It is after work, and I am waiting to head to the Slovenian language class. And then I decided to write about.. hmm… learning Slovenian language.
I truly admire those with a passion, interest and ability of learning languages. I have none. I enjoy and admire the beauty of a language, and play of words. But this enjoyment is limited to Bengali, my mother tongue; and English, which I had learnt when I was so young that I did not really feel the process of learning it. I admit that my pen is not most beautiful and flawless as I write in these languages, but I can read, write and talk in them fluently. And above all, I have knowledge enough to enjoy their beauty. Bengali to me is always the most beautiful, poetic and sweet sounding language. I am maybe biased to it, and rightly so. English is more international and allows me to enjoy great and interesting works. Besides these two, the only other language I sort of know is Hindi. Thanks to Indian television and Bollywood movies, I can speak and understand it completely.
And oh.. I can say that I know Slovene now.. well just a little bit, a very tiny little bit.
When I was in the 6th standard in school, we had to take up a third language. And the only option was taking Sanskrit. I was not very happy with the idea of it. Though the rich world of Indian scripts, mythologies, epics, religious texts is explored in Sanskrit; to me it was still a dead language without much of practical use. And with all my love for reading, I could not imagine myself reading much of Sanskrit texts in future. But anyway I had to take it. Learning the Devnagari script was easy. And then it started with easy words etc. But as it came to grammar, with learning to write even simple sentences my annoyance grew. People said that the grammar is like math, simple logic. But to me it was most incoherent and without any logic. As I struggled with the language, I was every time wondering how people could talk in a language as complicated as Sanskrit. I heard that having an understanding of this language will make learning some European languages easier. I never believed it. Who on the earth talk and think like that? In which modern language can there be complications like seven declinations, duals, genders, complex rules for verbs and sentence structures? There can be none. And I was relieved as two years of this Sanskrit phase got over. Little did I know that I will again land in the mess of these complex rules!!
I was wondering where on earth people speak in a complicated language similar to Sanskrit. And now I know. There can be many places, but Slovenia is definitely one of them. When I came to Slovenia as a researcher, I made sure that all communications in the lab and related to academics will be in English. Otherwise I would not have come in the first place. And though most people speak English, Slovene is the official language. Therefore, all official documents are mostly in Slovene. And as I have plans to live here, I would not be able to escape without learning the language. It is must to be independent in the country. And also who likes to look at the bill boards or listen to a conversation and not know what is up. So, I joined the afternoon courses at the faculty, and there started my struggle.
The vocabulary is not an issue, I learn that slowly and know that I will build it up over time. But the grammar, it is terrible. Six declination, duals and genders play with the ending of words and verbs. To top it all it was full of strange complex rules and even exceptions! Nothing made much sense. I could not find any logic. Okay, I can learn that to change into accusative case, I have to change the ending of singular female words from ‘a’ to ‘o’; but singular male and neuter words will undergo no change. Easy huh! But wait, if the word is for a living male (man, animals etc), I have to add an ‘a’ at the end. I mean why to be partial about living males?? And this is just only for singular, and then there are duals and plurals. Ah!
The pronouns are funny with all the ‘n’, ‘j’, ‘i’, ‘u’ in them making them hard to pronounce and remember. The language drives me crazy with the different endings for neuter words, but then, along with ‘him’ and ‘her’, there is no ‘it’! ‘I like to watch television and I watch him every evening’. Calling a television ‘him’ is just crazy!!
Just in the last class we were doing possessive pronouns and how to change endings of words to get their possessive forms. For male words, one add ‘ov(a)’ in the end. But wait, if the word ends with ‘j’ (or also ‘c’, ‘č’, ‘š’, ‘ž’), the ending will be ‘ev(a)’. Rule two, if it ends with ‘r’, add ‘j’ and with this now new ending, add ‘ev(a)’. Rule three, if the last but one alphabet is ‘e’, eliminate it. These are a few of the many rules. Okay, you learn the rules and it is easy. But hey wait a minute. What about if we wish to make the possessive form of the name ‘Peter’? Well, it ends with ‘r’, so according to rule add a ‘j’ and then a ‘ev(a)’; and because there is an ‘e’ just before the ending , remove it. So, ‘Petrjev(a)’ right? Wrong. It will be ‘Petrov(a)’!! When you remove the ‘e’, even if it is ending with ‘r’, do not add the ‘j’ and thus the ending becomes ‘ov(a)’. Now why will I not claim it to be a crazy complex language?
Well, I must not just complain that it is hard. It is also my fault why I am so slow in learning it. Learning a new language calls for using it as much as possible; and I use it as little as possible. Well, no, it is not just my reluctance or negligence. Being a talkative girl, I am supposed to have no problem in trying to talk in a new language. But I do. I am introvert and shy enough to not just talk with anyone, more so in a language that I barely know. I do not yet have the confidence and I am afraid of being wrong. With people in front of whom I am not afraid or shy, it takes so long to structure a sentence that I rather say it in English. Being talkative is thus a disadvantage in my situation because trying to speak in Slovene reduces the speed so badly that the flow and interest is lost. But well, I do try to talk. I try to say sentences in Slovene in shops. Also I try and use it with Blaž’s grandma. And every time I am able to say something or understand her sentences, the way she exclaims about ‘how much’ I know makes me smile and feel encouraged.
This time I am doing the intermediate level course and I feel glad when I see I already know a bit. The first two levels felt complete mess. I was then unable to understand anything. This time it is more comprehensive and makes sense. Well, not that it makes a complete sense; I still get lost in all the crazy ‘rules’ and numerous ‘exceptions’; but there is still some sense in it. I can understand and make simple conversations. I am not completely blank when two people are talking. And that is definitely an improvement. Especially when the student is me. And for the technical part of the knowledge, the short test I have this week will show my knowledge..
I remember when I was little I used to dream about learning as many languages as possible when I grow up. An idea that formed up as a result of my love for books. I thought, reading books in their original language would be such great! But now, I dare not think of this idea. And thanks to the good quality translations available, I can satisfy my urge of reading. Those thoughts of learning different languages do not even come in my wildest fantasies now. If I manage to learn Slovene properly, that will be enough an achievement.
Languages for me are hard nuts to crack. And I am struggling with one of the hardest ones..
November 15, 2010
November 14, 2010
Just another autumn day
It was a very beautiful day outside my window and I decided to go out for a bit longer lunch. The sun shone after days of cloudy sky. Everything was bright and cheerful. A perfect day it was for walking to the city center, enjoying a leisurely lunch and then coming back to work again. It was not that I had any less work, but I just decided to treat myself and enjoy the day.
As I wrapped the autumn coat around me and stepped out, the cold refreshing wind touched me. It was a play of colors all around. Everything looked fresh, crisp and smiling. The trees were bright with their display of few remaining golden leaves. And there was beauty in their barren look. On one of these trees, there was just a single yellow leaf still clinging to the branch and fluttering in the wind. And with it, there was beauty, there was life.
I walked on the soft carpet of dry brown leaves. They murmured with music as I made each step. And then, with the gust of wind, they danced in a whirlpool. Along with the wind the leaves ran over the asphalt road and paved sidewalks. Creating music as they ran. A continuous murmuring sound it made, like a heavy rain on the roof. Dry leaves were falling all around me like little bright dots. One got caught in the mess of my hair.
The big willow trees in the park were dropping down to the little Gradaščiča stream. It was a magnificent display of bright yellow and fading green against the bright sky and green grass. Trnovo church was visible there behind. People were taking walks by the river, mothers with their babies in prams, a grandmother walking slowly with her little bag, a few young people sitting down on the bench and reading a book. Everyone was enjoying beautiful nature.
I turned towards the city. Trees in different shades of reds and oranges lined the roads. The bright sunlight seeped through these colors illuminating everything with this reddish golden hue. It was a mesmerizing play of lights and colors. Below the trees, sun created patterns. The houses looked brighter with the red creeper decorating their walls. Everything was set in the fiery hue. I crossed under the old Roman wall; feeling tempted to seat on its grass and read a book. I was close to the faculties now.
By the faculties, students were busy with their classes. They were talking in groups, hurrying to their class, or going for lunch. I walked on and reached the little park. It was covered with a blanket of pale yellow. Pretty leaves were fluttering in the breeze. I stooped down to pick a few. And walked on to the city center.
What I always love about the Ljubljana city center is that it is always buzzing, cheerful and yet has some relaxed flavor. The Prešeren square by the three bridges is always a happy place to be. Especially so if it is a sunny day. It is always full of people and music. It is colorful and refreshing. Young people in groups, busy office goers, grandmas walking slowly, couples strolling, mothers walking with their babies, someone on a walk with his dog, a girl on a bicycle passes by, people sitting in the sun enjoying coffee, someone is playing on his guitar, a homeless sits in the corner, people eating slices of pizza or biting a burek sitting on the green benches, a tourist boat floats in the Lljubljanica river, and the castle shines brightly in the sun overlooking the city from the little hill as its flag unfurls in the breeze. It is always so colorful in this old part of the city. I stopped for a few minutes and let the liveliness around touch me.
I decided to try this little shop where I had heard there are excellent cheesecakes. It was a bit expensive one, but then I was in a mood of treating myself. I sat with the cheesecake on a table outside the shop. I watched people passing by as I indulged in the creamy taste of my cheesecake. I let myself free of all the thoughts and worries, and sitting there just watched the moving world around me. Sometimes it is great to cosset oneself and just unwind in the beauty of gazing at as a distant viewer.
As I passed the bookshop on my way back to work, I decided on making a quick visit. It was specially showcasing several culinary books. Therefore, I decided to check in if anything was interesting. Also I quickly browsed through the fiction and nonfiction sections. Spending some time browsing through books, and getting tempted to buy some, I finally decided to take my leave. The clock was ticking, and it was time to head back to work finally.
I made my way back on the same pretty roads; walking over the leafy carpet, I admired the colors. I wrapped the sun around me. I returned refreshed, my mind colorful and sunny.
