Sunday Picnic

Finally, it was over. The 20th year celebrations of the NGO where I work. It was exhausting. Draining. And I wanted to spend Sunday in a way I never- ever have, except perhaps when I was down with fever - in bed. I did a good job of it too, till upto 10am. When I jumped up and rang a friend. He asked me to come over within an hour and we (he, his daughter and moi) could then go to a picnic at Mallickpur. His in-laws were having a picnic and his wife had gone on ahead to help with the cooking.

A picnic. Ah! That sounded nice. Haven't been to one in ... maybe... 15 years or is it more like 20. Atleast not those ones where we go with madurs to laze on and hata, khunti and big dekchis and people do the actual cooking there itself! How I love those (as long as I don't have to do the cooking or even the jogar). And I had heard about the home at Mallickpur. Might be physically tiring but mentally, it would be such a break. No more presentations, map litho paper, wiro binding, logos and font size and proof reading (I had to develop and print a bunch of stuff for the 20th year programme).

We inched slowly towards our destination through incredibly congested and narrow roads and not to mention bright hot sun. And to top it all, there was this huge blood donation camp organised by TMC and the entire proceedings were being announced over loudspeakers attached to lamp posts.

And then suddenly, KD took a left turn and turned into a narrow lane (too narrow it seemed to me, for his large car) and the dirty noisy road vanished. The single road snaked narrowly through lush green foliage, past huts and thatched roofs and kochuri pana filled ponds and then stopped at our destination. A rambling two storeyed house, looking very much like an ordinary old small-town home...not much thought given to architechture or spacing, just built in an incredibly haphazard space wasting way (well that was not a drawback since space was enormous). And then, we stepped through the kitchen and onto the back and viola! The huge space behind dotted by tall 'taal gaach', eucalyptus, banana, papaya and host of other trees I cant name, was filled with elderly men and women. Some on chairs, others on madurs by another large kochuri pana filled pond and a sudden jungle of bamboos leaning way over it! And the cooking? Well there were four young men cooking with large kadais, hatas, khuntis and a gigantic boti - obvioulsy there was going to be lots of fish on the menu.

My friend's father in law was the 1st batch of Narendrapur Ramkrishna Mission and he was having an old boys picnic. It was so nice to see them all together. We had missed breakfast: Peas - freshly shelled, slices of coconut and pakoras. But lunch time came quickly and the cooks laid out tables, spread table clothes and served us food. First the men (to be honest, they wanted the ladies to eat first...but most were lolling on the madur and didnt want to get up) sat at the tables and all of them in unison, said their daily prayer from some 45-50 years ago at RKM! It was so sweet.

And then came our turn with the ladies . The menu: Polao, thick finger chips, begun bhaja (fried brinjal) sliced vertically complete with tail, topshe fish fry, Rui fish kalia and a navratan korma, chutney & the obligatory fried papad and payesh (kheer) and although there was no paan, we were served paan masala in small packets. And we sat under the mild sun fitered through the trees, eating al fresco with the odd dried leaf falling on us, a twitter here, a cheep-cheep there, a dog barking in distance...so serene, so placid...

And did I mention, there was a man there with a 'da' ( large knife). He had come in early and climbed the various 'taal' trees and had got an enormous amount of daab. And so we drank daab water instead of water!

And then came the best part. Surrounded by those beautiful trees, no hint of the hot sun, a cool breeze blowing and best of all, no horns, no noisy city ruckus...under a tin roof, on a coir mattress on a hard wood khaat, a long undisturbed full-bellied siesta! I woke up so refreshed, so renewed that I swear I felt years younger...sprightly infact!

The old boys association in between all this eating and lolling around, conducted their association meeting and have fixed up their next meet and venue and I am sure, the menu. But it's three months away. I have time yet to find out about it and gate crash once again. Till then let me savour this unexpected treat as I bump along in autos, choking in the fumes of 'kaata tel' (Adulterated fuel) in city polluto.

[It's never too late to learn and I stand corrected: Taal grows on Taal gach and Daab and narkal grown on narkal gaach or Coconut trees].

Kolkata Book Fair 2009

After an 8 year gap, I made it to the Kolkata Boi Mela yesterday. Replete with old memories of multiple visits to this most wonderful mela, alone, with friends, browsing, buying, breathing books (and dust thown up by a million feet), long queues for tickets, little magazine sellers earnestly plying their books....Ah! [And the ISKON cake shop where being allergic to eggs, I asked if the cakes were eggy and scandalised the swamiji at the counter, who put his hand to his ears and said, what else, but "Krishna, Krishna"]!

I finally found the time to visit the fair yesterday, the penultimate day, and was dreading the last minute crush [I adviced an american visitor to our office to attend the mela not only for all things bookish but to experience real life what a crush is]. The venue was not the only thing which had changed, as I found out.

I went in, visited a few stalls, got lucky within half an hour .... in that I found a relatively smaller and emptier stall where I picked up 7 books and the 8th in another 5 minutes...a quick dekho and was out in maybe 45 minutes. And then I walked past the ITC Sonar Bangla via it's service road, to the car park guided politely by several volunteers, policemen, attendants....

Imagine the scale? Lakhs and lakhs of visitors per day...lakhs of cars, at the crossing of 2 rather busy roads and that too by Kolkata standards [and maddening by any other country standard], unruly Bengali crowd [me included...a policeman ticked me off for walking on the road and told me to hurry up to the entrance to the walkaway parallel to the road and bordered by a bamboo fence. As soon as I got a little away from him, I sneaked in through the fence and straight to the ticket counter in front of me, instead of queuing up the mile long walkaway and felt rather pleased with myself instead of feeling ashamed]. The point I am trying to make is that being an average Bengali, am sure there are several queue jumpers / cutters like me and yet a battalion of policemen and attendant, alert keeping things going smoothly and not sleeping on the job ... and yet another horde of attendant controlling the car park. Phew!

Somethings ofcourse don't change. The dust...bhaiya [our driver] at the wheel and me on the back seat, coughed in tandem all the way back home!

And now, the dilemma, as always: Which book to begin with? I have them spread out in front of me....while I savour the thought of reading them, after I solve the problem of order of reading, ofcourse.

And the image above is this year's theme: Scotland and apparently Alexander McCall Smith was there as chief guest. Did want to go meet him and perhaps have a small adda about Mma Precious Ramotswe of the No.1 Ladies Detective Agency....but the queue outside the Scottish Pavilion was a bit daunting even for a seasoned Kolkattan like me. Another time, Mr. Smith.

A bandhday

Today 22nd, was another bandh. 23rd is Netaji’s Birthday, a holiday. 24th is Saturday and the weekend for many, a holiday for lucky people (in my office where we work on Saturdays too) whose leave applications were accepted, 25th is Sunday and 26th Republic day.

I just wanted to point out the really long weekend. Which meant it was important to figure out the logistics of coming in to work today, bandh notwithstanding. Luckily for me, I have an aunt who live close to work and my cuzz dropped me off this morning on his bike. And this meant I got to feel the ‘winter’ – it was shivery cold here this morning whereas at home, it’s almost like winter and yet not quite (although its only 15 km or so away…yes – pollution). I had told him to drive his bike really slow – he is a rash driver – and I am getting old and more afraid of my mortal state. The roads were empty. Mostly a few bikes and cycles and empty autos. He drove so steadily and slowly that soon, cycles were over taking us! Anyhow, reached office uneventfully (thankgod) which means no road blockage, no ‘untoward' incidents like pelting of stones, burning buses and unruly mobs.

It was fun to see who made it and who couldn’t and almost everyone had a story to tell about their commute this morning. And then there were those (who lived really close but wanted to take a day off) who called up the person who lived the farthest off – for moral support – surely he or she living so far away can’t come in and somehow my excuse of not coming in will get support – but alas, those living farthest did come in and those living closest were absent. All in all, it was a normal working day.

