Walking towards mystery

As I stepped out of work, the thick fog enveloped me. The fog had a rather yellow glow from the streetlights, but the nearest lamppost was barely visible. Then everything faded out beyond. It looked lonely and mysterious. It touched a chord in my memory and brought back one mysterious foggy night.

Some while ago, Blaž and I had decided to go for a night walk around midnight. The moonlight had made everything silver and mesmerizing, and we just decided to go out on the whim. We quickly dressed up in the warmer clothes. After putting on the reflective bands and taking the small bicycle lights, we set out. We would make the usual loop walking by the nearby hill to the main road, then walk on our bridge over the highway towards the ‘barje’ swamps, and then return back home.

There was quite a chill in the air, and everything was glowing silver. Wow, it looked pretty! Although there were clouds and fog, the moonlight had still managed to seep through and soak everything in its silver hue. The fog glowed in a silvery brilliance, playing with light and shadows. It all created a sort of mystic element.

The nearby hill looked magical. The trees were bare and dry leaves carpeted the floor. A layer of frost covered the leaves giving the floor an unnatural white color and rugged appearance. The fog shone in the moonlight, the frosty dry carpet of leaves reflected it. The silhouette of the empty trees had some sort of halo around them. The emptiness of this appearance was almost haunting, overpowering and engulfing the existence of everything else. It was beautifully haunting. It was mystic, ghostly, and mesmerizing all at the same time.

As we stepped on the main road, it was surprisingly not very empty considering the time. Often a car would pass us. However, it was not visible. We would only hear the faint sound and see the fog in front turning a deeper shade of orange before the car would actually pass by. Even though the fog was a tad bit lighter than by the hill, the visibility was not much better. We decided to go down on unpaved part by the side of the road rather than walking on the edge like usual. Like the cars, despite of our reflective bands and lights, we were also in visible. ‘Wow, what a fog!’ I exclaimed. We could see from the main road, how it had thickened over the swamps spreading out in a dark band. A dark envelope that was unwelcoming and yet inviting in a sense.

Generally, on our walks like these, we walk on the main road until the bridge that goes over the highway on the other side towards the swamps. We like to call it ‘our bridge’. Typically, after walking across the bridge we make a pause by the swamp. Unless we are looking for frogs and night insects, we do not go much around the swamps at night. We then turn towards home, this time taking the other side and completing the loop. And that night also, we were tracing our usual path, and soon reached the bridge.

And we stood there amazed and awed! It was so unbelievably thick fog! Much thicker than we had assumed it to be. The bridged had started, but then it just had disappeared into nothing. We could not see it end. We could not see it at all. Everything beyond a few steps was veiled and kept hidden. There was just this silvery mystic nothingness beckoning us to indulge in its beauty and secrecy. And though, we had crossed the bridge an uncountable number of times before, that day we stepped on to cross it towards something unknown and alien.

As we walked further on the bridge, a sort of void slowly swallowed us. Nothing around was visible. We could hardly see any orange glow of the streetlights or car headlights down on the highway. The sound from the street was also masked somehow. It gave such an eerie feeling.  At the same time, there was some air of mystery and content all around. There was this thrill of going somewhere unknown, and to venture beyond the comfort zone. Everything about the bridge is familiar to us. Yet that night, it was all unknown.

And as I made another step with this hint of uneasiness inside me, I realized how in a similar way each day I venture towards the unknown mysteries of life. As I wake up each morning, I wake up with some plans for the day. Generally, nothing out of the ordinary happens. I know what to expect and the days seem familiar to me. I feel I know them. However, in reality everything beyond the present point is actually under the veil of obscurity. It is only that, except some days, I know what waits beyond. I continue to remain assured in this cocoon of illusion. However, in reality, every day I walk across the bridge.

I stood there with Blaž. Holding hands. Silent. Wrapped in mystery and thoughts. Drenched in the moonlight seeping through the fog. It was beautiful, unknown, mystic, eerie, engulfing, melancholic, happy, romantic, peaceful, void, satisfying, mesmerizing.. It was everything. Everything at the same time. It just made my heart happy. Maybe that is what it is all about..

A.. hmm... Happy Sunday!

The morning did not promise anything good. I woke up from a not particularly good sleep. I generally sleep well, and do not feel good enough when it is not so. There was no promising sunshine outside. Well, I was not expecting any. I have learnt to somehow accept this cloudy foggy autumn-winter weather. However, when the sky outside reflects no sense of cheeriness, the gray mood of mine turned grayer. I turned on the light. I hate to do that during daytime, and I dislike the almost darkish room more. ‘Ah, maybe I should just be in bed for fifteen more minutes’. And those fifteen minutes ticked towards thirty. ‘Okay, it is a better idea to get up’.

After refreshing myself, I took the pile of clothes downstairs for washing. I arranged the washed dishes from last night back in the shelves. And then, I just sat on my bed, restless and disconcerted. I was longing to somehow hide in the blanket again. Hide from all the unpleasantness and agitation. But I should not do that. It would just pull me into the loop. If I would waste the whole day feeling low and doing nothing, I would feel worse in the evening for wasting the day. I gathered courage and pulled myself up.

‘Why am I so restless?’ I wondered. ‘Maybe all the stress and Blaž not being in Ljubljana is making me like this’. Ah, the sense of missing him renewed. It is not that we are together all the time or meeting every day. It is not that he is never out of town due to work. But this time when he was on this business trip, I really missed him. We both have these days very hectic. However, talking with him for a minute in a way relaxes me always and renews the lacking energy. I was missing him. And all the work, stress, and worries got hold of me.

‘Well, he is coming back today and you can give him a call at night dear girl. So, now smile’. I went to the kitchen counter to make a glass of fresh lemonade and prepared the golden apple and clementines for breakfast. I switched on the computer. I always check the newspaper first thing after switching on the computer. Especially so on Sunday. There are these supplement Sunday articles which are always interesting. The essay in the Bengali newspaper was by one of my favorite Bengali authors of scientific essays for general people. It was fascinating to read how the Quark, J/Ψ, and God particles obtained their names. The English magazine had a good article on Vietnamese cuisine. I saved it to try out some ideas later. I was already feeling better.

I took out the packet of smelt fish from the freezer to let it thaw for lunch. I had planned to make them in Bengali style chochhorri. That reminded me to call mother and ask her the exact recipe. It is sometimes funny to realize that life is so easy with internet. I can just give a call to my mother in Kolkata and prepare her recipe sitting thousand kilometers apart following her instructions. In the meantime my clothes were done. I checked a few other things on the internet, prepared my bag for work tomorrow. I was fiddling with the idea of writing, reading, or hm.. something else? ‘Maybe I should really try my hands in acrylic painting’.

I love drawing and painting. Unfortunately, I never had a formal training and therefore do not know much techniques. I try to learn and do a bit on my own. I read a bit online. Try to copy in my own way some pictures I like. And the rest I just try. It gives me pleasure and makes me happy. I had received this set of acrylic paints last Christmas. I had studied a bit online regarding basic techniques. I had all the supplies. So today, I wished to try paint this simple flower that I had seen once online. It would be a small and simple drawing. I also decided to do it on drawing paper instead of canvas. ‘Let me once try my hands and then maybe I can try on canvas,’ I thought. I am miserable with water paints, and did not have much hope from this medium also.

I like working sitting on the floor and accordingly covered the carpet, and arranged all my supplies around the workspace. I opened the window a bit for ventilation, though I loved the smell of the paints. I hesitantly started with my work. With a few trials and tries, I sort of became a bit comfortable. However, I had not really understood the ‘allowing the paint to dry’ part. I tried to apply the yellow on the red, and it was hard. The color was not getting on as I would like it to. It was somehow slipping away. Even though it was ‘dry’ to me, it wasn’t dry enough. Quickly I realized the problem and increased my drying times. In between, I picked up the book I was reading. I cleaned the fishes. I had two spoons of my favorite sweet I had made last evening...

The painting was in its half way towards completion. It was lunchtime. I decided to let it dry, and in meantime cook and eat. I gave a call to Blaž’s mother, and talked a bit. She was also about to start cooking. I was quite looking forward to this simple and spicy fish preparation. The only mistake I did, I had put all the fish in the oil for frying at the same time. Instantly I realized the blunder. But well, it couldn’t be corrected then. ‘Hm, I have to cook it again to have a nice picture for my blog’. And, that is never a problem. The taste wouldn’t be compromised and I was happy for that. Steaming rice and some spicy fish. What can be a better food for a Bengali? I enjoyed in those delicious senses.

