Its a beautiful world, indeed

West Bengal Hasta Shilpa Mela (Handicraft Fair) - artists and their art from all over West Bengal - the infinite variety, the sheer artistry and skill on display. Mind boggling.

Brass work

Talk Bangla Talk

When I returned to Kolkata in 2008, one of the things I loved the most was the luxury of speaking and being completely understood and responded to, in bengali.....This is kolkata, after all.

For quite some time after that, it would take me by surprise and I’d feel a childish elation each time, I spoke to a taxi driver, a passer by, in the bank, at the movie hall in bengali....what fun. (Except Inox Forum where everyone stubbornly sticks to English...).

This was almost like the fun and the thrill that even the smallest of conversations in french would bring to me, when I was in France! Except its been three years that I am back and yet, cabbies, bus conductors, auto drivers, shop assistants will speak to me in Hindi. Even if I reply in Bengali, they will try out their best hindi on me!

Belated Durga Puja Post

The Durga Pujas.That Annual break for all in West Bengal (and elsewhere too wherever there are Bengalis, worldwide)!

four days of no deadlines, no work pressure, total standstill. And what a pleasure it is, year after year.

However, this Durga puja, I did not visit a single pandal, not even my para pujo – Maddox Square. Did not venture out for pandal hopping in the wee hours of the morning or late at night or at any other time. In fact, did not feel the slightest pang on missing out on Singhi Park, Tridhara Sammelani, Chaltabaga, Mohammad Ali Park… Nothing!

Does that mean I did not enjoy the pujos? Ofcourse not. I did. But in a different way.

Met up with pals for a long over due no holds barred Adda seesions but spaced out properly – one per day. The rest of the day was spent lazing at home – family lunch – something rarely done since I am always at work or on tour; post lunch siesta, half asleep with the anandamela puja barshiki, watching a rerun of a feluda (Kakababu was an added bonus).

Both maids were on leave so rolling out rotis with ma, catching the matinee show of the puja release Baishe Shrabon at Priya and being pleasantly surprised at its watchability; strolling on the chhad in the evenings watching the lights of the various pandals casting a grayish hue to the night sky. Cell phone being jammed with subho bijoya messages!

Ah! Abaar Ashche bochor! And with it perhaps another new way of enjoying the pujas?!

Review: The Midnight Palace by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

I'll Never forget the night it snowed over Kolkata".

With such an opening sentence, how could I possibly not pick up Carlos Ruiz Zafon's The Midnight Palace, run home and read it?

The story is set in Calcutta and spans a period 1916-32. The plot is interesting enough - adventure, love, betryal, magic etc but the setting is what thrilled me - Brabourne Road, Hooghly, Chowringhee Road etc and as these still exist in its current avatar ofcourse. As I was reading the lines between make believe and real life sort of blurred as I visualized these very places as they were back the, wider, emptier. "An old textile ware house, the walls of which were covered in official notices announcing its imminent demolition..." had me wondering how somethings never change in Calcutta - even today there are so many such places, just like back in 1916?

If I have my facts right, a Spaniard, living in the US has written this book. I ofcourse have no idea if he has visited India /Kolkata. Maybe he did. Maybe he took some one's help. Maybe he has a calcutta connection...I muse a bit awestruck. And then I run into the most ridiculous name of a pivotal character in the book - not an instance of getting regions mixed up (like till very recently an Indian would mean a man in a turban, no matter which part of the country he was from) . It is a horrible horrible mockery of a bengali name.

Am so very glad that it (this name) was somewhere pages down in the book and not in the opening sentence. I would have not progressed beyond the first line, never picked up the book and found out about the night "it snowed over Calcutta"!

Review: A Winter on the Nile

Florence Nightangle and Gustave Flaubert travel to Egypt in 1849 and down the Nile and back within days of each other but don't meet. They seem to successfully dodge each other by a few hours, days or month. Both in their twenties and not yet famous. Both "find" their calling or have their doubts cleared and return from the trip to their destinies for which they become famous. Florence Nightangle becomes the lady with the Lamp and Gustave pens Madame Bovary. The narrative tour down the Nile and back is fascinating to say the least. Luxor, Aswan, Karnak, Abu Simbel, Philea, Heliolpolis...

Lucky that Anthony Sattin found the coincidence of their spending "A Winter on the Nile".

Waiting for Ma Kali

Passed this kumhar busy at work shaping the Kali pratima near kalighat.

