Losing, or Losing?

A bowl of uneaten left overs slipped from her oily hand, and spilled everything on the kitchen floor. And she could not catch it with the other hand as it was also full of soiled plates, after dinner. She was stooping lower than her lowest grades in school, to collect the dirt and put it back into the dustbin, scared that she may be scolded for what just happened, when someone Like her mother hurled out, 'how do you hold a bowl that it slips off so easily!?"

A bag full of certificates that lies neglected somewhere in her father's home proved that she once was a good speaker, an elocusionist , an avid writer and a sometimes an academic achiever. 

It was not until she moved into a new home with a new set of people that she realized that now on she would be judged not on the basis of her education, degrees and her talents.. but by the precision with which she could chop potatoes and cabbages..By the strength with which she could squeeze all the water out of washed clothes. By the aptness with which she could keep the kitchen and table clean. By how well she could drape a saree..

By how quiet she could keep and abide by unexplained protocols with the only hope that the winds of justice will someday sail her ship to a safe island.

While she looked for a home in the new place and a family amidst all the new people, she realized marriages are different from what she has seen so far. 

Being the protagonist of an unapphrehended life, she realized she would never be a daughter in again. She did lose a major part of her self respect as she was being judged on capabilities that does not need education, or any values that she grew up with.

Her wedding teaser, once, portrayed her marriage, like one of those dreamy star studded things that every girl wants to have. She was blessed with the heaviest gold jewellery and lot of extravagance...Although she only prayed to find a family like her own, in the new home.

And then few weeks down the line she realized her prayers went unheard.

And then her learnings went on. Sometimes she learnt that she would never be chosen over the rest of the people. Not even once. Sometimes she learnt that embracing a new family in entirety also means that she is not supposed to have her spouse in seclusion for some time. Infact, even expecting such a seclusion is being disrespectful to the others in the same place. She learnt that her principles, values and feelings are nothing but a waste now. There is more aloneness associated with a lot of low self esteem, than ever before but may be by the time she learns to speaks up for herself, she will be used to lowered standards of life and living.. she will learn to be accepted as the 'last one' in the race.

And with all the learnings put together, if she would ever conceive a life inside her, once and for all she decided never to bring a girl child into this world.

Today's Scripted Wedding

The northern wind was stabbing me from the back, as I sat on the dusty terrace of our two-storied humble abode, to warm up under the fading winter sun. Never did I experience a colder winter in the last 5 years. Or did my tolerance threshold take a humble bow, with age and experience, I wondered! It has been seven weeks I left this place, being wedded to a new place, family and man. Embracing a brand new world, while still holding on to your roots that have grown deep and strong for the past 27 years, shaping oneself into a living testimony of resilience, ain't easy. There are a hundred things that run through my mind. Because being unconventionally new, is strange to me. A thousand battles lost, a hundreds won, a million miles crossed, I hoped, I broke, I hoped again, wearing my emotional armor strapped in place, with breath taking intentions, I am going on for three decades now. I don't own a new soul. It is rugged, and exhausted, yet loving and full of compassion. With all the scars left, I, am not new.

The sky turns red, as the dying sun splashes a dash of vermillion across it. It is even colder now. I get to see a lot of migratory birds, flying back home. The world has humble creatures, who thrive on hay and water. And then we have humans, the most intelligent in the race, practicing extravagance. Every day we make careful choices, knowingly or unknowingly, that give our future a shape. Looking back, at how things were a couple of months back, while I was still deciding if I was ready to begin a new way of life, I realize nothing changes if we don't. Being brought up by liberated parents, especially a mother who still teaches me to be a compassionate lady, motivates me to be more ambitious at work, who ostracized futile religious and social practices and has raised herself above the insignificant earthly matters that does nothing but takes the focus away from our daily state of well being, I still find happiness abiding by her preaching.

The grandeur and conventionalism of the wedding customs practiced even today, fail to convince my sense of practicality and logical conscience. Practices re-inforced at my own big day, did not comply with principles I grew up with all these years. Strangled in the arms of ancient rigid practises, aren't we failing as a society and as a nation in the global race of intellectual evolution? And all this in fear of being ogled at!

I chose to ‘walk’ the customary rounds around the groom, instead of being carried strenuously on a wooden stool (“piri” as we call it) by three or four men of the family. I did not hand over a tuft of rice grains to my mother saying that I was repaying the debt of all that she gave me. I was parting from my nurturer and the stringent customs of our community never put emotions first. I was vocal about some infrastructural problems of the wedding venue even while I was dressed as the bride; a bride who is  supposed to be shy and quiet.

Layers of make-up done for 4 hours, weighed down by the profundity of all that I was wearing, and doing re-takes of rituals for the photographers and drones flying over me, I almost forgot that it was the beginning of a new venture. That it was also a marriage, besides the scripted wedding. The feeling did not sink in.

The quietude of Calcutta evenings does magic. It brings the rebel out of me. Yet again, diving into the couch of togetherness and companionship, and having someone to falling back upon, at the end of the day, is everything our generation understands of a marriage.

The Screwed Up Feminist

The journey has never been easy for  women who struggled to achieve what they wanted. Should I call it transcending a restrictive upbringing to pursue what means more to us ? Or is it about fighting back with stealth, stubbornness and sarcasm?  

26, educated, and working as a techie for about 4 years now, yet things have not proved much beneficial on grounds of my literacy, job, or being a popular blogger in my small circle of friends and colleagues. Certain struggles have been really staggering , and this piece of blog should be nothing but a searingly honest account of the battles silently fought , the pains endured and the strength acquired.

