Pipe dreams

On a new reality show on TV, was watching a contestant with improperly formed hands. He danced with energy and grace. Shiamak Davar thought he was good enough to move onto the second round. Another judge disagreed - his decision was based on the contestant's dance alone.

Arshad Warsi, the third judge said he couldn't say yes to this contestant going ahead because he was different from "us". He said he was sorry but he only knew how to speak the truth. And if he said yes, then it would only because of sympathy.

The contestant said he was no different. He could do everything that others could do. And also dance.

Mr. Warsi said that every one couldn't do everything. He said his lack of height meant he couldn't go for a competition for 6 footers. What in the world???

Different? Isn't that what we all are from each other? Did the dance contest stipulate that only non-disabled contestants could apply? Wasn't dancing capability the only criteria? I haven't read the fine print nor the contract nor the rules. I dont think such a rule can be there and if there is, excluding Persons with disabililty, it is a crime. Atleast in India. Especially since India is now a signatory of the historic United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with disability (UNCRPD). Infact India was one of the first signatories. So what? So what indeed?

A signature is only a symbolic gesture. And India's signing means nothing, unless all Indians sign it - in words and deeds.

Equal rights and equal opportunities - then just a pipe dream?

A new bus...no less

Ah the drama of Kolkata. It exasperates us, disgusts us, makes us laugh and ofcourse cry. But it also teaches us resilience, patience. And makes us appreciate the little things of life.

Like today. As I stood in the darkened bus stop (power cut), a bus pulled up which looked like the W-3 (a boon, if it turns up). There was an electronic board with some mundane writing on top and so blinding that I couldnt see the bus number. I had to wait till it drew really close to realise that it was the one I wanted and had to run in, since the bus didn't actually stop, only slowed down. Inside I found two colleagues who had boarded it earlier. New bus (yes, the plastic wrappings were still on, in places). Low suspension, smooth, purring, hand rails in bright yellow, seats in ash and blue, huge non-rattly glass windows with all panes in place. A stop sign above every seat and a first aid box. Oh my god! We ticked off the features one by one. And we giggled in delight and giggled some more at our delight! Only those who have lived with the blue and yellow monsters or red and yellow mini-monsters will appreciate our delight!

A thought did crop up all the in all our minds. How long before? Before, it becomes a ram shackly, jarring, rattling framework, gasping and fuming its way through planet polluto?
Make the most of it dear bus.

Durga departs and Lakhi arrives

Dashami was just 5 days ago...and already its time for Lakhi puja (and I haven't even had the chance to post all the durga puja photos). Lakhi Puja at home has been an annual ritual for many years now, more a fun chaotic get together than religious rite. It would be a FULL house earlier, with all our kith and kin pouring in, now maybe only 3/4 full - all of us grown up, moved away, some casualty of infighting and some new faces. Actually, the preparation started from Dashami itself. It was R's last day off (mine too...but in this context, didn't count) and so both she and Ma got to making tons of khaja. Within the next couple of days, another ton or so off narkel er naru. Then yesterday, she dragged the pidi on which I keep the modem and adapter. It is lakhi thakur's pidi...which will be freshly decorated with alpana .. no not by me. Either R or ma will do the needful.

All along, the pandals were slowly stripped down...only the bare skeletal frame remains...shorn of tinsel and glory. Its a norm. Lakhi puja follows in all Durga puja pandals. After which all traces will disappear till next year.

The road to work this morning (Yup...Gandhiji was probably pleased to see full attendance at work today...and when I came home, found out that the tweeting Mr. Tharoor too had the same thought - but alas, for him, not with the same results - ah obscurity... so blissful) - was lined by stall after stall of Lakhi pratimas of every shape, size and hue.

And a vertiable Lakhi Puja bazaar had sprung up on the tram tracks. The largest rolls of 'thor' (the stem and pith of the banana plant and not the Norse god of thunder) that I had ever seen - as big as a small carpet rolled up; Stalks of sugar cane, banana stalks and leaves, dhan, dubbo, ricketty wooden altars and piris, and more pratimas...tiny ones this time with tinier owls!

