Variety

Just wonder about relationships..where do we begin from and what do we end up with . Pointless wondering yes but..we all do pointless things in one stage of our life, some do it often , some more often.. some are just plain unlucky.

We are born with parents.. parents whom we can,t choose, parents whom we can,t change. Father.. doting, strict, protective, mean and mother loving, caring, friendly, nagging, bragging..types are many. Guess these two characters influence most. And these two people we love, they are the first to rebel against, first to accuse for our failures and they are many ' firsts' we fail to count. Siblings take over next sharing caring jealousy envy fighting for attention , discipline the younger, copy the elder. While my father has been and still is the one I have always looked upon in all phases of life from sharing any odd joke to comment on any book we read, I ponder over the relation I share with my mother..factious, complicated..arguing invariably, fighting incessantly, discussing at length the colours and prices of the outfits we buy, disagreeing vehemently on the same issues over and over again, swearing not to set our eyes on each other after each fight. And my reticent sibling who and I never agreed upon any single thing, for him I was always arrogant know- it -all ,academically better much-elder sis ..and for me doesn,t - know-anything , spoiled -massively -by -mother lil' brother. We had hit each  other, manhandled each other and grew apart gradually with time except for occasional phone calls.

I grew up in a joint family before I knew who was I , I was surrounded by uncle, aunt ,grandpa and a host of other relatives. My neighbours..I always called them aunts and uncles.. the youngest one was four years elder to me. In absence of  a sibling in my early days I just adored the three brothers and sisters, eldest one macho and hero, next one pretty and feminine, the youngest one my ideal and my guru and I followed her like a shadow. The games we played.. teacher student, train train, family family, Durga Puja games where we ended up making mud cakes as Bijoya Dashami delicacies, and those doll house games and the big brother after entry would play havoc with the dolls in a minute!! But the big brother rather the big uncle was the ticket to my love for old hindi film songs, those old unheard off songs..and the beginning of idolising Amitabh Bacchan just imitating him!! At home my real aunt replaced my neighbour as the next avatar.. independence finacial and personal for a woman was intriguing and I guess that was the inspiration when I set my feet outside my home in search for a job. And of course my uncle who reads my blogs, is active in FB ,who would spend hours with me filling me up with historical mythological political  fables and my first insight into real world. He bought me the first map and taught me to browse the Atlas.. was the first one to fly with me to Delhi when I needed immediate operation.

And in my old home, nobody could miss her presence.. as if the house and her soul were entwined, she filled up the house ,was a towering personality among her peers and juniors.. and how she continues to live after her death..my grandmother. I remember her in white saree ( after grandpa,s death) , two pairs of glasses, the reading glass and ' Ananda Bazar Patrika', the command in her personality, the warmth in her heart, the magic in her food.. I have always felt few persons can live after their death.. she being one of them, her strong presence felt long after her death.

School , entry into social life.. friends, peers..pressure.. Before we know friends decide our clothes , food, they take precedence over everything else unless first crush hits. When crush hits all fades into oblivion..crushes , heart breaks, some hand at writing verses..phew school days roll over to college classes. First try at fashion, beginning of parties though in my time and in my case fashion was just trying another set of salwar kameez with dupatta, and parties meant getting together at someone,s place and cook together and eat!! Drab idea  of party but in our times that was fun.

Then the struggle phase after university days..and close friends drift apart..competition, struggle in the job market, smooth lovely fun days are over and the time to confront the world friendless alone.. Work place gives a new class of ' friends' , with money to splurge and options galore life seems great. But then work place ' friends' never turn out to be the innocent childhood friends of school and college though exceptions are there but they just prove the rule.

Romance, affairs and ultimately taking the plunge. Life gets a new epicentre to move about and the vision narrower, with an infant popping into the scene life is just me and myself.  Centre stage is home.. funny while youth and teens yearns for the entire world as the arena..conjugal life constricts it within the four walls... the toddler fills up life, gives it a new dimension. Life moves on juggling work family..maid plays a central role in life, and by that time one knows to handle the unique eccentricities of the relationship with mother in law.. the most demanding of all the relationships till date..every move you make and every breath you take..counts..

And soon toddler grows upto a child and child to an individual and parents keep getting redundant to them.

Phew.. relations are many with varying demands and most change with time...like we ourselves do..  Like the golden days of childhood cannot be relived only watched through the hazy veil of present, wonder years never come back and the grey days of  mid life overlooked , unaccepted take over...with aches, ailments, some amount of financial affluence, some recognition, some sense and some memories cherished and nursed in some corner of the heart.

Queer

The diaries held me baffled. The write ups were random, beginning in any page in the middle. The crisp language and the rhythmic prose kept me engrossed. Her writings were scattered around the house in odd diaries and papers as i discovered when i rummaged through old book racks to find something new to read.

My aunt grew up in the same house where i spent my teens. I was her dearest niece. Single and working and independent someone i wanted to be always. Stories of her singleness flew around and i also could sniff them through relatives, neighbours. They indicated some affair and breakup thereafter but i always found nobody was convinced enough even if they would have liked to spin more yarns. Her brothers sometimes supportive , sometimes agitated but there was this immense love and trust from her parents ( my grandpa and grandma) and there was never any argument in the house. Now come to think of it in those days accepting a single independent woman without any rumours , affairs attached was a tough task. But since the time i was in my senses nobody ever dared bring the issue out in the open and always left with a hush hush note.

Her writings as i mentioned kept me hooked. They were short pieces basically, like in one she mentioned strong attraction one girl felt for another, the deep admiration and utter happiness at the sight of her. Those days i had no idea of anything queer, so my run of the mill mind at once assumed that she was speaking of a man. Since it would be embarrassing to write about one so she mentioned a woman!! Well at that age and time i can,t blame myself. I read more, another piece there was a letter addressed to a woman by another, where she speaks of the taboo of loving a woman and the pain she would endure as society would never allow to express her love. I continued with my beliefs all these writings were meant for some man. I asked the question inquisitively to other cousins and neighbours and nobody could make sense other than that she surely would be a jilted lover.

She left the house as i was stepping into my young days. And sometimes the writings would flash in my mind and slowly i knew there was no man. Could it be.... i was reading new things , watching new channels on TV....could it be... the thought was extremely disturbing and unpleasant. I did not want to think of her like 'that'... she was my ideal and my dearest. The perplexing thought made me put away her writings, nor did i ever wanted to discuss her writings with anybody not even my mom, nor did i ever want to read. I loved her so much..so what i did simply sealed that thought in some corner and moved on with loving her as always.