Also there were guests who had come in for some training session were leaving today. They had to be taken to the airport before the bandh was over and so as a safety measure we were told that we should have a sign on the car saying any one of the following: Delegates, Emergency etc. The car finally went out with loads of signs: Disability + Emergency + Delegates and the icing on the cake was a sign on the wind shield “Apod Kalin Service”! This was a typo …The sign should have read Apot Kalin which meant emergency and not Apod which meant ‘nuisance’!! Thankgod the guests couldn’t read bangla. Ofcourse the sign was changed before the car left.

Similar discussions and phone calls before we left for our homes – whether the bandh was over, were buses running, auto plying, was there any jhamela anywhere…and all of us reached home safely, as usual, through empty roads but crowded buses. Well that’s it then, isn’t it for the bandh story. Oh yes…it’s the first bandh in West Bengal for the year 2009.

Some managed to not go to work, others managed to; Daily wagers lost one day's wage, SUCI said the bandh was a total success, Oppositions said it was a total failure...it does not merely sound familiar, it is infact cliched, tired as can be, stale and infact it doesn't sound like anything, anymore and if it does, we dont hear it. It's just another day: you know, Monday, Tuesday,….Sunday, Bandh day.

Taxi, Taxi

I have to admit that the bright yellow of the taxi with the blue stripe, does add, if nothing else, a bright splash of colour to this otherwise dreary drab polluted and most beloved city of mine.

A walk in the park

It's been months since I last went for an evening walk. Just as I was getting very serious about them, I landed a job with a 6 day work week and that was that. I found some free time this Sunday evening and so I went to dear old Maddox Square. Having sweated it out in summer (trying to lose those unwanted pounds that had piled on), I thought winter would be pleasant.

Like an old hand (at walking that is), I sauntered in around 5:30pm. Some known faces, some new ones. Walkers slow, fast & furious. Ah! It felt nice. The paths were all beautifully paved - thanks to the annual overhaul for the Durga Pujas.

Two games of football in the centre green (not so green and bare in patches), a dad showing (off) his remote controlled helicopter more to others than his kid. A few kids burning scrap papers that had collected from the annual sports of a school held in the morning. Same place, same people, doing the same things (more or less) except smoky wintry atmosphere and of course winter clothes: sweaters, shawls, mufflers et al to remind us that this was - er...winter.

Good thing that - reminding us of it being winter. Otherwise one would think it was spring, in January. Very nice.

PS - Hope this does not portend a blistering summer.

Through a smog, hazily

Smog does have its advantages afterall. Victoria Memorial does look dreamy and nice! [Instead of a cold empty marble, OTT relic of the Raj].

Almost made it to the list...

When I saw the Top 10 most polluted places on Listverse I kept expecting Calcutta to crop up as I scrolled down the list in reverse order. India was there on the list twice - Sukinda (Hexavalent chromium and other metals) and Vapi (Chemicals and heavy metals). Calcutta however, didn't make the list.

I wasn't too convinced. I mean, I am living here and know what it is like. Feel vindicated today (vindication ruined somewhat by coughing and gasping and a heavy choking feeling in my lungs) by a report in a daily which said that Behala Chowrasta - epicentre of 6 routes and 1500 autos plying was the most polluted crossing in Calcutta. And these are the controversial two stroke autos (major pollutants). At a height of 15 feet, the Respirable particulate matter (RPM) is 115 micrograms per cubic meter. National upper limit is 60.
Dunlop is 110, Tollygunje is 109 - all merrily adding to pollution count in Calcutta.

Applause! for being top most in something, anything and for me and a million others who survive despite it!

And what with only 8 autos banned since the ban on two stroke autos started on January 1, 2009, this means, there are 66910 still left merrily increasing the RPM. Political parties are still hemming and hawing...first ruling party imposes the ban. Opposition opposes it (at the fag end and just before the ban is to begin) and ruling party wakes up to "what will happen to rozi roti of the two stroke auto drivers" on first day of the ban! [Yet another normal democratic political excercise in West Bengal...more or less follows the same pattern only issues vary, opposer and proposer vary].

And Listverse...Calcutta might be making your list soon...hope I live to see it (as I cross Behala Chowrasta everyday and RPM is responsible for irreversible lung damage)!

Louis Braille birth bicentennary

January 4th 2009 was the birth centennary of Louis Braille.

Another anniversary which would have come and gone for visually un-impaired (In light of this post, "sighted" sounds incorrect) people like me. I saw it on the news and read about it. And my visually impaired (VI) colleague had mentioned that he would be taking part in a procession which would incidentally start quite close to my home, on Sunday. I did toy with the idea of joining it. But then what with the now on- now off auto ban and Hazra more being the nerve centre (a huge auto depot and close proximity to TMC chief Ms. Bannerjee's home), I decided against. The rally did happen, peacefully and some 700 people had participated and the procession ended at Rabindra Sadan.

This morning, I saw him standing near the large room usually used for training and workshops. "Can I help you with something?". I have this urge to help him although he is very self sufficient and makes the long commute from home and back alone, everyday. Infact, it's me who needs frequent help in navigating the crazy traffic on Kolkata roads.

"Actually, I am telling everyone (who passes by) that we - he and RS the other VI collegue - are holding a small exhibition of our Braille Unit (the NGO where I work is probably the only NGO with a braille printing unit, atleast in this part of India) on the ocassion of Louis Braille's bicentennary. The exhibition consisted of a variety of tools and equipments, a good majority of which he had made himeself and now are available in the market were laid out on tables. The rest of the staff went around and asked questions about each equipment and its usage. Most of them were teaching materials. Braille alphabet in bengali and english using bindis; Set squares, protractor and even a compass, clock, abacus etc adapted for the VI. There was a set of braille playing cards. Identical to normal ones except the card - say four of hearts written in braille in a corner. We had great fun taking out cards at random and showing them to S and each time, he answered correctly: he is fluent in braille! One of the older staff told me to stop testing him. Afterall, he made the set. "We needed S to make a fourth for playing 29 (a game quite similar to bridge)!!

The exhibition was an eye-opener, literally. Not very different from other people am I? I didn't even remember. And that despite spending the best part of the last two months helping to develop various materials which talk about Inclusion of PWDs (people with disabilities) all the time. Inclusion and not assistance.

Shocked about lock-up

There is a first time for everything. Recently, I had to go to a police station to get permission for holding a fair for the NGO I am currently working for. So far, my familiarity of police stations have been limited to films (both Hindi and English - Bengali cops and robber films I avoid because you need a cast iron stomach and more to digest those). How many times have I seen interiors of jails, corrupt cops, seasoned criminals, seemy side of underworld, dons, don’s den’s and of course Mona darling - in films ofcourse.

Even then, I didnt think much about it. When I arrived there, the PS was a hive of activity. There were people outside the PS, inside the compound, in the reception and in front of the Duty Officer. While waiting for my turn, I noticed vertical bars in the wall in a corridor. Inside, there were a few men sitting on a thick cloth, on a dirty floor, surrounded by grimy walls. Above the door was a small board with “Men’s Lock-up”. Criminals? What is the correct word? Regular men that one might meet on the road, everyday. Young, old, fat and thin. I found it shocking. Not the men themselves...but the lock - up, people who got caught for a variety of reasons, handcuffs, police files, photos, aliases, courts and bail. (Middle class morality).

Most of them were quite blasé about being behind bars. They were not looking dejected or depressed, weeping or animated. Suddenly, some one shouted for one of the prisoners to be brought out. An armed constable unlocked the bolt. The shutter was a long one which went into a hole in the adjacent wall and the lock was fitted in side a small alcove built in the wall, so no one from within could have easy access to it (filmy style). A scruffy young man with blond highlights in his equally scruffy hair came out and was taken some where inside the precinct. When I asked to meet the OC, I was told to wait since the OC was interrogating. Could I return after an hour? Interrogation. Horror and excitement is what I felt. (Ofcourse it could be normal procedure for small stuff ... but I thought about mafia and gun running or drugs smuggling).

I returned after an hour to find the precinct more crowded than before and this time full of really enormous police men, all striding around and shouting (and what loud voices). It was lunch time. A man was sliding aluminum plates of rice, dal and one sabzi through the gap between the grill and the floor of the lock-up. The prisoners slid the empty plates, post lunch. A large 20 litre bottle was kept within reach just outside the grill. They tilted the bottle and poured water into a glass kept on top of the bottle.