As I wrapped the autumn coat around me and stepped out, the cold refreshing wind touched me. It was a play of colors all around. Everything looked fresh, crisp and smiling. The trees were bright with their display of few remaining golden leaves. And there was beauty in their barren look. On one of these trees, there was just a single yellow leaf still clinging to the branch and fluttering in the wind. And with it, there was beauty, there was life.
I walked on the soft carpet of dry brown leaves. They murmured with music as I made each step. And then, with the gust of wind, they danced in a whirlpool. Along with the wind the leaves ran over the asphalt road and paved sidewalks. Creating music as they ran. A continuous murmuring sound it made, like a heavy rain on the roof. Dry leaves were falling all around me like little bright dots. One got caught in the mess of my hair.
The big willow trees in the park were dropping down to the little Gradaščiča stream. It was a magnificent display of bright yellow and fading green against the bright sky and green grass. Trnovo church was visible there behind. People were taking walks by the river, mothers with their babies in prams, a grandmother walking slowly with her little bag, a few young people sitting down on the bench and reading a book. Everyone was enjoying beautiful nature.
I turned towards the city. Trees in different shades of reds and oranges lined the roads. The bright sunlight seeped through these colors illuminating everything with this reddish golden hue. It was a mesmerizing play of lights and colors. Below the trees, sun created patterns. The houses looked brighter with the red creeper decorating their walls. Everything was set in the fiery hue. I crossed under the old Roman wall; feeling tempted to seat on its grass and read a book. I was close to the faculties now.
By the faculties, students were busy with their classes. They were talking in groups, hurrying to their class, or going for lunch. I walked on and reached the little park. It was covered with a blanket of pale yellow. Pretty leaves were fluttering in the breeze. I stooped down to pick a few. And walked on to the city center.
What I always love about the Ljubljana city center is that it is always buzzing, cheerful and yet has some relaxed flavor. The Prešeren square by the three bridges is always a happy place to be. Especially so if it is a sunny day. It is always full of people and music. It is colorful and refreshing. Young people in groups, busy office goers, grandmas walking slowly, couples strolling, mothers walking with their babies, someone on a walk with his dog, a girl on a bicycle passes by, people sitting in the sun enjoying coffee, someone is playing on his guitar, a homeless sits in the corner, people eating slices of pizza or biting a burek sitting on the green benches, a tourist boat floats in the Lljubljanica river, and the castle shines brightly in the sun overlooking the city from the little hill as its flag unfurls in the breeze. It is always so colorful in this old part of the city. I stopped for a few minutes and let the liveliness around touch me.
I decided to try this little shop where I had heard there are excellent cheesecakes. It was a bit expensive one, but then I was in a mood of treating myself. I sat with the cheesecake on a table outside the shop. I watched people passing by as I indulged in the creamy taste of my cheesecake. I let myself free of all the thoughts and worries, and sitting there just watched the moving world around me. Sometimes it is great to cosset oneself and just unwind in the beauty of gazing at as a distant viewer.
As I passed the bookshop on my way back to work, I decided on making a quick visit. It was specially showcasing several culinary books. Therefore, I decided to check in if anything was interesting. Also I quickly browsed through the fiction and nonfiction sections. Spending some time browsing through books, and getting tempted to buy some, I finally decided to take my leave. The clock was ticking, and it was time to head back to work finally.
I made my way back on the same pretty roads; walking over the leafy carpet, I admired the colors. I wrapped the sun around me. I returned refreshed, my mind colorful and sunny.
My celebration
The past month was the month of biggest Indian festivals. Having grown up amidst this cheerful festivity, during this month, my heart runs back to Kolkata. And in some unexplainable way, festivity touches me even though I sit here kilometers apart from all the lights and crowd. I wonder, what is festival and festivity? What is celebration?
The four years I was in Pune for my studies, I missed the Kolkata Durgapuja. The first two years I visited the local Durgapujas in Pune along with my other Bengali friends. However, it was not the same. It was not the same place. There was no crazy and euphoric crowd, no grand displays of lights and pandal decorations. No street food. No planning the exclusive lunches and dinner for family. No family, friends and relatives. No new pujabarshiki. Kolkata Durgapuja is the one and only of its kind. Nothing can be compared with its exhilarating ambiance. Being in Kolkata for Durgapuja is a lifetime experience and nothing can substitute that. Yes, I did miss all of these in Pune, but I never missed the festivity. I celebrated. And I was happy.
In those years, I would go back home during Diwali, when the whole city is yet again lit up with lights. As sun would set, we would decorate the house with little lamps and candles; and wait for the moonless night when beautiful firecrackers will light up the sky. The classic mutton preparation would be on the menu. The day would end with a late night walk to the various nearby puja pandals and through the fair. But then again, now along with the festivity of Durgapuja, I had left behind the lights and crackers of Diwali as I came here to Slovenia. And yet somehow the festive mood came along with me.
In the later years in Pune, instead of going to the local puja pandals, I started celebrating in my own way. I celebrated in taking time just for myself and in doing things I love. It did not matter if I did anything special. As I did things I love (however mundane or commonplace those things are), I made my day special. I would maybe wear a new dress, or the dress that made me feel good. I would cook something special and enjoy in it. I would go out for a lonely walk. I would snuggle with a book. I would look out at the sky. I would indulge in the pleasure of simply doing nothing at all. And I would make sure to do all these things along with the demand of regular work. My day would be special. Doing things that give me happiness and pleasure made it special. It was festive because I celebrated being myself. I celebrated in little things around me that make my world.
The celebration still continues in the same way. When the Durgapuja came this year, it brought with it the festivity. My heart was fluttering and happy. I celebrated being with Blaž each day after work, talking and doing nothing. I cooked special dinners. I made the classic rasogolla for the first time. For the most important day, Blaž made it special by cooking my favorite chicken. I dressed myself up, and everyone at work knew I am celebrating something. The last two days required me to be in Belgium for work. I was alone there amidst strangers. And then I went to the zoo to watch the lovely cute penguins. Looking at them for hours, I smiled. I felt my day is special. I celebrated Durgapuja doing and experiencing things for the first time. I celebrated as all these little special things touched my heart with happiness. Festivity was all around me even when I was away from the crowd and lights.
Diwali came with a very beautiful sunny day. My hand was decorated with the dark pattern of mehendi, and I could not stop myself from admiring it. I went out for lunch. It was a bright autumn day. As the sun touched me seeping through the colorful leaves, I was exuberant. I walked on carpets of dry leaves; and leaves danced in the wind. I satisfied myself with a yummy cheesecake. A quick trip to the bookstore made it perfect. Few hours in the afternoon was spent in cooking delicious Indian desserts. And then as it turned dark outside, I lit little candles. Arranging them in patterns, I switched the lights off. The gentle warm candlelights filled the dark room. And my heart was filled with warmth and happiness of the festival.
I celebrate in little things that do not exactly look like a celebration. I definitely do miss my family and the festivity in Kolkata. However, I never feel sad thinking the festivity could not touch me. As it does touch me, makes everything cheerful. I would of course love to be with people whom I love on these festive days, and do something together. Go out in the crowd. But when I am alone, I would rather be alone doing little things that can bring this little special feeling inside me than be in a crowd and yet be alone. It is then when I realize the true meaning of festival and celebration for me. It is being with family, friends, doing something together, something special, something that radiates happiness. The people, the crowd, the lights add to the enjoyment. But, ultimately it is not about these things. It is festival because I am with special people, doing something special. And it is celebration because I feel special. In the end, this festivity is something that is simply a part of me. Festivity and celebration is when my soul smiles.
The four years I was in Pune for my studies, I missed the Kolkata Durgapuja. The first two years I visited the local Durgapujas in Pune along with my other Bengali friends. However, it was not the same. It was not the same place. There was no crazy and euphoric crowd, no grand displays of lights and pandal decorations. No street food. No planning the exclusive lunches and dinner for family. No family, friends and relatives. No new pujabarshiki. Kolkata Durgapuja is the one and only of its kind. Nothing can be compared with its exhilarating ambiance. Being in Kolkata for Durgapuja is a lifetime experience and nothing can substitute that. Yes, I did miss all of these in Pune, but I never missed the festivity. I celebrated. And I was happy.
In those years, I would go back home during Diwali, when the whole city is yet again lit up with lights. As sun would set, we would decorate the house with little lamps and candles; and wait for the moonless night when beautiful firecrackers will light up the sky. The classic mutton preparation would be on the menu. The day would end with a late night walk to the various nearby puja pandals and through the fair. But then again, now along with the festivity of Durgapuja, I had left behind the lights and crackers of Diwali as I came here to Slovenia. And yet somehow the festive mood came along with me.
In the later years in Pune, instead of going to the local puja pandals, I started celebrating in my own way. I celebrated in taking time just for myself and in doing things I love. It did not matter if I did anything special. As I did things I love (however mundane or commonplace those things are), I made my day special. I would maybe wear a new dress, or the dress that made me feel good. I would cook something special and enjoy in it. I would go out for a lonely walk. I would snuggle with a book. I would look out at the sky. I would indulge in the pleasure of simply doing nothing at all. And I would make sure to do all these things along with the demand of regular work. My day would be special. Doing things that give me happiness and pleasure made it special. It was festive because I celebrated being myself. I celebrated in little things around me that make my world.
The celebration still continues in the same way. When the Durgapuja came this year, it brought with it the festivity. My heart was fluttering and happy. I celebrated being with Blaž each day after work, talking and doing nothing. I cooked special dinners. I made the classic rasogolla for the first time. For the most important day, Blaž made it special by cooking my favorite chicken. I dressed myself up, and everyone at work knew I am celebrating something. The last two days required me to be in Belgium for work. I was alone there amidst strangers. And then I went to the zoo to watch the lovely cute penguins. Looking at them for hours, I smiled. I felt my day is special. I celebrated Durgapuja doing and experiencing things for the first time. I celebrated as all these little special things touched my heart with happiness. Festivity was all around me even when I was away from the crowd and lights.