Someone said it right. It is hard to be a woman. You must think like a man, act like a lady, look like a young girl, and work like a horse. A veneer of sophistication and glamour is naturally associated with ladies. No wonder, women have earned good places in the corporate hierarchy of the respective professions. Having achieved all of that, today women are encouraged to function in an increasingly compartmentalized, unnatural fashion. Outside home we are encouraged to use our brains to serve the corporate world, and inside home there is a plethora  of domestic work besides mothering a child, husband and the family. A woman’s body is designed to function in a certain way, which includes fertility, and  healthy cycles, deviation from which might surprise a major part of the society when the result is not as expected.  It is unknown that, a disruption from the normal biological manifestation has never made anyone less of a woman. 

While women need appreciation as a whole-both mind and body, all I see is dogmatism running errands about a woman’s self-esteem and worth, bringing them down. There is much more about a woman, than her body. How many of us talk about marriages falling apart because of Endometriosis! A disease hitting one out ten women in America and growing at an alarmingly high rate in India. Is it the sterile aesthetics and plasticized beauty, or the taboo around woman’s physiological problems that has taken the focus far away from the authentic empathy for the pained?

What more? I am a feminist, and I am screwed.

I idealize about how the length of my clothes should not judge my moral character, but I have nothing to do and only negotiate with my feminist ideologies when the bus conductor stares at the peeking pink bra strap, with boggling eyes and shyly cover them.

I want to be unapologetic about the fact that I work as hard as any male bread earner, amidst a lot of men, competing with them and that there is a lot of struggle each day navigating the patriarchy. But I cannot shun the ones who ogle, label me as bossy, demanding, over ambitious. A male counterpart doing the same thing, is heralded for his authoritative skills.

In the domestic domain, as a daughter/daughter-in-law, as a wife, or as a mother I wish to be more vocal, because I am the one rolling round chapattis, mothering my child, cooking, cleaning, feeding, balancing my outside world with my family, when not a day passes by without being pushed and shoved in a crowded bus, on way to work. I wish to raise my girls teaching them  gender equality, to think liberally, to be aware, and modest. 150 years of a lot of Feminism! And I still see myself being socially challenged by the system, that dictates the way women ought to dress, walk, work, and talk. Hypocritically, I cannot be unremorseful, and only feed my future generation with the explanation to dress in an ‘un-provocative’ manner to avoid unwanted attention, and to be back home on time!

I would have nothing much to opinionate, if the man of the house wishes to refrain carrying out certain domestic roles. And all this only to avoid a conflict in the house. Being a loving parent or spouse has never been gender specific!

I am defiant that being cat called is not being complimented but objectification of a human in its core sense. It is 9 pm by the watch, and I am walking past a dark North Kolkata by-lane. Am I left with any blatant option other than ignoring and pacing up to reach home real fast?

So my dear women, it is time to button up, unstitch your hemline atleast knee length, get ready to confront a society that has disbelief in empathy, and ethics, take those khadi kurtis out of our closet and put your summer gowns away, stop PMSing and start adoring your monthly cramps because the world is a fair place, and yes if you are feminist, you are fucked up!

"They may not have my eyes, or my hands, but surely my heart"

Last few hours to go this Friendship Day, and this not being the conventional Mother’s Day, I preferably choose this day to put forward my views and questions on an unconventional , unorthodox shape of motherhood.  You are free to opinionate on my post. Because you are either already mothers, or have hailed from a known mother.

Every time I stop by the Jubilee hills Checkpost traffic signal, and gaze outside through the locked glasses of the Uber I am sitting in, the ‘beggars’ aged 5 or 6 years, bang on the closed car windows, and then leave the moment signals close, leaving tiny impressions of their hands on the glass. Some have mothers, others don’t. And some are abandoned, unwanted daughters and sons. We sympathize, and then leave.

Honestly, that’s how life goes on. In a fast moving age like ours, when broken things are disposed off and not fixed, sympathies for a brown eyed beggar child cannot be accommodated for more than a few seconds. I have no authority to tell you, what ‘could’ be done to eradicate motherless-hood. And here, poverty eradication is definitely not my topic of discussion.

But then, addressing all Mothers here, how do you define motherhood?

Is motherhood restricted to carrying the living embryo in your couch for 9 months, giving birth bearing the excruciating pain and then bringing up the child under your shelter? No wonder, all these guarantee that you have the shown the child, the light of the world.

But, people have abandoned and disowned their beautiful kids even after having gone through these conventional norms.  And lucky ones like us, who were born under the right stars, survived with an identity. Would it be very nonconformist if I said, the motherhood I would entail would be by providing identity to a nameless child? Will I be called an ultra modern extremist or a feminist who is trying to deny the biological conjunction between the two sexes before I give myself the right to be called a mother? Isn’t motherhood about accommodating another life into your own? Or is motherhood, only about adding a DNA matched heir to the family? Is impregnating oneself, the only license to mother a child?

“Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother.” Quoted  Oprah Winfrey.

Giving birth comes first, and then comes giving a life to it. Would you still judge me if I said, DNA is not going to be the pre-requisite to call someone my own? Would the society still roll eyes at me, if I said despite not having a physiological incapability, I chose to pick my heir from the unwanted ones? Every child deserves the love of a family, and that of a mother. Giving such children the needed love, care, education and a parent, takes courage, and utmost desire to be the guardian angel  to someone.

When marriage becomes license to rape

"For the average Indian man, masculinity is about acting tough, freely exercising his privilege to lay down the rules in personal relationships, and, above all, controlling women"... It was part of a discussion about a middle aged lady I knew, a high school teacher by profession, who fell  victim to marital rape, and after I made this statement, a highly literate(not educated) male acquaintance(i hate to call him a friend anymore) disregarded and tagged me as "Feminist saale"! While most cases of marital rape in India fail to get registered, or even recognized as a crime being difficult to prove it as forced sex against the consent of a woman, or as a natural occurrence in the institution of marriage, it can't get worse when even the educated strata of our society become victim to such a shameless act, and even worse that lot of men are not even acquainted with the fact that sex without the consent of their wife, who is also made of flesh, blood and a mind like men, is morally unethical, and that she has all the right to tell NO to it. Let me get it straight.  Marriage for such depraved men is not a license to rape because of the 'implied consent' which comes with wedlock. Is it patriarchy that is to be blamed? Indians like us, who consider marriage a pious institution, and make every effort to make it work at the cost of giving in to the 'needs' of the man of the house even if we don't 'want' it, however educated we are, are doing it wrong. What compels Indian women to stay with such sex-maniacs in the name of husbands?... husbands who are entitled to protect their wives, but end up committing such atrocities and even getting away with it ! 

