Inside the tunnel

This January started for us with an interesting exploration. We walked on the track inside a train tunnel. And to describe the whole experience, I can only say ‘Super awesome’!!

One train enthusiast, who with his friend has walked on almost all railway tracks in Slovenia, traditionally walks inside Bohinj tunnel for quite some years now on 2^nd January. His friend and few other enthusiasts join in. This time he sent a sms to Blaž, inviting him to join the walk too. We instantly decided that we would go. It sounded fun and interesting. Blaž loves trains, and anything related to railway. Therefore, he was very eager. I am also interested in trains, though maybe not in such technical manner. However, the idea of walking in a 6 km long train tunnel definitely caught my attention and interest. I was looking forward to it too.

Bohinj tunnel is 6327m long, built in 1906. It was, at that time, one of the most important railway connection between Trieste and Central Europe. Presently it is the longest Slovenian railway tunnel. The tunnel has a slow uphill slope reaching its highest point somewhere around the middle, and then it again goes down. One interesting feature of the tunnel is the presence of water source deep inside it. Originally planned as a double track tunnel, there is now only one track. The other was removed to improve the drainage inside the tunnel. Left now with only the southern portal, a consequence of World War II, the tunnel stands there, still as the same important railway connection.

The plan was to take the train around 2pm on the other side of the tunnel and then walk our way back. Accordingly, we gathered at the station Bohinjska Bistrica around the time. The scheduled train was mostly for carrying cars across the tunnel and had only one small chair car. It took us around 10 minutes to reach the Podbordo station on the other side. It was fun to watch the cars boarding off the train. And then, we slowly started towards the tunnel for our walk. There was a bridge leading to the entrance of the tunnel. It was funny and a tad bit scary to walk on those iron sheets by the side of the track. Wow, I always wished to walk on a railway bridge! We let one locomotive pass before we entered the tunnel. And of course, a few pictures had to be taken. The weather was not particularly good, which meant that a constant draft wind would blow in our back. But that did not matter anyway; it only made things interesting. We were geared up with our flashlights and reflective vests; and were about to begin our in-tunnel adventure!! I was excited.

Bohinj tunnel.. Before entering..

We entered the tunnel. The first couple of meters still got the day light from outside. And then, we were enveloped in the darkness. The tunnel wall was covered with thick layer of soot and little coal particles. A result of all the smoke from the coal trains and the present diesel trains. I imagined my previous heritage steam train rides and the thick black smoke from the engine creating yet another layer of soot while passing through the tunnel. It was inches thick, a sort of crumbly yet hard layer. There were little coal particles shining like gemstones under our flashlights. At the beginning of the tunnel, there were little structures in the wall, strategic points to facilitate dynamite explosion in case the army ever needs to close the tunnel behind them. We also took notice of the architecture, how stone and concrete slabs of different sizes and shapes lay in perfect alignment.

The remnants of the second track were still there for the initial few meters. Then it was gravel and sand, a bit wet. Blaž and I walked on the tracks while others were walking on the side gravel. To me the track felt more comfortable. It was safe as we knew the schedule of the trains. And most importantly, that was what I always wished to do. During my numerous train rides to holiday destinations when I was little, I always wished to walk on the tracks. I always imagined how I would hop from one sleeper to the next. And even though I did do it before on some abandoned tracks, it was only for a few steps. I was always envious of the railway maintenance workers. Now, when I got one chance to walk kilometers on it, I was not ready to it let go. My heart made happy jumps as I stepped from one sleeper to another!

Inside the tunnel

Little posts marked the kilometers. Lines marked the nearest niches, which were each 100 meters. Some of the niches were bigger with telephone boxes etc. There were posts marking allowed speed limits and approaching signal or station. The signal was a nice glowing red, wrapped in the darkness. A few meters ahead, there was another signal glowing orange indicating the approach of a traffic signal. As we walked on and looked back, both the signals were glowing side by side. Further ahead, the signals merged into one. We switched off all our flashlights for some time, silently walking in the complete darkness. Rarely one experiences such darkness when literally nothing is visible.