Diwali came with a very beautiful sunny day. My hand was decorated with the dark pattern of mehendi, and I could not stop myself from admiring it. I went out for lunch. It was a bright autumn day. As the sun touched me seeping through the colorful leaves, I was exuberant. I walked on carpets of dry leaves; and leaves danced in the wind. I satisfied myself with a yummy cheesecake. A quick trip to the bookstore made it perfect. Few hours in the afternoon was spent in cooking delicious Indian desserts. And then as it turned dark outside, I lit little candles. Arranging them in patterns, I switched the lights off. The gentle warm candlelights filled the dark room. And my heart was filled with warmth and happiness of the festival.
I celebrate in little things that do not exactly look like a celebration. I definitely do miss my family and the festivity in Kolkata. However, I never feel sad thinking the festivity could not touch me. As it does touch me, makes everything cheerful. I would of course love to be with people whom I love on these festive days, and do something together. Go out in the crowd. But when I am alone, I would rather be alone doing little things that can bring this little special feeling inside me than be in a crowd and yet be alone. It is then when I realize the true meaning of festival and celebration for me. It is being with family, friends, doing something together, something special, something that radiates happiness. The people, the crowd, the lights add to the enjoyment. But, ultimately it is not about these things. It is festival because I am with special people, doing something special. And it is celebration because I feel special. In the end, this festivity is something that is simply a part of me. Festivity and celebration is when my soul smiles.
October 28, 2010
Patterns on my window
It is a heavy downpour and the raindrops are hitting the window pane hard. The drops barely stay on the glass for a second and drop slowly down. The raindrops have made everything blurred. This is what I think looking at the window of my room in a lazy monsoon afternoon. Then without paying any little attention, I turn towards the interesting book I am reading. I never give a second look to the raindrops on the window.
I never used to think those raindrops on my window as anything special.
I was then returning to Pune at the beginning of a new semester. The train journey was long, tiring, and boring. Having nothing worthwhile to do, I was lazily gazing out of the window to the same scenery I had seen tens of time. It was July, the monsoon month. And soon the rain blurred everything out of sight. I was still looking at the window. My mind was wandering around aimlessly. It was sometime before I realized I am following the path of the raindrops as they are hitting the glass of my window. And it was the first time I consciously notice the path and pattern of raindrops.
As my eyes followed a raindrop, I was quite amazed to see the path it is making on the glass. It was a somewhat slow path upward with a gradual ascent. As the drop moved, it left its trace behind on the sticky glass. It was interesting. I had never noticed before water droplets moving in an ascending direction ‘violating’ laws of gravity. It was kind of funny to realize the effect of wind and motion. I watched the drops tracing their paths. I watched those making unusual patterns on the glass. My journey was no more boring. I ‘discovered’ unusual and interesting patterns. I loved those raindrops.
And from then on, I often notice the raindrops making patterns. Sometimes the patterns are interesting and different. Sometimes they are usual. But they are always captivating. I find it amusing to watch the droplets moving up the windscreen of a speeding car. I find the first few drops of rain on the glass beautiful. When each one is still so very distinct.
The big fat rain drops make those interesting circular patterns. Looking out of the window I find the blurred world outside. It looks like a colorful picture with some photoshop editing, framed at the window. To me it is a new way of looking out at the world and the images it creates. The other day, I was in my office. It was rainy and yet sunny. Those big drops falling on the skylight created big roundish patterns. The sun shining through the mosaic of raindrops played with light and shade creating a mesmerizing image.
As the rain pours, it creates those almost vertical lines on the window glass of my room. And then suddenly the wind changes and so does the pattern. From vertical, it changes to diagonal lines. Making a crisscross pattern as it slowly erases the previous vertical lines, I admire the beauty in its symmetry. When it is just drizzling, the tiny droplets shine on the glass. The speckled glass looks like a shiny gift wrapper. And when the rain hits hard, it creates patterns imitating fancy frosted glass.
The raindrops play. They create patterns. They wash them out to draw new ones. They play with creativity in their apparent symmetry. It is mysterious, it is mesmerizing. And I remain silent admiring the patterns on my window.
I never used to think those raindrops on my window as anything special.
I was then returning to Pune at the beginning of a new semester. The train journey was long, tiring, and boring. Having nothing worthwhile to do, I was lazily gazing out of the window to the same scenery I had seen tens of time. It was July, the monsoon month. And soon the rain blurred everything out of sight. I was still looking at the window. My mind was wandering around aimlessly. It was sometime before I realized I am following the path of the raindrops as they are hitting the glass of my window. And it was the first time I consciously notice the path and pattern of raindrops.
As my eyes followed a raindrop, I was quite amazed to see the path it is making on the glass. It was a somewhat slow path upward with a gradual ascent. As the drop moved, it left its trace behind on the sticky glass. It was interesting. I had never noticed before water droplets moving in an ascending direction ‘violating’ laws of gravity. It was kind of funny to realize the effect of wind and motion. I watched the drops tracing their paths. I watched those making unusual patterns on the glass. My journey was no more boring. I ‘discovered’ unusual and interesting patterns. I loved those raindrops.
And from then on, I often notice the raindrops making patterns. Sometimes the patterns are interesting and different. Sometimes they are usual. But they are always captivating. I find it amusing to watch the droplets moving up the windscreen of a speeding car. I find the first few drops of rain on the glass beautiful. When each one is still so very distinct.
The big fat rain drops make those interesting circular patterns. Looking out of the window I find the blurred world outside. It looks like a colorful picture with some photoshop editing, framed at the window. To me it is a new way of looking out at the world and the images it creates. The other day, I was in my office. It was rainy and yet sunny. Those big drops falling on the skylight created big roundish patterns. The sun shining through the mosaic of raindrops played with light and shade creating a mesmerizing image.
As the rain pours, it creates those almost vertical lines on the window glass of my room. And then suddenly the wind changes and so does the pattern. From vertical, it changes to diagonal lines. Making a crisscross pattern as it slowly erases the previous vertical lines, I admire the beauty in its symmetry. When it is just drizzling, the tiny droplets shine on the glass. The speckled glass looks like a shiny gift wrapper. And when the rain hits hard, it creates patterns imitating fancy frosted glass.
The raindrops play. They create patterns. They wash them out to draw new ones. They play with creativity in their apparent symmetry. It is mysterious, it is mesmerizing. And I remain silent admiring the patterns on my window.
October 27, 2010
It is a sunny day
It is a sunny day outside. Everything is drenched in the golden sunshine. The autumn colors are bright. The sky is blue. The snowcapped mountains are visible at the distance. Everything is so fresh and clear. It looks bright. It feels cheerful. It is sunny. And it is sunny after a long time.
I had never realized how special sunny days are before coming to Slovenia. Initially I would be amazed by people talking about and waiting for the summer and the sun.
Growing up in India, I had experienced the glaring sun and scorching heat for most of the year. The winter sun was pleasant; the autumn and spring sun was cheerful. But those were only for a shorter period of time. Mostly it was the sizzling sun. Therefore, in those dark cloudy days of monsoon, I rarely missed the sun. Even though I always find cloudy days gloomy and melancholic; there used to be a strange beauty in that melancholy. The poetic rhythm of rain, the dark clouds covering the sky, everything used to make the ambience somewhat romantic. Specially so when I did not need to get out. On the other hand, a sunny day, even though brighter and cheerful, was not pleasant as it would bring sweltering heat. Moreover, I am never much inclined to be out in the sun for long as it makes me sick. Thus in summer, I rather wished the cloud than the sun. I never thought a sunny day to be special. I never eagerly waited for it. Rather, I never had to wait for it, because it was sunny almost all the time.
Hence, it was really amusing as I saw people here waiting for the summer and sunny days. I could not understand it. When I came to Slovenia, it was autumn. Then I admired the colored leaves. In winter it was about enjoying the beauty of fresh white snow. Spring brought with it colorful flowers and pretty new leaves. Then the summer came. It was hot but cheerful and lively. And soon it was again time for autumn.
I had experienced all the four seasons and I still did not understand why people are so specially fond of summer and sun. It was for sure very cheerful, lively, colorful and pleasant. But still I could not find it so special. It was definitely very different from Indian summer, much more pleasant. But then, all the seasons were much different. And I was unable to perceive summer as something very exceptional. But as the autumn months came, I started to have the realization..
The colors and beauty of every season is very much different from that of India. And previously I was busy admiring the seasons, realizing there peculiarities, distinguishing it from the familiar Indian climate. I was so engrossed in their beauty and novelty that I failed to realize that I was enjoying these beauties only in sunny days! I had learnt that there is no distinct season of monsoon and it can rain any time of the year. It was strange to me. But I had only received the information as another fact. It was only the beginning of second year of my stay in Slovenia that made me literally realize the phrase ‘it can rain anytime of the year’. It does rain anytime. And often. Okay, not actually raining every time, but rather cloudy and grey.
I soon noticed how lifeless and grey were all the colors and joviality of the changing seasons under the spell of the clouds. And it would be cloudy and raining for days, and sometimes even weeks, together. It is heavy rain, or drizzles, or no rain. It varies. But what remains constant is the cloudy grey weather. And the clouds are accompanied by the fog which makes it worse. And the worst situation is in Ljubljana which is in a basin with hills surrounding it. Even when it is sunny outside, it is mostly cloudy and foggy in Ljubljana. As one travels out of the city, one can see the veil of fog lifting and the sky clearing.
I do not mind the cloud and rain so much. Anyway I am mostly inside at work. But then it does bother me. I cannot romanticize with the clouds. Everything gets grey. All look gloomy and depressed. And if it is like that for days, it annoys me. And then I find myself waiting for the sunny days.