A long harried workday...a furious thunderstorm and worse lightening and I am home by 8 - looking forward to some TV and sitting atop my precious wooden chest and blocking the TV with her head hidden by a newspaper (it comes off tomorrow at the puja) is a foot and half tall lakhi on a pedestal with a large white and the cutest owl along side.

Ah! I finally get to eat the khajas and naroos tomorrow and the khichudi and labra and payesh.

Durga Puja Past

So many pandals, so many protimas, so many people, all jostling, eager to lap up every bit of this years Durga Puja...And now, its over. Only photos remain to serve our memory (atleast mine, failing as it is)!


This one is one of my favourite...the clanging of cymbals, the beating of the dhak and the fragrant smoke from the dhuno cast a enchanting spell...

That "Pujo Pujo" feeling...

Last working day before the puja hols. But the puja fever is so infectitious that going to work even on shoshti was enjoyable. Pujo essentials are hard at work, doing their bit to add to that special "pujo pujo" feeling.

Jams - It took us 2 hours from Thakurpukur to Rash Behari - about 12 kms maybe?! Pandal lights - not fully lit yet - still early days or maybe recession? Shehnai - thankgod a few pandals are still airing shehnai. Most are however airing Mahishasur Mardini and somehow spoiling it because it is to be aired only on Mahalaya at 4.30am in the hushed silence of dawn and not amid the cacaphony of a million vehicles, people, claxons, vendors. And Protimas? In the pandals, but still undergoing finishing touches...

(no weapons in Ma Durga's hands, yet!)

And this morning, as my bus slow downed at Kalighat - we found an impromptu dhaki'r haat in full swing, lining both sides of the road! What a sight to behold. People from all over were frantically bargaining, finalising and then moving off with dhakis... how do I know? Well two men got into our bus with two dhakis! That's how. Each dhaki was showing off his skill and yet not a discordnat note despite all the frantic drumming. Added to the pujo pujo feeling. Sigh!

Vastra Samman - Join the effort, this festival season

Goonj is organizing “Vastra Samman” – a nationwide awareness cum collection campaign September 27th to October 2009.

There are 25 collection centres through out the country. Contribute clothes – not merely the old ones. Clothes that you had bought on an impulse and never wore, clothing you thought looked good in the store but not so at home, clothing that you will wear when you slim down, clothes that you haven’t touched for years and yet are loathe to give away.

This festival season join and help make this initiative a success.


More on Vastra Samman, here.
Collection Centres, here.

Durga Puja, here is it?

That golden sunlight of sharod? That crush of last minute shoppers, pandals coming up hinting tantalising of the fantastic shapes and forms they will eventually reveal and giving rise to horrific jams along with the shoppers. And then what? All of Kolkata and surrounding districts (all 19 of them) jostling, shoving, elbowing their way everywhere ... on roads, lanes, gullies, shops, footpaths, pandals...

And that eternal dilemma - To go see the pandals (a very wearisome, tiresome, pain inducing - head, bone and joints, knees and in a multitude other places...the thrill of having seen incredible pujos and irritation at not being able to describe it to those who havent) or not to go and sit at home, not achy all over... except perhaps in the heart... and feeling curiously flat and left out. Is this then, the pujo'r amej?

Well its been so hot and sticky with some furious but short spells of rains...not much golden sarad sunlight. And the crowds...well they have been curiously absent...even though we have been returning home each night quaking with fear of getting stuck. Hasnt' happened yet. Even the pandals are snailing their way up. Are not even causing any traffic jams...Usually by this time, one would be able to tell what each pandal would be like. . And I find myself missing it all...the empty roads, the bamboo-rope-canvas pandals look so naked and sad and we are verging on Panchami...which is tomorrow. Were the build up to the pujas ever so silent? Ever so frenzy-less? Ever so not chaotic?

Then I come home, look out the window and see among dark trees, under a cloudy sky, the Maddox Square pandal - finished at last...standing white, serene in the dark calm of night .... waiting for the rush, from tomorrow or perhaps day after...

Mahalaya

Today is Mahalaya. And it had to begin like almost all Mahalayas of my life: Listening to Mahishasur Mardini on AIR. The night at its darkest just before dawn, all the world ahush, waking up when ma creeps into our room to put the radio on, the static on AIR, the blowing of the conch to signal the begining of the programme itself.