Educating the rural lot might help lessening the gender imbalance. But what about the mind sets of already educated people, who don't leave out on a single chance to oppress the wife. Is wife all about body parts? Ms.Banerjee(ex Mrs.Mukherjee) who spent a year's salary to celebrate her wedding with a civil engineer guy, almost burnt herself locking herself up in the kitchen, when few neighbors came to her rescue, to give her a new life free from all oppression and life with a demon. But, in how many cases it becomes easy to walk out of marriage in our country? Are’nt women supposed to adjust and keep shut about the distress because no one will acknowledge marital rape as a crime? The idea that it is betrayal of marriage to the core, and trying to save the same marriage for the sake of social pressure, religious reasons or what so ever, is nothing but giving consent to be brutally ill treated repeatedly, needs to be inculcated in women. If a man  subjects his wife to physical pain, the wife should subject him to the rigors of the criminal justice system. And if a section of the society has to call it as a feminist tool to criminalize marriage, so be it. Something more than sensitizing the judiciary towards marital rape, is needed. The society needs to acknowledge criminalizing marital rape, and challenge the myth that rape by one’s spouse is inconsequential.

Emotions Exiled

What I feel cannot be expressed in phrasal combinations. It either needs to be screamed out loud or remain painfully silent, for words, I bet can't express better. Call this insanity, eccentricity or self-hypnotism. I call this being released from a beautiful nightmare. The divine sin, that banishes you is humanly gorgeous. Full of imperfections, yet so flawless. One in a million is ostracized for loving. Don't get me wrong. This is about learning to estrange those emotions you once held on to, like those were the last things to live by. Every dawn you see proves you are alive. Every dawn once brought back those sweet miseries that filled your head the previous night. The whole day, it fills the mind and body like you were stung blue by a red eyed scorpion. Self love is inspiring. Raw, unfabricated love kills. And the same heals. Broken dreams about unrequited love does'nt make the one in a million demolished creature a saddist. I call it invitation to a better living. It is about one single dawn when you wake up to feel You.  Yes, its me! The dawn, when you know estranging feelings for one person is not a lesson anymore, but something that has grown naturally in you. Call it whatever you want to, but I call it falling out of love...

Flashback

Every silence is made up of a network of minuscule sounds that envelops it. And every solitude, is made up of fragmented togetherness that surrounds you. It is night. Late in the night. The white and blue radio cabs are yet to take over the city. Hues of yellow-blue taxis predominate the eastern Bypass roads. The one I am sitting in, is playing Md.Rafi singing a cheerful Shammi Kapoor number on the radio. The lonesome honks of the few aged taxis and rusted buses, behind, disturbed my thoughts. The traffic sergeant at the Science city crossing once helped me find the direction to some exam center during my college days, few years back. A fleeting glimpse of the sergeant did not help me decipher if it was the same man. The taxi headlights caressed those dimmed streets of my city, I once crossed daily. Is it nostalgia that overruns me everytime I come back to this place? Or is it what you call ecstasy... the eternal pleasure that I get sinking into the depth of this city's enormous couch? Or is ecstasy a long forgotten song sung by mother when young? Is it meeting a long lost high school friend, amazed at the sight of her vermillion between the parting of her hair, suddenly realizing we have grown up? Or is it memories of occupying the first row in the classroom, and sneezing repeatedly every time the Hindi teacher banged on the table with her duster? From Tagore's rejection of Knighthood, to Ganguly's bare-chested jersey-waving victory, to irreplacable and untimely loss of film maker Rituparno Ghosh... all that we live with is memories. 

 

My mind fleets to the lazy afternoon in the now-shuttered College Street, where once I bargained on tons of second hand grad-school books, that I leafed through only a couple of weeks before the exam. Rest of the year was kept for the infamous "adda" over "cha and toast". Another, brake jerked me to consciousness. The taxi drove past the lane I was visiting about 7 years back, twice a week, while in school for English tuition. She was in her late 60s. One post on a social networking forum, about 3 months ago, read that she was no more. Cancer devoured her. Death is so strange; stranger than life. One moment you are alive. The next moment you' re gone.
Every shut sweet shop, and every dark lane I crossed reminded me of those rare visits to "mamabari" in South Kolkata. Getting ready to go out with mother was associated with her soft silk sarees, the smell of old naphthalene when she pulled them out from the steel wardrobe, piles of old photo albums, some of the oldest ones being ingested by arthropods..... layered frocks for children that was in style, and ofcourse, the joyous tram ride. My mind was flooded with childhood memories, associated with this city, the ancient aroma locked in those almirahs and the tiny world that every child lives in, called, Mother.

While my eyes were about to shut after the day's hectic schedule, light from a heading car blinded me, followed by screeching brakes. The awfully narrow alley leading to my home it was, and neither vehicle had way to pass. While the drivers screamed at each other, a man, who resembled a friend of mine came out of the cab to make way. Yes, I knew him. Alokesh Mitra, the geekiest of my batch in school, it was. He was heard to be a medico, practicing in Pune, now. As I yelled out waving at him, he smiled and came close. And after exchanging few anecdotes from our common past, he took off his black cap, that surprised me with his shaved head. "My father passed away.. I am returning from the crematorium, performing his last rites...". It was time to depart. He took out a pack of Gold Flakes from his pocket, lit one and aired it, as the smouldering smokes of agony slowly disappeared into the air.