I love and admire all the seasons here. I wait for each season to reveal its beauty. But then I love the seasons in sunny days. Then I can admire the colors, feel the air, and touch the nature. Then I can feel life all around me, and the joviality touches me too. My heart brims with cheerful glee. And all these colors are gone when clouds creep to cover the sun. Even though I still admire some very dark days of rain, and I love the summer afternoon showers; I do not feel good when a cloudy day welcomes me. I still love the rain, but I wish the sunny days. At least, more sunny days.
And so, today when I look at the sunny day outside my window, my heart is delighted. It is sunny after almost a week. My past week in Belgium was cold, windy and mostly cloudy. After I was back in Slovenia, the weekend did not show much of the sun either. And on Monday it was raining so badly all day long. I am finally glad to see everything bright today. I am merry that I will be enjoying yet another day of beautiful colors before autumn fades. The sun makes me smiling.
I now understand why people here wait for the sun. And I too wait with them..
I had never realized how special sunny days are before coming to Slovenia. Initially I would be amazed by people talking about and waiting for the summer and the sun.
Growing up in India, I had experienced the glaring sun and scorching heat for most of the year. The winter sun was pleasant; the autumn and spring sun was cheerful. But those were only for a shorter period of time. Mostly it was the sizzling sun. Therefore, in those dark cloudy days of monsoon, I rarely missed the sun. Even though I always find cloudy days gloomy and melancholic; there used to be a strange beauty in that melancholy. The poetic rhythm of rain, the dark clouds covering the sky, everything used to make the ambience somewhat romantic. Specially so when I did not need to get out. On the other hand, a sunny day, even though brighter and cheerful, was not pleasant as it would bring sweltering heat. Moreover, I am never much inclined to be out in the sun for long as it makes me sick. Thus in summer, I rather wished the cloud than the sun. I never thought a sunny day to be special. I never eagerly waited for it. Rather, I never had to wait for it, because it was sunny almost all the time.
Hence, it was really amusing as I saw people here waiting for the summer and sunny days. I could not understand it. When I came to Slovenia, it was autumn. Then I admired the colored leaves. In winter it was about enjoying the beauty of fresh white snow. Spring brought with it colorful flowers and pretty new leaves. Then the summer came. It was hot but cheerful and lively. And soon it was again time for autumn.
I had experienced all the four seasons and I still did not understand why people are so specially fond of summer and sun. It was for sure very cheerful, lively, colorful and pleasant. But still I could not find it so special. It was definitely very different from Indian summer, much more pleasant. But then, all the seasons were much different. And I was unable to perceive summer as something very exceptional. But as the autumn months came, I started to have the realization..
The colors and beauty of every season is very much different from that of India. And previously I was busy admiring the seasons, realizing there peculiarities, distinguishing it from the familiar Indian climate. I was so engrossed in their beauty and novelty that I failed to realize that I was enjoying these beauties only in sunny days! I had learnt that there is no distinct season of monsoon and it can rain any time of the year. It was strange to me. But I had only received the information as another fact. It was only the beginning of second year of my stay in Slovenia that made me literally realize the phrase ‘it can rain anytime of the year’. It does rain anytime. And often. Okay, not actually raining every time, but rather cloudy and grey.
I soon noticed how lifeless and grey were all the colors and joviality of the changing seasons under the spell of the clouds. And it would be cloudy and raining for days, and sometimes even weeks, together. It is heavy rain, or drizzles, or no rain. It varies. But what remains constant is the cloudy grey weather. And the clouds are accompanied by the fog which makes it worse. And the worst situation is in Ljubljana which is in a basin with hills surrounding it. Even when it is sunny outside, it is mostly cloudy and foggy in Ljubljana. As one travels out of the city, one can see the veil of fog lifting and the sky clearing.
I do not mind the cloud and rain so much. Anyway I am mostly inside at work. But then it does bother me. I cannot romanticize with the clouds. Everything gets grey. All look gloomy and depressed. And if it is like that for days, it annoys me. And then I find myself waiting for the sunny days.
I love and admire all the seasons here. I wait for each season to reveal its beauty. But then I love the seasons in sunny days. Then I can admire the colors, feel the air, and touch the nature. Then I can feel life all around me, and the joviality touches me too. My heart brims with cheerful glee. And all these colors are gone when clouds creep to cover the sun. Even though I still admire some very dark days of rain, and I love the summer afternoon showers; I do not feel good when a cloudy day welcomes me. I still love the rain, but I wish the sunny days. At least, more sunny days.
And so, today when I look at the sunny day outside my window, my heart is delighted. It is sunny after almost a week. My past week in Belgium was cold, windy and mostly cloudy. After I was back in Slovenia, the weekend did not show much of the sun either. And on Monday it was raining so badly all day long. I am finally glad to see everything bright today. I am merry that I will be enjoying yet another day of beautiful colors before autumn fades. The sun makes me smiling.
I now understand why people here wait for the sun. And I too wait with them..
Puja gifts
Durga puja is only about celebrations! It is the time for everything new. A time to buy new dresses, and matching accessories. Everyone buys new shoes; which already by the second day of festivity will give blisters to most from all the walking! But who cares about blisters? Classic and exotic delicacies make their place in the menu. It is the time for giving and receiving gifts. Everything is just different and special. Puja is the time for celebration in all possible ways. After all, we wait for these 4 days of festivity all the year round.
When I was little, puja was all about wearing new dresses each day. There was almost a competition between us friends regarding the number of new dresses each one got! I would check the dresses the hundredth time and admire them. The most important decision of my life in those days just before puja was finalizing which dress to wear on which day. Of course there were new accessories to complement the colorful new frocks. Dad would buy me all sorts of clips and hair bands in every possible color and fashion. I still have the fondest remembrance of those cute colorful hair accessories.
Celebrating puja amidst the cheerful festivity of Kolkata was gone as I moved out of the city. But it could not take away the happiness that puja brings. And the occasion continued to remain as a time for celebration. Now, outside Kolkata, I may not have all excitement around me, but still I do celebrate. And I definitely get a new dress for the occasion. Sometimes parents send something little to me. A little packet from Kolkata to bring with it their love and the festive mood. Sometimes I prepare something special for them. And the celebration continues, away from Kolkata, across the globe.
This year was no exception. New dress was worn for the most important day of the festival, Ashtami. I did dress myself up that day. Definitely new experimental and classic Bengali dishes were cooked for the special occasion. From parents, I was about to get a book, and I was very excited for that. I was talking about this book once to parents and they had decided to send it for the occasion along with some ‘pujabarshiki’ magazine. Blaz was going to get some tea from them. So I was eagerly waiting for the packet. And my dad, after posting the parcel, in his excited impatience had told me to open the packet carefully, hinting on some surprises. Can anyone wait patiently for a surprise ever??
But still I had to wait long. When the packet arrived, I was in Belgium attending a conference. I could hardly wait to return and open it. I returned last Friday, and the first thing I did after reaching home in the afternoon was opening the packet. Oh, how much I love opening gifts!! Especially when there is a surprise in it!!!
I carefully opened the parcel. Remembering dad’s warning to notice for small things, I was extra careful. First was the magazine. They had sent ‘Sananda pujabarshiki’. And carefully inside it was my novel ‘Dayamoyir Katha’. Blaz got his little packet of Indian tea, a mix of Darjeeling and Assam. There was a small letter also. A hand written letter is always the most precious to me in a parcel from home. It has its personal touch and all the love and care. Generally it is the first thing I look for in a packet from parents. But this time was exception. I was impatient about the surprise and had set the letter aside for the moment. As I looked, hidden in the pages of books and the wrappers, I found 3 little packages. A pair of earrings with little pink roses. A pair of white hairclips. And a pair of pink hairclips. I was elated to get those little treasures. I made a happy exclamation! And in that moment I realized something.
Instantly I turned around; tears welling up in my eyes. Tears that were happy and yet painful. Blaz held me close and gently said: Ah, silly parents read the blog, they love you na.
Sometime ago I had written about childhood memories of dad bringing me ‘Hairclips and Hairbands’. I remembered fondly about those treasures I had as a girl. I had said how I missed my dad bringing me those hair stuffs. I wish now again to have those cute clips, but I am somehow reluctant to buy them. In those girlish days, it was my parents’ way of doting me. And with return of those hairclips, I actually wished the fond pamper back. The blog post had ended with a request for some clips again from dad. A request with a ‘please’. And my wish did get fulfilled..
I was happy to get the colorful childhood back for a moment. It was clips and earrings, and it was for puja. I missed home so badly. I felt my parents love. And I felt love for them. I was happy and I was sad. My heart ached in pleasure and pain as I read the letter. My ma asking if I liked the earrings and clips; my baba writing how he couldn’t resist buying those clips after he read my blog. Ma had bought me the earrings; and dad had bought me the clips. I opened the little packets and touched those little pieces of love. My heart was overwhelmed with all different emotions that got expressed in tears…
The bright pink clip and cute pink roses match my new pink sporty jacket. And I cannot wait to wear them!!
When I was little, puja was all about wearing new dresses each day. There was almost a competition between us friends regarding the number of new dresses each one got! I would check the dresses the hundredth time and admire them. The most important decision of my life in those days just before puja was finalizing which dress to wear on which day. Of course there were new accessories to complement the colorful new frocks. Dad would buy me all sorts of clips and hair bands in every possible color and fashion. I still have the fondest remembrance of those cute colorful hair accessories.
Celebrating puja amidst the cheerful festivity of Kolkata was gone as I moved out of the city. But it could not take away the happiness that puja brings. And the occasion continued to remain as a time for celebration. Now, outside Kolkata, I may not have all excitement around me, but still I do celebrate. And I definitely get a new dress for the occasion. Sometimes parents send something little to me. A little packet from Kolkata to bring with it their love and the festive mood. Sometimes I prepare something special for them. And the celebration continues, away from Kolkata, across the globe.
