Man's Best Friend

I was about 4 years old then and I loved dogs… I mean who doesn’t love dogs??? Only a NON DOG LOVER I guess!!! The canine species are such a great creation of GOD. I mean, HE created DOG to be man’s best friend after all!!! Look at the variety you get it terms of shape, size, colour, and breed (sound similar to our caste and creed). What more can you ask for!!!
As I was saying – I was 4 and didn’t have a DOG… not even a tail of a DOG!!! ALAS !!! The pain!! The AGONY of it all!!! The only logic that I could think of was that HE had said that a dog was “…MAN’s best friend …”, hence, all those who were not a “MAN” could not have Dog for a best friend. We were free to choose a cat, a bat, a newt, a snake, a pig, a hog, a lizard, a goat, a ladybird, a cricket, any bird, your siblings, even the silly girl next door… anything/ anybody on GOD’s good Earth, BUT a DOG!!! How unjust and cruel can you be!!!
Well, if God’s own children (that Adam and Eve for you) didn’t listen to HIM (remember they ate the apple and got kicked out of that silly garden called Eden), obviously he can’t expect their descendents to be any better, can HE!!! They say, as the root grows older- it becomes stronger- hence if His children were disobedient, then His children’s’ descendents are defiant, rebellious, insubordinate, wayward to the power infinity!!! So I HAD to have a doggie best friend by hook or by crook!!! Let Lucifer take…
However, to put my plan into action and ensure its complete success, I had to have an accomplice- come on, all superheroes have a sidekick!!! The most biddable accomplice could only be my elder brother- he was still suffering from the hangover of a living, talking, moving, animated creature that lives in his house – that everyone said was his sister. Poor guy was still suffering fools gladly and was under the impression that he’s the boss… move aside Machiavelli… make way for the “Great White”!!!
On a regular basis, my sidekick and I (mostly I- but of course!!) would rescue lost canine souls from various gutters, parks, riverside, fields and bring them to our shelter for the canines (read dad’s official residence) in order to find one best friend for yours truly!!! The only thing that I had not taken into my calculation was MY MOTHER!!! No superhero can fight their mom and win… rule of the game… hey, even Clark listens to Ma Kent … so there you are!!! Mothers Rule man!!!
So there I was saviour of destitute canine, fighting the ever powerful… big_cahuna - Mamoni!!! No lesser then a couple of seconds after the lost soul would enter the sanctuary… Mamoni would come and have it thrown out as they were dirty!!! Ufff !!! Please God !!! Help me!!! Why can I not win these battles??? Why are mothers more powerful then all super heroes!! Hey God – you screwed up man!!! Big time!!! Wait till I catch up with you… I am going to sit and “reason” with you!!! I wanna talk to your DAD!!!
Amongst all this, I had started to read picture books and had already learnt that dogs live in a specially constructed house and their house is called a Kennel!!! Mamoni and I were still at logger head and I seem to be loosing the same way that Lord Bruce (No… not Wayne / Lee/ Springsteen but the Scottish king Robert Bruce) was consistently loosing against Edward Longshank (English King of the Plantagenet Dynasty), I was loosing against Mamoni!!! At least my performance was consistent!!! What say you!!!
I knew I had to make some change in my strategies (see I was already emerging as a great leader who thinks on strategies and battle plan) I knew I had to “go to the mattresses” but this time make Mamoni an offer she can’t refuse – just as Vito Corleone said!!! The question is finding the right offer!!
Ok so let’s find out what we are up against-
Dogs are dirty Dogs have ticks Dogs have to be washed and dried and cleaned Dogs have to be fed DOGS DON’T LIVE INSIDE THE HOUSE- THEY LIVE IN A KENNEL
Gee Thanks!!! I get it- I ‘m gonna fight this and will go down fighting for my right to have a canine best friend no matter who says what!!! So I start formulating a battle plan with offence and defensive moves ready (can’t have your defense falter can you!!) I ready my troops for battle (troop actually - sidekick and Moi- but then I am the general) and we begin our maneuvers.
On the day of the “Great Battle of Haldia” I salvaged a poor, innocent, tiny, white ball of fur that was huddled in the drain outside the battlement of Mamoni’s castle. A tired, hungry, shivering, wet, in desperate need of saving- puppy. Now what!!! Mamoni had hypersensitive olfactory glands and could sniff out a canine the moment it stepped with the perimeters of her castle. This time we had lady luck on our side for a change- Mamoni was cooking and had her nose in the wok!!!
Aha!!! Here comes our battle plan- with lightning speed (superheroes have them and not you mere mortals!!!), I carry the little pup up the stairs of the castle into the tower of our bedroom. We quickly do a recon of all weapons in our arsenal ( no… we did NOT have WMD- it only exists in Bush’s hyper active imagination). It was all there for us to launch an offensive- Fragrant body soap with a touch of glycerin to keep your skin baby soft- the best that money can buy, a warm, dry, fluffy towel – Mmmmm- it had this lovely ma- ma smell to it (heck, it belonged to Ma-No wonder). An elongated container of body powder that had the most beautiful floral fragrant I ever sniffed- Mum’s of course! Oh! And the last item in our arsenal, a beautiful red plastic comb!!! We were on a roll here!!!
We locked ourselves in the salle-de-bain (bathroom!!!) and quickly proceeded to give the pup a good scrub!!! We used the best soap that money can buy to ensure that the pup was clean and not DIRTY (point 1), we then wrapped him in the soft, fluffy towel so that we can drain off excess water and wipe off remnant dirt ( point 1 again along with point 3). We, then proceed to liberally dust it with body powder and thoroughly comb his mane (point 2).
Once these maneuvers are complete, I scuttle straight to the garden and browbeat ( I am terrific at it – I am the intimidator of the world!!!) the gardener into carry some bricks and a flat piece of tin all the way up to the terrace tower(that’s what serfs are for!!!). Quickly and with utmost precision (I am always precise) and deftness (need I say more…I am such a modest person) I built a “Kennel” (point 5 Hah!!!) and gently place my new pal inside his new home!!!
Now for the last remaining point- food!!! Well that’s the very reason I had a sidekick!!! Unlike mere mortals, I did not require food, I drew my sustenance from being a superhero!!! My sidekick on the other hand lived on milk!!! Yuck!!! Double yuck!!! Anyway to each his own!!! So we work out the logistics and he goes down to the kitchen and returns triumphantly with a cup of milk and was clever enough (my brilliance rubbing off – after all ) to bring a saucer!!
So there you are- fait accompli!!! As we sit there, watching the pup lap up his lunch with gusto, a sweet, warm feeling of victory wash over us!!! But as the saying goes- NEVER TEMPT FATE!!! Mamoni’s hypersensitive olfactory glands come into action (despite the liberal amount of powder used). She climbs up the stairs and locates us in our den!!! Then begins the actual Great Battle of Haldia!!! She fires her salvos at us… dirty… ticks… food… kennel…We reply with our choicest armaments- bath…soap…towel…power…comb…kennel…milk!!!
I guess we spoke to soon!!! Lady luck was certainly not on our side – after all it was a battle against Mamoni- she exploded her decimating device – “It’s either you or the damn DOG that’ll stay in this house!!!”
Oh the wound!!! The pain!!! The AGONY!!! How we bled all our white blood out!!! We were mortally wounded!! A fatal end to a great battle!!! As we stood there- torn, beaten, bruised, bloodies, hurt, wounded, bleeding all our white blood out…I looked at the pup who was my new best friend, even though it was just for a while… he had licked my hand, my face and had wagged his tail!!! I slowly picked him up and took him outside the castle and put him just outside the battlement. With the tears of the vanquished I returned back to my tower and lamented the loss of “man’s best friend”!!!

