A Maiden Attempt and the Joy of Sharing

Come December and the mind flutters with thoughts of ‘what next’…  All of us who grew up in Calcutta, or have spent a considerable part of time in the city know the sweet charm of mild Calcutta winters. And the festivities that come along with it… picnics, Book Fair et al and most of all EATING!! Everything else takes a back seat…

Personally I haven’t enjoyed the charm of (To die for) mild Calcutta winters in more than five years now, and the last few days I was feeling especially nostalgic of the season back home, where I hear it’s been the coldest in a decade. (It’s a different thing that I hear so every year; Kolkatans have little tolerance for anything below 10 ;)) But, a nip in the air is not quite the same thing as even frozen music notes… quite literally! And last Sunday, as I wake up to greet another cold, rainy, gloomy New Jersey day, my grandma called me with a beaming voice to share the pithe making session at home to usher in the joyous winter festival, locally known as Poush Parbon. Need I mention that the heart-to-heart conversation did not just leave me more nostalgic but, this time, also added to it the craving for pithe.

Now, gorging on pithe is one thing but making pithe!!!?? No, they AREN’T quite the same things. The process of pithe making is much more laborious than everyday cooking in a Bengali family. But, after checking on the ingredients and finding them all available at home; I was overjoyed! Why!!?? Because I was in no mood to visit the grocery store in this cold and damp weather and yet ready to embark on the maiden journey of making patishapta. Yes, my first time… (I strongly believe in the saying ‘There’s always a first time for everything’) :)

I started the process after taking a little nap, post (Sunday) lunch. And after spending a whole evening of preparing the batter, the stuffing and frying the patishaptas one by one; I was left with a back ache for the night. Oh, and I also made patali gurer payesh to serve with the patishaptas. Somehow, I cannot help but wonder how the previous generations could do so much more without ever getting tired! Well, that being said, it’s important to mention that in a feat of pithe making, I ended up doing much more than the 2 of us (me & hubby dearest) can ever finish. Of course, I intended to share it with our Bengali neighbor, who also happen to be our friends but, I didn’t have anybody else on my mind.

Later, the idea of packing a few for my husband’s colleagues donned on me. I proposed the same only to hear a reluctant ‘No need’ from him. Well, after enjoying a few patishaptas for dessert that night, my hubby finally declared that he wouldn’t mind sharing a few with his colleagues…  Am I glad!!

On Monday afternoon my hubby called me from office to share that everybody enjoyed the patishaptas! Needless to say that he mostly shared with his Indian colleagues, all but one! Yes, the significant other is a French man and a food aficionado. Well, well… he loved it too!! Not only did he say so, he in fact took a second helping… what more can I ask for? The joy of savoring the self-made patishaptas increased manifold on hearing this and I ate 1 more for lunch that afternoon :)

For the love of Superstitions

I was hurrying down the street this evening for an urgent work, when this happened. It was about dark, yet, not quite. My above average pace suddenly got a jolt before coming to a halt. Wonder why? About 100 yards from me stood a fat black cat, glaring at me straight in the eye.

I tried to look away from it, unconsciously gulped once, looked around to ensure nobody was witnessing my threatened existence; or was it more an eager look to hope to find somebody around.. God knows! And there I stood still, refusing to dodge a bit. Right at this point, memories of how my aunt was hospitalized years back in Kolkata, at the sight of a black cat, in broad daylight, seized my mind. What on earth happened to my urgency? Why couldn’t I just walk away instead of looking away? Wasn’t this willing suspension of all rationalism on earth?

Whatever it may have been, it was anything but expected. I really don’t know how long the cat looked me in the eye before it finally decided to look away.. then it moved a bit, and yet again gave a stark look at me. At this point, I regained back some sense and decided to reach to the other side of the street. That way, I would not only maintain a safe distance; but also reach my destination without wasting more time.

So, the brave heart that I am, I started to cross the street keeping a vigil that the cat stayed where it was. And when I lost sight of the thing, in the almost dark evening, I resumed my pace only to stumble and fall with an abrupt shriek of fright on Miss Black beauty herself. Call it coincidence, or the love of superstition, we both decided to cross the street at the same time (who knows even she might have wanted to avoid me) While Miss Black beauty stealthily hid somewhere in the vicinity; I remained horizontal on the street. Luckily a young lady was passing around the same time; she helped me gather myself and asked me if everything was alright.

My fear that had reached new height of paranoia by now disabled me from uttering a word. I could only barely nod. The sight of the burning green eyes in the half-dark half-light lonely environment cast an overbearing spell on me and I quickly walked away from her, as if nothing had happened, without even a word of thanks. Well, not that I’m this discourteous by nature, but fear mingled with irrational behavior perhaps manifests in such a way.