This year was no exception. New dress was worn for the most important day of the festival, Ashtami. I did dress myself up that day. Definitely new experimental and classic Bengali dishes were cooked for the special occasion. From parents, I was about to get a book, and I was very excited for that. I was talking about this book once to parents and they had decided to send it for the occasion along with some ‘pujabarshiki’ magazine. Blaz was going to get some tea from them. So I was eagerly waiting for the packet. And my dad, after posting the parcel, in his excited impatience had told me to open the packet carefully, hinting on some surprises. Can anyone wait patiently for a surprise ever??
But still I had to wait long. When the packet arrived, I was in Belgium attending a conference. I could hardly wait to return and open it. I returned last Friday, and the first thing I did after reaching home in the afternoon was opening the packet. Oh, how much I love opening gifts!! Especially when there is a surprise in it!!!
I carefully opened the parcel. Remembering dad’s warning to notice for small things, I was extra careful. First was the magazine. They had sent ‘Sananda pujabarshiki’. And carefully inside it was my novel ‘Dayamoyir Katha’. Blaz got his little packet of Indian tea, a mix of Darjeeling and Assam. There was a small letter also. A hand written letter is always the most precious to me in a parcel from home. It has its personal touch and all the love and care. Generally it is the first thing I look for in a packet from parents. But this time was exception. I was impatient about the surprise and had set the letter aside for the moment. As I looked, hidden in the pages of books and the wrappers, I found 3 little packages. A pair of earrings with little pink roses. A pair of white hairclips. And a pair of pink hairclips. I was elated to get those little treasures. I made a happy exclamation! And in that moment I realized something.
Instantly I turned around; tears welling up in my eyes. Tears that were happy and yet painful. Blaz held me close and gently said: Ah, silly parents read the blog, they love you na.
Sometime ago I had written about childhood memories of dad bringing me ‘Hairclips and Hairbands’. I remembered fondly about those treasures I had as a girl. I had said how I missed my dad bringing me those hair stuffs. I wish now again to have those cute clips, but I am somehow reluctant to buy them. In those girlish days, it was my parents’ way of doting me. And with return of those hairclips, I actually wished the fond pamper back. The blog post had ended with a request for some clips again from dad. A request with a ‘please’. And my wish did get fulfilled..
I was happy to get the colorful childhood back for a moment. It was clips and earrings, and it was for puja. I missed home so badly. I felt my parents love. And I felt love for them. I was happy and I was sad. My heart ached in pleasure and pain as I read the letter. My ma asking if I liked the earrings and clips; my baba writing how he couldn’t resist buying those clips after he read my blog. Ma had bought me the earrings; and dad had bought me the clips. I opened the little packets and touched those little pieces of love. My heart was overwhelmed with all different emotions that got expressed in tears…
The bright pink clip and cute pink roses match my new pink sporty jacket. And I cannot wait to wear them!!
October 14, 2010
Sashthi and 'for the first time'
It was ‘Sashthi’ yesterday. It marks the beginning of Durga Puja. Though the festive mood sets in the city and the crowds gather from quite some time ago; with the ‘Bodhon’ of sashthi the goddess comes to her paternal home. Amidst Sanskrit chanting, flowers and incense, the goddess is welcomed. And as the rhythm of the ‘dhak’ gets louder and more captive, our happiness grows. Dressed in best we set out. It is the beginning of five days, and of course nights, of fun and festivity. The brightly decorated and immensely crowded city begins to celebrate!
I was thinking about the first day of puja yesterday, missing it a bit, and yet feeling so happy. After all it is puja!! And then I realize how this first day of puja was also the day when I ‘for the first time’ ventured out alone or cooked a main course or did something..
It is a different situation in India, especially when one lives in a crowded city like Calcutta. Children there do not go out alone on the roads without responsible supervision. The crowds, and traffic and all other possible dangers make the parents hold the hand of the child as the child steps out to the world. It is hard to imagine a situation like this in a different society or even in a calmer town of India. But in Calcutta, this is what it is. Children do not go out alone. Similarly, when I was little, I was also not allowed to go out alone except in the community playgrounds in the afternoons. Of course this did not count the time when I dared to escape out along with my brother (I was the ‘responsible’ elder sister), took a rickshaw, and went to the gas station.
I was around 9 then. It was sashthi. And already in the morning I was dressed up in my new dress. Ma was getting bhai (brother) ready. Someone was going to take us out to see the nearby pandals. It was the first day of puja and we could barely wait. And then came the surprise… Ma said, bhai and me could go alone to the nearest pandal, and only to that. Yahoooo!! I could barely believe what I heard and was impatient to step out before she changed her mind. I hurried out of the house grabbing my brother’s hand. Ma from behind was telling me to always hold bhai’s hand, cross the road carefully, and to NOT go anywhere else. Who cared?! I was out alone for the first time (well, with permission this time). I was given the responsibility of my brother on the roads. I was so excited. I felt so proud and grown up. I am sure I was inches ‘taller’. Holding bhai’s hand, I looked back to wave to ma and then turned the corner.
No sooner was ma out of sight that I revealed my plan to bhai. When we were allowed to get out alone, then why to go only to the nearest pandal and wait for the rest till the evening? I knew the way around and decided to go to all close by pandals. ‘Instead of just going to the nearest pandal, we would make the usual circle of the area and see all the pandals’, I told my brother. He was a bit skeptical about if I really knew the way. And with my assurance, he readily agreed. And I am sure he was also thrilled within. So we proudly went around visiting all the five pandals of the area. Excitedly we talked about how beautiful all looked. Thrilled about how we would proudly declare our little adventure at home. And then thinking, maybe, we should just say we were for long only at the pandal where we were actually allowed to go.
We were almost at the end of our adventure and was about to turn to the main road that leads to our community when I heard some beating of dhak further ahead. I remembered, long back dad had taken us once to some pandal there. Somehow I remembered we just need to go straight to reach it. And I told bhai, ‘let’s go to it too’! He was now tired and quite skeptical as he sensed I was not sure about the location. But, nevertheless, agreed. And anyway, I was the ‘boss’. So we set ahead. And walked and walked and walked. Now as I remember, maybe we had barely walked maybe 5-6 minutes. But we were little then. And unknown roads, especially when I was not sure about the destination, seemed longer to us. Bhai was already getting nervous. But I proposed to walk on a bit further before turning back. And then he replied, ‘Okay, we walk. But if we get lost, and the police are able to find us, then I am going to put the blame on you’!!! I smiled and agreed. Of course, we would not be lost! But alas, we could not find the place though we were able to hear the dhak all along. And we decided to head back home.
Back at home, I triumphantly declared to ma, ‘Guess where we went? We saw all the pandals’!!! She acted surprised; and then smiled and said that she guessed it when we were out for so long. Soon we got busy describing our adventure and the beautiful pandals and idols. And from then on, it was a ritual every year to go out in the sashthi morning and visit all the nearby puja pandals..
It was the first time I went alone. And not just alone, I was given the responsibility of someone. I felt responsible and grown up. It was special. And till today I remember it..
The second ‘for the first time’ happened when I was in the high school. Cooking was always my interest and especially making something new. However, I was always only making snacks or something small. Maybe baked a cake or cookies, made something fried. I never ventured to cook the main course. But, that year for puja I decided to cook the main course all the five days. And parents readily agreed. Eagerly I decided a menu and asked my dad to bring the ingredients. The first day, sashthi, had some kind of dry chicken preparation on the menu. Parents had to go to work, the holidays beginning from the next day. I was supposed to cook it for dinner. We had planned an early dinner and then would go out pandal hopping in the city for the whole night. Ma had warned me to be careful about the fire and told to call her if I needed anything.
Late in the afternoon, I started with my cooking. Onions were chopped, ginger and garlic was made into a paste. I took out all the spices and measured the required amounts. I took out the salt jar so that I would remember to add it in the end. The chicken was already cleaned. With my ingredients neatly ready, I had put the wok on fire. The oil got heated and I put in the spices. Soon, the air filled with the nice aroma and the crackling sound of the spices. Following the recipe diligently, I was busy adding ingredients and going through each step. It felt all so easy. And the initial overwhelming thought of cooking the main course was gone. By then, everything was done. I had to just wait for the chicken to get cooked and add the seasoning. And there, my dish would be ready!! I smiled and was proud a bit.
And then came the realization. I had no clue to know when the chicken is cooked. How would I know when it is done? I had no choice but to make this rescue call to ma. ‘Ma, I have put in everything, and all is good. But how do I know when the chicken is cooked??’ I muttered over the phone in confusion. She explained with a smile solving all my problems. Finally, then when it was almost cooked, I tried my ‘master chef’ tricks, and added quite an amount of black pepper.
At the dinner table that evening, it was a success. The chicken which was a bit too hot had this unique rustic taste. Everyone licked their fingers, and it was a hit. My first main course! It was perfect. And, so was all the other food I cooked during that holiday. From then on, often, I had the responsibility of preparing the meat dishes when some guests were coming.
The first day of Durga puja, along with it, brought these ‘for the first time’-s in my life. And that is what made it special. These were little milestones on life’s way that made me feel grown up, responsible and proud. And these ‘first times’ made the puja all the more happy and gave more reasons to celebrate.
So what I did ‘for the first time’ yesterday? I made rashogollas! The yummy spongy cheese balls in sugar syrup. The delicate and all famous Bengali dessert.
I was thinking about the first day of puja yesterday, missing it a bit, and yet feeling so happy. After all it is puja!! And then I realize how this first day of puja was also the day when I ‘for the first time’ ventured out alone or cooked a main course or did something..
It is a different situation in India, especially when one lives in a crowded city like Calcutta. Children there do not go out alone on the roads without responsible supervision. The crowds, and traffic and all other possible dangers make the parents hold the hand of the child as the child steps out to the world. It is hard to imagine a situation like this in a different society or even in a calmer town of India. But in Calcutta, this is what it is. Children do not go out alone. Similarly, when I was little, I was also not allowed to go out alone except in the community playgrounds in the afternoons. Of course this did not count the time when I dared to escape out along with my brother (I was the ‘responsible’ elder sister), took a rickshaw, and went to the gas station.