I was about 4 years old then and I loved dogs… I mean who doesn’t love dogs??? Only a NON DOG LOVER I guess!!! The canine species are such a great creation of GOD. I mean, HE created DOG to be man’s best friend after all!!! Look at the variety you get it terms of shape, size, colour, and breed (sound similar to our caste and creed). What more can you ask for!!!


As I was saying – I was 4 and didn’t have a DOG… not even a tail of a DOG!!! ALAS !!! The pain!! The AGONY of it all!!! The only logic that I could think of was that HE had said that a dog was “…MAN’s best friend …”, hence, all those who were not a “MAN” could not have Dog for a best friend. We were free to choose a cat, a bat, a newt, a snake, a pig, a hog, a lizard, a goat, a ladybird, a cricket, any bird, your siblings, even the silly girl next door… anything/ anybody on GOD’s good Earth, BUT a DOG!!! How unjust and cruel can you be!!!


Well, if God’s own children (that Adam and Eve for you) didn’t listen to HIM (remember they ate the apple and got kicked out of that silly garden called Eden), obviously he can’t expect their descendents to be any better, can HE!!! They say, as the root grows older- it becomes stronger- hence if His children were disobedient, then His children’s’ descendents are defiant, rebellious, insubordinate, wayward to the power infinity!!! So I HAD to have a doggie best friend by hook or by crook!!! Let Lucifer take…


However, to put my plan into action and ensure its complete success, I had to have an accomplice- come on, all superheroes have a sidekick!!! The most biddable accomplice could only be my elder brother- he was still suffering from the hangover of a living, talking, moving, animated creature that lives in his house – that everyone said was his sister. Poor guy was still suffering fools gladly and was under the impression that he’s the boss… move aside Machiavelli… make way for the “Great White”!!!


On a regular basis, my sidekick and I (mostly I- but of course!!) would rescue lost canine souls from various gutters, parks, riverside, fields and bring them to our shelter for the canines (read dad’s official residence) in order to find one best friend for yours truly!!! The only thing that I had not taken into my calculation was MY MOTHER!!! No superhero can fight their mom and win… rule of the game… hey, even Clark listens to Ma Kent … so there you are!!! Mothers Rule man!!!


So there I was saviour of destitute canine, fighting the ever powerful… big_cahuna - Mamoni!!! No lesser then a couple of seconds after the lost soul would enter the sanctuary… Mamoni would come and have it thrown out as they were dirty!!! Ufff !!! Please God !!! Help me!!! Why can I not win these battles??? Why are mothers more powerful then all super heroes!! Hey God – you screwed up man!!! Big time!!! Wait till I catch up with you… I am going to sit and “reason” with you!!! I wanna talk to your DAD!!!


Amongst all this, I had started to read picture books and had already learnt that dogs live in a specially constructed house and their house is called a Kennel!!! Mamoni and I were still at logger head and I seem to be loosing the same way that Lord Bruce (No… not Wayne / Lee/ Springsteen but the Scottish king Robert Bruce) was consistently loosing against Edward Longshank (English King of the Plantagenet Dynasty), I was loosing against Mamoni!!! At least my performance was consistent!!! What say you!!!


I knew I had to make some change in my strategies (see I was already emerging as a great leader who thinks on strategies and battle plan) I knew I had to “go to the mattresses” but this time make Mamoni an offer she can’t refuse – just as Vito Corleone said!!! The question is finding the right offer!!


