You smothered me for 18 years but you knowingly harboured a rebel. The sounds of the Leftist Movement, Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose, the Naxalite Movement and Rabindranath Tagore resonate through you.
Speckled with political graffiti representing anything from propaganda to limericks to witty banter. Adda sessions over ‘cha’ involving the exchange of freestyle intellect. From Para Cricket to Para Pujo.
The dying but resplendent Victoria Memorial. The largest and the oldest Indian Museum. The evergreen Maidan. The ancient Howrah Bridge. The more contemporary Hooghly Bridge. The brave Ganga flowing slowly but surely.
College Street with the notorious Presidency College and the Calcutta University, overrun with used bookstores. A potpourri of literature and text books. The radiant Park Street. The haunt of fine dining and nightlife.
From Satyajit Ray to Aparna Sen. From ‘Goopi Gyne Baaga Byne’ to ‘Chokher Bali’. From Bankim Chandra Chattopadhay to Kazi Nazrul Islam. Lasting impressions forever left in the soul.
From Rabindrasangeeth to Baul. Music to the ears.
The Statesman. The Telegraph. Anandabazar Patrika. Your eternal stalwarts.
The Kolkata Book Fair. The Dover Lane Music Festival. The Kolkata Film Festival. They come to you once a year and leave us gasping for more.
Durga Pujo every waxing moon in the month of ‘Ashwin’. You vibrate with the beats of the ‘dhak’, the priest, always just skin and bones, melodiously reciting mantras and the ‘dhoonuchi naach’ performed by the married women, all within the elaborate ‘pandals’ that are temporarily sprayed all over you. And the ‘bhog’. Food of the Gods. Literally.
Cricket at the proud Eden Gardens with the smell of fish fry and cigarettes lingering in the air. Football in the Maidan with screaming, hard core fanatics. Golf at the Royal Calcutta Golf Club for the old world Calcuttans, peppered with the urban youth. Equestrian Races and Polo matches at the Royal Calcutta Turf Club for the hoity toity as well as the quintessential gamblers.
From Macher Jhol to Rossogolla. From Mishti Doi to the urban Katti Roll. From Mughlai to Momos. From Rahmania to Azad Hind Dhaba (made famous by M.F. Hussain, mind you). From Park Street to Tangra. A gastronomical wonder.
From ‘shari’ clad women with thickly laden ‘shindoor’ on foreheads and red and white bangles clinking on their wrists to opinionated tie-n-dye kurta and ‘dhuti’ clad men with the occasional monkey-cap.
The Bengali belief in homeopathy, Marxism, fish, sweets at every excuse, education and politics palpitating at every corner of every street.
Colloquialisms often heard. ‘Bhadralok’ for gentleman. ‘Dhop’ for stuff and nonsense. ‘Backside’ with reference to behind something. ‘Pleej’ for please.
Founded by Job Charnock, the ‘Land of Kali’, pimpled with trams and the Metro and freckled with black and yellow ambassador taxis, it is in You that I will forever be rooted.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Empty but Heavy
To,
Those who read the following, let it be known that that this post originates from the depths of a saddened mind and the heaviest of hearts.
Mani – The greatest matriarchal figure I have ever known. The only source of unconditional love I have had the greatest fortune of receiving. My memories of you will always be intertwined with the soft fabric of your creamy white sari; the tinkling of your gold bangles; the shuffle of your rubber chappals; your soft, blue rimmed eyes shining with intelligence and knowledge; the taste of pure love in the crisp ‘Nimkis’, the fluffy ‘Loochis’, the orange sweetness of the ‘Jeelipees’ you made for me; your enthusiasm at my birth, captured forever in old photographs; my only association with a grandfather I never had the chance to get to know better; your 19th century rules and regulations on hygiene that I will never be able to understand; the closest proximity that I have reached to history, that being your presence before the greatest figures of Indian History –Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose and your ability to always know what was going through my mind without even being my own mother. Even though you never lived to receive your ‘putul’, your only earnest wish from me, I’d like you to know that as soon as I can I will fulfill your only request. Today I performed a short ritual for your soul to rest in peace forever but this, I want you to know, will never be the last goodbye. Mani, you will always run through my veins, my very being.