I was around 9 then. It was sashthi. And already in the morning I was dressed up in my new dress. Ma was getting bhai (brother) ready. Someone was going to take us out to see the nearby pandals. It was the first day of puja and we could barely wait. And then came the surprise… Ma said, bhai and me could go alone to the nearest pandal, and only to that. Yahoooo!! I could barely believe what I heard and was impatient to step out before she changed her mind. I hurried out of the house grabbing my brother’s hand. Ma from behind was telling me to always hold bhai’s hand, cross the road carefully, and to NOT go anywhere else. Who cared?! I was out alone for the first time (well, with permission this time). I was given the responsibility of my brother on the roads. I was so excited. I felt so proud and grown up. I am sure I was inches ‘taller’. Holding bhai’s hand, I looked back to wave to ma and then turned the corner.
No sooner was ma out of sight that I revealed my plan to bhai. When we were allowed to get out alone, then why to go only to the nearest pandal and wait for the rest till the evening? I knew the way around and decided to go to all close by pandals. ‘Instead of just going to the nearest pandal, we would make the usual circle of the area and see all the pandals’, I told my brother. He was a bit skeptical about if I really knew the way. And with my assurance, he readily agreed. And I am sure he was also thrilled within. So we proudly went around visiting all the five pandals of the area. Excitedly we talked about how beautiful all looked. Thrilled about how we would proudly declare our little adventure at home. And then thinking, maybe, we should just say we were for long only at the pandal where we were actually allowed to go.
We were almost at the end of our adventure and was about to turn to the main road that leads to our community when I heard some beating of dhak further ahead. I remembered, long back dad had taken us once to some pandal there. Somehow I remembered we just need to go straight to reach it. And I told bhai, ‘let’s go to it too’! He was now tired and quite skeptical as he sensed I was not sure about the location. But, nevertheless, agreed. And anyway, I was the ‘boss’. So we set ahead. And walked and walked and walked. Now as I remember, maybe we had barely walked maybe 5-6 minutes. But we were little then. And unknown roads, especially when I was not sure about the destination, seemed longer to us. Bhai was already getting nervous. But I proposed to walk on a bit further before turning back. And then he replied, ‘Okay, we walk. But if we get lost, and the police are able to find us, then I am going to put the blame on you’!!! I smiled and agreed. Of course, we would not be lost! But alas, we could not find the place though we were able to hear the dhak all along. And we decided to head back home.
Back at home, I triumphantly declared to ma, ‘Guess where we went? We saw all the pandals’!!! She acted surprised; and then smiled and said that she guessed it when we were out for so long. Soon we got busy describing our adventure and the beautiful pandals and idols. And from then on, it was a ritual every year to go out in the sashthi morning and visit all the nearby puja pandals..
It was the first time I went alone. And not just alone, I was given the responsibility of someone. I felt responsible and grown up. It was special. And till today I remember it..
The second ‘for the first time’ happened when I was in the high school. Cooking was always my interest and especially making something new. However, I was always only making snacks or something small. Maybe baked a cake or cookies, made something fried. I never ventured to cook the main course. But, that year for puja I decided to cook the main course all the five days. And parents readily agreed. Eagerly I decided a menu and asked my dad to bring the ingredients. The first day, sashthi, had some kind of dry chicken preparation on the menu. Parents had to go to work, the holidays beginning from the next day. I was supposed to cook it for dinner. We had planned an early dinner and then would go out pandal hopping in the city for the whole night. Ma had warned me to be careful about the fire and told to call her if I needed anything.
Late in the afternoon, I started with my cooking. Onions were chopped, ginger and garlic was made into a paste. I took out all the spices and measured the required amounts. I took out the salt jar so that I would remember to add it in the end. The chicken was already cleaned. With my ingredients neatly ready, I had put the wok on fire. The oil got heated and I put in the spices. Soon, the air filled with the nice aroma and the crackling sound of the spices. Following the recipe diligently, I was busy adding ingredients and going through each step. It felt all so easy. And the initial overwhelming thought of cooking the main course was gone. By then, everything was done. I had to just wait for the chicken to get cooked and add the seasoning. And there, my dish would be ready!! I smiled and was proud a bit.
And then came the realization. I had no clue to know when the chicken is cooked. How would I know when it is done? I had no choice but to make this rescue call to ma. ‘Ma, I have put in everything, and all is good. But how do I know when the chicken is cooked??’ I muttered over the phone in confusion. She explained with a smile solving all my problems. Finally, then when it was almost cooked, I tried my ‘master chef’ tricks, and added quite an amount of black pepper.
At the dinner table that evening, it was a success. The chicken which was a bit too hot had this unique rustic taste. Everyone licked their fingers, and it was a hit. My first main course! It was perfect. And, so was all the other food I cooked during that holiday. From then on, often, I had the responsibility of preparing the meat dishes when some guests were coming.
The first day of Durga puja, along with it, brought these ‘for the first time’-s in my life. And that is what made it special. These were little milestones on life’s way that made me feel grown up, responsible and proud. And these ‘first times’ made the puja all the more happy and gave more reasons to celebrate.
So what I did ‘for the first time’ yesterday? I made rashogollas! The yummy spongy cheese balls in sugar syrup. The delicate and all famous Bengali dessert.
A new city. A home.
The morning was sleepy. Therefore, when Blaž wished me “Subho duto barsha”, “Happy two years” in his own Bengali, I was not sure about what he is referring to. It took me a few seconds to realize that today it is exactly two years I am in Slovenia. And instantly I went through the past two years that made this new country another home of mine.
It was sometime after 1 a.m. in the morning when my flight left the soil on India behind to touch a new land. Sad to leave home and anxious to go somewhere new, my heart was a mixture of different thoughts. It was so much work to make this happen. So many moments were spent in restless apprehension for this, that, finally when it was happening, I was too tired to feel anything at all. The last few days, even the last few hours, were spent busy packing, arranging documents etc etc. Along with that, I was apprehensive about the long journey. I simply wished to rest when I finally boarded the flight. I wished not to think or feel anything. Therefore, soon after the dinner was served, I closed my eyes, planning to get some sleep.
It was early in the morning when I woke up. Through the window, I saw the horizon in the heavenly colors of dawn. And finally for the first time after hours I actually realized I am happy. I had wished it so much; I had worked hard for it. There was this anxious and a bit sad feeling; but, in the end, I was happy and looking forward to the new chapter of my journey.
Looking to Slovenia from the sky was beautiful. The ranges of Alps looked beautiful. I loved the little valleys and stretches of green. I loved the autumn colors. The flight touched this new land. And suddenly, while waiting for my luggage, I was scared. I realized that, “this is it”. Scared, nervous and anxious, these were the only words defining my state of mind then. Nothing there was mine yet, it was all new. “I have left my home and am now in a land which is not my home”. This is what I thought. But only for a moment. And then eager to explore the new and make it my own, I stepped out.
As we were driving to the city, I relaxed. I looked around enjoying the beauty. I loved the trees in all shades from fiery red to pale green. I looked at the unfamiliar boards, the roads, the landscape, houses. Everything was so much interesting and so very different from that of India. I was calmer and interested; and by then I was being a tourist.
The initial impression about the country was good. I found it nice and friendly. But it was definitely something different in every aspect. They spoke a language I had no clue about. I could not make any sense out of the billboards, or did not know what to say if I cannot find something particular at the store. The roads were new and so was the right-handed driving. I did not know my way around except from work to home. The food was good but very different. I was meeting Blaz’s family. I was meeting new people at work. Starting with work and getting familiarized with the different work culture. Preparing some further documents. So many things were going on at the same time. And all the along, I was missing India, home. I was missing all things familiar. Coming to here was something I wished, but it was nevertheless hard to adjust.
A couple of months passed by and the winter set in. The city was covered in the blanket of fresh snow and Christmas lights glittered. I was already comfortable in the city. Roads were not anymore just new to me. I had a feeling about my way around. I knew a few words here and there that would help me get around. Work and school were going smooth and easy. I already had a routine of my own. I ventured to explore a bit or simply walk around in the evenings. Also by then I had visited a few parts of Slovenia. As I walked around in the festivity searching for Christmas gifts, I suddenly discovered myself feeling quite at home.
Two years passed by. I now know the city and quite a bit of the language. I know the buildings on my way to work from home. I know where to get particular things. I have my favorite stores, bookstore, ice-cream parlors, restaurants, etc. I know where I love walking most. I have discovered little books stores. I know about the yearly events that I like to attend. I have explored quite a lot of Slovenia in between, and I know my favorite places. I love to walk around in city center after work and visit my favorite bookstore. I love to come to the Saturday fresh market. I simply love the city, the country. And it feels all my own.
So, when I return to Ljubljana after a tiring work trip abroad, I feel glad and relaxed to be back. Not because it is more familiar; but because, it is my own. I feel happy to be back at the place which I call my home. I remember how I stepped out of the same airport two years back, all anxious. But, I cannot remember when I first started to feel at home. I do not know when slowly I have made this new place my own home.
Written on October 9, 2010; the day that marked two years of my coming to Slovenia.
It was sometime after 1 a.m. in the morning when my flight left the soil on India behind to touch a new land. Sad to leave home and anxious to go somewhere new, my heart was a mixture of different thoughts. It was so much work to make this happen. So many moments were spent in restless apprehension for this, that, finally when it was happening, I was too tired to feel anything at all. The last few days, even the last few hours, were spent busy packing, arranging documents etc etc. Along with that, I was apprehensive about the long journey. I simply wished to rest when I finally boarded the flight. I wished not to think or feel anything. Therefore, soon after the dinner was served, I closed my eyes, planning to get some sleep.
It was early in the morning when I woke up. Through the window, I saw the horizon in the heavenly colors of dawn. And finally for the first time after hours I actually realized I am happy. I had wished it so much; I had worked hard for it. There was this anxious and a bit sad feeling; but, in the end, I was happy and looking forward to the new chapter of my journey.
