Celebrating Resilience

 Have not ever been much of a social media person who could open up my insignificant daily existence to the world, yet today I feel like celebrating and sharing a person who within the confines of her home was no less of a hero in her own way, whose thoughts influenced and shaped a large part of people she touched... These kind of  souls get lost in the travesty of time and they need to be spoken about in a world getting as complex as today's. Losing her mother at twelve, she never took what life handed out to her but fought. Fought to go to college , fought to set her boundaries in marriage, fought to even wear that white saree she wanted in her wedding, defying all norms, and fight she did to set her own boundaries. Men and the rest of the world often called her disruptive, but she would also disrupt the societal walls, by ensuring others got to push their boundaries. She would not be the sweet praiser always telling the five year old me  that the birthday card I gave her had a haphazard colouring, yet the same year  she would be the first person to buy all the post cards I painted to raise funds for an orphanage, proudly using that to write all her shubho bijoya letters.

She taught me to sit in the terrace on a hot summer jasmine soaked evening to look at the stars, to always realise no matter what problems I had, there are bigger things in the world out there , bigger problems others have and never to be so engulfed in it that I lose perspective and become entitled. Every Sunday conversation was never about people, but about the world, about nature , about universe and about history, and I am not even sure if she completed her graduation. She would also know when to end the call and never be apologetic about it. She never gave up. The fighter in her walked up to the bathroom every single time even as she became frailer and frailer  and sit at the dinner table to have her meals. When she was healthier quite a few years back I used to have nightmares about losing her and found it strange that I had nightmares about my grandmother who anyway was expected to not live much longer and my therapist had said she was not a relationship but an emotional stability and I was insecure about losing that emotional stability in an unregulated emotional world. Today I lost that symbolic stability yet today I am not sad or in grief. I am happy and relieved she lived the full circle and she touched lives as I try to establish my relationship with death and impermanence not as sadness but as a celebration.

Not an Obituary

The news came today morning. We were all expecting this news for the last 12 years. Or should i say we were hoping,  wishing,  praying it would come but truth eluded us. 12 years she was in paralysis, glued to the bed or the chair, bereft of speech, unable to move her hands even to hold a glass of water.

It was painful watching her... painful for people who loved her... yet she was always there in the dingy house of a narrow lane of  Behala in Kolkata, nodding her small head to a good strain of music or listening intently to a couplet being recited in her drawing room.
Yes she was in all senses,   the true spirit of a Bengali woman , with the fire in her belly as she juggled life.
She was my aunt , my fathers sister in law. Her name Nilima meant limitless , and limitless she was, striving to live life to the fullest, not let any stone remain unturned.

Sometimes that makes me wonder whether the fetish with indian families to give names which have meanings brings forth a resonance with ones personality.

Coming back to her. When Kolkata was in fire in the 70s , the student movement was at its peak, she was a firebrand political actor carrying hand bombs , hiding in alleys and evading the police.

Steet plays, to poetries, to books , any form of political creativity rocked her boat.

One such evening she had asked my uncle to marry her. My uncle was about a decade older to her, a top ranker in studies, an emotional fireball of  sensitivity and political consciousness. He was her teacher. My uncle was flabbergasted . A young girl in a striped sari with plaits on either sides proposing to her, in the times of Uttam and Suchitra (Actors from Bengal) when coyness was considered a virtue. Yet he was beguiled by this brave young heart and he conceded.

There started the journey of this couple who till date fascinates me even as i know, her body is being taken away by the hospital where it has been donated for the benefit of medical students , as i write at this moment,
A political activist , an intellectual , a para medical ,being all at the same time did not stop her from being the responsible woman in the family plunging into the deep end of all family responsibilities with a black big bindi and a grin on her face.
After the birth of her son, she broke the barriers of Kolkata's graphitied walls and travelled on her own to Aligarh to complete her studies and subsequently served in the hospitals. Families and friends blamed her for not being the " Woman " , the woman who sacrifices her life for the family, who is bound to the kitchen , who lives and dies for her son. But no that didnt deter her because maybe she was a woman of substance, of material which was not an expected alloy.

Her paralysis pained all equally and as her life clock stops ticking today , somewhere deep in our hearts we cant stop wishing, maybe this was best for her... at least she wont suffer. May her soul rest in peace wherever she is. Today Gabriel Garcia Marquez also left for the heavenly abode if there is one. Maybe somewhere they shall meet and share their " years of solitude" in a magical charm that would give her what the world and reality couldnt.

I dont know if all facts stated above by me are true. They are all hearsay but who cares , that was what she was for me. An inspiration in many ways....

