Instrument?

So many instruments and machines surround us that more than often we fail to even realize this fact or recognize the things as a ‘machines’ or ‘instruments’. They are an important and inseparable part of our life. We think of the instruments similarly as maybe about limbs or sense organs. Rather, we never consciously think of it anymore. Instruments have so well incorporated in our lifestyle that now they almost define life. Well, I am myself surrounded by them always, and cannot imagine my life before the instruments and machines. They are an essential part of me. Of us. Debating about its influence is one side of the coin, enjoying it is the other. And we just love dealing with the luxury side of the coin. But sometimes it is funny to realize that the thing I am using every day, that is such an essential part of my life, is a machine, just another non-living instrument!!

We had a group meeting in the lab yesterday. Besides things, we also discussed about the yearly lab report that has to be written for the annual book. The institute this time made some minor changes in the format and we talked about those. It was required that each lab submits 3-4 pictures beside the group photo. Now ‘picture’ was the word mentioned which is clearly different from ‘figures’. Generally, some figures and schemes representative of the work published by the lab are given along with these kinds of reports. However, picture is something completely different. Maybe it was a mistake or the institute meant to have pictures of the lab instruments, people working with the instruments etc.. We just decided to clear it with the office.

And then we were having a little laugh about what pictures we can give if the lab really needs to give some ‘pictures’. We do not have fancy (or not fancy) instruments. We are a Chemometrics lab. We work on computers and have only programs and softwares. But nothing is as such tangible besides the computers. And computers are not instruments! And pictures working on the computers are not ‘cool’ enough. Without any instrument in lab, we had no picture that will show us doing some high-end research!

And it is then amidst all the fun I realized that the computer I use every day is not an instrument to me. It is a machine in all sense of the term. And yet, I do not really realize it to be so. Spending almost all my waking hours in front of my computer or laptop, they are a part of me. However unattached this part is from the physical me; it is still a part that I care about. And we human beings are not yet accustomed with the idea of having any fond association with something that is just a non-living machine. Therefore, we subconsciously just cease to think it to be one. It is a machine, true, but just in the book. For me it has a name. It is my computer!

They are.. a computer, a laptop, a mobile phone, a pen, a light, a bus, a oven, a …. I use them every day. Yes, a surgical instrument, a NMR system, a robot, a rocket, a screwdriver and things with which I cannot really associate myself, these are all instruments and fancy machines. However, my computer definitely is not one. This is what my mind says.

If I have to casually list all the machines around me, I will definitely not count my computer, or my mobile phone, or my ……. Unless I really think and go with the definition.

Cricket and India

I never thought cricket would ever have any place in my fond memories. I am one of those rare Indian youths for whom cricket is not so important. Okay, I do know enough to understand a match. When I was little, I used to follow cricket like all other cricket fans of our age. And then I grew older and grew out of it. I rarely enjoy a match and never care to watch one unless maybe India is playing World Cup final. I do not know the name of half of our players. I do not keep track of important tournaments going on. Maybe it is too long a game for me to watch and enjoy. But then, I also do not take any interest in that fast 20-20 format. Well I guess I am just not interested, that is simply it.

So, why now did I feel the urge to write about it? Well, I just happened to watch half of the latest India-England World Cup match and realized something. I may not care about cricket much and always wonder how a whole nation can be so crazy over a game, but I enjoy the crowd, the craziness, and the ‘cricket fever’. And now that I am far from it, I do miss it. Oh, on the side-note, the match was fun and interesting.

My earliest memory of cricket. A crowded drawing room when we used to live in a joint family, couches full and people sitting on small stools or on a mat on the floor. All eyes glued on the television. ‘Six’, ‘Yaaa’, ‘Out’, ‘What a shot’, ‘Arey yaar, get a spinner’ were few of the words that would fill the room in loud screams, and often would also come as screams from the neighbors. Excitement and tension filled the air. During any important game, people would leave work early to go home and catch the match. Those who would stay would crowd around the TV in the recreation room of the office. Even the display televisions in showrooms would have cricket on and a crowd of passersby outside who stopped to catch a glimpse of the score. Those were the days of pocket transistors held close to the ears to listen to the live commentary on the way home. Mobile phones replaced the transistors. Nonetheless, the question one asks his stranger co-traveler remains same until date, ‘Dada, score kato holo?’ (Brother, what is the score?). And you go to anywhere in India now, you will find the exact same picture..