It has been such an important part of not only our durga pujas past but of our peripatetic lives as well - in our cosy blue bedroom in the small bungalow and then the larger one in Assam, in Kuwait when our nutty ma would (god bless her) put on a cassette at 4.00 am (thank god Kuwait time) on Mahalaya and now ofcourse here in Kolkata.

Since 1932 when it was first aired, it is a part and parcel of durga puja for bengalis the world over. Difficult to say whether Mahalaya means Mahishasur Mardini or vice versa. Such is the popularity (popularity is so inadequate a word...fervour maybe) that the TV programmes a recent development only 10-15 years old are timed to coincide with the ending of the Radio programme.

It is sacred. Every bit of it - right from the blowing of the conch shell at the begining and the end of the programme, all songs, all chants, the music everthing inlcuding the names of the participants - almost legendary now - Banikumar, Birendra Krishna Bhadra and Pankaj Mullick.
Any changes (a few have been tried) have ended in abject failure - rejected unanimously.

The piling up of bamboos, bundles of rope, corrugated tins, canvas tarps by the road side; structures coming slowly, bamboo girders on footpath, festoons and banners, pandals coming up bit by bit, puja barshikis...all important part of the count down till Mahalaya and Mahishasur Mardini on AIR at 4am. We'd lie snug in our beds half asleep, half awake and as the programme would draw to an end, the sun would rise. I would often fall asleep in the middle to wake up to hear another bit and the doze off to find that the programme had ended but with a contended sigh think, there is always next year.

Is there? Will there be? This year, when the final song Shanti sang by Utpala Sen finished, we waited to hear the illustrious list of names as much a part of the whole process...but were aghast.. to hear ads 0ne after the other....harsh raucous and completely shatterring, infact it felt like a violation of something sacred.

And quietly goes the Tram….

The stretch from the bus stop to Taratolla on my way home from work is about 5 kms. A long stretch of tram line from Joka to Behala Tram Depot acts as road divider. Two sets of tracks – one up and down, with swathes of grass [Green in winter, burnt brush in summer and overgrown tangle in monsoons] on either side and in between, where the lamp posts usually are.

8 months of commuting and yet I am constantly amazed at the denizen’s innovative uses of this divider and to their obliviousness to the incredible chaos all around. This stretch of road has possibly the highest density of population, buses, rickshaw, cyclists, pedestrians, jay walkers, police men, pollution – air and noise, in Kolkata at least, if not in the world. [Small mercies that I can strike auto from this list after the 1st August ban on vehicles more than 15 years old]!

Not long ago, just before the elections, I was shocked one night to see a serenely suicidal Agnikanya Mamata Bannerjee hands folded on the tram tracks. It was a lifelike cut out…but it had given me quite a few anxious moments.

A bustling haat springs up on a ½ kilo meter stretch near the bus stop in the mornings. Vendors with veggies spread on tarps, fish seller squatting at huge ‘bontis’ cheek by jowl with florists who sell mostly withered gladiolis, pujor phool, rajanigandha and nursery displaying their wares on mobile bamboo frames strung up with ferns and all sorts of beautiful foliage in pots! The swathes where they sell their wares are not very wide…but they have it measured to the millimetre and neither they nor the customers pay the slightest attention to passing trams.

Of course the overhead electric lines might snap and fall. That has not happened yet and only a non-resident like me can think of something like that.

There are different haats at regular intervals. In the evening, various stretches are converted into open stores selling wooden furnitures, shital pati madur store and on puja eve statues of Lakshmi, saraswati, Ganesh, jhulan [before Rath] and what not. In the evenings of our stuffy, moist, clammy, humid, never ending summers, pajama-panjabi clad oldies hold their evening addas on these swathes, believe it or not. Seated on plastic stools and chairs that they have carted from their homes just off the Diamond Harbour Road, sipping tea from khullars or plastic cups, discussing world affairs and their solutions no doubt, a world unto themselves despite the traffic on full swing on either side.

And amid all this, in all the ponderous majesty carried on from a previous era, quietly goes the Tram.