 

Matrimony Satire

Going through Matrimonial advertisements is an experience by itself, each of them reflecting a gamut of human emotions - humor, greed, conceit, avarice, sympathy - cleverly hidden under beautifully worded statements. The utter eccentricity unintentionally portrayed in such ads, has surely given this bunch of most

eligible spinsters(me and my roomies) a good laugh at the end of 12 hours of daily corporate shit, if not a good match. The long list of criterion placed for a woman in this marriage market, abuzz with requirements of the likes of height of Deepika , fair like Katrina, figure like Ileana d Cruz.... and so on. One such ad on an

internet matrimony profile made me laugh my gut out.

To begin with, if it was not in some bla bla matrimony.com, one could easily mistake it for an ad on Olx, where this 5ft 11inches techie from calcutta has been looking for a smart phone with customized features.

Even a gadget critic would go lenient while reviewing a new launch. In addition to the 'slim-fair-tail-smart girl' idiom, that has conquered the first line of such ads since decades, his suitable better half is expected to be "Soft","Romantic","Sweet". All of them put together would necessarily make a good music composition if not a good prospective bride.

Now let’s get to the irony of the idiom 'slim-fair-tail-smart girl':
“Fair” - It means, if you are wheatish/dark, you need not respond to this ad. Irrespective of how the groom looks, a social marriage in India begins and ends with the criticism of how the bride looks; the skin tone to be specific. The stereotypical Indian belief that “fair is beautiful” has led to a presumed hierarchy of individuals with “fair” complexion. And when it comes to such marriages, despite all the highly qualified aunts and uncles in his family, a wheatish bride is bound to be criticized upon; which is socially not acceptable by such morons.

“Slim-n-tall”: Despite that huge jelly-belly, the groom has wobbling out all the way, a slim wife is what he likes to carry around, making proud social introduction with his family and friends.

 “Convent-educated”, “homely girI”: It means, she is supposedly a non-lesbian, virtuous, virgin.
And a “homely girl” is expected to be happy with a vacuous domestic life, cook for the family all day, repeatedly beg the guy for anything she wants, and is ready to spend the rest of  her life  tutoring their kids. 

And here comes the cherry on top. "It would be great if she possesses a good singing voice and would listen to me...and Hope she also possess some interest in Cricket and Football like me ”. Introducing the new smart phone, that entertains you with its 15GHz dual speaker, its  pre installed apps like CrickBuzz and StarSportsMob to help you catch live cricket and football matches. The phone's excellent voice recognition capacity would make it listen to you and follow your orders.. #LMAO

Such rib-tickling ads  are worth ridiculing specially when you get a chance to assess the advertiser on similar

scales. Lot of these brides/grooms/their families still could not decide if they are looking for a life partner or a house keeper or a money making machine...!

And here is a list of a few ads you will "laugh":
Disclaimer : I am not responsible if you forget your basic grammar after reading this….. ;-)

"I want very simple girl. from brahmin educated family from orissa state she is also know about RAMAYAN, GEETA BHAGABATA, and other homework"
(Dude, did you just say homework??)


"I love my patner i marriage the patner ok i search my patner and i love thepatner ok thik hai the patner has a graduate ok"
(Girls, Ok??)

"HYE I AM A GOOD LOKING BOY ,WHO HAS THE CAPABILITY TO MAKE ANY BODY TO LOUGH.I BELIEVE IN GOD
AND CCORDING TO ME FRIENDS ARE THE REAL MESSENGER OF GOD. THE 3 THINGS I AM LOOKING FROM A GIRL ,THEY ARE

1.THEY MUST BELIEVE IN GOD.2. THEY HAVE TO LIKE MY PROFFESION AND THEY SHOULD NOT GET BORED WITH ME WHEN I WILL TRY TO MAKE THEM LOUGH."
(Hey Reader, how dare you not laugh at this???) :D


And finally,

"To be married on feb-2015 working woman perferable”
(Wow! this guy has fixed his marriage date too! But yet to find a bride.. Any takers???)

Oh Calcutta!

And here it comes after several riots with the over opinionated self. The inquisitive immigrant from Calcutta with broken Hindi accent and absolutely no intention of homogenizing cultures, is surprised at the debasing and immodest attitude of the city's service providers. In the land where 'burqa' stands for modesty, the preying devourers never fail to leave you unattended while over charging you for food, auto-fare, lodging and the list grows longer everyday. Kudos to the IT animals, who have chosen to be looted, plundered and stripped of all their assets.

The immense pride that I take is not just in being a Bengali, but the fact that I hail from the land inhabited by decent and humble people. And to replicate one you have to be an integral part of the city.Yes, we react vehemently to the tiniest provocation, we are chaotic and stand out the noisiest in the crowd, we don't own a clean and green city with broad metalled roads everywhere, we don't have a Bengali Tata-Birla icon or giant infrastructure like other metros. We rather value emotions and ethics, endorse the might of pen in poetry and passion for art. We might be tagged as one of the most commercially unstable states, but the state has produced the best economists. We appreciate indulgence in literature, politics, cinema and artistry. The politically sound 'bhadrolok'  (gentleman) with a sharply etched view on the world news is whom we support.

It feels magical, and nostalgia overruns me the moment I step into the Dum Dum Airport. My Calcutta! The city with a soul. It is the charm of the city that entangles you like no other city does. The city still breathes through the boulevards of Rabindra Sangeet , opus of Manna De and genesis of Satyajit Ray. This is the city where you would still find Rs. 4 as Auto fare for some 2 kms, three-rupee chai in tiny earthen pots called 'bhaar', and big samosas for Rs. 5.  The slight dash of arrogance that comes with the subtle bong intellectualism crossed with the feeling of superiority after proving someone wrong, is a rare breed in India, found only in Kolkata.