At a point we had a scare that a train is approaching us from the opposite direction. We stepped down quickly from the tracks. Waiting patiently for a minute by the side of the track, we could neither see the light approaching nor hear the sound. There was no train scheduled at that time anyway. Soon we realized that it was the signal light on the other side of the tunnel, which we had mistaken as an approaching train. We were now almost halfway in the tunnel. The signal light left behind had vanished as the tunnel sloped up. The light in front of us was now marking our goal, the other end of the tunnel.

There is a big chamber inside the tunnel, almost like a room. Initially used for keeping tools and other equipments, now it is nicknamed as ‘ball room’. There we decided to have a picnic! Wow, wasn’t that fun! Having a picnic inside a railway tunnel! In the chamber there was an old table with two benches, some other higher table, and a old closet like thing. Everything had a layer of soot. Our first job was to cover the surfaces of the table and benches with old newspapers. We lit some candles. There were chocolates and cookies, and each had their own sandwiches. There was even champagne! Someone had some practical plastic cocktail glasses. We made a toast to the walk and the New Year.

The draft of wind outside the chamber had a chill in it. It was time for a train to pass. We went out to wait for the train in dark. Some had cameras ready. We saw the glowing yellow lights appear at the end. It grew bigger and brighter, but still there was no sound! The sound came much later when the train was already very close. We waved our hands and the train blew its horn a bit in response.  Soon the other two scheduled trains also went by. It was time to continue our walk. We gathered our trashes, and resumed walking. And more adventure was in store for us.

Soon we came across the first of the underground water sources. A concrete wall guarded the track from the water gushing out on it during heavy rains. Now however, there was only a little stream flowing through the lower pipe. It was a tiny narrow tunnel leading to the source some 25 meters ahead. We lowered ourselves down into this narrow tunnel for more exploration. We walked on the narrow bank, the water rushing past us in the little stream. It was a tiny walk towards the source. Through a narrow shaft in the rock-wall water was gushing out. Inside there was a narrow pool, someone mentioned at least 5 meters deep. The other two ends of this narrow tunnel only led to dead ends.

We were no more walking on the tracks, which were now at a higher level. During the rainy times, a stream would flow where we were walking. Now it was only a fast stream flowing under the track. From time to time, little vents were present, and we could hear the stream. There were a few other tiny orifices with water trickling down the wall. At places, the water had frozen into pretty ice sculptures. Soon we also reached the second water source. This stream was much more interesting and mysterious. It had two different shafts, both with water. The left one is short and strong, while the right one goes slightly up for about 20 meters. The strong water made both of them almost inaccessible. Now, the water was flowing under our feet as we walked on the concrete slabs for the remaining of the tunnel.

The red light at the end of the tunnel that we had seen from far now approached closer. We were at the end of our walk. Outside it was drizzles mixed with snow. There was a bit more walk to the station and I continued walking on the tracks as far as I could. At the station, we decided to wait a bit longer for the train at 7pm. And after that, it was time to go home.

I walked on the tracks. I walked in the longest railway tunnel in Slovenia. I spent around four and half hours inside a railway tunnel. We even had a mini picnic. Four trains passed us while in the tunnel. We saw the underground water sources. I even walked to the first one. There were beautiful ice sculptures. A fast stream was flowing under the tracks and us. Was it not exciting and awesome? It was. It sure was.

I returned home all happy, excited and full of stories. It was just Super Awesome!!!

Hanging the socks

Oh, jingle bells, jingle bells

Jingle all the way
Oh, what fun it is to ride
In a one horse open sleigh

Of all the Christmas carols, this was my favorite as a child. It announced that Santa Claus was coming soon with his big red sack full of gifts. And he had something for me too! Technically, Christmas was not a festival celebrated in our family. However, in the country where hues of different cultures and religions unify to create a vibrant picture, that does not really matter. As the little lights glittered, the bells chimed, tempting smell from bakeries filled the air, and Christmas carols were everywhere, I waited impatiently for dear old Santa. And the gift.

I do not remember the year I was introduced to this idea of gift giving around the Christmas time. As my grandma retells my childhood, I realize that it wasn’t really about Santa then. I celebrated getting something all over the winter. As she would call me to wake up in the morning, I would sleepily search under my pillow. And would refuse to get up unless I found the coveted ‘gift’. The ‘gift’ would usually be a carrot, a few peapods, an orange, an apple, a tomato etc, whatever was there in grandma’s kitchen. I love fruits and vegetables; and soon after brushing, would munch on those fresh produces.  I only remember those mornings in bits and pieces. I have this one faint image of me denying getting up from the bed complaining about the missing gift. My grandma hurried with a few pods of peas from her busy kitchen and kept it under my pillow. All the time I pretended to sleep with eyes closed.  On some Sundays, it would maybe be one bar of chocolate or a few lozenges. Sometimes I even got a coloring box or a new pencil. I knew that ‘Santa’ was my dida only, but never stopped believing in the story somehow.  I never stopped enjoying in those little moments of surprises.

