Birthday gift

My birthday is a special day for me. A day to be happy. A day to treat myself extra specially. A day to be thankful about the best gift ever, life. A special day of celebration, happiness, looking back, fulfillment, new little hopes, big dreams, and most importantly to be aware of ‘I’ and life. And from childhood, this day was celebrated with same eagerness. However the reasons for celebration gradually changed, or rather got added..

For the first birthdays, I only have pictures for memories. The pretty picture of my first birthday with myself decorated in flower ornaments always makes me feel like a princess. Till this day. And of course those birthdays of childhood were parents celebrating their girl. And I remember how jealous I was on my younger brother’s first birthday. My reason was, ‘if I am the elder one, why will his birthday be celebrated before mine!!!’. I was jealous of all the attention, gifts. The reasons why birthdays were special then. And to be honest, two of the reasons why birthdays are still special. Who does not like the whole day attention and the lovely gifts?

Talking about gifts, each birthday I used to get at least a book. My favorite gift. Guests also would mostly brings books, sometimes chocolates, colors for drawing and painting. Parents would buy me a new dress. And the menu will have all my favorite dishes along with the traditional payesh. And then over the weekend, my friend Soumi would be invited for the whole day. Grandma would come with lots of love and something handmade, or a book. I would make a wish over the candle and cut the cake. Those old days of cakes from ‘Jalojog’. I would always like to have the pink rose on the cake, like any other children. And of course would get it. My special day after all. But now I wonder how I could eat that sugary sweet flower! Tastes change and so do ways of celebration.

As the number of candles on the cake increased, the idea of cake lost its appeal. I started to realize it more as a private day. A day of celebration but only with myself and people very close to me. The highlights of the celebration were still the books and the good food. The late riser girl whose parents always had hard time to wake her up even at 9 o’clock, would be the first one to wake up that day. At dawn break my eyes will open, and with great enthusiasm I would search around my pillow for the book. Leaving all presents aside I would pick up the one inside which I would think there is a book. I always loved the few moments trying to guess the book I got that time. Slowly unwrapping it, I would try to read the title in the faint light of dawn. Unable to do so, I would switch on the light. I would touch the book with tender love, and inhale its smell. And then wrapping the blanket around me again, I would start reading the first page in that chilly December morning.

And those are my memories. Finishing a gripping birthday book on the day itself staying awake late at night. Making my favorite sandwich for lunch after returning from school. Telling ma to cook dishes I like. Having the bowl of yummy payesh. Talking to dida, or best, having her by me. Putting colors on a paper painting my thoughts. Spending time with parents. And above everything spending time with myself. Knowing myself a bit better. Appreciating things nice around me. Making a wish and promising myself to fulfill it.

And as years passed by, this became the prime reason of celebration. To be happy with self. It became more and more a private affair than a reason to party. It is now a day when I only wish to be with people I really love and care about. I still want the attention and love, but do not want a party and house full of people. And added to all the gifts was another one. A special gift that I give to myself. Anything that makes me feel special about life. Anything that makes me happy. Like a set of colors and paints to draw. Or something that is fulfillment of a long cherished dream. Like I did on my last birthday...

There is this dream and wish that I had from quite a young age. It always was there, like one big wish. A wish I thought to fulfill someday for sure, but just never knew the correct way. And then I found some way that will be a little step towards this wish. And what can be better than making this small step on my birthday. I took the little first step towards it on my 25th birthday. I gave myself as a gift on my birthday the fulfillment of a dream. 25 is a number, which when counted in years marks milestones in events of our lives. And I beamed as I fulfilled a little part of this wish while I touched the milestone. More reasons of smiles (and tears) were when Blaž gave me a collection of my childhood memories, and I was showered with love and wishes from parents and grandparents. It is the best gift when images of childhood are given as a gift. It is best when grandma exclaims that she cannot believe me to be 25, she remembers me only as the little girl in her lap just the other day. It is best to get a little letter from parents who never know what to write in letters as we talk often. It is best to feel special and loved. But, the bestest gift was one I gave myself. Fulfillment of wish.

Life is all about that, little colorful wishes and feeling special about oneself. And what is birthday but a celebration of life.

I love my birthday and the gifts!!

The front-page

The first thing I like to do in the morning is to check the newspaper. No, my interest is not to know the things of ‘importance’ going on in the world. I search for little interesting articles and news, editorials, reviews, essays etc. I enjoy the inner pages of the newspaper more than the front-page. Sometimes I do not even care to look at it and directly switch to pages of interest. However, more than often as I take the newspaper in hand or click on its website, the headline dutifully acts its purpose and catches my attention. I give a look at it, and then turn the page. Well, no harm in staying a bit updated about the world. But unfortunately, the effect mostly is not on updating my little knowledge about the socio-political-economic scenario of the country and world. More than often, it fails to generate any response from me. And when there is a response it unhappily is a negative one. I cannot use words to describe my thoughts then, it is not sadness, anger, helplessness, or even frustration. I just know it doesn’t give me any reason to be happy or positive. Maybe instead of being aware, I just feel uninterested.