Reuben – Warm, kind, generous and loving. The one with the brightest smile and the most unique giggle that will always ring in my ears. Remember the day we first met, long before AIESEC, in the TT room of your Boat Club apartment? The way you tripped when you saw me and your apologetic smile when we were being introduced? Memories of you will always be associated with your blue and white basketball jersey; the wire rimmed spectacles that always suited your face; bunking college and wandering aimlessly through the city of Madras with the rest of the gang; hours spent in my PG, Breakpoint and ‘My Kinda Place’ and other such inconsistent places; those few weeks we had in Kolkata; conversations with your charming parents and warm sister at Udita; the uncanniness in the similarity of the warmth in your and your family's smiles; heart to hearts with your sister which involved your occasional tid bits; tea on Park Street; driving through the City of Joy with Rolf in your large hearted Zen; cajoling Apache and our last chat on Facebook. I never even had the chance to give you one last hug or even say goodbye. Till I visit you in your final resting place, please accept these words as my hug.
Every time a memory of either of you slips sneakily into my humdrum life, I will ache inside. Forever filled with the regrets of not keeping in touch more or not calling more often or even doing things differently, I will now be able to see through the foolish and shallow world we live in and try and emulate your greatest qualities in order to be the person I want to become.
Love you forever, Mani.
Miss you, Reuben.
From,
A grieving granddaughter.
A stunned friend.
Those who read the following, let it be known that that this post originates from the depths of a saddened mind and the heaviest of hearts.
Mani – The greatest matriarchal figure I have ever known. The only source of unconditional love I have had the greatest fortune of receiving. My memories of you will always be intertwined with the soft fabric of your creamy white sari; the tinkling of your gold bangles; the shuffle of your rubber chappals; your soft, blue rimmed eyes shining with intelligence and knowledge; the taste of pure love in the crisp ‘Nimkis’, the fluffy ‘Loochis’, the orange sweetness of the ‘Jeelipees’ you made for me; your enthusiasm at my birth, captured forever in old photographs; my only association with a grandfather I never had the chance to get to know better; your 19th century rules and regulations on hygiene that I will never be able to understand; the closest proximity that I have reached to history, that being your presence before the greatest figures of Indian History –Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose and your ability to always know what was going through my mind without even being my own mother. Even though you never lived to receive your ‘putul’, your only earnest wish from me, I’d like you to know that as soon as I can I will fulfill your only request. Today I performed a short ritual for your soul to rest in peace forever but this, I want you to know, will never be the last goodbye. Mani, you will always run through my veins, my very being.
Reuben – Warm, kind, generous and loving. The one with the brightest smile and the most unique giggle that will always ring in my ears. Remember the day we first met, long before AIESEC, in the TT room of your Boat Club apartment? The way you tripped when you saw me and your apologetic smile when we were being introduced? Memories of you will always be associated with your blue and white basketball jersey; the wire rimmed spectacles that always suited your face; bunking college and wandering aimlessly through the city of Madras with the rest of the gang; hours spent in my PG, Breakpoint and ‘My Kinda Place’ and other such inconsistent places; those few weeks we had in Kolkata; conversations with your charming parents and warm sister at Udita; the uncanniness in the similarity of the warmth in your and your family's smiles; heart to hearts with your sister which involved your occasional tid bits; tea on Park Street; driving through the City of Joy with Rolf in your large hearted Zen; cajoling Apache and our last chat on Facebook. I never even had the chance to give you one last hug or even say goodbye. Till I visit you in your final resting place, please accept these words as my hug.
Every time a memory of either of you slips sneakily into my humdrum life, I will ache inside. Forever filled with the regrets of not keeping in touch more or not calling more often or even doing things differently, I will now be able to see through the foolish and shallow world we live in and try and emulate your greatest qualities in order to be the person I want to become.
Love you forever, Mani.
Miss you, Reuben.
From,
A grieving granddaughter.
A stunned friend.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
To be ‘Fit’ or To ‘Fit in’? That is the question.
Place: Courtyard, Raheja Gardens
Time: 7 AM
Specimen 1: Middle aged. Receding hairline. A hint of chest fur pops out from the open collar of the t-shirt. With a protruding potbelly, perspiring profusely, he huffs and puffs, while what can be only termed as ‘An attempt to jog'.
Specimen 2: Sweat beads drip from her eyebrows down by the side of her noticeably wrinkled face. The smudged ‘kum kum’ resembles an open, bleeding gash on the forehead, symbolic of domestic violence. With wobbling, thunder things in skin tight, capri track-pants, she speed-walked, leaving the ground trembling in her wake.
