1. Restraining your words!
2. Giving interviews.
3. Talking about politics!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
how it has become
me: Nanny!!!
N: Tina!
me: what u doing up so late
N: Oh, bas bored
me: so how goes
N: aah. Well. It goes medium rare
me: hehe
i am actually getting really old. i get aches and pains on my body these days
N: hahaha. me too
N: hahaha. me too
me: sure signs of aging. ki obostha (what have we come to)
N: uff. ki hocche eshob (What the hell is happening!)
me: yeah man...this growing up thing is getting on my nerves :P we better just shake off, and get up... and start running like Forrest Gump
N: YES
lets all just run
Thursday, September 2, 2010
this independence day
I think the date was August 15th of this year. My uncle, who is visiting Kolkata after 11 years, called us over for lunch at our ancestral home in Shibpur. The occasion was this: India won the world cup for cricket in 1983. Makes no sense? It will.
So 27 years back, an ardent cricket enthusiast, pledged to god that "hey god! since we all love food, and you must too, I will sacrifice a goat for you if India wins the world cup this time." (no no my uncle doesn't do animal husbandry. so technically it's not the uncle but the poor goat, who understands nothing of cricket, who will make the sacrificing bit, should India win.) We have a familiar term for this kind of "divine" bribing: manat. A Bengali word, also shared in Hindi, hence possibly has a Sranskrit origin.
Anyway, as much as ludicrously funny it had seemed to me by just the act of retrieving back on an ancient promise of a well-chosen-goat-for-lunch made to God for a game of cricket, what's funnier is my uncle's justification. He had very good intentions. Of course, not for the goat. But this is what he thought: his family was going through so many set backs, and had been disease stricken for the last many years that it only made sense that God was furious that the promised sacrifice was never made. And right after India won the world cup, my uncle forgot all about the promised goat, and instead went his merry way. and so did the goat. "there goes my lunch!" thought the mortified god.
"Like it's not enough that a bunch of bangalis had to have "mangshor jhol" (mutton curry) every frigging Sunday afternoon. How cunningly I evaded them so long. And now, all of a sudden here's this fella, who comes from United States! after decades has his heart fixed on my head!," were perhaps the goat's last thoughts before the executioner plunges the blade on its trembling neck. Thus, a poor unsuspecting goat had a new... rather old reason to die. Quite an irony I thought that all of this happened on India's independence day :) Alas a long way to go, yet.
So 27 years back, an ardent cricket enthusiast, pledged to god that "hey god! since we all love food, and you must too, I will sacrifice a goat for you if India wins the world cup this time." (no no my uncle doesn't do animal husbandry. so technically it's not the uncle but the poor goat, who understands nothing of cricket, who will make the sacrificing bit, should India win.) We have a familiar term for this kind of "divine" bribing: manat. A Bengali word, also shared in Hindi, hence possibly has a Sranskrit origin.
Anyway, as much as ludicrously funny it had seemed to me by just the act of retrieving back on an ancient promise of a well-chosen-goat-for-lunch made to God for a game of cricket, what's funnier is my uncle's justification. He had very good intentions. Of course, not for the goat. But this is what he thought: his family was going through so many set backs, and had been disease stricken for the last many years that it only made sense that God was furious that the promised sacrifice was never made. And right after India won the world cup, my uncle forgot all about the promised goat, and instead went his merry way. and so did the goat. "there goes my lunch!" thought the mortified god.
"Like it's not enough that a bunch of bangalis had to have "mangshor jhol" (mutton curry) every frigging Sunday afternoon. How cunningly I evaded them so long. And now, all of a sudden here's this fella, who comes from United States! after decades has his heart fixed on my head!," were perhaps the goat's last thoughts before the executioner plunges the blade on its trembling neck. Thus, a poor unsuspecting goat had a new... rather old reason to die. Quite an irony I thought that all of this happened on India's independence day :) Alas a long way to go, yet.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
acceptance
So, there remains possibly minimal chance that I should ever get to do something revolutionary, seminal, or remotely significant in the field of literature, such that I might ever have the faintest chance at a manifest destiny - to replay my imagination live in front of 500 people, at least, all those who had received the experimental Nobel/XXXX committee invitation: elegantly embroidered with silver, a white colored card, to attend the event where black tie or evening gown is compulsory dress code. Such a place, time and event, when intuitively you wouldn't consider your khakis or spaghetti tops.
But now that I am embarking the idea of going to Law school, over these carefully woven childish fancies are sprouting wings of flight. I am speckled at the horizon, over-brooding for a future that shall perhaps never come to pass but which I had lived so well, so many times, in a hope filled past.
I indulge myself here. I shall write down my perpetually revising speech, which I will only get to say it once in public: Now. To you.
So shake your booty, and be completely unsolemn and inappropriate. and do me a happy dance. you can wear a hat with a tinker bell, and a wobbly, motley costume. heehaw
"I would be lying if I said that this is unexpected and I am speechless. I have been practicing this speech in my toilet and living this moment since when I was perhaps 10 years old, dreaming what I will say on stage the day I accept the [Nobel/ Pulitzer/ Bookers/ Man Booker/ XXXX] prize. Only today, this moment seems a dream: yet another rehearsal in my toilet. And with all of you sitting here, this could easily be my most embarrassing moment. [laughter and giggle expected].