I never could ask her nor it made any sense and neither i talked to anybody ever once the implications were clear.

Movies, articles etc etc i smile and discuss with friends, occasionally laughing and always sure these things are out of my genre why bother.

They do exist. Long back she hid her pain in the randoms pages of her diaries.

Outsider

The hills, the greens, the jack fruit tree in front, the mud ridden path to the well in the backyard, bricks strewn along to step in, in the muddy rainy days...I remember my home, my childhood in the state I left for quite some time now. Remembering.. getting nostalgic.. we do it so often though when I left my state nobody forced me to..and many like me, we left willingly in quest of a better career, better life. The state rides over our thoughts in a wave of nostalgia, romance, fond memories hardly of any relevance now.. except may be visit once a year, parents, relatives and the world of childhood changed a long ago.. the city has grown from a fledgling struggling teen to a youth in full bloom.

And then I see my city in headlines.. molesting a teen age girl , seemed a joint venture of so many sick men. But I see my city grabbing attention.. media.. TV channels, newspapers... Barkha Dutt arguing, politicians storming into the scene. Did we not wish Guwahati to be in lime light, to be in the mainstream.. so badly in our school college days.. and did we not vying for attention and ' mainstream' gradually made a beeline for greener pastures.. Yes we complained.. our state , our city not getting enough ' footage' in TV channels, national media, we stay isolated...and years after when I see the ' footage' the reason brings a lump in the throat. This is nothing new.. this had happened before many times many ways.. and it happens again.. among the glare and light of the watchdog media..

My state grabs headlines again, this time for a longer duration, this time when the entire nation felt the pain of the state, the tears of the region. Riots, deaths..hatred like infection caught the entire country, the ' exodus'..and we stand and sigh. I make a silent rewind of the journey of my childhood in my turbulent state..my first school days in Jorhat, three to four years of schooling in Goalpara, then back to Guwahati where I finished college and university. Jorhat I have a very vague recollection guess I was too young, but Goalpara flashes vibrantly in my memory..the Brahmaputra.. closest I have ever been to the river.. hardly five hundred metres.. cross the wide stretch of sand..and.. the river. Foreign influx, immigrants.. I had a vague recollection in Goalpara.. the vegetable vendors, the fish vendors who would come to our house sometimes would  talk of their hardship and from elders I would know they are ' Bangladeshis'. Rest apart the town was a mix  of all kind of population with a language of its own.. Goalparia.. a special genre of music with great Bhatiali notes specially catering to the songs of the river. I learnt my lessons of ' Assamese' there and with age was learning not to speak Bengali in public.. not because anyone told me anything..most of the people understand Bengali there but there is a feeling at work.. same feeling may be makes my 3 year old daughter speak in Hindi in Delhi without anybody asking her to...

I remember happily visiting my father's colleague,s house in Ramzan evenings..the aroma and the variety of food..mind boggling. I remember them coming to our house and putting up for weeks when the town was flood affected...through our relatives raised eyebrows, we cooked in the same oven and ate the same meals.. May be it was the time when the fruit of hatred was not ripe, seed has been sown into history though. As I spent my remaining childhood and teens in Guwahati  knowing it to be my hometown, my motherland..though accepting the fact that Bengali to be spoken in home and with other Bengalis. There was a time like all Bengalis I longed to be in Kolkata, listen to Tagore songs, watch Bengali movies, read a lot more of Bangla and speak openly. But then random visits to Kolkata never made it my own..may be the language and yes the raw accent of our sylheti  Bengali would draw the ridicule and sarcasm of the Kolkata Banglans. Therein surfaced the identity crisis gradually.. we are Bengalis from Sylhet uprooted during partition, settled in North East. I was tired of answering the question ' where are you from' with..' I am Bengali.. settled in Assam.' All drew a blank.. I can,t blame north or south Indians even fellow Assamese when the West Bengalis also remark , ' You mean you are from Kolkata'.. I am not , I never was.

But me and many like me.. rootless.. we began to love the city we were in..city has a common culture. a common lingo..and fell in love with Brahmaputra with Bihu and when a bit older with Bhupen Hazarika..and sometimes with Zubeen Garg and with All India Radio Guwahati.. churning out Assamese , Hindi music. The land became our own, the language our own and my closest friends whom I could tell ' I dont like your bland Assamese food'  and who could tell me ' Oh these Bengalis.. can.t speak a correct Assamese sentence.'

My land is burning today...lots I can relate to..lots I can,t. Lots I feel..of leaving my home, leaving my land..leaving my parents..of not being loyal to the land which knows to give and greet. of not being able to return anything to the land which gave everything to me..feel the pain of my land scarred by the immense strain of all the complexities, of the different population mix.. and the feeling of ' my state'and ' my city' deep inside me, may be an outsider myself in the dark pages of history..

North and further... Journey into life

Somehow in the place we were born and gradually finished school, college and university all of us had this dream to move  'out' though i still don,t understand why this yearning and 'out' in most cases did not mean moving out of the country simply moving to ' Delhi' , Mumbai did not have much attraction and next destinations gradually gaining popularity were Bangalore and Pune.

The brain drain or whatever started i think after high school when one of my close friend moved to Delhi to study in an  average college, and some other friends got though exams for admission into some engineering college. To stay back at Guwahati and pursue mundane graduation in a mundane college seemed a thing of embarrassment and more yearning to move out, go to Delhi to be precise. It held the keys to success, luxury a feeling of real world and what not.

First i moved out of my house for a  short stay in Delhi. Ironically uncle arranged a pg accommodation for me which i shared with girls of LSR college. Salwar Kameex clad, pinned Dupatta me had quite a cultural shock and kept my distance from them cautiously. They were smart and intelligent, at the same time they followed all the ' in' things which my small town upbringing forbade. Na i wasn,t all goodie type simply didn,t fit into the pattern. Actually i run off miles when i am aware of any pattern and me falling into it. Anyway during that short stay i missed Guwahati so much and somehow knew i was not meant for the big city. I did not have any friends nor i wanted to make any..as if i had left my soul at home. I had heaved a sign of relief as i had left that pg and again settled at Guwahati.