Looking to Slovenia from the sky was beautiful. The ranges of Alps looked beautiful. I loved the little valleys and stretches of green. I loved the autumn colors. The flight touched this new land. And suddenly, while waiting for my luggage, I was scared. I realized that, “this is it”. Scared, nervous and anxious, these were the only words defining my state of mind then. Nothing there was mine yet, it was all new. “I have left my home and am now in a land which is not my home”. This is what I thought. But only for a moment. And then eager to explore the new and make it my own, I stepped out.
As we were driving to the city, I relaxed. I looked around enjoying the beauty. I loved the trees in all shades from fiery red to pale green. I looked at the unfamiliar boards, the roads, the landscape, houses. Everything was so much interesting and so very different from that of India. I was calmer and interested; and by then I was being a tourist.
The initial impression about the country was good. I found it nice and friendly. But it was definitely something different in every aspect. They spoke a language I had no clue about. I could not make any sense out of the billboards, or did not know what to say if I cannot find something particular at the store. The roads were new and so was the right-handed driving. I did not know my way around except from work to home. The food was good but very different. I was meeting Blaz’s family. I was meeting new people at work. Starting with work and getting familiarized with the different work culture. Preparing some further documents. So many things were going on at the same time. And all the along, I was missing India, home. I was missing all things familiar. Coming to here was something I wished, but it was nevertheless hard to adjust.
A couple of months passed by and the winter set in. The city was covered in the blanket of fresh snow and Christmas lights glittered. I was already comfortable in the city. Roads were not anymore just new to me. I had a feeling about my way around. I knew a few words here and there that would help me get around. Work and school were going smooth and easy. I already had a routine of my own. I ventured to explore a bit or simply walk around in the evenings. Also by then I had visited a few parts of Slovenia. As I walked around in the festivity searching for Christmas gifts, I suddenly discovered myself feeling quite at home.
Two years passed by. I now know the city and quite a bit of the language. I know the buildings on my way to work from home. I know where to get particular things. I have my favorite stores, bookstore, ice-cream parlors, restaurants, etc. I know where I love walking most. I have discovered little books stores. I know about the yearly events that I like to attend. I have explored quite a lot of Slovenia in between, and I know my favorite places. I love to walk around in city center after work and visit my favorite bookstore. I love to come to the Saturday fresh market. I simply love the city, the country. And it feels all my own.
So, when I return to Ljubljana after a tiring work trip abroad, I feel glad and relaxed to be back. Not because it is more familiar; but because, it is my own. I feel happy to be back at the place which I call my home. I remember how I stepped out of the same airport two years back, all anxious. But, I cannot remember when I first started to feel at home. I do not know when slowly I have made this new place my own home.
Written on October 9, 2010; the day that marked two years of my coming to Slovenia.
October 8, 2010
It is Mahalaya
It was raining the whole week. And though yesterday morning at least did not welcome with a rainy face; it was cloudy, gloomy. I had much things scheduled to do at work. After the work I had language class. It was supposed to be a long tiring day. And yet it was different in every sense.
I was thousands of miles away. I had nothing around me that reminded of this particular time. And yet I remembered. And yet my mind was fleeting and my heart happy. It was not there and still I felt it all around me. I felt the mirth. As I said, it was a different day.
It was Mahalaya, marking the beginning of ‘Debi Pakhha’ and of our greatest festival. The Durga Puja. And therefore, it had to be different even when I was thousands of kilometers away from all the fun without any hint of the festivity around me.
Mahalaya has its own religious traditions. But each Bengali associates it with something completely different than what is just religious. Mahalaya for most of us is synonymous to Mahishashuramardini. Undoubtedly one of the most successful programs aired on the radio ever. First played in early 1930s by All India Radio, it is still aired on the same day for all these years and decades. And almost every Bengali diligently listens to it at 4 a.m. of the crisp chilly autumn morning. Chanting of Chandi Slokas by Birendra Krishna Bhadra marks the beginning of our greatest festival.
I do not have memory of listening to the Mahalaya for the first time. I just know I have listened to it all my life, and will continue doing so. I remember the radio on the central dining table of the old home all ready already the night before. The old tape deck would also be ready with the cassettes. Sharp at 4 a.m. both would be switched on in their full volume and the deep voice of Birendra Krishna Bhadra would echo through the rooms telling the story of the Goddess. At the same time all other houses around would resonate to the same welcome of the Goddess. I would wake up to the ‘Agomoni’ songs.
It would be a bit coldish in those eerie morning hours. Snuggling in a thin shawl or blanket I would settle myself on the sofa. Listening intently I would let each word seep in my soul and vibrate there. I would not understand everything of the Sanskrit or the complex poetic Bengali back then. And yet it would move something somewhere deep in me. I could perfectly associate with it even back then when I was little. It filled my soul with happiness and exuberance. It brought smiles to each face around. The goddess is coming with her four children; and bringing along with her all exhilaration, fun and merry. It is Durga Puja.
As a little girl I would fall asleep sometime in between the long Mahalaya. I always tried hard to stay awake. And when I could not, I would just pretend in the end I was actually awake. But every time I fell asleep, I was sad a bit within to miss the parts. I waited for it the whole year. I would wake up again as the ardent chanting of Slokas grew faster towards the last parts. The day breaking as good wins over evil. A very different fresh crisp new morning with its air filled with festivity.
Each year I wait for the Mahalaya and I wait for this morning. I associate with it rather philosophically than religiously. But in the end these terms and classification does not really matter. Every year as I listen to it welcoming the eternal all-giving power, I feel calling my true self and all positivity within me. The whole ambiance is created and filled with this very strong positive connotation; and mirth, festivity feels the air. Every time I simply feel good within myself and all around me. A very happy feeling it is always.
I welcome the new morning with a radiant smile. The delicate blue sky, with only a few cotton clouds floating across. The green around me fresh and brilliant from the last rains. The reddish orange sun. I touch the golden sunbeams warming my heart. I smell the fresh air. I remember each time without fail how festivity smells in the air. I smile. My mind is fleeting, my heart happy, and I am feeling Puja. The little me would run barefoot on the grass to pick the gentle smelling ‘shuili’ flowers that fell on the ground heavy with dew the previous night. The dewdrops still glittering. I would shake the tree to let those little specks of happiness shower on me.
It did not matter that yesterday it was not yet dawn when the Mahalaya ended. The days are already shorter in this part of the world; and clouds made it darker. It did not matter that all the houses around did not reverberate with the familiar Slokas and songs. It did not matter that I was far away from all the festivity. I still smelled the festivity in the air. Mirth was all around me. I was delighted and cheerful. I was happy. And I smiled radiantly.
My mind did float away to my land. I imagined with impatient anxiety all the preparations going around there at every corner. I missed every little thing. But, no matter what, I was happy and radiant. My soul was a cheerful mixture of excitement and tranquil. And the sun finally did shine breaking through the clouds as the day was almost about to end.
I realized all over again that no matter where I am, I will always feel the same on Mahalaya. Everything else just makes it merrier. But this fluttering happiness that Mahalaya brings deep inside me is so much an inherent part of the person I am that it will remain the same always. Wherever I am, it will remain constant.
It is Mahalaya. And this is what it always is.
I was thousands of miles away. I had nothing around me that reminded of this particular time. And yet I remembered. And yet my mind was fleeting and my heart happy. It was not there and still I felt it all around me. I felt the mirth. As I said, it was a different day.
It was Mahalaya, marking the beginning of ‘Debi Pakhha’ and of our greatest festival. The Durga Puja. And therefore, it had to be different even when I was thousands of kilometers away from all the fun without any hint of the festivity around me.
Mahalaya has its own religious traditions. But each Bengali associates it with something completely different than what is just religious. Mahalaya for most of us is synonymous to Mahishashuramardini. Undoubtedly one of the most successful programs aired on the radio ever. First played in early 1930s by All India Radio, it is still aired on the same day for all these years and decades. And almost every Bengali diligently listens to it at 4 a.m. of the crisp chilly autumn morning. Chanting of Chandi Slokas by Birendra Krishna Bhadra marks the beginning of our greatest festival.
I do not have memory of listening to the Mahalaya for the first time. I just know I have listened to it all my life, and will continue doing so. I remember the radio on the central dining table of the old home all ready already the night before. The old tape deck would also be ready with the cassettes. Sharp at 4 a.m. both would be switched on in their full volume and the deep voice of Birendra Krishna Bhadra would echo through the rooms telling the story of the Goddess. At the same time all other houses around would resonate to the same welcome of the Goddess. I would wake up to the ‘Agomoni’ songs.
It would be a bit coldish in those eerie morning hours. Snuggling in a thin shawl or blanket I would settle myself on the sofa. Listening intently I would let each word seep in my soul and vibrate there. I would not understand everything of the Sanskrit or the complex poetic Bengali back then. And yet it would move something somewhere deep in me. I could perfectly associate with it even back then when I was little. It filled my soul with happiness and exuberance. It brought smiles to each face around. The goddess is coming with her four children; and bringing along with her all exhilaration, fun and merry. It is Durga Puja.
As a little girl I would fall asleep sometime in between the long Mahalaya. I always tried hard to stay awake. And when I could not, I would just pretend in the end I was actually awake. But every time I fell asleep, I was sad a bit within to miss the parts. I waited for it the whole year. I would wake up again as the ardent chanting of Slokas grew faster towards the last parts. The day breaking as good wins over evil. A very different fresh crisp new morning with its air filled with festivity.
Each year I wait for the Mahalaya and I wait for this morning. I associate with it rather philosophically than religiously. But in the end these terms and classification does not really matter. Every year as I listen to it welcoming the eternal all-giving power, I feel calling my true self and all positivity within me. The whole ambiance is created and filled with this very strong positive connotation; and mirth, festivity feels the air. Every time I simply feel good within myself and all around me. A very happy feeling it is always.