I cannot get away without thanking a few people.
My mom, I am sure this is her doing. It is because of her constant prayers and utmost confidence that only the best things can happen to me, even during times when nothing went right, that god finally had to give in.
My father, who has made everything possible in my life. Whatever, Whoever, and wherever I am today, it is because of him.
My brother, who has been the constant source of inspiration and motivation, even if he has looked very engaged with video games and x-box. But he had known always to tell me exactly what I needed to hear, when I needed to hear it most.
My aunt, who filled every gap, and every void, and made everyday a little more bearable and a little less cynical. I might have shaved my head had she not been around.
My friend Inam. If it was not for him, poetry would have been missing in my life.
And finally, my husband. The one I love best."
[Applause. A standing ovation wouldn't hurt :P ]
I had a sudden revelation. Perhaps the only reason why I dreamed about receiving this recognition was to be able to acknowledge the presence of some people in my life, who made the difference.
aah well, now I can happily leave the stage.
But now that I am embarking the idea of going to Law school, over these carefully woven childish fancies are sprouting wings of flight. I am speckled at the horizon, over-brooding for a future that shall perhaps never come to pass but which I had lived so well, so many times, in a hope filled past.
I indulge myself here. I shall write down my perpetually revising speech, which I will only get to say it once in public: Now. To you.
So shake your booty, and be completely unsolemn and inappropriate. and do me a happy dance. you can wear a hat with a tinker bell, and a wobbly, motley costume. heehaw
"I would be lying if I said that this is unexpected and I am speechless. I have been practicing this speech in my toilet and living this moment since when I was perhaps 10 years old, dreaming what I will say on stage the day I accept the [Nobel/ Pulitzer/ Bookers/ Man Booker/ XXXX] prize. Only today, this moment seems a dream: yet another rehearsal in my toilet. And with all of you sitting here, this could easily be my most embarrassing moment. [laughter and giggle expected].
I cannot get away without thanking a few people.
My mom, I am sure this is her doing. It is because of her constant prayers and utmost confidence that only the best things can happen to me, even during times when nothing went right, that god finally had to give in.
My father, who has made everything possible in my life. Whatever, Whoever, and wherever I am today, it is because of him.
My brother, who has been the constant source of inspiration and motivation, even if he has looked very engaged with video games and x-box. But he had known always to tell me exactly what I needed to hear, when I needed to hear it most.
My aunt, who filled every gap, and every void, and made everyday a little more bearable and a little less cynical. I might have shaved my head had she not been around.
My friend Inam. If it was not for him, poetry would have been missing in my life.
And finally, my husband. The one I love best."
[Applause. A standing ovation wouldn't hurt :P ]
I had a sudden revelation. Perhaps the only reason why I dreamed about receiving this recognition was to be able to acknowledge the presence of some people in my life, who made the difference.
aah well, now I can happily leave the stage.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
a haircut
I got myself a horrid haircut. And usually when I am this angry I tear out my hair to express overwhelming frustration. But not this time. Go figure!
This brings to mind a funny incident from the old days. My family used to be friends with this other family, wherein the lady of the house, M, was not always very ladylike. And I adored her for that. She had the power to become a foil of Batman, she could instill fear in your heart- instantly! If she wanted to have you pee in your pants, she would just go ahead and do the needful to bring about that effect. If she wanted to steal all your clothes, and leave you naked on the middle of a highway, and wanted to make you believe that what she did to you was actually a good thing and really a favor, then she would and could do that. She could effortlessly be the dragon queen, and might even manage to produce fire through her mouth had it not been physiologically impossible. So, given that you now know how she is, imagine that some unfortunate hairdresser gave her a bad haircut. What do you think shall be the consequences? O you have no idea! After taking a thorough look at herself, more precisely at her hair, in the salon-mirror, and curdling in rage within, she reacts. Looking squarely at the hairdresser, M snatches the giant scissor from the hairdresser's hands, and with her other hand she clumps up a fat bunch of the hairdresser's hair and THREATENS to chop it off! Making an obscene facial expression, with her sharp canines gnawing at the lightheaded hairdresser, M yells in rhetoric, "haan?!!! haan?!!!! haan??!!! kaat dun kya!!!!???" The only thing missing in this scene is the boisterous vibrations of MU HA HA HA, perhaps muted somewhere in the background of her head!