Ok so let’s find out what we are up against-

Dogs are dirty
Dogs have ticks
Dogs have to be washed and dried and cleaned
Dogs have to be fed
DOGS DON’T LIVE INSIDE THE HOUSE- THEY LIVE IN A KENNEL

Gee Thanks!!! I get it- I ‘m gonna fight this and will go down fighting for my right to have a canine best friend no matter who says what!!! So I start formulating a battle plan with offence and defensive moves ready (can’t have your defense falter can you!!) I ready my troops for battle (troop actually - sidekick and Moi- but then I am the general) and we begin our maneuvers.


On the day of the “Great Battle of Haldia” I salvaged a poor, innocent, tiny, white ball of fur that was huddled in the drain outside the battlement of Mamoni’s castle. A tired, hungry, shivering, wet, in desperate need of saving- puppy. Now what!!! Mamoni had hypersensitive olfactory glands and could sniff out a canine the moment it stepped with the perimeters of her castle. This time we had lady luck on our side for a change- Mamoni was cooking and had her nose in the wok!!!


Aha!!! Here comes our battle plan- with lightning speed (superheroes have them and not you mere mortals!!!), I carry the little pup up the stairs of the castle into the tower of our bedroom. We quickly do a recon of all weapons in our arsenal ( no… we did NOT have WMD- it only exists in Bush’s hyper active imagination). It was all there for us to launch an offensive- Fragrant body soap with a touch of glycerin to keep your skin baby soft- the best that money can buy, a warm, dry, fluffy towel – Mmmmm- it had this lovely ma- ma smell to it (heck, it belonged to Ma-No wonder). An elongated container of body powder that had the most beautiful floral fragrant I ever sniffed- Mum’s of course! Oh! And the last item in our arsenal, a beautiful red plastic comb!!! We were on a roll here!!!


We locked ourselves in the salle-de-bain (bathroom!!!) and quickly proceeded to give the pup a good scrub!!! We used the best soap that money can buy to ensure that the pup was clean and not DIRTY (point 1), we then wrapped him in the soft, fluffy towel so that we can drain off excess water and wipe off remnant dirt ( point 1 again along with point 3). We, then proceed to liberally dust it with body powder and thoroughly comb his mane (point 2).


Once these maneuvers are complete, I scuttle straight to the garden and browbeat ( I am terrific at it – I am the intimidator of the world!!!) the gardener into carry some bricks and a flat piece of tin all the way up to the terrace tower(that’s what serfs are for!!!). Quickly and with utmost precision (I am always precise) and deftness (need I say more…I am such a modest person) I built a “Kennel” (point 5 Hah!!!) and gently place my new pal inside his new home!!!


Now for the last remaining point- food!!! Well that’s the very reason I had a sidekick!!! Unlike mere mortals, I did not require food, I drew my sustenance from being a superhero!!! My sidekick on the other hand lived on milk!!! Yuck!!! Double yuck!!! Anyway to each his own!!! So we work out the logistics and he goes down to the kitchen and returns triumphantly with a cup of milk and was clever enough (my brilliance rubbing off – after all ) to bring a saucer!!


So there you are- fait accompli!!! As we sit there, watching the pup lap up his lunch with gusto, a sweet, warm feeling of victory wash over us!!! But as the saying goes- NEVER TEMPT FATE!!! Mamoni’s hypersensitive olfactory glands come into action (despite the liberal amount of powder used). She climbs up the stairs and locates us in our den!!! Then begins the actual Great Battle of Haldia!!! She fires her salvos at us… dirty… ticks… food… kennel…We reply with our choicest armaments- bath…soap…towel…power…comb…kennel…milk!!!


I guess we spoke to soon!!! Lady luck was certainly not on our side – after all it was a battle against Mamoni- she exploded her decimating device – “It’s either you or the damn DOG that’ll stay in this house!!!”


Oh the wound!!! The pain!!! The AGONY!!! How we bled all our white blood out!!! We were mortally wounded!! A fatal end to a great battle!!! As we stood there- torn, beaten, bruised, bloodies, hurt, wounded, bleeding all our white blood out…I looked at the pup who was my new best friend, even though it was just for a while… he had licked my hand, my face and had wagged his tail!!! I slowly picked him up and took him outside the castle and put him just outside the battlement. With the tears of the vanquished I returned back to my tower and lamented the loss of “man’s best friend”!!!

Mad Season

This is a poem that a friend sent me and I wanted to share...


If You're Gone I think I've already lost you...


I think you're already gone.
I think I'm finally scared now
You think I'm weak - But I think you're wrong
I think you're already leaving
Feels like your hand is on the door
I thought this place was an empire
But now I'm relaxed - I can't be sure

I think you're so mean - I think we should try
I think I could need - this in my life
I think I'm just scared - I think too much
I know this is wrong it's a problem I'm dealing

If you're gone - maybe it's time to go home
There's an awful lot of breathing room
But I can hardly move
If you're gone - baby you need to come home
Cuz there's a little bit of something me
In everything in you

I bet you're hard to get over
I bet the room just won't shine
I bet my hands I can stay here
I bet you need - more than you mind

I think you're so mean - I think we should try
I think I could need - this in my life
I think I'm just scared - that I know too much
I can't relate and that's a problem
I'm feeling

If you're gone - maybe it's time to go home

Mean Mums

Couple of days back Prita Dida (my ma- in -law's aunt) had sent me this poem and I loved it. I felt I should upload it here for all to share.





Someday when my children are old enough to understand the logic that
motivates a parent, I will tell them, as my Mean Mum told me: I loved
you enough . . to ask where you were going, with whom, and what time
you would be home.

I loved you enough to be silent and let you discover that your new
best friend was a creep.

I loved you enough to stand over you for two hours while you cleaned
your room, a job that should have taken 15 minutes.

I loved you enough to let you see anger, disappointment, and tears in my eyes.
Children must learn that their Parents aren't perfect.