I welcome the new morning with a radiant smile. The delicate blue sky, with only a few cotton clouds floating across. The green around me fresh and brilliant from the last rains. The reddish orange sun. I touch the golden sunbeams warming my heart. I smell the fresh air. I remember each time without fail how festivity smells in the air. I smile. My mind is fleeting, my heart happy, and I am feeling Puja. The little me would run barefoot on the grass to pick the gentle smelling ‘shuili’ flowers that fell on the ground heavy with dew the previous night. The dewdrops still glittering. I would shake the tree to let those little specks of happiness shower on me.
It did not matter that yesterday it was not yet dawn when the Mahalaya ended. The days are already shorter in this part of the world; and clouds made it darker. It did not matter that all the houses around did not reverberate with the familiar Slokas and songs. It did not matter that I was far away from all the festivity. I still smelled the festivity in the air. Mirth was all around me. I was delighted and cheerful. I was happy. And I smiled radiantly.
My mind did float away to my land. I imagined with impatient anxiety all the preparations going around there at every corner. I missed every little thing. But, no matter what, I was happy and radiant. My soul was a cheerful mixture of excitement and tranquil. And the sun finally did shine breaking through the clouds as the day was almost about to end.
I realized all over again that no matter where I am, I will always feel the same on Mahalaya. Everything else just makes it merrier. But this fluttering happiness that Mahalaya brings deep inside me is so much an inherent part of the person I am that it will remain the same always. Wherever I am, it will remain constant.
It is Mahalaya. And this is what it always is.
The holiday mood lingers on
It was long back in beginning of August when I returned from my summer holiday trip, and yet somehow I was not out of its wonderful charm until recently (though sometimes I really doubt that!). I had a fantastic vacation and returned full of lovely experiences; experiences that return as memories from time to time. However, it was not just about wonderful memories. It was somewhat like a spell that made me rather ignore the fact that I was actually back, kept me away from regular life and work. A spell that each of my longer holiday trips casts on me and the lazy holiday mood that simply lingers on. I remained somewhat in a state of denial. The mood was just of some lazy delight. And the story telling, pictures made the situation worse. It was so hard to just start working in the lab. There was no concentration for work and somehow I just wished the clock to tick on. Simply procrastinate. It was just hard to be back.
It was easier to get back into everyday routine when I was little. Holidays were then planned during the school vacations. With a few days of school leave still left, after returning from a lovely trip there was this buffer time to tell the stories and relive the memories. I would happily chatter around about such awesome places I saw. Dad would bring home one evening the printed pictures. Eagerly we would see how the pictures came out. And with the pictures it was visiting those places once again in memories. We would talk about little things from our trips, what we liked, what was best. There was simply no end and there was no need of the end. I had the time for the luxury of indulging in those memories and being lazy.
And finally, when the school would reopen, it was no problem. I would rather wait for it to reopen. I would get the chance to tell the stories to friends and ‘brag’ about it. Telling stories and listening to others filled the breaks between classes. It was all simply excitement, and going back to school did not feel like burden. During the classes there was anyway no other way out than to study, listen to the teacher, and solve problems. Even though then also I was forced back to regular rhythm, the force was however not felt.
Next came the college phase and its vacations. The long vacations were spent at hometown. Home, family, friends, good food, coupled with a short trip somewhere made it a perfect luxury after each hectic semester. Returning to the hostel with another more hectic semester to welcome us was bad. However, it was different living in a hostel. It was like another holiday except for during the exam times. Living with all the girls, chatting around, gossips; we were busy and having fun all the time. And therefore, even though we missed home; we actually looked forward to meet each other once we were already in Akurdi and catch up with the stories. It was just another phase of holiday with a little hint of homesickness in it. At least until the internal exams knocked on the door and we were forced to study.
But now that I work it is different. I cannot imagine how it would be if I was working in public sector, IT or whatever else, maybe I would be forced into the work and it would be easier in the end. But I do not. I am required to be back to work and work, but I am sort of on my own (thanks to my boss also!). So, unless there is some close deadline to meet, I had the ‘time’ to procrastinate. And there was no real deadline to meet when I came back after the holidays.
I had to be back to work the very next day and I was supposed to be working for eight hours a day. And I did start ‘working’ eight hours. However, in this entire story, there was a big ‘but’. I was back to everyday life but the pulse was missing. I had no mood for work. I felt so bored that I had to be at work. Sitting in front of the computer I did something, but at the end of the day I had no clue what I did. Everything was going so slow. And I did not like it at all. The minimum concentration required to work productively was missing.
Same was the situation back in home. I was cooking half-heartedly. Cleaning was postponed as much as possible. There was no mood for hobbies. I was just lazy. Even the stories about the holiday, those hundreds of pictures did not excite me so much. It was a wonderful holiday and its memories made me smile. I was happy and excited with the stories. But indulging in those memories was not what I wished. I wished the holiday itself. Back. Again. I wished to simply continue treating myself with the relaxation, laziness and excitement of a holiday. I hated the routine life and searched for all ways to escape it. Therefore, there was no trying to force myself back. I allowed myself to be in the mood. Every day I reminded myself of the reality and in the end simply let the mood win.
But in the end it could not go on forever. I had to go back to regular work pattern and this blissful holiday mood had no way to survive longer. I don’t have a nagging boss who drives me crazy. But then, work slowly piled up which in the end had to be finished, deadline crept nearer. I just had to be ‘back’ from my holiday. It did not matter if there was concentration or lack of it. So well, did I have any option? I could not just afford to be indulged in the perfect holiday mood. And it was just so hard to be back. But, somewhere in this story, somehow maybe, I think, the holiday mood also started fading away and I got excited with work again..
But wait. The mood is again trying to seep back. With the Durga puja around the corner; even though I am nowhere near the festivity, I am again exuberant. My mind is again fleeting. I again feel this charming laziness around me. And with every little chance I just provoke this mood. Little weekend trips, lazy evenings at home, eating pizza instead of cooking, or cooking something I love, experimenting.. Just somehow letting the clock move on and forget time. The holiday mood still lingers on…
Oh, now when am I supposed to work??
It was easier to get back into everyday routine when I was little. Holidays were then planned during the school vacations. With a few days of school leave still left, after returning from a lovely trip there was this buffer time to tell the stories and relive the memories. I would happily chatter around about such awesome places I saw. Dad would bring home one evening the printed pictures. Eagerly we would see how the pictures came out. And with the pictures it was visiting those places once again in memories. We would talk about little things from our trips, what we liked, what was best. There was simply no end and there was no need of the end. I had the time for the luxury of indulging in those memories and being lazy.
And finally, when the school would reopen, it was no problem. I would rather wait for it to reopen. I would get the chance to tell the stories to friends and ‘brag’ about it. Telling stories and listening to others filled the breaks between classes. It was all simply excitement, and going back to school did not feel like burden. During the classes there was anyway no other way out than to study, listen to the teacher, and solve problems. Even though then also I was forced back to regular rhythm, the force was however not felt.
Next came the college phase and its vacations. The long vacations were spent at hometown. Home, family, friends, good food, coupled with a short trip somewhere made it a perfect luxury after each hectic semester. Returning to the hostel with another more hectic semester to welcome us was bad. However, it was different living in a hostel. It was like another holiday except for during the exam times. Living with all the girls, chatting around, gossips; we were busy and having fun all the time. And therefore, even though we missed home; we actually looked forward to meet each other once we were already in Akurdi and catch up with the stories. It was just another phase of holiday with a little hint of homesickness in it. At least until the internal exams knocked on the door and we were forced to study.
But now that I work it is different. I cannot imagine how it would be if I was working in public sector, IT or whatever else, maybe I would be forced into the work and it would be easier in the end. But I do not. I am required to be back to work and work, but I am sort of on my own (thanks to my boss also!). So, unless there is some close deadline to meet, I had the ‘time’ to procrastinate. And there was no real deadline to meet when I came back after the holidays.
I had to be back to work the very next day and I was supposed to be working for eight hours a day. And I did start ‘working’ eight hours. However, in this entire story, there was a big ‘but’. I was back to everyday life but the pulse was missing. I had no mood for work. I felt so bored that I had to be at work. Sitting in front of the computer I did something, but at the end of the day I had no clue what I did. Everything was going so slow. And I did not like it at all. The minimum concentration required to work productively was missing.
Same was the situation back in home. I was cooking half-heartedly. Cleaning was postponed as much as possible. There was no mood for hobbies. I was just lazy. Even the stories about the holiday, those hundreds of pictures did not excite me so much. It was a wonderful holiday and its memories made me smile. I was happy and excited with the stories. But indulging in those memories was not what I wished. I wished the holiday itself. Back. Again. I wished to simply continue treating myself with the relaxation, laziness and excitement of a holiday. I hated the routine life and searched for all ways to escape it. Therefore, there was no trying to force myself back. I allowed myself to be in the mood. Every day I reminded myself of the reality and in the end simply let the mood win.
But in the end it could not go on forever. I had to go back to regular work pattern and this blissful holiday mood had no way to survive longer. I don’t have a nagging boss who drives me crazy. But then, work slowly piled up which in the end had to be finished, deadline crept nearer. I just had to be ‘back’ from my holiday. It did not matter if there was concentration or lack of it. So well, did I have any option? I could not just afford to be indulged in the perfect holiday mood. And it was just so hard to be back. But, somewhere in this story, somehow maybe, I think, the holiday mood also started fading away and I got excited with work again..
But wait. The mood is again trying to seep back. With the Durga puja around the corner; even though I am nowhere near the festivity, I am again exuberant. My mind is again fleeting. I again feel this charming laziness around me. And with every little chance I just provoke this mood. Little weekend trips, lazy evenings at home, eating pizza instead of cooking, or cooking something I love, experimenting.. Just somehow letting the clock move on and forget time. The holiday mood still lingers on…
Oh, now when am I supposed to work??
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