To have eyes and not to see...

SK, a visually impaired colleague recently had to go to Delhi for a workshop organised by the National Trust and would be returning alone. I had left instructions at both Delhi and Kolkata Airport for assistance to complete all the formalities. He sailed through Delhi Airport. When the flight landed at Kolkata, the Airlines ground staff met him with a wheelchair and insisted that he sit in it.

“Main admi hoon ya saaman”? SK said. “Kya Sir, bathiye…hum aapko aaram say le jayenge”, they said. He protested vehemently saying he was perfectly capable of walking. The staff very good humouredly ignored all his protests and wheeled him to the terminal and through all the procedures and outside to where his brother was waiting.

A funny story? Maybe to us, the so called “non-disabled.” Not, to SK and million others who face similar situations daily. Buses don’t stop for them, an occasional airlines have offloaded them, people don’t have the patience to stop and listen to them, don’t see them, don’t want to see them, pity them and dismiss them with at best, a “poor thing”. Them being Persons with Disabilities (PWDs). So many such discriminatory incidents from the highly offensive and insensitive to the downright ridiculous.

The ground staff just took it for granted that being disabled, he wasn’t capable. Of anything, at all. He felt very humiliated at being forcefully made to feel “incapable”.

For the vast majority of the non disabled, who normally don’t face PWDs very often, don’t know what to do or how to behave when they meet one. Either they leave it at “Poor thing” or lend a “helping hand” – one which is more disabling than enabling.

It’s Ok if one feels awkward with some one’s disability, if faced with it for the first time. What is not OK is the disregard or unawareness of the fact that a PWD is a person first – who can do some things and can’t do others, just like all of us. SK manages our NGO’s Braille printing unit along with working with visually impaired children in the villages of South 24 Parganas. He is perfectly capable of walking and negotiating his way through the crowded streets of Kolkata, using public transport and goes on frequent out station trips. He can speak, walk, talk, feel, hear and has emotions like all of us. And like all of us, he has a list of cannots. He also can't see.

While it is true that the ground staff meant no disrespect, and out of ignorance, equated disability with a wheelchair, which was of course taking things to ridiculous heights, this behaviour is indicative of the general apathy regarding PWDs and their dignity, their rights who are aftarall like us, citizens of an Independent Democratic Nation.

A Roof with a View: July 22 Solar Eclipse

The longest solar eclipse of this century – more than 6 minutes. Once in a life time not be missed event. Next one will occur on June 13, 2132.

I looked up the path, duration, timings et al of the July 22nd eclipse. Tried (half heartedly) to look up science clubs, astronomy clubs and planetarium’s in Kolkata. And while the count down built up worldwide, with suitable frenzy, my plans fizzled out.

Aggotta, plan B: Rooftop.

Ma and I went upstairs at 5.30am and although the skies were cloudy…it was very nicely striated – clouds grey and ash, blue sky in between and a bright sun too dazzling to behold. And then from nowhere a wisp of cloud looking very much like a grey chiffon duppata blew in and obliterated the sunlight and there it was…the solar eclipse. And then the cloud moved away and we couldn’t see anything and had to wait for the next wisp of cloud. And so on went this hide and seek. Partial or not…it was beautiful.

In between, we checked out neighbouring roof tops. Not a soul in sight. Were is everyone? Ma kept asking. Sleeping or catching the eclipse from Surat to China and beyond on TV. Every channel had an expert – from ISRO, astrologers and what not. But the thrill was seeing it first hand.

Look, people are blowing conch shell…to ward off evil. Ma, please. That’s a bus honking.

We went downstairs at 7am and then watched the telecast on TV from different places. Photos of the eclipse by the Taj was rather poetically beautiful. Didn’t make it to any of the places which would see total eclipse – Surat, Vadodara, Bhopal, Varanasi, Patna, Gaya, Dinajpur, Siliguri, Tawang or Targana in Bihar which was supposed to be the BEST place to view the event. [The clouds played spoil sport at Targana and I believe they couldn’t see anything at all. Poor Bihar CM who was himself present, mike, dais et al]. Didn’t even make it to the Birla planetarium.

