wished the cloud than the sun. I never thought a sunny day to be special. I never eagerly waited for it. Rather, I never had to wait for it, because it was sunny almost all the time.
Hence, it was really amusing as I saw people here waiting for the summer and sunny days. I could not understand it. When I came to Slovenia, it was autumn. Then I admired the colored leaves. In winter it was about enjoying the beauty of fresh white snow. Spring brought with it colorful flowers and pretty new leaves. Then the summer came. It was hot but cheerful and lively. And soon it was again time for autumn.
I had experienced all the four seasons and I still did not understand why people are so specially fond of summer and sun. It was for sure very cheerful, lively, colorful and pleasant. But still I could not find it so special. It was definitely very different from Indian summer, much more pleasant. But then, all the seasons were much different. And I was unable to perceive summer as something very exceptional. But as the autumn months came, I started to have the realization..
The colors and beauty of every season is very much different from that of India. And previously I was busy admiring the seasons, realizing there peculiarities, distinguishing it from the familiar Indian climate. I was so engrossed in their beauty and novelty that I failed to realize that I was enjoying these beauties only in sunny days! I had learnt that there is no distinct season of monsoon and it can rain any time of the year. It was strange to me. But I had only received the information as another fact. It was only the beginning of second year of my stay in Slovenia that made me literally realize the phrase ‘it can rain anytime of the year’. It does rain anytime. And often. Okay, not actually raining every time, but rather cloudy and grey.
I soon noticed how lifeless and grey were all the colors and joviality of the changing seasons under the spell of the clouds. And it would be cloudy and raining for days, and sometimes even weeks, together. It is heavy rain, or drizzles, or no rain. It varies. But what remains constant is the cloudy grey weather. And the clouds are accompanied by the fog which makes it worse. And the worst situation is in Ljubljana which is in a basin with hills surrounding it. Even when it is sunny outside, it is mostly cloudy and foggy in Ljubljana. As one travels out of the city, one can see the veil of fog lifting and the sky clearing.
I do not mind the cloud and rain so much. Anyway I am mostly inside at work. But then it does bother me. I cannot romanticize with the clouds. Everything gets grey. All look gloomy and depressed. And if it is like that for days, it annoys me. And then I find myself waiting for the sunny days.
I love and admire all the seasons here. I wait for each season to reveal its beauty. But then I love the seasons in sunny days. Then I can admire the colors, feel the air, and touch the nature. Then I can feel life all around me, and the joviality touches me too. My heart brims with cheerful glee. And all these colors are gone when clouds creep to cover the sun. Even though I still admire some very dark days of rain, and I love the summer afternoon showers; I do not feel good when a cloudy day welcomes me. I still love the rain, but I wish the sunny days. At least, more sunny days.
And so, today when I look at the sunny day outside my window, my heart is delighted. It is sunny after almost a week. My past week in Belgium was cold, windy and mostly cloudy. After I was back in Slovenia, the weekend did not show much of the sun either. And on Monday it was raining so badly all day long. I am finally glad to see everything bright today. I am merry that I will be enjoying yet another day of beautiful colors before autumn fades. The sun makes me smiling.
I now understand why people here wait for the sun. And I too wait with them..
I had never realized how special sunny days are before coming to Slovenia. Initially I would be amazed by people talking about and waiting for the summer and the sun.
Growing up in India, I had experienced the glaring sun and scorching heat for most of the year. The winter sun was pleasant; the autumn and spring sun was cheerful. But those were only for a shorter period of time. Mostly it was the sizzling sun. Therefore, in those dark cloudy days of monsoon, I rarely missed the sun. Even though I always find cloudy days gloomy and melancholic; there used to be a strange beauty in that melancholy. The poetic rhythm of rain, the dark clouds covering the sky, everything used to make the ambience somewhat romantic. Specially so when I did not need to get out. On the other hand, a sunny day, even though brighter and cheerful, was not pleasant as it would bring sweltering heat. Moreover, I am never much inclined to be out in the sun for long as it makes me sick. Thus in summer, I rather wished the cloud than the sun. I never thought a sunny day to be special. I never eagerly waited for it. Rather, I never had to wait for it, because it was sunny almost all the time.
Hence, it was really amusing as I saw people here waiting for the summer and sunny days. I could not understand it. When I came to Slovenia, it was autumn. Then I admired the colored leaves. In winter it was about enjoying the beauty of fresh white snow. Spring brought with it colorful flowers and pretty new leaves. Then the summer came. It was hot but cheerful and lively. And soon it was again time for autumn.
I had experienced all the four seasons and I still did not understand why people are so specially fond of summer and sun. It was for sure very cheerful, lively, colorful and pleasant. But still I could not find it so special. It was definitely very different from Indian summer, much more pleasant. But then, all the seasons were much different. And I was unable to perceive summer as something very exceptional. But as the autumn months came, I started to have the realization..
The colors and beauty of every season is very much different from that of India. And previously I was busy admiring the seasons, realizing there peculiarities, distinguishing it from the familiar Indian climate. I was so engrossed in their beauty and novelty that I failed to realize that I was enjoying these beauties only in sunny days! I had learnt that there is no distinct season of monsoon and it can rain any time of the year. It was strange to me. But I had only received the information as another fact. It was only the beginning of second year of my stay in Slovenia that made me literally realize the phrase ‘it can rain anytime of the year’. It does rain anytime. And often. Okay, not actually raining every time, but rather cloudy and grey.
I soon noticed how lifeless and grey were all the colors and joviality of the changing seasons under the spell of the clouds. And it would be cloudy and raining for days, and sometimes even weeks, together. It is heavy rain, or drizzles, or no rain. It varies. But what remains constant is the cloudy grey weather. And the clouds are accompanied by the fog which makes it worse. And the worst situation is in Ljubljana which is in a basin with hills surrounding it. Even when it is sunny outside, it is mostly cloudy and foggy in Ljubljana. As one travels out of the city, one can see the veil of fog lifting and the sky clearing.
I do not mind the cloud and rain so much. Anyway I am mostly inside at work. But then it does bother me. I cannot romanticize with the clouds. Everything gets grey. All look gloomy and depressed. And if it is like that for days, it annoys me. And then I find myself waiting for the sunny days.
I love and admire all the seasons here. I wait for each season to reveal its beauty. But then I love the seasons in sunny days. Then I can admire the colors, feel the air, and touch the nature. Then I can feel life all around me, and the joviality touches me too. My heart brims with cheerful glee. And all these colors are gone when clouds creep to cover the sun. Even though I still admire some very dark days of rain, and I love the summer afternoon showers; I do not feel good when a cloudy day welcomes me. I still love the rain, but I wish the sunny days. At least, more sunny days.
And so, today when I look at the sunny day outside my window, my heart is delighted. It is sunny after almost a week. My past week in Belgium was cold, windy and mostly cloudy. After I was back in Slovenia, the weekend did not show much of the sun either. And on Monday it was raining so badly all day long. I am finally glad to see everything bright today. I am merry that I will be enjoying yet another day of beautiful colors before autumn fades. The sun makes me smiling.
I now understand why people here wait for the sun. And I too wait with them..
Puja gifts
Durga puja is only about celebrations! It is the time for everything new. A time to buy new dresses, and matching accessories. Everyone buys new shoes; which already by the second day of festivity will give blisters to most from all the walking! But who cares about blisters? Classic and exotic delicacies make their place in the menu. It is the time for giving and receiving gifts. Everything is just different and special. Puja is the time for celebration in all possible ways. After all, we wait for these 4 days of festivity all the year round.
When I was little, puja was all about wearing new dresses each day. There was almost a competition between us friends regarding the number of new dresses each one got! I would check the dresses the hundredth time and admire them. The most important decision of my life in those days just before puja was finalizing which dress to wear on which day. Of course there were new accessories to complement the colorful new frocks. Dad would buy me all sorts of clips and hair bands in every possible color and fashion. I still have the fondest remembrance of those cute colorful hair accessories.
Celebrating puja amidst the cheerful festivity of Kolkata was gone as I moved out of the city. But it could not take away the happiness that puja brings. And the occasion continued to remain as a time for celebration. Now, outside Kolkata, I may not have all excitement around me, but still I do celebrate. And I definitely get a new dress for the occasion. Sometimes parents send something little to me. A little packet from Kolkata to bring with it their love and the festive mood. Sometimes I prepare something special for them. And the celebration continues, away from Kolkata, across the globe.
This year was no exception. New dress was worn for the most important day of the festival, Ashtami. I did dress myself up that day. Definitely new experimental and classic Bengali dishes were cooked for the special occasion. From parents, I was about to get a book, and I was very excited for that. I was talking about this book once to parents and they had decided to send it for the occasion along with some ‘pujabarshiki’ magazine. Blaz was going to get some tea from them. So I was eagerly waiting for the packet. And my dad, after posting the parcel, in his excited impatience had told me to open the packet carefully, hinting on some surprises. Can anyone wait patiently for a surprise ever??
But still I had to wait long. When the packet arrived, I was in Belgium attending a conference. I could hardly wait to return and open it. I returned last Friday, and the first thing I did after reaching home in the afternoon was opening the packet. Oh, how much I love opening gifts!! Especially when there is a surprise in it!!!
I carefully opened the parcel. Remembering dad’s warning to notice for small things, I was extra careful. First was the magazine. They had sent ‘Sananda pujabarshiki’. And carefully inside it was my novel ‘Dayamoyir Katha’. Blaz got his little packet of Indian tea, a mix of Darjeeling and Assam. There was a small letter also. A hand written letter is always the most precious to me in a parcel from home. It has its personal touch and all the love and care. Generally it is the first thing I look for in a packet from parents. But this time was exception. I was impatient about the surprise and had set the letter aside for the moment. As I looked, hidden in the pages of books and the wrappers, I found 3 little packages. A pair of earrings with little pink roses. A pair of white hairclips. And a pair of pink hairclips. I was elated to get those little treasures. I made a happy exclamation! And in that moment I realized something.
Instantly I turned around; tears welling up in my eyes. Tears that were happy and yet painful. Blaz held me close and gently said: Ah, silly parents read the blog, they love you na.
Sometime ago I had written about childhood memories of dad bringing me ‘Hairclips and Hairbands’. I remembered fondly about those treasures I had as a girl. I had said how I missed my dad bringing me those hair stuffs. I wish now again to have those cute clips, but I am somehow reluctant to buy them. In those girlish days, it was my parents’ way of doting me. And with return of those hairclips, I actually wished the fond pamper back. The blog post had ended with a request for some clips again from dad. A request with a ‘please’. And my wish did get fulfilled..
I was happy to get the colorful childhood back for a moment. It was clips and earrings, and it was for puja. I missed home so badly. I felt my parents love. And I felt love for them. I was happy and I was sad. My heart ached in pleasure and pain as I read the letter. My ma asking if I liked the earrings and clips; my baba writing how he couldn’t resist buying those clips after he read my blog. Ma had bought me the earrings; and dad had bought me the clips. I opened the little packets and touched those little pieces of love. My heart was overwhelmed with all different emotions that got expressed in tears…
The bright pink clip and cute pink roses match my new pink sporty jacket. And I cannot wait to wear them!!
When I was little, puja was all about wearing new dresses each day. There was almost a competition between us friends regarding the number of new dresses each one got! I would check the dresses the hundredth time and admire them. The most important decision of my life in those days just before puja was finalizing which dress to wear on which day. Of course there were new accessories to complement the colorful new frocks. Dad would buy me all sorts of clips and hair bands in every possible color and fashion. I still have the fondest remembrance of those cute colorful hair accessories.
Celebrating puja amidst the cheerful festivity of Kolkata was gone as I moved out of the city. But it could not take away the happiness that puja brings. And the occasion continued to remain as a time for celebration. Now, outside Kolkata, I may not have all excitement around me, but still I do celebrate. And I definitely get a new dress for the occasion. Sometimes parents send something little to me. A little packet from Kolkata to bring with it their love and the festive mood. Sometimes I prepare something special for them. And the celebration continues, away from Kolkata, across the globe.
This year was no exception. New dress was worn for the most important day of the festival, Ashtami. I did dress myself up that day. Definitely new experimental and classic Bengali dishes were cooked for the special occasion. From parents, I was about to get a book, and I was very excited for that. I was talking about this book once to parents and they had decided to send it for the occasion along with some ‘pujabarshiki’ magazine. Blaz was going to get some tea from them. So I was eagerly waiting for the packet. And my dad, after posting the parcel, in his excited impatience had told me to open the packet carefully, hinting on some surprises. Can anyone wait patiently for a surprise ever??
But still I had to wait long. When the packet arrived, I was in Belgium attending a conference. I could hardly wait to return and open it. I returned last Friday, and the first thing I did after reaching home in the afternoon was opening the packet. Oh, how much I love opening gifts!! Especially when there is a surprise in it!!!
I carefully opened the parcel. Remembering dad’s warning to notice for small things, I was extra careful. First was the magazine. They had sent ‘Sananda pujabarshiki’. And carefully inside it was my novel ‘Dayamoyir Katha’. Blaz got his little packet of Indian tea, a mix of Darjeeling and Assam. There was a small letter also. A hand written letter is always the most precious to me in a parcel from home. It has its personal touch and all the love and care. Generally it is the first thing I look for in a packet from parents. But this time was exception. I was impatient about the surprise and had set the letter aside for the moment. As I looked, hidden in the pages of books and the wrappers, I found 3 little packages. A pair of earrings with little pink roses. A pair of white hairclips. And a pair of pink hairclips. I was elated to get those little treasures. I made a happy exclamation! And in that moment I realized something.
Instantly I turned around; tears welling up in my eyes. Tears that were happy and yet painful. Blaz held me close and gently said: Ah, silly parents read the blog, they love you na.
Sometime ago I had written about childhood memories of dad bringing me ‘Hairclips and Hairbands’. I remembered fondly about those treasures I had as a girl. I had said how I missed my dad bringing me those hair stuffs. I wish now again to have those cute clips, but I am somehow reluctant to buy them. In those girlish days, it was my parents’ way of doting me. And with return of those hairclips, I actually wished the fond pamper back. The blog post had ended with a request for some clips again from dad. A request with a ‘please’. And my wish did get fulfilled..