The earliest real memory of Christmas I have was from the time when I was already a toddler in school. There would be a big Christmas tree in school, and one of the teachers dressed as Santa would distribute some sweets. We would enact the nativity play. When I was in the primary school, we would decorate our classrooms with paper chains and balloons and glittery decorations. We would arrange to bring a cake and have a little feast of our own. A fun filled and colorful day in the school before the winter breaks.

Where those cheerful banters filled the classroom, at home it was all about putting up the stockings on the Christmas Eve. We did not have a tree at home, not one to put the socks anyway. I used to decorate the little tree I made in the art and craft class of school.  Therefore, my brother and I would hang socks on our bedposts before going to bed that night. I took pleasure in imaging that putting on the longer stockings instead of shorter socks would make Santa keep a bigger box of gift by it for me. I never made any list for Santa, simply wished anything nice. In the morning, I would wake up to a big packet hanging on my bedpost.  In crisp paper-wraps would be some surprise gifts. One year it was some bright warm woolens, another year there was matching lunch box and water bottle for school. Sometimes I got books. There would be also some chocolates and other goodies. However, I do not remember getting any toys or similar things ever. Even though the gifts were always things I needed or things that were useful, they never ceased to make me happy. It was never about what were inside those packets. It is always about opening those packets.

The Christmas tree.. Gifts were already opened and loved..

Children, as they grow up, start doubting the existence of Santa. They make plans trying to catch the parents in Santa act. My brother did. That year around Christmas, he started to voice his doubt regarding the old man. On Christmas Eve, he went to bed after putting up the socks like usual. And then, he just pretended to sleep. Later at night, as my parents were hanging the gift bags by our socks, he startled them saying ‘Ma, baba, ami kintu dekhte pachi je tomra gift rakhcho!’ (Mom, dad, I can see that it is you who are keeping the gifts). My parents exclaimed, ‘Didn’t you sleep yet’!! I never opened my eyes to peek into the tale.

Maybe, because I always knew it were parents or grandparents sneaking in to silently put the gifts by the bed, I was never eager to remove the wrap of mystery. I was always keen on keeping my eyes closed and living in the fairy tale. I made myself believe that the packets arrived there magically from some old friendly grandpa like man. I liked to keep the Christmas gifts wrapped under veil of surprise and tales. I still do. The anticipation, will there be a gift in the morning by my pillow, underneath the tree. The excitement, what will be inside it? The slow careful unwrapping of the colorful paper. The ripples of instant surprise and happiness in my heart. This is all what Christmas gifts are about. As Blaž and I were wrapping up the Christmas tree last weekend, I was already eagerly looking forward to take it out next winter. I love decorating the tree.

And the child in me still loves to hang the socks on a Christmas tree. And waits for Santa to come and sneak in the house to leave a gift for her by the tree…

When he cooks for me

He loves making and of course drinking tea. Unfortunately, I do not drink tea. He is not really into cooking. He likes eating. And the best part is, even though he has his favorites, he eats almost everything. Therefore, I can happily carry on with my culinary adventures! However, it is not that he does not know cooking. He can cook simple and basic things. But, because he does not need to cook often, he does not have a feel about it. Whenever he is cooking, he tries to follow the recipe perfectly, to the T. If the recipe calls for cooking the onions for 10 minutes, he will exactly do that. I on the other hand will do that based on instinct and often add my own modifications. Thus, my experiments can yield all sorts of results from delicious to not so palatable. And that is why whenever he cooks, it is very tasty. Special..

My favorite dish cooked by him is some Indian chicken preparation with green beans and peanuts. It is just perfectly spicy and fresh. And whenever I wish him to cook something for me, it is often this dish. He also once cooked for me some simple pasta with tuna and tomatoes. Another dish I loved a lot. I love whenever he cooks. Therefore, this time for my birthday I wished a simple dinner cooked by him. I did not have any specific wish. Just something simple and tasty, maybe some pasta.. That was the plan.