For these days, strangers become friends and engage themselves in heated discussions. The newspaper is flooded with cricket news and expert comments. Common public give their ‘expert comments’ in a way that makes me think that given a bat or ball, they would make India win for sure! Everywhere it is then just cricket and cricket. The only program on TV is then cricket. When the match is over, it is time for highlights, replays, expert opinions. And of course mothers always had the complain that the important tournaments were always around the school exam times. Well, I guess they do not have this complain anymore. Now cricket is all around the year. And when it is not, the children are playing it with the aspiration to be the next Sachin Tendulkar.

I do not exactly know how or why, but this cricket fever worn off me as I grew up. I stopped watching it and taking any interest in it. However, I enjoyed my brother’s loud live commentaries, cheers, and annoyance during every match of importance (or not). It somehow brought a life and excitement in the home. It was fun. It was the ‘cricket festival’! Maybe I would drop in the room to ask the score sometimes or watch an over. But then, that would be it. In college also it was the same. The girls would get permission to watch matches late in night in the ground floor hall. Their screams would reach up in the rooms. The college inter-departmental cricket match would be one of the most important events of the year. But among all these, I just always failed to understand the craze.

And now I have escaped all of it and am here in a non-cricket country. Even Blaz often keeps track of the IPL when it is going on, but not me. The only time I read anything about cricket is when it manages to grab the headline of the newspaper. I know that the World Cup is going on now, that too in the Sub-continent. But, that is about all the knowledge I have in cricket current affairs.

Last Sunday I called my brother in the afternoon. He was in the hostel common room watching TV and came out to receive the call. All the screaming and excited exclamations that formed the background noise told me that some important India match is going on. India-England, my brother informed, Sachin did an awesome century and now the second innings just started. So, we were talking and cricket was in the background. Only from time to time bhai would say ‘Oh no, another four, what are the bowlers and fielders doing!!!’. India was playing badly and the background enthusiasm was slowly diminishing. And then suddenly there was a loud scream of excitement. Bhai exclained, ‘It must be an OUT, or why would anyone scream!!?’, ‘Who was it??’, ‘At last one wicket’.. All these comments somehow intrigued me. I searched for a website that was live streaming the match and started watching.

Then long after we finished talking, I found myself still watching the match. Even Blaž joined me towards the end. I watched the rest of the match (with quite a few interruptions in the streaming)!! Oh, it made me excited. The crowd in the stadium, the screams, the cheers, the flags, the painted faces, the crazy waving and dancing when India played good, or when one realized that he was the target of the TV camera, the complete atmosphere, and tension of the match. It was all so awesome!!

I may not care about cricket, but I love the ‘cricket fever’ in India. I miss India during World Cup cricket! I miss bhai screaming at the TV in our drawing room and banging the table. I miss all the excitement people show. I miss all the heated discussion around me, and expert comments. How much I get tired of it being the ‘only event’, I do miss all the craziness.

I do not much care who wins the tournament. Of course, India winning it would be best, and the debate if that is possible I leave to others. But I do miss the cricket-crazy Indian crowd. I do miss the Indian cricket fever. I do miss being among the madness of celebrating one of the biggest Indian festival....‘Cricket’...


Indiaaaa.. Indiaa

Birthday gift

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love my birthday and the gifts!!

The front-page

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

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

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

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

Love is...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kolkata Book Fair

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The eight hours at work

Like most, I am also required to work for an average of eight hours daily. The regulations are not so strict and schedule is more relaxed. Also anyway, the workload requires one to be at work for a longer time more than often. However, I still like to come at around certain time and leave after around finishing eight hours. Of course, there are days when I leave quite early or stay hours later, but in general, I have this ‘schedule’. I generally prefer to come early, around 7-7.30, and leave sometime around 3-4 in the afternoon. I like to have most of my afternoon free and for myself to walk around, do necessary errands, relax, read a book, cook, work on my hobbies and so on..

But sometimes, like yesterday, I get hugely late and then the day seems so long. Yesterday, I was very lazy in the morning and came to work only at around 9. And because now I am in the process of writing a manuscript and finding it very boring to do so; I said to myself ‘I am going to stay till 5 at least and work’. I have less concentration in it as I find analyzing all my result and writing a manuscript, preparing pictures, graphs, tables etc annoying; therefore, if I do not force myself I would not be able to meet the deadline. Thus, there was this self-imposed rule of not leaving before 5 at least.

