Snippets from a CCU-DEL flight

First scenario- Smiling KF air hostess distributing Times of India and Indian Express

“Sir, paper for you?”

“Yes.”

“Which one would you prefer? Times of India or the Indian Express?”

“Aajkal*”

“Sorry Sir?”

“No Bengali paper?” accompanied by arched eyebrows.

“No Sir. We have Times of India and Indian Express.”

“But flight is from Calcutta. No Telegraph also?”. Arched eyebrows prevailing large.

“Sorry Sir, but we have only these two.”

“You must at least keep The Telegraph.” Arched eyebrows replaced by a teacher-student tone.

“Yes, Sir. In the meanwhile would you like Times…”

“No, no.”

Followed by a “Tssst” and a rather deep sigh.

Second scenario- Same smiling airhostess offering breakfast

“Sir, some vegetable upma for you?”

“No. Non veg”

“Sorry Sir. We are offering only vegetarian today.”

“Why?” (Look of utter surprise) “I have given non-veg option while booking the flight.”

“Sorry Sir. There is only vegetarian food for breakfast today.”

At this point the wife tugs at the gentleman’s sleeves. “Shunchho niye nao. Eta chhara aar kicchu debey na. (Listen please take it. They will not give us anything else.)”

Scenario three- Above mentioned wife opens the fruit cup

“E ma! Aam dey ni! Iiissh! Baaje flight ekta. Porer baar ticket ta dekhey keto. “(Oh no! They haven’t given any mangoes! Terrible flight this is. Next time, be careful before you book tickets.)”

This co-passenger, in the meanwhile, had to bite her hand to keep herself from laughing.

But, ahem, here is the deal.

You have a flight full of Bongs. From Calcutta. You have Calcutta Bongs on board. This is one species that thrives on fish. And chicken. And kochi pnatha (tender lamb). On very bad days the Bongs make egg curry to compensate the lack of proper non-veg in their diet. Langda** appears during dinner every night throughout summer. And every other family in Calcutta reads The Telegraph. In fact, I am quite sure that had my dad been on this flight, he would have grabbed both TOI and Indian Express and then asked for The Telegraph.

And by the way, I did cast that “No non-veg?” look when they offered the upma. I personally would have preferred The Telegraph for its crossword. And I would have definitely been happier with mangoes in my fruit cup. The pineapple was gooey anyways.

So, if you will excuse me now, I will go and get my dinner of fish curry and rice. And then R is going to slice the lovely langda we got from Calcutta. Which shall be followed by the  gur-*** er sandesh****.

Sigh! Talk about living to eat.

*A popular Bengali daily.

**A type of mango.

***Jaggery

****Typical Bengali sweet.

I am back.

Yes.I am back. I am doing good and my mind has sort of found a perspective to deal with the crisis mentioned in my last post.

First. The latest health bulletin.

After much prodding and probing, five doctors across two states in one country have decided that although my liver is enlarged and my gastric problems are persistent there is really nothing wrong with me internally. They have taken pictures of my entire abdomen from various angles and after reasonable nodding and serious “hmms”, “oohhs” and “aaahs” one very brave doctor finally took out a pen and inscribed upon a piece of paper “Diagnosis- Anxiety?” There was a question mark. Seriously. And I have been told that a little more prodding might be required in order to replace that question mark with a period.

So that’s that. I am feeling much better now though. The treatment and the step by step diagnosis would be a long drawn process and I would not want to waste one whole post ranting about the same.

But I simply MUST say this. The reason for which I have provided this update is because I owe it to some people. People who called me from halfway across the world, people who emailed me, commented on the last post and called R to get my updates.

I am very touched guys. Thank you. Each and every one of you. For your all your emails, calls, notes and messages. I cannot tell you how all of you have made me feel!

R appreciates this too. He has been well rested, well fed and is now back to his work.

Thanks guys! You all are such fab people!

On sickness, on crisis and on you being there

July has been a bit of a lemon in my mouth. I have been sick and going through some crisis as well. I have been categorically asked not to term it as a “crisis”, and maybe it is really not a crisis per se, but it has put me in a dilemma. And I have to make a choice. Between the devil and the deep sea.

But this post is not about the dilemma. It is not about the devil. Or my being sick.

This post is entirely about that one person who has been around. The one, whose support I couldn’t have done without.

Yes, my darling. This is about you.

You are my rock. You are the shoulder I cry on. You hold my hand. You make me laugh my blues out. You come down to the depths I get lost in and pull me out of there. You are my strength. You know when I need what. You know when I don’t need advise. Or when I need a surprise gift. You know what I am about to say. You listen to my cribbing. My whining. And my seemingly endless questions. Which always lead to more confusion. You don’t clear up my clouded thoughts but you always lend an ear. You keep yourself strong so that I can fall back. You make my evenings better. My nights more peaceful. And you give me enough strength to face the mornings.

I will get through this because you are here.

You are wonderful. You are my love. You make my world go round.

And to my readers, this person is Ritwik. I have seen a whole new him over the last two weeks.  He has come to the clinic with me for my appointments when things were serious. He started grocery shopping with me when I started forgetting and giving up. He got me a bag as a surprise gift when I was having a terrible day. He, the workaholic that he is, has come back home early every day. He heats up dinner. He watches what I eat.

He is a nice man. Ritwik is. God bless him. And God bless that determined chin set beneath those warm eyes.

On my best gifts.

This really flows from Preeti’s post last Sunday.

I didn’t think it would be so easy to pick out my best gifts. Because in my mind I had many of them, the best gifts. But I realized that in my heart I carried only two.