Just as I was about to ask if the OC was free, we heard a really loud voice shouting out that the “Ashami” were to be taken to the court. And sure enough, a van with grilled doors was backed into the precinct and suddenly, all the prisoners, some 6 men and one woman were taken out in a single line, each held firmly by the arm by a gigantic policeman. The solitary woman in a yellow salwar kameez, green shawl and blue high heels was led by a policewoman. I wanted to ask what the woman was in for. But seeing the police women (in plain clothes...read that as ordinary printed cotton sarees), I didn’t dare. I shrank to one side and tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible (not an easy task that since I am taller than the average Bengali – man or woman)! I kept imagining that a car would come screeching and people with firearms would rush out, lob a tear gas and make off with one of the ashami in the ensuing chaos. Nothing like that happened of course. The prisoners were loaded into the van and it made off as did the OC in a spanking new Maruti Gpysy with a red sire on top. And the PS looked quite empty. The people left behind, I realized were families of those taken to the Alipore court. There was the wife and a tiny child not more than 4 years old – of the chap with the blond highlights – the one who was interrogated. She looked more resigned than worried and not making eye contact with anyone who were looking curiously at her and there were a few (including me).

I felt tremendously sad for her. How different it must be for her; She not only has to live with her husband in lock-up and interrogations and courts, she also has to deal with others who like me visit PS's via films and is agog, shocked, horrified and all sorts of stupid genteel things, when they come in contact with it in real life.


PS – The Duty officer was quite cordial and apologetic about the delay and the necessary permissions were granted quite quickly.

The brighter side of a bus strike

Today, there was a private bus strike in West Bengal. (In protest of section 304 A on drivers involved in fatal accidents. Section 304A is non-bailable).

Luckily for me, the long (about 45 minutes) commute to my place of work has lots of shuttle autos plying. I usually avoid these since they are much lower than buses and whenever they are stuck at a signal or in the middle of a jam, passengers in the auto end up choking on the exhausts fumes of buses lined up on either side of the auto. Throat and lungs seem to be on fire, eyes water, especially in the evening. Today I took the first auto which came along and reached home faster without stopping at any jams. But I did have to walk from deshopriyo park to our home (about two stops for buses). It was good exercise and above all, the thing to cheer about was...less pollution. Afterall, nearly 22,000 buses were off the road including 12,000 in Kolkata.

I was one of the luckier ones no doubt. Many have had to face enormous difficulties (buses are so much cheaper than autos and do not ply on many routes)....but the idea of a fractionally less smoggier Kolkata, calls for CELEBRATIONS!

Sunday kay Sunday

If it is sunday, it has to be in Kolkata. For me.

That special combination of laziness, contentment and mellow-ness.

I went out for a quick errand: tickets for a play. Got great seats and bonus: a good soak in the sunday pre-lunch air of kolkata.

There was hardly any traffic on the road, by Kolkata standards that is. It would constitute a major traffic jam in some countries though. Could hardly recognise Rashbehari avenue. Despite the red signal, a bus lumbered by, a man slow cycled and a couple ambled past. And nobody complained, no horns blared. No one going any where in particular, and not with any purpose. Oh the sheer bliss of it all.

Houses snoozed, sighed contentedly, squat and tall, happy on lazy roads which on any other day would be narrow, over crowded, dirty, full of rubbish etc. (No, its not a touch of the sun. I am not making it up).

Even the constant humidity didnt feel opressive. The sun too was on sunday behaviour, shining on and off. And off home for that all important sunday lunch: mangshor jhol - Goat meat curry. Ah!

Just like old times

It was going to be just like old times (ancient times if truth be told…but really I don’t want to be that honest): Another Batman movie, a bike ride to a cinema hall (and not one of those multiplexes), maybe grab a bite at Friends Home or a roll from Nizam. What fun!

As per plan (like old times), I took a shuttle auto to Hazra More. (Found out that the auto stops much before the "more" and it is quite a walk to it). A hair raising (never quite got the hang of it) crossing the road to the other side, where I waited in front of Ashutosh College for my cousin B to come by on his bike. A flyover has been the only addition to the otherwise straight route to SN Bannerjee road. I found on my first bike ride in 7 years that I had lost the hang of it. Actually it’s the advancing years…I was petrified…kept imagining a car would rush in from a side road and hit us or the bike would skid on a pothole and we’d come under the wheels of a bus etc. And in the process, missed out on the lazy, relaxed air of a Kolkata Sunday (this is really something to be savored).

The hall was more or less as I remembered it. In those old days, New Empire and Lighthouse were our first choice, followed by Elite, Chaplin, rarely at Roxy and almost never at Tiger. But things have changed. "Does anyone go there anymore?", was the common reaction from quite a few people. As it turned out there were quite a few people but not house full. The tickets were cheap at 80/-. The hall was as I remembered it: Enormous, icing sugar pink walls, maroon ruched curtains, mildly seedy air, non-reclining seats and vendors of popcorn coming in with trays selling Chips with a sibilant Cheeeeeeeeeepsssssssssss.

The seats wre non-reclining, the audio was bad and video dark. But somehow, it all added positively to the Dark Knight which was overall a dark film: The gist of this convoluted sentence is that the Dark Knight became really DARK. Yes we all knew how disturbing and menacing and different and far from funny the new joker was. But till you saw it here, you'd never know just how much!! The Hollywood bosses should watch the Dark Knight here.

My knees hurt badly after being cramped on the non-reclining seats for the nearly 3 hour long movie. Thrice during the film, I thought that the film was over only to find out that there was more explosions and glass shatterings. Wobbly knees, hazy eyesight and hearing, we walked out and after another hair raising ride, grabbed some momos and returned home.

Yes it was like "old times" and not very like the when-I-was-Young times I was trying to re-capture!

Walking the Talk 2

So I got out my sneakers. A bit worse for wear, the laces all knotty (I don't quite recall why it had tiny knots at various places). This caused some problems since I was neither able to tie the laces properly, nor take them out to de-knot them. I wore them nevertheless - one shoe a bit wobbly and lose and the other a bit tight (given the variation in length of laces). And then I stepped out in grand style - there - take that - see that (to the multitudes in Maddox Square who have nothing better to do except eye my foot wear or lack of it, or so I imagine) - no sandals anymore.

But my feet felt so tired ... weary, heavy after only one lap. They felt as if weights were tied to them. Laces. Proper laces is what I need. And so, K got me a pair of laces from Lansdowne Market - hurrah. And for only 5 Rupees. Imagine. But my joy was shortlived: The laces are very short. I could not tie a bow, a tiny knot is all I can manage. Nevertheless they were an improvement. I did get a pair of long laces from Bata - but they had only white ones.

Also, both shoes had slits near the big toe. (Eeks ... did my toe nails actually do that? Maybe, but imagine how formidable a weapon - my toe nail - a kick with a sharp toed feet could come in quite handy). And my socks (I have, good girl, several pairs) are all white. And did I mention my sneakers are black. The white socks do show through the slit - and those who stare at my feet might wonder - but nothing I can do about that. Every week on Wednesdays a cobbler comes to our building - I can have the slit repaired but ever since I got the sneakers out, he has not been coming (Now why doesn't that surprise me).

And I figured out the weariness is nothing to do with the laces....I need to do some limbering, ankles stretches before my evening walks.

And despite all that walking the talk (all in my head)...I have improved very slightly. I can manage 5 laps easily and last two panting and gasping.

And if you have missed and are really interested to know about how it all started, here it is Walking the Talk 1.

Walking the Talk

It has taken me many, many days (sounds better than putting the actual number of months) to shake off my lethargy and begin my evening walks at Maddox Square, which is right next door. [The thought however had occured to me many many days earlier - full points to me for that, at least]. Then one humid evening, I just did it - went for a walk that is. And found several problems, not the least being shoes.