My urge to move ' out' much toned, i was happy in Guwahati. But as life would have it I came back to Delhi after a few years but this time with a job and some confidence under the belt and with lots of other small towners who had cleared same competitive exams, small towners who were much more under confident in matters of speaking english. North gave me a cultural shock of a different nature. Being Bengali and hard core non veg, slowly it dawned people do not appreciate gobbling up all the non veg food specially on some particular days meant for rituals and like my husband made non veg food a no no at office. Festivals here are celebrated through fasts for an entire duration of nine days where as in eastern India festivals means more food!!

Once i settled with the food issue , the veils were slowly lifting and i could see behind the veneer of urbanisation the poor and pathetic condition of women. Those who worked with me had no qualms about going and making perfectly round rotis whle their male counterpart watched  tv. Girls invariably were married off at an early age to a boy of the parents chose while in east ,north east India girls married late and lots of inter caste marriages if not inter religion ones. Dowry was another sock which both the parties happily obliged. Some how in that small city of mine in a corner of the country things were much healthy at least for a woman. And i leaned never to regret of having born in north.

We adjusted our lifestyles to survive in this city. Scorched ourselves in the heat of North leaving the sultry days of east. We learned to speak and adapt Hindi to the extent my daughter hardly speaks Bengali with us. One day i found myself babbling in Hindi in my siesta, felt the pangs of grief, is my language leaving me gradually...  We learned to celebrate Holi and Diwali more than the Durga Puja, have Rajma Chawal and Dal Makhni.

Some parts of North east still lives in us as we strive hard to be the hard core Northerners.... People here have welcomed us but only they are alien to the life people lead outside this Northern belt, the food they eat and the language they speak, the boundaries of the state they share. Till then we try to be one of them...

Justice

It was a matter of few seconds. As if some scene from a Bollywood Hollywood movie things happened 

fast and few shots were juxtaposed to give the impact.

I shrieked in horror as my friend beneath the steering gasped speechlessly in the middle of the road with the light showing red. The car ahead and we following somehow had jumped the red light without hardly realizing ( I know blame it all on girl drivers) and within moments the light from our left to right went green and very fast there was this huge colliding sound, the car toppling on one side hitting the divider with full force and turn upside down hit another bike in the process .

We paused in horror at the middle of the road as people rushed towards the car. With sense pouring in I nudged my friend ‘Let’s move… light is red’. Amidst all the fiasco we inched ahead slowly as people pushed the car upright. Both of us got the glimpse of a man, belt fastened , head tilted on one side absolute motionless and both of us did not know whether we saw blood trickling from his forehead or it was a figment of our imagination.

Our car started moving in track.

‘Should we stop’ my friend murmured in horror.

‘I think a crowd has gathered, they will help’ the sensible me tried to remain calm.

After a few seconds we were gasping with tears. I guess both of us thought that he was dead. She panicked ‘How do I drive, my limbs are trembling’

Later at the restaurant when we joined our office gang reassured us, ‘With belt people survive’

Burdened with guilt and shock as we were behind him as we crossed the red light, and I could vouch that in all the traffic somehow the light was not visible at all, with no timer and no yellow light there was absolutely no indication it has turned red. The car ahead tried to speed and clear off the red light as we faltered in the middle in confusion and moved slowly while another from the green light side had commenced movement. Was it his fault, did he drive rashly can,t be because we were just behind him and we could be novice drivers but not rash. Was the audi driver who had moved when the light was green was at fault, who was in such a hurry...

We didn’t know.. but could we be the one in Santro, trying to speed away after crossing a red light by mistake and then…  Well he didn’t die!! Didn,t he??  He couldn’t it was a busy road and so many hospitals nearby. I got convinced gradually as I tried to savour the food in the party.

This incident happened in the Mahipalpur Vasant Kunj red light two days back… would the authorities listen…was the light at fault.. can they ensure timers and an yellow light… can justice be done..

Should we have stopped the car and ensure he was taken for treatment, should we write a mail to Delhi Traffic Police…

Is the man alive… would justice find a way…

God...

In this land of Gods and Godman sometimes it needs a great deal of skill to survive without a God. Didn,t know exactly when, raised in a family where God was worshiped everyday thrice as a ritual, a special puja being performed every alternate day, fed on a diet of fables i loved to hear from grandma, I stopped believing. It began as a stop gap arrangement what if i don,t believe and actually i started non believing!!     

It was no big deal actually. Initially didn.t get into any arguments with anyone as was apprehensive of being taken as arrogant, may be silly and may be who knew i had to revert to believing again braving any sort of personal crisis. Though logical mind told me resorting to a supreme power to take care of me is only the proof of my weakness and vulnerability and in no way a proof of existence of anyone supreme. The non believing struck slowly and steadily and in a country society and family where religion is strikingly dominant i survived happily. Well i didn,t have to do anything ,didn,t claim myself to be atheist for once and there was no declaration of my non believing. There were still pujas at home though numbers were less with grandma getting old and once or twice i began to question myself at participating and celebrating our yearly most awaited festival Durga Puja but then it was more than religion , it was simply a part of our existence which i can,t deny and i was happily celebrating puja with everyone without being an integral part of the more religious rituals. Was it a dubious existence... it just might be. I was into the fun and happiness of it and deftly avoiding the serious part. Though i admit watching puja being performed with the evening aarti rituals raise a trance like feeling and a series of emotions i do not have much control upon and when following family members or friends after a long queue i face God at a temple and join my hands with closed eyes i do not know what i should do and make way fast for the next devotee waiting anxiously.

So my non believing went on. Gradually was a stranger to all kinds of pujas , vrats ,fasts etc etc and stand awkward, silent in a group where people talk fervently about the rituals. Visiting temples too became very rare and only when i was compelled to. In between life did have very tough and challenging times and i did feel succumbing myself to some divine power who would give me the strength. Does the divine power lead one to do something exemplary, something for the lesser mortals... the questions can be best answered by those who believe. For other confused stressed souls it is simply best not to bother as i try to convince myself i don,t know if God exists if he/she does it,s fine and else it is fine as well.

Well well on a topic where volumes have been written and so much said, where so many preachers and sects thrive can all be brushed off with a wave of hand!!! I do not know really, the emotions, the 

sensations, more exist than normal senses can perceive. The mysteries of the universe yearn for an answer and hence the quest for the supreme being or the storms within the soul or the most mundane a respite a panacea for all ... i have wondered often with no answer of course.