However, our rooftop more than made up for it. Just Ma, me, assorted crows (the ones ma feeds every evening) and our sunglasses. Ma looking rather hip in my antiquated Ray Bans.

Almost made up for my regret in missing another once in a lifetime event in 1986– Halley Comet.

By your leave

As usual, I was the last to leave. Today, for a change, I managed to tick off most things on my todo list and was putting the finishing touches on a report before leaving for the night. Today was my first day at work after a bout of flu. I could have finished the report tomorrow...but just wanted all items checked on atleast one day in this financial year!

N was there too. It was normal for one of us to finish slightly earlier than the other and wait.
-- How much longer? she asked.
-- 10 minutes.
-- You said 10 minutes, 10 minutes ago.
-- Just finishing...

The 10 minutes became 40. At 7, she said she was leaving and went downstairs while I took a back up of the report on my USB (for finishing at home), switched off my PC, modem, invertor, the lights and fans, locked the door and walk downstairs. No sign of her. As I rounded each corner (6 of them in the short 5 minute walk to the bus stop), thought I'd catch up with her (longer strides) but she wasn't there. She must be waiting inside an auto at the stand - waiting for it to fill up. Nope. All empty autos. No N and atleast 15 minutes of waiting (if lucky) for the auto to fill up and leave the stand.

I called her: Where are you?
-- Where are you?
-- At the bus stand. I just arrived...took only the time to shut down and you are not there....
-- I just left...Eamaa**.

Never mind, I said coolly and hung up all the while seething. "I will finish my work and leave alone. And leave without waiting for anyone. I should have finished my report instead of taking work home. I did leave on Saturday without waiting for her and not even informing her when she was taking the training session. What's the big deal anyhow? Maybe she was in a rush. And not that there was anything earth shattering except gossip to catch up on", I fumed silently.

The stretch seemed longer...the halts more innumerable (if possible and not just grammatically), the buses spewing more poisonous exhaust...and the pen-ultimate bad thing .... fat co-passengers - who squash you without any qualms. (Ultimate would be a lechy co-passenger). I got out at Taratolla, worse for wear and bang into N.

-- Hey! What are you doing?
-- I felt so bad ...
-- That you waited? Are you nuts (pretending to be genuinely concerned-surprised and not yahoo-elated-surprised).
-- No...I just waited for 5 minutes.
-- What if I'd taken a bus - I wouldn't have stopped to change at Taratolla.
-- I would have waited for only 5 minutes more.

We got into an auto....I elated, she relieved (both not showing it) while I calculated that she must have waited for more than 5 minutes. Much more. We talked of mundane things...and then I got off as usual earlier at Deshopriya Park... Walked with a spring in my steps...in the fine drizzle (hilsay guri) homewards.

That's what friends are for....

** Eema is actually much more common a word and higher in the stakes of the most popular bengali word among bongs than "eesh" of the Aishwariya-Paro of Devdas fame.

An Alpine in Kolkata

The auto I was in, took a sharp turn onto the flyover and it tilted on its rear wheel and just as I thought we'd topple over...a car rushed past and out of the rear window, popped out an ENORMOUS FURRY head: A full grown (given the size of its head), furry Saint Bernard, enjoying the breeze, a enormous tongue (like a babies bib) lolling. I kid you not.

All of us including the driver oohed and aahed and had something to say about it.

But don't these enormous, furry, cuddly dogs ...with small beer casks tied on their collars ... revive people stranded / buried deep in snow...somewhere in the alps? Aren't they alpine? Meaning from a cold clime. Lots of snow and sub zero temperature is normal for them.

Why bring them to Kolkata of all places, snugly tucked in the eastern armpit of India (no wonder its - Kolkata and not the St. Bernard - so sweaty and odourous)...which itself is located in the Torrid Zone. Sheer cruelty.

Perhaps, it was brought as a pup to Kolkata and has only known hot and humid weather and is quite at home and was enjoying the gentle breeze...

Nipped in the Bud

Long work week, longer commute to and fro, work load, horrible weather and really nice colleagues – result: no gossip to liven up things. And then it happened...like in a soap opera, episode by episode. No saas-bahu kissa though. Just a pretty overseas volunteer, a local romeo, the local "dada", a shoe shop and us spoil sports.