I loved you enough to let you assume the responsibility for your
actions even when the penalties were so harsh they almost broke my heart.

But most of all, I loved you enough . . . to say NO when I knew you
would hate me for it.

Those were the most difficult battles of all. I'm glad I won them,
because in the end you won, too. And someday when your children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates Parents, you will tell them.

Was your Mum mean? I know mine was. We had the meanest Mother in the
whole world! While other kids ate candy for breakfast, we had to have cereal, eggs, and toast. When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch, we had to eat
sandwiches. And you can guess our mother fixed us a dinner that was different
from what other kids had, too.

Mother insisted on knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we
were convicts in a prison. She had to know who our friends were, and
what we were doing with them. She insisted that if we said we would be
gone for an hour, we would be gone for an hour or less.

We were ashamed to admit it, but she had the nerve to break the Child
Labor Laws by making us work. We had to wash the dishes, make the beds,
learn to cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, empty the trash and all
sorts of cruel jobs. I think she would lie awake at night thinking of
more things for us to do.

She always insisted on us telling the truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth. By the time we were teenagers; she could read our
minds and had eyes in the back of her head. Then, life was really tough!

Because of our Mother we missed out on lots of things other kids
experienced. None of us have ever been caught shoplifting, vandalizing
others' property or ever arrested for any crime. It was all her fault.

Now that we have left home, we are all educated, honest adults. We are doing our best to be mean Parents just like Mum was.

I think that is what's wrong with the world today.
It just doesn't have enough Mean Moms!

45th Marriage Anniversary

On 28 th July 2007, my parents celebrated their 45 th marriage anniversary. On 28 th evening we (my in-laws, hubby and daughter) joined my parents for dinner at Hyatt where they were staying overnight. As we waited in the lobby- I saw Mamoni come out of the elevator in a beautiful brown and white sari with silver embroidery, I would never forget the look on her face- it was serene, calm, content and was radiant…inexplicably radiant!!! Baba looked amazing in dhoti and kurta and he looked oh so happy!!!

It has always been my firm belief that a long and happy married life is the best gift that parents can give their children. I have felt it in my own life as I watched my parents celebrate 45 years of life, of love, laughter, tears, pains, frustrations, irritations, joys, friendship, companionship and togetherness.

I know how their married life has impacted me. Deep inside I have always longed to have a marriage like theirs - strong, enduring, committed and full of life. I learnt that it does not come easy- marriage like any other relationship, needs lots of effort and work from both partners to bind it so strong that little gusts of life's adversities instead of shaking its foundation, strengthens it.

One has to trust each other even when you can’t trust yourself and embrace every joy and sorrow. It always amazed me how silently my parents communicated with each other. They don’t need to talk to each other- just a look does it all. I remember asking Mamoni how does she do this and she said that she feels what Baba has to say not only in her heart, but in her blood. (“Rokte mishe geche” were her exact words) He is amalgamated in her blood!!! Hence she knows what he wants to say without him articulating the same.

My friends talked about discord amongst their parents- for me it was an alien concept. I had once asked Mamoni if she always agreed with Baba, her response was “are you crazy???” She always told us that when you love some one you must accept that they are not your appendage but a different person and this “difference” is part of their charm. She always told me to ensure that the difference should always be that of opinion, “NEVER” of heart and mind. Hence we never “saw” or “heard” them disagree. I was always struck in wonderment when I see their deep bond of affection and deference that just shines through.

I always felt that the song “Wind beneath my wings” should ideally be my parent’s song. How apt!!! How very apt!!! We all need our partners to be the “wind beneath our wings” only then can we really soar!!!


Today as I pray that God bless my parent, and may He shower upon them His choicest blessings, I pray and fervently wish that He strengthen our love, affection, care, trust, respect, friendship for our spouses with each passing breath. As we grow old together may we count our years in joyous and happy hours spent together. May we never remember the discordant times, the hurtful words and only remember the times that brought us joy and happiness and trials that strengthened our bond.

I hope when I celebrate my 45 th marriage anniversary – I look just as calm, serene, content and radiant as Mamoni did on her anniversary. I pray that my husband looks just as happy to be with me as Baba did on his 45 th marriage anniversary.

Summers Spent at Mohanpur

Mohanpur is my mother’s ancestral home. Her family historically has been landlords with a lineage running over 400 years. Her ancestors were responsible for taxes and finances of the area and in return for services rendered, they were endowed vast tracks of land on the border of Bengal and Orissa though a special grant called Panja or ruler’s handprint.


Now there is divergent view as to who is the ruler who issued the Panja- some say it is Sher Shah Suri (during the time he constructed the Grand Trunk Road) others are of the opinion that it was issued (renewed) by Nawab Alivardi Khan (first independent ruler of Bengal) while still others opine that it was the last Mughal emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar who issued (renewed) the Punja. Well, between the first and the last opinion there is a difference of some 200 odd years!!! Hey, what difference would a couple of hundred years make anyway!!! After all this is not about how old the “Panja” document really is- it’s about how I spent my summer there!!!


My earliest memories of Mohanpur are around 1975, when my grandfather passed away. The homestead (for lack of better words) consisted of what I felt a huge area. It was referred to as “Garh” or fortress. The property is said to be of 100 acres of land (approx 448000 sq mtrs). I have heard that the current main road that runs by the village and is part of the National highway system, is situated within the private property of the family and was given to the Works Department by my grandfather as a connector road between Bengal and Orissa.


