All about us...

Dear Ninni

We had a long break.. you and me..literally this time it was you and me most of the times with your father popping in for a guest entry in late evenings ;), well that was not exactly intended to be sarcastic..your father did try.. to be with you as long as possible..and you also enjoyed the company of your father and all the mall hoppings and the glitz and glamour of the city.

How was it..you and me together..terrific, fabuluous..we got along like ' house on fire'.. errr no baby..first impression.. it was tough..very tough handling you alone..one of the primary reasons being your aversion to food..food of any kind and how it can drive any patient person nuts waiting indefinitely with a plate and spoon ,for you to gulp down a single helping while you give your ' know-it-all' smiles watching Doraemon,s antics and I am ..well I am me , though my father tried hard.. patience and me are world apart.

Among other things you aren,t that cumbersome..you would play , watch TV on your own and yes there goes my guilt for sneaking out my own time which I have I would rather not say ' wasted' on browsing through various blogs..( wait there,s a name for that I think ' blogrolling') ,I let you watch TV..something I forbid your pishi ( the woman friday) to do ,but I did the same thing, the easiest thing to get you off me. Ah sounds so bad..I know I should have given you more time with your books and learning..instead chose to feed you on a staple diet of Chota Bheem , Doraemon and Krishna... well some mommies are not so perfect and you are also blessed with one. Apart from that, when I left you alone with the idiot box, in commercial breaks you would  remember your maa or may be the loneliness of the room, you would come to me and as soon as you see my netbook first thing you shoot is ' Maa la la lori'.. as if laptop is meant for youtube.. and if I cannot distract you.. we start with ' La la lori' ( our hot favourite), ' Lakdi ki kathi', ' Chanda Hain Tu' ( You also love the remix version which comes in the ad..and hum four-five lines when you are in a good mood and I being me love the Sharmila Tagore version), then move on to rhymes.. ' twinkle twinkle'( now you point out stars as twinkle twinkle),' Jingle Bells' and finally when I have had enough..I let you alone with ' Kishnaa' ( My God the song ' o Krishnaaa..o Raadha' Hrithik looking  brawny Krishna singing for the coy Radha in Jamuna kinare!!)  then ' Ganesha' if you ask for more ,by then I have shifted to all the pending newspapers I have stuffed for catching up.

For a while we are in our separate worlds..you ' you tube' ,me books or you in TV ,me in blogs and facebook though the feeling of a strange silence between two persons in the same room creeps in.. and I try to communicate to you in between..connect with ' kishna'  and when you start your normal babbling ' Ma dekhaa kishnaa..' I leave you alone again.. I think the more you grow up the more will be the desolation procedure  to the point I would not be able to connect and communicate anymore nor would you entertain me prying into your world let alone sharing the fun and excitement..sad huh..but these are days far ahead..as of now..you are all over me leaning climbing squealing shrieking and if I push you apart  when you get too much..and you get upset..little tickling is all you need to burst into laughter again. Simple days..aren,t they you don,t need to break your heads on ego, pride, peer pressure..little hug and a bit of coochy cooing and manhandling.. for an hour of neglect and you are  all mine again.

We are back again at my place of work..( I could not complete the blog in Delhi) and you being very pragmatic or our parenting made you so..you have accepted my going to ' office; as a normal part of life, but still I see that tinge of sadness in the eyes when you wake up and do not find me by your side, or when I come back home the shine of joy in your eyes...matter of few days you would adjust again ..but these days you would stand outside the bathroom door waiting for me to come..and you are just ' ma ma'  all over.. Yes that makes me happy but irritates most of the times when you do not leave me alone and I just hate when you start pulling my hair and yell in pain.Yes  being a mother is tough..but you know.. you get the love and attention one yearns for whole life and believe me it is almost for free.. For stealing  love from your parents you have to prove yourself as you grow up, from teachers you have to doubly prove, from friends you have to give all your time and yourself to be accepted, from partner you have to give every damn thing in you vying for attention...but this love comes from you just like that..I don,t know how long it would be like that..  before may be you would also put a price tag in each kiss you plant me..new outfit, new game, permission to go out ( if you would ever ask)..

But then why bother..now that again I have you dragging me to watch CBeebies leaving my blog undone..wonder how other mothers do it so superbly..