Finally, when I reached the brightly lit street, I realized that the strap of my sandal was torn. I had little choice but to put on hold my ‘urgent work’ and limped back home in a pair of torn slippers. Now I know why they say when a cat crosses the path, the journey remains unaccomplished.

As much as I hate to admit that I was indeed very scared this evening, it has a lot to do with those horror stories heard in the childhood that remains ingrained in the brain. Admittedly, education, awareness and the power of reasoning didn’t come handy to save myself such ignominy on a less known street of the United States.

A nostalgic walk down the advertising lane

As I was glancing through NDTV Profit on my iPad, during breakfast today, I came across an interesting video featuring the top advertisements of the 80s. This was a special program to mark the 65^th Independence Day of India.

As the old jingles of ‘Gold Spot’, ‘Limca’ and ‘wonderful Doodh’ played away on the screen, I was transported to the world of 2 decades back, to my growing up days. And, in an instant, there were so many memories floating before my eyes – luckily all of them were pleasant. I remembered how happy we were even with very limited access to things such as television entertainment. Serials such as Hum Log, Buniyaad, Rajni & other programs such as Chitrahaar fulfilled our need for entertainment. And these were all just weeklies. Even as the memories came alive, they seemed to be from another lifetime.

And the famous ad jingles of the 80s helped me dwell a bit more in that other lifetime.

The ‘Limca’ ad was at number 10. A very young Salman Khan celebrating his first victory with Limca…  of course, he wasn’t a superstar then J

At number nine was the “oh so unforgettable” ad of ‘Lijjat Papad’. At that time animation was never used in the Indian advertising industry & the little bunny became an instant hit with children. As a child, I loved to mimic the bunny saying “lijjat papad…hehehehe”

The zingy ad of ‘Gold Spot’ was at number 8. That happened to be the first favorite drink of my life ;)

‘Vicks ki goli lo, khich khich door karo’ stood at number 7.

Children loved to mimic the song of ‘Bajaj bulbs & tubes’; ‘jab main chhota bachha thha’…   This stood at number 6.

The famous Bombay Dyeing ad (Oh! my dream lover is a Bombay Dyeing man) stood right in the middle, at number 5.

Who can ever forget Alyque Padamsee’s bold creation – the bikini-clad Liril girl aka Karen Lunel? This was the most controversial ad of our childhood that also rewrote the rules of Indian marketing. Liril ad was placed at number 4.

Now, how many would agree that this was a household song, especially for bathroom singers? Yes, I’m talking about the popular ‘Tandurusti ki raksha karta hai Lifebuoy’ jingle. I’m glad Lifebuoy got the prestigious position of number 3.

Hamara ‘Bajaj’ very deservingly was placed at number 2. We can never forget the heart-warming, heart touching song ‘hamara kal hamara aaj.. Buland bharat ki buland tasveer’.

And at number 1, stood the social campaign for national integration, the song (Mile sur mera tumhara) that still gives me goose bumps. It was first telecast on 15^th August 1988 to promote unity among Indians and it did change the national sentiment to a considerable extent by evoking an emotional response that ‘unity in diversity’ could not be compromised and treated only as empty rhetoric. It’s high time for another such effective campaign considering the fact that a series of blasts rocked Manipur on India’s 65^th Independence Day.

Some of these products have phased out; most of them have been outshined by shinier, smarter products. But, it’s wonderful how these old jingles still stir up roaring memories.

Needless to say, I loved the show and jotting these thoughts is the best thing I have done today.

Give me a bit more Jingle!

Reminiscences have a very close association with aging… but I’m not going to talk about that in my little note! I’ld rather share the feeling just to cherish it a bit more...

Well, we all indulge in reminiscences at some point of time or the other. But, even when we do not reminisce consciously, sometimes certain aspects of the environment trigger it in us. Last night, while organizing my duffle bag, I was startled by the sudden jingle of some bangles kept carelessly long ago. Well, ‘what’s so surprising about it’ is the obvious question that comes to mind… and the note is all about that.

I was pleasantly surprised at the jingle… my mum loved to wear bangles. Six gold bangles always adorned her beautiful hands, and they made the same, very same sound every time her hands moved. And at that instance, soooo many colourful memories fluttered through my mind… and I intentionally jerked them again to listen to it a bit more… it felt wondrously addictive! And, it enhanced my mood manifolds from the mid-week blues… love you mum for all the little memories you surround me with!