My sneakers are packed away some where and so I went out in a really comfortable pair of rubber sandals. They provide a nice grippy cushion to my heels much in the manner of a pair of sneakers. I however felt very very conscious. Thought everyone was staring at my feet. Perhaps they were. So what? So, everything it seems (to me). Also, I was terribly out of shape, out of breath. Geriatrics were running rings around me. There I was panting and gasping and barely managing 4 laps before giving up. Perhaps this was enough - I was soaked to skin and so it must mean I had achieved a lot. [Kolkata is almost always 100% humid and so even if I just sat smelling the roses in the park, I'd have gotten sweaty].

Perhaps if I got a better pair of shoes. I have this pair of keds (looked smart when I bought it) in bright RED and BLUE (that would be scarlet and turquoise blue). I put them on and asked R if she thought I'd need socks. Nah - I don't think so - just go ahead. So I did. And it was even worse. People (I thought) were now staring at me and for a proper reason....I was looking ridiculous in a pair of shoes that would look better on a teenager and top of that I was gasping, panting (as usual) and now limping! One lap around the park in my sock-less keds and I had blisters on both my smallest toes and a goodish bit of skin skimmed off my ankles. Oh god. I however, soldiered on and finished my four laps and spent the next few days recovering. While I waited for the ankle to grow new skin, I wore my comfy sandals and hey ... now I had an excuse...should anyone ask that is: My ankle has grazed...I cant wear a sneaker till they heal. No one asked, alas. And then

Good news: I found my sneakers. A bit worse for wear but they are fine. More on that in a subsequent post...

Sparing the rod

There were no really small kids in our bus, when we were studying in Kuwait. The youngest was in class V. The trip to and back from school was relatively peaceful. Most of us caught up on our sleep specially in the morning (our school began at 7am).

One day, after school, I went with a friend to her home and therefore took a different bus. There were only 4 seniors in the bus. Rest were all tiny tots, squeezed 4-5 to a seat! Once the bus started ...oh my god. The kids were everywhere except their seats - half inclined over the back rest, climbing up the large windows, lurching in the aisle and more often than not, flat on their back. Oh and the DIN. It was INCREDIBLE.

The ones in front were, for the lack of a suitable word to describe them, the MOSTEST. I guess they were kept there so that the driver and his helper could keep an eye on them. Except for me, no one batted an eyelid. Certainly not the driver and his helper who carried on a conversation in malyali. The driver would take a turn, stop at the traffic light, change a gear, box a child, pick up another crawling child by his or her galices, pick up the heavy wooden ruler and rap loudly on the engine to stop a child from crawling under his foot to press the brake or something. God.

Now, why this rambling post? Was reminded by the Parliamentary debate before the Trust Vote yesterday and today. Hardly a debate....more an uproar. The Hon'ble Speaker Mr. Somnath Chatterjee's exasperation was so apparent. I was feeling incredibly sorry for him. He goes on and on in his stenorian bengali accented voice,"Will you keep quite? / No I cannot give you more time / Please sit down / This is TOO much / etc!! And even as I was writing this post, he adjourned the session twice and sad this was the worst day that he had ever seen in Parliament.

Pity, the Hon'ble Speaker hasn't been given a heavy ruler to maintain decorum of the hallowed institution. So it is left to his fervent, sad appeals to maintain peace and quiet and dignity of the Parliamentary tradition and all that.

Hockey Hogs Headlines

Since yesterday, hockey has upstaged cricket as a newsmaker: Pick up a paper or switch on to any news channel.

Alas it took a debacle to get it the attention long long overdue: India's failure to qualify for the Beijing Olympics.

But it won't be long before the dust settles and all eyes, ears, bytes and columns are full of the upcoming IPL cricket series. India, it seems has "Chucked" Hockey, our National Game.

Debt of gratitude

P Chidambaram has announced a waiver of farmer’s debt amounting to Rs. 60,000 crores. That is $15bn or 7.6bn pounds.

These are farmers who have under 2 hectares of farm land and have taken a loan from a government bank.

This, according to Mohan Manidwar of Farmers Agitation Group, which highlights the large number of impoverished farmers committing suicide, will exclude most farmers in the Vidarbha region of central India.

Also, close to 80 per cent farm loans are taken from private moneylenders and not banks.

While the FM has not spelt out where this money will be coming from, this loan waiver is welcome relief to as many as 4 crore who will benefit from what Chidarambaram calls “an unorthodox response.

However, one question remains: why did it take so long for the Government of India to redeem this “debt of gratitude”? Farmer suicides have been more or less a constant fixture since 1997.

Maybe I am being cynical, but I keep wondering if this one time loan waiver will be the solution or will it at best bring temporary, much needed relief to many.

Read here and here.

I will survive

An astonishing news of a pregnant woman on a train, who went to relieve herself and delivered a premature baby which slipped out down the toilet onto the tracks, survived the fall, the midnight chill and subsequent discovery by linesmen and eventual reunion with her mother. Details here.

A sort of reminder that despite the skewed sex ratio and rampant female foeticide, its not so easy to snuff the little girl child out. She will survive...against all odds.

Catching Mithya

A few summers back on a lovely evening, when we were in Paris, we wanted to watch a movie. We tried hall after hall (Odeon has three or four multiplexes and a few smaller ones) only to find all shows full. At last, we found one which had only two tickets remaining, so we bought them...and found ourselves in the front row, maybe 4 or 5 feet from the screen. Halls there are on average much smaller than in India (or atleast in the Metros, maybe even elsewhere). The images were pixillated at that distance and matters were worsened by the fact that it was a Ben Stiller movie...

The other day, went to watch Mithya, 11am show - no rush for tickets - reached the multiplex with seconds to spare... and were "ushered" in by the usher who led us into the theatre and up the stairs and said, "Sit anywhere you like and enjoy the movie"!

We were the only one in the large hall!

A bit like we owned it! Or a private screening for just the two of us!

Am not sure if I was entirely happy with it. I like to watch movies with others, certainly with A, or friends or in a full-ish hall. Its a bit like when I read an interesting book, I have to get others to read it, or read out bits to them...

However, a novel experience!

Its just not cricket

India’s current series in Australia, the umpiring decisions, the racist comment(s) controversy and now the IPL bids … cricket is always big news in India and more so now. Naturally, the news of the winning bids for IPL has been hogging headlines everywhere. Shahrukh Khan, Vijay Mallaya, Ness Wadia and Preity Zinta all wining the bids among others.

Naturally, the fate of the Indian Women’s Hockey team got mere mention. Returning to India from a training camp in Australia, the team had to spend a chilly wintry night in very shabby accommodation.

Also, they were unaware of a Rs. 5 lakh grant for purchase of equipment and so they had to shell out their own money.

So despite the appeal of “Chak De” and SRK and the women’s hockey team winning the hockey world cup in reel life, in real life, its cricket all the way.

Sir Edmund passes away

One day in 1852 in British-ruled India, a young man burst into an office in the northern Dehra Dun hill town and announced to his boss: "Sir, I have discovered the highest mountain in the world!" Full article here.

That highest mountain in the world, known as Peak XV till then, is of course known to us as Mount Everest.

The man who made the euphoric declaration was Sir Radhanath Sikdar, a bengali mathematician who worked for the Surveyor General of India and joined the Great Trigonometric Survey in 1840.

And just over a 100 years later, on 29th of May 1953, the Everest was conquered by Sir Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tenzing Norgay.

Sherpa Tenzing Norgay passed away on 9th May 1986 and today, his partner Sir Edmund Hilary breathed his last and joins him, scaling higher and higher peaks together, in the hereafter.

A divine display

Yesterday was awesome. Nature put on a very special show for our benefit….First of all, the day was unusually warm. With the mercury dipping to 1.0 deg only a few days back, it was heavenly to stand on the verandah and not feel the chill.

Perfect weather for a trip to the small oasis in this ugly concrete jungle that is Gurgaon: Leisure Valley Park. Overcrowded on weekends, we had the park all to ourselves except the few couple…they were anyhow, tucked away in the remotest of corners! Like the warm weather, another bit of luck, eh?

A little inside, the small enclosed rose park was a RIOT of colours. Roses of all hues, a single rose, big as a small tea cup to tiny clusters …what a sight to behold. After a pleasant amble, we left and made our way to the parking lot outside. Ah, life was already smelling of roses!!