Love
Yours Ma

Wo(man) Friday

How leisurely and long and taxing can a holiday be..of course this holiday isn,t the normal kind..here the husband leaves for work and the wife doesn,t..stays at home with a two and half year old and misses her ' man friday' ( the name given by one of my friends) terribly... her dearest ' Archana di' ..the best gift from mother-in-law ever.. :P. The broad minded me decided to give my ' Archanadi ' a break and have a taste of ' reality'.. reality bites..Be with the fussy eater toddler full 24*7 to the point of getting all wrecked up and the sound of ' maaa' doesn,t delight as much as it used to when I would come home from office for lunch and the enlightened smile followed by the sweetness of ' maaa'..Here the babble and bratism continues non stop to the extent I long to flee to work.

How contradictory can life be..how it can bring two persons totally unrelated  from different strata of society share a same house a same room and yes I hated it sometimes ,the same bed. I remember Archanadi,s entry into our lives.. I have heard of her months before she came with us to Delhi from my mother in  law.. her ardent desire to send Archanadi with us to look after the newly born Ninni..I have also heard myriad tales about her laziness , mood swings but mother in law would always justify ' You see, she is abanoned by her husband.. no kids.. you have to giver her that.' By that time I have learnt to nod in affirmative to all my mother in law,s sentences because of the huge fiascos I have created by virtue of my loud mouth ( my husband calls it lack of sensitivity though)..and this reminds me how much mad I may get at my mother in law sometimes..I have to giver her that..she has a witty sense of humour when she is not worried about her son, husband,daughter,son in law ,grand daughters ..and a sense of pragmatism which eludes women like my mother.. she also commented

' Archana would be a show piece..workwise zero but nice to have type'. After laughing it off appreciating her witty one liners..I had to wonder what would I do with a show piece struggling at that time frantically with job and baby...

The initial days..when she came with us to Delhi..grumbling complaining in Rajdhani Express while me and husband tried to put a rein to our growing irritations exchanging glances which inavariantly meant " Look at her.. full AC and three time meals..full rest..has she ever seen so comfort in her life"..yet she kept mumbling "What is this.. just sitting idle... can,t sit for so long..so tiresome.. " I tried to be at my humble best  with a curt  " Take rest..enjoy the AC" .Then on a calmer frame of mind..I remembered her village, we went once to meet her parents before we brought her with us ( it sounds like asking for her hands.. guess it was exactly that) the green tea gardens, lifeline of my state..so called muddy dusty roads then a small village endowed with lush green assets and their small house they call  ' home'. Her siblings awaiting our arrival, her younger sister hardly ten has painted her lips red, her grandma completely overboard with enthusiasm..her brother fanning  with handfan.. yes Benjamin Franklin and Edison have not yet made it into her village.. so may be the fully AC train could not be as striking for her as it was for us.. us who knew the joys and tortures of travelling in Indian Railways sleeper class..us who knew of the ordeal to hold on to the reserved seats..while a host of passsengers pushing their way for  a place to sit.. For her the world ended at Silchar the nearest town from her village and a bus or a shared Tata sumo did it for her...so the grumblings may be.

With all grumblings she settled down with us..began to take care of Ninni..yes she would not clean potty and try to look in a different way when I rushed about with potty washing cleaning..Me and my husband began fighting in English so as to escape her horizon of comprehension..(In the process we became very fluent and articulate in spoken English while trying to lend meaning to each trivial non trivial issues..:D) Yes I continued to get irritated at her because of her impeccable lackadaisical attitude, gulping two or more bengali films a day and at her being a real showpiece compared to my efficient part time maid.

Archanadi went to Allahabad with me when I had to go for a four months course and I fumed red and green as she used to sleep till 9 in morning as I rushed for class and would find her taking cozy afternoon siesta with Ninni as I came back from class....sigh!!But then in a few days she picked up who,s manager who,s junior executive who,s ATC..and yes these were the things I had began to share..sleeping in the same bed in hostel room with Ninni between us..and doze off or get immersed in reading when it was her turn  to whine..husband..brutal..violent..her village..her parents.. Our next venture was my training in Kolkata for another couple of months.. I struggled for a place to stay with Ninni and Archanadi and we shifted from one to another make shift arrangements. By that time Archanadi has picked up some hindi words from Delhi and Allahabad but the acid test  was to express herself in the  raw east bengali dialect incomprehendable to the prim and proper Kolkata bangla.But then Kolkata gave her enough paan and betel nut to chew for which she longed  in Delhi and though Allahabad solved the problem to some extent..nothing like Kolkata where it was so close to home..