The World Beyond: Review

Another raj story; english girl meets her prince charming. And he is tall, dark, handsome and a prince to boot. A nawab. The inevitable happens. But does love triumph in the end? Well, you have to read Sangeeta Bhargava's The World Beyond to find out.

For me, what works and really well is Lucknow on the eve of and build up to the momentous uprising of 1857 soon to follow. She is the real heroine of the story. About those who love her and those who covet her, her rise and her fall. Some of the parts were so well written that I could see the story playout as if in a movie. Hmm. An idea that?

The beautiful cover - shades of blue, pink, red and gold is perfectly captures the essence of the world in which this story is paced. But one jarring note - the heroine is shown wearing a sari - how we wear it now. I think this was not in vogue during then. However a minor error...I need not be so nitpicking.

Rakhi in the rain

There we were, in a bus, stuck the kalighat crossing, in pouring rain. On the right hand side, at the mouth of the famous lane - a rakhi festival was on in full swing. Oof the Bhai chara, armed with rakhis and umbrellas!

Dotty over Dora

We've never had any pet and are not about to (discounting my mother's daily ritual of throwing scraps to crows on the terrace every evening). The closest we ever came to having a pet was when we moved into a new appartment building and met our new neighbours (across the landing) walking an adorable, warm-golden labrador. Slowly we got introduced, started dropping into each other's homes and became friends. And that is how Dora came into our lives. But she was unlike any dog we had ever known. No boisterous jumping around, joyous barking, running, shuffling and the hundred and one mad cap things that dogs do when they are happy (which is pretty much most of the time...dogs are generally happy creatures) or snarl, growl when they are upset. Her owners, a lovely elderly couple were very proud of her behaviour.

She was very cuddly and a very warm golden and most visitors would pat her or cuddle her. She exhibited no emotions. Not exactly a stoic tolerance. More a regal disregard. Yes that is how she was! If ever she found the doors to both our apparments open, she'd silently walk into ours and head straight for Ma and sit obediently in front of her on her hind paws and look beseechingly up at her. If ma ignored her (or was a bit late in responding), she'd raise a paw and gently lay into on my ma's foot. This meant - I want a sweet. Ma would give it to her, she would eat it and depart as silently as she had come. No loitering around.

Once a year, on Dora's birthday, a yellow ribbon would be tied to her tail and she would be fed as many sweets as she wanted to eat - or as many sweets that friends and neighbours would bring for her. We did too. All of the four years she was our neighbour. We no longer felt aunty and uncle's dotting over Dora strange.

She developed a rather prominent tumour on her under belly and despite a lot of medical intervention, slowly deteriorated. One day as I entered our building, I found Uncle walking unsteadily towards me. "Dora is no more," he said, his voice breaking and very uncharecteristically for him, leaned down and put his head on my shoulders. At that moment, I felt his loss as deeply as he did.

Now our lovely, gentle, polite Uncle too is no more. But there is one story we never tire of recounting. Once a long time ago, they had bought three tickets on a flight to Bagdogra. While boarding, the steward said that a dog wouldn't be allowed in the cabin. Uncle said that then all three wouldn't go. The captain agreed to let Dora travel in the cabin - strapped into her own seat. "And how was she during the flight?" I asked. "A bit nervous during take off, but after that she behaved like a lady."

And I know that they are in a better place, Uncle, gentle, loving walking with the lady like Dora by his side!

Modern Village Art

Colours of Orissa

A beautiful, traditional mural in a village in Ganjam district of Orissa.

A tree grows...

...in the narrow strip of a garden on one side of our NGO. A lone mango tree which every mango season gives ... mangoes!

But it has not been that easy. Our man Friday Hemantada, the self professed mango expert, insists that the tree groaning under the weight of mangoes, are not ready for plucking . All the while, the lucious fruits distract us to madness (and greed).

We do try to sneak at them. However, the wasp's hive on the upper branches, scared us off successfully; Two intrepid staff (young boys both) climbed the tree and did pick a few…[while I panicked on terra firma, should they slip and end up with a fracture or worse, concussion].

Upset with our (mostly mine) constant nagging, he did pick them and kept them in a rather public place for ripening. And in came a bunch of visitors in several cars and their drivers had a merry time helping themselves.

To do away with all that, this year, hemantada quietly plucked away all the mangoes and stashed them away somewhere secret. And what with the endless touring (which has been merciless this few months) and then the rains and the fishes and the khichuri, we forgot about the mangoes.