Yet it is difficult to stand your own ground as a non believer, wish the best for your love , child and family , strive hard for success and prosperity and stand nonchalant and non believing and harder to derive the strength from within for a cause , a purpose ,to motivate oneself for a cause other than self. There were and would be moments where i would falter and give up myself and for other times God and me have drifted apart and happily!!

Zindagi Gulzar Hain....

Television...one of those apparatus...you browse through the numbers in the remote and most of the times I end up switching off the device in frustration... Yeah not much of a news person and not a sports freak either (I guess lots of women might get included in the bracket). I end up with a random episode of ' Friends' which most of the times was an episode I had watched earlier but still managed to evoke some laughter and surprisingly at aspects which weren't noticed earlier...and browse through the    odd music channel to catch up with videos and songs of  ' my time' kind and food recipes with my domestic help while we have our lunch....I guess my TV addiction is limited and so are my options. Comedy Central kept me occupied for days but being unable to catch something gripping...quit that as well. So it was about Zindagi TV I read in the entertainment section of the daily newspaper and the rave reviews...so gave it a try. Well I hardly watch soaps and not at all the kind shown last two decades..the bitching women with gaudy make up who most of the times end up doing nothing save keeping their spouses contented....

Anyways...randomly I caught an episode of  Zindagi Gulzar Hain...and caught it up another day or two. Being the cynical person I am .....tried to cast it aside as another love story between a rich spoilt guy and a  middle class girl. The woman protagonist....so arrogant, so rigid...her head covered all the time....nothing felt right and the typical rich boy with his pretty girlfriend. Well like falling in love I never knew when the show took me all over. Initially I marvelled at myself  for still being young at heart...and enjoying a love story still...not only enjoying actually waiting with bated breath...for the two to get together!! I remembered my school days where I'd wait for Fauji...and another romantic soap called Farman...if anybody remembers!! Within a few episodes I was that school girl again waiting for Zaroon and Kashaf to fall for each other!!!!! And i have to admit Fawad Khan...Zaroon as I'd like to remember him always...slowly cast a spell on me with his eyes and intensity...and it may sound obvious but for a cynical like me...well...like exploring an unknown part of me. Well well all these from someone who was reaching  thirty six is a way bit too much...but who's complaining!!

Yeah it began with Zaroon craze...but then it was the show in all, from the saplings of a sweet romantic love story, somehow it was not repetitive not at all boring, a surprise breath of fresh air with a more surprising realistic element...Kashaf just could be anyone of us...middle class, cynical after the kind of life she has endured with her mother. A real inspiration was the well etched out character of her mother...and the little tit bits she has about life...though may sound typical...but it grows on the viewer and these little tit bits in a way holds her daughter's life together. Things as simple and mundane as cooking for her husband...dismissed by her cynical daughter...but these trivial things bring the subtle changes in their lives. Normal discussions between mother and daughter if mother in law can ever replace mother which I believe most women can relate to...and the twist lies in her mothers simple gyan which strikes a chord instantly. Without being a spiritual guru or healer how simply she guides her daughter through the hardships somehow casts a deep impression on the viewer...just the right balance between respect for others and self respect. Sibling relation between the struggling sisters...love and bitterness and more love...and on the other end of spectrum sibling relation between the ' have it all' brother and sister struggling with their own hell in contrast...

There was this sweet intense love story which tickled the young girl in many of us waiting with bated breath to see the two loving fighting and coming together. Only eyes and expressions could create an impact many ' bold' scenes would fail. And yes Zaroon... for somedays I felt can,t take my eyes off him! Hopefully it mustn't,t be his looks rather the intensity he plays his role with!! When the hangover of  the love story begins to fade there is this realistic story with wonderfully etched out characters filling our hearts and ending the lull in Indian television. The sensitive, brilliant portrayal of women  by the writer and director all of whom are women...well just hats off to them. Years after there's something in television for which we actually wait, which plays with our imagination and make us ponder..   All that from a show across the border....how little we know our neighbours where such sensitive shows can be conceived and telecasted. My friend was telling me she could not remember any soap she had liked or watched after ' Saas' save this one....

The sweetness of the language is also another pleasing factor and so is the realistic make up. Well I believe the writer and director could pluck just the right strings where it just spelt music....music to the heart...music unheard...music buried in some corner of the heart.

I remembered bonding with my daughter's school mates' mom in the busstand and we raved and raved about Zaroon! We chirped like teens with our crush and grumbled about our hubbies! We raved about the scene where he tries to save her from spilling hot tea and her cynical reaction! Why didn't we have a Zaroon in our life!! Later we always consoled each other ' Kaam chala le with the one we have!'

The show is available on YouTube and Netflix. For lovers of romance, story here is a poignant tale with subtle performances and those heart fluttering moments. And if you are able to get past the magic of  Zaroon's eyes there's a beautiful story to be unfurled with strong women enacting the scene with elan.

Radio

A tiny rectangular box and in it lay my ticket to escape. Escape to dreams... as i got my own room when my uncle got married and shifted to a double bed room. The room did not have any stuffed toys.. either my parents never got around to give me any or i did not have an inch of interest...may be a few dolls which i got over soon, nor i hung any posters of rock stars or film starts... tried once for poster of soccer players but most of my crazes were very short lived. So i had a tiny bed, a study table and chair, a mirror which had been broken once and then somehow fixed on that room, an old bicycle my grandma used to ride...and yes i never got around to learn cycling and a wooden book rack from where normally i would hide books under my text books! And i had a radio.. well it was not mine but as soon as father went out it became all mine.

Music started from 12 pm in the afternoon and i,d switch it on dot... hindi film songs..most of the time i needed a company as i solved equations or immersed myself in novels. 12:30 there would be this music played and just after that Fauzi Bhayion ka Karyakram , i,d switch between two channels available till the 1,o clock news and after the English and Hindi snippets would continue with music. There would be a normally void time after two and after my siesta i would catch up again with music for a few minute from 5:15 to 5:30 i guess ( news English and Hindi from 5 to 5;10, programme announcements another 5 min and then finally some songs). I was not an avid music lover nor any singer, just the feel of radio drew me close to it and my bosom buddy in school to whom i would murmur excitedly about the song we heard in radio last night in the morning school assembly. Around ten at night just before sleeping, would listen to Chaya Geet and then when i,d study till late night... would surf more channels but with weak weak transmission.