Then finally I shifted my base to Barapani for a year..thanks to my job..and there she was now convergent in little hindi linguistically, little chinese little south Indian cooking while retaining her typical cooking style she imbibed from my mother in law and to it some days her village dishes which I began to love..A lot of me has gone into her..she makes good pastas with mayonnaise, sometimes we watch the same soaps..sometimes she plays games in Ninni's laptop. Sometimes she wil tell me ' You have to take a decision' or ' control' my cravings for spicy food and my mother if present will raise eyes as far as she can... " Look at her language.." I try to supress smile.She has learnt to reply in Bengali to my Malayali colleague,s broken english, communicate Bengali recipes to the Malayali with broken Hindi and may be who knows lots of her have gone into me..I try to watch her watering her plants outside my quarter her little potato onion and garlic plants, sometimes listen to her how jaggery is made out of sugarcane..how a cow gives birth  how much milk a cow can render in a day ,whether there is enough for her babies or we human being snatch it all.. and she goes on..' have you ever tasted pakodas with onion flower' as I stare blank and she smiles I know I would taste something new from her kitchen.

Though my pragmatic husband and mother in law warned me repeatedly not to grant her leave..what if she does not come back..finds her husband..it isn,t that I am not scared as I and my daughter wait for her return..may be in an effort to feel great and magnamious I granted her leave myself (as my husband always points out I love to have the feeling that I am ' great' sort) or may be I trust her..I know she would come back. I know of several stories of maids ditching..will she...I dont know..and if she goes back to her husband...I know my whole life will fall apart.. job ..Ninni..posting in that terrible place..and all the accusations.." you did this..indulged her..(in Bengali  placed her above your head)..now bear it" I can hear my husband in anticipation.

But she would come back..raise my daughter as her own for a meagre sum of money, nod her appreciation at a  new outfit I try..cook up delicaies for my parents and colleagues..yet be happy..in my world taking or mistaking it to be her own..chewing her betel nut..or would she remember her own world in her village..parents siblings relatives..her 'real' world which does not pay.

Huh life is tough.. tough and complex.

Reblogged for Indiblogeshwaris...' That Tuesday Thingy'

Into the dark...

Dearest Ninni

Is life really so tough..or it is tough so tough only on me..I think at some point of life we all face this question..may be u will come aross this question as well.. and the answer is...I dont know! Is life really too ' fair' on others.. do we always reap what we sow..No Ninni I am not complaining..I have hardly ever sulked in life..(well may be some instances i did) in general I have been happy and contented with whatever I have..But the last two months fighting with the strange horrible illness..sometimes it just seems..I dont have the tenacity to fight out anymore.. yes that sounds very depressing but this is how it is in life sometimes..I look at all healthy people around me and simply marvel..life is such a boon..even you know I look at the elderly and wonder.. would I live enough long enough to be ' old' when you would become a matured woman.. and even if i do would it be extremely painful..living long is a terror specially when u r attacked with all kinds of illnesses but missing out all the fun.. and waving bye bye to life..I dont know what awaits me and why...

Last one month..and till date what consumes me is my terrifying illness..sometimes I feel it's killing my thinking power little by little, eroding my senses bit by bit.. No don't feel I have lost hope..I am trying to get better..doctor , medicines..I want to get better..for you, your father..your grandparents all..but somehow a strong force preventing me..consuming me and I can't get out..

One morning I would wake up and feel may be today is better..it's going to be better..but then again all the pain and nausea would take over..while at home in Guwahati I would simply think of the old times..the time I was not sick..the time I would lie down in bed with grandma with a book in my hand.. and talk staring at the leaves of the coconut tree outside the window..the times I had walked and walked to save my rickshaw expenses , the times I had roamed in the sun in search of a job..all I did in this city..yet I feel such a stranger now..lost..caught in a maize of several illnesses..a homelessness with a posting in Barapani, husband in Delhi, an apartment in Gurgaon lying unused , parents in Guwahati in a house where I have not spent my childhood , in- laws in Silchar..funny..so many homes..yet I do not know which is my own and where I belong..You know it gives a sort of rootless feeling and I'm sure if I continue to roam with you like this.. you will all also get this feeling. Still I had a home to miss.. my old house in the foot of the hills..wonder what I rather we are going to give you... a 12th floor apartment in a building called ' Maple Heights' to dig your roots in..