I left the dishes for later and went back to my painting. A few more sittings and it was finally finished. I gave a satisfied look to my work. ‘Not bad for the first time’. It did almost turned out as I had envisioned it. I got busy with cleaning the brushes and putting back the things. Then, holding the picture in hand, I sat. I was becoming happier and happier. I really couldn’t believe I had managed to do so satisfactorily. I for sure knew I would have to leave it in the middle. And there I sat, holding it with the pleased smile. I knew there were many mistakes. But I had at least learnt something. I was excited about that. So much excited that I decided to sit with yet another one. Well, this time I chose to do a simple dry pastel work that I had in mind for long long time.

My fingers were covered in gray dust when the phone rang. Blaž’s grandma was calling. We happily chatted for a few minutes. She told me about some new cookie book and her plans for Christmas cookies. And I eagerly was telling her how we would make them together. Then happily, I went back to my drawing. This one was very simple with a simple idea. However, it is always gratifying to see the ideas translate on papers.

I was so excited that urged to show them to someone. Especially my first acrylic painting. So I called my parents and asked them to come on skype. And as my dad excitedly started, ‘okay, we have something to show you..’. I just had to cut him in between to say, ‘me first’. First, I showed the simple dry pastel drawing. ‘Oh, good. You drew after a long time’. ‘Yes, and it is just the starter’. Then, I happily revealed my flower.  Smiling at their appreciation, I was excitedly telling them all the details. Next, it was their turn. They had just returned from the handicraft fair and showed me the big vase, little figurines etc they had bought. We happily discussed about all things nice.

After talking to them, I tried to call my grandma. Sadly it did not work. Ah, I must talk to her soon. I miss her. I read a bit of my book. Heated the dinner, which was of course again the fish and rice from morning. I packed the lunch for tomorrow and did things here and there.

I again sat at the computer. This time, to watch the latest episode of a cookery show. I was watching the last part when I heard the bell ring. Well, no one really comes to me without my knowing beforehand! Surprised I went towards the door. As I unlocked, I saw none. I was only about to close the door thinking I had heard something else, when I heard Blaž!! He had moved away a bit and was talking to someone.. I wasn’t expecting him to come at all to my place. He was tired and had things to do at home. I knew I would see him on Tuesday. And there he was standing at the door! Surprised and happy happy I was. As he always says, my face was smiling and glowing. ‘I am so happy, and I missed you’, I said as I hugged him tight.

All reasons to smile!

I was soo happy! The silly smiling face of his can make me relaxed and merry always. He had brought me a big pack of kinder eggs chocolate. Oh, how I love getting those tiny gifts inside the kinder eggs. ‘Make me a glass of menthol or lemon drink please. No menthol’. We talked a bit about his trip and about what I was doing over the days. We discussed some Christmas plans a bit, and others. I showed him my drawings. And the new ‘Cats in crisis’ poster from National Geographic. I heated for him some chicken I had cooked yesterday. And packed the other little tit bits I had kept for him to taste. He saw the new photo-frame I had got in the picnic yesterday. I showed him some pictures. And all the time I was blabbering gleefully like always. He went home after a short visit; poor tired him. 

 It is the end of the day and the melancholy is replaced by the bright happy radiance. 

It wasn’t so bad a Sunday after all. I used acrylic painting for the first time with pleasing outcome. In the excitement, I drew something else too. I had interesting articles to read in newspaper. I cooked and ate some typical Bengali food that I was missing for a long time. I talked to my parents about things nice. And the cherry on the cake, Blaž surprised me with his little visit. Also, I got this big pack of kinder eggs. Now I am writing about my day all cheery. And then, I will go to bed with my book. Smiling I will sleep into the dreamland. It was good actually. Very good!

A very happy Sunday!!

Let's turn on the lights!!

Yesterday we turned on the lights!! The city in its brilliance and glitter is now anticipating the festive days. The sparkling lights have also made the faces around radiant with smiles.

Switching on the lights is my favorite event in December Ljubljana. All these days on way to work and around, I saw how slowly they were putting up the lights and the huge Christmas tree at the city center.  Finally, yesterday, all the city got lit up with these sparkling dots. The lights are turned on every year on 3 December, the birth anniversary of France Prešeren, the national poet of Slovenia. There is a little ceremony at the Prešeren statute in the city center. And then, with the countdown, the lights turn on.

Yesterday afternoon I quickly dressed myself up and was all set to go out. Even though this time a sudden increase in the temperatures had made the standing and waiting for the lights less chilly, it had also brought the rains. So, I grabbed my umbrella and stepped out. At the bus stop, it was an unusual spectacle. There was such a big crowd! It was even bigger than the morning rush hours. The bus came. And it was impossible to get in. I boarded the next bus that would take me a couple of stops before my destination. I decided to walk that little distance.

The drizzles and downpour could not dampen the mood. The entire city was directed towards the city center. Young people with cheerful chatters and happy company walked on. They had plans for party the whole evening. Young couple walked hand-in-hand. It was a nice romantic and cheery evening. Children walked holding hands of parents. In little woolen caps, their faces were filled with glee. They knew Santa Claus is coming soon. Even elders weren’t at home. In their feeble steps, they walked towards the merry city center. And I was also another pair of happy feet and glowing face in that crowd.

Slowly I made my way to some favorable spot by the Three-bridges. It was a bit difficult to find the space, especially because of the rain. Everything was covered with open umbrellas and it was annoying to walk through the crowd trying to find a spot from where I would have a nice view of the tree and the decorations. I was in such a dilemma. Should I keep the umbrella open, or should I just close it? The rain was not just a little drizzle. I did not wish to get wet and catch the cold back. But it was so difficult to have an open umbrella! Ahh..

The little crowded city center by Ljubljanica River was all covered with darkness, except the Prešeren statue. It was lit up and decorated. The ceremony started.

The city mayor addressed the crowd. And there were famous songs performed by musical groups from schools. It is so happy an event to see all the people singing. The music played and the crowd sang along. Happy music and happy chatters. They recited some known poetry. Poetry about lights, and happiness, and festivity. The music, the cheer, the crowd, the glowing statue amidst all dark, it was so beautiful and magical. And my heart sang along with the melody.

Finally, it was time for what we were waiting. Ljudje, prižgimo luč! People, let’s turn on the light!

Everyone was excited. All the cameras, video recorders, and mobile phones were ready. All eyes were fixed at the dark city profile.

Ten.. Nine.. Eight.. Seven.. Six.. Five.. Four.. Threee.. Twoo..

Oneeeee..

And it is all glowing! The Christmas tree and church at Ljubljana city center

And the lights turn on.. Everyone bursts out into the loudest ‘Yaaaaa’.. The festivity is announced..

The Christmas tree gets covered with yellow sparkles. And there appear out of nowhere stars and spheres, and the spirals of galaxies. The theme is same always. It represents the vastness of the universe in all the solar systems, galaxies and stars. And it also shows the speck of life, the DNA in its double helical glory.  Some children were even lighting those sprinkling crackers. The winter fair also started. Little shops with food and trinkets lined the riverbank. The smell of sugar roasted almonds, cooked wine, cinnamon was in the air. The smell of winter. The smell of festivity. Everyone was ecstatic. I walked around in that cheerful crowd. Everything looked happy. And it was like a little fairytale.

I am always fascinated by lights.  Especially when darkness lights up in bright specks of happiness. This is the reason I love Mahalaya, to witness the break of beautiful autumn dawn announcing the greatest festivals in Bengal. This is why I went to the city center. To countdown, and see the lights glow all around me. Festivals for me are all about being happy, being surrounded by people, and enjoying all the good and positive things of life. And this transformation from dark to bright in a magical and mystic way always represents the essence of festivity to me. It made my little heart flutter with happiness. I love those lights.

As I took the steps towards home, I looked back once more. The city was glowing. I stood and looked on, letting everything seep down deep in me. The happy lights of promises.. The happy sounds of festivity.. The happy smell of winter.. The happy me..

Through the window..

I took my eyes off the glaring computer screen and looked out through the window. It gives the well-deserved rest to my tired eyes working whole day in front of the computer. The little window in my office frames a pine tree, roofs of the nearby houses, the grey façade of some ministry building and then some more trees beyond. However today, the picture had turned unfamiliar. Each detail had vanished in the dense fog. For a moment, I was confused. ‘What is happening outside?’ Somehow as the familiar sight outside hazed out, a hint of unfamiliarity crept inside me. Even though everything was just the same, the fact that I was unable to see the familiar objects through my window made me somewhat placed in an unfamiliar environment. I realized, not just the arrangement of furniture or the color of the wall, what I see when I look through the window also forms a part of the familiarity where I feel comfortable every day.

