Happy Birthday....

Dear Ninni

A post about your third birthday..before that let me tell you as all mothers do..three years..a long time and time does fly and see from the tiny bundle the doc got out of me, stands here chatting babbling dancing, a bundle of energy now, a living soul full of life. Babies are born, turn to infant, grow  to toddler, be the child..perhaps the most normal cycle yet each phase is no less than a miracle for the parents. Yes me and your father continue to be dazed fascinated by your antics and share this silent pride at bringing you in this world. Perhaps this phase you can understand when you become a parent yourself, this is like your own creation unfurling slowly in front of your eyes, with each turn a new dimension which leave us flabbergasted.

Sometimes I do try to be practical and know this is so temporary. This joy won,t be ours forever. Soon you will venture out of our world and move into your own. But as long as it lasts.. we are overwhelmed, overjoyed.. Why is it that we would always want the people we love to be just like us, it can,t be and it won,t be. Just hope your father accepts it easily.

You have crossed the three a year mark approximately a month back. I think as a child you are like any other talkative, active, cranky, moody, selfish. I have no idea what sort of person you would grow up to be but it seems at this stage you are friendly, long for company, more or less get along with other children of your age, can strike up conversation at public places and enjoy attention. This is a relief because I fee to a great extent me and your father were shy , loner and confined to our worlds upto a certain age then only we learnt to ' speak'. May be you or hardly any child of your generation with the kind of exposure you get won,t be soft spoken or shy.Another thing, kind of whirlwind life we gave you since your birth, sometimes your father away, sometimes I,m off to night duties leaving the little you to wail all the night, sometimes moving to Allahabad, Kolkata , Barapani you seem to have pretty much adjustable nature. You have accepted people coming and going in your life and only recently the picture got a bit clear when we came back to Delhi that you do have a Baba like Gudia, Shashank and the Mummy Papa picture got framed in your mind when you started going to school .

Apart from babbling too much, imitating Nobita from Doraemon using sentences like ' Baba tum kabhi nahi sudhroge!!!!' or the girlie stuff like ' Mummy bhi naaa' with a wave of hand, I am afraid I do not see any great sparkle in you as of now ( most mothers do) though I thought you were brilliant initially when you showed a inclination for reading books and identified the letters A-Z too soon. But then I learnt through mommy blogs of all the brilliant toddlers around achieving much more in less time so left  it at that. Also your interests are very short lived ( can,t blame you really if you take on your mom ) books, jigsaw puzzles, cartoon shows and from one to ten it has been never an easy ride from eleven onwards and since you were least interested I left it at that as well :) . 

You can throw tantrums at any time you please, yes I know I am not a strict parent. And we are in awe when we go to the market because your tantrums get endless but my money isn,t!!! Specially the last year in Barapani each time we went to Shillong or even the local market.. you would blackmail me like anything and being a single parent I had to give in many times.I handled your ' terrible twos' almost alone. Really tough believe me, specially in public places it gets so embarrassing. Once in a Guwahati Delhi flight you were sitting on the floor and counting the beads of a pink chappal of the elderly lady beside and needless to say the lady wasn,t pleased. In our frequent train travels you would lift the curtains and try to tug at the socks, never sleep at night in trains unless past midnight. Once we were travelling in AC 3 and did not have a lower berth you refused to sleep in the middle berth.. started howling.All elderly persons were there who cannot climb, one lady did try but was about to slip and fall.. you started howling more. Finally following your father,s suggestion I spread a bed sheet in the floor of the train and lulled you to sleep there with me gradually. Yes this is true.. though it brings a smile in my face now. 

One good thing as of now you have learnt Hindi well.. survival technique may be but would you continue speaking Hindi with us..shudder at the thought..we will see as you grow up. Cannot go against time but at least I will try.. so that you learn to speak and read Bangla. But as of now though we speak Bangla, you reply in Hindi and gradually we are moving towards Hindi..child is the father of man..they say!!