Some days I just feel I can't make it anymore..yes I know I am still not diagnosed with any serious illness and can't die like this..yet you know I feel life slipping out of me..I just think of passing another day.. sleeping another night..and yes I try to imagine the world without me..all would be fine..then you come rushing to me in between breaks of ' Doraemon' babble non stop..climb over me..try all your pranks..life seems too good...And the best part..you do not know to judge yet, calculate.. how much to give how much to take..you know between Doraemon and Chota Bheem you have to squeal ' maaa' and find me in another room...play..babble..and then safely go back to your own world..

This post may be inconsistent hap hazard.. perhaps in keeping with what I'm going through in this phase of life..

Yours

Ma

The Preface

Dear Ninni

Before you would begin to read this.. I would have to write a long briefing.. well briefings cant be long..pardon my ATC  lingo which would time and again pop in my letters..how I came upon this idea..well I am somehow reminded of a mushy rom com which I,m sure I,d mention to u as u grow older..like my ma remarks to the songs and movies of her times..U know in ' Kuch Kuch Hota Hain' the mom leaves a series of letters for her daughter.. well a poor example..but since this is a confession time. . I loved the movie and still if it comes on television ,cannot swap the remote channels instantly..:) Anyway what prompted me to write..your mother has this habit of writing..but no not the me-myself  type writings and not the worldly writings as well..may be you would decide when u read these if u do.. Yes I was coming to why I came upon this idea..actually of late I have been reading lots of so called 'Mommy Blogs' where mummies post the pictures of their darlings and post updates of all the milestones..I was reading and thinking why didn,t 

i do such thing.. yes it can get boring at times..but nonetheless something for u to read by your ma..and to team it up with lovely pics...U know I first scribbled a few lines when I first saw you..where.. in the Ultra Sound lab of a private clinic in Delhi.. I was doing ' night shift' working as ' Alpha' (assistants are called alphas)..when I scribbled some lines.. at the surprise and emotion of seeing u for the first time..( will go and search for the pages of the office writing pad once in Delhi..but fat chance I,m going to find it.. you will know ur mother gradually)..Well that was the preface..if u would love to read ,[am saying ' if' because ur father does not love to read.. and gets more irritated because I say that he doesn,t :( .].u will read this and the other following blogs..

Let us say we would know, get to know each other, discover each other through these blogs..All between you and me..

Barapani Diary...Disillusionment

The magic is wearing off..like everything else..this place is losing its exquisiteness..it is just one of those small villages in our country..where newspapers do not reach except for a local one which some days finds its way to the local shops..Khasi language in English script, one of those villages where children walk miles in search of a school,where nearest hospital is some twenty km away..where few Tata Sumos run with people hanging behind as means of public transport, where girls go to the river for washing clothes, where children collect drinking water from roadside taps..huddle containers of water in make shift carts..where men drink in evening and night..where concept of street light is totally redundant..where women give birth to half a dozen babies within the four walls of home..wherein within the long stretch of unpaved road..if any little shop you can find would definitely have 'kowai' (local betel nut) if not any trace of other bare necessities of life..

In this land I stand partly disillusioned partly grounded..partly lonely wondering if I am missing out on life where I spent last six years..but then I never know what I am missing out on..a fiercely competitive manipulative professional life in the city..where relationships even if  manage to find a place, longevity gets shorter..nothing survives here save a hunger for success..and a family life..where baby, husband maid, parents, friends all strive for a place and I long for space and continue with a super balance act. And here in this land one can have all the space one longs for and more..so much space that loneliness creeps into the soul in one form or other.. That's it then..solitude and bliss turning to hard hitting loneliness from which there is no respite..there I go.. sounding frustrated , lonely lending substance to the term ' tenure' or ' unpopular posting'. The lush green of August has given way to a hazy dusty February..where spring is hardly tangible wrapped in warm sunny days and cool chilly nights.The hills seem to long for rains, pine trees looking high in the sky..and to me the magic of the hills do not work any more..like magic of new found love giving way to routine indifference..a nonchalance owing to the loneliness bug digging into the soul..the Wanderlust giving way to a longing for ' home'

All said and done..my if all works well I would be' home' after a few months and my ' airport' would have all new admirers..all for a year..loving, hating , fleeing, some will be cast in its spell, some will be drawn and disillusioned..some will simply not fall into the trap..and I wouldn't be there to see (in high probability)..I would be 'home' and the residue of ' Wanderlust' in me in lone lost moments would build by bits and parts..a picture, an image of a bewitching beautiful lonely airport in the laps of rain kissed August green hills..my tiny tower and the thatched 'Meera's Tea Shop' lurking behind..providing oxygen to one and all..well ironed uniform clad airliners..kowai chewing red lipped labours..lazy without work Sarkari babus...hunger thirst driven passengers searching frantically for a cup of tea in days where flight gets delayed indefinitely...