And then, we saw this most amazing display, put on, as if, just for the two of us. From the far end of the near empty large parking lot, up they came without a warning, a huge swarm (they were definitely not looking like a flock) of the common myna (shalik in bengali), putting up an uncommon display. They came at an angle, swooped low and soared up, and at some hidden signal, the whole swarm separated into different flocks and flew in opposite direction, and then came together again and again and just as suddenly, flew to different trees and sat on the topmost / outmost branches, sort of outlining each tree and the whole process began again. I don't know much about birds habits (city dwelling ignoramus that I am), but I don’t think it was something common. The parking attendant and his two cronies too were watching it, agape. I wish I had carried a camera with me. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope where the figures, merge, meld and break up in perfect symmetry.

To imagine, I have lived so long and yet have never seen so many roses of some many hues, birds in rapturous display...and it must have always been, as long as birds have been, as long as roses have been....

I carried the images with me even as A negotiated his way through the totally un-symmetric chaotic mess of roads, cars, metro diggings, back to our home.

Let them eat biscuits, then….

MP’s cutting across party lines agreeing about something, in India. Is that possible? Pigs might fly, right? Well actually, the impossible has happened, but not in the way that you or I would have imagined. The Times of India reports that 30 odd MPs from different parties have written to the Ministry of HRD to replace the present hot, cooked meals under the Mid day Meal scheme for primary school students, with – hold your breath - biscuits! (TOI, 31 December, 2007)

The Mid day Meal scheme in India covers 12 crore children in 9.5 lakh schools in the country. Hot meals, locally cooked, supervised and served is aimed at community participation as well as increased enrollment and retention of students in primary schools. What will they eat, if they go to school (and not work for thier lunch and dinner, if lucky) was the basis of launch of this scheme, which was initially launched in Tamil Nadu and later adopted by the Government of India, The ministry of HRD, to cover the rest of the country. More here.

The MDM scheme is currently Rs. 5,000 crores and as the government is looking to expand this scheme to cover 18 crore children, the budget would therefore increase too and heftily. Incidentally, (the paper reports) the argument was very similar to the Mumbai based Biscuit Manufacture Welfare Association (BMWA)’s proposal to the HRD ministry.

The arguments put forth would have been really funny (hilarious in fact), but they had me wiping tears none of which were of mirth. (TOI 31, December 2007)

Samajwadi Party's Rajya Sabha MP Abu Asim Azmi writing,"Biscuits are a healthy, packaged, nutritious product which can cover many shortcomings of the present system followed by the MDM schemes."

"Biscuits are a favourite snack of children and have a higher recall and acceptance among the intended beneficiaries of the MDMs." RPI's Ramdas Athawale

K Natwar Singh "Members of the defence services, state police, administrative personnel, farmers, all classes of professional and labourers continue their biscuit consumption habits nurtured since childhood."

There is hope yet. Many state governments have written to the ministry of HRD opposing biscuit lunch plan. (TOI January 6, 2008).

Some states have relied on the Supreme Court’s 2001 and subsequent orders that prohibit centralized purchase of food for the scheme in order to avoid corruption. It has also been argued that serving hot cooked meals ensures local community participation.

Gujrat’s reply “ Biscuit is a snack which cannot be considered as alternate to hot, cooked meal…moreover the state government prescribes a menu for the MDM scheme according to local tastes and hence biscuits cannot be provided”.

Obviously, K Natwar Singh was talking about the other states and not Gujrat.

Meghalaya, “State Government prefers the cooked midday meal as it is in line with Supreme Court direction. Also, a meal is more filling and “healthful” than biscuits. Maybe Samajwadi Party's Rajya Sabha MP Abu Asim Azmi was talking about a different biscuit.

Pondicherry provides more than the prescribed levels of nutrients through a mixed menu and therefore rejects biscuits.

AP takes the medical route saying biscuits have disproportionately high percentage of sugar and daily consumption of biscuits is likely to expose the children to risk of juvenile diabetes.

Remember what happened to a certain lady who said, “If there is no bread, let them eat cake?”…well we live in more “civilzed” times and therefore, make the proponents of biscuits for lunch eat, well, biscuits – their just desserts.

Roti, Paani aur Bijli

The water supply was restored on the 4th, after three full days. At first we felt irritated, harassed, angry. Our daily routine went haywire. How much comfort we derived from the same ness, routineness of everyday things ... no reason why... like sweeping and mopping, watering plants, the dishes, the laundry...

It felt surreal to wash the clothes at 6pm when a water tanker would arrive and water would run through our taps if only for a couple of hours.

We had all our taps on...and the slightest trickle, heralding the arrival of the water tank would galvanise A and me (and the other residents I am sure) to action. We stored water wherever possible: In buckets, in my two pressure cookers, assorted pots and pans...in fact I was running out of dishes to prepare the meals!

The household helps came several times each day to check and somehow, the water would arrive only after they had left! They must have been laughing at our predicament, a taste of what 'their' life is like. This afterall, this is nothing new to them. My maid J manages to run her home with water that her husband brings from a distant tap.

It also drove home the point how much we took things for granted...how wasteful we were. And not just leaving the tap on while brushing. I managed to cook and clean and wash clothes properly but with a limited quantity of water...perhaps, for the first time, the correct amount of water. A bucketful of water was enough for a good bath instead of a luxurious soak in a bath tub. And believe me when I say, it felt just as good as if I had taken a bath in a hot tub with aroma oils and candles lit on the edge, sipping wine!

Even after the water supply was restored, we continued to store and use water judiciously (read not wastefully).

Last evening, when we reached home after our weekly shopping at Wazirabad Haat, we found the entire building completely dark. That meant no power and no generator either. A was too tired (with the various excuses that the administration would have given us and none of which would make sense and yet all would promise instant resolution of the problem) and so we lugged our veggies upstairs slowly, through the ptich dark.

The power came back for half an hour, enough time for me to grill the kebabs and then it went and returned only at 9 this morning. Which meant I missed "To Kill a Mockingbird" shown on Sony Pix last night at 10pm. (This is the second time I could have seen and yet missed the film...the first time was my choice, unbelievably. We were in the middle east then and I for some unearthly reason...chose to swot for my exams rather than watch the film...perhaps the only time I have done so)!

This morning, we find out that Gurgaon has been plagued with 12 hour power cuts. So perhaps the building admin decided to give the generators a rest and keep it for the all important pumping water to the over head tanks.

Perhaps all this is a boon in disguise...teaching us, preparing us for the day, not so far away when we'd have to ration (if lucky, fight for if not) water, power, fuel and by we, I mean everyone....

Afterall, man does not live by bread alone. Water and Power are very important too....

Happy New Year!

Is it a crime to use a whole mug of water to paint on a day when there has been no water?

We woke up to the new year to find that there was no water running out of the tap(s). We had to depend on the three large buckets of water (now ice cold since the mercury had dipped to 2 deg C last night... and still feels that way indoors), all day.

So, we spent the day,A & I, glued to the TV and the net respectively. I cooked what I could using the least amount of water. Some of the water was used by J to mop the floors (I insisted) and washing the tea cups, strainer and kettle (J insisted, knowing our tea-dependence).

"It will be back in half an hour", we were told around 9am. It's nearly 6pm and we are still waiting. Apparently the plan was to get four tankers of water, put that in the building's reservoir and pump it via the water pump. Last update: 2 tankers have arrived, but the water pump is now being fixed: Why wasn't it fixed earlier? Who knows why?

In the meanwhile, I am painting (water colours).

"Be good today", ma would tell us, on new years' past of our girlhood day's (mine and my sis R's). "If you cry today, you will cry all the year through". (The first day shows the year...apparently).

I seriously, sincerely hope that, THAT is NOT true.

Happy New year, everyone.

No Poinsettia this christmas

I had just finished re-doing my drawing room in rust, brown and red the colours. Not overtly so; just a tinge here and another there. And with the cream walls, they gave the room a warm rosy hue in the cold Delhi winters. I needed just one more thing – those bright red plants in the black pots dotting the various nurseries all over Gurgaon. I told A and he surprisingly didn’t come up with his usual “Another plant? Not again?” (the painful memories of hauling the heavy pots during our last shift still fresh in his mind, not to mention his muscles).