Of Wheels and the Wind

We left a flurry of dust behind. The warm hue of the December dawn seeped in through the tainted glass. The feeling was nothing less than euphoria. As the car took a twisted turn onto the Goa highway seven of us packed into the SUV had already broken into tuneless songs that oozed out without any hindrance. The gray patch ahead flanked by lushness of the young grass and a white cloud dotted sky couldn’t depict exuberance better.
A 6 hour drive to this wonderful cosy nook tucked away in a not so familiar corner of the Western Ghats and the Arabian Sea is a must watch for those who are dying for a desperate weekend break from the life strangulated by time in Mumbai/Pune, or those who couldn’t manage to book themselves a shack in Goa. Take your camera, a backpack and a football / Frisbee if you want some action on the beach. Tea and breakfast in the roadside dhabas is savoured with delight.
The dhabas are the last spot till which you will find the multicultural cacophony of picnic goers after which it surprisingly disappears making you wonder if you are actually leaving behind civilization (if you can call it civil).

The wind the song, Mahadev the driver’s penchant for adventure and surprises (avoiding a head on collision with a bus in split of a second, and casually admitting that he was just trying to scare the bus driver. And we all thought we were dead) added to the charm of the journey. With the beginning of the red rocky rough terrain a blast of saline freshness hits you and you know the sea is near. The white sand glittering in the setting sun, a few people scattered on the beach and a lovely rock lined way taking you straight down to the sea is all that you can ever wish for.

It is one of the cleanest beach that I have ever seen in India . Guess the reason … The huge temple of Ganesha loomed at the edge of the beach and the God’s abode must be kept spotless. Even if you are a hardcore atheist you must go and thank Ganesha, once during your stay, (for that is what we did) for keeping this place in India so wonderfully pristine . The blemish free ambience lets you inhale the air and feel blissful.

We stayed at a comfortable lodge close by, but if you book in advance you may be lucky enough to get a place in the MTDC bungalows. Or else you can always land up there for a meal of delicious lobsters.

A ramble on the sand wetting your feet, a refreshing morning bath and you might just want to explore the cold blue backwaters, sparkling and inviting to make it your private swimming pool.
Dinner at the Konkan restaurants gives a spicy break to our taste bud.
The Raigad fort adds to the old world charm. A minimum of 2 nights and 3 days are preferable in Ganapatipule.
The only downside for youngsters is the unavailability of alcohol. But you can always pack them in your car generously and behave responsibly.

Summary:
How to reach: 6 hour drive from Panvel. Book a car or there are Volvo buses available.
Must have: Cocum (a local fruit) sarbat. And coconut
Best part: Famished after a swim/ football match followed by a sumptuous lunch at the garden restaurant of MTDC overlooking the sea.

Marriages are made in heaven but Spouses chosen on earth

“ Groom Wanted for slim fair educated 26 year old Brahmin girl. Father of the groom should own house in Kolkata.”

A matrimonial ad screamed on a cheerful Sunday morning. Notwithstanding the fact that Sundays are always cheerful I was a little startled. “ Father of the groom should own house in Kolkata”??? What the world is coming to and what if the son does not stay with his father? Doesn’t matter ….if our little Brahmin girl is driven to the streets she can always proudly proclaim with a placard that her ‘father in law’ owns a house.
Just a few thoughts on how “groom/bride searching”, a once most cherished phase of middle class Bengali parents’ lives have traversed a long way over the decade of changes that have shown its heads in the society.
When my maternal uncle got married to my aunt in the mid 80s guess what inspired my aunt’s father to take the final call? A staunch North Calcuttan that he was, inspired by an antique glass lamp at the groom’s place announced, “a house which can have this has to be good.” His only daughter’s marriage being decided by the presence of an antique lamp… Bizarre!!!

Jump cut to 2005. My cousin’s family was searching for a groom. She, a bright lawyer by profession, was one of those typically “good” girls, much unlike us, who would prefer a spouse with pious, religious mindset. The 'would be groom' whom my cousin’s parent found very interesting owns a “ bhrigu samhita” weighing 12 kgs. Before any talks could proceed, this 36 year old lawyer made a statement that he expects his wife to wipe the floor of his deity room and that a couple of hours in the morning and evening are devoted by him to religious rites everyday. Thanks to my 90 year old grandma, (who again is a hardcore religious conservative widow), that this marriage didn’t work out because, she a taciturn woman by nature, observed “ if this frenzied person is only engaged in worshipping for 1/3 part of the day, when does he get time to earn or lead a family life?”

Another groom wanted hemoglobin reports of the bride because she was thin. Are we still living in the 21st century?

Another side of the continuum saw this young working lady in Mumbai trying to arrange her own marriage through shaadi.com. This young man in chrome yellow cheque shirt a pair of light brown trousers, with a set of ogling eyes and bulging tummy asked his first question: “ Hubbies?” It took quite a while for this young lady to figure out that he meant “hobbies”. But before this realization dawned upon her she had already footed her part of the coffee bill and walked out.