Down memory lane...

Almost half way there, six months of a long one year to be spent all alone..alone.. as in without a husband and with a child..So a little looking back, little reminiscence..as we complete five years of our conjugal life. Yes anniversary , birthdays and all mushy stuff do not play any significant role in our normal lives ,may  be a small gift , may be a dinner out and then normal ending to the day with normal tiffs, fights, next day's worries, some phone calls and our relation steps into another year..May be only when one spends time in unavoidable exiles..there is time..enough time to reflect, introspect.

Marriage, wedding..so mundane so normal..that too an arranged marriage where the groom family responded to the matrimonial published in Sunday edition of ' The Assam Tribune'.( Can"t help suppressing a smile thinking of the little space my matrimonial eligibility occupied in the sunday ' The Assam Tribune') The respondents , the filtration..and the final ' they are coming to see the girl ' occasion. Venue: Delhi 2 BHK apartment in Dwarka..my roommate and her mother went 'out' to make enough space for us.. me baba ma uncle..and the groom party. Hired chair from the neighbourhood Malayali family. ( Me and my room mate stuck to our respective bed rooms and never bothered about any furniture for the hall). Baba venturing alone in the Dwarka market searching for Bengali sandesh/ rashogollas and ending up with strange looking yellow rasgulla look alike..( My husband never fails to remind me till date... 'from where your father got those yellow rashogollas') Then the waiting..baba loitering nervously in balcony as I returned from Gym in the evening and grumbling ' What is the need of going to gym today...' And in the two bed room apartment when the bell rang and uncle opened..I could hear all very well sitting in the adjacent room. I remember seeing a dishevelled guy continuously texting someone with his cell. as I was chatting with my to be in laws. Not at all impressive..but arranged marriage was something I was ready to go into without much expectations and impressions..

Phone calls , meetings, dates and then the decision about the final plunge we made after lunch sitting in CP footpath..nothing remotely romantic..nothing I've ever read in those romance books. Then the wedding, Kerala trip.. and then finally starting life under the same roof, wherein dreams aspirations romance...all get grinded under the double edged sword called ' real life'. Two contrasting working lives..one in shift duty in one of the busiest airports of the country.. another fighting the Delhi traffic driving his way round the city with his clients..and then to his home in another part of the busy city. Sometimes I was leaving the house as he was entering and vice versa, some day he would divert a few km in the airport direction to stop and say' hello' to his wife at the gate of the airport while she had a night shift and somedays simply fight under myriad topics.. your city/my town, your sarkari job/my private one, your parents/my parents, your hi fi taste my crude one, your Naseeruddin Shah/ my Govinda, your Amitav Ghosh/my Dan Brown, your dhinka chikas my Jagjit Singhs... list was endless..The first year was over..and we celebrated our anniversary in ' The Olive Beach' exorbitantly priced..food we could not make anything of..terribly conscious to venture there with our Maruti 800..and yes.. our tussle started when he ordered a second glass of wine..me being a teetotaller. ( Though he repeatedly told me first glass was so tiny he could not get any hang of it) Second year was professionally more turbulent for him.. weighing job options.. deciding on the better of the two, fumbling..settling for the old one..more distance confusion..and then settling down with the confusion.

Third year we were preparing for a new stage of life..parenthood with confusion expectation hesitation..excitement and finally our angel came in this world and with her we could understand and comprehend the term ' responsibility'..yes we spent hours in your responsibility/my responsibility..we never found out whose..and she was turning out to be a delight.. Our staying apart for three months after her birth and my subsequent visits to the hospital..I think that was the time when I knew beneath all my ' independent woman' veneer I was totally and happily dependent on my husband.. And as I struggled for everything .. looking after me and my baby.. I knew how in his presence, all I know is how to blame him for the things he might have done and not done and how to take all the things he does for granted. And as I struggled for doing all the things he would have done so smoothly..I learned to wait for the call starting with  ' +' 0049...wherein I would be directed with full details accurately starting from any odd Delhi address to wherebouts of any odd apparatus in the house. The most pleasant time we had I think.. after he came back..we had a toddler to take care of, manage the demands of two demading jobs..yet there was perhaps a realisation, together it was better..much better. Fourth year comparatively placant less turbulent.. where we almost knew when we would fight.. and to laugh at ourselves when we do..yet fight.. make up..and laugh..That was the year we began to become very good friends..and I/me began to be 'us'.