This was meant to be your birthday post so coming to that we had a nice time in your birthday. I baked a cake, took leave from office, your father too came early, your pishi made payesh..really sweet. Then the coming weekend we had a party at our Gurgaon home. Though I always  feel we should keep it short but somehow me and your father ended up throwing a good party I must say. Your first two birthdays were spent in Silchar so in a way first in Delhi. We worked hard me and your father.. though your father would object and say that only he worked hard!!! You looked lovely in the red frock I am so in love with, we ordered a Doraemon cake for you, all in all things went well as you can see in the pics. This is the first time you enjoyed singing ' Happy Budday to Youuu'. Food was ok.. and you had a fun time playing with kids.

So dear daughter..this was about your third birthday..two loving parents doting on you, spending your birthday, trying to be with you most of the time..even your pishi cooking for you, I need to mention her, she loves you a lot. So with lots of love and many many best wishes..for the lovely girl you are and in anticipation the beautiful human being you are going to be..

Love

Yours Ma

Kitchen of awadh...( An attempt at food review)

Food and me..me and food... we had been sharing a long bond..grown weaker over times..with age when you cannot indulge in all sort of unhealthy junk at anytime you wish.. when the worry of High BP, cholesterol and above all the perennial weight issue bogs you down. But first love survives..and hence first food blog. 

Being in a land locked island called Barapani for almost a year deprived of ' Outside ' food..but relishing the joys of fresh garden vegetables (donated by neighbours, workers or from the weekly market), some bites at Shillong food joints, Delhi offers myriad options.But when options are many exclusivity diminshes.  Anyway I discovered ' kitchen of awadh' when after a huge face off with husband over not going out for dinner and he convinced me he would order ' good food' at home. Though being the nagging grumbling wife I am went on blasting him as usual. My husband had ordered for a minimal menu..since I would blast him more if the fridge is piled with leftovers.. so it was Chicken Tikka ( Safe bet to order always), Roomali Roti , Murgh Biriyani and Awadh Daal ke Kebab. 

Chicken Tikka was normal stuff.. the colour a bit too eye catching, but then The Awadh daal ke kebab.. I just had opened my mouth before grabbing a bite ' You ordered veg kebabs!!!' ( Nothing can be more criminal).As my teeth sank in and the aroma filled the space.. and we just stared at each other ( I might add this was one of the rarest of rare cases.. as our eyes met and spoke!!). Soft, delicate, the aroma was amazing.. My husband basking in the glory of kebabs declared ' This was my discovery in this year.. in your absence'. Indeed for once without retort I was nodding and savouring the amazing kebabs.

The real surprise of the pack was ' Murgh Biriyani' sealed in an earthen pot.. being Miss Know- it -all I began explaining my maid.. ' this pot is only for packing.. they don,t cook it here' . But the after the ordeal  of unsealing the pot..the first  whiff completely numbed our senses... Biriyani was way above the normal stuff we have without being overly spicy or laden with ghee, the pure joy of Dum Biriyani wherein the aroma of the earthen pot mingled with the rice and chicken.. aah sure bliss...the door to a different world..

A great discovery by my husband.. I have to admit .. and just waiting for the next day we would order again hoping to be immersed  in the senses, elevated to an aroma world and relish the tickling of the taste buds. And yes the price was not exorbitant.. these four items cost near seven hundred, quantity was generous, food was delivered in reasonable time, hot and very well packed.. should be a delight for Mughlai food lovers.

P.S. they have delivery at South Ex, Defence Colony, Golf Link, Jor Bagh, Niti Bagh, Hauz Khas Gautam Nagar etc in Delhi and closed on Tuesday.. So Happy Eating...

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..

Of Dreams Desires and Delhi

So many things I have not done in life rather failed to do in life..list is long .. dancing ,driving I guess tops the list. What,s with this D word.. I wonder. This city of D..one cannot survive here without sitting beneath the wheel and without shaking a leg..and I have hopelessly failed in both D,s many times. The office I work in is generous enough and most of the girls and guys working here and even the fresh ones have a car and.. how much I whine and howl..most of them drive. I have somehow managed to take free rides and be the ' passive partner' for car pooling all these years. In fact I have even offered my husband,s old Maruti 800 to the guys to drive and though they cursed and sweared under their breath while driving in the blazing afternoon ( of course the car had and still has an AC !!) .. they did drive home our car. Now that I am back after my one year hiatus..and there is actually no one to take me along to office!!! So putting up a brave front... I set course for duty by public transport. Public transport in this city of D...with the airport Metro closing down options are too less and sometimes too bad. First hurdle.. hurdle number one.. I don,t know since when I began to feel shy about using public transport..when I reached bus stop for the first morning duty.. only people  I could identify was one of the cleaning ladies in office ..and another man equivalent to her rank.. na , na... I am not being sarkari casteist... Group D and all.. I was plain happy to see them ..after so many days .. what I have to do is just follow them.. where to get down and where to catch the next bus..