I was happy to get the colorful childhood back for a moment. It was clips and earrings, and it was for puja. I missed home so badly. I felt my parents love. And I felt love for them. I was happy and I was sad. My heart ached in pleasure and pain as I read the letter. My ma asking if I liked the earrings and clips; my baba writing how he couldn’t resist buying those clips after he read my blog. Ma had bought me the earrings; and dad had bought me the clips. I opened the little packets and touched those little pieces of love. My heart was overwhelmed with all different emotions that got expressed in tears…
The bright pink clip and cute pink roses match my new pink sporty jacket. And I cannot wait to wear them!!
October 14, 2010
Sashthi and 'for the first time'
It was ‘Sashthi’ yesterday. It marks the beginning of Durga Puja. Though the festive mood sets in the city and the crowds gather from quite some time ago; with the ‘Bodhon’ of sashthi the goddess comes to her paternal home. Amidst Sanskrit chanting, flowers and incense, the goddess is welcomed. And as the rhythm of the ‘dhak’ gets louder and more captive, our happiness grows. Dressed in best we set out. It is the beginning of five days, and of course nights, of fun and festivity. The brightly decorated and immensely crowded city begins to celebrate!
I was thinking about the first day of puja yesterday, missing it a bit, and yet feeling so happy. After all it is puja!! And then I realize how this first day of puja was also the day when I ‘for the first time’ ventured out alone or cooked a main course or did something..
It is a different situation in India, especially when one lives in a crowded city like Calcutta. Children there do not go out alone on the roads without responsible supervision. The crowds, and traffic and all other possible dangers make the parents hold the hand of the child as the child steps out to the world. It is hard to imagine a situation like this in a different society or even in a calmer town of India. But in Calcutta, this is what it is. Children do not go out alone. Similarly, when I was little, I was also not allowed to go out alone except in the community playgrounds in the afternoons. Of course this did not count the time when I dared to escape out along with my brother (I was the ‘responsible’ elder sister), took a rickshaw, and went to the gas station.
I was around 9 then. It was sashthi. And already in the morning I was dressed up in my new dress. Ma was getting bhai (brother) ready. Someone was going to take us out to see the nearby pandals. It was the first day of puja and we could barely wait. And then came the surprise… Ma said, bhai and me could go alone to the nearest pandal, and only to that. Yahoooo!! I could barely believe what I heard and was impatient to step out before she changed her mind. I hurried out of the house grabbing my brother’s hand. Ma from behind was telling me to always hold bhai’s hand, cross the road carefully, and to NOT go anywhere else. Who cared?! I was out alone for the first time (well, with permission this time). I was given the responsibility of my brother on the roads. I was so excited. I felt so proud and grown up. I am sure I was inches ‘taller’. Holding bhai’s hand, I looked back to wave to ma and then turned the corner.
No sooner was ma out of sight that I revealed my plan to bhai. When we were allowed to get out alone, then why to go only to the nearest pandal and wait for the rest till the evening? I knew the way around and decided to go to all close by pandals. ‘Instead of just going to the nearest pandal, we would make the usual circle of the area and see all the pandals’, I told my brother. He was a bit skeptical about if I really knew the way. And with my assurance, he readily agreed. And I am sure he was also thrilled within. So we proudly went around visiting all the five pandals of the area. Excitedly we talked about how beautiful all looked. Thrilled about how we would proudly declare our little adventure at home. And then thinking, maybe, we should just say we were for long only at the pandal where we were actually allowed to go.
We were almost at the end of our adventure and was about to turn to the main road that leads to our community when I heard some beating of dhak further ahead. I remembered, long back dad had taken us once to some pandal there. Somehow I remembered we just need to go straight to reach it. And I told bhai, ‘let’s go to it too’! He was now tired and quite skeptical as he sensed I was not sure about the location. But, nevertheless, agreed. And anyway, I was the ‘boss’. So we set ahead. And walked and walked and walked. Now as I remember, maybe we had barely walked maybe 5-6 minutes. But we were little then. And unknown roads, especially when I was not sure about the destination, seemed longer to us. Bhai was already getting nervous. But I proposed to walk on a bit further before turning back. And then he replied, ‘Okay, we walk. But if we get lost, and the police are able to find us, then I am going to put the blame on you’!!! I smiled and agreed. Of course, we would not be lost! But alas, we could not find the place though we were able to hear the dhak all along. And we decided to head back home.
Back at home, I triumphantly declared to ma, ‘Guess where we went? We saw all the pandals’!!! She acted surprised; and then smiled and said that she guessed it when we were out for so long. Soon we got busy describing our adventure and the beautiful pandals and idols. And from then on, it was a ritual every year to go out in the sashthi morning and visit all the nearby puja pandals..
It was the first time I went alone. And not just alone, I was given the responsibility of someone. I felt responsible and grown up. It was special. And till today I remember it..
The second ‘for the first time’ happened when I was in the high school. Cooking was always my interest and especially making something new. However, I was always only making snacks or something small. Maybe baked a cake or cookies, made something fried. I never ventured to cook the main course. But, that year for puja I decided to cook the main course all the five days. And parents readily agreed. Eagerly I decided a menu and asked my dad to bring the ingredients. The first day, sashthi, had some kind of dry chicken preparation on the menu. Parents had to go to work, the holidays beginning from the next day. I was supposed to cook it for dinner. We had planned an early dinner and then would go out pandal hopping in the city for the whole night. Ma had warned me to be careful about the fire and told to call her if I needed anything.
Late in the afternoon, I started with my cooking. Onions were chopped, ginger and garlic was made into a paste. I took out all the spices and measured the required amounts. I took out the salt jar so that I would remember to add it in the end. The chicken was already cleaned. With my ingredients neatly ready, I had put the wok on fire. The oil got heated and I put in the spices. Soon, the air filled with the nice aroma and the crackling sound of the spices. Following the recipe diligently, I was busy adding ingredients and going through each step. It felt all so easy. And the initial overwhelming thought of cooking the main course was gone. By then, everything was done. I had to just wait for the chicken to get cooked and add the seasoning. And there, my dish would be ready!! I smiled and was proud a bit.
And then came the realization. I had no clue to know when the chicken is cooked. How would I know when it is done? I had no choice but to make this rescue call to ma. ‘Ma, I have put in everything, and all is good. But how do I know when the chicken is cooked??’ I muttered over the phone in confusion. She explained with a smile solving all my problems. Finally, then when it was almost cooked, I tried my ‘master chef’ tricks, and added quite an amount of black pepper.
At the dinner table that evening, it was a success. The chicken which was a bit too hot had this unique rustic taste. Everyone licked their fingers, and it was a hit. My first main course! It was perfect. And, so was all the other food I cooked during that holiday. From then on, often, I had the responsibility of preparing the meat dishes when some guests were coming.
The first day of Durga puja, along with it, brought these ‘for the first time’-s in my life. And that is what made it special. These were little milestones on life’s way that made me feel grown up, responsible and proud. And these ‘first times’ made the puja all the more happy and gave more reasons to celebrate.
So what I did ‘for the first time’ yesterday? I made rashogollas! The yummy spongy cheese balls in sugar syrup. The delicate and all famous Bengali dessert.
I was thinking about the first day of puja yesterday, missing it a bit, and yet feeling so happy. After all it is puja!! And then I realize how this first day of puja was also the day when I ‘for the first time’ ventured out alone or cooked a main course or did something..
It is a different situation in India, especially when one lives in a crowded city like Calcutta. Children there do not go out alone on the roads without responsible supervision. The crowds, and traffic and all other possible dangers make the parents hold the hand of the child as the child steps out to the world. It is hard to imagine a situation like this in a different society or even in a calmer town of India. But in Calcutta, this is what it is. Children do not go out alone. Similarly, when I was little, I was also not allowed to go out alone except in the community playgrounds in the afternoons. Of course this did not count the time when I dared to escape out along with my brother (I was the ‘responsible’ elder sister), took a rickshaw, and went to the gas station.
I was around 9 then. It was sashthi. And already in the morning I was dressed up in my new dress. Ma was getting bhai (brother) ready. Someone was going to take us out to see the nearby pandals. It was the first day of puja and we could barely wait. And then came the surprise… Ma said, bhai and me could go alone to the nearest pandal, and only to that. Yahoooo!! I could barely believe what I heard and was impatient to step out before she changed her mind. I hurried out of the house grabbing my brother’s hand. Ma from behind was telling me to always hold bhai’s hand, cross the road carefully, and to NOT go anywhere else. Who cared?! I was out alone for the first time (well, with permission this time). I was given the responsibility of my brother on the roads. I was so excited. I felt so proud and grown up. I am sure I was inches ‘taller’. Holding bhai’s hand, I looked back to wave to ma and then turned the corner.
No sooner was ma out of sight that I revealed my plan to bhai. When we were allowed to get out alone, then why to go only to the nearest pandal and wait for the rest till the evening? I knew the way around and decided to go to all close by pandals. ‘Instead of just going to the nearest pandal, we would make the usual circle of the area and see all the pandals’, I told my brother. He was a bit skeptical about if I really knew the way. And with my assurance, he readily agreed. And I am sure he was also thrilled within. So we proudly went around visiting all the five pandals of the area. Excitedly we talked about how beautiful all looked. Thrilled about how we would proudly declare our little adventure at home. And then thinking, maybe, we should just say we were for long only at the pandal where we were actually allowed to go.
We were almost at the end of our adventure and was about to turn to the main road that leads to our community when I heard some beating of dhak further ahead. I remembered, long back dad had taken us once to some pandal there. Somehow I remembered we just need to go straight to reach it. And I told bhai, ‘let’s go to it too’! He was now tired and quite skeptical as he sensed I was not sure about the location. But, nevertheless, agreed. And anyway, I was the ‘boss’. So we set ahead. And walked and walked and walked. Now as I remember, maybe we had barely walked maybe 5-6 minutes. But we were little then. And unknown roads, especially when I was not sure about the destination, seemed longer to us. Bhai was already getting nervous. But I proposed to walk on a bit further before turning back. And then he replied, ‘Okay, we walk. But if we get lost, and the police are able to find us, then I am going to put the blame on you’!!! I smiled and agreed. Of course, we would not be lost! But alas, we could not find the place though we were able to hear the dhak all along. And we decided to head back home.
Back at home, I triumphantly declared to ma, ‘Guess where we went? We saw all the pandals’!!! She acted surprised; and then smiled and said that she guessed it when we were out for so long. Soon we got busy describing our adventure and the beautiful pandals and idols. And from then on, it was a ritual every year to go out in the sashthi morning and visit all the nearby puja pandals..
It was the first time I went alone. And not just alone, I was given the responsibility of someone. I felt responsible and grown up. It was special. And till today I remember it..
The second ‘for the first time’ happened when I was in the high school. Cooking was always my interest and especially making something new. However, I was always only making snacks or something small. Maybe baked a cake or cookies, made something fried. I never ventured to cook the main course. But, that year for puja I decided to cook the main course all the five days. And parents readily agreed. Eagerly I decided a menu and asked my dad to bring the ingredients. The first day, sashthi, had some kind of dry chicken preparation on the menu. Parents had to go to work, the holidays beginning from the next day. I was supposed to cook it for dinner. We had planned an early dinner and then would go out pandal hopping in the city for the whole night. Ma had warned me to be careful about the fire and told to call her if I needed anything.
Late in the afternoon, I started with my cooking. Onions were chopped, ginger and garlic was made into a paste. I took out all the spices and measured the required amounts. I took out the salt jar so that I would remember to add it in the end. The chicken was already cleaned. With my ingredients neatly ready, I had put the wok on fire. The oil got heated and I put in the spices. Soon, the air filled with the nice aroma and the crackling sound of the spices. Following the recipe diligently, I was busy adding ingredients and going through each step. It felt all so easy. And the initial overwhelming thought of cooking the main course was gone. By then, everything was done. I had to just wait for the chicken to get cooked and add the seasoning. And there, my dish would be ready!! I smiled and was proud a bit.
And then came the realization. I had no clue to know when the chicken is cooked. How would I know when it is done? I had no choice but to make this rescue call to ma. ‘Ma, I have put in everything, and all is good. But how do I know when the chicken is cooked??’ I muttered over the phone in confusion. She explained with a smile solving all my problems. Finally, then when it was almost cooked, I tried my ‘master chef’ tricks, and added quite an amount of black pepper.
At the dinner table that evening, it was a success. The chicken which was a bit too hot had this unique rustic taste. Everyone licked their fingers, and it was a hit. My first main course! It was perfect. And, so was all the other food I cooked during that holiday. From then on, often, I had the responsibility of preparing the meat dishes when some guests were coming.
The first day of Durga puja, along with it, brought these ‘for the first time’-s in my life. And that is what made it special. These were little milestones on life’s way that made me feel grown up, responsible and proud. And these ‘first times’ made the puja all the more happy and gave more reasons to celebrate.
So what I did ‘for the first time’ yesterday? I made rashogollas! The yummy spongy cheese balls in sugar syrup. The delicate and all famous Bengali dessert.
A new city. A home.
The morning was sleepy. Therefore, when Blaž wished me “Subho duto barsha”, “Happy two years” in his own Bengali, I was not sure about what he is referring to. It took me a few seconds to realize that today it is exactly two years I am in Slovenia. And instantly I went through the past two years that made this new country another home of mine.
It was sometime after 1 a.m. in the morning when my flight left the soil on India behind to touch a new land. Sad to leave home and anxious to go somewhere new, my heart was a mixture of different thoughts. It was so much work to make this happen. So many moments were spent in restless apprehension for this, that, finally when it was happening, I was too tired to feel anything at all. The last few days, even the last few hours, were spent busy packing, arranging documents etc etc. Along with that, I was apprehensive about the long journey. I simply wished to rest when I finally boarded the flight. I wished not to think or feel anything. Therefore, soon after the dinner was served, I closed my eyes, planning to get some sleep.
It was early in the morning when I woke up. Through the window, I saw the horizon in the heavenly colors of dawn. And finally for the first time after hours I actually realized I am happy. I had wished it so much; I had worked hard for it. There was this anxious and a bit sad feeling; but, in the end, I was happy and looking forward to the new chapter of my journey.