I, of course have seen a smaller property- though still referred to as “Garh”, it starts with 3 sets of gates guarded by the “garh buhri” or the protector of the fortress, and within its confines were 3 temples that dates close to 400 years, a large market dedicated to Lord Jaganath who is considered the owner of the market and every shop keeper pays Him rent, which goes into running the temple. There are numerous ponds, large fruit orchards, vast paddy fields, a little dilapidated stable that later became the junior wing of the girls school, a huge empty garage that, once housed a majestic Buick among other vehicles, and now sheltered all kinds of domestic animals, one old run down building that was build by my great… great(?) (Don’t know how many great) grandfather, a tennis court, granaries, a set of rooms that constituted the outhouse.


The outhouse had the library, the office room, a room with a ominous nomenclature of “Bagh ghar” or the Tiger Room which was a taxidermist’s heaven and our hell as it had heads of tigers, leopards, bears, deer, wild buffaloes mounted on the wall with bright eyes that shone in the darkness, there were some other rooms whose purpose I don’t recall today. Then there was the main house which was separated from the outhouse by a garden. The main house had huge rooms, a large kitchen that was large enough to fit my entire apartment, vast courtyards, long running balconies, store rooms, designated prayer areas with miniature temples and a room with a distinct purpose- the “pan ghar” a room dedicated to the preparation of pan – beetle leaf!!!


And amongst all this lived a whole horde of cousins!!! The best part of being in Mohanpur was that I had 2 of them who were of my age group- Shankar and Kakoli. During my summer breaks from school, Shankar and Kakoli would set out to educate their urban uncultured lout of a cousin (that’s me) into an aware human being- sort of an “all round personality development”


The rules of the household was very simple- play, run around, have fun in the morning, have lunch in the afternoon followed by a siesta and in the evening again run around, have fun, have dinner at night and go to bed!!! Simple!!! All play and no work makes Jenny a hyperactive kid!!! My only plight at Mohanpur was the spicy food- I remember my grandmother instructing the cook to wash the pieces of mutton before serving them to me as the spice would really knock my socks off!!!


Every afternoon after a sumptuous lunch, we kids were to retire for our siesta to a huge antique bed that was the Big Daddy of all baby cots (read unauthorized detention area)!!! There was railing around the bed on 3 sides and the 4 th side it had partial railing with a section without railing that was used to getting into bed. The usage was simple- the kids sleep towards the far end of the bed and a grown up would sleep at the entrance, therefore cutting off any route of escape!!! What trust! What faith!! What naiveté!!! Did our parents, uncles, aunts and others really think that the presence of a grown up and silly railing would ever prevent us from doing things that we wanted to do…that we HAD to do????


Lo and Behold!!! As the rice and the dal and the vegetables and the fish and the water and the pan combine together in the stomach and transform into a slow moving sludge that meanders through 28 feet of intestine, benign slumber takes over the body. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for with bated breath… the gentle sound of deep breathing…interspersed with intermittent snoring…it heralded the time to jump over the railing into instant freedom!!!


We would run straight into the mango orchard pick up stones and pelt the fruit laden trees till it relents, always keeping a vigil to ensure that no tattler servants or family members spy on us!!! Sometimes when your patients runs out… you just run up the tree and like a valiant soldier fighting for the glory of your country- you fight the fire ants for the glory of eating raw/ semi ripe / ripe mangoes!!!


Once the required numbers of mangoes have been acquired, we would then proceed with the loot to our secret place (either the stable or the old library… we had to change location every other day lest we get caught in the act) where everything is kept ready in quivering anticipation of a mango feast!!! We had a blunt, rusted, ancient pocket knife that could strike fear in the heart of mangoes as it skinned and carved out their flesh, we had an old ink bottle that stored liquid gold (read… raw mustard oil), a much dented aluminum bowl that housed salt and green chilies and a broken bone china plate on which this epicurean delight was prepared and served!!!


An older cousin was the chef de cuisine (master chef to the uncultured brutes!!!) She would then proceed in the fine art of turning a raw/semi ripe mango into a chef-d’œuvre (masterpiece…what do I do with all of you… study…study!!!) of all mango dishes that had us salivating from the moment go!!!


Ah the aroma!! There is an old Sanskrit saying that means you complete half your meal just through the sense of smell!! The tang of the mango, the pungency of mustard oil that burn your nostrils, the saltiness of the salt and the heat and smell of green chilies combined to form a heady mix that tantalized our nostrils, sent our saliva glands onto overdrive- flooding our mouth with water and glazes our eyes with hungry expectancy!!! You pick up a piece and put it into your mouth….ah (thus spake mangoes) … oh (said the salt)…yeow (yelped the mustard oil)…ow…ow… ow (yelled the chilly!!) Mmmmmm!!! The sound of satiated senses!!!


It can’t be mango everyday… can it??? There are so many options in the land of plenty… you have berries that grow on cane bushes… the trick to eating them is that you sit inside the cane bush and ensure you are pricked, scratched, torn and bled by the thorns on the cane bush… it just adds to enhance the taste and flavour of the cane berries, after all its prepared in a highly health conscious manner- just a pinch of salt and a dash of red chilly powder (contraband of course… it helps bring out the sharpness of taste). Yes, one has to remember the technique of eating them is very “technical” – you need to get it right every time to enjoy the cane berries to its fullest. All you do is to pop a handful berries in your mouth… scream iiieeeshhhaaa…. iiieeeshhhaaa… iiieeeshhhaaa and twist and turn amongst the cane thorn, gulp down mouthful of water and experience total nirvana!!!


Mohanpur another claim to fame is the famous “Grey Langurs” (Semnopithecus hypoleucos also called Hanuman by the simpletons). These primates are hated by the villagers with a vengeance…instead of being revered. The Langurs ranked as low a vermin as rodents because of the damage that they would cause to crops. They simply don’t eat when they are hungry- they just decimate everything that is there in their vicinity – fruits, vegetables, flowers…


We were smart enough to know that you never ever confronted a pack of Langurs head on. Bad blood, old and bitter enemies we were- their Montegue to our Capulets- after all we had history of a cousin being carried away by Langurs and then being lured back and tempted into returning the child (such a mistake committed by my grandparents who got swayed by my aunt’s tears- the boy would have been happy with his foster family).