There is lot to learn from the city, like they say, 'what Calcutta thinks today, India thinks tomorrow'. Living in Calcutta means, a bit of it will go with you wherever you go. With true Bengalism running in my veins, it becomes little difficult to amalgamate between indigenous cosmopolitanism and ethnicity. The love and zest for life is what makes Calcutta unique, and alluring.

New Techie in the City

"Good morning. Welcome to the first rays of corporate sun. You have felt the early morning warmth and twitter of birds in the ambiance, you will also feel the mid day scorch, the exasperation of late noon and drained thirst of late afternoon.. but there is the refreshing breeze of evening to compensate at the end.", read the first sms of the day. It was from my sister, and unofficially the first welcome message, a few moments before the gala corporate induction.

As I sit to pen down my thoughts on this eve of Dashami, I get goose bumps all over. However, I am going to make sure you dont get it. Completing 3 weeks of stay in the 'city of Nawabs'(i know it gives a royal feel and yes it was a grand welcome from my organization) and this is the first weekend with salary. Well, I am happy. Yet, not like those who are sharing it back at their homes. One thing that Hyderabadis strikingly expertise in is showing off their gut while crossing the road, driving past a red light and ignoring all sort of

traffic rules.  It took me 10 mins to cross a road during the first few days. No cars stop at signals, unless its a very big junction. And pedestrians assume these roads to be some marathon track with an exception of moving obstacles on the way. I will take at least two years to get myself accustomed to their "safety" rules.

The first taste of corporate culture was undoubtedly elating. Office hours is followed by the same chai-er dokan e adda like we have it in Kolkata with my Bengali mates here. The tea of this particular shop is astonishingly tasty and consequently addictive. Food has not been a big problem since I came here, as much as I thought it would be.
It happens to be one of the safest cities I came across so far, especially at night and now I know why the police remains dormant in the daytime. The cool breeze blowing wind through my hair, music in my ears, the dim lit moon above the lighted highways and see myself leave the city behind , all by myself in a bus after the 'saptami bhuri bhoj' at midnight made me own this city...

Coming to my favourite topic, food. Being proned to hyperacidity and owning a sensitive stomach I tend to avoid the sour dal and curries as much as possible. However, being a bong foodie and a sweet lover at the same time, I love the patent Hyderabadi sweet called "Double ka Meetha", something they make out of fried bread n dipping that in sugar syrup. It quite resembles the "shhwar bhaja" in Calcutta, but believe me it is way more delicious here. Next comes, the nawabi biriyani!! The fact that the original Hyderabadi biriyani is made with very little spice and is less smelly than what Shiraz gives us back in Calcutta, made me really like it. Kolkata House is a big hit here for most Bengalis. It reminds me of Benfish, with all those Bhetki fries, fish chops, fish kobirajis ... lining up their stall. And my first acquaintance with Kolkata House fish happened one saptami evening, after office when we(me and my Bengali colleagues) planned a pujo pandal visit to Miyapur. We fell in love,  and I call it "love at first bite" !!
Anyway...  signing off for now ! This was my first blog from Hyderabad... will keep writing...

A Last One from Home

...And a final one before I am off to start a techie's career. My Bsnl broadband bills for the last 2 months have exceeded 1000s of bucks. My dad kept quite thinking his beloved younger daughter had only few days of stay at home. I have been googling hyderabad maps day and night as nothing else could give me a better view of the city, my office, accommodations...bla bla. I know I was growing old every birthday but not wiser anymore. I have hated the chaos of Durga pujo evenings in Kolkata, since birth; and often went out with family and relatives for long trips, treks... mainly the north and north-western India. I can count the number of Pujos I spent eating the Ashtami bhog in my para. It was only after I got my offer giving the joining date 2 weeks before Pujo, that a sudden craving for staying in Kolkata during pujo sprang out from within. My mom threatened to marry me off if I was not going for higher study/ job after graduation. The next search on Google was Durga pujo in Hyderabad. Wow! Bengali communities and their Pujo venues in the 'city of Nawabs'!!




I had no experience of what it was like to leave behind our loved ones and set off. It was being the first time and the toughest ever. From electric kettles to new trolley bags, formal shoes to a stylish haircut from paser bari's Habib-trained boudi(next door aunt) lunch invitations to pre-gifted pujo dresses, cash and blessing... it has been getting grander than Pujo itself. All this meant I am not supposed to look back, which is something I cannot refrain from doing. I will keep writing from my new city now... Looking forward to come back permanently in no time. After all, home sweet home!! :)

Aisa Des Hai Mera...

Every Indian, will have faced atleast one of these situations.... Check out!!

#1. The telephone office: (Ssshhh...its a govt one) The organization seems to have cracked a record in putting customers to experience network problems, congestion, cross connections and signal failures; and the subscribers also seem to have broken the record for putting the company officials to discomfort, by pouring down infrequent complaints....
      Mango people(read Aam Janta):    'I will be dumping this connection in no time'.
      Me(to Mango people) : This warning will be ignored by them like those unceasing piled up complaints in their office, and sometime back when I had given a similar warning, I was shown the Customer Care office by one of the officers, from where I could collect the connection-surrendering form !!!!!!!

 Me(to the company) : I am sure the highly qualified Telecomm officers(who remain busy calculating their PF, DA, HRA... most of the time in office) will be able to decode why customers have to suffer so badly. It is true that such a large population relies on a dumb connection like yours. Yet there is no zeal to improve things from your side. It is unfortunate that our Govt. has placed so much of revenue and great infrastructure in wrong hands. We Indians have learnt to compromise with our needs and your esteemed company is the biggest teacher of it. It is evident that this single highlight is not going to change your  way of doing things at your own pace. However, I have still chosen to pour out the minds of millions across this country, to show the company, the mirror!!