When i left Guwahati, for a few years in Shillong, i did miss the radio as my ear was and still is not tuned to western music barring a limited few. I  had left my little radio at home which i had demanded from my father at my fifteenth birthday and when i joined training for my job at Allahabad... my mobile still did not have ' radio' option... so shamelessly demanded a radio again from the few colleagues i was close to. The first one i got did not work at all, sometimes i had to put it over my tummy for ' earth connection'!! So my roommate had pity on me and again collected money from others for a better radio. Both of us listened to it for a long  time..almost the entire duration of four months after we shifted to Delhi. There was an onslaught of music channels, babbling RJs and the latest songs while in Delhi... i was in for a shock... what to hear old or new, slow or peppy!! Then i shifted to radio on my cell phone as i could not repair my radio in Delhi... as we could not find who would do it.

I listened to the All India Radio channel for good old songs and ghazals... and these days i try to listen to Yaadon ka idiot box as i stroll around in the evening... and i listen to radio a lot while i am driving..my husband would crib as usual..more than eyes on the road my attention is on the buttons for surfing music channels!  Radio led me to my love for music ..and i guess the surprise element  in radio puts it above any other collection i,d  love to hear where i know the next song coming to this unpredictability in radio and this mish mash of surprise and wave of happiness....

One friend who has long been a friend.

Quick Recap

Q... this one is tough. Since i am through more than halfway of the challenge..i am exhausted, compromising with quality and feel somehow just putting some lines together and winding up.

But that,s o.k i guess...i have the feeling of running behind the letters ,trying to keep pace...breathing hard. Well being the disorganized person i have never planned for any topic or any theme so most of the days struggled with the theme. Some posts i felt i have been too energetic and felt drained after the write up and some just wrote hurriedly after office. I have pestered husband and my domestic help with A, B, C, Ds...to the extent they are all fed up, even when i went for a weekend trip where i continuously cribbed about k and l and our friends also began to  get all worked up in thinking about my further posts, giving an idea or two. I pined for net connection in the forest reserve we went and somehow before midnight clicked on ' publish'. This is some kind of craziness and husband has given up now...it had been a proven fact that i am a mom with too much time for myself and little time for my kid. All said and done i am still on... writing, reading.. though not as much as i would like to.

I started A with Adrita, the name of my daughter and attempted a short story on that, the peculiarity of her name in a different land. B was easy.. the aromatic mouth watering Biryani. C i felt was quite good...the short story Charu though i don,t believe anybody read it,  D was a letter to my daughter.. Dear Ninni  a candid confession from my side.

E was Email...it was dear to my heart... teenage love and feelings..i might have done a fairly good job though i am not supposed to say that, F was Fishy Business... about Bengali,s fish fascination, G for my favourite lyricist whose songs play magic on me Gulzar and H was another romantic take with short story Holiday...i was happy with some romantic writings...

I... i made a short cut with a post If... not sure it was a poem or not just scribbled some lines , J was a write up on Jeans...the attire we craved to wear once, K was... again i went for food..something that would be easy and about something i was high on passion.. so Kebabs. L was about one of my favouite classics i read long time back ' Lost Horizon' the book which gave me Shangri La...the Utopian land. For M... i wrote about Minority..little bit of take on social and political hierarchy though i am not good at those kind of writings and not well informed, just tried my hand. N was again a book i read during my teens and made me fall in love with love...Na Hanyate...even narrating the story to someone gives me goosebumps. O... i went easy on Oats.. and varied recipes i have tried for the grain. P was for Polls... the democratic extravaganza going on in our country... though my take was simple and emotional i guess...

A recap was necessary to see where i started from and where i am heading... read some interesting posts, got myself some readers... no less than an achievement for me... will run after the alphabets upto Z...and then breathe...if i can make it. Well i have tried my hand at different themes and enjoyed the process though exhausted after the exhilarating showdown and i know my family would heave a sigh of relief with me when i reach Z finally!! I still marvel at the few persons who could manage time to read my posts among the myriads..and may be that,s why i could go on and reach Q!

Polls

India goes to polls. Yet another time. Democracy...we go to polls and elect our government . Sixty seven years since we had been  on our way to electing and forming our own government. As Indian middle class most of us are very nonchalant about the parties coming to power and i believe end result is what we seek... more money, more prosperity, more roads, more hospitals and more for us.Though we nurture sentiments for some parties but most of the times for weird reasons... reasons which most of the times have nothing to do with development and we end up electing based on those sentiments. What do we do exactly...most of us will say what are the options available... politics is and has been a shrewd game for ages and out of the worst you do not know to select the best. So how do we know...and why are not active, honest, visionary men coming into politics... why not we see anyone like the leaders of yore.

I do not have answers. But as a middle class woman i might say that i am simply not interested. Why..because i have a decent job and the government pays me a decent sum, not exorbitant pay checks but a decent amount to lead my life, to school my daughter not in a government run educational institution but in a ' decent' one , to go and splurge in malls and holidays more than necessary, to own a car and a house. Do i sound complacent..i know there is no end to what one can dream and achieve but as a middle class we have come a long way...where my parents would calculate before spending an extra pence here i am with a debit and a credit card swiping at any step. So there is development...we have good roads, flyovers,sky scrapers... we had this economic boom in recent past. As i have set the benchmark..the domestic helps who had been working in our house in the past and the ones working now... marked difference is visible. They have television if not food, cell phones if not jobs...but progress had been there...  rarely though but they can go to a doctor if required and may be pay the hefty fees at least once. But this nonchalance why am i not interested, i know i might not be speaking for all but at least there would be many like me... why apart from paying government taxes we are not involved, not concerned. Forget decision making in the highest body... why don,t we walk an extra mile for a person who works in our house, the little boy who comes to collect cloths to press on behalf of his father, why do we employ children for work, why we do not take a pregnant woman to a hospital... and why as we are so pissed off with corruption we try to bribe for jumping a red light and we submit that extra false bill in office !!

This is how we are not going to live. We would dream of our children making it big and the next thing we want is success to sweep them away from this country.Corruption, poverty, pollution all cannot vanish in a day but i believe there has been progress... yes lots could have been done, more equi distribution of wealth, more employment...but let us take the plunge at least.. go to the polls.. vote. Yes the leaders never work for us.. but let us work for the ones we can..so easy to say i know..let someone take the step and i will follow.