This brings to mind a funny incident from the old days. My family used to be friends with this other family, wherein the lady of the house, M, was not always very ladylike. And I adored her for that. She had the power to become a foil of Batman, she could instill fear in your heart- instantly! If she wanted to have you pee in your pants, she would just go ahead and do the needful to bring about that effect. If she wanted to steal all your clothes, and leave you naked on the middle of a highway, and wanted to make you believe that what she did to you was actually a good thing and really a favor, then she would and could do that. She could effortlessly be the dragon queen, and might even manage to produce fire through her mouth had it not been physiologically impossible. So, given that you now know how she is, imagine that some unfortunate hairdresser gave her a bad haircut. What do you think shall be the consequences? O you have no idea! After taking a thorough look at herself, more precisely at her hair, in the salon-mirror, and curdling in rage within, she reacts. Looking squarely at the hairdresser, M snatches the giant scissor from the hairdresser's hands, and with her other hand she clumps up a fat bunch of the hairdresser's hair and THREATENS to chop it off! Making an obscene facial expression, with her sharp canines gnawing at the lightheaded hairdresser, M yells in rhetoric, "haan?!!! haan?!!!! haan??!!! kaat dun kya!!!!???" The only thing missing in this scene is the boisterous vibrations of MU HA HA HA, perhaps muted somewhere in the background of her head!
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Eulogy
Early in the morning, I received a text message from ma. Runu mashi passed away. Beloved person to all who knew her. Dada and I had first known her primarily as "Tapash kaku's wife," some twenty years back. [X's wife, a&b's mom, Y's daughter- The ever changing and subservient role of women, no matter how great she might be in her own right! Anyway, some other day on THAT subject.]
My entire childhood, until very recently, is strewn with the memory of me harassing my parents to take me to their home. Of course, back then it meant cascading down with laughter from the fountainhead of Reshmi didi's chest of witty anecdotes. Reshmi and Rupsha being her daughters, and not too far apart in age from us- dada and me. And etched in this indelible slate of my mind is Runu mashi's angelic smile. As if nothing in this world ever went wrong.
And then there was a time when our much beloved Tapas kaku, baba's best friend since his school days, was suffering from clinical depression for almost 5 years. The man who was the copier of humor, stopped talking, entirely, and remained silent (in the most unmetaphorical way you can imagine) for everyday of the first few years of those 5 years. Runu mashi, like an angel of mercy, cured him. We witnessed it all. Life, gradually, resurrected back in Tapash kaku. Gently, tenderly, softly, she nursed him with love, back to life as he knew it. I bow down to her unwavering patience. She was the quintessential wife; the living epitome of a woman who wouldn't forsake her husband, who would take care of him each day, in sickness or health. And she never made a show about it. Never complained how hard it is. Never once appeared to be frustrated, tired, or even scared. Perhaps, nothing simmered within her, or perhaps something always did, but who would have known? She loved in her quiet way.
While I think of her, I think of other women including me, who as wives have so many complains about their husbands, of the things they didn't do, the things that make us mad about our husbands, all the many ways they hurt us or humor us. But I cannot recall any such day when Runu mashi might have said anything, which even remotely expressed disappointment.
We have all, our disappointments, our broken hearts, our defeated expectations, our bitter tears. She had her's too, I am sure. But the difference lies in the dignity with which she graced across life, never having to do without a smile. And always somehow reassuring others in her quiet conviction that nothing in the world ever went wrong. Nothing. And perhaps, indeed, we can always afford a smile. So, even though today my heart breaks into a million pieces at the news of her death, yet, here is a smile for you Runu mashi: To you, who gave them away in plenty.
:)
My entire childhood, until very recently, is strewn with the memory of me harassing my parents to take me to their home. Of course, back then it meant cascading down with laughter from the fountainhead of Reshmi didi's chest of witty anecdotes. Reshmi and Rupsha being her daughters, and not too far apart in age from us- dada and me. And etched in this indelible slate of my mind is Runu mashi's angelic smile. As if nothing in this world ever went wrong.
And then there was a time when our much beloved Tapas kaku, baba's best friend since his school days, was suffering from clinical depression for almost 5 years. The man who was the copier of humor, stopped talking, entirely, and remained silent (in the most unmetaphorical way you can imagine) for everyday of the first few years of those 5 years. Runu mashi, like an angel of mercy, cured him. We witnessed it all. Life, gradually, resurrected back in Tapash kaku. Gently, tenderly, softly, she nursed him with love, back to life as he knew it. I bow down to her unwavering patience. She was the quintessential wife; the living epitome of a woman who wouldn't forsake her husband, who would take care of him each day, in sickness or health. And she never made a show about it. Never complained how hard it is. Never once appeared to be frustrated, tired, or even scared. Perhaps, nothing simmered within her, or perhaps something always did, but who would have known? She loved in her quiet way.
While I think of her, I think of other women including me, who as wives have so many complains about their husbands, of the things they didn't do, the things that make us mad about our husbands, all the many ways they hurt us or humor us. But I cannot recall any such day when Runu mashi might have said anything, which even remotely expressed disappointment.
We have all, our disappointments, our broken hearts, our defeated expectations, our bitter tears. She had her's too, I am sure. But the difference lies in the dignity with which she graced across life, never having to do without a smile. And always somehow reassuring others in her quiet conviction that nothing in the world ever went wrong. Nothing. And perhaps, indeed, we can always afford a smile. So, even though today my heart breaks into a million pieces at the news of her death, yet, here is a smile for you Runu mashi: To you, who gave them away in plenty.
:)
Monday, March 29, 2010
for you
i want to bury myself in laundry clothes... smelling you..
it is good to be drunk. and forgetful. and not remember how things really were...
it is good to be drunk. and forgetful. and not remember how things really were...
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