I now know why my grandma’s dining room window is not as special to me for past few years. As a child, I used to sit there for hours, running between kitchen and the dining room window as my grandma was busy preparing some delicious meal in the kitchen. I would feed the crows in the morning. Look out at the garden, the blooming flowers, ripening fruits and birds that used to come. I would count the coconuts in the tree and admire the slender smooth trunk of the betelnut tree. Sometimes I would sit there with my drawing supplies and take inspiration from the garden. During hot lazy afternoons, grandma and I would sit there for endless chats. Beyond the garden there used to be this huge empty land. In monsoon days, boys from the camp would play there football and other games. I always wondered how one reached there. A fenced plot was nearby, covered in a thicket and different trees. That window was a place for lazy dreamy wandering of a childish heart.

I do not know when it exactly happened, but slowly everything changed. I grew up and along the time, the world outside that window changed. Grandma’s age did not allow her to take care of the garden so much anymore. However, the most prominent change was the building of the houses in those empty lands beyond the gardens. The openness that the window used to offer shrank to the garden only, limited by all the concrete around. Always used to see the coconut tree against the green background, it was a drastic change to see it now against the huge apartment building. Even the sky shrank in its limits. I was no longer always able to see the trails of the airplanes as they crossed above us. Maybe I never took time to familiarize myself with the changed picture. The increasing works in school did not allow me to spend most of the summer holidays with grandma. Nevertheless, I do not really think that is the reason. Through the window, I used to get a vast canvas to paint with lazy thoughts and wanderings. The limited and altered view also limited the comfort and warmth associated with it. The window was never the same.

Our house in India had some vacant plots all around, ready for houses to be built, but somehow still empty. And in the meantime wild climbers and bushes had taken the place of the houses. There were birds and little animals all around. My windows overlooked to two such empty plots of both sides of the house. I remember the long hours we spent sitting on the window the first time Blaž visited home. He got introduced to common tropical plants through that window. Last time we visited, there was a house standing in that place blocking all the view. How many times we exclaimed “Ah, we miss the window”.. The changed view outside changed something about the window. It is no longer familiar.

This spring while working in San Francisco, the first thing that made me feel comfortable in my rented room was the window. It overlooked the garden. I would come back to the room after a tiring day; and more than the things in the room, the similar view through the window made me feel at ease in that place. In a temporary accommodation, I do not feel associated with the furniture and arrangement of things in the room. It is the view outside the window that I relate to more easily. The view outside gives me some sense of belonging to the place, even if temporary. And so it did. Looking at the buildings and the expanding sea beyond from my work-desk is what made the desk my own for the three months.

We are most comfortable in our own space. A space that is familiar to us in all its little elements. That gives us all the warmth and security of belonging. That not only just defines the space but somehow us too. The arrangement of furniture, the little colorful corner of books, the little things and pictures on my desk, the orchid plant, all my spices in a row, the train picture on the wall, and even the little red wall clock, all these make my apartment mine. It can be not prim and proper always, but because I know everything in that mess, I do not feel like an intruder. When I come to work, I come to what I had left the day before. I can easily fit back into it.  However, things are not the only elements to define a place. The family at home and the colleagues at work, they bring the smiles and create the memories in those places I call my own. And then, there is the window. I look out in a solitary moment, I take a break, I admire a pretty view, or I simply check the weather. All these while I am assured that I will look out at the same buildings, the same plants, the same square of sky. The constancy of the view outside gives a sense of stability to the little world of mine inside the room. A change somehow creates confusion, and an eerie feeling seeps in unconsciously. 

It takes me a few days to get familiar with a changed arrangement in my closet. It takes even longer to look out with the eyes of familiarity at a changed view outside my window. And sometimes that never happens. The change slowly makes the place itself foreign for me. I fell back into the comfort zone instantaneously realizing it to be only a temporary veil of fog hiding the known view from me. I could never get used to the changed picture outside my childhood windows. My happy memories simply do not fit in there any more..

The plans and wait..

After all the waiting, all the eager anticipations, all the preparations, all the excitements we are again back to the same routine life. The festival is over.

Last week, Bengal celebrated Durga Puja. It is the greatest festival of us Bengalis, a festival worshiping goddess Durga, symbolizing the win of good over evil. In the end however, it is a celebration of life, joy and happiness, in the most glittering and grand scale possible. The festival officially started last Sunday, semi-officially seven days before that with Mahalaya. However, in reality, it had started months before with all the preparations. Month long preparations for just five days. And after those wild five days, everything just has to go back to the same routine. One can stretch it for a couple of days more. But the sad tune starts playing already on the evening of the fourth day. With immersion of the idol the next day and distribution of sweets, we sadly remember, ‘from tomorrow it is the old life again’. It makes us all sad. Even sitting in a different continent with no sign of festivity around me, I am sad that the puja is over

It all starts with the para clubs (neighborhood clubs) frantically trying to finalize their themes for the year. It is only February, when the club members are already busy with the meetings, brain storming different ideas for a festival in October! The smaller clubs would start with their discussions a bit later, but still quite a few months before the puja. In their case, it is mostly about the budget and other technicalities.

As the grey sky slowly turns pristine blue, and kash (a typical autumn weed with white blossoms) blooms in the fields, you suddenly see all around that there is this air of festivity. One morning, some bamboo poles on the blind-end lane or the nearby field will announce the coming festivity. It is coming, it is coming. The greener fields, the bluer sky, the merrier air, all announce, it is coming.

People start with their shopping slowly. I think we Bengalis buy the most clothes during this occasion. One has to get at least five sets of clothes for wearing on the five days. Better if it is ten, for wearing each morning and evening new clothes. Then there is jewelry and other accessories to match the new clothes. From roadside stalls to glossy shopping malls, everything gets busier as days get closer. Then one has to of course buy new shoes. And the new attire is not only for us. The house needs some refurnishing; let us wait for the puja. Planning to buy a new car, let us wait for the puja. If the plans are not so big, then we buy new table clothes, cushion covers, curtains, etc etc. We seem to schedule everything around those five days. For those five days.

Idol makers get busy with making the idols of the goddess. However, just before the festivity, they have to work all night to finish in time. The potters get busy making the clay utensils required for the worship rituals. Artists are busy making the pandals, the temporary temples where we will worship the goddess. Each pandal turns out to be such a beautiful work of art. Also, no less busy are those simple pandals with smaller budgets. People are busy creating pictures with little colorful light bulbs, beautiful decorations that will light up the whole city for those five nights. The special shops get busy stocking up all supplies required for the rituals, and so does the flower shops. A few days ahead, village families are busy picking lotus flowers. Hundred and eight of those are required for offering to the goddess on the most beautiful late night ritual. The drummers set out for Kolkata.

Children are busy deciding which dress they will wear on which day. Counting how many new each one got, they compete with their friends in school. They remain busy planning the games they will play, the storybooks they will read, the fast food they will eat, the pandals they will visit. Those five days will be without any strict rules, five days of freedom to do whatever the heart desires. Young people make plans regarding when they will go out with which friend groups. The pandal hopping routes, the parties, and all other details of the five-day long celebration are carefully decided. The middle-aged people choose to relax and just spend the days in the neighborhood area chatting all day long, visiting friends and family, eating good. Or some of them goes back to become young again and roam around the whole day. Older generation plan for their families, maybe the daughter or the son will return home from their work city. They do not plan to go much out, but still have all modest ideas especially for those five days.

The writers are busy finishing their novels. For this occasion, several literary magazines are published with novels, stories, and essays from eminent writers. Bengalis celebrate festivity with literature also. Special features start on the newspapers and magazines. New individual books are published, new music albums are released. All puja special.

The media is busy reporting the themes of the famous clubs for the year, the latest fashion, and so on. The advertisements are targeted for this occasion, and there are a lot of offers and discounts in every shop. This is also the time when people go for vacations, and there are even ‘puja special’ trains! The traffic control board has those important meetings to come up with strategic methods for controlling the passionate crowd those puja days.

Now if we are talking about festivals, can we leave out food? Therefore, families plan what special dishes they are going to cook. The best restaurants in the cities are noted down in the list ‘to visit’ during these five days. The restaurants get busy putting together the puja special menu. Traditional recipes are on the magazines. In some neighborhood, the lunches are planned in the community hall for these days. The people in charge of arranging the food seem to have the most important job among all.

Outside Bengal, and even outside India, wherever there are a few Bengali families, together they plan and try to organize the puja in their own way. They get busy with the preparations. The idol must be arranged to be shipped from some interior village of Bengal. A nice cultural program is planned and rehearsed. The lunch menu consists of typical Bengali delicacies. All in an effort to get a flavor of their roots, a flavor of the festive hometown away from home.