I started with work. Several printed sheets with graphs, notes, results were all around on my desk. However, the arrangement was much more than the work that was actually happening. I was so out of concentration, restless and hugely bored. To refresh myself I read the newspapers online. Then started again. The situation was still the same.

The clock showed it to be 11. On other days, I feel satisfied in working and do not notice how almost half of the day is gone. Yesterday each minute seemed like hours. But then it was not just yesterday. Most of the time when I am late, I have this feeling.

Somehow, when I notice that half of the day is gone, and realize that I was already working for quite some time, it gives a sense of satisfaction. I feel that I was being useful. I finished around half of the work I had planned to do that day. And then soon after I finish the rest I would be able to leave. Having most of the afternoon for myself, I then look forward to it. Concentrating back into work is easy. Soon I finish my work and realize that time has passed by without me noticing it. I enjoy the work then, feel satisfied about it, it gives some sense of positivity and happiness. I have earned myself the free afternoon, this is what I feel. There is no streak of guilt associated with it. On these days, 8 hours do not seem like 8 hours.

And, when I am late, everything change. At 11, I am still left with almost the whole of that day’s work. Realizing that almost half day gone without me doing much work because of being lazy in the morning without reason, I feel bad. Moreover, this also reminds me that to finish the work I need to stay longer and thus reducing my afternoon time. It annoys me. More so, as I know it was my fault in the very beginning. I look at the clock every five minutes and think it is moving so very slowly. Then I start getting bored, working slower and slower. This makes me more annoyed. And the whole thing just increases in a cycle, ultimately resulting in little productivity. Finally, unless I really have the need to finish something or too much workload, I just leave. However, I have this little guilt inside me saying I was lazy, and did not work with full concentration and productivity, and worse maybe if I had left it unfinished.

And the next day, when I am doing the same unfinished work and not getting bored or annoyed, I realize it is not about the work or the eight hours. If I start early and as planned, all goes good. The clock ticks on its own pace and in the end, I am leaving work satisfied and happy. If I am late, the clock stops moving. Minutes are like hours then, and hours are like forever. The eight hours become ‘nothing’ or ‘forever’ depending on when and how I start.

Bottom line, I should not be lazy in the morning to finish work smiling and satisfied.

Learning Slovene

It is after work, and I am waiting to head to the Slovenian language class. And then I decided to write about.. hmm… learning Slovenian language.

I truly admire those with a passion, interest and ability of learning languages. I have none. I enjoy and admire the beauty of a language, and play of words. But this enjoyment is limited to Bengali, my mother tongue; and English, which I had learnt when I was so young that I did not really feel the process of learning it. I admit that my pen is not most beautiful and flawless as I write in these languages, but I can read, write and talk in them fluently. And above all, I have knowledge enough to enjoy their beauty. Bengali to me is always the most beautiful, poetic and sweet sounding language. I am maybe biased to it, and rightly so. English is more international and allows me to enjoy great and interesting works. Besides these two, the only other language I sort of know is Hindi. Thanks to Indian television and Bollywood movies, I can speak and understand it completely.

And oh.. I can say that I know Slovene now.. well just a little bit, a very tiny little bit.

When I was in the 6th standard in school, we had to take up a third language. And the only option was taking Sanskrit. I was not very happy with the idea of it. Though the rich world of Indian scripts, mythologies, epics, religious texts is explored in Sanskrit; to me it was still a dead language without much of practical use. And with all my love for reading, I could not imagine myself reading much of Sanskrit texts in future. But anyway I had to take it. Learning the Devnagari script was easy. And then it started with easy words etc. But as it came to grammar, with learning to write even simple sentences my annoyance grew. People said that the grammar is like math, simple logic. But to me it was most incoherent and without any logic. As I struggled with the language, I was every time wondering how people could talk in a language as complicated as Sanskrit. I heard that having an understanding of this language will make learning some European languages easier. I never believed it. Who on the earth talk and think like that? In which modern language can there be complications like seven declinations, duals, genders, complex rules for verbs and sentence structures? There can be none. And I was relieved as two years of this Sanskrit phase got over. Little did I know that I will again land in the mess of these complex rules!!