She - the volunteer - had settled in pretty quickly, found her way about - the tailor, the cyber cafe, the sabzi walla, the boutique and the shoe shop. Whenever we'd meet she'd give us an update on her life so far and her explorations. Then one day she asked if it was the custom here (in Kolkata) for young men to tell women "I want to make frend-ceep"! What??!!! Not one of those again. Most of us have had at least one proposal for frend-ceep, if not more!

"No, of course not. Don't even bother to reply", we told her. She nodded. Then she said, well this guy keeps calling her Madam and begs her for one minute (of her time) in between asking her for frend ceep, telling her how nice she looks and how fair her skin is. Where did you meet him? At the shoe shop. He is the owner's son. Ignore him and go to another shop, was our advice.

We kept asking her, ribbing her about her "frend" and her "fren-ceep" shoes. He had progressed to asking for her cell number, where she worked, where she stayed etc.

"But why do you still go to his shop?" “I don't. He follows me on my way to the cyber cafe".

And then one day, she came running looking rather panicked. "He followed me all the way here. And kept asking me for one minute please".

Gone were our smiles. She would frequently go to the cybercafe at night ... her only way to keep in touch with friends and family far away. What if....

We rushed to our Director and told her. And she found the solution too. And fast. In came the strapping young realtor who is the local dada cum Good Samaritan. He was informed about the little problem. And within 15 minutes, the frend was called and for an informal chat with our Director. Just her, him and the dada. In polite icy tones, he was asked to desist. And all the while, the dada had his friendly hand clamped on the frend's shoulder. The frend who had swaggered in, baseball cap on, crept downstairs all thoughts of frend-ceep gone!

While we, gossipy old biddies, that we are....lurked and grinned from the sidelines!

Theatre of the Absurd...

... The first thing that popped into my head when I read about Behenji's statue making and installing spree.

The term Theatre of the Absurd (French: Théâtre de l'Absurde) was coined by the critic Martin Esslin, and was the title of his book first published in 1961. Samuel Beckett, Arthur Adamov, Eugène Ionesco, and Jean Genet were presented by Esselin as the four defining playwrights of the movementand later on Harold Pinter.

As per Wiki: Though the term is applied to a wide range of plays, some characteristics coincide in many of the plays: broad comedy, often similar to Vaudeville, mixed with horrific or tragic images; characters caught in hopeless situations forced to do repetitive or meaningless actions; dialogue full of clichés, wordplay, and nonsense; plots that are cyclical or absurdly expansive; either a parody or dismissal of realism and the concept of the "well-made play".

These playright have company: Behenji. How else does one justify crores already spent from the state exchequer on statues of Behenji, Kanshi Ram, Ambedkar and as per TOI reports - Elephants (her party's symbol)? And all this is unfolding not in a theatre somewhere...but in Uttar Pradesh...in India. All's the world a stage apparently for Ms. Maya.

There is a famous bengali skit where Bhanu Bannerjee was told that his statue would be installed...he declined the offer saying what would it serve except for crows and eagles ****ing on his head.

Obviously Behenji had not taken that into consideration nor thought it important enough to consider the proverbial excreta hitting the fan.

But moot point is, like her name says it all, everything in this world is afterall....Maya (illusion)!

More here on Theatre of the Absurd

Historical or History?

I have always liked going to the zoo – liked the idea that is. The last time I went to a zoo was in Paris in 2003 – to Jardin Des Plantes, very close to where I lived.

Time constraints, work pressure and distance have ensured that it has remained just that - a plan. I tried to in Delhi but in vain. Here in Kolkata, I keep passing the Alipore Zoological Gardens and keep making mental plans to visit it.

Yesterday, I went visiting my pals and the weather being cloudy and overcast, we decided to visit the zoo along with their two bubbly kids (they, I am sure would say that "bubbly" would be the understatement of the century).

Atlast was the chance to relive the thrill of my childhood visits to the zoo. For M & S, it was a place of fond memories of another kind – a frequent haunt during their courtship days – a place so far away and so not-on-the-agenda-of-family that it was the securest and best place for many a romantic tryst.