Looking to Slovenia from the sky was beautiful. The ranges of Alps looked beautiful. I loved the little valleys and stretches of green. I loved the autumn colors. The flight touched this new land. And suddenly, while waiting for my luggage, I was scared. I realized that, “this is it”. Scared, nervous and anxious, these were the only words defining my state of mind then. Nothing there was mine yet, it was all new. “I have left my home and am now in a land which is not my home”. This is what I thought. But only for a moment. And then eager to explore the new and make it my own, I stepped out.
As we were driving to the city, I relaxed. I looked around enjoying the beauty. I loved the trees in all shades from fiery red to pale green. I looked at the unfamiliar boards, the roads, the landscape, houses. Everything was so much interesting and so very different from that of India. I was calmer and interested; and by then I was being a tourist.
The initial impression about the country was good. I found it nice and friendly. But it was definitely something different in every aspect. They spoke a language I had no clue about. I could not make any sense out of the billboards, or did not know what to say if I cannot find something particular at the store. The roads were new and so was the right-handed driving. I did not know my way around except from work to home. The food was good but very different. I was meeting Blaz’s family. I was meeting new people at work. Starting with work and getting familiarized with the different work culture. Preparing some further documents. So many things were going on at the same time. And all the along, I was missing India, home. I was missing all things familiar. Coming to here was something I wished, but it was nevertheless hard to adjust.
A couple of months passed by and the winter set in. The city was covered in the blanket of fresh snow and Christmas lights glittered. I was already comfortable in the city. Roads were not anymore just new to me. I had a feeling about my way around. I knew a few words here and there that would help me get around. Work and school were going smooth and easy. I already had a routine of my own. I ventured to explore a bit or simply walk around in the evenings. Also by then I had visited a few parts of Slovenia. As I walked around in the festivity searching for Christmas gifts, I suddenly discovered myself feeling quite at home.
Two years passed by. I now know the city and quite a bit of the language. I know the buildings on my way to work from home. I know where to get particular things. I have my favorite stores, bookstore, ice-cream parlors, restaurants, etc. I know where I love walking most. I have discovered little books stores. I know about the yearly events that I like to attend. I have explored quite a lot of Slovenia in between, and I know my favorite places. I love to walk around in city center after work and visit my favorite bookstore. I love to come to the Saturday fresh market. I simply love the city, the country. And it feels all my own.
So, when I return to Ljubljana after a tiring work trip abroad, I feel glad and relaxed to be back. Not because it is more familiar; but because, it is my own. I feel happy to be back at the place which I call my home. I remember how I stepped out of the same airport two years back, all anxious. But, I cannot remember when I first started to feel at home. I do not know when slowly I have made this new place my own home.
Written on October 9, 2010; the day that marked two years of my coming to Slovenia.
It was sometime after 1 a.m. in the morning when my flight left the soil on India behind to touch a new land. Sad to leave home and anxious to go somewhere new, my heart was a mixture of different thoughts. It was so much work to make this happen. So many moments were spent in restless apprehension for this, that, finally when it was happening, I was too tired to feel anything at all. The last few days, even the last few hours, were spent busy packing, arranging documents etc etc. Along with that, I was apprehensive about the long journey. I simply wished to rest when I finally boarded the flight. I wished not to think or feel anything. Therefore, soon after the dinner was served, I closed my eyes, planning to get some sleep.
It was early in the morning when I woke up. Through the window, I saw the horizon in the heavenly colors of dawn. And finally for the first time after hours I actually realized I am happy. I had wished it so much; I had worked hard for it. There was this anxious and a bit sad feeling; but, in the end, I was happy and looking forward to the new chapter of my journey.
Looking to Slovenia from the sky was beautiful. The ranges of Alps looked beautiful. I loved the little valleys and stretches of green. I loved the autumn colors. The flight touched this new land. And suddenly, while waiting for my luggage, I was scared. I realized that, “this is it”. Scared, nervous and anxious, these were the only words defining my state of mind then. Nothing there was mine yet, it was all new. “I have left my home and am now in a land which is not my home”. This is what I thought. But only for a moment. And then eager to explore the new and make it my own, I stepped out.
As we were driving to the city, I relaxed. I looked around enjoying the beauty. I loved the trees in all shades from fiery red to pale green. I looked at the unfamiliar boards, the roads, the landscape, houses. Everything was so much interesting and so very different from that of India. I was calmer and interested; and by then I was being a tourist.
The initial impression about the country was good. I found it nice and friendly. But it was definitely something different in every aspect. They spoke a language I had no clue about. I could not make any sense out of the billboards, or did not know what to say if I cannot find something particular at the store. The roads were new and so was the right-handed driving. I did not know my way around except from work to home. The food was good but very different. I was meeting Blaz’s family. I was meeting new people at work. Starting with work and getting familiarized with the different work culture. Preparing some further documents. So many things were going on at the same time. And all the along, I was missing India, home. I was missing all things familiar. Coming to here was something I wished, but it was nevertheless hard to adjust.
A couple of months passed by and the winter set in. The city was covered in the blanket of fresh snow and Christmas lights glittered. I was already comfortable in the city. Roads were not anymore just new to me. I had a feeling about my way around. I knew a few words here and there that would help me get around. Work and school were going smooth and easy. I already had a routine of my own. I ventured to explore a bit or simply walk around in the evenings. Also by then I had visited a few parts of Slovenia. As I walked around in the festivity searching for Christmas gifts, I suddenly discovered myself feeling quite at home.
Two years passed by. I now know the city and quite a bit of the language. I know the buildings on my way to work from home. I know where to get particular things. I have my favorite stores, bookstore, ice-cream parlors, restaurants, etc. I know where I love walking most. I have discovered little books stores. I know about the yearly events that I like to attend. I have explored quite a lot of Slovenia in between, and I know my favorite places. I love to walk around in city center after work and visit my favorite bookstore. I love to come to the Saturday fresh market. I simply love the city, the country. And it feels all my own.
So, when I return to Ljubljana after a tiring work trip abroad, I feel glad and relaxed to be back. Not because it is more familiar; but because, it is my own. I feel happy to be back at the place which I call my home. I remember how I stepped out of the same airport two years back, all anxious. But, I cannot remember when I first started to feel at home. I do not know when slowly I have made this new place my own home.
Written on October 9, 2010; the day that marked two years of my coming to Slovenia.
October 8, 2010
It is Mahalaya
It was raining the whole week. And though yesterday morning at least did not welcome with a rainy face; it was cloudy, gloomy. I had much things scheduled to do at work. After the work I had language class. It was supposed to be a long tiring day. And yet it was different in every sense.
I was thousands of miles away. I had nothing around me that reminded of this particular time. And yet I remembered. And yet my mind was fleeting and my heart happy. It was not there and still I felt it all around me. I felt the mirth. As I said, it was a different day.
It was Mahalaya, marking the beginning of ‘Debi Pakhha’ and of our greatest festival. The Durga Puja. And therefore, it had to be different even when I was thousands of kilometers away from all the fun without any hint of the festivity around me.
Mahalaya has its own religious traditions. But each Bengali associates it with something completely different than what is just religious. Mahalaya for most of us is synonymous to Mahishashuramardini. Undoubtedly one of the most successful programs aired on the radio ever. First played in early 1930s by All India Radio, it is still aired on the same day for all these years and decades. And almost every Bengali diligently listens to it at 4 a.m. of the crisp chilly autumn morning. Chanting of Chandi Slokas by Birendra Krishna Bhadra marks the beginning of our greatest festival.
I do not have memory of listening to the Mahalaya for the first time. I just know I have listened to it all my life, and will continue doing so. I remember the radio on the central dining table of the old home all ready already the night before. The old tape deck would also be ready with the cassettes. Sharp at 4 a.m. both would be switched on in their full volume and the deep voice of Birendra Krishna Bhadra would echo through the rooms telling the story of the Goddess. At the same time all other houses around would resonate to the same welcome of the Goddess. I would wake up to the ‘Agomoni’ songs.
It would be a bit coldish in those eerie morning hours. Snuggling in a thin shawl or blanket I would settle myself on the sofa. Listening intently I would let each word seep in my soul and vibrate there. I would not understand everything of the Sanskrit or the complex poetic Bengali back then. And yet it would move something somewhere deep in me. I could perfectly associate with it even back then when I was little. It filled my soul with happiness and exuberance. It brought smiles to each face around. The goddess is coming with her four children; and bringing along with her all exhilaration, fun and merry. It is Durga Puja.
As a little girl I would fall asleep sometime in between the long Mahalaya. I always tried hard to stay awake. And when I could not, I would just pretend in the end I was actually awake. But every time I fell asleep, I was sad a bit within to miss the parts. I waited for it the whole year. I would wake up again as the ardent chanting of Slokas grew faster towards the last parts. The day breaking as good wins over evil. A very different fresh crisp new morning with its air filled with festivity.
Each year I wait for the Mahalaya and I wait for this morning. I associate with it rather philosophically than religiously. But in the end these terms and classification does not really matter. Every year as I listen to it welcoming the eternal all-giving power, I feel calling my true self and all positivity within me. The whole ambiance is created and filled with this very strong positive connotation; and mirth, festivity feels the air. Every time I simply feel good within myself and all around me. A very happy feeling it is always.
I welcome the new morning with a radiant smile. The delicate blue sky, with only a few cotton clouds floating across. The green around me fresh and brilliant from the last rains. The reddish orange sun. I touch the golden sunbeams warming my heart. I smell the fresh air. I remember each time without fail how festivity smells in the air. I smile. My mind is fleeting, my heart happy, and I am feeling Puja. The little me would run barefoot on the grass to pick the gentle smelling ‘shuili’ flowers that fell on the ground heavy with dew the previous night. The dewdrops still glittering. I would shake the tree to let those little specks of happiness shower on me.
It did not matter that yesterday it was not yet dawn when the Mahalaya ended. The days are already shorter in this part of the world; and clouds made it darker. It did not matter that all the houses around did not reverberate with the familiar Slokas and songs. It did not matter that I was far away from all the festivity. I still smelled the festivity in the air. Mirth was all around me. I was delighted and cheerful. I was happy. And I smiled radiantly.
My mind did float away to my land. I imagined with impatient anxiety all the preparations going around there at every corner. I missed every little thing. But, no matter what, I was happy and radiant. My soul was a cheerful mixture of excitement and tranquil. And the sun finally did shine breaking through the clouds as the day was almost about to end.
I realized all over again that no matter where I am, I will always feel the same on Mahalaya. Everything else just makes it merrier. But this fluttering happiness that Mahalaya brings deep inside me is so much an inherent part of the person I am that it will remain the same always. Wherever I am, it will remain constant.
It is Mahalaya. And this is what it always is.
I was thousands of miles away. I had nothing around me that reminded of this particular time. And yet I remembered. And yet my mind was fleeting and my heart happy. It was not there and still I felt it all around me. I felt the mirth. As I said, it was a different day.
It was Mahalaya, marking the beginning of ‘Debi Pakhha’ and of our greatest festival. The Durga Puja. And therefore, it had to be different even when I was thousands of kilometers away from all the fun without any hint of the festivity around me.
Mahalaya has its own religious traditions. But each Bengali associates it with something completely different than what is just religious. Mahalaya for most of us is synonymous to Mahishashuramardini. Undoubtedly one of the most successful programs aired on the radio ever. First played in early 1930s by All India Radio, it is still aired on the same day for all these years and decades. And almost every Bengali diligently listens to it at 4 a.m. of the crisp chilly autumn morning. Chanting of Chandi Slokas by Birendra Krishna Bhadra marks the beginning of our greatest festival.
I do not have memory of listening to the Mahalaya for the first time. I just know I have listened to it all my life, and will continue doing so. I remember the radio on the central dining table of the old home all ready already the night before. The old tape deck would also be ready with the cassettes. Sharp at 4 a.m. both would be switched on in their full volume and the deep voice of Birendra Krishna Bhadra would echo through the rooms telling the story of the Goddess. At the same time all other houses around would resonate to the same welcome of the Goddess. I would wake up to the ‘Agomoni’ songs.
It would be a bit coldish in those eerie morning hours. Snuggling in a thin shawl or blanket I would settle myself on the sofa. Listening intently I would let each word seep in my soul and vibrate there. I would not understand everything of the Sanskrit or the complex poetic Bengali back then. And yet it would move something somewhere deep in me. I could perfectly associate with it even back then when I was little. It filled my soul with happiness and exuberance. It brought smiles to each face around. The goddess is coming with her four children; and bringing along with her all exhilaration, fun and merry. It is Durga Puja.
As a little girl I would fall asleep sometime in between the long Mahalaya. I always tried hard to stay awake. And when I could not, I would just pretend in the end I was actually awake. But every time I fell asleep, I was sad a bit within to miss the parts. I waited for it the whole year. I would wake up again as the ardent chanting of Slokas grew faster towards the last parts. The day breaking as good wins over evil. A very different fresh crisp new morning with its air filled with festivity.
Each year I wait for the Mahalaya and I wait for this morning. I associate with it rather philosophically than religiously. But in the end these terms and classification does not really matter. Every year as I listen to it welcoming the eternal all-giving power, I feel calling my true self and all positivity within me. The whole ambiance is created and filled with this very strong positive connotation; and mirth, festivity feels the air. Every time I simply feel good within myself and all around me. A very happy feeling it is always.
I welcome the new morning with a radiant smile. The delicate blue sky, with only a few cotton clouds floating across. The green around me fresh and brilliant from the last rains. The reddish orange sun. I touch the golden sunbeams warming my heart. I smell the fresh air. I remember each time without fail how festivity smells in the air. I smile. My mind is fleeting, my heart happy, and I am feeling Puja. The little me would run barefoot on the grass to pick the gentle smelling ‘shuili’ flowers that fell on the ground heavy with dew the previous night. The dewdrops still glittering. I would shake the tree to let those little specks of happiness shower on me.
It did not matter that yesterday it was not yet dawn when the Mahalaya ended. The days are already shorter in this part of the world; and clouds made it darker. It did not matter that all the houses around did not reverberate with the familiar Slokas and songs. It did not matter that I was far away from all the festivity. I still smelled the festivity in the air. Mirth was all around me. I was delighted and cheerful. I was happy. And I smiled radiantly.
My mind did float away to my land. I imagined with impatient anxiety all the preparations going around there at every corner. I missed every little thing. But, no matter what, I was happy and radiant. My soul was a cheerful mixture of excitement and tranquil. And the sun finally did shine breaking through the clouds as the day was almost about to end.