What about me? Well, here there are not any puja or celebration. However, I cannot spend these festive days pretending them to be just any other day. So I plan to wear new clothes, and dress up. I plan to cook special dinner each evening, a dinner with desserts. I plan to check the websites putting up detailed pictures of the celebrations in my Kolkata. I simply plan to make everything special in their little ways.

 Everyone is just busy planning before the puja…

After all these preparations, planning, excitements, anticipations, expectations, the puja came. Those happy, crazy, glittery, grand, extreme five days of festivity. Then suddenly it is over. The five days pass by more quickly than one can even imagine. The eager plans quickly transform into happy memories of past. We had so much fun and created such beautiful memories. However, there is nothing to look forward to, to plan for, and to feel crazy about. We wait and wait and wait for it so eagerly, and then it comes and goes in a blink. And we do feel sad. We feel sad to go back to the routine again. Sometimes maybe waiting is so much more exciting..

Well..

Asche bochor abar hobe

Next year it will happen again..

Soon we will be busy planning for that. Someone rightly said, we Bengalis live from one puja to another.

The train and me

Kuuu... Jhik jhik.. Jhik jhik.. The whistle blows. The train slowly departs from the platform. I am by the window. My face, pressed against the window rod, looks back to the busy Howrah station. I look down at the rail lines, how the train is changing tracks. I try to follow one until it gets lost in another. Slowly the train picks up speed. One after another, it is passing the electricity poles by the rail line. A dimly lit small station comes. By the time, I could read the name, the train hurries by it. I now look inside the train, the people around. Wow! I am riding a train after so long. I am going to a new place for holiday. How exciting is that!! With the rhythm of the moving train, my thoughts get lost in the vanishing horizon outside the window.

This used to be the picture every time I boarded the train as a little girl and headed towards a new holiday destination. And after all these years, the picture is still the same. Today also, I am similarly excited to board a train. My face remains glued to the window as the scenery outside changes. Therefore, with an occasion or without, I am always happy to be on the train. As I was on the steam train (museum train for tourism) all excited, happy and smiling some days ago. The wind messed my hair and I smelled the smoke, and along with came back all my little train memories..

The recent steam train ride

After getting to know about the destination, the next question during our childhood vacation planning used to be about the train. How long would the train journey last? Were we going to spend the night in the train? Train train. A vacation was not complete without it. And a train ride was not complete without a overnight journey!

The olden times of sleeper class journey. Dad would try to get two tickets with the window seats, and two with the middle berths. Both were must. Brother and I would spend the day by the window sides. For sleeping at night, we occupied the middle berths. I do not know what amusement we found in sleeping on the middle berth. And dad had to make us a temporary fence with some nylon ropes joining the bars holding the berth. A measure to prevent us from falling during our sleepy wander! Another attraction to us was inflating the air pillows. I would inflate two, and brother would get two. We would inflate a bit, and then while we tried to catch our breath, it would deflate again!

My face used to be fixed by the window. The wind would play with my hair. The eyes will turn a bit watery in the constant wind. Ma would say, during her childhood she also used to do the same. Then it used to be coal engine. From coal to electric, the technologies have changed. Nevertheless, the picture by the window side managed to remain constant. A curious face, looking out to the unknown world.

Outside, the frames of picture change one after another. Green villages of Bengal. Little ponds, the dark shade of trees, paddy fields, a little hut. Soon wheat fields replace the paddy in my picture frame. Leaving that behind, the landscape becomes drier. Empty fields, grazing cattle.  In Bengal the huts are thatched with dried hay. In other places, dried date leaves thatched the hut. Look, isn’t the shape of these huts a bit different than the ones in Bengal. The tiles are also roundish instead of squarish. Oh, and there, is that a date plant dad? What crop is this in the field? The train then goes by a little town. On the other side of the level crossing, cars, cycles, vans, scooters are waiting for the train to pass. Then there are again just fields dotted with villages. A group of little boys runs along the train on the narrow mud path. Their bare feet are trying to be faster than the train; their faces are glowing with innocent glee. The railroad makes a bend. With my head almost out of the window, I try to count the number of train cars. Lost in thoughts, I idly read the milepost number. And then suddenly.. Jham Jham Jham Jham.. The train crosses the bridge with the loud metallic sound.

The train stops at a big junction station. So many trains. Announcements in different language. Everything looks so busy! The hawkers walking by our window with all those yummy fast foods makes my mouth water. Bhaiya, give me one serving of the fries. Can a train ride be complete without buying these fast foods through the window? Dad gets down with our water bottles. There my brother starts getting nervous, will dad manage to board the train before it leaves! Those were the days when mineral water bottles were not available everywhere. In each big station, around a single drinking water tap would gather a big crowd trying to refill their bottles. 

Where are you going? The question comes from the opposite seat, and begins a chatty conversation with the co-passenger. In between all these, the lunch is served from the pantry car. I do not know how we used to find that food so tasty! After growing up, I would never even try it. Surprisingly, then the food in those aluminum foils and boxes was one tasty exciting thing. Those almost watery lentils, chicken pieces in oil and spices, almost cold rice or paratha. I loved the fish sandwiches we used to pack from home for the first night if our train was departing in the evening. And I remember how getting food every hour drove us crazy while we were travelling with Rajdhani Express (a semi-luxury train), even though it was so tasty. With the food there used to be a lot of toffees, chocolates, and lozenges. I remember the Parle Mango Bite and Orange lozenges. Strangely, I do not like them anymore. Either they are not any more the same, or I have grown up..

I remember the first ride on First class train compartment. A closed-door four seated arrangement. Uff, I can never forget the excitement and apprehension before the ride. I was so surprised when we got the bedding during our first AC compartment journey. Our sleeper class journeys slowly turned into travelling in AC cars. The calls of the hawkers, the buying fast food through the windows stayed on the other side of the glass windows. Boring but comfortable. However, buying the comfort could change only that much of the whole picture, the rest remained same. Only, instead of the iron rods, my cheeks now touched the glass as I looked out of the window.

I remember the numerous and never-ending journey between Pune-Kolkata during the college days. For the first time a bit of sadness mingled with the joy ride on train. For the first time I was travelling with train alone. Ah, I used to be so exhausted after the 34 hours journey. Those whole night chats with Beenish. Our topics ranged from books, college gossips, philosophy, serious things, and back to boys. Or I would just finish the new book in hand in those two days. As the train would cross the Kolaghat Bridge, I would say, ‘okay, one more hour’. Train brought the joy of returning home after a busy semester.

Now a days, I mostly travel by air. From the steam trains my parents rode, to Sleeper class of my childhood days, to AC, and now flights; the world has changed. Nevertheless, train still evokes the same excitement wrapped in curiosity, the same as Apu-Durga^*. I have grown beyond the days when before the school bell we all friends used to play ‘train-train’ in a line. Nevertheless, as the train runs towards a new direction, my thoughts get lost in the myriad of dreams. That is why I am so excited to go on this museum steam train ride. That is why I am eager to join Blaž for any train ride. A train ride just to ride the train. That is why I just go to see the Howrah station when I visit home. To me train still means vacations, so much fun, a new place, new landscapes, crowded stations, loud announcements, hawkers, the green fields spreading outside the window, a book in my hand, a sudden music that I start humming, the metallic clanks of changing lines, me by the window, and the whistle blows..

Kuuuuu….

*Apu and Durga are characters from one of my favorite books, ‘Pather Panchali’ by Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhayay. The part in the book describing their innocent curiosity, excitement and longing to see the train for the first time, according to me, is the most romantic and true narration of the wonder that trains bring to a child. To me. 

The sound-words used in describing the train are those typically used in Bengali language.

My school bag

Do you remember the first bag you carried to school?

I was coming to work today. With school that just started at beginning of September, there are many excited first graders around in the morning. All holding their prized possession, their school bag, wearing the reflective collar were eager to go to school. I watch them every day. However, today, I just noticed this girl with her pink Disney princess bag, and went back to my first school days. Well, actually the first school bag.

In India, children start school 2-3 years before the first grade. The pre-school or nursery school. Though similar to a kindergarten in concept, it is somewhat different. In all these 12 years of school, plus 3 years of pre-school, I possessed many bags in all fancy colors and shapes. However, I really do not remember them. I do not even remember the first day to school. It is a very fuzzy memory overlapped with memories that I suspect are from later days. However, I remember in all details, the simple bag I was carrying the first day to my school. And the water bottle that hung around my neck.