Two days ago, the headline was about some horrible crime and neglect of duty on the part of the responsible officers. And two days after, it is still the same news. The news makes me sad for the family who underwent the tragedy. The society of course needs to know the news to be aware of incidents like that, to protest and be alert of their rights. The society needs to know its evil to be able to try to reform itself. What bothers me are those several articles talking about the same thing under different headlines and filling the first page. The entire front-page has the same negative story written over and over.

I understand that newspapers have this duty to bring to us news about events that have effects the country, society, and ultimately us. Unfortunately, we are living in this time of unrest where the incidents are mostly negative. I do understand the role the media played in bringing attentiveness, justice in certain recent examples. And above all, I understand they write what sells. I do not complain or criticize the media on bringing the negative news. I complain and criticize them for not bringing any positive news on the front-page. A few of the little negative stories can well be replaced with the small positive stories that go unnoticed hidden in some middle pages. Cannot breaking news leave a bit space for a modest story to be glad about in the morning?

I do want all the news on the front-page that is affecting us, a person, a society. I do want to be aware and remain alert. But this is definitely not all what I want. I also want a reason to hope. I wish not to be reminded every morning only about the turmoil around us, but wish to find also a reason for optimism. Besides the pictures of violence, protest, failure, selfishness, lies, I also want to see at least a small picture of triumph, discovery, selflessness, care and compassion. If not with every story of despair, at least for a few of such stories I want a story of hope too. It is not that our world lost everything positive. Everyday these little hopeful stories happen. They are also reported, but only remain somewhere hidden. All I wish is that this glad story gets a front-page space too, so that I do not have to go searching for it. I wish we start our morning with the awareness of all the chaos around us, mixed with some cheerfulness. Can we have some happy news brought back to the front-page please?

Love is...

From time immemorial, we have tried to define what love is. Love in all its forms and types have remained a mystery forever. An eternal mystery it is that holds us in awe. Poetries are written, stories are told, wise words are said. And yet after all these, the feeling continues to remain under the veil. From when we first hear or read about it in our school days, to the first time when our heart beats for someone else, to a lifetime spent together in love, we feel it, live it and yet are not able to describe it. We all simply indulge in the feeling, and somehow just know that it is there. And in simple little gestures we know what love is…

It was a nice pretty day. I was walking to my usual bus stop from work, the one a bit further. I always go to this bus stop on my way home and enjoy the little lazy time walking to it. I get a traffic light on my way, and I am never in any hurry to cross it. I never run across in haste before it soon again turns red or even when the road is empty. I like my minute wait for the green light while I observe around me, people, cars, the sky, and just let the minute slip away. The crossing is not crowded, and it is generally only a couple of people or even me alone. And yet, sometimes I stumble upon little incidents that stay in my mind. Like I saw this old couple that day.

As I was waiting for the light to turn green, I saw a very old couple slowly approaching the crossing from the other side. They were slow, dressed in those old styled suit, dress, and shoes. The grayish brownish hues of their attire reflected their ages. It would seem that they were alone, in a state of despair. However, it was not so. They were alone but not lonely. They needed support but not hope. The old man supported himself with a stick, and the lady supported herself on her man. And such a lovely couple they made.

As they walked forward with little weak steps, their face glowed in a sense of pride and content. The man I am sure was no more proud the day when he had for the first time asked his lady out than he was that day. The lady, I can imagine, had walked down the aisle with the same steps of trust and confidence. The air of happiness, satisfaction, hope, confidence, and pride around them was telling their love, care, respect and trust. They maybe are alone in life, but the fact that they have each other made them glow in happiness. As they took those little weak steps together, it was not merely towards a home but towards something more. They were still walking towards a future together.

Every day we see around us young people meeting each other and falling in love. They weave together little colorful pieces of dreams and hopes. They look forward to the days to experience and enjoy together as life unfolds and dreams are fulfilled. They have a lifetime in front of them. They have something to look forward to, to hope for, and to dream about. They radiate this love and hope all around them, and look forward to a future. As they stand there holding hands, they have in front of them a future to make together. And then, life happens.

Years pass by making little stories. Dreams get fulfilled, and some ends in tears. And then again they see a new dream together. Holding hands, they walk the path of life. The love gets deeper and the hearts happier. They look forward to each new day as they looked at the future on the first day of their togetherness. But slowly these days of future turn gray. The little dreams of future now turn into memories of past. The love, kindness, happiness, trust still remains there. And it deepens. There comes the content and satisfaction of life spent in love and togetherness. But somehow, those hopes and dreams stop to exist. There are still little wishes and dreams, but for children, grandchildren. Those little wishes they had made together are now just happy memories of past. Suddenly they are left with no dreams for themselves together.

