Brand Power

Sandwiched between two remarkably ordinary one- room shops along the Hazra Road was a tiny saloon called CHERISH, the laminated signage somewhat faded by the relentless sun.

Even then, it was difficult to miss Ms. Letitia Casta smiling seductively at passersby.

What is that supposed to mean? That I will look like her if I go to CHERISH? Or She at some point in time visited the saloon? Neither, I guess!

Man & Machine

Kolkata never fails on a Sunday. Today was no exception.

There I was doing the routine commute from the library to SK's home, when something whizzed past.

A large bird? A small plane flying low? Superman?

It ... was ... an ... old ... man (atleast 80) in white pajama and shirt, black cap and gogles (the sort old war movie pilots sport) on a motor bike (vintage variety), with his wife (also in summer white) in the side car and their elderly daughter (I told you the man was old) on the pillion.

And no, he wasn't putt-putting past. Shoulders up, body leaning forward, he was fairly zooming past! We could only stare agape, amazed!

Falling ill, in Chhindwara

Imagine. You are visiting a series of small towns in interiors of districts in a state you are not familiar with. You are far away from home, away from your comfort zone, away from all that is familiar to you. You are staying in perhaps the best place in town, which happens to be a lodge. And then you fall ill. Not cold or cough or fever. Malaria. Panic?

With 3 days left in my rather longish and wearisome trip, I woke up in my room at the lodge (the town’s best – but that does not mean much) with a mild temperature which by evening had turned to full quakes, chills and aches. When Clad in salwar, kameez, jumper, socks, one bedsheet, 2 blankets, I asked V (my young colleague) for another blanket, she panicked and rushed to the lobby for a doctor. Within minutes a doctor arrived who took one look at me and pronounced malaria. He prescribed the medication and then departed, refusing any fees. He was, he said, a friend of the lodge owner. The medicines arrived within a few more minutes.

Over the next one and a half days, till my departure, there was a steady stream of visitors. The lodge owner, the waiters, the house keeping staff, the sweepers, the security guard and even the driver of the lodge's own jeep. None for a gawk. All genuninely concerned.

And Vikas's Chhindwara narangi's were languishing in front me. V asked some one if they could squeeze out the juice for the patient. Sorry, juicer is not working. However a staff did turn up saying, shall I buy one of those manual ones? Only 20/-.Yes, please do, I croaked from beneath the blankets.He returned with a glass full of sparkling orange juice, a sight for my parched lips and throat. And plastic juicer, now washed.

Right upto the time when my car arrived for my trip back to Nagpur (for my flight to Kolkata), everyone kept fussing and clucking over me. And Ingleji, owner of the car rental came up to meet me. Usually, he sends the car over with the driver. "Suna tha ki aap ki tabiyat thik nahin hai. Taab toh aap ko dekhna hi tha"! [heard you were unwell. (so) I had to meet you]

And another 24 hours, I was back in dear old Kolkata and Chez parents, safe and sound and none the worse for my ordeal. Any panicking that was, was entirely by friends and family.

Small towns, I am glad to say, have very big hearts! Thankyou Chhindwara.

And did I mention, V (also a small town girl) kept calling me up at the right times to tell me when to take my next medication.

Gifted

I was in Betul and Chhindwara (both districts in MP) for a series of meeting with parents of deaf children residing in villages there.

At the end of day 1's session, Rambhaktji asked me hesitantly, "Will you like some?,

"What? I ask".

He put his hand inside the jhola he had on his shoulder and pulled out a handful of berries and tiny peas. "Hamare khet say". And then again and again, there I was, with my palms overflowing with ber and peas.

Next day, our last day in Betul, Harvinderji thrust a small plastic packet at me - gur, he said shyly.

And then there was Vikas in Chhindwara, sort of shuffling his foot behind my chair, waiting for the others to leave so that I was alone. "Narangi aapke liye, chhindwara say".

Three days, three gifts. A handful of berries, peas, oranges and a lump of jaggery? But what do you know, made me feel the most treasued person on earth, for some time!

The most expensive, unique, rare, difficult to find gifts are not necessarily expressive of the amount of love!

Colours of Assam

Colours: Bezera, Assam

The All Bengali Crime Detectives

Thankyou Suparna Chatterjee. No, not for writing a crime story - my almost favorite genre but for the setting. An entire middle class bengali para is part of the plot which is well, life and of the various events, pre-occupation of the cast, there happens to be a crime in there as well, which does get solved eventually. But the build up to the solution is great fun, not alone to find out if the butler did do it, but also for the hoped for conclusions to many other sub plots...all equally important.

For all bengalis and those who are familiar with bengaliana - this book is worth a read. (And for others too..)

I hope Ms. Chatterjee is busy working on the sequel. I did find out if the butler did it, but don't yet know the outcome of potla's prem, piya's patra (groom) and Sabuj Kalyan's puja plans. Hopefully all these will be solved in the next book.