Specimen 3: Easily above 60. Calm and serene, in the ‘Bhraman Pranayama’ position, sat the distinguished, grey haired, old man uncannily resembling the modern day sage.
Specimen 4: A group of white sari clad ladies sit huddled together on cold, stone benches, as though a conspiracy was being planned. Instead they groan in unison, singing hymns, with sand paper voices. Alley cats being strangled seem more appeasing to the ears than the above.
Specimen 5: Fair. Almost white. Like a ghost. A 1997 Nick Carter hairstyle flopped across his face. Muscles rippled out of the skin-tight sleeveless vest like waves crashing against the shoreline. He bounds out of the gym, glistening. Maybe from sweat. Quite possibly from Vaseline. He would have slapped some on to get the glisten. He looks the kind to do the same.
Specimen 6: The kind I detest. Skinny as a rail. A noticeably taut tummy. With long flowing hair, tied up in a ponytail which swished from side to side, as she jogged across. Determined, she plowed past, with an I pod firmly injected into her ears. I could swear I saw water proof make-up carefully applied on her face. Bitch.
And finally.
Specimen 7: Me. Yawning with disheveled hair. Still in my ‘Reindeers on a summer vacation’ pajamas and B’s t-shirt. Rubbing out the sleep in my eyes while being dragged across the courtyard by a viciously sniffing springer spaniel on a mission. A mission to take a dump.
Be ‘fit’ or ‘fit in’?
Nah! I’d rather curl up with my extra layers of cozy fat and snooze for another hour.
It’s the simpler alternative. And I like Simple. He’s always been a true friend. He also makes complications disappear.
Time: 7 AM
Specimen 1: Middle aged. Receding hairline. A hint of chest fur pops out from the open collar of the t-shirt. With a protruding potbelly, perspiring profusely, he huffs and puffs, while what can be only termed as ‘An attempt to jog'.
Specimen 2: Sweat beads drip from her eyebrows down by the side of her noticeably wrinkled face. The smudged ‘kum kum’ resembles an open, bleeding gash on the forehead, symbolic of domestic violence. With wobbling, thunder things in skin tight, capri track-pants, she speed-walked, leaving the ground trembling in her wake.
Specimen 3: Easily above 60. Calm and serene, in the ‘Bhraman Pranayama’ position, sat the distinguished, grey haired, old man uncannily resembling the modern day sage.
Specimen 4: A group of white sari clad ladies sit huddled together on cold, stone benches, as though a conspiracy was being planned. Instead they groan in unison, singing hymns, with sand paper voices. Alley cats being strangled seem more appeasing to the ears than the above.
Specimen 5: Fair. Almost white. Like a ghost. A 1997 Nick Carter hairstyle flopped across his face. Muscles rippled out of the skin-tight sleeveless vest like waves crashing against the shoreline. He bounds out of the gym, glistening. Maybe from sweat. Quite possibly from Vaseline. He would have slapped some on to get the glisten. He looks the kind to do the same.
Specimen 6: The kind I detest. Skinny as a rail. A noticeably taut tummy. With long flowing hair, tied up in a ponytail which swished from side to side, as she jogged across. Determined, she plowed past, with an I pod firmly injected into her ears. I could swear I saw water proof make-up carefully applied on her face. Bitch.
And finally.
Specimen 7: Me. Yawning with disheveled hair. Still in my ‘Reindeers on a summer vacation’ pajamas and B’s t-shirt. Rubbing out the sleep in my eyes while being dragged across the courtyard by a viciously sniffing springer spaniel on a mission. A mission to take a dump.
Be ‘fit’ or ‘fit in’?
Nah! I’d rather curl up with my extra layers of cozy fat and snooze for another hour.
It’s the simpler alternative. And I like Simple. He’s always been a true friend. He also makes complications disappear.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Gurgaon Chronicles Part Four
As I grudgingly give up my position as a beached whale with a Caprioska (my new favourite drink), I’ve decided to update my blog.
My vacation chronicled in my Facebook ‘Status Updates’ has been imported below with additional details and modifications.