One fine morning Kakoli, Shankar and I decided to pay some attention to our health and went for a morning stroll in the village (surreptitiously of course- hey man, we had a rep to protect!!!) We were the master of all that we surveyed! We walked all the way to the paddy fields- hey it was ours ok, so we could go there whenever we wanted- so what if we were not allowed to do so!!! As we discussed important subject like what fish do we catch during siesta time and where do we roast it, how to prevent the smell/stink/ stench from permeating the air and other such significant matters of holiday polices- we saw a pack of Langurs sitting directly in front of us!!!


The naïve, silly, town mouse (that’s me) thought these Langurs were there so pay obeisance and show respect, after all we were the feudal lords and this was our fiefdom!!! The wise country mice (that’s Kakoli and Shankar) knew what this was- it was WAR!!! Survival of the … blah…blah… blah and all that jazz!!! It was them against us!!!


Sun Tsu in his Art of War describes how to “Attack by Stratagem” he says that it is “…rule in war … If quite unequal in every way, we can flee from him…” So like veteran generals and master tactician and strategists we waged war by the book!! We FLED!!! However the Alpha male of the pack was a war hardy general and had many a bloody, gory victory to his name!!! Like us he too believed that war should be fought by the book (old school after all, ancient heritage and all that!!) He took Sun Tsu’s rule of war to heart that said “…If five to one, to attack him; [Straightway, without waiting for any further advantage.]…” He ATTACKED!!!


So there we were… 3 valiant soldiers… fighting for the glory of saving ourselves from becoming monkey fodder and laughing stock of all primates of the world!!! It was indeed a sight to behold…country mice were dragging a screaming…howling…town mouse over the rugged terrains of the paddy field!!! Despite all that, we WON, surviving all adversities on our path!!! We managed to reach our stronghold where the enemy dare not step in, at least not now with so much reinforcement (villagers) around!!


The victorious soldiers returned to their fortress with all humility of the truly brave. Braves who fought and lived to tell the tale of a vicious battle that took place long… long …long ago on the difficult topography of a paddy field… one summer morning in Mohanpur.

Little Miss “Monkey Face”

She opens her small brown eyes and screws up her face in utmost irritation and anger – all directed at the person who dared to wake her up. With a frown, she shouts, “I said No!!! I will not get up now”. After series of tirade directed at the hapless soul who committed the sin of even considering waking her up - she raises her leg and commands- “press my leg” So grateful is everyone around her that she has ultimately deigned to wake up- all rush in to “press” her leg. “No – only Dada!!!” she bellow! (Dada- being her septuagenarian grandfather.)


Thus begins a ritual of coaxing and cajoling, along with a bizarre rite called “Hath- Pa- Tepa”, meaning pressing hands and legs. So “Dada” presses her feet and then she turns to her sides with her eyes closed and a satiated smile tugging very gently at the corner of her lips, and “Dada” continues pressing her hands and feet and scratching her back!!! Finally Her Highness deigns to wake up and get ready. She is finally persuaded to go to school and hopefully acquire some knowledge there. Halleluiah!!!


It seems that nature has constructed her in such a fashion that every time she opens her eyes – she would let her displeasure known to the whole wide world and all its relatives- near and far. I remember the first time I saw her, – boy was she angry!!! She was disgusted with the whole damn world and its friends, families and neighbours!!! How dare they??? I mean HOW DARE THEY!!!!


Ill-mannered bunch of people, who have absolutely no consideration for a person who is resting… do they have any sense at all??? Don’t they know that when some one is his or her bed… they shouldn’t be dragged out!!! Wasn’t there some lone wise guy who said “…my home is my castle… and I shall defend it” or some jazz like that!!! Sorry buddy whoever said “mi casa” is “su casa” was nothing but a moron!!! Yup, I guess that’s what she wanted to say when she was taken from the first place that she called home. Can’t blame her… she called that place home for 9 months (well, almost), she was happy there- she lived her life there… she did exactly what she pleased… ate when she wanted to, played when she wanted to, rested when she was tired, chilled out when she wanted to…chill (I guess). No one telling her what to do, when to eat, sleep, talk, keep quiet, walk, run…no do this… do that…Nothing… nada… zilch!!! A truly “I am the king of the world” kind of life!!!

So there she was- when I first saw her- just dragged out of her home- kicking, screaming at the injustice done to her!!! She was brought closed to me…near about a foot tall, face red with indignation; she raised her small red fist to protest against the ignominy she suffered at the hands of so called educated people and let out a loud stream of objection- her face screwed up and in an odd way that reminded me of a face of a little monkey!!!


Hence since the day I first laid my eyes on her, I christened her my “little Monkey Face”. She is my daughter – Pragya (that means Wise- or someone blessed with wisdom and prowess)!!!

Mothers and Clutters

During my childhood days my mom use to try desperately, to get my brothers and me organized!!! We of course believed in a different philosophy in life…we felt clutter in any form was “a thing of beauty…”, therefore, “a joy forever…” (With due apologies to Keats)

The three of us had our own way of organizing our stuff- Junior would draw roads and streets, and crossing on the floor and fill up the streets with miniature (dinky- Matchbox series) cars, planks of ply boards that would serve as flyovers and bridges. Of course if you draw with chalks it can be wiped away so Junior use to use nothing less then wax crayons!!! Those as the world knows CANNOT be wiped away and therefore destroy all his efforts and well laid out streets!!! His bed would have my hockey stick that served as shift gear and various other thingamajigs and whatchamacallits as various other motor parts. I remember locating my long lost compass and dividers there once…wonder what that was for…??