It was the simplest bag I ever had. A little rectangular bag in the strangest shade of grey-brown. I cannot even describe the color. It was not exactly grey. If one imagines grey with a splash of brown thrown in, maybe one would get the color. The borders were in black. There were two black buckles strapping the open flap to the bag. On the flap, on a small black tag was written ‘Duck Back’ in cursive white. The bag’s rectangular shape would stick a bit out of the narrow frame of my body. Inside there were three pockets. The long big one was for my books and exercise books. The other part stitched in the middle formed two smaller pockets. The right one was for my lunch box. The left carried my pencil box and the hardbound school notebook. I remember how I found the plastic buckles interesting. It appeared such a smart mechanism to the three year old me. I liked fastening my bag often.

I remember how my books used to be arranged inside my bag. Bigger ones at the back and the smaller ones in the front. The small exercise books would be made into two neat equal piles and put in front of the books, side by side. I remember one particular incident. I wished some change in the arrangement of the contents of my bag. However, I could not figure out a very distinct variation. Only decided to carry my lunch box and notebook together in the right pocket. However, by the time my teacher asked for the notebook (it was used by teacher to write notes to parents etc), I had forgotten all about it. I told her I had forgotten to bring it. My surprise knew no bound when it appeared from the right pocket along with my lunch box during the lunch break!! Oh, silly me, I had just kept it in the right pocket!

My water bottle was another prized possession of mine. It was transparent, with brown belt, and cap with the nozzle. However, the cap covering the nozzle was not just a cap, but a mini box! No one in my class had a water bottle like that, and I was so proud of it. Ma would often times put something little in that box. A candy, some fruit, some sweet. A little treat in the little box!

I like carrying a backpack. Often I find it very practical and useful. My present one is an indigo blue with black. I am planning to replace it soon. And I am sure, I will not remember this current one for long after I stop using it. But, I know, I will always remember my first bag. I was proud of my bag. Of myself. I can close my eyes and see the color, the brand, the make, everything. I do not know if I have a picture of the bag. Maybe someday I should check my first day school pictures. But I do have the picture in my mind. And there it will forever stay. My bag and the delight of a three year old.

The cows in a parade

For two years, I wished to go to this event. Finally, last Sunday I went. When I came to know about the event in 2009, I decided to go the next year. However, last year we were all set to go, but the weather was not on our side. First, it was postponed by a week due to heavy rain. Then, as there was no improvement in weather after a week, the Sunday event was finally cancelled. The forecast this year was also not good. Rain was predicted for the afternoon. However, we decided to pay no attention to it. The event was not cancelled. ‘We will go and see what happens, if weather turns too ugly, we will simply return’. This is what we thought, and set out in the morning. And what a day we had!!

I am talking about the ‘Kravji Bal’ or the ‘Cow ball’. It is one unique and maybe one of the lesser-known country festivals in Slovenia. By the beautiful and pristine Bohinj lake with the lofty Julian Alps looking over, Slovenia welcomes its cows back into the valley after a summer of grazing high up in the pastures of the Alps. Local farmers proudly decorate their fattened cows with wreaths and bells and walk them in a parade. Later the healthiest and best-looking cows are awarded. The herd keepers walk proudly by their herds, back in the valley after a summer-long hard work. Dairy families dress up in traditional dresses. There is folk song and dance. Fresh homemade chesses, butter, yogurt are for tasting and buying. There are also small stands with honey, wicker baskets, sheep wool, woodenwares, and many other local traditional handicrafts. For eating, there is the usual sausage, sour cabbage, porridge etc. Everyone merry and gay!

In the morning, I woke up excitedly with the thoughts of finally going to the festival. After a quick breakfast, we started towards Bohinj. The weather though cloudy and hazy, was not very bad. And we were keeping our fingers crossed. Though Bohinj is one of my favorite places, I was visiting it after long time. I had forgotten the roads, and enjoyed driving by the Sava river, in the valley. Soon there in front of us was Bohijn lake in all its pristine beauty. On a clear sunny day, its still water mirrors the majestic beauty of the overlooking mountains. However, this time it was not meant to be so. There were already a few drops of rain.. 

We parked the car. I could already hear the lively folk music from the festival ground, and could barely keep my patience to reach there. The sky in the meantime was dark with clouds. As we were walking, there started a heavy downpour. The person on stage commented that it was high time for some rain, as past weeks had been very very dry. Within me, my heart sank. I knew if it continues raining like that, we would just have to return.

Before going in the ground, we decided to walk by the stalls on the road. There were all sorts of things. Wooden work, wind wheels in traditional shapes of bee, roster etc, wicker baskets, woolens and so on.

Everyone at the shops was busy protecting their merchandise from the rain. People were taking shelter under the plastic roofs of the shops. At one end, there is this big demonstration and advertisement area for wood machines. One was demonstrating the making of sawdust from logs. People gathered around there. Even grandmas! Their lives in farms have made them interested in these kinds of machines. And as we were watching it for fun, the rain slowly stopped. The wind pushed away the clouds, and the sky cleared for a bit.

The folk music was so catchy; we slowly headed towards the festive ground. In the center, there were wooden tables and benches for sitting down to have some lunch, drink, or for simply chatting. Surrounding the sitting area were different stalls for handcrafted traditional objects. Wicker basket, woolen from sheep wool, laces, crochet works, cloth dolls, little trinkets, wooden souvenirs etc. There was a stall where they were making nets and meshes from horsehair. There were stalls selling Slovene honey in all different flavors. And of course there were several stalls selling homemade dairy products! We tasted the samples of yummy cheeses. There were different spreads made of young cheese and spices. Then there were fresh cottage cheese, sour milk, milk, yogurt and so on… All fresh, celebrating the authentic flavors. We decided on the cheeses we would like to buy before going.

On one side, there was a stage for the music and dance performances. And in between the conductor was keeping us entertained. The merry sound of the accordion enlivened the whole place. And with its rhythm men and women dressed in folk dresses tapped their feet. Men made the cherry ‘ya-ho’ sounds, and the women in white apron swayed their long colorful skirts in style. All around it was celebration with sounds and colors of olden Slovenia. People danced in organized performances. People danced just because it was fun to do so. There were children from elementary and high schools performing. There were professional groups. And just any other person of any age. Some dressed up in traditional dresses. Some were just in some bright colors. People were drinking beer. Children were running around.  It was so vibrant all around me.

The dairy families

The cows were about to come at 1 o’clock. And I couldn’t wait for them. In the meantime, we decided to visit the horses and cows in the fenced area.

 Aww, do not they have the most gentle and calming eyes? There was a brown horse getting ready to give rides to children. As the owner was tending to its shoes, it had put his face on his back, rubbing its face against the owner, licking him. Then the horse looked out at its audience. Sniffing a bit, it would bring its head closer for a gentle patting. The cute animal was just trying to be so friendly as it was getting my attention and pampering. There were two little brown calves and a brown bull in one fence. The bull tried to put up a serious face, looking all smart in its headgear. With an air of pride, it ignored all the visitors. The calves were just enjoying the attention, pampering, and food (pears) they were getting.

They were already starting to put the temporary fence for the cow parade. We headed towards having lunch. Sausage, sour cabbage with cracklings. We found a seat, but could hardly pay attention to the food. The minute it was getting closer to 1 o’clock, the more impatient I was getting. I simply wished to get a place by the fence and wait for the parade. Soon we were there in place. And a bit past 1 o’clock, the parade started. 

First came two little girls dressed in cow costumes. And then came the cows. Each group at a time, along with the owner family, the herd keeper. All were dressed in traditional costumes. Herd keepers dressed in their traditional working style, check shirts, long boots, the hat and carrying the basket-like-thing on their back. They carried with them all the supplies that would be required for their mountain months. There were explanations about the things required by a herd keeper, a short description about his life up there in the mountains with his cows. Women and little girls were dressed in bright colors carrying baskets with dairy products. There was a huge cheese block drawn on a cart. And then there were the cows!

 So cute and endearing they were. Some had little bells by the ears. Some had their horns decorated with pine greens. Pine greens and flowers made wreaths around the head for some. They walked in lines. They ran a bit, confused. They stopped to approach the people standing by the sides. They pushed each other for fun. They mooed loudly. Made their bells ring. It was the most adorable, charming and funny parade I have ever seen. And the show stopper was of course the youngest one. It was only a 22 hours old calf. Named Sobotko (Saturday). Warm brown color, with a white tail, it had the silliest face ever. It looked in wonder and amazement. Walked in its wobbly style by the mother. And then, it stopped posing for photographs!