I had volunteered for Akansha (NGO for underprivileged children) for three years. I taught children who joined as 4 year olds and when I left them they were 7. This was their farewell gift to me. Two bookmarks saying “I Love You” and “You Seriously Rock”. Could I have asked for anything else? No. Did I cry when I left them? Yes. In plenty. Do I have a lump in my throat when I think of them? Yes I do. They were my children. They had given me the most blissful days in those years. They had given me peace in their laughter. They had, in their own way, helped me get through the toughest three years of my life.

This post is for them. For the children in Akansha. For the ones I miss the most in my life. For the twinkling eyes. For all that running around in the hot classroom. For the superhero Mondays. For Ismail, Krishna, Akshata and Megha. For the pattering of the little feet. For the bright days and the fun games.

It was never me. It was you who rocked. And I love you. All of you. Always.

It rained today…

…and look what I found when I got back home!

Couple of more updates:

A. My Yoga instructor told me that I have a problem in identifying “clockwise” and “anti-clockwise”. Which, I gather, essentially means that I have no sense of direction.

B. I watched “Rakhi’s Swayamvar” today for exactly ten minutes. I couldn’t take it beyond that. Fakeness really has its limits.

On the rains.

Let it rain.

There is much anger and pain to be washed away.

Let it rain.

There are many parched souls to be soothed.

Let it rain.

And the world might just see a better tomorrow through the fogged glass.

Sometimes it helps when the windows are fogged. And the raindrops trickle down the glass. Sometimes it gives one more clarity.

And I am hoping for more clarity. And for a lot of rain.

Picture courtesy: A flickr page

Dear Mr. Owl,

Hello! And welcome to my window sil. My bathroom window sil, to be precise. You have been there for over two weeks now and I have seen you and heard your voice. I have tried communicating with you. I have failed. Now I am compelled to write this letter to you. Yes, I hope, as I always do, that you would actually read this sometime.

So. Yes. It was nice initially having you around. Since you are the white owl (the proverbial “lokhhi pyancha”) my mother and mother-in-law were overjoyed and asked me repeatedly not to disturb you in any way. Not that I would have otherwise also. Even if you were the brown owl (what we call “hutum pyancha”). However, as much as I appreciate all the good luck you bring in to my home, I must, really must, tell you that I, erm, cannot stand the way your abode smells. And it is not only your abode. It is my bathroom. Actually, IT IS MY BATHROOM first. And so effectively, I cannot stand the way MY bathroom smells now. And I have tried everything before writing this letter. The incense sticks, candles, room freshner. Nothing has worked. And I am afraid it is getting a tad too much to bear with now.

But I can’t shoo you away. And you will not leave. And it goes without saying that I will NOT leave either. I have tried poking my head in and give you some notice. But you have been sleeping. All the time. And I never find you on the sil at night. And it is impossible to open that window anyway because of the smell, erm, the stink. I don’t know what you have out there but THAT, and whatever “THAT” might be, needs to go. Now.

So there! That’s what this letter is about. I am hereby assertively marking my territory and demanding that said territory be smell, err, stink free. And the burden lies on you, Mr. Owl! Gosh! Terrible manners you have, really! No consideration for your neighbors. None. Zilch. Zero. Whoever thought the proverbial white owl could be so utterly inconsiderate and rude!

*Sigh*! Why is there a flickering hope that you would appreciate my concerns, my plight sometime and make things easier for both of us?

Please, Mr. Owl! Give me a sign. Can we not make peace? You and I?

In anticipation,
The-much-distressed-Paroma

Earnest appeal to readers: Serious solution required. Please advice.

I want to

Lose my calendar

Lose my cell phone

Quit my job

Spend the next two years couch surfing

Wear a bandana more often

Get out of this city

Get out of this country

Run around in a park

Learn to make the perfect biriyani

Eat more of the perfect biriyani

Read more

Write more

Be a book critic

Buy a pair of Jimmy Choos. Now.

Spend the summer in New York City every year

Be bold enough to wear a bikini

Be bold enough to start on the work out needed to wear said bikini

Have a cottage by the beach

Start driving

Start expressing

Start living.

And I am

Not doing any of the above. Except the living. That I have already started. Life is too short to do the living bit any later.

And I cannot live without my cell phone. Or my planner.

*Sigh*!

Edited to add later: Since Suchismita loves tags, I tag her to this post of mine

I love New York City.

For the sense of independence it brought to me.

For the maddening pulse of Manhattan. For the crowds in Times Square.

For the one room apartments with wooden floorings and white washed walls. For the self sufficient grocery stores. For the self sufficient Starbucks. For self sufficient everything.

For the screening of independent films. For the walks in the snow, in the rain and the cold. For the summers in Central Park. For the plays, the literature, the music, the concerts and the culture.

For the cuisines and the restaurants.

For the clothes. For the stores on Fifth Avenue. For Grand Central.

For everything that the city offered and for everything that it did not.

For its character. For its spirit.

For there is but one New York City in the world.

One may love it, one may hate it. But one will never get over it. Such is the city.

Such is New York City.

Picture courtesy: A flickr page

Following Palin and Ms. Dowd.

If you follow Sarah Palin’s career and life as closely as I do, you must read Ms. Dowd’s column in the New York Times on July 5 and July 8.

She is brilliant! Ms. Dowd I mean. So is Sarah Palin, in her own ways. Read and you will know why.

So long folks!

Edited to add later – I was reading these columns in office and literally had to bite my hand to keep myself from laughing out loud!