At least this time a parliament with sober representatives, decision making debates, active oppposition...a parliament which would encourage us to go to the polls.

Minority

I have grown up with this term..lingual minority, religious minority, sexual minority.. It is a deadening term , with consequences far reaching. I was born in a state where i belonged to the lingual minority and it took a while to realise , the language we spoke at home was unutterable outside. I adapted to the local language, gradually took a liking for it...but this minority feeling always struck from behind. Soon i was aware of other minorities as  well..religious minority being the most prominent. The term scared me out of my wits...culture, religion, lifestyle everything becomes a part of our being...but being termed as a ' minority' on the basis of religion or language...is natural i guess or the law of the land. An atheist part of me though can appreciate the concept based on language to some extent.. but.the majority minority based on religion.... is beyond my comprehension i guess...i know believers will disagree vehemently...but most of the times religion creates more shackles then freedom.

Sex based minority is also very common in our country. With a shameful sex ratio this is not really a surprise and the best part there is hardly anyone who can relate to this minority... even the fairer sex as we are called.. we are used to having men run our lives and quite comfortable under the security cover the man provides and who looks for liberation ! The discrepancy is evident as in the number of women in the workplace more so as one goes up in the  corporate hierarchy. And the great sacrifice fables of the women who gave it up all for family and kid!!  

Growing up in a place where i belonged to the local minority, i treasured the books written in my language and the wide range of literature and gradually as i moved to a bigger city i still continued to be minority, more so because my fish eating habits, gulping sweets with tea, not fasting in the mandatory rituals performed here and other Bengali tit bits were continuous under scan till i became a full fledged minority. Even when we go to Kolkata, the hub of  Bengalis... no one really speaks the dialect we do and it attracts more sarcasm and humour than anywhere else!! So much for the uprooted minorities... struggling, adjusting, surviving. And the religious minorities... i think that is the deadliest of all, being alleged as the cause of all things unpleasant..how does one live with it.. they get more strong as a minority and fight for their rights.

This is a complex land.. the country i live in...and there would be majority and minority even as we go global netizens and this would dictate the verdict in democracy more than education, medicines, roads , transports , a receding economy and myriad problems facing the country. Governments would form and collapse and minorities would survive... find their own ways.

Jeans

Indian women... do not they look beautiful , vibrant in so many attires. It wasn't like this before. I have seen my mother, grand mother, aunts all in one single attire...the quintessential Indian Sari...and it was worn without any complaints.. difficult to drape, who would arrange the pleats...no questions asked..it was sari all the way. Then women from my part of the country, eastern India , gradually adapted to the more comfortable and adaptable Salwar Kameez and i guess women started venturing out of their homes for work by then.

I had also embraced Salwar Kameez merrily as i entered into teens, the safest dress to have around, avoid all the weird looks ( well at least i felt safe). But then for me world consisted of two kinds of girls who wore jeans and who do not...!! Strange...does it sound weird... I don't know how many would relate to me. But believe me the blue miracle beckoned many of us.. and it was not easy in middle class families ,even if you managed to convince your parents and that omnipresent big brother or cousin..stepping out of the house and having so many pair of eyes following you and not in admiration necessarily was an uphill task. In my part of the city.. things were more taboo may be because it was a colony of all settlers after partition and economically and socially we were lagging far behind the others who came from the so called well off portions ... guess a sort of west Delhi and south Delhi for those who can relate. I had this blue pair of denims but not the guts to wear it. In today's context things are a bit unbelievable..but girls do assess what they are going to wear according to the looks they would get basically from the men present and sometimes women as well... and somehow in our country dressing is related to the safety of women and her moral uprightness!

Then you need to look good if you wear something different.. Jeans was different. And being on the healthy and plump side it invited more of the unnecessary attention... I hoped things were not my figment of imagination... really who would have the time.. but the boys in the locality did.. they would stand in groups, in any shop, in any corner available pass the occasional lewd comment, what made me so paranoid... why I could never speak up!! There was this guilt, burden of being a woman.. no, actually I am not being dramatic... even if in that age I was well read and knew about women's rights and liberties..even then as I passed the group of boys... i'd feel uncovered ,bare and hopeless. Some girls I remember would never go out alone, tag along with mother or sister or anyone...but all were not so lucky. I am deviating from my Jeans post.. my blue pair wore out unused..as i moved from school to college barring few occasions

I took the opportunity while we went out for holidays to wear the cherished jeans team it up with a top or shirt. Was the rest of India more liberal...I don't think so..but may be you do not need to carry the baggage of your own personality everywhere... Then as i moved out of my house, liberation came with job, money and more importantly the choice of outfits. I remember being proud and happy as I wore my first branded  jeans. Empowerment for women has different meanings I guess..being able to wear the blue magic was the paving stone for liberation. Before, we would talk about girls who wore jeans, species from a different world. Well, well things have changed a lot... we never wear sari, though not fail to buy expensive ones...always complain of saris being cumbersome, impossible to drape, even disposing off salwar kameez with dupatta gradually.

Jeans had invaded all our homes, comfortable, trendy, tattered a must have for men and women of all ages. Other outfits continue to rest in wardrobe at peace.. while we pull the jeans and top it up with almost anything and little by little capris, skirts, dresses..the wardrobe overflows . Well no one is complaining...if choices for attire is the first pill for women's lib we have come a long way and have miles to go yet.

Peers and Pressures

Ah this pressure!! Well most of the things in my life fell in place just in time  with this pressure.

In early school days me and Baba..he would give example of all peers scoring maximum in Arithmatic, it was quite subtle though without getting pressurised but an emotional jolt and i ended up beeing stuck in late eighties or sometimes beginning of nineties and always with a stab in the heart of missing the ton. Baba continued through out the years, sometimes over phone.. and i would remember the eyes with the question ' how was your exam'...the anxiousness and my anxiousness at faltering, missing out on all he was aspiring..  Again i,ll have to say it wasn,t a parental pressure technique, may be he wove some of his dreams around me..and always very short of outstanding or excellent.. i was able to make it to the average.. i can state fairly without being modest and guess never disappointed him if not made him a very proud parent.