Yesterday we had gone out for lunch and he obligingly stopped at a very busy intersection so that I could go and check out the nursery alongside. 150/ said the mali. For a small potted plant? How about if I take a very tiny one? No? What about one without a pot? No?

I must have looked rather crestfallen, so A said we could try the other nurseries. “You shouldn’t have gone in your Parisian best. The mali hiked up the price”. My Parisian best happened to be a smart orangish jacket, common enough in Paris, but tres chic here, or atleast with the malis or so A thought.

On our way back, we stopped at a place where there were three large nurseries side by side a riot of colours with the winter blossoms. Poinsettia? (ah…so that’s what it is called). 125/- said the first one, the second one didn’t have any – all sold out and the third and the last one said 90/-. Earlier I would have paid up without much thought, but ever since I went to the Government Nursery (yes that is what it is called) at Nizamuddin, I realized by how much I was being ripped off. There I had bought 5 plants for 80/- only. So, wiser, but infinitely sadder, and minus poinsettia, I walked back to the car.

Ignorance would be so blissful, wouldn’t it?

A belated happy Diwali post

This has been our 4th diwali since our 'retour' from France. But our first diwali at home. Our latest home that is (3 shifts in as many years, 4 if you count the few months we spent with our in-laws). So naturally, we were looking forward to it.

As the day drew closer, diwali melas sprung up everywhere. Familiar landmarks disappeared and the ordinary skyscape was transformed into a twinkling fairy land by night.

I picked up 50 earthen diyas for a steal - 20 Rupees only. I also got the cotton wicks (12 to a pack for 5/-). And the all important mustard oil. (I could have opted for the easier electric lights...but somehow, I wanted this diwali, my first one here, to be traditional).

A got a tad carried away and bought a large amount of crackers: no bombs; Charkis, anars (flower pots) and 20 boxes of phuljharis (sparklers). This last one was for me since I am petrified of crackers despite my enthusiasm for diwali fireworks. We invited S & his wife D and their 3 year old to help me finish off the phuljaris.

We sat and reminisced about past diwalis. How one year the 8 year old A with his uncle's help decorated the entire home with homemade lanterns made of coloured papers and diyas and had the whole neighbourhood agog and his photo in the paper! And how I after shifting into a new appartment in Kolkata, bullied the residents for the diwali fund and had our first diwali dhamaka...where everyone burst the never ending supply of crackers that I had organised while I and quaked under the water tank.

On diwali eve, we put the crackers in the sun .... to make them crackling shape (for diwali night)!!

On diwali, I timidly (I am timid in all things domestic...well actually in most things), filled up the diyas with mustard oil (realising that slipping a piece of newspaper under the diya should be the first step, rather than the last), put in the wicks...arranged the diyas on the broad parapet on each verandah and lit them.

We went downstairs and were told that we could burst our cracker outside the entrance. A and our friends promptly started off while I quivered with a sparkler in my shaking hand. Soon, the other residents descended with huge bags holding their enormous stock of crackers. Our flower pots, sparklers and charkis got lost amid expensive rockets zooming and bursting into golden showers, silver sparkles, dropping parachutes and what not.

We returned upstairs...and ate pizzas and then bid our friends adieu. I realised that I had been so busy running around trying to hide, fingers in my ears from the various bombs...that all evening I managed to light only three phuljharis (A had got 20 boxes for me remember?).

Before retiring for the night, I went from room to room switching off the lights...and there they were...my cheap little diyas holding their own...casting a small but tenacious golden light...to me more beautiful than any of the fancy twinkling electric lights.

Happy Diwali everyone!

Bull at Haat

Mardi was my shopping day, during our stay in France. I really looked forward to the Mardi Marche rather than the cheaper Super Marche. Oh the joys of going through the stalls with the beautifully arranged fresh produce sold by the farmers themselves. The aroma of roast chicken would fill the air (and have my stomach growling). Also, this was my chance to practice my spoken french! The farmers were a most friendly lot.

Back in India, we shopped as and when required. Didn't have a fixed day or shop. Meat, fish, veggies were A's department. Condiments were mine. We had been meaning to go to the nearby Wazirabad "haat" for quite some time. And recenlty, shaking off our intertia and mind block, we did just that. Despite the incredible dust which had us all sneezing and choking, it was very enjoyable. Stalls were marked by bamboo poles pegged in the ground with the produce spread on plastic sheets in between. The bamboo poles not only marked out each stall but were used to hold a long length of wire from which bulbs were suspended! The same crying out of wares, prices, haggling. Different place, different people, but the ethos was more or less the same.

There were some very marked differences (this is India after all). Bright splashes of colour, more crwoded and not at all orderly or quiet and enormous amount of dust. But that was not the main difference. There was a small skirmish when the bamboo poles supporting the electrical wire fell and down came the entire length. Some one yelled "Batti wala ko bulao". Apparently each haat have their own "batti waala". Now here's the difference: a herd of buffaloes had pushed their way in and had knocked the poles down! The batti wala fixed the problem, the bulls were gently allowed to pass. Nobody noticed and life went on. I wouldn't have either, normally, had I not been thinking about the marches!

On my second visit to the haat, I got a severe shock when I suddenly found an ENORMOUS black and white bull breathing down my neck. Actually, it was just trying to sample some of the veggies on display. No one chased it away. Naturally. Given it's size and the fact that the passage between the vendors was really narrow, it would have started a stampede. I gingerly stepped away and kept a wary distance between us. The bull hung around for quite some time tyring this and that and it was quite sweet - like an overgrown bumbling baby!

Am looking forward to my next shopping day. What a wide variety of greens (and reds,yellows and other colours too), very fresh, affordable and pesticide free (many more varieties of creepy crawlies each time I empty my shopping bag). And of course the bull adding the final, inimitable Indian touch to it!

Goodbye Ms. M

I did it. Finally. Screwed up the courage to tell M that her services were no longer required. And it has taken me exactly four months to do so.

M our cook, landed up on the very day we moved here. And from then on, apart from cooking extremely mediocre meals, has been a source of constant torment to me. Each morning I'd wait for her to turn up and make my breakfast or rather A's breakfast since he like elaborate ones and not the plain milk and cereal sort. I'd arrive home late from work, dead tired, crawl in to bed, sleep uneasily with my never ending job lists haunting me and crawl out bleary eyed next morning. As the minutes would tick past and the clock inch towards 9 when my cab would arrive, I'd start making A's breakfast. On a good day, M would turn up just as I would enter the kitchen and on a bad day (which was more often the case) just after I'd finish making A's breakfast. I would have minutes if not seconds to spare and rush without giving M a piece of my mind and of course, sans breakfast.

She did turn up early, well before 9...but only on weekends, when I would be really loathe to leave my bed early.

She'd never remember the recipes and finish cooking (irrespective of the number of dishes) in less than an hour and leave with the kitchen tap dripping, lights and exhaust fan on, the kitchen a mess. But I couldn't complain. Work swallowed up most of my time.

If I am sounding mean, I am not. I let her take a day off whenever she wanted to or if she said she was not well. And more over we often spend the weekends with our in-laws and was OK with her flexi timings.

Recently, I quit my job (Yes, I have quit), and now had the time to supervise her.

"Why are you late?"

"Well you are home now, so I can come in a bit late", meaning What's the fuss? You can make the breakfast can't you?

"Don't drop the peels on the floor", I tell M.

"J hasn't come today has she?", referring to the other maid who does the floors, and continues to drop peels on the floor.

Each morning, the same thing. M with her face an unreadable mask and me sounding like a nagging stuck record.

Recently friends were coming for lunch. So I'd ask M to chop up veggies after she made the breakfast. I could begin the cooking lunch and M when she returned could do the rest. When she turned up three hours later, I had finished two dishes. She took one look at the uncooked bhindis and said, "Three hours and you haven't done the bhindis yet?"