The star of the show - Sobotko

The cows were led to their respective group fences where they would be judged. The crowd was gathered by the fences. And of course the largest crowd puller was the new born Sobotko. It was in its fence with two females. Sobotko was inquisitive, trying to approach the people gathered a bit, but never too confident to come very close. Then it would rub by its mother, and drink her milk. Enjoy the attention of the crowd again. Every time a cow mooed, Sobotko mooed back in a silly voice. It was like a game to him. And he was visibly amazed. I moved around, looking at other cows. I loved most the young ones, most inquisitive and playful they were. By the time, I returned to the fence where Sobotko was, he was cuddled up on the hay, and peacefully resting. A cow from the adjacent fence was licking his head.

Now it was time to go home. We decided not to stay until the end, a few more hours. Therefore, it was time for shopping before leaving. We bought two varieties of cheeses. Unfortunately, the last liter of milk was bought just before us, and I could not get the fresh creamy cow milk. It did make me a bit sad. 

Pleasantly tired, we started walking towards the car. I always love to be a part of any festival. Whatever the reason is, people are always so happy. And before you know, you are also one among the many smiling faces. I was a happy girl. Enjoying by tranquility of Bohinj would have to wait for another day. This time it was just to enjoy the warm cherry colorful mood of a country festival and go home with the sound of music, laughter, and of course the ‘moo-s’, echoing around me.

Lazy Saturday

I like all the hustle bustle. I like all the activities. And this is what it was like for the past several weeks, months. Something or the other was always on cards. Therefore, when I woke up last Saturday to the lazy morning, I just realized that it was exactly what I was wishing for quite a while. A lazy Saturday.

I think when I finally checked the time it was 9:30, or maybe 10. I do not remember. I was awake for quite some time, but did not at all bother to check the time. And when I did, it was just to enjoy the pleasure of the clock testifying that I was actually late. My hand searched for the magazine. I did not even trouble myself with lifting my head from the pillow. Inside the cozy warm wrap of the blanket, I started reading a short story. Some casual story in some casual magazine. My toes moved in the rhythm as it always does when I am in a relaxed mood not thinking about anything.

I was still in the bed long after finishing the story, just closing eyes and listening to the sounds of activities outside. “Okay, maybe now I can get up, and brush, and take a shower”. All refreshed, I slowly went down to see what was up there. It was the same lazy picture also there downstairs. As I looked out, it was soaked in the vibrant summer sun.  Flowers were smiling bright. Bees were busy collecting honey. It was too late for breakfast and I was not hungry in particular. I fiddled with a few roasted peanuts. Peeked inside the fridge. I walked around the house. The pumpkin in the garden was getting bigger each day. However, I think, for the moment the pumpkin flowers were alluring me more. I wished to have them crispy fried. I decided to sit for a while outside.

Soon however, I decided to go upstairs. “Maybe I will call my grandma”. Instead, I got busy with emails, youtube videos etc as soon as I switched on the computer. There were good reviews of a recently released Bengali movie. Surprisingly it was already available online. I put it for downloading. “Oh no, it is so slow!!”. I was just feeling like having some chips. Blaž came in the room. Before, he was busy cleaning the car. Now, he would like to put the bed linens for washing. After a long time he got a free weekend and just wished to do what all had to be done. Good boy! On the other hand, I wandered around in the virtual world. I did not feel like doing anything. Not even what was required to be done. “Tomorrow”. Then again, I got absorbed in the supplementary pages of the Bengali newspaper online.

It was late afternoon in India. I wondered what dida was doing, and called my grandma. As age has made all her days like my lazy Saturday, my calls always bring a smile to her face. The story about one of her silly childhood prank made me smile.

After the lunch, I was sitting on the couch with a bowl of ice cream. What can be a better image of a lazy noon? Then we decided to go and visit our urhek-s (yellow-bellied toad) in some nearby water. “Are they there this year too”? It is always the ‘right time’ for me when it comes to frog watching. Spending the noon idly sounds good. Spending the noon spotting and gazing at frogs sounds even better!

 There is a small abandoned quarry nearby. During its functional days, there used to be a small decorative pool, which has now turned almost into ruins. During one of our walks, we noticed yellow-bellied toads (urh in Slovene), great newts, and other water creatures in the little water of the pool. Last year we saw the tiniest possible baby urhs in it. Hence was our trip to the pool. The pool this time had much more water from the past days of rain. Thick algae and weeds covered it. “Will we be able to spot any”? We carefully began scrutinizing the pool.

There, there is one. Just floating in the water. And another one, floating grabbing a weed. The third one had only its eyes peeking. The fourth one was a small one by the edge. I spotted one between some submerged rocks. Then another one. Six we saw in total! Sometimes they felt our presence as we approached close and hid in the water, the hind legs propelling away the water quickly. Sometimes they were oblivious of our advance. We touched the webbed foot of one gently. It simply ignored the touch. Blaž even touched one’s nose, and quickly it hid. The yellow-bellied toads are the silliest ones possible. And we played on them our silly trick. We grabbed a grass weed and put it very close to one of the toad’s mouth. Then gently I swayed the weed. For a second it waited in attention. The next instant, it tried to grab it in mouth. Opening its mouth in quick succession, the toad even tried to use its front leg to grab the ‘insect’. After a while, we found three of them resting in a line!

An urh (yellow-bellied toad) floating

The amount of water made it impossible to see other amphibians and insects. I hoped to see a newt. We were however too afraid to overturn the rocks in the pool. After all, we did not wish to accidentally harm one or intrude their natural abode. There was also some strange insect, which we had not seen before. And the only other creature was the European wall lizard making circles on the warm rocks. I rather wished they were not there. Blaž just wished to grab one and even tried!

There are many wild blackberry bushes around. The red berries were ripening into plump black ones. I collected a handful. They were sweet with a hint of tart. Delicious!

Our next stop was a ditch where we mostly see green marsh frogs during our bicycle rides. The marsh weeds and plants were growing lush green.  The purple weed flowers created a nice picture on the border of yellow crop and green field. The sky was preparing for an afternoon shower. And far there, it was already raining. Blaž stopped to take a picture. A black kitty was sitting in the field. Two crows. There was an unknown bird on the electric wire making a shrill sound. Two grandmas passed by. They wished me one all smiley and most friendly ‘dober dan’. Unfortunately, there was no frog in the ditch. I am sure they were just hiding a bit.

Soon after we reached home, the rain caught up with us. It was a few minutes of heavy downpour. The sun was then again smiling. I transferred our frog pictures in the computer. The movie was still downloading! After dinner, Blaž’s mama asked if I would join her for a short walk. I was talking all the while like always. As the sky turned dusk colors and we headed homewards, we saw a deer. Ears pointed, it looked at us a few times, and then vanished inside the thicket of corns.

The rest of the evening just went by. Sitting on the couch chatting. Maybe I was watching a bit of TV. The rest I do not remember. Maybe I just drifted away in the world of slumber. Or did I?

Cheesecake Factory

I love eating. I like trying different cuisine and great dishes. As long as I have variety and quality, I am happy, and I generally do not eat large portions. Therefore, it was very hilarious when someone was surprised to see me finishing a large entree portion along with the dessert. He was surprised enough to even loudly say so!

Last year in Washington, we had a lovely Saturday exploring the Air and Space museum. We had plans of an early dinner at Cheesecake Factory that afternoon. Therefore, we did not really eat any lunch. The museum interested and intrigued us, and we forgot all about food. There was so much to see! However, at the end of the day, on way back home, we did start feeling hungry and exhausted. And as previously planned, we went to Cheesecake Factory for a heavy lunch-dinner.

I had never had cheesecake before. Hence, it was the reason of the whole plan in the first place. And like always, I found myself pretty excited about trying something new, some delicious dessert.

A waiter led us to our table, a cozy one by the window. Already hungry and tired, we quickly started going through the menu. The cheesecake was supposed to be the focus; therefore, we decided to skip appetizer and simply start with the main course. Blaž and his dad ordered some fried meat and seafood dish; and I decided to take grilled Mahi-Mahi. The portions in USA are quite large than in other countries. So, when our order came, it looked quite a lot. Besides the main protein, our plates were also loaded with mashed potatoes, grilled veggies and so on.. It was almost a bit intimidating. Nevertheless, the plates looked appetizing, and the delicious smell made us even hungrier. Without wasting further time, we just concentrated on our plates. My fish was succulent and flavorful. Though I was daunted initially, the tasty fish and grilled vegetables soon made me feel comfortable. It was a happy lunch with everyone enjoying the food.