#2. The Electricity board office: (Zor ka jhatka... zoron se lagaa) Though Bengal is receiving a more-or-less stable domestic supply during the monsoons, the excessive installation of air conditioners in thousands of houses during summer led to insufficient power supply and consequently, frequent midnight power cuts. Hooking has been the best age old practise among the weaker sections of the society to get some light. Several schemes like ADPRP were designed to reduce power loss during transmission, but moving at snail's pace they failed to achieve the desired goal in stipulated time. Locally, queues for anything in these offices is such a menace.

Mango people(among themselves): 'Is this the line for getting a new connection? I have been directed here by the other department'. She reaches the counter, shows the application, and is now told by the red-mouthed employee, 'Madam, not here. New connection  and everything ...2nd floor', slurping the paan inside. And it goes on and on and on...till she gets lucky.

Me(to Mango people): Neither will they take down a complaint or accept an application without harassing you. I was made to wait for 4 hours when I went to settle a 6 month old dispute, and was sent from one counter to another in relay... for 10 times or so.. every one clearly waving off their responsibilities.  The most shameful thing is that they make even senior citizens wait in these queues.

Me(to the board): Online bill payment systems being set up in most of the states, may be the best option to avoid queues but not every section of the society is net-savvy. Moreover, this is a nation where people are still 'scared'  or give a second thought before making an online transaction. Our forefathers, still feel manual way is the safest. So we expect you to show little sympathy to the senior citizens who visit your offices to pay for the mere services you provide.

#3. Identity(crisis):  Be it the bank, your mobile connection provider, the passport office, or the bill paying and ticket booking agencies, identity is everything for them. You are suppose to provide them with 5 copies of the same document as a proof. If you are changing from a post paid to a pre-paid connection, you have to re-appear with the same set of documents. They can't transfer it simply.

Mango people: "Isn't any one identity proof enough? Why do I need to provide all of them...aadhar, PAN, Voter id card...?'' ...."What???  How do you want me to prove that I have been a student of this college, without an ID card??? Grrrr.....!

#4. The Plumber(Ek boondh pani ki kimat...tum kya jano plumber babu):  They happen to be the V.V.VIPs of your area. Call them during an emergency, they either don't pick up the phone, or say they cant arrive before the evening, which boils down to the next day usually.

Mango people(to the deemed plumber): 'I request you to give a visit as fast as possible. There is no water since the last 12hrs. Its an emergency, bhaiya, please...'

Me(to mango people): Irrespective of whatever amount of politeness or brotherhood you show, they will visit only if they think it is important after they are nicely done with the afternoon nap. They will not show any hurry to finish their hand's work to serve you in emergency. You cant even ask them why they took so long to reach, when they come and treat the majesty with grandeur, and be obliged to him for having taken his precious time out to lend you his service. Duh!

#5. Public toilets(the most hygienic place on earth): Till date, cheapest thing to use (@rs.3 and rs. 5 for the short and the long nature's call). The lack of public toilets affects everybody in India, but somehow, its most devastating effect is on the Indian male. Indian males are a sensitive species. They hear the call of Nature more frequently, and also feel compelled to answer it more immediately. Now, one’s first instinct is to feel sorry for them. But one should never underestimate their mental strength. Over the years, they have boldly gone where no man has ever gone before.. They have quietly protested against bizarre concepts like shame, hygiene and public decency. Men, in short, have managed to make their problem a non-issue.

Mango men(the 'mard') :  ....................  peeee.......eee....ee...e...

Bong Spicery

Mood swings have not been uncommon for me, often stuck in conundrums. My sister told me it is supposed to be a post menopausal syndrome and women of our mother's age have it. For women of my age(early 20s), some of us who happen to be emotional eaters, the reason should be the craving for our acquaintance with the right food at the right time. The right aroma of the right spice at the right time is a royal feeling, that could enchant food lovers like me,  transforming the mood entirely.

Frankly, I don't know where to begin from. You must have heard of the terms ' well travelled' or ' well read'. I am ' well-fed' !! And the tale of my love affair with food begins from mum's kitchen. A bong ma's kitchen

shelves are lined up with jars of 'panch-foron', ' shukno lonka', 'tej pata', 'holud' , 'kalo jeera', cumin seeds, 'hing' etc. No 'Bhajohari Ranna'(one of Bengal's oldest n most popular restaurants) could stand in competition with mom's 'macher-jhol' (fish curry with very little spice) specially done with the intoxicating essence of 'panch foron' in the pungent smelling mustard oil, whose predominance makes the dish so elating. I have been trying to decode the real recipe behind this, having failed several times even using the same ingredients used by her(she is a swift cook and uses some secret anecdotes, I believe!!). Since, I am still waiting to begin my life as a professional, I have loads of time and don't mind failing few more attempts in my free time, as long as the rattlings of 'panch foron' and 'sukno lonka' in the hot mustard oil continue to please my eardrums and the strong essence, seduce my olfactory system.

One of the radio channels was playing Manna Dey. 'Na na Jeo Naa' . It was the evening of Shankranti. The big bowl of off whitish earthy 'pithe-payesh' boiled lazily, in rhythm with the 70s song. Mum lowered the flame and left it to boil in its own speed, while she sang to the radio in a soothing soft voice of the black n

white era. It was perfect like her recipes. 'Pithe's  stuffed with lot of grated coconut in jaggery dipped in the 'payesh' ...sheer heaven for me!