Senior- what does one say about Senior!!! Well, he was an ardent fan of S.T. Coleridge and believed only in sleep. Like STC said “…It is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole…”
Following in the footsteps of Mark Twain who once said that, “I have never taken any exercise except sleeping and resting…” This summed up his philosophy of life- then!!! I think my mom describes it best- he was a like a crocodile – the same way that crocs would come out of water and bask in the sun- Senior too would often be found stretched out on his stomach in bed (morning, noon and night) with his eyes shut, glasses still perched on his nose, body perfectly still… studying… contemplating… meditating and of course doing rigorous exercise. All around him would be mountains of books. He is the family genius !!!

As for yours truly- I was so much more refined then senior and junior- I was spick and span-I would NEVER Ever stoop to cluttering up things!!! Puh-lease, its so beneath me!!! I believed in the saying what you can’t see… does not exist!!! So one would never see any clutter of clothes in my room (they were arranged in a very well thought-out carefully careless manner in my cupboard- behind closed doors if you please) I was so well organized- I had kept a cache of books handy on, in and under my bed just to take good care of any urge that would strike for a particular book. I believed in the scouts motto – “Be Prepared” one never really knows at exactly what moment of time in your life do you have a urgent need for a particular book or apparel- so be prepared and keep everything together. Ah! The bliss of being prepared for all life’s eventualities!!!!

No matter how “cluttered” as others felt-(read mom) our beds, desks and cupboard use to be… we would managed to find our stuff in that “arrangement”

My dear mother tried and tried to get us to her way of “arranging” things, but we had selective hearing hence it would all fall on “temporary” deaf ears!!! Then of course the inevitable would happen… mom would go ballistic!!!!

However … as we were taught… “every cloud has a silver lining”… this too had its upside- after having a go at us… poor mom would feel so upset that to assuage our (so called) hurt feeling and her guilt for having a go at us… she would proceed to cook up a storm of our favourite food!!!
It wasn’t long before we (actually it was my “Eureka” moment) realized that the sure shot way to a great meal was to do stuff that Ma hated like fighting, throwing things around, leaving shoes, books , clothes at every nook and cranny possible, messing up the bed etc, etc we did manage to compile a list.

We are all blessed with inordinate amount of intelligence (not to be judged by academic results!! What do teachers and professors know anyway!!!). We soon found a way to mold the situation to our advantage.

What followed was nothing less then “Mission Impossible”. Like veteran strategists we would plan and mess up our books, beds, cupboards, rooms… in general the entire house and then proceed on to a well choreographed stage fight with complete sound effects…and … Voila!!! Mission accomplished!!!

First there would be a blast of a miniature (mom is diminutive in structure … like me) nuclear devise (for want of better words!!!) That would be followed by lip smacking, finger licking, and mouth watering scrumptious food!!! QED!!!

The trick of course was never to overdo and ensure it was NOT an oft repeated event- once or twice a month was good enough for us! Rest of the days- we could manage with whatever was served- if we didn’t like it – Junior would eat milk and chapatti (dudh rooti as he called it) I would eat milk and steamed rice that was dusted liberally with sugar and as for Senior… well he ate very thing on earth!!!

Life, they say come to a full circle… As the saying goes “What goes round …comes around”, “As you sow, so shall you reap”, Blah… Blah…Blah!!! Who on Earth ever thought of such silly, stupid and utterly, disgustingly, true stuff??? I guess they thought these up just to torment wonderful, stupendous, terrific people like us!!! I bet they never knew anything better!!! I bet its all Adam’s fault- why on earth did he have to eat that damn apple!!!!

I realized that I am more like my mom then I thought… I like to see my home neat, clean, tidy, closets and cupboards organized, pots, pans, containers “arranged” in order of size, spice jars labeled kept in order, shoes kept inside the shoe rack and the door or the rack firmly shut, clothes neatly ironed and segregated!!! Does this make me a control freak??

So for last 8 years I am trying to get my husband to pick up the wet towel which he loves to dump on the bed (particularly on the pillow in an artistic pile), get him to put his wallet, mobile phone, i-card, watch, glasses in one place instead of all over.

Like any other optimist I live with the fervent wish that there will be a day when miracles of miracle will happen and the wet towel along with wallet, car keys, watch, glasses, phone etc, etc would finally find their desired destinations…

I dream of a day when my daughter would pick up her “babies”, toys, cooking utensils, etc and put them where they are suppose to be instead of ordering the entire household around to do that for her…

I live for the day when my family members will not sing “here comes the Mad Hatter!!!” every time I want to loose my temper when my home is disorganized (makes it difficult to loose my temper…particularly when my daughter would come and ask me – “Mamma, are you a Mad Hatter!!!”)

I guess all mothers when they see “clutters” turn into “Mad Hatters”

D& I

My first impression of D was that she hardly spoke to anyone or hardly went out to make friends. But boy she was pretty!!! All pink and plump and pretty!!! Bit of a mad hatter really… and scruffy to the power infinity!!! She was forever running late, her uniform was barely there…. Shirt half undone…. Skirt hastily fastened…. Belt hanging from its loop… socks bunched at her ankle…canvas shoes completely dirty and in desperate need of wash and a coat of paint and hair that had not seen a comb in a long time. But was she pretty and prickly at the same time!!!!