In the afternoon on my birthday, before leaving work, he sent me email with three pasta dishes asking which one I would like most. We had decided to go to the grocery store quickly after work. With all the evenings almost spent outside around these festive days, my fridge barely had anything in it, except chocolates! I choose the pasta dish with lots of veggies; the other two had some heavy cream sauce which are not exactly my favorite. And even though only a limited variety of vegetables are available during winter, especially in the grocery stores, I thought it would be a more fresh and vibrant dish with whatever ingredients available. So, we went to the grocery store.

I chose mushrooms, carrots, asparagus, zucchini, and tomatoes for the pasta. Even though the broccoli was available, we would only need a cup of florets and did not wish the broccoli to stay in the fridge waiting for days and getting spoilt. He asked, “shrimps”? I was like, “no, this time let us just use vegetables and go with the recipe”. The only thing we decided to change was to not use the cream. I was really looking forward to the dinner and the evening as we drove home. “Fresh veggies and parmesan, a perfect combination it is going to be. Especially when he is cooking it for me”!

After reaching home, he started with the preparations for the pasta and I decided to talk to my parents a bit. Of course, before sitting with the skype, I helped him with the not so detailed instructions of the recipe. And while talking to parents also, I was there whenever he had any questions.

“Should I also peel the zucchini”?

“Yes, peel and cut into cubes”. The zucchini was neither very young nor bio.

“Should I start boiling the carrots and then add the asparagus after 10 minutes”?

“No need to boil the asparagus, you can sauté it with the other vegetables”.

I was answering him in between talking to parents. From time to time, I just went to the kitchen counter to supervise if all was going good. Somehow I was juggling well between talking to parents and helping him with cooking. And enjoying the whole thing.

“Do the mushrooms need peeling too”?

“No no, just give them a quick wash”

“And should I make thin slices”?

“No, cut them in halves or quarters, it will be nice and chunky”.

“How much pasta to use”?

And I went to him to take out the pasta for two.

The next big question was regarding the sequence of the vegetables for sautéing.

“First sauté the mushrooms until the water they leave evaporates, then add the zucchini and asparagus, finally when everything is almost done, add the boiled carrots and diced tomatoes”.

And in went the vegetables and the salt and pepper.

As I finished talking to my parents, I moved to the kitchen area. There was a large bunch of parsley lying on the board freshly chopped. On a plate, there was a generous portion of grated parmesan. The sautéed veggies smelled delicious. It was so tempting. Slowly it took the perfect shape as he added the pasta, chopped parsley and the parmesan. It looked vibrant. There was this mouth-watering smell in the air. I could hardly wait to take a forkful and enjoy in the delicate play of flavors.

He had already set the table. There was only time to take a picture for memory before we sat down. I wrapped my fork in pasta, and took a few bits of veggies too. There was a burst of different subtle flavors in my mouth. The chunky sweetness of carrots, the mellow zucchini, the succulent asparagus, the savory meaty mushrooms, the tangy tomatoes giving hint of tart, the fresh aroma of parsley, and the sharpness of parmesan, all created a beautiful medley. Wow! It was simply so delectable. 

Mmmm...

“Is it good”?

“Mmm..hmmm”. I replied in my strange way of saying yes. Between mouthfuls of the delicacy, there was no time to talk.

“Should I make it again”? Coyly he asked me, mimicking the same question I generally ask when I prepare a new dish.

“Yes, of course. I really like it. It is very good. And I would like you to make it again for me”.

It was really very delicious. Whenever he cooks, it is always so delicious. So romantic too.

“You should tell your girl to take breaks from her experiments, and cook more for her.

Now, shouldn’t you”?

;)

Walking towards mystery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A.. hmm... Happy Sunday!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All reasons to smile!

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

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

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

A very happy Sunday!!

Let's turn on the lights!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oneeeee..

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

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

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

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

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

Through the window..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The plans and wait..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Everyone is just busy planning before the puja…

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

Well..

Asche bochor abar hobe

Next year it will happen again..

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

The train and me

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

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

The recent steam train ride

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kuuuuu….

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

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

My school bag

Do you remember the first bag you carried to school?

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

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

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

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

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

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