I realized all over again that no matter where I am, I will always feel the same on Mahalaya. Everything else just makes it merrier. But this fluttering happiness that Mahalaya brings deep inside me is so much an inherent part of the person I am that it will remain the same always. Wherever I am, it will remain constant.
It is Mahalaya. And this is what it always is.
The holiday mood lingers on
It was long back in beginning of August when I returned from my summer holiday trip, and yet somehow I was not out of its wonderful charm until recently (though sometimes I really doubt that!). I had a fantastic vacation and returned full of lovely experiences; experiences that return as memories from time to time. However, it was not just about wonderful memories. It was somewhat like a spell that made me rather ignore the fact that I was actually back, kept me away from regular life and work. A spell that each of my longer holiday trips casts on me and the lazy holiday mood that simply lingers on. I remained somewhat in a state of denial. The mood was just of some lazy delight. And the story telling, pictures made the situation worse. It was so hard to just start working in the lab. There was no concentration for work and somehow I just wished the clock to tick on. Simply procrastinate. It was just hard to be back.
It was easier to get back into everyday routine when I was little. Holidays were then planned during the school vacations. With a few days of school leave still left, after returning from a lovely trip there was this buffer time to tell the stories and relive the memories. I would happily chatter around about such awesome places I saw. Dad would bring home one evening the printed pictures. Eagerly we would see how the pictures came out. And with the pictures it was visiting those places once again in memories. We would talk about little things from our trips, what we liked, what was best. There was simply no end and there was no need of the end. I had the time for the luxury of indulging in those memories and being lazy.
And finally, when the school would reopen, it was no problem. I would rather wait for it to reopen. I would get the chance to tell the stories to friends and ‘brag’ about it. Telling stories and listening to others filled the breaks between classes. It was all simply excitement, and going back to school did not feel like burden. During the classes there was anyway no other way out than to study, listen to the teacher, and solve problems. Even though then also I was forced back to regular rhythm, the force was however not felt.
Next came the college phase and its vacations. The long vacations were spent at hometown. Home, family, friends, good food, coupled with a short trip somewhere made it a perfect luxury after each hectic semester. Returning to the hostel with another more hectic semester to welcome us was bad. However, it was different living in a hostel. It was like another holiday except for during the exam times. Living with all the girls, chatting around, gossips; we were busy and having fun all the time. And therefore, even though we missed home; we actually looked forward to meet each other once we were already in Akurdi and catch up with the stories. It was just another phase of holiday with a little hint of homesickness in it. At least until the internal exams knocked on the door and we were forced to study.
But now that I work it is different. I cannot imagine how it would be if I was working in public sector, IT or whatever else, maybe I would be forced into the work and it would be easier in the end. But I do not. I am required to be back to work and work, but I am sort of on my own (thanks to my boss also!). So, unless there is some close deadline to meet, I had the ‘time’ to procrastinate. And there was no real deadline to meet when I came back after the holidays.
I had to be back to work the very next day and I was supposed to be working for eight hours a day. And I did start ‘working’ eight hours. However, in this entire story, there was a big ‘but’. I was back to everyday life but the pulse was missing. I had no mood for work. I felt so bored that I had to be at work. Sitting in front of the computer I did something, but at the end of the day I had no clue what I did. Everything was going so slow. And I did not like it at all. The minimum concentration required to work productively was missing.
Same was the situation back in home. I was cooking half-heartedly. Cleaning was postponed as much as possible. There was no mood for hobbies. I was just lazy. Even the stories about the holiday, those hundreds of pictures did not excite me so much. It was a wonderful holiday and its memories made me smile. I was happy and excited with the stories. But indulging in those memories was not what I wished. I wished the holiday itself. Back. Again. I wished to simply continue treating myself with the relaxation, laziness and excitement of a holiday. I hated the routine life and searched for all ways to escape it. Therefore, there was no trying to force myself back. I allowed myself to be in the mood. Every day I reminded myself of the reality and in the end simply let the mood win.
But in the end it could not go on forever. I had to go back to regular work pattern and this blissful holiday mood had no way to survive longer. I don’t have a nagging boss who drives me crazy. But then, work slowly piled up which in the end had to be finished, deadline crept nearer. I just had to be ‘back’ from my holiday. It did not matter if there was concentration or lack of it. So well, did I have any option? I could not just afford to be indulged in the perfect holiday mood. And it was just so hard to be back. But, somewhere in this story, somehow maybe, I think, the holiday mood also started fading away and I got excited with work again..
But wait. The mood is again trying to seep back. With the Durga puja around the corner; even though I am nowhere near the festivity, I am again exuberant. My mind is again fleeting. I again feel this charming laziness around me. And with every little chance I just provoke this mood. Little weekend trips, lazy evenings at home, eating pizza instead of cooking, or cooking something I love, experimenting.. Just somehow letting the clock move on and forget time. The holiday mood still lingers on…
Oh, now when am I supposed to work??
It was easier to get back into everyday routine when I was little. Holidays were then planned during the school vacations. With a few days of school leave still left, after returning from a lovely trip there was this buffer time to tell the stories and relive the memories. I would happily chatter around about such awesome places I saw. Dad would bring home one evening the printed pictures. Eagerly we would see how the pictures came out. And with the pictures it was visiting those places once again in memories. We would talk about little things from our trips, what we liked, what was best. There was simply no end and there was no need of the end. I had the time for the luxury of indulging in those memories and being lazy.
And finally, when the school would reopen, it was no problem. I would rather wait for it to reopen. I would get the chance to tell the stories to friends and ‘brag’ about it. Telling stories and listening to others filled the breaks between classes. It was all simply excitement, and going back to school did not feel like burden. During the classes there was anyway no other way out than to study, listen to the teacher, and solve problems. Even though then also I was forced back to regular rhythm, the force was however not felt.
Next came the college phase and its vacations. The long vacations were spent at hometown. Home, family, friends, good food, coupled with a short trip somewhere made it a perfect luxury after each hectic semester. Returning to the hostel with another more hectic semester to welcome us was bad. However, it was different living in a hostel. It was like another holiday except for during the exam times. Living with all the girls, chatting around, gossips; we were busy and having fun all the time. And therefore, even though we missed home; we actually looked forward to meet each other once we were already in Akurdi and catch up with the stories. It was just another phase of holiday with a little hint of homesickness in it. At least until the internal exams knocked on the door and we were forced to study.
But now that I work it is different. I cannot imagine how it would be if I was working in public sector, IT or whatever else, maybe I would be forced into the work and it would be easier in the end. But I do not. I am required to be back to work and work, but I am sort of on my own (thanks to my boss also!). So, unless there is some close deadline to meet, I had the ‘time’ to procrastinate. And there was no real deadline to meet when I came back after the holidays.
I had to be back to work the very next day and I was supposed to be working for eight hours a day. And I did start ‘working’ eight hours. However, in this entire story, there was a big ‘but’. I was back to everyday life but the pulse was missing. I had no mood for work. I felt so bored that I had to be at work. Sitting in front of the computer I did something, but at the end of the day I had no clue what I did. Everything was going so slow. And I did not like it at all. The minimum concentration required to work productively was missing.
Same was the situation back in home. I was cooking half-heartedly. Cleaning was postponed as much as possible. There was no mood for hobbies. I was just lazy. Even the stories about the holiday, those hundreds of pictures did not excite me so much. It was a wonderful holiday and its memories made me smile. I was happy and excited with the stories. But indulging in those memories was not what I wished. I wished the holiday itself. Back. Again. I wished to simply continue treating myself with the relaxation, laziness and excitement of a holiday. I hated the routine life and searched for all ways to escape it. Therefore, there was no trying to force myself back. I allowed myself to be in the mood. Every day I reminded myself of the reality and in the end simply let the mood win.
But in the end it could not go on forever. I had to go back to regular work pattern and this blissful holiday mood had no way to survive longer. I don’t have a nagging boss who drives me crazy. But then, work slowly piled up which in the end had to be finished, deadline crept nearer. I just had to be ‘back’ from my holiday. It did not matter if there was concentration or lack of it. So well, did I have any option? I could not just afford to be indulged in the perfect holiday mood. And it was just so hard to be back. But, somewhere in this story, somehow maybe, I think, the holiday mood also started fading away and I got excited with work again..
But wait. The mood is again trying to seep back. With the Durga puja around the corner; even though I am nowhere near the festivity, I am again exuberant. My mind is again fleeting. I again feel this charming laziness around me. And with every little chance I just provoke this mood. Little weekend trips, lazy evenings at home, eating pizza instead of cooking, or cooking something I love, experimenting.. Just somehow letting the clock move on and forget time. The holiday mood still lingers on…
Oh, now when am I supposed to work??
August 31, 2010
Jet lag
'Jet Lag', the buzzword in long distance air travel, was always something alien to me. I always ‘enjoyed’ people talking about their jet lag experiences to brag about their long distance air travels abroad. It is always somewhat amusing; especially when someone even after more than a month of their travel talks about how they are still experiencing the jet lag! And sometimes, this even kind of gets annoying. It is in the end just a physiological condition that may or may not affect one as a result of their long distance travels. It is annoying to use jet lag as a tool to brag about the travel. I would rather happily hear people bragging about the travel itself, directly.
Thus, as I amused myself with people talking about their jet lag; I wondered how it is actually to experience it. Despite of my few long distance air travels, I never experienced it until recently.
I am a person who can more easily modify her sleeping patterns if necessary. No, I cannot remain sleepless whole night, and then work the whole next day. But, if necessary, and as long as I get a few good hours of sleep sometime, I can easily alter my sleeping patterns. This fact, accompanied with the fact that I can fall asleep easily while travelling, lead to me not experiencing jet lag every time. I definitely do feel tired; I am no superhuman after all. But this tiredness is a natural one after a long journey and is manageable. And about food, I can eat almost all the time. As long as I can handle the altered bedtime, the altered eating cycle is no problem.
When the first time I came to Slovenia from India, I was not actually adjusting to any time difference. Back then in India, I had this habit of going to bed almost towards the morning, after 3 am. Therefore, my sleeping pattern was basically adjusted from before. During flight I was comfortably sleeping until I saw the horizon playing with colors and turning magnificently blue. When I reached Slovenia in the morning, I had the energy to happily go through the whole day. I simply got adjusted. The clock ticking in me did not complain. And the later travels were similarly smooth too.
Going to USA this summer for a vacation was about to bring a different experience. The time difference is of six hours, and I feared of experiencing certain uneasiness from this travel. But no, it was just fine. Maybe, I thought, because all my travels had been either during day or overnight, I was able to cope better. I either slept or did not. Somehow, I never reached my destination urging to go to bed when it is broad daylight there, or getting irritated trying to fall asleep as my sleep is miles away from me. But this record was about to change.
While flying back to Europe, the flight would give me only 2 hours of night. However, I was not bothered. I was relying on sleeping in the flight for some time, like usual. But. Well, everything changed.
Generally, the sound and the uncomfortable position do not prevent me from falling asleep. As I watched the sun set over the horizon, the dinner was served (on a side note, it was not good). I finished the movie I was watching; and then it was time for sleeping. I tried to make myself comfortable, but somehow something was wrong. Whatever. I found the best possible position for me and tried to sleep. I was sleepy, and tired. But I was just not really sleeping as I always do. It was only a resting phase, something between being asleep or awake. And the engine made such loud sound!! It was already annoying before. But now, as I was trying to sleep, it was intolerable. I had never experienced loud sound like this before, even when my seat was close to the wings. It was simply horrible. And there went my sleep..
No doubt, I reached Munich all tired. There were four hours of waiting time. With the terrible sound now gone, I hoped to rest. But again there, it was not to happen. For some unknown reason we did not get the boarding pass of the connecting flight at D.C. And, our flight being four hours later was not displayed, leaving us clueless about the gate we should approach for transit. Next was getting the boarding pass. It was a huge line. And when it was finally our turn, well our ticket seemed invalid with no apparent reason. The staff was completely clueless as our registration was just not in their system, and all else seemed okay. Thus, after an hour of wondering and discussing, we finally got the boarding pass. I was so tired and sleepy, barely being able to keep my eyes open. But I must remain ‘awake’ and take care of my hand baggage and purse. Well. Whatever. I grabbed my purse, and soon was sleeping on my hand baggage.
By the time I reached Ljubljana, I literally had no patience and energy left in me. I barely managed to eat some food. And then headed straight to bed falling fast asleep. It was not tiredness or lack of sleep. It was just something else. Something like an annoying bug in my head. Still, I was under the illusion that I just required sleep, and the next morning would be normal.
The illusion started breaking when I woke in middle of the sleep. My mind was telling: sleep, you have work tomorrow morning. But my body answered: oh, I am nicely rested, it is now time to wake up and start the day. And all this conversation was happening in the middle of the night! Next two three hours went away just there lying on bed, staring and thinking. Forcing myself to fall asleep. But with no success. I was so bored. And finally I think this boredom made me fall asleep again.
And after all these hours of sleeping, resting etc etc, when I woke up next morning, my head was heavy. I was still sleepy! It got worse. All I wanted in the middle of the day was some time to sleep. Okay, today in evening, no internet and checking backlog of mails/messages etc, but resting. However as I reached home in afternoon I was again fine. Unable to force myself to sleep, I was awake till way past midnight on that evening when I actually had planned to go to bed early. And next morning, the sleepy head was back again. Urrgh…
For the next few days it was like this. Driving me crazy.
I experienced jet lag. And so much I did. It was enough.
And I will never understand how people announce that they had jet lag with a hint of pride! Even when this hint of pride is supposedly for their trip to some far away foreign land.
Thus, as I amused myself with people talking about their jet lag; I wondered how it is actually to experience it. Despite of my few long distance air travels, I never experienced it until recently.
I am a person who can more easily modify her sleeping patterns if necessary. No, I cannot remain sleepless whole night, and then work the whole next day. But, if necessary, and as long as I get a few good hours of sleep sometime, I can easily alter my sleeping patterns. This fact, accompanied with the fact that I can fall asleep easily while travelling, lead to me not experiencing jet lag every time. I definitely do feel tired; I am no superhuman after all. But this tiredness is a natural one after a long journey and is manageable. And about food, I can eat almost all the time. As long as I can handle the altered bedtime, the altered eating cycle is no problem.