Initially though we were in the same class, we were not really friends. We were rather unlike each other… she was quiet and taciturn and I was boisterous and considered an extrovert. We were just about starting to form a bond when I moved to another city. Here I was in an alien city, I knew no one, couldn’t relate to the culture, I was lost! To compound my agony, my paternal uncle, who I always was much attached to, passed away. I was devastated. I had not learnt that you were supposed to grieve when you loose your loved ones.

I was always shy, but to hide this inadequacy, I developed a confident brash front. I was really good at this and managed to fool almost all. However I was ill equipped to deal with emotional upheavals. I started to retreat into my shells. I never made too many friends my entire life and being the introvert kind - it also made life difficult as I had very few people close to me. I just gave up, but not D.

Just before D and I had separated we had stated to build a bond- those days we use to write letters. We wrote to each other every week. Then I stopped. Not she. Every week the letters kept coming, I would read them and never reply. Slowly after couple of months and one moment of great catharsis, I became human again. Till date I am grateful to her that she never gave up upon me. I think somewhere I would have lost myself, had she given up on me.

As years rolled by, I came back to my old city (where D lived) and we became much closer. I confided in her- my joys, fears, frustrations, anger, irritation, aspirations, love, crush, infatuation, heartbreak- she has seen it all. And all through – she stood by me.

She taught me how to groom myself, how important it was to make an effort and try and look presentable and not scruffy at all my public appearance. We shared our love for books, music, movies, dancing and the desperate need to be free, independent strong amidst a traditional society. We had similar hopes and aspirations of life. Through it all- she had a great air of vulnerability and I was at my bravado best. She became the mirror in which I see myself. Very recently she told me, “…you are closer to me then my own sisters…” Strangers often mistok us for sisters.

Her life has not been an easy one- she never knew pain and hardship and after her wedding- which was much against the better judgment of her parents- who only relented as the groom was related to me, she knew nothing but pain.

I lived under perpetual guilt and pain knowing this would sound the death knell of a relationship that span over 20 years. What broke my heart and spirit was that somewhere I was responsible for inflicting this pain on her. I have always been rather intrepid and upfront with her- for the 1 st time I did not have the courage to face her- I avoided her parents and was selfishly afraid of loosing my mainstay to sanity. I was afraid of loosing her. I kept praying "If only..."

They say when penance is real, it even moves the Gods. I remember telling D as to how sorry I was for all the pain that came into her life because of me and that I was grateful to her that she did not let all this pain and unpleasantness in her life ruin what we had- and she in her eternal wisdom said that I was more important and whatever was to happen would happen and no one can really stop it.

I always felt protective about her and felt that I was stronger and she was more vulnerable. I couldn't have been more wrong. She only looked fragile but deep inside, her life had toughen her enabling her to rescue me from myself.

We were both once told by a sadhu that we were related by previous birth. We apparently were mother and daughter in previous birth. I don’t know about previous life but if Dr Brian Weiss is to be believed – that soul families travel together, then I would want my mother/daughter to travel with me in all my next births. As a Hindu- we believe in soul and that it keeps taking newer form or rebirths.

Today D is a mother and has a daughter whose name means “Incomparable”. As long as I live D would be “Incomparable” in my life.

Music and Words

Ever since my childhood I have been surrounded by music. I remember the times when listening to popular/ film music was sort of frowned upon as it would destroy/ corrupt our taste in the classics. I was the only person in the house who would listen to a popular/ film music- of course always on the sly. I remember my dad and uncle selecting music with lots of care before playing.... music to suit the time of day... Indian classical musical also has predefined time of performance

Once I started school, catholic and missionary music started to influence me, as I learnt hymns, psalms, I also learnt popular western music. I had to bring this music home. My mother taught me to share so I shared with my elder sibling. Soon he became my partner in crime and we we collude to listen to western popular music on the youth channel on state radio (Yuva Vani) under the pretext of waiting to listen to the weekly inter school quiz contest that was so popular in 70s – Bournvita Quiz Contest (Today this programme runs on telly)

By age 10 my parents decided that as I had an interest in music, I should learn. So I started training in Indian Classical music. Boy! Was it tough!!!! I lived under this preconceived notion that as I could carry a note – I must be a darn good singer!!!! How the mighty fall!!!! I soon learnt that it was not as easy as it seems. One had to practice and practice and practice and practice – hours after hours, days after day in order to provide some modicum of flexibility and modulation to ones voice. I HATED SCALES!!!! Here I was practicing scales (not to mention how horribly by elder brother imitated me to all and sundry) , while my neighbour and classmate was singing songs- SONGS that had words and were sung by everyone but me!!!! Would my tutor give me songs… oh no!!! My voice wasn’t ready!!!! What did he know!!!! What did I know?!!!???

Today, I wish, I had practiced scales (irrespective of my snooty neighbour and pest of a brother) then I wouldn’t have had to live with the greatest regret of my life of not being able to sing!!!
However, the positive thing that happened was I was able to expand my horizon in terms of my taste in music. Once again it the same sibling of mine- pest of an elder brother, who helped take my love for music to another dimension. Thanks to him I learnt to enjoy legendary rock bands like Queen, Deep purple, Scorpion, Black Sabbath, Jethro Tull, I enjoyed Jazz sung by Cosby, Louis Armstrong, Dean Martin (love him) Old blue eyes- Sinatra, Englebert. It wasn’t long before I discovered the magic of western classical music. So other then rap (can’t understand a word and when I do the profanities hurt my sensibility) I can say my taste is varied and listen to all kinds of music- rock, pop, jazz, classical, semi classical, sufi, folk.

Music is an extension of my self. It has an amazing influence on my life and psyche. If I am at work and need to concentrate on something. If I feel low, happy it all culminates in music. I love falling asleep to the strains of music.

The bard wasn’t very wrong when he said, “when music be the food of love, play on”, however I wish he had said food of life instead