I was wondering where on earth people speak in a complicated language similar to Sanskrit. And now I know. There can be many places, but Slovenia is definitely one of them. When I came to Slovenia as a researcher, I made sure that all communications in the lab and related to academics will be in English. Otherwise I would not have come in the first place. And though most people speak English, Slovene is the official language. Therefore, all official documents are mostly in Slovene. And as I have plans to live here, I would not be able to escape without learning the language. It is must to be independent in the country. And also who likes to look at the bill boards or listen to a conversation and not know what is up. So, I joined the afternoon courses at the faculty, and there started my struggle.

The vocabulary is not an issue, I learn that slowly and know that I will build it up over time. But the grammar, it is terrible. Six declination, duals and genders play with the ending of words and verbs. To top it all it was full of strange complex rules and even exceptions! Nothing made much sense. I could not find any logic. Okay, I can learn that to change into accusative case, I have to change the ending of singular female words from ‘a’ to ‘o’; but singular male and neuter words will undergo no change. Easy huh! But wait, if the word is for a living male (man, animals etc), I have to add an ‘a’ at the end. I mean why to be partial about living males?? And this is just only for singular, and then there are duals and plurals. Ah!

The pronouns are funny with all the ‘n’, ‘j’, ‘i’, ‘u’ in them making them hard to pronounce and remember. The language drives me crazy with the different endings for neuter words, but then, along with ‘him’ and ‘her’, there is no ‘it’! ‘I like to watch television and I watch him every evening’. Calling a television ‘him’ is just crazy!!

Just in the last class we were doing possessive pronouns and how to change endings of words to get their possessive forms. For male words, one add ‘ov(a)’ in the end. But wait, if the word ends with ‘j’ (or also ‘c’, ‘č’, ‘š’, ‘ž’), the ending will be ‘ev(a)’. Rule two, if it ends with ‘r’, add ‘j’ and with this now new ending, add ‘ev(a)’. Rule three, if the last but one alphabet is ‘e’, eliminate it. These are a few of the many rules. Okay, you learn the rules and it is easy. But hey wait a minute. What about if we wish to make the possessive form of the name ‘Peter’? Well, it ends with ‘r’, so according to rule add a ‘j’ and then a ‘ev(a)’; and because there is an ‘e’ just before the ending , remove it. So, ‘Petrjev(a)’ right? Wrong. It will be ‘Petrov(a)’!! When you remove the ‘e’, even if it is ending with ‘r’, do not add the ‘j’ and thus the ending becomes ‘ov(a)’. Now why will I not claim it to be a crazy complex language?

Well, I must not just complain that it is hard. It is also my fault why I am so slow in learning it. Learning a new language calls for using it as much as possible; and I use it as little as possible. Well, no, it is not just my reluctance or negligence. Being a talkative girl, I am supposed to have no problem in trying to talk in a new language. But I do. I am introvert and shy enough to not just talk with anyone, more so in a language that I barely know. I do not yet have the confidence and I am afraid of being wrong. With people in front of whom I am not afraid or shy, it takes so long to structure a sentence that I rather say it in English. Being talkative is thus a disadvantage in my situation because trying to speak in Slovene reduces the speed so badly that the flow and interest is lost. But well, I do try to talk. I try to say sentences in Slovene in shops. Also I try and use it with Blaž’s grandma. And every time I am able to say something or understand her sentences, the way she exclaims about ‘how much’ I know makes me smile and feel encouraged.

This time I am doing the intermediate level course and I feel glad when I see I already know a bit. The first two levels felt complete mess. I was then unable to understand anything. This time it is more comprehensive and makes sense. Well, not that it makes a complete sense; I still get lost in all the crazy ‘rules’ and numerous ‘exceptions’; but there is still some sense in it. I can understand and make simple conversations. I am not completely blank when two people are talking. And that is definitely an improvement. Especially when the student is me. And for the technical part of the knowledge, the short test I have this week will show my knowledge..

I remember when I was little I used to dream about learning as many languages as possible when I grow up. An idea that formed up as a result of my love for books. I thought, reading books in their original language would be such great! But now, I dare not think of this idea. And thanks to the good quality translations available, I can satisfy my urge of reading. Those thoughts of learning different languages do not even come in my wildest fantasies now. If I manage to learn Slovene properly, that will be enough an achievement.

Languages for me are hard nuts to crack. And I am struggling with one of the hardest ones..

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.

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.