Teen days were confusing, intriguing. The pressure to look happening gave this immense urge to be ' different'..the safe way out..discomfort with an almost unknown body, falling out of sync with peers..outsmarted in looks and deeds led to shelling of self amidst piles of fiction beginning from  Mills and Boons to Tagore and Sarat Chandra Novels to those 'adult' stories published in ' Desh'. ' I,m different and hence looking for someone different!!' not a bad concept to deal with peer pressure really.

But how long can one survive being out of sync out of tune with peers holding on to a similar group frantically.. As the body turns familiar the soul emerges out of teens , tries to fall in sync with peers and without a 'facebook  like', a coveted ' like'  from any boys around would achieve it..at least being one of the peers though way down the line.Twenties would weave a bit of personality one would carry over for a  few years at least..and craft a ' my life' kind of thing. A dash of 'gyaan' about self, a pinch of confidence, stepping in the work arena from dreamy college university days...thrill of taking on the world and finally meeting up the  'one' who would put an end to all peer fears..and the twenties turn to thirties.

Thirties.. initially promising, also gradually time to be aware of the lines built around self, the secret desire to break all the rules which have eroded 'my' from ' my life'. And finally the health issue so unhealthily overlooked staring blatantly with years of massive negligence... Thirties also characterised frequent visits to parlours and salons, the desire to be 'in sync' with all the hot thirty somethings and forty somethings. Some money in hand...branded clothes, may be finally coming up with a-not-too-sure style quotient and  some admiring gazes...if from men.. definitely excellent but a winner if from women!! Times change..they do. Admiration (not jealousy) from women is a sure shot victory.. to your style, your shopping , your gym sessions if any. Constant struggle really.. workplace full of twenty somethings now, basking on limelight while you take a mild bossy position though no total authority, a middle level stage..whom the newbies love to avoid if you are choking with unwanted gyaan!! Hair colour or henna is mandatory , still the silver lining shines through!! And you do not miss to scan over the head of anyone near thirties..for a peer like feeling..any streaks of silver will do.

Huh.. dread the forties.. more peers and more pressures. With a growing child, slim moms would be the new peer group.. endless list.. And to think of fifties and sixties...can i relax with a head full of grey hair, acidic stomach, high bp and ' sugary' body, arthritic knees and what not,  perhaps admiring looks from men would clinch the deal...and perhaps flirting would be smooth and easy with no baggage of goody image hanging over head....and without a bit of make up applied

Hazaaron khwahishen aisi ke har khwahish pe dam nikle
Bohat niklay mere armaan, lekin phir bhi kam nikle...

:-)

All India Radio

When i first fell in love, i can,t even remember, may be  my first crush hit me  when i was about ten. This love affair with radio..exactly when it happened. Early childhood days, i remember my father shaving in front of the mirror and the tiny radio playing Assamese songs and  father waiting for the 9'o'clock news. ' This is All India Radio.. the news read to you by..' what a voice..stern, so nonsense..and that impeccable English which i could make out most of the times. Confession..many times I,m happy with subtitles in Hollywood soaps and serials..and a hush hush thing even if i watch an episode of Friends for the nth time there is always something new that I,ve missed before or so it seems.

Grandpa owned something like it
Google Images

 My early childhood days ma used to switch on the radio at mid noon 12:30 which started with the music of a Bengali song ,' Hao dharamete dheer, how karamete beer nahi bhoi..'  I hardly ever heard the song but the music was a phenomenon.. 12:30..just the middle of the day..and the music..then came my favourite ' Sainik Bhaion ka Karyakram'  It started with ' Aaj ka Geet' requested by many Sainik Bhais later i remembered the names as well... Radio became such an integrated part of daily life as i began to enter teens, a getaway to the outer world may be from the tiny room i occupied for studies, from Bhupen Hazarika to Kishore Kumar, Manna Dey classicals to English country songs..i remember carrying  the little magical device with me bathroom bedroom to the bed..people began calling me akin to the daily labourers, rickshaw pullers loitering around with a pocket radio..i was embarrassed but radio, me, eagerly waited Chitrahaar songs to be played again we sailed along...

Evenings most of the days I,d wake up to the 5:15 request programme on Guwahati Station.' Chitramanjari'if i remember correct..alternate Assamese and Hindi songs..i,d wait for the Hindi songs and kept falling in love with the Assamese songs bit by bit..Night was on with 9:30 request programme by Vividh Bharti followed by Chhaya Geet.. theme songs so to say with an anchor with romance and nostalgia in voice and then finally request programme again from 10:30. But not to be satisfied with these and taking lessons from my neighbour i listened to Nepali channel at night for Hindi film songs complete with Nepali ads!! Then my discovery was All India Radio Urdu service I guess it came upto 12 in short wave and with words like ' fankar' , ' mausiki', ' nagma nigar' ( If i can spell them correct) my Guwahati nights in early nineties were indeed colourful. Though in between constant changing of the band from short to medium wave  Papa,s radio gave in.. and did i give in as well...

Got a new radio in my 10th class birthday..and newly found was film ads programme Chitralok..came right in the morning 8:15..All these before onslaught of television and onslaught of the mind.. I didn,t fall out of love with the tiny device college, university, working days and it didn,t let me down either .. FM the frequency modulated wave band gave it a new lease of life. FM began in small towns with broadcast of Vividh bharati programmes, lots of  request programmes with names of a host of listeners and mostly ' chalu' songs but good audio quality after all..long awaited for listeners like me.

Almost like the one i had
Google Images

Delhi gave a host of channels to choose from Radio Mirchi, Radio City, Red FM but somehow I missed All India radio difficult to trace in the FM jungle...constant chatter of RJ,s, flurry of new songs with missing melody..was i missing my old love in my old home. My new radio in the city was again a combined gift by my colleagues when we joined workplace newly, needless to say i went about demanding unashamedly for a radio in my birthday!! Purani Jeans in Radio Mirchi, Love Guru in Radio City and yes the story of a girl called Maya in her husky voice and her army boy friend at around 12... those were my initial days in the city.