As flurry of cars zoom into the office gate..I sneak in through the little side gate for pedestrians.. shyness creeps in again..and me being an old stuff now..most of the older stuff do not fail to remark.. ' Madam aap bus se..' as I paste the smile in my face without replying and several retorts stumble inside. some more generous comments... ' Arey yeh sab to hum logo ke liye.. aap jaise ofsar..'  Yes yes I am supposed to have a car and drive that too..and I can,t .. and that is that.

So coming back to public transport ..first day i boarded the bus to office..first thing which felt so Delhi like was the voice of  Lata Mangeshkar.. ' Ajeeb daastan hain yeh'..the melody pouring in though from a worn out pair of speakers and I realised this was something I missed back there in Shillong..familiar radio stations and familiar music from familiar voices. But then public transport in this city specially in this sweltering heat is nowhere near being just about adequate..let alone be fun. Nearest to fun being a ride in the ladies compartment of Delhi Metro. Just looking at the chics you know what you have missed out..whether coloured flip flops or stilettos, capris or hot pants, kurtis or tunics, sleek bags or colourful jholas, bright nail paints or nude ones, latest fashion statements.. and at once you realise lot to catch up on fashion front..and if you wonder from exactly where to begin..take a look at these chics closely..and dont forget to keep your ears open...' Agla station ... Doors will open to the left..please mind the gap.'  We don,t mind really, the AC and the comfort..the traffic less , red light less ride..but closing down of the Airport Metro leaves no option..but newspapers tells me Government has given 3 month time for the problems to be fixed..

Newspapers also told me there,s a dearth of buses for the commuters in Delhi.. only I didn,t need newspapers telling me that.. most of the days after sweating, puffing in the sultry weather..waiting more than 30 minutes.. i,m bargaining with the autowalahs and dishing out 100 rupee note to reach office and that too no auto would drive to our office, I have to catch bus from a  point.Since the new airport emerged out of the barren lands.. our office stands sidelined from the main airport and hence all public ransport deserted it. Shift timings changed too..upto 8;30 in the evening from earlier 7:30..but who complains.. all car owners and an extra day off to compensate for.

But at least some buses run in that road.. allowing me to sneak in unnoticed .. carless..careless.. trying to be a true citizen taking pride in our public transport system..yes credit goes to my (un)driving skills but I am waiting to join the bandwagon get a car and drive... till then..the road , autos, buses and me...

One year of solitude

Dear Ninni

It is over.. our time at Barapani..and we are on our way...and since I could not complete on the go..I  just  thought I would finish it in the sweltering heat of Delhi. Yes this has been our home for a year. You me and your Pishi and sometimes your grandpa grandma.Nestled in between hills, bathed by rains , swept over by clouds at times..and lush green all around was our ' home' a year.

    

This is how you looked when you followed your Ma to office with the invisible umbrella in hand.

You were closest to earth as you ever could be..





 
Gudia was the first friend you made in your life. Some months elder to you, moody.. she looked just like a doll. And both of you spent hours playing..I was so happy that Gudia was there and I could leave you comfortably with her and go for some badminton in the evenings.

This black one.. she gave birth to twins.. one black as her another grey.. they were so weak..we fed three of them.. fish rice...biscuits..


                                           Ma,s office was the best place to hang out

 

                   

                        


You loved Shillong.. you could always blackmail into getting unnecessary stuff for you

We are posing in front of the Centre Point restaurant Shillong..