Just after I quit my job, A and I went for a seven day trip to MP. Before leaving, I told both M and J to check at 10 on the day we were returning. J dutifully did. M sauntered in at 1. By that time, I had ofcourse finished cooking lunch.

"What"?, I asked her angrily.
"What do I cook?"
"Nothing, I have finished".
"OK", she leaves, cool as a cucumber.

She turns up at 12 one day.
"Why didnt you come earlier"?
"Here I am", (ignoring my comment).
"Yes I can see that. But why so late"?
"Oh, I overslept".

You get the picture. After much internal debating, I told her not to come any more.

J, the other maid, tells me the next day, M has found three new jobs. And she is getting paid really well.

And she reminds me again the next day.

I retain my cool and say that is really, really good.

And then she tells A, "Madam is so nice. She is doing all the cooking herself and is saving you money". Argh!

And finally, today, she has a ring side view of my cooking episode involving lots of lal saag, worms, my hysteria and her eventually rescuing me from it. Bet she and M are having a nice laugh.

Viswakarma Puja

Tomorrow is Viwsakarma Puja - the day when pujas are performed for the divine engineer On this day, workers in factories and workshops, offer the tools and the instruments of their trades to the deity. More details here.

Sitting here indoors, in Gurgaon, I don't feel it. Kolkata however would be a different scene altogether. Buses, taxis, cars would be strung with flowers. Most factories would observe a holiday, but the workers wouldn't be at home. They would have a puja in the factory followed by a grand meal! This is very big with the drivers too. Also, the skies would be FULL of kites.

At home in Kolkata, the drivers would come around and collect "Chanda", money for the puja. And then there would be the feast. There was one Viswakarma puja we were invited to just after we had just moved in to our recently constructed appartments. The ground floor was still not complete and was full of gunny bags, cement and what not. The contractor and architect of the building had invited all the flat owners. We went for the post puja meal.

I was very hungry and ate the first few courses (all vegetarian) with great gusto and waited for the chutney-mishti which - the normal last course of every meal only to find, that they were serving mutton curry! I was aghast (not at the sacrilege of serving meat in a religious cermony) but at the fact that I was rather full and the mutton curry looked delicious. It was just the contractor bosses way of saying thank you to the workers. This is apparently the norm every where in Kolkata. And this cuts accross religions as well. Another owner of a taxi service told us that all his drivers - irrespective of religion, participated in their Viswakarma puja enthusiastically.

Since then, I have never had the chance to participate in one, but if I do, I will go slow on the first vegetarian courses!!

The Train, the Taj and the Glacier

Good news for Indians, Indophiles, travelers, tourists, adventure sports lovers, trekkers and well why not everyone?

The historic Shimla Kalka Railway
Also known as the Shimla Toy train, it is being examined by a team of experts who will submit their report to UNESCO. The final decision to declare it as a World Heritage Property will be taken up at the next UNESCO general assembly in Quebec in July 2008.



This 104 year old railway covers 96 kms over marvelous rugged terrains and going through 103 tunnels, 969 bridges and has 919 curves of 68 kms! Inclusion in the World heritage site would do wonders for its preservation and conservation for posterity.

This narrow gauge railway was conceived of in 1847, plans for it drawn up in 1887 and work started in 1898 and finished in 1903. However, it was inaugurated only in 1906 and since then has been wowing millions of people (other than providing a convenient means of transport over what would otherwise be rugged mountain terrain).

A sad tale is associated with the construction of this railway, in particular with the Barog station named after the engineer in charge of its construction. He committed suicide after realizing that the two ends of the tunnels didn’t meet. Had it been perfectly aligned, it would have been the longest railway tunnel in the word. His grave lies just 1 km off the station.

If the Shimla toy train makes it to the list, it will join its counterparts - the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway and the Nilgiri Mountain Railway in South India.

My shameful note: I haven’t been on any of them, but will do, soon.

Age old beauty treatment for the Taj
Women have been using face packs of Multani Mitti (also known as Fuller’s Earth) for centuries. Its astringent qualities for cleaning marble have also been documented in the 16th century. ASI has already tried it out on the Taj once before and happy with the results, will be soon giving it a much needed facial. So, hurrah, we get to see Taj in its pristine, marbled glory, soon.



My happy note: Having been to the Taj thrice already, I am really looking forward to seeing it all cleaned up, and this time by moon light!

Exciting times for adventure sports enthusiast: The Siachen Glacier-Saltoro Ridge
A news paper report says that “India is now actively encouraging mountaineering and trekking expeditions to the forbidding glacial heights”. A 16 member Indo-french team has already led an expedition to Mamostong Kangri Peak, 30 kms east of the snout of the Siachen Glacier between July 30 - September 1. A 33 member Army expedition is currently under way. Another expedition of both army and civilians to Rimo Peak overlooking the Aksai Chin has begun on September 6, 2007. So, go conquer!

My happy to be far away and read about other’s exploit note: Go there, do that and I will buy the T-shirt!

Procrastinater, no longer (hopefully)

Am I procrastinator? I never seriously thought so. OK, I would like to tackle the easier, simpler and non confrontational tasks before the more complex ones. And occasionally, I’d like to shove the really unpleasant task under the ever present pile of papers on my messy desk. But this time, I really outdid myself. Could it be then, that I am a confirmed and beyond hope procrastinator?

I shifted residence (3rd time in as many years) in May end this year. This was peak work season. I managed two days off from work for the shift. We moved in to this really large apartment but without any woodwork what so ever. Just large bare rooms. Worst affected was my kitchen. There was just a long counter – a slab of black granite. And so all my kitchen ware, spices, grains, cereals etc were piled just any how on to the counter and left for a weekend when I could sort them. June, July and then August came and went. We settled in properly, the logistics, the maids, the shops, the electricity, telephones etc…except the kitchen.

The mess was incredible. In fact, the very sight of it was enough to have me shuddering and making a dash away from it. The few times I had to cook (maid was absent or the dish I wanted was beyond her) I spent an inordinate amount of time looking for the ingredients. I went out and bought stuff only to discover more of it lurking on the messy counter top. And occasionally, I’d have to get rid of something putrid from among the stuff which had been lying there neglected for quite some time.

And the guilt – oh god!

Since my maids were not going to lift a finger to remove the mess and neither would A, it would HAVE to be me. OK. So what if I tackled it bit by tiny bit. Perhaps all the large containers on day 1. All the smaller ones on day 2, all the Indian spices on Day 3, etc. Workable? Yes. And I’d feel a little less guilty with each passing day. So, I began on Sunday and finished on Wednesday. Wow! I felt like I had just scaled the Everest.

The kitchen is looking NEAT, everything in place and easily available and to my Surprise, did I actually buy so much and of nearly everything? I am after all the Timid Cook and the most adventurous that I have ever been was when, nearly four years ago, I tried to make Ras Malai (my first and last time …. And no it didn’t turn out bad… it was good…but the effort was too tiring).

The guilt which had rapidly evaporated on seeing my organized kitchen is back full force. I have spent so much on stocking up and yet in the last three years, have used less than 25% of what I have in my kitchen. Wasteful, zero planning / organising skills and WORSE - procrastinator.


This is what I found:

I have seven types of lentils – moong green and yellow, masur, chana, arhar, two types of rajma, lobia (am not sure if the last two are lentils)
3 types of breakfast cereals,
2 types of rice
4 types of cooking oil – mustard, vegetable, and two bottles of olive oil
11 type of sauces including teriyaki and black bean
10 Indian spices – cumin, coriander, poppy seed, ajwain, saunf, kalonji, black and yellow mustard, black and white sesame seed, radhuni, cardamom, cinnamon, mace, black pepper, red dried chilies, chili flakes, cloves green and black, thyme, oregano, basil and one mixed herb
Fried garlic and onions
Sooji, soya bean, dalia….


I am going to take a photo of my now tidy kitchen (should have taken one of the messy one too...but its too late now) to remind myself of the perils of procrastination.


PS - Now that I think about it, my desk at work was always messy. And ocassionally when things got really out of hand, once in 6 months or so, I would take couple of hours of tidying it up. And it would be such an event. People would gather to see. The housekeeping would provide me with a large garbage bin to dispose the useless papers and other stuff. A colleague V, would always click pictures on her cell of the before and after and send me the jpgs.