When the first time I came to Slovenia from India, I was not actually adjusting to any time difference. Back then in India, I had this habit of going to bed almost towards the morning, after 3 am. Therefore, my sleeping pattern was basically adjusted from before. During flight I was comfortably sleeping until I saw the horizon playing with colors and turning magnificently blue. When I reached Slovenia in the morning, I had the energy to happily go through the whole day. I simply got adjusted. The clock ticking in me did not complain. And the later travels were similarly smooth too.
Going to USA this summer for a vacation was about to bring a different experience. The time difference is of six hours, and I feared of experiencing certain uneasiness from this travel. But no, it was just fine. Maybe, I thought, because all my travels had been either during day or overnight, I was able to cope better. I either slept or did not. Somehow, I never reached my destination urging to go to bed when it is broad daylight there, or getting irritated trying to fall asleep as my sleep is miles away from me. But this record was about to change.
While flying back to Europe, the flight would give me only 2 hours of night. However, I was not bothered. I was relying on sleeping in the flight for some time, like usual. But. Well, everything changed.
Generally, the sound and the uncomfortable position do not prevent me from falling asleep. As I watched the sun set over the horizon, the dinner was served (on a side note, it was not good). I finished the movie I was watching; and then it was time for sleeping. I tried to make myself comfortable, but somehow something was wrong. Whatever. I found the best possible position for me and tried to sleep. I was sleepy, and tired. But I was just not really sleeping as I always do. It was only a resting phase, something between being asleep or awake. And the engine made such loud sound!! It was already annoying before. But now, as I was trying to sleep, it was intolerable. I had never experienced loud sound like this before, even when my seat was close to the wings. It was simply horrible. And there went my sleep..
No doubt, I reached Munich all tired. There were four hours of waiting time. With the terrible sound now gone, I hoped to rest. But again there, it was not to happen. For some unknown reason we did not get the boarding pass of the connecting flight at D.C. And, our flight being four hours later was not displayed, leaving us clueless about the gate we should approach for transit. Next was getting the boarding pass. It was a huge line. And when it was finally our turn, well our ticket seemed invalid with no apparent reason. The staff was completely clueless as our registration was just not in their system, and all else seemed okay. Thus, after an hour of wondering and discussing, we finally got the boarding pass. I was so tired and sleepy, barely being able to keep my eyes open. But I must remain ‘awake’ and take care of my hand baggage and purse. Well. Whatever. I grabbed my purse, and soon was sleeping on my hand baggage.
By the time I reached Ljubljana, I literally had no patience and energy left in me. I barely managed to eat some food. And then headed straight to bed falling fast asleep. It was not tiredness or lack of sleep. It was just something else. Something like an annoying bug in my head. Still, I was under the illusion that I just required sleep, and the next morning would be normal.
The illusion started breaking when I woke in middle of the sleep. My mind was telling: sleep, you have work tomorrow morning. But my body answered: oh, I am nicely rested, it is now time to wake up and start the day. And all this conversation was happening in the middle of the night! Next two three hours went away just there lying on bed, staring and thinking. Forcing myself to fall asleep. But with no success. I was so bored. And finally I think this boredom made me fall asleep again.
And after all these hours of sleeping, resting etc etc, when I woke up next morning, my head was heavy. I was still sleepy! It got worse. All I wanted in the middle of the day was some time to sleep. Okay, today in evening, no internet and checking backlog of mails/messages etc, but resting. However as I reached home in afternoon I was again fine. Unable to force myself to sleep, I was awake till way past midnight on that evening when I actually had planned to go to bed early. And next morning, the sleepy head was back again. Urrgh…
For the next few days it was like this. Driving me crazy.
I experienced jet lag. And so much I did. It was enough.
And I will never understand how people announce that they had jet lag with a hint of pride! Even when this hint of pride is supposedly for their trip to some far away foreign land.
July 21, 2010
The evening before going
Tomorrow I am going for a holiday. And it is the evening before.
It is supposed to be the best evening. Best because I have the whole holiday to look forward to.. An evening when I am excited and anticipating. All ready to enjoy and collect great memories.
Yet, at the same time it is the busiest. And this ‘busy’ part got added after I grew up. Phew :(
I remember the evening before going for a holiday as a little girl. Brother and I would be all bursting with excitement. And the packing and arranging part was for parents to do. After finishing all the chores that evening, they would only start packing late at night. And along with packing, another difficult task awaited them always. Putting us to sleep. Tiredness from a whole day of running around would not make us feel sleepy! We were giggling, excited and eager to watch the packing. The final preparation of our holiday.. I still remember the images. Brother and me would be lying in bed on our tummy, our chin resting on the wooden side bar (sometimes even our teeth!); and enthusiastically watching as parents arrange the dresses and other stuff inside the big open suitcases on the ground.
Alas, now packing is no more fun. Instead of keenly watching, now I am forced to do the ‘work’. Make list. Gather everything. Put all in bags. Think what things aren’t allowed in carry-on luggage. Make some alterations in the arrangement. Next comes the important part of arranging passport, documents, money etc in handbag. Of course, there are always last minutes items to put in. And considering how anxious I am by nature, I have to check and recheck everything several times.
I had already rather packed for the holiday. But still as I was thinking at work what I need to do after returning home, I remembered this short but tedious list.
Draw money from ATM on way home.
Put phone and camera into charging soon after reaching.
Pack and put in the shoes. Do not pack snickers. I will be wearing them for flight.
That reminds, take out a pair of socks to go with it. Ah, all are in bag already.
Put in the comb, cream and other necessary cosmetics.
Check for the already packed dresses (so that like last time I am not imagining I have some thinner pants when it is waiting at home nicely folded).
Take the medicines.
Arrange two bandaids for tomorrow (result of my bad fall on road).
Empty the workbag (there is no need of work swipe card, bus pass etc at the holiday) and put it in big suitcase.
Put in the phone, camera, and their chargers.
Put in insurance, ID and other documents (and a copy in each bag).
Check the passport.
Take air ticket.
Oh, in between squeeze in some time to call parents.
Take a shower and wash hair.
Of course, have dinner.
Ah, as I am writing this I am done with all except the last two. Good girl!
But ah, when did going for a holiday become so much work??!!
Oh, wait. And again I forgot! Change the address tags in the bags.
I have to check a few other things too. And recheck. And again.
Okay enough!! I better go.
It is supposed to be the best evening. Best because I have the whole holiday to look forward to.. An evening when I am excited and anticipating. All ready to enjoy and collect great memories.
Yet, at the same time it is the busiest. And this ‘busy’ part got added after I grew up. Phew :(
I remember the evening before going for a holiday as a little girl. Brother and I would be all bursting with excitement. And the packing and arranging part was for parents to do. After finishing all the chores that evening, they would only start packing late at night. And along with packing, another difficult task awaited them always. Putting us to sleep. Tiredness from a whole day of running around would not make us feel sleepy! We were giggling, excited and eager to watch the packing. The final preparation of our holiday.. I still remember the images. Brother and me would be lying in bed on our tummy, our chin resting on the wooden side bar (sometimes even our teeth!); and enthusiastically watching as parents arrange the dresses and other stuff inside the big open suitcases on the ground.
Alas, now packing is no more fun. Instead of keenly watching, now I am forced to do the ‘work’. Make list. Gather everything. Put all in bags. Think what things aren’t allowed in carry-on luggage. Make some alterations in the arrangement. Next comes the important part of arranging passport, documents, money etc in handbag. Of course, there are always last minutes items to put in. And considering how anxious I am by nature, I have to check and recheck everything several times.
I had already rather packed for the holiday. But still as I was thinking at work what I need to do after returning home, I remembered this short but tedious list.
Draw money from ATM on way home.
Put phone and camera into charging soon after reaching.
Pack and put in the shoes. Do not pack snickers. I will be wearing them for flight.
That reminds, take out a pair of socks to go with it. Ah, all are in bag already.
Put in the comb, cream and other necessary cosmetics.
Check for the already packed dresses (so that like last time I am not imagining I have some thinner pants when it is waiting at home nicely folded).
Take the medicines.
Arrange two bandaids for tomorrow (result of my bad fall on road).
Empty the workbag (there is no need of work swipe card, bus pass etc at the holiday) and put it in big suitcase.
Put in the phone, camera, and their chargers.
Put in insurance, ID and other documents (and a copy in each bag).
Check the passport.
Take air ticket.
Oh, in between squeeze in some time to call parents.
Take a shower and wash hair.
Of course, have dinner.
Ah, as I am writing this I am done with all except the last two. Good girl!
But ah, when did going for a holiday become so much work??!!
Oh, wait. And again I forgot! Change the address tags in the bags.
I have to check a few other things too. And recheck. And again.
Okay enough!! I better go.
Hot summer afternoon and games
What activities does one enjoy in a sultry summer afternoon? Swimming or some other water activities, maybe something inside the doors. Right? Well, last week I was playing mini golf with the guys out there in the scorching heat. And guess what? It was sooooo much fun. Despite of the heat.
Now I am not a sport person. I find cricket boring, an exception considering I am an Indian. Other games I ‘tolerate’ to certain extent. I only watch sports when it is some great show. Moreover, when it comes to participating in any, I do not. Quite a contrast from when I was little. I don’t remember when I started to not enjoy sports; but I think it was a part of my childhood restlessness when I was ever interested in it. I only like swimming and recently riding bicycle for recreation. Therefore, playing mini golf out in one of the hottest afternoons is quite something for a person of my ‘background’. Yet I played. And enjoyed. Because, mini golf is great fun and recreation, and it is always great to go out with these guys.
It was not a big group when I mentioned ‘the guys’. It was only Blaž and Luka. Anyone who knows me can tell that I enjoy and prefer smaller company than a huge crowd. Therefore, it was perfect. Blaž and Luka have this tradition of playing mini golf in one of the hottest afternoons for quite a few years now. Initially they would have a few of their other high school friends to join in; but now it is more their ‘tradition’. Last year I had an awesome time joining them. Therefore, when it was hottest these past days, I reminded Blaž about the mini golf. Of course, there was no time before the World Cup fever settled; and finally last Tuesday we decided for the ‘games afternoon’.
Blaž picked me up from work and we headed towards park Tivoli. Soon we noticed Luka’s car just in front of us. Luka, however, was too busy examining his hair and face to notice us :P. Surprisingly there was no parking charge at Tivoli. Blaž’s comment: Maybe the person has already gone home because of such heat. Well. And we came here to play!! Geared with our hats and water, we headed on towards the mini golf area.
There are in total 18 courses of various difficulty levels. Blaž decided to take the first shot for the hole; and needed two strokes. Next was me. Positioning myself by the ball, I tried hard to recollect how I was supposed to take the strike. As I said before, I am no sport person. I maybe enjoy more keeping the scores than playing myself!! Anyway, it was the easiest lane and I managed it with three strokes. By the time we moved for the second course, I was already all sweaty and uncomfortable. Next followed a series of my strokes for the hole. I am sure the boys were bored so very much. The heat made me loose all concentrations sometimes. Yet I was determined; but I scored 10 in more than half of the courses. . But hey, it was better than last year! And it was so so much fun. I enjoyed specially those courses where the hole was on top of a ‘hill’ or in middle of a ‘slope’. We finished with Blaž winning, Luka scoring second, and me with the ‘highest’ score.
Returning the sticks, we decided for a horse-burger at the adjoining place. I was much interested in tasting the horse burger for the first time. It is only available in very few places and I never had the opportunity of trying. It tasted better than minced beef or pork to me, and I was so full in the end. However, I must say it was quite a peculiar feeling realizing that the meat comes from such a huge animal. Yet, it is not going to hold me from eating it again. I am complete foodie and non-vegetarian. That is it.
As we were busy munching the burger, Luka figured out that he had played a bit worse that day than previous two years. He had found and brought his previous score papers! And I am not surprise. I am sure that Blaž has them somewhere too.
As I had already foreseen, the next decision was going for a pool. But, Luka came up with the idea of going for bowling. I had never played bowling before and was always interested in trying. Therefore, I was very much in for the idea. Accordingly, we headed for BTC hoping that we would be able to find a bowling lane free.
We were lucky! There was not only a lane free, but the bowling arena was strangely empty with only two groups playing. Wow! One can really see the effect of holidays and vacation coupled with Tuesday evening!! We didn’t have socks with us. It is summer after all. And hiring a pair would cost 1€. Hey, we can very well manage without socks and only got the shoes. Luka gave me a briefing as Blaž was ordering the drinks. Beer for Luka, a tradition when he is bowling; and some non-alcoholic drink for himself. I am rather reluctant most of the time to order drinks.
I never imagined a bowling ball weighs that much!!! I chose the lightest one for myself and was still barely comfortable with it. How does one at all manage to lift heavier balls, swing it and show the tricks??!! It was difficult. And I couldn’t hit a single pin in the first try. However, with the help of the bars I slowly improved. Luka was amazed how almost every time I managed to do a ‘split’. And though doing a ‘split’ is not good, it was so much fun to me. I enjoyed every time. Specially enjoying when I managed to make a ‘split’ with 3 pins standing in a very symmetric fashion. It was fun. The full automation was impressive. Moreover, fun were the cartoons playing for ‘strike’, ‘split’, ‘spare’, ‘chance missed’ etc. It was ocean themed. It was soo cute! Hm, I will always remain a baby.
Luka had to go home by 10 p.m.; he needed to walk his dog who was recovering from an operation. And there was still an hour left. As rarely a Blaž and Luka meeting ends without pool, we made our way towards the pool tables upstairs. I was tired by then and anyway don’t play pool. Thus, I decided to just accompany and enjoy without ‘playing’ with them. I always like watching them play pool. Actually I guess I am quite starting to like watching pool, snooker on TV. Hm, that is a realization! Anyway, I watched them play and chatted occasionally, sipping my coco. Luka played his game, and Blaž had a ‘bad pool day’. One hour was over before we realized and it was time to go home.
Standing in the parking lot, we talked a bit more. Planning when to meet next and so on.. And finally we headed towards the cars. It was past 22:30 as Blaž dropped me home. I was so tired. Yet so satisfied. I enjoyed playing and spending time with Blaž and Luka. “I had a great afternoon/evening”, I reflected as I said good night.
And then as I was unlocking my door, I remember all the chores that I was supposed to do before retiring to bed.. Well, that is another story...