My friend’s parents in Kolkata were frantically looking for an eligible bachelor for their only daughter. 3 sets of groom and their families arrived at their apartment on consecutive Sundays.
1st set: Entry of a dark fat bengalee with his old parents. Profession? No prize for guessing. Software engineer. Most grooms are so.
My friend’s father: Why don’t you take him inside? You two can have a chat.
My friend grits her teeth. Nevertheless they proceed towards her room.
Potential grrroom: you have boyfriends?
My friend (startled at the first question): yeah many. Friends who are boys.
Potential groom: (2nd question): My wife should love mountains. And she should be able to travel in sleeper class without reservation. My whole family does so.
My friend: Oh ok
Potential groom: I love trekking. Mountains and hills are my favorite.
My friend (slightly seeing a ray of hope): oh that’s great. So do you have a trekking group , or friends to go with ?
Potential Grrroom: No No (in a typical bengali accent). I go for trekking with my parents.


The second groom rattled on that he owns a blackberry and laptop, and doesn’t like spending time with friends and blah… blah.. His only hobby… watching movies. Frequency .. once a month ..alone and he likes it that way.

The third set I refrain myself from elaborating.

Finding a spouse nowadays is definitely tougher than searching for a house in Mumbai.

With all these it makes me wonder whether Nostradamus’s prediction is finally coming true: “ Out of every 4 people on earth, one will become insane.

reviving the blog .... finally... thanks all for your words of encouragement ... :-)

Raindrops on my eyelashes

It was one of those usual sultry evenings . The sweat on my neck had soaked the back of my T shirt as I sat cursing the CESC ( for the power cuts), the weather, Kolkata, my decision to leave Mumbai and above all my luck. The temperature soared high dragging the humidity level along with it and the leaves in my terrace had petulantly taken a still poise.

A sudden hush... a cool draught and then everthing became dark as if the dusk had decided to descend earlier than usual on the city to give us respite.

A few cracks of thunder and then it came down in its age old rythm... pitter patter. Its strange how we keep looking at and discussing about change. how we keep getting worried about global warming, changing relations and changing nature, yet it seems that the nature chortling at our folly keeps reminding us of the age old rythms in its myriad expressions.

Coming back to what i sat down to write...Raindrops...a strange phenomena... a poet's muse, a lover's destiny , a traveller's disappointment... it has alwas given me a thrill that has sent shivers down my spine... inspiring me to dance to its tuneless tune.
Charlie Chaplin had once said somewhere that he loved walking in the rains because nobody can see his tears.
It is the essence of washing away the existing realities that opens a new page of hope, a new hope of reality.
As i had walked down the roads in the slums of Mumbai, i always could fathom the immense trouble the slum dewellers must be going through in the monsoons, yet everytime the thrill on the children's face with the first drops of rain left me pondering ... "What a great leveller nature is."
Last year around this time was one of the worst monsoons of my life. A close friend fighting for life in the ICU, my only shelter in Mumbai -the 15th floor appartment embellished with a couple of matresses at stake, the wailing sound at 5 o clock in the morning from the seas creeping in through the windows, the uncertainties of a halted railway service and knee deep water awaiting me as soon as i step out of the house, the restaurants refusing to deliver food, and to garnish it all a power cut to stop the lifts from working which had compelled me to climb up and down the 15 storey in darkness for every little thing. A lonely miserable soul...i hated the rains from the core of my heart... it seemed inauspicious. My foul luck was accompanied by nothing less than a flood, a small riot and a bomb blast.... and of course my screaming landlord threatening to throw me out. A morbid picture as it seems i pledged never to fall in love with rains or monsoons again.
Yet defying all laws of the " beautiful mind" this year i found myself waiting earnestly and beseechingly for the monsoons to arrive. The first drops of the rain sent the same shivers down my spine which i was familiar with for the last 24 years.....and guess this brings me to jibe with the age old quote " With all thy faults i love thee".

Bound By Thoughts

Vague as the name of my blog might seem it sometimes leaves me wondering , why does the need for expression sometimes overpower the capacity to feel within oneself. Why isnt it sufficient for human beings to remain contented with one's own feelings couped up within the mind. Why do people write, talk, mail, sms and do a zillion things to give vent to something that generates within them. It is not always the need to communicate something basic like how animals( other than human beings )do when they are hungry or when they need something.

Well being a novice to the blogger's world i can take the liberty to say that this very mode is a space to share and to gauge other's perception of our own thoughts, and emotions. Is it just the need to be appreciated or understood that, drives all of us to express....

On second thoughts, the generation of one's thoughts i guess is again conditioned by the kind of other's thoughts and feelings one is exposed to. If you read writings which have depth, or take part in converasations which needs a lot of thinking ,you can consider yourself to be more capable of constructively shaping your thought process.

But what about peole like me who may have a plethora of feelings couped up within, yet unable to articulate. What is more important?? thinking, expressing or an equal balance of both.
And yet i know a lot of people who by their mastered art of putting the right words in the right place can make their thoughts seem intellectual and deep but empty in its content.( i guess many of you might be thinking that is exactly what i am trying to do just now. Jumbling up jargons to make the significance of the name complicated which by the way is just being used in absence of any other name.) Does thoughtfulness mean drawing logical connection? and if at all is it absolutely necessary to prove that logical relation to another party.