Day 0: Attention all Status Update Readers and Profile Snoopers: "Gurgaon Chronicles Part Four" commences tonight and will be henceforth referred to as "GG Ch IV" :-)
Day 1: Flight jinx broken + A hyperactive, restless and surprisingly excited B + Galauti Kebab + Kakori Kebab + Roomali Roti + Phirnee + Shimmying into the new apartment (B’s new pride and joy) + Proceeding to tidy up the partially messy apartment (I display OCB)= A rather tired, full and happy Polo
Day 2: Lazying around the house (Woke up for the first time at 12pm) + Mutton Curry (courtesy Hughe House) + An impending trip to Ambience Mall = Eggjited Polo
Day 2: Avatar 3D was OK (Why are all of James Cameron's lead actors disappointing?) + Retail in Ambience Mall proved disappointing (Shoe Hunting was annoying with the lack of choice) + Wine and Cheese at home + Freezing ass off + Gobbling down the best Plum Cake ever = ‘Really bugged at not having bought the new shoes’ Polo (Oh and Merry Xmas to all!)
Day 3: Sarson ka Saag and Makki ki Roti at Sadabahar Dhaba (Mouthwateringly and Mind numbingly YUM!) + Loittering in Ambience Mall again (Still hunting for that perfect pair of shoes) + Purchase of new fridge for B’s new pad (Haier) + Fresh Raspberries & Strawberries + Football Night = Lazy Polo
Day 4: GK 1 M Block Market (New silver shoes, black wrap top, woolen stockings) + Lovely Drive back home + Green Tea + Grocery Shopping + Functioning New Fridge + Me cooking Egg Curry (Please wish the boys eating the best of luck) + One more Football Night (rolls eyes)= Comfortably Numb Polo
Day 5: Playing 'House House' for real + Catching up on college work + I hate Mondays even during vacation + Me cooking Bhindi Masala and Chicken Curry + Discovery of Fauji Dhaba (For the rotis I could not make) + J & V appreciating my cooking = Earlier Annoyed and Oddly Proud Polo
Day 6: Waking up to a freezing morning + Trip to Select City Walk Mall, Saket + Lunch with favourite cousin at Big Chill (Bacon Risotto is must try) + Chocolate packed afternoon with B + Awaiting the first wave of the Madras Punters (Buubee and Jeetu, Whine and Mrs Whine, Panzy and Italiano Babe) = Really Full Polo *BURP*
Day 7: Drunken night + Disturbed sleep + Grumpy B and Tubs + Lunch @ Sadabahar Dhaba + Inauguration of the 'Surprise' (B’s latest pride and joy-PS3 Slim & Golf Clubs) + Second wave of the Madras Punters (the Female Bheda and the Bird) + Freshly brewed beer at Rockman's + New anniversary present (Whoopie!) = Polo with high expectations :-)
Day 8: An acidic Polo eating Cerelac + Visit to the friendly, neighbourhood doctor + Receipt of Harvinder, The Monkey as a 'Get well fast' gift from B + The use of B's latest prized possessions + Girrafe Dress gets an opening night + Barbeque + DJ Digweed from Noida & DJ Dave Seaman from Gurgaon + The Male Bheda surprised Female Bheda + HAPPY NEW YEAR (with a bang) = A Happily Pooped Polo
Day 9: Tummy much better + Third wave of the Madras Punters (Faggy, Chotu, Pukka, Kula Shaker and their respectives with Pretty Boy and Nits) + Hopeful for the exchange of gifts today + Full on Galata Nite (With an extremely drunk B) = ‘Cranky as a result of lack of sleep’ Polo
Day 10: The Wedding Day!!!! (Vivek & Judy) :-)
Day 11: The end of a fabulous vacation with a cancelled flight + A ridiculously delayed 2nd flight + A temporary bid adieu to B + Stuck in airport for three hours with the Madras Punters leaving before me + Frozen Kebabs melting in bag + Memory of things left behind at B’s apartment + An overload of assignments waiting for me when I get back + Outcome of my mid semester results (the only thing remotely pleasant) = A extremely annoyed and tired Polo
Day 12: END of Gurgaon Chronicles Part IV and the Beginning of yet another END! 2010 looks intimidating so far.
Now that I have successfully rubbed your lovely faces in with a brief account of my rather fantastic vacation (even if it was in ‘Jaggery Village’), I shall proceed to wish you, my beloved readers, a very “Happy New Year”. And for those who might smite me as a result of this post, you can revel in the fact that I have returned to Mumbai with a truck load of fat around my midriff.
Till you read me again,
xoxo
P
My vacation chronicled in my Facebook ‘Status Updates’ has been imported below with additional details and modifications.