Now I am not a sport person. I find cricket boring, an exception considering I am an Indian. Other games I ‘tolerate’ to certain extent. I only watch sports when it is some great show. Moreover, when it comes to participating in any, I do not. Quite a contrast from when I was little. I don’t remember when I started to not enjoy sports; but I think it was a part of my childhood restlessness when I was ever interested in it. I only like swimming and recently riding bicycle for recreation. Therefore, playing mini golf out in one of the hottest afternoons is quite something for a person of my ‘background’. Yet I played. And enjoyed. Because, mini golf is great fun and recreation, and it is always great to go out with these guys.
It was not a big group when I mentioned ‘the guys’. It was only Blaž and Luka. Anyone who knows me can tell that I enjoy and prefer smaller company than a huge crowd. Therefore, it was perfect. Blaž and Luka have this tradition of playing mini golf in one of the hottest afternoons for quite a few years now. Initially they would have a few of their other high school friends to join in; but now it is more their ‘tradition’. Last year I had an awesome time joining them. Therefore, when it was hottest these past days, I reminded Blaž about the mini golf. Of course, there was no time before the World Cup fever settled; and finally last Tuesday we decided for the ‘games afternoon’.
Blaž picked me up from work and we headed towards park Tivoli. Soon we noticed Luka’s car just in front of us. Luka, however, was too busy examining his hair and face to notice us :P. Surprisingly there was no parking charge at Tivoli. Blaž’s comment: Maybe the person has already gone home because of such heat. Well. And we came here to play!! Geared with our hats and water, we headed on towards the mini golf area.
There are in total 18 courses of various difficulty levels. Blaž decided to take the first shot for the hole; and needed two strokes. Next was me. Positioning myself by the ball, I tried hard to recollect how I was supposed to take the strike. As I said before, I am no sport person. I maybe enjoy more keeping the scores than playing myself!! Anyway, it was the easiest lane and I managed it with three strokes. By the time we moved for the second course, I was already all sweaty and uncomfortable. Next followed a series of my strokes for the hole. I am sure the boys were bored so very much. The heat made me loose all concentrations sometimes. Yet I was determined; but I scored 10 in more than half of the courses. . But hey, it was better than last year! And it was so so much fun. I enjoyed specially those courses where the hole was on top of a ‘hill’ or in middle of a ‘slope’. We finished with Blaž winning, Luka scoring second, and me with the ‘highest’ score.
Returning the sticks, we decided for a horse-burger at the adjoining place. I was much interested in tasting the horse burger for the first time. It is only available in very few places and I never had the opportunity of trying. It tasted better than minced beef or pork to me, and I was so full in the end. However, I must say it was quite a peculiar feeling realizing that the meat comes from such a huge animal. Yet, it is not going to hold me from eating it again. I am complete foodie and non-vegetarian. That is it.
As we were busy munching the burger, Luka figured out that he had played a bit worse that day than previous two years. He had found and brought his previous score papers! And I am not surprise. I am sure that Blaž has them somewhere too.
As I had already foreseen, the next decision was going for a pool. But, Luka came up with the idea of going for bowling. I had never played bowling before and was always interested in trying. Therefore, I was very much in for the idea. Accordingly, we headed for BTC hoping that we would be able to find a bowling lane free.
We were lucky! There was not only a lane free, but the bowling arena was strangely empty with only two groups playing. Wow! One can really see the effect of holidays and vacation coupled with Tuesday evening!! We didn’t have socks with us. It is summer after all. And hiring a pair would cost 1€. Hey, we can very well manage without socks and only got the shoes. Luka gave me a briefing as Blaž was ordering the drinks. Beer for Luka, a tradition when he is bowling; and some non-alcoholic drink for himself. I am rather reluctant most of the time to order drinks.
I never imagined a bowling ball weighs that much!!! I chose the lightest one for myself and was still barely comfortable with it. How does one at all manage to lift heavier balls, swing it and show the tricks??!! It was difficult. And I couldn’t hit a single pin in the first try. However, with the help of the bars I slowly improved. Luka was amazed how almost every time I managed to do a ‘split’. And though doing a ‘split’ is not good, it was so much fun to me. I enjoyed every time. Specially enjoying when I managed to make a ‘split’ with 3 pins standing in a very symmetric fashion. It was fun. The full automation was impressive. Moreover, fun were the cartoons playing for ‘strike’, ‘split’, ‘spare’, ‘chance missed’ etc. It was ocean themed. It was soo cute! Hm, I will always remain a baby.
Luka had to go home by 10 p.m.; he needed to walk his dog who was recovering from an operation. And there was still an hour left. As rarely a Blaž and Luka meeting ends without pool, we made our way towards the pool tables upstairs. I was tired by then and anyway don’t play pool. Thus, I decided to just accompany and enjoy without ‘playing’ with them. I always like watching them play pool. Actually I guess I am quite starting to like watching pool, snooker on TV. Hm, that is a realization! Anyway, I watched them play and chatted occasionally, sipping my coco. Luka played his game, and Blaž had a ‘bad pool day’. One hour was over before we realized and it was time to go home.
Standing in the parking lot, we talked a bit more. Planning when to meet next and so on.. And finally we headed towards the cars. It was past 22:30 as Blaž dropped me home. I was so tired. Yet so satisfied. I enjoyed playing and spending time with Blaž and Luka. “I had a great afternoon/evening”, I reflected as I said good night.
And then as I was unlocking my door, I remember all the chores that I was supposed to do before retiring to bed.. Well, that is another story...
July 12, 2010
How many days left?
10 days exactly. And then I am going for the long awaited vacation. Yeeee!!
The ‘it will come.. it will come..’ wait is the best part. It has all the excitement and expectations, and the pleasure of waiting adds the cherry on the top. Counting days in sweet anticipation. And then it happens. All the fun and excitement makes it pass with the wink of the eye. And soon it becomes a lovely memory.
And I have 10 more days to count before I go for the holiday..
I love to travel. And a new city is beckoning me..
And for me, the pre- and post-travel phases are no less fun than the journey itself. Deciding where to go, when to go, and then waiting for the day when I will pack my bags and venture to explore a new place; all these are a part of the pleasure that traveling brings.
How I waited for those family vacations when I was little! Parents would discuss and decide for the place. I barely had any role to play in this discussion. Going somewhere during the long school vacations was all I wanted. And if it was mountains, it was the best! Months before the vacation, I would eagerly ask if we were going somewhere for the vacation. Every time my face shone with a broad smile after I was told the name of the place. And next followed all those questions enquiring the little details. Where is this place, mountains or sea? When are we going? For how long are we going? What all places are we going to see? Are we going with train? How long is the journey to the place? And many more.. Furnished with all these details, the next day I would proudly announce and brag about our awaited vacation in school. I was not required to bother with the intricacies of the journey. Counting days in anticipation and excitement was all I did.
Then in those years of growing up, I slowly started taking part in the discussion. I would suggest regarding probable places to go. Read and ask in more details about the places we were intending to visit. Maybe would read about an interesting place and suggest about going there. I would read more about the sightseeing and enquire in more details the travel plan. However, in the end, parents were still the main deciding head behind the travel plans. My contribution was more suggestion than decision. And in all these little contributions, the counting of days remained. I planned for the vacation and waited for it.
And then last summer, for the first time I fully planned my own vacation. Duties at school and work had not allowed us to think about vacation before, and we had no real plans. Somehow it just decided to go for a vacation sometime in August. It was already July when we started planning. We wished to go to the Slovenian mountains; and for the other part of the vacation, I really wished to go to Rome. And when it was made final and the vacation proponed a bit, we were only left with less than 2 weeks to arrange everything. The Slovenian part of the vacation was sort of already decided and planned, just the dates were fixed. However, travel to Rome required a planning from the scratch. As Blaž looked for accommodation, transport and insurance; I was busy making the sightseeing itinerary. Browsing through the internet and travel book, I came up with an initial plan. Each day was packed with visiting churches, piazzas, museums and walks. And next came pre-booking the passes for the most visited places online. Busy days passed browsing the internet. And before we knew, the vacation already started. There was no counting days for it!! The excitement was much more. It was after all my first vacation on my own. But somewhere I missed waiting for it in all the rush.
And now, yet again summer has come. And this time it is all sort of planned already. Of course again the last week is going to be busy as always with hundreds of small errands to be done. I have to go through the sightseeing plans in more details and read about the places more. Maybe I will have some more suggestions and wishes. There are bags to pack and documents to arrange. And there is always something to be done at work. So, days are going to be busy. But, amidst all these busy days, I will be counting. A counting that had started long back when this travel plan was just an idea. A counting that is adding more fun to everything and increasing the excitement and expectations. A counting that adds an extra flavor to the already perfect vacation.
I am eagerly waiting and counting.
10 more days to go….
The ‘it will come.. it will come..’ wait is the best part. It has all the excitement and expectations, and the pleasure of waiting adds the cherry on the top. Counting days in sweet anticipation. And then it happens. All the fun and excitement makes it pass with the wink of the eye. And soon it becomes a lovely memory.
And I have 10 more days to count before I go for the holiday..
I love to travel. And a new city is beckoning me..
And for me, the pre- and post-travel phases are no less fun than the journey itself. Deciding where to go, when to go, and then waiting for the day when I will pack my bags and venture to explore a new place; all these are a part of the pleasure that traveling brings.
How I waited for those family vacations when I was little! Parents would discuss and decide for the place. I barely had any role to play in this discussion. Going somewhere during the long school vacations was all I wanted. And if it was mountains, it was the best! Months before the vacation, I would eagerly ask if we were going somewhere for the vacation. Every time my face shone with a broad smile after I was told the name of the place. And next followed all those questions enquiring the little details. Where is this place, mountains or sea? When are we going? For how long are we going? What all places are we going to see? Are we going with train? How long is the journey to the place? And many more.. Furnished with all these details, the next day I would proudly announce and brag about our awaited vacation in school. I was not required to bother with the intricacies of the journey. Counting days in anticipation and excitement was all I did.
Then in those years of growing up, I slowly started taking part in the discussion. I would suggest regarding probable places to go. Read and ask in more details about the places we were intending to visit. Maybe would read about an interesting place and suggest about going there. I would read more about the sightseeing and enquire in more details the travel plan. However, in the end, parents were still the main deciding head behind the travel plans. My contribution was more suggestion than decision. And in all these little contributions, the counting of days remained. I planned for the vacation and waited for it.
And then last summer, for the first time I fully planned my own vacation. Duties at school and work had not allowed us to think about vacation before, and we had no real plans. Somehow it just decided to go for a vacation sometime in August. It was already July when we started planning. We wished to go to the Slovenian mountains; and for the other part of the vacation, I really wished to go to Rome. And when it was made final and the vacation proponed a bit, we were only left with less than 2 weeks to arrange everything. The Slovenian part of the vacation was sort of already decided and planned, just the dates were fixed. However, travel to Rome required a planning from the scratch. As Blaž looked for accommodation, transport and insurance; I was busy making the sightseeing itinerary. Browsing through the internet and travel book, I came up with an initial plan. Each day was packed with visiting churches, piazzas, museums and walks. And next came pre-booking the passes for the most visited places online. Busy days passed browsing the internet. And before we knew, the vacation already started. There was no counting days for it!! The excitement was much more. It was after all my first vacation on my own. But somewhere I missed waiting for it in all the rush.
And now, yet again summer has come. And this time it is all sort of planned already. Of course again the last week is going to be busy as always with hundreds of small errands to be done. I have to go through the sightseeing plans in more details and read about the places more. Maybe I will have some more suggestions and wishes. There are bags to pack and documents to arrange. And there is always something to be done at work. So, days are going to be busy. But, amidst all these busy days, I will be counting. A counting that had started long back when this travel plan was just an idea. A counting that is adding more fun to everything and increasing the excitement and expectations. A counting that adds an extra flavor to the already perfect vacation.
I am eagerly waiting and counting.
10 more days to go….
I missed you too
Airport arrivals always have this cheerful ambience. People returning home after some time; meeting family, friends in a loving hug. Some others are arriving in a new city, their eyes full of curiosity and excitement. Families are waiting impatiently, their smile saying ‘we missed you’. The arrival terminals are thus always a promise of getting back to old relations or starting new ones. Here, the air is always filled with merry and smiles.
I was happily observing and thinking all these as we were waiting yesterday for Matic to return. Eagerly everyone was looking at the door as the first passenger of the flight came out. A little girl ran to her dad and held his legs in her tight embrace as the dad arrived through the doors. Partners met in loving hugs and kisses. Friends joined each other in jovial conversations. Some arrived and eyed the crowd with curiosity, and then went out. Everyone was engaged in crispy conversations, telling the ‘highlights’ of all that has happened moment after the ‘welcome back’ and ‘how are you’ hugs.
A lady arrived through the door. Her family was waiting just by the corner close to the door. As he hugged her husband, the dog that was calmly lying down till then, jumped up and started wagging its tail. It ran around her in circles, wagging its tail and trying to jump on her, barking in a low friendly voice. She gave it a gentle loving stroke on the back and turned to her two sons. And the dog could barely wait for her to hug her sons first. As she was sharing the motherly hug and mother-son talk with her sons, the dog was impatient. Running around them in circles, trying to jump on them, wagging its tail violently, the dog simply demanded attention. Its low friendly barks by then had turned to jealous, demanding ones. It tried to squeeze in between the mother and the sons, asking for a place too in this family hug.
When finally it was the dog’s turn, its joy knew no bound. The lady kneeled down on the floor by the dog. They were in a warm embrace; the lady stroking its fur gently and the dog happily wagging its tail. It sniffed her face, rolled on the floor in excitement, and again jumped back into her loving arms. Its soft ‘purring’ barks now said…“I missed you too…”
I was happily observing and thinking all these as we were waiting yesterday for Matic to return. Eagerly everyone was looking at the door as the first passenger of the flight came out. A little girl ran to her dad and held his legs in her tight embrace as the dad arrived through the doors. Partners met in loving hugs and kisses. Friends joined each other in jovial conversations. Some arrived and eyed the crowd with curiosity, and then went out. Everyone was engaged in crispy conversations, telling the ‘highlights’ of all that has happened moment after the ‘welcome back’ and ‘how are you’ hugs.