There was a time when I hated the taste or smell of  chilli in any dish. It was only after I came in college and several riots with our cook(who hardly knew how to cook) I learnt the importance of hotness. Ok, I don't mind relating 'hotness' and 'college' for sometime . But seriously, no girl could show the hotness in 1st year of engineering. It was ragging session for the first 6 months or so, when every women had to come decent in Salwar-kameez and necessarily with 'dupattas', with all this leaving me a little frustrated after college. And back home, not wanting to eat the tasteless food cooked by 'mashi' made my mum introduce me to a simple combo of rice,few drops of mustard oil, a green chilli and a pinch of salt, all mashed together. It was an illuminating moment for me and I could finish my full plate with that. I loved the flavour of green chilli and now I can't do without 1 every meal. In hands of a cook like mum, even hotness can become pretty palatable, and help me get over my negative emotions, with the chilli perhaps chilling down my anger.


Having come in touch with our Malayam tenant, in the last few years, who also happened to be a teacher in my school, there has been an exchange of culture and food. Coincidentally, my mother has been a fan of South Indian dishes. I still pack dosa's back home for mum whenever I visit a South Indian restaurant. The 2 men in their family happen to be traditional experts in cooking their stuff. Bengali men could hardly imagine themselves in kitchen, every morning, making 20-25 chapattis, for the entire family before leaving for work! Yes, they are em-ee-en=men! An unusual "South Indian Chicken Curry" as they call it, the sweet and sour aroma with the slightness of curry leaves, coming from their kitchen aroused my voracious inner devil called ''Greed'' so much that I went down to ask them what they were cooking and it smelt so nice. In sometime, they came up to give us a bowl of the chicken curry! Later on, I used this trick(rather shamelessness) a couple of times to get few more bowls. Though I have stopped acting shameless recently, the very smell of the curry on weekends boils down my stress quickly. Call it magic, maya, or just Damn Good Curry; it has certainly put a spell on me!!

The Eccentricity of Chaitra Sale

Phew... I am home, with all my body organs in their own place. The annual stock clearance sale, better pronounced as "Chaitro Sale" hit the market hard enough to have had record footfalls. I should say it is the people who disport unprecedented eccentricity woo-ed by the word "SALE". Ok, I admit it. I too get wooed when I see shops offering huge discounts. I am a woman. But less eccentric than those who have that mad enthusiasm for shopping-till-your-hamstrings-sprain. Shopkeepers keep screaming in your ears, "eksho taka... ja neben eksho taka", you sweat like hell because roads are packed like sardines, you dont know where to place your foot next(on the road or on someone's feet), you have to push others to make way or else get pushed away, and then if you have still managed to sustain your shopping spree, you enter a shop where the shopkeeper is no more on the floor. He stands on his pulpit(usually a small bench), calling out prices, inviting you to his shopping arena. It is hard to say if the discounts are genuine, because the quality genuinely suffers. However, it is a "steal" you know, and to purchase the best stuff from a huge mountain of faulty  junks is a victory for every "mashima" and "kakima" who exude their bargaining skills, under the scorching mid day sun or sultry summer evenings.

I was amazed to see a very renowned cloth brand outlet selling off some expensive dresses at less than half price. I am a regular buyer at their place. And I had been there a couple of days before, when they were already offering a lot of discount, but no one came in thinking it was a big brand, and discounts would be on selected items, and yes, there was no one shouting out their offers, so no one knew much about it. After two days when I passed by the same shop, I was not able to recognize it. The whole sphere underwent a transition. The shopkeepers brought out all their discounted items, hung them outside the shop and there were there to four men who were wailing out, "Buy 1 at 50% discount, and get another free...free...free!!" I asked the man if it was the same shop which is selling all this. He uttered, "ha didi, egulo sob sale ache..nie jaan".


This is the only time when Bengalis can get the best things at the least price, for everyone at home. The enticing charm of the Sale hauls every "dada", "boudi","pishima", "kaku","kakima" and even the kids from their homes. There was this woman in a red tant, with a 4-5 yr old child in hand and her husband who came to accompany her straight from office; his gloomy appearance, his attire and the bag behind him made it evident. "Duto sari 300taka!!!..sale sale sale!!" . It was magnetic. The woman also joined the crowd of buyers of "duto sari 300taka". They were selling cotton saris, and these days maids cannot be satisfied with synthetic ones. She too went with the same motive, I believe. Her negotiation skills were put to test now. The husband seemed to be okay with 300, but she would not give more than 240. It was ultimately settled at 250!

I was kept waiting outside a trial room for more than half an hour, because there was just one trial room in that floor and that one was occupied by a fat lady who carried more than 10dresses inside, and I believe she was not fitting into any of it. She became insane when she saw "Kurtis for 150/- only"!! So she had to fit into at least one of them. When I got a chance to enter, a middle aged woman asked if I would share the trial room with her!!!!!! No one ever asked me for such a thing. Then she insisted that it was the latest trend to share the trial room, if there is a long queue! I was even more shocked, I said a big NO and slammed the door on her face.

Despite all the commotion and pandemonium, Bengalis love to indulge in such improvised shopping. And finally the most awaited Nabo Barsho arrives when we flaunt our purchase!

Feminism

I believe I am in a very feminine mood today. People have a notion that it is an oxymoron to be a Feminist Girly Girl. The same girl could wear high heels with a flowy evening dress who teams flats  with her trousers and shirts in boring shades of black and grey, to work every single morning. Smoky eyes looks perfect on the same woman who wears the eye liner clean. Having a floral print on the laptop cover does not merely mean, she is unaware of the machine configurations. We add a liner if our lips our not of the perfect shape. We put a foundation to make our skin look flawless. That doesn't make us plastic or fake. Every woman is pretty, and she has the right to look beautiful. Looking good enhances our confidence. We love Bob Dylan. We love Hotel California too. Trying to be a feminist by looking unclean is not right way to be so. And  let me put a full stop to the idea that being girly construes that with weakness or lack of intelligence. It is okay to be a feminist-girly girl. It is just that a woman tries to perfect herself, while men stick to whatever they have. Now I am not being a female chauvinist by pointing that out. Chauvinism is a different issue altogether, and I don't want to bring it in the current topic of my blog.