And then this morning we saw Hemantada coming downstairs with a box...

Rainy day Magic

Rainy day. Somehow, for me, the term is synoymous with a near empty school. The students who braved the elements and turned up would be at the receiving end of a tongue lashing from teacher. But there would be a chapa excitement...a sort of infectitious holiday mood and after a while, a rainy day would be declared and school would close early.

And even now, rainy day ... when it just doesnt rain, but so much so that office is near empty, feels cosy and fun. I can't explain why. It just does. Skies still grey and over cast. Only 15 of us turned up (which is less than half). And no sooner had I mentioned Khichuri, everyone swung into action...

Drawing up a shopping list, buying the ingredients, chopping, peeling, grating, roasting ....

And while the khichuri was being cooked, we ate our lunches - the ones we brought from home!

And then we all sat down to what was undoubtedly one of the best lunches in a while ... khichuri and begun bhaja.

Its the magic of rainy day at work, at work!

Shopping list - "phordo"

And finally!

Rainy day

Its been raining non-stop since noon yesterday. I for once am not complaining. This is infinitely more comfortable than the humid sogginess. Minor discomforts like getting drenched on the way to work and back home are ok. I am even prepared to over look the narrow strip right in front of my office where the drain overflows lovingly onto the road and we have to walk through it (ugh)!

Buses were few today. I got up on one this morning where I was possibly the only passenger (bad for business). The others were helpers and conductors. After much hemming and hawing and deciphering of the owners phone numbers which was scribbled on to the board above the drivers seat, the driver rang the owner and told him that the water was thigh high on the road. It wasn’t! However his appeal did not work. The owner asked him to continue.

The minor discomfort of wading through the drain water (I and all my collagues simply have a good foot bath on reaching work), we settled down to another day. However, there was some excitement. There are many ponds in and around the area which overflow into the drains and there were koi carp swimming just behind our office. Two field staff had, well, a field day catching them with an umbrella.

The koi which swam up the pond and ended in the drain...

Koi is now Rs. 400 a kilo in the market. So great!

Another 24 hours of rains predicted.

And no, I am not taking the drain kois home.

Something new, in Bhopal

I did something entirely new this time, in Bhopal. Something entirely new since I started visiting Bhopal (way back in April 2009). That is a period of 802 days. Once a month visit makes it 30 visits or so in which the pattern never changed. Never wavered even. Airport / station / hotel / meetings / reports / visits ad nauseum (except two half days for a quick and incredibly guilt inducing trips to Sanchi and Bhimbetka).

So what was it? Can you imagine I spent it in company of friends?! And not the squeezing in of one more report, some more planning and yet more telephonic barking at my state teams (after office hours), or vegetating in my room (the faulty TV remote usually means I am stuck watching a crappy channel and too drained to manually change the channels).

Old friends first. My dad's colleague from so very long ago, who have known me since birth. here I was meeting them after a gap of two decades or so...and enjoying their pleasure in meeting me and recounting tales of yore!

New friends next - some one I met only 3 days ago in Kolkata at another friends place. The first thing she said to me was please tell me why are you coming to Bhopal? I mean, this is not the best time to sight see. On work. Oh! Well come visit us. And so I did.

And I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was, well, very pleasant and refreshing! Out out damn guilt.

And as if to share in my happiness, the weather too unwinded dutifully each evening after a hot draining day, by pouring....

Tram-pled

It had to happen. Work on the metro link on DH road had begun a bit after Taratolla flyover and upto the tram depot. Which meant Joka to Tram Depot and back was what the tram route had been restricted to.

Today, as I took an auto (upto Taratolla) from work, I saw a few buses on the tram track, people "eating air" bang in the centre of the track. Yes. Trams will no longer ply on that left over stretch. The old gives way to the new. Has to. Progress and all that.

Soon they will be a memory only. But not one we will forget soon. My past musings on the tram below:

Tram that Auto.

And Quietly goes the tram.

Ever wonder about Trams in Kolkata?

Nicely Done, Nagpur

As soon I boarded the night train from Bhopal to Nagpur, I began itching all over. I thought it might be bed bugs (in a train??) and realised that I was having an allergy attack and I spent the 7 hours sitting on the edge of a lower berth in the dark ... thankful it was night and everyone was too busy sleeping instead of watching me in my plight.