Well, half way through the lunch, both Blaž and his dad said they were enough full. I was not. While they were requesting for doggy bags, I finished my plate. I am not sure whether I would have managed to do so if I had ordered something similar like they had. Something thickly coated with crumbs and fried, especially if it is meat, is quite heavy for me. It makes me easily full, and I cannot eat much of it. However, two pieces of fish, and an assortment of vegetables is almost staple for me. It was just with a different flavor. Now which Bengali feels overstuffed eating two pieces of fish, some vegetables, and a bit of potato (treating it as rice)? None! Therefore, being true to the 'food-lovers' tag given to us Bengalis, I finished my plate and was even ready for the dessert. The others had had enough, and could not even imagine of ordering a generous slice of cheesecake at that moment. I however, did order one slice of cheesecake in the classic flavor with fresh strawberry. After all, the whole purpose of going to that restaurant was having cheesecake. I could not possibly leave that out. Especially as I had never tasted it before. The surprise was not my ordering the cheesecake but ordering it for there and not for going. The waiter was visibly surprised and could not hide that. It was so funny to notice his expression.

My cheesecake came adorned with juicy red strawberries and generous dollop of whipped cream, looking all yummylicious. It was so tempting that I could hardly wait. A spoonful of the creamy delicacy made me want more. I loved the subtle play of flavors and the rich creamy texture melting in my mouth. I do have a sweet tooth. And with one spoon, this cheesecake easily made a place in the list of my favorite desserts. Each spoon was an indulgence. The dessert was such a great treat. I would have had another one if I had not just finished a complete entree before. I was just craving for more of that creamy delicacy.

As I was finishing the last few of spoons, the waiter came to ask how everything was. It was delicious, I said. And we asked for the bill. It was my last spoon, when the waiter came with the bill, and the requested doggy bags. I was so pleasantly full and all happy after my food, and specially the dessert. My plate was nicely empty and enjoyed. He could not just contain his surprise. He said, in his whole career of serving at the Cheesecake Factory, he never came across one who finished his large portion of main course and even enjoyed a slice of their delicious namesake. Everyone requests for a doggy bag. He was like ' look such a small looking girl, and yet finished the whole food and dessert'. As he was saying so, I drank my lemonade. He had to comment in a jest, 'well, and the lemonade too, and done'. It was hilarious, the way he said all that. We all were smiling. And I must admit, I was quite a bit embarrassed too. I never ever imagined that my eating would possibly make a story to tell later to friends. It was just grilled fish, not fried, and something light. Something that is staple to me. As I was enjoying the food and had finished it, I never realized it would make such a funny situation. We were all laughing as we left the restaurant. The same girl who need coaxing often times to eat a bit larger portions, made a story with her eating! The waiter must have thought that I eat like monster! I was embarrassed, but it was fun.. I had to tell the story to everyone later, and we had a good laugh.

This weekend, I will be a tourist around the Union Square of San Francisco. There is a Cheesecake Factory just there. Of course, I am going to get a generous portion of the tasty creamy cake. And will have a hearty laugh over it.. Only I will just pack it to go :)

How are you?

'Hi, how are you?' They ask and do not even wait for the answer. And sometimes the answer is repetition of the same question!

We are running everyday and trying to fit in this busy world, leaving us with little time to spare. We are too preoccupied with our own lives to care to know what others are doing. Yet, often when I observe how people greet each other, it never fails to surprise me. A few words, a few lines, somehow are capable of revealing a whole lifestyle.

On way from local market in Kolkata, when you meet your neighbor, despite the presence of the very visible shopping bag, you will hear, 'ki dada, bajar theke firchen (Are you returning from the market)?'. A unique a way to say hello. Often times when there is no time, we offer a friendly smile to a familiar face on the roads. Maybe a 'hi' or 'hello' will accompany the smile if one belongs to the younger generation. When there is a minute to spare both stop to ask 'kemon achen (how are you)?' before departing for their respective destinations. In other cases, a smile and nod of head do the work. Then, one never stops to say hello to a stranger, only maybe a quick smile sometimes is shared. Bengalis do not often care about these too polite formalities; we are more chatty and informal people.

You are in the elevator in your office building in Ljubljana. And as you leave on your floor, you go away saying a 'dan' to wish the others a good day ahead. In Slovenia it can be a friendly 'živjo (hi)' or a bit formal 'jutro (morning)'. Even when one is meeting complete strangers in elevators or on a hiking trail, they pass a quick 'dan', shorter version of dober dan (good day). Depending on the person in front, these compliments are friendly, polite, and sometimes just a formality, following etiquettes. Sometimes when people are meeting a familiar face after long time, they take time to start a little conversation with a 'kako si (how are you)?'. These are friendly, sometimes chatty. It is always so nice to hear the warm and enthusiastic hellos in the less formal settings. But when addressed to a stranger, often times it seem more mechanical to me. Yet, one can get a feeling of belonging together in a same place if the response is a friendly one.

'Hello', 'how are you doing?', 'have a nice one'.. You can hear these one-liners all around San Francisco all the time, addressed to friends, acquaintances, just a known face, and complete strangers. While it can lead to a quick short chat among friends, colleagues who are catching up with each other or discussing business, often times I find it not to be so. Specially with acquaintance or stranger, the lines somehow seems to be thrown to the other person in a hurry. Then without waiting for a response, one moves on. And worst is when the response is just the repetition of the same question. In such cases, it seems not like a polite greeting but a hurried formality dumped on another. It is of course nice and polite to wish people one meets around during the day. However, when people are so rushed, this same act of politeness does not look polite anymore.

When we ask 'how are you?’, except for a few exceptions with close friends and family, we are not really interested in the answer. Both the person asking and the one being asked know it. We all do. This question is more a way to start up a conversation than a sincere one. When people are hurrying to keep in pace with this ultra-fast life, they just try to squeeze out a minute to have a quick chat. People ask how the other person is doing. And these hi-hello-how-are-you chats are always pleasant and fun when there is a moment to spare. But then, why bother to ask 'how are you?' when one is not even pretending to be asking? Then one even gets as an answer just the same question asked back with the similar nonchalant tone. Both rushes off with their life, without waiting for any answer at all. Well, the answer never comes, and actually, no one was expecting an answer in the first place! We cannot possibly spare time to engage in a chat with all the familiar faces we meet each day. However, in such cases a smiling nod, a hi, a good day etc show very well the acknowledgment in a polite manner. Asking a question without wanting to hear an answer or answering back with the same question is strange to me! It is even rude to a certain extent instead of being polite. It may not register to us as we go away in haste. No one thinks about the exchange in any negative way. It is just a style of greetings, a lifestyle. But, in a way it makes the fact more evident that how little we care, if at all. Everyone of us.. And that is one sad thing to realize..

Daisies

My first English book was the Grimm’s Fairy Tales. A world of princes, princesses, angry witches, cute animals, gingerbread houses, and magnificent palaces it was. I just loved reading the stories and adored the pretty illustrations. And besides all those pictures of handsome princes and pretty dresses and silly animals, there was this one picture that stood apart to me.

It is a picture from the story Little Red Riding Hood. Red Riding Hood on her way to her grandma is passing by the woods. There in a little open of the wood, the green is dotted white with gentle daisies. She stops to pick those up. Her basket is lying there on the grass, unattended. The big bad wolf is there from somewhere far peeking at her. She is sitting there, busy picking daisies. Her hands are already full. But she wishes more. Oblivious of everything she is lost in those gentle beauties.

This particular picture gave rise to a whispering wish in my heart. There was something very simple and innocent in that picture, which the little girl in me longed to experience. And along with many dreams from the fairy land, this wish was kept safe.

I have loved being in nature and amongst flowers from always. It showers me with some calming happiness. And the wild flowers growing for its own happiness always made me smile. I love wild flowers more than those in tended pretty gardens. The wild mountain flowers growing carelessly by the road filled me with such happiness during our summer mountain holidays. Sometimes I plucked a few. Sometimes I just admired their beauty from far. However, among all these wild flowers, the dream still remained untouched. But it was not lost. Someday, just someday, it will surely come true.

I reached Slovenia among all the hues of red autumn, and then witnessed a glorious winter. Then as the snow melted and the first blades of grass peeped out, I could see the footsteps of spring. It was my first spring in Slovenia. Flowers started to wake up from their winter slumber. Everything started to bloom. And also daisies. Lots and lots and lots and lots of daisies...

Daisies were everywhere. By the side of the road, on the green of the pavement, on the endless fields, and in the shade of the wood. Adorning the lovely green meadows, their gentle petals fluttered in the breeze. And how delighted and happy my heart was.

Every morning on way to work, I enjoyed them. Early morning, they were still sleeping, all curled up in a circle. Some had faint pink on the tip of the petals. Those looked like white discs with a pink dot. And as the gentle sun and morning dew touched them, they slowly woke up. They opened up to the warmth of the sun and freshness of morning breeze. The whole day long, they were just be there, smiling to the world, swinging gently, and again stopping to wonder. They said hi to bees and other flowers.