After marriage a different tussle altogether..soft numbers lulling me to sleep was a no no as husband longed for some 'peace and quiet' ( though full volume Radio Mirchi in the car did not give him his quota of peace and quiet). My radio crashed and i nagged after husband to get it mended.. ' In Delhi..where do i fix a radio...' he sounded clueless Mobile was the latest gadget for radio and i managed to acquire one , by that time i had discovered FM gold. Finally i settled with the radio in digital photo frame at home placed comfortably at bed side with FM gold and BIG FM churning old numbers through out the day...( I still could not set the other channels)

The one i have now

I didn,t know when i beacme an old hindi music lover..and new songs barring a few failed to leave a mark..Gulzar, a dash of Urdu at times and some Ghazals at FM gold 5:10 show . My parents.. Baba always spoke about Akashvani Kolkata and Anurodher Asar and how it used to be a festival in the  neighbour hood and Ma about Radio Ceylon and Binaca Geetmala when in those days Hindi film songs were a taboo in Bengali household and she used to switch off as soon she heard her father,s footsteps.. This also reminds me  of Radio in Kolkata during my short stay the variety, the melody the mix of  Bangla and Hindi songs, R.D, S.D combos added to the charm of the city apart from the spectacular food and gregarious public

So many shows.. so many songs..one stumble after another..i remember Phone in Kalpataru ( Kalpataru as in ' The wish fulfilling tree') from All India Radio Guwahati and the mesmerizing voice of the anchor. It used to come every first and third sunday, my mother drooling over ' Koto jawanor mrityu hol' by Bhupen Hazarika ,me listening to Pal Pal dil ke pass umpteenth time, sharing in morning assembly at school with my best buddy the songs of Chhaya Geet previous night..

I still listen to the radio.. ' yaadon ke idiot box' sometimes with middle class nostalgic sentiments, ' Purani Jeans' with RJ,s having good voice and command , ' Andaze Bayan'...and most of all i love the radio while driving, my newly acquired skill in very raw form while Delhi roads are a delight ( very rare instances) and lazing about in bed after sending daughter to school and if some rain behind the window.. and Aaj hoon na aye balma...sawaan beeta jaye and a cup of tea with Jhalmuri..( yes yes very bong style)...My first love and me we came a long way....together.

Different Strokes

Just wonder about relationships..where do we begin from and what do we end up with . Pointless wondering yes but..we all do pointless things in one stage of our life, some do it often , some more often.. some are just plain unlucky.

We are born with parents.. parents whom we can,t choose, parents whom we can,t change. Father.. doting, strict, protective, mean and mother loving, caring, friendly, nagging, bragging..types are many. Guess these two characters influence most. And these two people we love, they are the first to rebel against, first to accuse for our failures and they are many ' firsts' we wil fail to count. Siblings take over next sharing caring jealousy envy fighting for attention , discipline the younger, copy the elder. While my father has been and still is the one I have always looked upon in all phases of life from sharing any odd joke to comment on any book we read, I ponder over the relation I share with my mother..factious, complicated..arguing invariably, fighting incessantly, discussing at length the colours and prices of the outfits we buy, disagreeing vehemently on the same issues over and over again, swearing not to set our eyes on each other after each fight. And my reticent sibling who and I never agreed upon any single thing, for him I was always arrogant know- it -all ,academically better much-elder sis ..and for me doesn,t - know-anything , spoiled -massively -by -mother lil' brother. We had hit each  other, manhandled each other and grew apart gradually with time except for occasional phone calls.

I grew up in a joint family before I knew who was I , I was surrounded by uncle, aunt ,grandpa and a host of other relatives. My neighbours..I always called them aunts and uncles.. the youngest one was four years elder to me. In absence of  a sibling in my early days I just adored the three brothers and sisters, eldest one macho and hero, next one pretty and feminine, the youngest one my ideal and my guru and I followed her like a shadow. The games we played.. teacher student, train train, family family, Durga Puja games where we ended up making mud cakes as Bijoya Dashami delicacies, and those doll house games and the big brother after entry would play havoc with the dolls in a minute!! But the big brother rather the big uncle was the ticket to my love for old hindi film songs, those old unheard off songs..and the beginning of idolising Amitabh Bacchan just imitating him!! At home my real aunt replaced my neighbour as the next avatar.. independence finacial and personal for a woman was intriguing and I guess that was the inspiration when I set my feet outside my home in search for a job. And of course my uncle who reads my blogs, is active in FB ,who would spend hours with me filling me up with historical mythological political  fables and my first insight into real world. He bought me the first map and taught me to browse the Atlas.. was the first one to fly with me to Delhi when I needed immediate operation.

And in my old home, nobody could miss her presence.. as if the house and her soul were entwined, she filled up the house ,was a towering personality among her peers and juniors.. and how she continues to live after her death..my grandmother. I remember her in white saree ( after grandpa,s death) , two pairs of glasses, the reading glass and ' Ananda Bazar Patrika', the command in her personality, the warmth in her heart, the magic in her food.. I have always felt few persons can live after their death.. she being one of them, her strong presence felt long after her death.

School , entry into social life.. friends, peers..pressure.. Before we know friends decide our clothes , food, they take precedence over everything else unless first crush hits. When crush hits all fades into oblivion..crushes , heart breaks, some hand at writing verses..phew school days roll over to college classes. First try at fashion, beginning of parties though in my time and in my case fashion was just trying another set of salwar kameez with dupatta, and parties meant getting together at someone,s place and cook together and eat!! Drab idea  of party but in our times that was fun.

Then the struggle phase after university days..and close friends drift apart..competition, struggle in the job market, smooth lovely fun days are over and the time to confront the world friendless alone.. Work place gives a new class of ' friends' , with money to splurge and options galore life seems great. But then work place ' friends' never turn out to be the innocent childhood friends of school and college though exceptions are there but they just prove the rule.

Romance, affairs and ultimately taking the plunge. Life gets a new epicentre to move about and the vision narrower, with an infant popping into the scene life is just me and myself.  Centre stage is home.. funny while youth and teens yearns for the entire world as the arena..conjugal life constricts it within the four walls... the toddler fills up life, gives it a new dimension. Life moves on juggling work family..maid plays a central role in life, and by that time one knows to handle the unique eccentricities of the relationship with mother in law.. the most demanding of all the relationships till date..every move you make and every breath you take..counts..

And soon toddler grows upto a child and child to an individual and parents keep getting redundant to them.

Phew.. relations are many with varying demands and most change with time...like we ourselves do..  Like the golden days of childhood cannot be relieved only watched through the hazy veil of present, wonder years never come back and the grey days of  mid life overlooked , unaccepted take over...with aches, ailments, some amount of financial affluence, some recognition, some sense and some memories cherished and nursed in some corner of the heart.