Nagpur arrived at 4am and dark, the streets deserted. I got into an auto and asked the driver to take me to an all night pharmacy. Which he did promptly. The two attendants had to be woken up and bleary eyed gave me some medicines. As I paid, the auto driver told me, "I will take you to a government hostpital. The emergency will be open." Dont risk taking medication without asking a doctor. OK, I said. And he did. I wondered if I'd have to leave my suitcase and laptop behind in the auto...The driver solved the problem. He took my suitcase and laptop and shepparded me to a window; "yahan say 5 rupay ka ek slip lijiye". I did. Then he took me to another room where there was an attendant who took my slip and called a young lady who looked like she had just woken up. She gave me an anti-allergen shot and asked the driver if I was going somewhere close by. haan. Dus minute main hotel pahuncha doonga. Ok. And that was indeed that. In 10 minutes I was at the hotel and another 15, snug in my bed, all itches gone and all nicely drowsy by the shot. And did you know, the driver didnot even ask me for more fare for this detour. I very happily paid him more than double of what he had asked, knowing even then, it was a very small way to say thankyou.

Nagpur has been a transit point for the nearly 2 and a half years I have been to-ing and fro-ing Bhopal. All I see is the airport, the station, the cabbie, the auto driver and one hotel where I sometimes spend a night. I dont know anyone. And yet...these extremely brief encounters have been pleasant ones. And after that fateful night...I am overwhelmed. Nagpur & Nagpurians...Nicely Done.

Blissful in Puri

This time in Puri a miracle happened! My meetings (usually endless & draining) actually ended at 5pm. The weather was on the verge of cool. Winter gone, summer approaching and so perfect for a stroll down the really wide Grand Road upto the Puri temple ... something I haven't been bothered to do or find time for, in earlier visits.

After a certain point on Grand road cars are not allowed. This is more than made up for by million cycles, motorbikes and scooters who drive around to some pre-programmed manic circuit. Cows lolled in the middle of the road, oblivious, chewing cud while the bulls stood immobile, impassive, as if they owned the world, which they quite possibly did. Those mad cyclists and bikers might run over an unsuspecting passer by, but never a cow or bull!

I savoured the cool air stopping occasionally at a road side stalls, often no more than wares spread on a plastic sheet selling local knick knacks or religious parapharnelia, to look at the wares

women rolling out endless cotton wicks for votive diyas at the temple

or take a photo, or admire an old building which suddenly would appear from among the usual ugly decrepit ones...

or asking a policeman to shoo away a calf trying to eat the leather seat of parked bike or help out a gujrati to explain that batata was aloo and sweet potato was Kandamul in Oriya (With the help of my Oriya colleague ofcourse)!

the famed chena pora of Puri

The man in bright orange reading (ramayan I imagine) adjusted his specs to pose for my photo

Mandirar Prasado, said the man pulling a van laden with earthern pots of khichdi, steaming rice and their aroma wafting...

I would often stop, savour the scenn around me....and don't quite know why, feel very happy. There I was among a million - none of whom I knew, but I felt not lonely at all! As the day faded into dusk and then into night, the wide Grant Road became, if possible, even more magical.

The crowds swelled all along the road right upto the the Singhadooar where the crowd at any time is impossible. Impossibly crowded that is.

Puri Temple Front

People from all over India and abroad .... all milling around with vendors, a few locals, police men.

We chatted with our usual chai wallah who told us about another owner who was making Rs. 10,000 per day and had three houses and yet lived in a rented accomodation of 500/-!!

As the night set in marriage parties joined in. We counted 4 of them. The procession of two parties had a brief clash - both sets of brass bands playing loudly made unique cacophony and the women (yes all of them) carrying the obligatory ornate lamps alongside the groom's bedecked car, got their wires entangled (which are wired to a generator on usually the last van in the procession) - after which, one got the right of way while the other patiently waited. Soon two more queued up with entire regalia behind this one. Sundry people stopped to watch the marriage parties file past. As I stopped to take a photo (at the absurdity) a groom obligingly popped his head out of the car - the photo alas was too dark.

Here was Lord Jagannath's lila in full swing. Pilgrims from all parts of India and infact the world, vendors, policemen, bikers and cyclist, cows and bulls, marriage party and police station ... every one on their own trip but somehow all united in some cosmic dance to an unheard beat. All swirling around the looming Puri temple of Lord Jagganath infusing everything and everyone with this otherworldly bliss.