All of us were in for a shock. The oldest zoo in the country and inaugurated on January 1, 1876 by Edward VII, then Prince of Wales no less Overgrown, unkempt,empty broken cages and pens? What little animals there were, were all asleep, comatose even. What was this ruin?

There - that's where I had thrown a handful of peanuts to the large bear and one had landed just out of the bear's reach. Clever thing, put its snout close to the grill and inhaled deeply and the peanut rolled inside and it to its paws! And over here...the lajja bati bandors - who would cringe and try to merge with the foliage. And over there were the tigers - son of Rupa and Deepak, mother of Rani and Raja, (Which had prompted R, my sis to ask in a very loud for a 4 year old voice - "Ma, do tigers get married?")!!

Look, M would frequently stop to say, we sat there on the grass; And we ate ice creams over there on the stepsthere and remember when we bumped into a cousin...

Not just our memories. These and a million other wonderful happy memories....all buried under debris, litter and wreckage. It would have been tolerable had things altered, made way for the better. We would have sighed at "modernization" but would be happy about the changes.

The reptile house was once such a big draw. And now, we had to squint through the ill lit dirty panes of the glass cases to find, if at all, a lethargic snake curled up in the innermost recess.

And Adwaita the 250 year old turtle from Galagagos islands. [He thankgod, passed away and is now in turtle heaven].

And the grounds filled with beautiful old buildings -- now empty, broken down and the ubiquitous gamcha and lungi hanging on a string ... caretaker and family must have moved in.

The crowd was there as were food stalls, selling their wares briskly which meant empty plastic bottles, packets adding to the general litter.

Does nothing work here? Apparently not. I wish I hadn't gone. Atleast I'd still remember the wonderful visits of the past.

I could have done much better if I had sat indoors, surfing like I do on a Sunday and read about the Alipore Zoological Gardens on Wikipedia and went on a trip down memory lane.

Like all things in Bengal, the zoo too is historical. However, History would better describe it. Next on my agenda was the Botanical Gardens. But I think I will spare myself the agony.

Hard work does pay...

Another Sunday - my only day off, began as usual. At the crack of dawn, while everyone caught up on much needed sleep, there I lay wide awake. Argh. How do people stay so late in bed. (Some of my friends even get up post noon). And specially since I don't acheive much ... just loll the day away. Wrists hurting from being at the keyboard (surfing, playing games etc) and eyes all bleary from the PC and or TV while my list of must do things gets bigger and bigger.

So, morning did indeed show the day: Early to rise and loads of things done! [Or didn't show the day considering the fact that I didn't loll the day away]. Right. I think I got the explanation right. Main things was I got some of my must-do chores done. Well actually only one. But by my standards, Herculean.

I rearranged all my books and CDs and atleast 10 large plastic carry bags [which are propped up, collecting dust just about anywhere since all the almirahs and cupboards and filled to bursting]full of old receipts and bills. Dusty, hot and bothered...I was sifting through the last bag when I found a small black leather purse. That one - god. Eons ago, Swa had given it to me when we used to work at the Internet Consultants in Kolkata. Was it as far back as 1998 or 99? Definitely in the last century. I used it constantly for 3-4 years and then shoved it in somewhere and used others. This one, in perfect condition, lay forgotten but moved with me everywhere I went for the last 10-12 years. I opened it up expecting more ancients bills and found unbelievably - 14 crisp 100 Rupee notes!

Hard work does pay...then.

Not to mention the room is looking much cleaner and nicer. And am looking forward to more cleaning and sprucing next sunday: Who knows what treasure lurks unbidden...somewhere?

The nicest of surprises

Gifts are always welcome especially if they are unexpected. Are there any other kinds then? Ofcourse - like at birthdays....they are expected aren't they? But best are the ones which just pop up.

Recently, a group of 16 smart young CBR workers turned up from Nagaland for training on Community Based Rehabilitation at the NGO where I work. Usually I meet trainees only at the begining and end of each work day and briefly at lunch - most of them being holed up in session after session or out on field trips.