Good Old Postman

A lonely mid-week afternoon and as I lean by my bedroom casement, I see this tall-fair man with a trolley of letters… err, nope they can’t be letters! Who writes a letter these days anyways? They gotta be some important utilities bill or notices etc. but who cares…  I drift into nostalgia and my bedroom casement becomes the verandah railing of my old Calcutta home where I spent so many afternoons waiting for those perfectly handwritten letters!

In no time, I conjure up the picture of the man who delivered unto me so much joy, tears, fun and good news from so many people in so many corners of the world! Mr. Postman was the news-man for me; and no news anchor ever gave me as much as that elderly gentleman did over the years…  Especially around the festive season, my mail box often littered with bright coloured envelopes carrying fond wishes of dear ones… Oh! How they brightened up my days… yes, they meant a lot to me! And I know they were genuine… 

I used to spend a considerable amount of my pocket-money too for sending out wishes across the country… and if my dad read this post he would vouch for the truthfulness of the statement. Those were the days! People did things in good earnest, or so it seems to me….  ‘cos today when I’m light-years (a hyperbole once in a while doesn’t hurt) away from my loved ones, I never receive any such handwritten wish especially for me… wrapped in a colourful envelope.

My man tells me ‘Wishful thinking!!’ Well, a man with such few emotions and fewer words wouldn’t have much to write anyways… but I knew men who wrote letters that made wonderful reads. And then there were the emails, very quick and convenient but alas! With them we lost the human touch. And now finally, we have the generic status messages as wishes, much like the oft-used ‘One size fits all’. The entire world seems to be at peace with the new order of things… but to me they lack warmth… am I the only one who feels this way? Often I wonder whether the old stacked letters have become symbolic of pent-up human emotions… and while I listen to The Carpenters’ ‘Please Mr. Postman’, any thoughts anyone?

Hey Ram!!!

The streets of this plateau land wore a desolate look on a weekday afternoon. Yes, on a Thursday afternoon, the 30th of September, 2010, Hyderabad almost slipped into a slumber for reasons that seemed ridiculously trivial to me. The day was otherwise special as it was my dad’s birthday and I wanted to get a cake for him to rid myself from the guilt of not baking one at home.

Stepping out of the office at mid-day was an experience of its kind. Hundreds of people were stranded on roads, some huddled near a parked auto or two without any owner in the vicinity while the luckier lot with vehicles of their own preferred to whiz past the huddling crowd to reach the safety of their homes. This was a rare sight for me and indeed an intimidating one… I wanted to abandon the thought of having to go 2 kilometers to get a Birthday cake for my dear daddy.

This was the first time in 3 years that I witnessed such a scene in my city… and all because of a verdict awaited at a place some 1267 kilometers away from here. The fear of communal violence breaking out loomed large in people’s faces. After all, it was the verdict on the sacred birth land of Shri Ram!!

Well, nothing untoward was reported after the verdict was passed. And, I too could somehow rid myself from the guilt of not baking a cake at home. But, that afternoon has left an indelible mark in my mind that often makes me question the kind of secularism my country has.

Without You...

Well, this is confession time… and my confession is to my hubby!!

I’ve spent a good part of the last three years cribbing and screaming…

Cribbing about the fact that I’m leading a sad life miles away from my folks, that I don’t have a maid who understands my language, that I don’t have a cook who can prepare Bengali delicacies for me (stuffs that I so long for…), that I don’t have a plush enough job to pay for a world tour etc. The list is just indicative and not exhaustive.

And yeah, screaming about having to do the daily activities that have been mentioned in my previous blog.

But, now that I’m left all by myself in my cozy flat with nobody to complain about, things don’t seem too rosy either.

I miss the pickups and drops to and from office, I miss the occasional surprise breakfasts that I truly cherished, I miss the pillow fights (that have existed all the while) and the real ones too, I miss the well-stocked refrigerator with fresh grocery, I miss the skewed dependency curve, I miss the companionship and most of all I miss those little imperfections that I always picked on, happily ignoring my own…On hind sight, I realize that I had grown too used to these things in the last few years to let them go.

The rosier side of things is that I’m trying to build back my self-sufficiency in leading a life all by myself. I’m learning that being ‘alone’ does not mean being ‘lonely’ and I’m discovering the joy of spending time with myself and on myself… or am I?

But, no matter what, the cons seem to outweigh the pros. Leading a life with my folks in my city is no more the same…The soft warm bed seems too cold when I crash on it after a hectic day at work and even the lonely coffee table makes me feel so blue!! I’m dearly missing you…