Noodles for Comfort

Its raining today. A pleasant relief from the opressive humidity of yesterday. Just right for some Comfort Food. Specifically, what I call R's Noodles for Comfort. Recipe up at Timid Cook.

Bon Appetit!

To Sir, with love

Today is Teacher's Day in India, celebrated every year on the birth anniversary of Dr. Sarvapalli Radhakrishnan, former President of India.

I have happy memories of this day when I was in school. The senior students (Class 7 & 8) took classes for the juniors (Class I to VI)! We followed the normal class time table but instead of Verma Sir, Sahu Sir or Das Madam, it would be Swati or Chetan or Sangeeta taking the class! And at the end of the day or was it the next day, at assembly, the best student - teacher would be announced!

Throughout my school days and later, college, university and when I was learning french, I have had many teachers : good, mediocre and frightening! None of them however inspired me to do anything astounding. Despite that, they are part of my personal history.

Sahu Sir, to whom, we collectively professed our love to, and I think scared him out of his wits (most of us where silly gigly third graders); Kovalan Sir, who became an instant hero when he caught the snake (a harmless grass snake that had somehow crept into a class on that summer day, so long ago, in Assam), twirled it round and round and flung it far away; Nadeema Madam my first arabic teacher who gave me such a hard time (I had joined my class after going to the Middle east, in mid term and was having a hard time with the aleph, bet etc); My math professor in Kolkata who made integration and differentiation into an art form (I wish my class would go on for ever, so lucidly and easily he taught us); Michel in Ecole des Roches in Paris - who would do crazy things to keep the entire morning class wide awake and pick up some french and many others whom I can't remember.

They had their lives, their families, their sorrows and happinesses too....but to me and maybe many other students they were simply - teacher. And although not all our memories of school and teachers might be good or memorable, they did to some extent, acutally more than 'some', made a change in our lives.

Therefore, to all of them, I wish, Happy Teacher's day.

Shankarpur Revisited

I had last been to Shankarpur in 1999. Along with Digha, about 10 kms away and neighboring Orissa, this used to be the longest unbroken coastline in the world. Digha was and continues to be West Bengal’s favourite seaside haunt, bursting at the seams with a million hotels and restaurants and what seems like entire West Bengal holidaying there, despite an empty Shankarpur next door with a lovely, virgin beach and handful of tourist – about 10 or 15, perhaps even less. When I recently revisited Shankarpur along with A and R (this was couple of years ago). Nothing seemed to have changed. We still had the place to ourselves except for the handful of tea shacks and fishermen and hotel staff.

The route from Calcutta to Shankarpur though considerably shortened (it took 4 hours instead of the earlier 6) was in patches terrible and our rickety ambassador was in constant fear of coming apart! Also, to enliven things up a bit, the radiator heated up and the hood blew off while we were cruising at full steam ahead, and fell on the windshield completely obscuring our view while we came to a rather shaky halt. Thank god there was no major traffic on the road. Our resourceful driver tied the bonnet to the chassis with a bit of a string and we were ready to go!

The scenic beauty more than made up for the discomfort of the terrible heat and humidity and the mamoth potholes. The foliage grew in wild profusion on either side of the road with none of the symmetry that is so inherent in the deepest of forests in Europe, but no less beautiful. The ash winding road, red earth bordering it was in places completely yellow due to fallen leaves crushed underfoot.

The greenery was broken at intervals by a shrill flash of colour of a house, the bigger the house, (meaning the more prosperous), the more colourful it was. The architecture too got more ambitious: cupolas, turrets, green, red, yellow, blue tiled walls; window grills with fantastic work on them.

More interesting were the small temples by the roadside at regular intervals, indicating the presence of a village. Mostly these were low roofed one room affairs. But that is were the similarity ended. Each and everyone were beautiful and different. One had, I remember catching a glimpse as we whizzed past, large oval platters with Krishna, Subhadra and Balaram's faces painted on them. Another had a life size Shiva, Parvati seated on a bench under a tiled roof, as if waiting for the next bus! In the 200 kms to Shankarpur, we passed nearly 20 such temples, including couple of mosque and one church.

It would be nice to travel the country and photograph these temples. Here's another of my "Things I'd like to do, someday" idea, thought of and filed away. Actually, if I were to be 100% honest, the thinking it up and dreaming about it gives me more pleasure.

It was four hours of delightful rural scenery: A women in a red saree, spreading grains on the road to be husked under the tyres of passing vehicles. In places, coconut replaced the grains. Bullock carts ambling by; cowherds leading their skinny cattle somewhere; kids fishing, locals going on their daily lives just as they had been for generations, completely oblivious to the huge hoardings dotting the place advertising mobile phones, corn flakes and latest gadgets and ignoring the fancy car loads of tourists whizzing past.

At the hotel, we had taken two garden view rooms, a better bargain, we later found out even though the 'garden' was nothing more than a messy green field where the hotel staff hung out their personal laundry! The more dearer Sea view was really the 'Tila' or hillock view studded with jhow trees which blocked any view of the beach that lay just behind it! We were the only tourist in the entire hotel and in fact in the entire area. So we did get some personal attention everywhere we went. In fact the staff at our hotel took to us so much that they had no qualms in wondering around in towels in front of us, bathing under the tap in the courtyard, making no pretence whatsoever of being a three star hotel! By Friday (when we were checking out) they had gotten their act together, sprucing up the places, getting into uniform for the hectic weekends when the hotel would be fully packed.

The Sea was unbelievably beautiful and the fact that we two were the only people bathing in that entire stretch had A extremely surprised. It was like having our own private beach, except the tea stalls and the fishermen and R who sat decorously in one of the tea stalls and broke many hearts. She was such a hit at Shankarpur. Quite a few people asked her if they had seen her someplace!

We took a trip to Digha in the evening. There is a very nice promenade by the sea dotted with souvernir stalls selling the most wonderful trinkets, jewellery and knick-knacks made entirely of sea shells. A new addition are stalls selling all sorts of sea fish that you pick up and they fry. We had to regretfully avoid the large prawns, A having just recovered from Typhoid.

R caused a sensation wherever she went. She thought of nothing to parade about in Digha in silk shirt and black trousers, every strand of hair and make up in place while A and I roamed around like a pair of sun burnt country bumpkins. She caused a jam at the shooting gallery in Digha where she popped balloon after balloon (one can hardly miss at that range). I could have walked past naked and not one person would have batted an eyelid, much to A's dismay.

I was very frightened should any one took too much of a liking to her and so at night, I made her stack a flimsy table against the door of her room and piled it up with glasses and bottles so that should anyone try to enter, the glasses would fall and warn her and give her enough time to ring me up. And I would sail in like a Royal Bengal Tigress! Luckily, nothing happened, no one got hurt except perhaps A's ego. He mentioned quite a few times to whoever would listen that S (me) is very popular in France!!!

After three days of sea, sand and sea food, we returned to Kolkata, but stopping for lunch, not at Sher e Punjab dhaba (much to A's dismay - it would mean a lengthy detour), but at a place called - wait for this - "Sher e Bengal"... obviously Punjabi dhaba food with a good dose of Bengal in it!!

I am told that apart from the odd Film crew (mostly Bengali, but also Mani Ratnam's Yuva) and a handful of tourist, Shankarpur still remains pristine. Thank god for that. And if you do happen to go there and find it the way we did, do make the effort to visit Digha next door: Just to savor the contrast!

Does size matter?

Since I last wrote, we have been looking around for a place to move to. Half heartedly really. Since our landlord had given us three months' notice (and out time is nearly up). Something would definitely happen in the meanwhile, we thought.

All that has happened since then is the realisation that the prices have sky rocketted. A tiny two bedroom in the same complex is a good deal more than the three bedroom we have.And the two bedroom flat is really, really tiny.

But that shouldn't be a limiting factor. Afterall, there is an entire universe of people living in small apartments and there is even a Smallest Coolest Apartement Contest 2007, no less.

That cheered me up a great deal. Till I took a look at a the entries! Egad.