One morning I landed up early to find the trainees (they usually stay in dormitories in the campus) finishing breakfast. One of them was deep into a book and as I passed by, I saw it was "The White Tiger" by Aaravind Adiga. I have been waiting for one of the 4 copies of the book at my local library, but in vain. They are always out. "How's the book?", I asked him. "Good", he said. Conversation over, he buried his nose back into the book and I went back to my desk.

Inspite of the fact that I am a member of a library with a rather vibrant collection, I can't help buying books. Somehow, I have resisted buying this book preferring to wait for it to turn up on the returned book shelf. And I have resisted hard. Copies of the gleaming white hard cover book seem to be everywhere - airports, rail stations, book store fronts and even on foot path vendors.I asked him couple of times on the book's progress. Fine was his terse reply.

And then it was their last day with only half a day's session. Session over, they said their goodbyes and disappeared to their rooms to pack and leave to catch their trains back to Nagaland. We (the staff) were all seated in the long dining room for lunch. Suddenly, this young chap - the reader - ran upto me and said, "I finished it", and thrust the book in my hands and left with a hasty "Bye". And there I was, The White Tiger in my hand, mouth agape. I ran upto him and said - "I am not that fast a reader. Don't you have to catch a train this evening"? "No Ma'am - you keep it", he said and as I gushed my thanks (gushing at my age is such a silly thing but I could do nowt but gush) - he bent his head slightly and put a hand on his heart and said - "you are welcome". Needless to say I had a grin plastered on my face for the rest of the day and evening and late into the night!

God bless you, young man! And may some one else thrust another book that you have been waiting for, one day - it's, I tell you, the nicest of surprises.

Jumping for joy (jamruls)

A long drawn out monthly manager's meeting...8 of us 'managers' in turn updating the Director and other manager on the status of projects we were each responsbile for. Can't say it was very enthralling stuff. Difficult sitting through other's updates...and I was 7th in line. Yawn.

As I shifted in my seat for the nth time, I looked out of a window on the other side and spied pale white jamruls (love apple, star apple, wax apple) with just the barest tinge of green. Was the tree inside our compound or on the neighbours? Atlast the meeting which began at 10.30 am drew to a close at 4. I rushed downstairs with a cup of tea in my hand and there it was - a tree laden with jamrul. Thoka-thoka would be the word for laden in bengali and somehow, it was exactly that. 'Laden' just couldn't do justice to the sight I beheld!! I cajoled Ashok the driver to give me a hand. Using a long forked stick (which was conveniently at hand), Ashok bent the branches laden and I plucked the jamruls. Very soon, I had enough for all (nearly 40 of us) with plenty still left on the higher branches. We went around distributing them to all and everyone said that these were the sweetest jamruls they had eaten in a long while.

I took my share (one) and kept it on my desk and got busy with the actually work (as opposed to meeting about work which we spent the entire day on). When I finished it was past 8pm. I switched off the lights, fans, PC, locked the room and walked out with my bag, lunch box, water bottle and that solitary jamrul! Funny, I never go ga-ga about jamrul normally. Rarely do I actually buy them from the market to eat. But getting them fresh off the tree was so much fun. The whole office was empty. Nearly. No one upstairs and only Prabirda downstairs, who usually leaves much after the rest as he waits for the night guard to arrive. I gave the last one to him along with the entire adventure (much more interesting than 'hey I went to the bazaar and bought a packet of jamruls)! I walked out without having tasted a single one but seriously I felt like I had eaaten the entire packet by myself!

Cyclone Aila hits West Bengal, Kolkata

Photo courtesy CNN IBN

Aila hit Kolkata, 24 Parganas south around 11 am with winds 100 -120 kms per hour. Trapped as we were at work...while Aila created havoc. There was a brief lull around 5:30, where we could exit and make our way home through roads turned green from branches and leaves strewn and crushed under wheels. Uprooted posts, torn wires and hoardings by the wayside and a marked absence of public buses and autos...we were the lucky ones. Many weren't so. Reports are still coming in of the number of dead and injured.

And although the storm has apparently moved away from Kolkata, its still extremely blustery outside and heavy rains expected.

Cyclone Aila pounds Orissa, West Bengal

Coastal Orissa badly hit by cyclonic storm

Aila takes away monsoon rain from peninsular region