A lady arrived through the door. Her family was waiting just by the corner close to the door. As he hugged her husband, the dog that was calmly lying down till then, jumped up and started wagging its tail. It ran around her in circles, wagging its tail and trying to jump on her, barking in a low friendly voice. She gave it a gentle loving stroke on the back and turned to her two sons. And the dog could barely wait for her to hug her sons first. As she was sharing the motherly hug and mother-son talk with her sons, the dog was impatient. Running around them in circles, trying to jump on them, wagging its tail violently, the dog simply demanded attention. Its low friendly barks by then had turned to jealous, demanding ones. It tried to squeeze in between the mother and the sons, asking for a place too in this family hug.
When finally it was the dog’s turn, its joy knew no bound. The lady kneeled down on the floor by the dog. They were in a warm embrace; the lady stroking its fur gently and the dog happily wagging its tail. It sniffed her face, rolled on the floor in excitement, and again jumped back into her loving arms. Its soft ‘purring’ barks now said…“I missed you too…”
July 11, 2010
Assorted images of rain
We Bengalees love rain. Rain is romantic and poetic for us. Bengali language is rich with words sweetly echoing the various moods and rhythms of the rain. Over ages, our poets are describing flickering human emotions through various images of rain. These pattering drops have the versatility of expressing moments that are painted with colors of happiness or melancholy. As the dark grey clouds cover the sky announcing the approaching rain, we sit by the window, penning down our thoughts in the rhythm of the rain.
Rain is my favorite too. And though I don’t have the ability to arrange my thoughts in rhyme and rhythm, my heart signs with the rain in perfect symphony. A leisurely day with the pattering music of rain outside and me relaxing in the warm comfort of a cozy corner allows my mind the pleasure to dwell in its romantic wanderings. However, trying to protect myself under the small safety of an umbrella on the way to work is not a picture that I welcome. A bright sunny afternoon turning dark with clouds bringing afternoon shower-storm is romantic. A dark sky for days together with everything drenched is gloomy.
I was working in the lab and noticed it turning dark outside the window. I had planned to leave in around half an hour; and checked online the radar image to know how strong a rain was coming so that I was not trapped inside again like the other day. The sky was playing with various shades of grey preparing for the rain. It already started raining as I was thinking all these. I quickly saved my work and turned off the computer, grabbed my bag, card and keys. The rain was already quite strong as I stepped out grabbing my umbrella. I walked in the rain, in almost empty streets. It had almost the excitement of ‘an adventure’. Sitting in the bus, I looked out the window. The heavy downpour made everything white. The wind swiped the rain in all directions creating whirlpools. Magnificent lightnings tore apart the darkness of sky. Showers this strong are not only refreshing; it is beautiful to look at. And it was more amazing to walk and feel this beautifully strong rain.
Afternoon showers in summer always remind me of ‘kalbaisakhi’ or Nor’westers in Calcutta. I love it. It was a hot humid afternoon in the summer holiday. Brother and I were busy playing. We noticed the corner of the sky turning dark. The darkness crawled and covered the sky in no time; and the still wind of the noon was turning into a storm. Bang! It was the window. With more banging sounds we hurriedly closed the windows. We went in the veranda to feel the storm. The wind on face felt good. It tasted salty, like the rock salt. This dusty salty wind was so refreshing for us. We were giggling. Soon the rain started. And the wind brought it inside the veranda. Each drop hitting my face made me smile more and more. I imagined myself in the rural Bengal, soaking in the rain. The setting sun shone brightly again with little water drops gleaming.
My lab has four big skylights. I always enjoy the pattering sound of the raindrops on the glass. It creates a pleasant music for a busy and tiring day at work. It was working with my sequences and listening to the music the rain was creating on my roof one noon. Suddenly the rhythm changed. Small pebbles of ice were creating a new melody. It was fast and funky. Refreshing and energetic.
I remembered the sound when hails fell on steel bowl. The same ‘tak-tak-tak-tak’ rhythm. It was one similar noon years ago. Bare foot I ran out to collect the hails. However, parents soon forced me back in the house. As I myself could not play ‘catching the hails’, I had put out a bowl to catch the hails for me. The rain stopped and I dashed out to count my collection. It was quite a ‘big’ one. Still, more tempting were those icy pebbles shining amidst the green grass. I had picked up a few and quickly put in my mouth. I still remember the stinging, desensitizing cold in my mouth. The frogs were croaking loud and happy.
I woke up before the alarm. Looking outside the window from my bed, I was annoyed with myself. It was darkish outside, suggesting some time around dawn. I had a couple of more hours before it was time to get up. But, one look at the watch showed it to be a couple of minutes. Now, frowning I forced myself out of the bed. As I stepped outside my apartment, the dark gloomy sky ‘welcomed’ me. And even though it was raining heavily, I had to go to work. Annoyed with this wet feeling, I had to walk towards the bus stop. I miss those ‘rainy days’ in school.
It started raining at night. And even in the morning the sun did not show itself. It was waterlogged all around. A day the school for sure would declare as a ‘rainy day’. Nonetheless, I of course had to go to school. It was much more fun to go to school, get a ‘rainy day’, and come back home drenched, intentionally jumping in the puddles. I walked to the bus, fighting with the wind and trying to save my overturned umbrella. The bus ‘floated’ to school. And then as expected, it was a ‘rainy day’!! Happily I returned soaked. After the yummy ‘khichdi’ at lunch, it was time to sit with the newspaper making paper boats. They floated down the ‘stream’ that had by then replaced the road.
Rain is pretty umbrellas and colorful coats. Rain is intentionally soaking the shoes on the way back from school. Rain is steaming hot ‘khichdi’ with fried ‘hilsa’. Rain is creamy coffee with ‘pakodas’. Rain is snuggling in the couch with an interesting book. Rain is walking together under the same umbrella or simply without it. Rain is being silent together and feeling the warmth. Rain is daydreaming looking outside the window. Rain is observing everything turning freshly green. Rain is lazy afternoon listening to its music. Rain is loud happy croaking of frogs. Rain is paper boats in puddles. Rain is different shades of grey painting the sky. Rain is the colorful rainbow making it bright..
And among all these bits and pieces of various images of rain, I dream of one that I wish to turn into reality someday. Myself amidst the green. Holding a big leaf over my head. Raindrops making music. Insects and frogs accompanying it. And myself getting drenched….
Rain is my favorite too. And though I don’t have the ability to arrange my thoughts in rhyme and rhythm, my heart signs with the rain in perfect symphony. A leisurely day with the pattering music of rain outside and me relaxing in the warm comfort of a cozy corner allows my mind the pleasure to dwell in its romantic wanderings. However, trying to protect myself under the small safety of an umbrella on the way to work is not a picture that I welcome. A bright sunny afternoon turning dark with clouds bringing afternoon shower-storm is romantic. A dark sky for days together with everything drenched is gloomy.
I was working in the lab and noticed it turning dark outside the window. I had planned to leave in around half an hour; and checked online the radar image to know how strong a rain was coming so that I was not trapped inside again like the other day. The sky was playing with various shades of grey preparing for the rain. It already started raining as I was thinking all these. I quickly saved my work and turned off the computer, grabbed my bag, card and keys. The rain was already quite strong as I stepped out grabbing my umbrella. I walked in the rain, in almost empty streets. It had almost the excitement of ‘an adventure’. Sitting in the bus, I looked out the window. The heavy downpour made everything white. The wind swiped the rain in all directions creating whirlpools. Magnificent lightnings tore apart the darkness of sky. Showers this strong are not only refreshing; it is beautiful to look at. And it was more amazing to walk and feel this beautifully strong rain.
Afternoon showers in summer always remind me of ‘kalbaisakhi’ or Nor’westers in Calcutta. I love it. It was a hot humid afternoon in the summer holiday. Brother and I were busy playing. We noticed the corner of the sky turning dark. The darkness crawled and covered the sky in no time; and the still wind of the noon was turning into a storm. Bang! It was the window. With more banging sounds we hurriedly closed the windows. We went in the veranda to feel the storm. The wind on face felt good. It tasted salty, like the rock salt. This dusty salty wind was so refreshing for us. We were giggling. Soon the rain started. And the wind brought it inside the veranda. Each drop hitting my face made me smile more and more. I imagined myself in the rural Bengal, soaking in the rain. The setting sun shone brightly again with little water drops gleaming.
My lab has four big skylights. I always enjoy the pattering sound of the raindrops on the glass. It creates a pleasant music for a busy and tiring day at work. It was working with my sequences and listening to the music the rain was creating on my roof one noon. Suddenly the rhythm changed. Small pebbles of ice were creating a new melody. It was fast and funky. Refreshing and energetic.
I remembered the sound when hails fell on steel bowl. The same ‘tak-tak-tak-tak’ rhythm. It was one similar noon years ago. Bare foot I ran out to collect the hails. However, parents soon forced me back in the house. As I myself could not play ‘catching the hails’, I had put out a bowl to catch the hails for me. The rain stopped and I dashed out to count my collection. It was quite a ‘big’ one. Still, more tempting were those icy pebbles shining amidst the green grass. I had picked up a few and quickly put in my mouth. I still remember the stinging, desensitizing cold in my mouth. The frogs were croaking loud and happy.
I woke up before the alarm. Looking outside the window from my bed, I was annoyed with myself. It was darkish outside, suggesting some time around dawn. I had a couple of more hours before it was time to get up. But, one look at the watch showed it to be a couple of minutes. Now, frowning I forced myself out of the bed. As I stepped outside my apartment, the dark gloomy sky ‘welcomed’ me. And even though it was raining heavily, I had to go to work. Annoyed with this wet feeling, I had to walk towards the bus stop. I miss those ‘rainy days’ in school.
It started raining at night. And even in the morning the sun did not show itself. It was waterlogged all around. A day the school for sure would declare as a ‘rainy day’. Nonetheless, I of course had to go to school. It was much more fun to go to school, get a ‘rainy day’, and come back home drenched, intentionally jumping in the puddles. I walked to the bus, fighting with the wind and trying to save my overturned umbrella. The bus ‘floated’ to school. And then as expected, it was a ‘rainy day’!! Happily I returned soaked. After the yummy ‘khichdi’ at lunch, it was time to sit with the newspaper making paper boats. They floated down the ‘stream’ that had by then replaced the road.
Rain is pretty umbrellas and colorful coats. Rain is intentionally soaking the shoes on the way back from school. Rain is steaming hot ‘khichdi’ with fried ‘hilsa’. Rain is creamy coffee with ‘pakodas’. Rain is snuggling in the couch with an interesting book. Rain is walking together under the same umbrella or simply without it. Rain is being silent together and feeling the warmth. Rain is daydreaming looking outside the window. Rain is observing everything turning freshly green. Rain is lazy afternoon listening to its music. Rain is loud happy croaking of frogs. Rain is paper boats in puddles. Rain is different shades of grey painting the sky. Rain is the colorful rainbow making it bright..
And among all these bits and pieces of various images of rain, I dream of one that I wish to turn into reality someday. Myself amidst the green. Holding a big leaf over my head. Raindrops making music. Insects and frogs accompanying it. And myself getting drenched….
June 15, 2010
Sunday afternoon, woods and wild strawberries
Sunday afternoons are always so lazy, specially if it is summer. A time for a stroll, or to simply be lazy at home, reading a book, talking, and writing. It always feels so relaxed and cozy.
Last Sunday I was at Blaž’s place, like usual. We had just finished watching the world cup match, Slovenia against Algeria. It was a boring and slow match (for me, a complete non-sport person, most sports and matches are like this anyway). Nonetheless, Slovenia scored a goal and got her first ever victory at the world cup. And that was something to be happy about. The TV was still on, and I was on the couch writing. It was so hot and sunny outside.
The previous day, they had got a visit from their neighbor who told them that there are small and sweet wild strawberries growing on the hill. Blaž’s mother had suggested us to go strawberry picking. She knew our interests in these things, and also simply wished us to have a stroll outside. However, I had said that I was not going out before the sun goes a bit low.
Late in the afternoon as the sky was sort of preparing for a shower, we decided to go before the rain sets in. Going to the woods or in the fields always needs a few things to be done, even if it is just somewhere close by. And applying that repellent for ticks is one of the most important. Every time after coming back from wild I must check myself for ticks, and until this Sunday I was not very sure about what I was checking and how do they look actually! While giving us a plastic container for keeping any “harvest” that we might have, his mother suggested to not be disappointed if there were not many strawberries. And despite of saying "yes" to her, I really hoped we get. I love strawberries and picking them in the woods must be fun. I always like the idea of eating fruits that I myself plucked from the tree. And if the tree is going wild, and I pluck the berries as I walk by, it is so much more fun and interesting.
We set towards the woods across a small meadow on hill. It was nice to be in those woods after a long time. Under the green canopy we walked listening to the birds. The smell of the wood was refreshing. And I always love the crackling sounds as dry leaves break under my walk. The walk was really short and soon we reached the opening at the meadow behind the houses. This part is new to me; I had never been there before.
The meadow was beautiful and so calm. Grass was growing deep. Along with the chirping of birds, the buzzing of bees now created music. A pleasant smell of grass and weeds filled the air. We did not know the exact location of the strawberries; and started walking down the meadow, our feet sinking in the grass.
Grass flowers grew as big as me. Tiny gentle wild flowers gave more color to the green. Butterflies were fluttering around. One sat on flower nearby. I observed its grey wings with delicate white patterns as it enjoyed the nectar. Small snails were clinging to the thin stem of the plants; their house had spiral patterns captivating one's interest. Several yellow flowers dotted the meadow. They were tiny and had shape similar to irises. Bees were buzzing around everywhere. And then I heard a louder buzzing coming from a bigger insect. It was a hornet, and we had to stand still and divert our way a bit. Grasshoppers weren’t lagging behind. And dragonflies with bluish wings were all around. Among all those colors, I loved these two flowers particularly; both tiny and gentle. One was white, tiny, with petals more looking like spikes and radiating out. They were so open, welcoming the afternoon sun. The other one, similarly tiny, was purple in color. These very bright petals revealed more details as I looked closer. From its purplish white center, little bright white dots and even smaller black dots radiated in each petal. These delicate detailed patterns in nature always intrigue and amaze me. How much care the nature takes to make each of its creations beautiful! Even creations as “insignificant” as this tiny wild flower.