Over the weekends, I went for long walks in the nature. The sun, the green, the colors, and the daisies, it was such a beautiful spring morning. I picked one. I picked another. And.. Then slowly I went into the meadow leaving my road behind. I forgot other things. The only sound was the buzzing of bees. I was just enwrapped in the innocence of the daisies. My hands were full. But I still gently plucked another one. I had touched my dream..

Gentle and pristine were those daisies. And so was that little dream. Such precious little piece of happiness could this simple wish bring with it. I was happy and happy. My heart was fluttering.

I have so many dreams in life. Fulfillment of those makes me happy. Always makes me smile. And among those big big dreams, a little dream like this one, wrapped in fairytale, always remains as one most special. Because, like those daisies, these little dreams are also simple, gentle, and true in its essence. These dreams are the true whispers of my heart.

How much will you pay?

A few weeks ago, I was walking around at Hyde Street Pier, enjoying the view and maritime history. The roadsides were busy with vendors, most selling fashion accessories. There were also some painters making portraits and caricatures, along with some scenic views of San Francisco. Watching these street artists always remind me of the painters in Kolkata Book Fair, and recently of the artists in Rome. And, along came the memory of a little incident from Rome that had stirred me to the core.

Rome was a perfect destination for my summer holidays, a city of art and history. Rome presented to me a rich collection of paintings, sculptures, architectures, mythology, religion, culture, and practices. Every day I was just enjoying the glorious Renaissance arts; and was revisiting history in the heart of Roman Empire and Catholic world where all truths and myths became indistinguishable. But this is not about Rome. It is about a small insignificant incident I witnessed there, and which many may have witnessed in other touristy corners of the world. An incident so normal and usual to us, that it rarely leaves any mark.

You go to any famous Piazzas of Rome, there are many artists sitting there and painting, like many other tourists spots. There are many painters giving life to the history on the paper with their colors. Some are students from art colleges. Some enjoy painting as a hobby. However, for most it is a means of livelihood. They are selling those paintings to the tourists. They are painting portraits, caricatures, historic Rome, or some beautiful scenery of nature. And all these paintings too my amateur eyes looked really beautiful. Like always, I was admiring the works of these street painters as I was walking around in the afternoon.

We were on the top of the Spanish steps. Looking onto the lazy touristy city, we were enjoying the Bernini designed Piazza di Spagna with the interesting Fountain of the old boat and the famous steps lit in the afternoon sun. Like in other corners, here also were some artists. I could hear some woman bargaining with the artist somewhere close by. However, this bargaining was only like some background noise, as all my attention was to the famous display of architecture in front of me. Yet, soon, a single statement called all my attention to this bargaining.

Not satisfied with the price, the lady had decided to not buy the painting. As she started walking away, the artist in his last effort to sell, said, “okay madam, how much will you pay?”

'How much will you pay?' 'How much will you pay?' The question instantly struck me somewhere. In one moment, I was on the busy roads of Kolkata. 'O didi, bolun koto deben?' one of the most heard lines on the vendor busy sidewalks of New Market, Gariahat was echoed in a different language there in the streets of Rome. The last effort of one seller to sell a particular commodity. But.. Is a painting same as cushion covers, handbags, and fashion jewelry? A painting by Raphael is priceless, while that by some unknown artist is just a commodity! The words 'commercialization', 'market value' etc have made most creative art forms a commodity in today's practical world or have made it a lost art. Those who could make their name a brand get the price they ask. And for whatever practical reasons, many creators are forced to go through bargaining to sell their creations and earn bread. I am well aware of this reality. Standing there, I was not really questioning it. My heart was lost in some different thoughts.

I have never really learnt painting, but I enjoy doing it. It is something very close to my heart. I know my inexperienced efforts are neither perfect nor something great. But they are priceless to me. I create them with lots of love, respect and leave a piece of my heart in each of those creations. My drawings or any creation is very close to my heart. I am very possessive about them. And somewhere I believe, each one thinks the same about their own creations.

Standing in the city rich with art, I wondered, what did this particular artist think? What did he feel? What do they feel? Are these unknown artists thinking anything when the price of their creations is just limited to the price tag? Or is he not thinking anything at all? Trying to meet the ends in this everyday bargaining, is he then just another seller? Reality is keeping away his thoughts and feelings. Or is it that, everyday somewhere deep down, his creative soul is getting hurt? I do not know... I do not..

Houses in rows

I love houses in rows. Standing together, sharing walls, and yet they each have its own character. It is somehow to me a symmetric assortment of differences. Sometimes they look all same with a bit different colors, or bit touches here and there to reveal their individuality. Sometimes they are just all different in every way. In any case, they create some sense of uniformity. There is some element of belonging together in a community attached to it.

I never really saw row houses in India. It is not in the culture. Nowadays, some modern housing complexes have these symmetric looking houses. However, these do not share walls, and are somehow not the same. They do not also have this age associated with them and are simply too modern to be as charming. There are also these big old houses. Once belonging to a single family, now several people own them. A few families live together in complete separate units of these houses. They often color the outside walls of their portions in different colors. To me they are more like strange apartment building arrangements. The antique maze of these old houses has some appeal different from the row houses.

Walking around in Prešeren square, I for the first time saw real row houses by the side of the river Ljubljanica. They are old, and yet looked warm and inviting. Mostly in apartment style, they are not identical and even have a bit differences in heights. Colored in pale pink, green, yellow, cream, and with dark wooden roofs, they make a perfect picture by the riverbank. Some houses have these tiny rooftop balconies or rooms. I always imagine how nice it must be to have a bedroom up there and wake up to the bustling city center on some Saturday morning. The facades have little simple decorations from olden times. The windows are bright with red flowers in spring and summer. This place, the houses, I simply love so much. They have such a charming spell on me that one day I even dream to rent one of those apartments if possible. Often times when I am walking around the old city center, I enjoy and admire these houses. They form a perfect picturesque postcard, holding onto memories from good old ages.

My another very vibrant memory of these row houses are of those around the U-Street region, close to African-American Civil War Memorial in Washington DC. There houses are all painted in very vibrant colors of bright red, yellow, blue, pink, green. It is as if the whole neighborhood is celebrating in some party. Similarly colorful are the roads with bright row houses close to Georgetown University area. They look like wrapped in colorful papers into little presents. This brightness can make one's mood instantly cherry.

If one walks past the famous and busy skyscrapers, and the glitter of Times Square, the New York City neighborhoods present a very different ambiance. With many ethnic communities living in different parts, each has its own style. The common elements are only the row houses and the iron structures. Some areas have this monotone of different shades of cream or concrete colors. Some neighborhoods though painted in monochrome were sporting bright red or similar reddish hues. Some had the row houses painted in different colors. What make them more interesting are the iron structures. I loved the iron fire-escape ways and other iron details on windows or front doors. It looks all very interestingly symmetric. Then you turn the corner and it changes to a different sort of symmetry. But all changed dramatically when we reached the Chinatown. The row houses became more colorful, and with the traditional red gold decorations. It is like a crowded fair, the touristy roads. Lined with busy shops and their banners hanging by the side of the houses, these row houses presented a very festive mood.

In Washington and New York, I was a tourist. The row houses and neighborhoods I observed, therefore, were from a different point of view. I did not have the time to wander around leisurely. Living in San Francisco for 3 months allow me to do so. San Francisco is this city of mixed cultures with many cultural groups making the city colorful. I am staying in the Haight-Ashbury region where the bohemian subculture from during the 'Summer of Love' has left its impressions, making the neighborhood interestingly colorful. The wooden row houses in all shapes and sizes with very elaborate and gaudy facades line the roads. Being a hilly city, the row houses are somewhat elongated in shape. Their multistory structure enhances the impression. The houses are also characterized by a steep flight of stairs leading to the front door. What is interesting is that rather than sharing walls, most houses have the tiniest gap of barely a centimeter between the walls. Each house has a very different architectural design from the other. The colors range covers all hues in the palate. The highly ornate frontal in gold, silver, and white colors make the houses look very antique. One can just stand and admire one house for minutes before moving to the next one.

Row houses for me are somehow a presence of asymmetry in symmetry. Even though standing together, each is somehow a bit different from the other. All the different colors, decorations, sizes standing in a neat row make them interesting. Even when they are looking all same, small things like the window curtains, the little plant on the windowsill, the letterbox, the nameplate on front door etc, are all somehow telling stories of different families. Each somehow is like one individual, characteristic of its owners. I enjoy their colors, the neat postcard look, and the architecture. And then often times I just wonder about the families looking out through the similar windows. For me, each of these houses in rows has a different story to tell.