Fifth year again upheavals for me professionally.. as I roamed from one part of the country to another.. with my toddler..shifting accommodations as changing outfits..fighting with health once again.. This time I learned to long for home enjoying the short meetings after the long long breaks unless the breaks became too long..and the meetings too rare to wait for , to look forward to.. fiftth year would roll into sixth.. as phone calls became infrequent.. fightings less severe..because for fights too a clsoeness a proximity  is necessary..and the warmth of fights does not dissipate over cell phones...Nonetheless this year taught us to wait..to rebuild our broken homes..to wait for togetherness under the 'double edged sword'..to long for something we always took for granted.

Five years.. a small journey in the long path of life...lots to come...litte gone..lots to wait for..little to forget..lots to cherish and remember..

Barapani Diary...A peek in the city

January chill set in with fanfare..a little bit of drizzle and the new year ushered along. Another year..adding up to the number.. as I get reused to my office chores after my vacation..just gives the feeling another year passed by and I stand here without achieving much. Yes of course 'achievement' is relative. Anyways blogging isn't about achievement stories rather I'd talk of the little gathering we, most of the office goers had, in the city of Shillong in the new year night thanks to the promotion of my colleague and his enthusiasm in getting us all together for a treat. I, with my limited vision expected a gathering at the nearby lake resort and didn't imagine we would move to the city late in the evening. With this expectation I left my little one at home, it was only when we crossed Orchid ( the lake resort) I realised we were moving to the city. Initial pang of leaving my little one behind..how late I will be.. and what if I get stuck in the traffic fiascos I have heard of.. then I sat back and relaxed. It was then I understood after many days I was going in a drive without a little bundle in my lap and I wasn't continuously worrying about the little one vomitting in the next curve we cross, without ripping my head off if the anti vomitting medicine is going to work or not...here I was on the outskirts of Shillong at this time of late evening..pine trees zoomed by the window.. Bhupen Hazarika,s ' Shillongore godhuli' ( Dusk of Shillong.. my naive translation) , 'Sitore semeka raati' ( Moist winter night) echoed in my head and a whiff of freedom lingered on in the sultry evening . FM radio too churned out beautiful Lata classics..reminding me of Delhi FM gold.. and the lovely numbers at night.

Shillong New Year

I have hardly ever seen Shillong at night. The working womens' hostel I used to stay earlier.. gates closed at seven  in the evening. Dinner bell rang at 8 sharp. I cant help remembering women and girls of different shapes and sizes, different states of India, aged between 20 to 50 all queuing up in the dining hall for a bowl of watery dal to be sipped with rice and two spoons of sabji..After that some would gather for a gossip, younger lot mostly loitering with the newly acquired mobile phones, (and would you believe it charging phones was not allowed as it would enhance electricity bills.. and how the girls managed..not less than miracle) another group rushing with mugs of water for brushing and other beauty regime because water supply if at all available would stop exactly at eight and then lights to be switched off by eleven. Though I remember lighting candles after eleven and finishing thrillers. My Shillong night life apart from candle light adventures or gossip with my room mate night ended blissfully at eleven.. sometimes I stared at the window and watched the deserted foot path near the church showing no sign of life. But this time was different... new year and the whole city dressed up..lights everywhere..all restaurants filled..long queues outside.. As we waited outside.. I was marveling at the outfits both traditional and modern of the women.. their matching belly shoes, toddlers and teenagers in beautiful boots. I remembered the pink pair of boots I bought for my little one and was glad that I did.

The city and its people looked different from the village near my airport and its people. May be the age old difference between the city and the country. Irreconcilable differences. In the crowd I noticed the bus conductor who comes to airport. His little daughter tied in his back draped in traditional shawl..but for some strange reasons he refused to reckon me..Should I give him the benefit of doubt he did not see us, the group of fourteen odd people..Well new year anyway.. and he has the liberty to reckon/unreckon the people he pleases. Though he would wave to me enthusiastically whenever we met at the airport, exchange some pleasantries. Somehow with the good food , I  tasted the feeling of being ' outsider'...The city with its wide arms accepts anyone and the country shuns itself off from everyone. It is only work , necessity which opens the doors..at least make some perforations in the concrete wall..

We came back.. and my bundle squealed and rushed in my arms.A good beginning to the year..some freedom..some bond.. I hugged my bond tight and took her inside shielding her from the chill.