Till then we had no luck with strawberries. We saw a few plants, but didn’t see any strawberries growing. And then suddenly I spotted one small red ball in the weeds. It was a single one. Smelling sweetly delicious. However, that was the only one we could find; and we decided to return home, sadly with the empty box. Either we did not find the place or they are already plucked, we assumed.
And as we were almost down on the road from the pretty meadow; literally by the houses, we spotted them. First three little ones. And then a whole lot of them. Growing delectably. Just there!! The next moment we were already busy plucking those berries in delightful red color exhibiting their ripeness. We had almost “finished” it, when the same neighbor saw us and told of some close by place where more grow. Those, he said, were more round and big. And, of course I had to go there even though the path was lost amidst thorny bushes. We reached the same meadow but from a different direction. And, in the process got a few scratches as thorny branches caught my dress. One cannot miss the bright red amidst all green, specially when one is looking for them. There they were, red and round, looking so tempting. I was delighted. Soon our box had a little pile, and satisfied we started towards home. My hand smelled so nice of wild strawberries. And the same mild sweet fragrant filled the box.
Strawberry flavor was never palatable for my taste. It still is not. Same as most of the artificial fruit flavors. It smelled like cough-syrup. And though cough-syrup to me is one of the tasty tonics, I disliked ice-cream with the same flavor. Thus, I never had any fascination for strawberries until I had some real ones in Mahabaleshwar. Nevertheless, they always remained as a rare and expensive treat. And now here in Slovenia, I enjoy them, both in taste, smell and texture. A complete treat to my senses. Yet, I did not know that wild strawberries are so small and different in fragrance, with a hint of wilderness in them.
It was thus an exotic treat with wild strawberries the past Sunday. And I “discovered” that vanilla ice-cream tastes awesome with wild strawberries!!!
Last Sunday I was at Blaž’s place, like usual. We had just finished watching the world cup match, Slovenia against Algeria. It was a boring and slow match (for me, a complete non-sport person, most sports and matches are like this anyway). Nonetheless, Slovenia scored a goal and got her first ever victory at the world cup. And that was something to be happy about. The TV was still on, and I was on the couch writing. It was so hot and sunny outside.
The previous day, they had got a visit from their neighbor who told them that there are small and sweet wild strawberries growing on the hill. Blaž’s mother had suggested us to go strawberry picking. She knew our interests in these things, and also simply wished us to have a stroll outside. However, I had said that I was not going out before the sun goes a bit low.
Late in the afternoon as the sky was sort of preparing for a shower, we decided to go before the rain sets in. Going to the woods or in the fields always needs a few things to be done, even if it is just somewhere close by. And applying that repellent for ticks is one of the most important. Every time after coming back from wild I must check myself for ticks, and until this Sunday I was not very sure about what I was checking and how do they look actually! While giving us a plastic container for keeping any “harvest” that we might have, his mother suggested to not be disappointed if there were not many strawberries. And despite of saying "yes" to her, I really hoped we get. I love strawberries and picking them in the woods must be fun. I always like the idea of eating fruits that I myself plucked from the tree. And if the tree is going wild, and I pluck the berries as I walk by, it is so much more fun and interesting.
We set towards the woods across a small meadow on hill. It was nice to be in those woods after a long time. Under the green canopy we walked listening to the birds. The smell of the wood was refreshing. And I always love the crackling sounds as dry leaves break under my walk. The walk was really short and soon we reached the opening at the meadow behind the houses. This part is new to me; I had never been there before.
The meadow was beautiful and so calm. Grass was growing deep. Along with the chirping of birds, the buzzing of bees now created music. A pleasant smell of grass and weeds filled the air. We did not know the exact location of the strawberries; and started walking down the meadow, our feet sinking in the grass.
Grass flowers grew as big as me. Tiny gentle wild flowers gave more color to the green. Butterflies were fluttering around. One sat on flower nearby. I observed its grey wings with delicate white patterns as it enjoyed the nectar. Small snails were clinging to the thin stem of the plants; their house had spiral patterns captivating one's interest. Several yellow flowers dotted the meadow. They were tiny and had shape similar to irises. Bees were buzzing around everywhere. And then I heard a louder buzzing coming from a bigger insect. It was a hornet, and we had to stand still and divert our way a bit. Grasshoppers weren’t lagging behind. And dragonflies with bluish wings were all around. Among all those colors, I loved these two flowers particularly; both tiny and gentle. One was white, tiny, with petals more looking like spikes and radiating out. They were so open, welcoming the afternoon sun. The other one, similarly tiny, was purple in color. These very bright petals revealed more details as I looked closer. From its purplish white center, little bright white dots and even smaller black dots radiated in each petal. These delicate detailed patterns in nature always intrigue and amaze me. How much care the nature takes to make each of its creations beautiful! Even creations as “insignificant” as this tiny wild flower.
Till then we had no luck with strawberries. We saw a few plants, but didn’t see any strawberries growing. And then suddenly I spotted one small red ball in the weeds. It was a single one. Smelling sweetly delicious. However, that was the only one we could find; and we decided to return home, sadly with the empty box. Either we did not find the place or they are already plucked, we assumed.
And as we were almost down on the road from the pretty meadow; literally by the houses, we spotted them. First three little ones. And then a whole lot of them. Growing delectably. Just there!! The next moment we were already busy plucking those berries in delightful red color exhibiting their ripeness. We had almost “finished” it, when the same neighbor saw us and told of some close by place where more grow. Those, he said, were more round and big. And, of course I had to go there even though the path was lost amidst thorny bushes. We reached the same meadow but from a different direction. And, in the process got a few scratches as thorny branches caught my dress. One cannot miss the bright red amidst all green, specially when one is looking for them. There they were, red and round, looking so tempting. I was delighted. Soon our box had a little pile, and satisfied we started towards home. My hand smelled so nice of wild strawberries. And the same mild sweet fragrant filled the box.
Strawberry flavor was never palatable for my taste. It still is not. Same as most of the artificial fruit flavors. It smelled like cough-syrup. And though cough-syrup to me is one of the tasty tonics, I disliked ice-cream with the same flavor. Thus, I never had any fascination for strawberries until I had some real ones in Mahabaleshwar. Nevertheless, they always remained as a rare and expensive treat. And now here in Slovenia, I enjoy them, both in taste, smell and texture. A complete treat to my senses. Yet, I did not know that wild strawberries are so small and different in fragrance, with a hint of wilderness in them.
It was thus an exotic treat with wild strawberries the past Sunday. And I “discovered” that vanilla ice-cream tastes awesome with wild strawberries!!!
June 13, 2010
Cadbury Fruit and Nut
Rishte pakne do... Let relationships flourish…
Last January during my trip to Kolkata, one day was particularly dedicated to ‘food shopping’. Spices, different dry mixtures, snacks, things that I miss in Slovenia were all on the list ‘to buy’. And of course there was Cadbury.
So at this particular chocolate shop at Barabazar where all kinds of Indian and foreign chocolates are sold, we went to get my favorite ones. I asked for 5 each of all kinds of Cadbury chocolates, from classic Dairy Milk, to Fruit and Nut, Crackle, Temptations, Nutties, Bournville and so on.. And also of course 2 bags of Éclairs. The person at the shop was definitely amazed and surprised! He was unable to understand the reason behind my buying chocolates from India for taking back to Europe. Generally it is the other way round! Unable to resist his curiosity, he even asked me the reason. Well, the reason is simple. Despite of getting the finest chocolates in Europe, Cadbury will always remain as one of my favorite. After all I have grown up with it. And I would have bought more, if the weight allowance had let me do so..
Today after a good lunch I was craving for some sweet and decided to have one Fruit and Nut. And as I unwrapped it, childhood memories unfurled.. Memories of not only the sweet creamy chocolaty taste, but also of sweetest relations.. I went back around 22 years in time..
It was a Sunday morning. I was sitting in my dida’s (grandma) kitchen on my small circular ‘pidi’, a wooden seat. My dida was busy cutting potatoes for the simple tasty curry that goes with luchi, the typical Sunday breakfast of Bengali household. I guess I was being my usual self, busy chattering to her. Dadu (grandpa) came from the market with the week’s vegetables, fishes, groceries etc. The rule was, whenever my grandparents would go out, I was supposed to get a treat of some candy after they returned. And this time was no exception either. Dadu had brought me a Cadbury Fruit and Nut!!
It was the first time I got it. It was a “new” chocolate for me! I was so excited and couldn’t wait to unwrap and have a bite. But before unwrapping, I took a notice of the wrap. And a picture got imprinted in my mind forever.
It was usual Cadbury purplish blue wrapper with white in the middle. The picture of assorted fruits and nuts on a side. And the usual Cadbury logo, with “Fruit and Nut” written in red. Though essentially similar, the complete get up was quite different from the present one. They layout was much simpler and less stylish. It was a much plain paper compared to the shiny glossy plastic wrap today. The paper was just wrapping the chocolate in the golden foil, and the shorter sides had the golden foil visible. The whole look was much simple, less glossy or commercial back then. But it was special to me nonetheless. First, as dadu had brought it for me! It was something “new”, and I always have this special interest in new things. Moreover, I would mostly get a small candy or lozenges, maybe my favorite fruit; thus a chocolate being a rare treat was special always.
I demanded to have a piece of it then and there, even before breakfast. And dida agreed to give me only one block. But dida’s “taler bora”, as she lovingly calls me because of my constant demands, was of course not quite satisfied. I agreed with having only one little piece of it before breakfast; but it had to be a perfect square, without uneven edges from casual breaking. So dida had to actually cut the edges and make them smooth. And those little bits of chocolates that resulted from the “smoothening” of edges weren’t wasted either! I rolled them between my fingers to make a small little ball. And then with my chocolate block and ball, away I went to the backyard to enjoy my sweet treat..
This was my first memory with “Fruit and Nut”… A picture that came back to me decades after as I sat there enjoying it in a far away country. And it brings memories with it that are sweeter than the chocolate itself. It brings all love of my dadu who is long lost from me. And all love of my dida who lovingly fulfills all my wishes.
Fruit and Nut is not only about a good chocolate. It is about all the memories. It is about relations and persons closest to me. Cadbury is all about memories. Memories with special moments from past years, memories colored with different relations. I had a Cadbury for birthdays, any other special occasion. I would treat myself with one after results are out, after achieving something, or when I am simply bored and even sad. It is the chocolate I got from all people very dear and close to me. Cadbury to me is truly celebrating relationships.
And, as I make new memories with good European chocolates, Cadbury will always continue to remain as one very special and favorite…
Last January during my trip to Kolkata, one day was particularly dedicated to ‘food shopping’. Spices, different dry mixtures, snacks, things that I miss in Slovenia were all on the list ‘to buy’. And of course there was Cadbury.
So at this particular chocolate shop at Barabazar where all kinds of Indian and foreign chocolates are sold, we went to get my favorite ones. I asked for 5 each of all kinds of Cadbury chocolates, from classic Dairy Milk, to Fruit and Nut, Crackle, Temptations, Nutties, Bournville and so on.. And also of course 2 bags of Éclairs. The person at the shop was definitely amazed and surprised! He was unable to understand the reason behind my buying chocolates from India for taking back to Europe. Generally it is the other way round! Unable to resist his curiosity, he even asked me the reason. Well, the reason is simple. Despite of getting the finest chocolates in Europe, Cadbury will always remain as one of my favorite. After all I have grown up with it. And I would have bought more, if the weight allowance had let me do so..
Today after a good lunch I was craving for some sweet and decided to have one Fruit and Nut. And as I unwrapped it, childhood memories unfurled.. Memories of not only the sweet creamy chocolaty taste, but also of sweetest relations.. I went back around 22 years in time..
It was a Sunday morning. I was sitting in my dida’s (grandma) kitchen on my small circular ‘pidi’, a wooden seat. My dida was busy cutting potatoes for the simple tasty curry that goes with luchi, the typical Sunday breakfast of Bengali household. I guess I was being my usual self, busy chattering to her. Dadu (grandpa) came from the market with the week’s vegetables, fishes, groceries etc. The rule was, whenever my grandparents would go out, I was supposed to get a treat of some candy after they returned. And this time was no exception either. Dadu had brought me a Cadbury Fruit and Nut!!
It was the first time I got it. It was a “new” chocolate for me! I was so excited and couldn’t wait to unwrap and have a bite. But before unwrapping, I took a notice of the wrap. And a picture got imprinted in my mind forever.
It was usual Cadbury purplish blue wrapper with white in the middle. The picture of assorted fruits and nuts on a side. And the usual Cadbury logo, with “Fruit and Nut” written in red. Though essentially similar, the complete get up was quite different from the present one. They layout was much simpler and less stylish. It was a much plain paper compared to the shiny glossy plastic wrap today. The paper was just wrapping the chocolate in the golden foil, and the shorter sides had the golden foil visible. The whole look was much simple, less glossy or commercial back then. But it was special to me nonetheless. First, as dadu had brought it for me! It was something “new”, and I always have this special interest in new things. Moreover, I would mostly get a small candy or lozenges, maybe my favorite fruit; thus a chocolate being a rare treat was special always.
I demanded to have a piece of it then and there, even before breakfast. And dida agreed to give me only one block. But dida’s “taler bora”, as she lovingly calls me because of my constant demands, was of course not quite satisfied. I agreed with having only one little piece of it before breakfast; but it had to be a perfect square, without uneven edges from casual breaking. So dida had to actually cut the edges and make them smooth. And those little bits of chocolates that resulted from the “smoothening” of edges weren’t wasted either! I rolled them between my fingers to make a small little ball. And then with my chocolate block and ball, away I went to the backyard to enjoy my sweet treat..
This was my first memory with “Fruit and Nut”… A picture that came back to me decades after as I sat there enjoying it in a far away country. And it brings memories with it that are sweeter than the chocolate itself. It brings all love of my dadu who is long lost from me. And all love of my dida who lovingly fulfills all my wishes.
Fruit and Nut is not only about a good chocolate. It is about all the memories. It is about relations and persons closest to me. Cadbury is all about memories. Memories with special moments from past years, memories colored with different relations. I had a Cadbury for birthdays, any other special occasion. I would treat myself with one after results are out, after achieving something, or when I am simply bored and even sad. It is the chocolate I got from all people very dear and close to me. Cadbury to me is truly celebrating relationships.
And, as I make new memories with good European chocolates, Cadbury will always continue to remain as one very special and favorite…
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