And all these I was thinking looking at the couple at the crossing. And I realized once more what love is. As I hold hand of my partner, we look forward to a lifetime together that is yet to unfurl. We look ahead to a life together of love, happiness, trust, little dreams, and big wishes. And then when I look beyond that, as green days turn gray, I still see myself holding his hand, just the same as I do today. We will still be whispering a new dream together.

The light turns green and the old couple takes a step. A contented step together towards future, happiness and some new little dream. One more step of love..

Kolkata Book Fair

From Tagore to Shakespeare, Thakumar Jhuli to Harry Potter, we read everything. Almost every household has the full set of Rabindrarachanabali. And again we discuss Pamuk and Murakami. Lazy Sunday afternoons here are for reading the literary section of the newspaper. Stylish bookstore chains co-exist in the city with the famous ‘boi-para’ of old narrow College St. Publishing new novels and stories in the Pujabarshiki collection is a major element of the city’s celebrating its greatest festival, the Durga puja. Every person at least once in their lifetime has tried their hands in writing poetry. Proud of our rich literature, we are also open to enjoy the world literature. We love books. We love reading. Therefore, it is no wonder for a city, where people are ‘crazy’ and impulsive, who love reading and celebrating, to celebrate with books. ‘Kolkata Boimela’ or ‘Kolkata Book Fair’ is undoubtedly the biggest festival in the city after the Durga Puja. And every year we wait for it impatiently.

World’s largest non-trade book fair is therefore my very own and most loved Kolkata Boimela. Organized by the Publishers and Book Sellers’ Guild this book fair is the talk of the town in winter Kolkata. Along with the home publishers, several foreign publishers and countries participate. Each year there is a theme country with focus on its literature. All afternoons are full of interesting lectures, discussions, debate, and book reading etc programs in the auditorium. Every face smiles, every hand holds a few of newly bought books. It is not a fair, it is a celebration.

I do not have ‘the very first memory’ of book fair. It is such a constant part of my life that I do not remember the beginning. It has always been there, as simple as that. Winter to me is synonymous with the book fair, and I would wait for the January end. The huge Maidan ground, packed crowds, the maze of alleys, and rows of stalls, these are my memories. I would look with awe and confusion to the lofty gates decorated in the theme of the fair. I would get a map of the fair that I never knew how to use when I was little. It did not matter also. I would love to go inside every pavilion, an impossible task. Inside each pavilion is a little fairyland of books. And books. And more books. Everywhere it smells of new books. Little me would touch the glossy covers, and read each title. From dictionaries to comics, from fairytales to textbooks, for children and for adult, books are there for everyone and on each subject one can name. Outside there are individuals selling ‘little magazines’, groups of budding poets and authors coming together to share their literary work in their little independent efforts. There is that corner of artists. Those beautiful displays of their paintings always used to captivate me for minutes. I love the long lines to enter the pavilions of the famous publishers. If you are tired from all the walk, grab some tasty snacks at the food court and then again get absorbed in world of books.

Each year I would buy several fairytales and folk tales collections from different countries. I would buy a few art and craft, drawing books. Buying one Tintin comics was must. Slowly I started reading stories for children that paved the way for novels. My first English novel, David Copperfield, was bought in the book fair. And I started reading the treasures of literature. My ‘books to buy’ list changed from fairy tales to novels and serious non-fictions, but the story remained same. Each year I returned home satisfied and tired with bags full of books. I inscribed onto the first pages of each book my name, ‘Book fair’, and the year. And while doing so I dreamt of the happy hours I would spend enjoying them.

Each year I was at the book fair from as long as I remember. It was a happy part of my growing up. And then I left the city in 2004. I again could visit only in 2008 and last year 2010. In all these years many things changed. The venue is moved from Maidan to Milan Mela Prangan. But the charm still remained same. The same crowd, the same land of books, and the same magic.

It is not that books are relatively cheaper here. The discounts in the book district are often better than here. It is not that one does not get the same books outside in shops. But then, individual shops cannot make the atmosphere of celebration. It is a festival, this book fair. A happy celebration of our love for books. Therefore, we come in groups and come alone. We look through books and attend some interesting event. Maybe by chance meet our favorite author. Pick up a good little magazine. Listen to recitations and music. Smell the books, feel them. Check out the newly published ones. Parents bring little one to feel the atmosphere and get into habit of reading. Serious readers come to look through all the books and find little treasures. Some of us note down titles of books to buy later. Most of us buy there at the fair. And when tired we sit around enjoying the happy winter sun with friends and family. And someone like me, who cannot attend it anymore every year, miss it and feel a bit jealous of her friends. And those rare years, when they can go, it is for them a journey down the memory lane.

For a bookworm like me, Kolkata Book fair is the best place to be.

It is going on there now in the city. I miss it so much. Maybe 2012…