 In a culture such as ours that is obsessed with image and categorizing people, it’s often assumed that in order to be a “true feminist,” you must reject things like shaving, wearing make-up or noisy heels, being heterosexual, enjoying the company of males, or being a stay-at-home mom. For me, feminism isn’t about the physical, it’s about the spiritual. Do I have your attention now!!? Feminism and femininity can always go together. We need not reject one to have the other. The society is largely influenced by the mainstream media that upholds the triteness of feminism and women being portrayed as bitchy, catty, stupid, submissive. Feminism, as they show it, is another prop of desire, in advertisement. Yes, it is about objectifying women in the media. Do we need more proof?? Google Playboy !

To make my point clear, the Feminist philosophy argues that no women should be oppressed under any circumstances irrespective of her chromosomes, color, race, ethnicity.  I can rise up early, ready my kids for school, dress up perfectly for my office, do my work with all the precision needed, and come home and cook for my family, and doing all that while still looking nice, doesn't prove that I am not a feminist. I still know to stand up for my rights, because first I am a human being and then a woman. So I guess the eternal fight to establish feminism as freedom.. justice.. and equality continues in a gender biased society.

The Quintessential Bengali............

From the East Bengal – Mohun Bagan lineups to the rising petrol-Anarkado-boost to the tatka rui, ilish fresh from the 7a.m bazaar tothe Koel Mullick -marriage buzz or Bengal's world famous icon of “change” and promoter of noise pollution, 'DIDI', Bose babu has a voice on everything. The quintessential Bose babu! The bourgeoisie Central Kolkata banker, was waiting for his 9.45 RT-28(the bus that plighs between BBD Bag and Chittaranjan Park).“Bose babu, jaan dekhe asun boudi k nie, bhalo lagbe”, Bosebabu's, neighbour, who was in his early 30s handed over 2 passes of an Exhibition-cum-sale inauguration, at the Hyatt Regency. He had aclose look at the passes. “Apni?” , “Meeting pore gelo dada,jawa hobe na. Apni chole jaan. Sob celebrity ra asche. Keep guessing the guest of honor!”.

Sunday morning, 9.30am. Bose babu was rushing homeward with a 3-3.5Kg Rui hanging down his one hand, and a bulky thholi inthe other, when Chatterjee-da peeked from his 1^stfloor(dotola) veranda. “Bari te bhuri-bhoj mone hochhe!” “Boudir order ache... she plans to cook ruimacher kalia or muri ghonto may be.. Asben naki?” “Nah.. onnokono din.. But eto tara kiser?” “Goto kal paser barir Dinesh duto pass dilo..Hyatt has an inauguration of an exhibition today. Ami r apnar boudi jachhi...All the celebrity guests must be on their way already...”

In a green ikkat, boudi was all set with dada for the gala event, after a bhuri-bhoj lunch. A yellow cab dropped Bose babu amidst several Honda city-s, Pajero-s,Ford-s and a handful of BMWs(only a few Tolly celebs have BMWs you see). “Oidekho,Mercedes Benz!!”, Bose boudi wastoo excited. “Haath ta namao..Dont point like that.. ekhane eram onek dekhte pabe.”Bose babu hauled boudi towards the main entrance.

“Models lined up in knee length dresses, posing with their tailors. Pretentious jotosob! We thought there was a sale going on. And a few stars would be there to inaugurate it. Arey t2 te pray dekha jai.. dekhen ni dada! But it was a complete star studded gathering. There are a few common faces who always make it to such events, like Swostika, Locket Chokroborty, June Malia ar oi je... ki jano nam ta...the one whose name resembles “alur-dom”...besh chaapa rong ta...o yes! Paoli.. Paoli Dam, she was there as well, going on striking different poses with the same piece of necklace she was given. And what she was wearing was a little under-sized for her, actually besh under sized, must say. Shostika looks prettier in photos it seemed. Ognimitro was the modest of them all. Actually Dinesh, I ve noticed most Bangali tailors dress up modest, but the attires they gestate appear purely anomalous on the wearers. Cant help saying... but very disapproving!

Tomar boudi ektu rege giechilo. We did not know that they were serving lunch over there. She had to cook Mochar ghonto and Rui macher kalia for lunch and come. It was appalling to see how people were paying thousands to buy these under sized dresses. I hate this anomaly- 'smaller the dress, bigger the amount' .

Two Sundays back I took your Boudi to City Center 1, and that is where I saw women make liable use of these misfit outfits! Jano Dinesh, ekta model chilo, not a very renowned one but she was having a suit on, which was like a babysuit. The pants continued to be a part of her top... the whole thing made out of a single piece of cloth” “O! Acha! Jump suit.. theycall it jump suit”

“Hmm...but I would find quite uneasy to jump in them.. jai bolo. Hahaha! Itook your boudi to choose from among a few Abhisek-Dutta-sarees. Your boudi was like- Egulo pora jai naki? Leather er sari!!? Undoubtedly, she was true. Of course, a few wanna-be Sreelekha Mitro-s(she was draped in one of those leather pieces), who were somehow forgetful about their 65 year old wrinkles, and, their silver hair which became orange due to excessive dyeing, were buying those extra-glossy-textured saris.

'Tube top ki go?', your boudi asked me once, as if I knew!! 'Okhane sob camera-r samne tube top tube top korche!' Frankly, I was getting worried about something else. Most of the models there were taller than me. I am 5'7”. But these skinny ladies were not less than 5'9”!! Specially those in shorts, their legs were unendingly long. I was feeling low on self esteem. So, I made up an excuse. “Arey hna... bhalo kotha mone koriecho... tube paltate hobe. Ma-er ghorer tube ta aj ee paltabo. Cholo.” And I rushed her out before she had anymore queries and I had to make up another story of cleaning the water tank may be(tank tops are not much I know of you see... ;-) )ha!!ha!!”