 This is ma,s FB profile pic..:) Taken at Elephant Falls Shillong

 We had several visits to Orchid The Lake Resort

                                                   This is ' Gungun' another of your friend







                                     

 
                                   Thanks to the few jigsaw puzzles and   cards ..kept u busy

Ma spent her time in SUDOKUs why would you be left behind....



                
                                                          Baba was there too sometimes..
 

  

                           
                                        Cherapunjee with Baba , we were stuck in incessant rains... 

She brought you up....

We are so thankful to her..soetimes I used to get irritated..I still do..but at the end of the day she did a great job.

It had been a short stay may be.. but eventful for you and me..from a tiny two bedroom apartment locked from inside.. we were somewhere where stepping outside was being close to nature.. the hills and the greens..where getting daily vegetables and grocery and keeping sufficient inventory level was a matter of awesome management..' managing' a trip to the near by army shopping complex in the office vehicle.. or hand over a list of groceries to anyone going to ' city' or shopping complex.. aww it required some management, the place where there is no other option but to walk two kilometres for a public transport or procure a decent packet of biscuits. And you know after many days I talked the way I used to.. the languages I have known throughout my childhood.. though I don,t know how you picked up Hindi so well... Grandpa grandma ( my parents) made regular visits here.. they won,t anymore.. But this is life and we have moved on from Barapani to Delhi in the maddenning heat and madder crowd.

Just tried to assemble some pics so that when you grow up and look at me blankly when I speak of 'Barapani' .. that magical land where we stayed for a year.. I have something to remind you..

Love

Yours Maa







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.

Few more pages

15th May 2012.. Verdict is out..I wait impatiently for the attachment to download..the order I have longed for..transfer order to Delhi..happiness, joy at the expected news coming a notch earlier..phone calls.. to a husband who is unreachable as usual (being away watching IPL on that night switching off mobile), parents, in laws. Guess my mother in law was the happiest of all..which mother in law would love to see her daughter in law pack her bags and kid off to a far flung place and ' leave' her son ' alone' ( alone in the city of Delhi!!) for a year for the sake of a job..whatever the job might be.

Waves of joy coupled  with a tinge of loss for leaving the place and a feeling of not being able to deliver..deliver what the place deserved. May sound redundant and philosophical after the transfer order but then this one year apart from loving the hills and clouds..mourning for Delhi , husband, planning for leave, suffering bouts of illnesses, blogging at random..what did I do!! Strange question..I did discharge my duties, did what I was supposed to do..and I would have done same in Delhi too,do what I am supposed to do. Then..just an excuse to sigh and get philosophical, my husband would have quipped at once, ' Getting all sad and melancholy is kind of your hobby, pack up your bags and rush off from that place'

I am going to do the same. Pack my bags and flee. Yet I know I have not been honest or not been able to be honest to these hills I claim to love, to the girls who work so hard. Yet I know the seat I hold in my office, the salary and respect it draws I should have been able to do a lot more than just what I am supposed to do. Apart from getting aircraft safely on the ground from my tiny tower, indulging in office gossips, imparting a few english lessons to a part time plumber, being sympathetic to local young office girls, being the ' Agony Aunt' to my young Malayali colleague, sometimes the protective elder sister making her life a bit smooth in this alien land  there is hardly anything worthwhile I did...

The hills are now green , rains have started not the incessant ones ( global warming and all) but one shower almost everyday, and while the rest of India burns in the sweltering heat Barapani whisks off the rain drops from her body with a brush of her clouds.. This is bliss... cool breeze in the evening and the invariable chill in the wee hours of morning.. The brush of green has painted the landscape in all shades, youth at its best, beauty radiating from the hills just enough for a long breath to escape..the hills did not get their due nor its people from ages, wanderlust travellers being beckoned ,enchanted, loved and then they move on leaving these hills for  greener pastures.

I would go back soon very soon, doing little for this place, little for the hills , nothing for its people. I would forget this land as a fling, a passing phase and this land..would bid me adieu with her open arms , would welcome other wanderers, other souls trapped in this exile, love them, caress them and send them back happily after a year.

Barapani Diary coming to an end..tale of our discoveries..me discovering Barapani and Barapani discovering me.. few more pages..fewer readers..