Day 0: Attention all Status Update Readers and Profile Snoopers: "Gurgaon Chronicles Part Four" commences tonight and will be henceforth referred to as "GG Ch IV" :-)
Day 1: Flight jinx broken + A hyperactive, restless and surprisingly excited B + Galauti Kebab + Kakori Kebab + Roomali Roti + Phirnee + Shimmying into the new apartment (B’s new pride and joy) + Proceeding to tidy up the partially messy apartment (I display OCB)= A rather tired, full and happy Polo
Day 2: Lazying around the house (Woke up for the first time at 12pm) + Mutton Curry (courtesy Hughe House) + An impending trip to Ambience Mall = Eggjited Polo
Day 2: Avatar 3D was OK (Why are all of James Cameron's lead actors disappointing?) + Retail in Ambience Mall proved disappointing (Shoe Hunting was annoying with the lack of choice) + Wine and Cheese at home + Freezing ass off + Gobbling down the best Plum Cake ever = ‘Really bugged at not having bought the new shoes’ Polo (Oh and Merry Xmas to all!)
Day 3: Sarson ka Saag and Makki ki Roti at Sadabahar Dhaba (Mouthwateringly and Mind numbingly YUM!) + Loittering in Ambience Mall again (Still hunting for that perfect pair of shoes) + Purchase of new fridge for B’s new pad (Haier) + Fresh Raspberries & Strawberries + Football Night = Lazy Polo
Day 4: GK 1 M Block Market (New silver shoes, black wrap top, woolen stockings) + Lovely Drive back home + Green Tea + Grocery Shopping + Functioning New Fridge + Me cooking Egg Curry (Please wish the boys eating the best of luck) + One more Football Night (rolls eyes)= Comfortably Numb Polo
Day 5: Playing 'House House' for real + Catching up on college work + I hate Mondays even during vacation + Me cooking Bhindi Masala and Chicken Curry + Discovery of Fauji Dhaba (For the rotis I could not make) + J & V appreciating my cooking = Earlier Annoyed and Oddly Proud Polo
Day 6: Waking up to a freezing morning + Trip to Select City Walk Mall, Saket + Lunch with favourite cousin at Big Chill (Bacon Risotto is must try) + Chocolate packed afternoon with B + Awaiting the first wave of the Madras Punters (Buubee and Jeetu, Whine and Mrs Whine, Panzy and Italiano Babe) = Really Full Polo *BURP*
Day 7: Drunken night + Disturbed sleep + Grumpy B and Tubs + Lunch @ Sadabahar Dhaba + Inauguration of the 'Surprise' (B’s latest pride and joy-PS3 Slim & Golf Clubs) + Second wave of the Madras Punters (the Female Bheda and the Bird) + Freshly brewed beer at Rockman's + New anniversary present (Whoopie!) = Polo with high expectations :-)
Day 8: An acidic Polo eating Cerelac + Visit to the friendly, neighbourhood doctor + Receipt of Harvinder, The Monkey as a 'Get well fast' gift from B + The use of B's latest prized possessions + Girrafe Dress gets an opening night + Barbeque + DJ Digweed from Noida & DJ Dave Seaman from Gurgaon + The Male Bheda surprised Female Bheda + HAPPY NEW YEAR (with a bang) = A Happily Pooped Polo
Day 9: Tummy much better + Third wave of the Madras Punters (Faggy, Chotu, Pukka, Kula Shaker and their respectives with Pretty Boy and Nits) + Hopeful for the exchange of gifts today + Full on Galata Nite (With an extremely drunk B) = ‘Cranky as a result of lack of sleep’ Polo
Day 10: The Wedding Day!!!! (Vivek & Judy) :-)
Day 11: The end of a fabulous vacation with a cancelled flight + A ridiculously delayed 2nd flight + A temporary bid adieu to B + Stuck in airport for three hours with the Madras Punters leaving before me + Frozen Kebabs melting in bag + Memory of things left behind at B’s apartment + An overload of assignments waiting for me when I get back + Outcome of my mid semester results (the only thing remotely pleasant) = A extremely annoyed and tired Polo
Day 12: END of Gurgaon Chronicles Part IV and the Beginning of yet another END! 2010 looks intimidating so far.
Now that I have successfully rubbed your lovely faces in with a brief account of my rather fantastic vacation (even if it was in ‘Jaggery Village’), I shall proceed to wish you, my beloved readers, a very “Happy New Year”. And for those who might smite me as a result of this post, you can revel in the fact that I have returned to Mumbai with a truck load of fat around my midriff.
Till you read me again,
xoxo
P
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