How many of our cities should burn before...

...someone actually does something about it? The November 26, 2008 attacks in Mumbai have made the world sit up and take notice because for the first time foreign nationals were targeted in India. But let us not forget that in the last two years, we have been switching on the television to a scene of carnage at some part of the country almost every other month . Bomb blasts across the Indian Metros have chalked up enough bodies to put any war-torn country to shame. So, what has been the response by our security agencies so far ?

Blasts in Delhi led to several arrests and Delhi police boasted that they had broken the ring of terrorism. The Anti-Terrorist Squad was in the news till yesterday owing to the arrests of army personnel involved in the Malegaon Blast Case. Today the ATS is in news because of their Chief Hemant Karkare's death in last night's attack.

So, we come back to the question, what has our police and intelligence sources accomplished so far? Going by the 27 hour-and-still-going-siege on our financial capital- a big zero!

Since our beloved Prime Minister's stoic speech did nothing to convince anybody of our proactive retaliation, the only bright spot in the day so far has been the decisive action taken by the Army and commandos in killing the terrorists and freeing the hostages. They have done their job. Now only if our police investigators can make some progress based on the bodies recovered.

Of course, this attack will probably force our authorities to be more pro-active as it involved foreign nationals and the "moneyed-folk" as they say. Gives one a bad taste in their mouth to acknowledge that without the "international" angle, this story probably wouldn't have garnered as much attention and action.

At this point, I just hope this at least forces our security forces to take action.

Meanwhile, this incident again raises the question of the state of our national security. Maybe at this point, our policy makers should re-evaluate our border security and invest in building a stronger system involving ID cards and biometric data for people traveling in and out of the country. I am sure this statement will raise many eyebrows because being majorly landlocked, our borders are considered almost un-securable at this point. But as we are already realising, India has grown to be noticed as a major player by international governments as well as terrorists. The new India also needs new security. Before another city pays the price and burns in the flames of terrorism.

Showbiz

Short Story

It might have been years, but Miss Monica still turned heads. Regal in her posture and dressed in an elegant kurta, she seem to float in to the dressing room. The hustle bustle of the backrooms were familiar and nostalgic to her. Even though she was much older than many of the nubile young things running around her, she knew time had been kind to her. Men still had the admiring look in their eyes when they saw her. She made sure of that every morning, standing in front of the mirror for hours.

After a final look at her make up, Miss Monica stood up as elegantly as possible (just to give the young 'ones' a taste of real grace!) and glided out in to the garden where today's scene was being shot. Finding a shaded spot to stand, she surveyed the scene. Camera's were being set up, shouted commands and exaggerated hand movements indicating the directors and producers who were used to being noticed. Running around were also a whole band of sweating men, workers behind the scene who made the movies possible.

Meaningless to many, this scene was very dear to Monica. It excited her to think she was part of this scene, this movie, this great work of art. She felt like she was 17 again, when she first came into this business. The lights and money had dazzled her then. Now, she just smiled a knowing smile at the new girls who were coming into the business today. Their flushed and nervous face easily set them apart.

The commotion was slowly calming down. Everything was almost in place. Chairs were being brought in and chilled cokes being readies on trays to be served to the director. Beach umbrellas have been already set up to shade the delicate skins of the actors and actresses.

It was almost time. Monica went through her lines again in her mind. A perfectionist, she knew she had to deliver the correct line with the right emotion. She had practiced for hours for the past three weeks for this scene. She was startled out of her reverie by a voice behind her , "Okay every one; Get ready!"

Putting on her acting face, Miss Monica gracefully swayed into the market scene. With the shout of "Action", the stationary people sprang into action, turning the area into a busy market place. Monica started walking hurriedly, a woman hurrying home, and ran into the handsome hero. She faltered so genuinely that even a few people around her almost reached out to save her. Righting herself on cue, she turned around and shouted "battameez, dekhai nahin deta! (Shameless, can't you see?)". And turned around in a perfect huff and stomped off. At the shout of "cut", she relaxed and let her face relax into a natural expression.

The day was over. It was no use hanging around for her. She headed for the dressing room to take her make up off and then head home. Though 300 Rupees was not much, but these days anyone hardly paid so much for a few minutes work. After all, opportunities for 50 year old extras were not easy to come by anymore.

Rain

Short Story

The downpour was so unexpected that she was caught unprepared. The sun had been merciless in the past few weeks and the skies clear. 'No reason to carry an umbrella now ; was there?' she grumbled to herself. To make things worse, she had been caught between her school and home, on a straight desolate piece of road that had only one bus stop and nothing else. Her track and field skills came handy in the dash to a relative shelter. "I am already wet!" she thought disgustedly and was about to wring her skirt when she noticed she wasn't alone. Standing at the corner was a man..no a boy a little older than her, holding an umbrella open. "Why does he need an umbrella...the bus stand has a shade?" she thought to herself. Then she realised the rain water was leaking from the tin roof at that corner. But still she found it strange that the boy hadn't moved to a drier area.

The sudden rain seems to go on endlessly. It was getting dark. She fidgeted. No one else had come into the bus stop. It was a strange and awkward silence that hung between and her solitary company who didn't turn to face her even once. The silence pressed down until she could almost feel it pressing down on her back, and she was about to blurt something out when the rain suddenly stopped. The boy suddenly turned towards her, nodded and left. And it was as if someone had switched off the mute button, she could hear beyond the silence. But it was time to go home and her bus was there.

She hated rain. It made the world look grey, made her socks wet before she reached school and she would end up feeling the soggy things throughout the day. It had been raining since Monday now. Not even three days and things were looking even worse as her friend has managed to sit on her umbrella accidentally and break it. She would have to run for the bus stop again in the rain today.

But today she noticed the boy before she managed to hop the puddle before the bus stop. He turned to look at her and the acknowledgement somehow flattered her. She smiled hesitantly and asked "Which school do you go to?" He mumbled the name of her own school. Strange she doesn't remember seeing this boy before. But then she hardly looks at every boy in the school and he looked like a senior student. Her thought was interrupted as suddenly the rain took a break. She was disappointed. She had to wait for the bus and the boy will leave like the other day. But the boy simply shut his umbrella and waited. She must have looked enquiringly at him for he answered "I am waiting". "Waiting? for what or who?" she thought but then her bus was there and she had to make her way through jostling, wet people. She managed to peek through the bus window. The shelter was empty, the boy had left. It was impossible to see if he had boarded the bus. She sighed and her thought switched back to her history test.

"I am Tanima," she introduced herself on their fifth date. "Date?...ha ha, I am going mad," she thought. She seemed to keep meeting this strange boy at this bus stop just by herself. "Gaurav" he said without turning and then suddenly stepped off into the rain and left. She was startled and a little hurt at such a curt response. Like she cared!

But she did. It gnawed and gnawed at her for the next four days. The rain took a break for some days also. The sunny weather cheered her up and she almost forgot about her mysterious man . Then on Thursday she almost collided with him in her dash to avoid the rain. "Do you take the bus everyday?" the boy asked. She was startled and simply nodded. "Will you come tomorrow?" the boy again asked. "Yes, probably." "Will you wait for me then," he asked. She was too confused to do anything but nod in agreement. He smiled a dazzling happy smile, and then took off in a run through the rain. She was flustered and her cheeks were hot. Did the boy like her?

She had felt this great anticipation the whole day next day and could wait till the bell rang and she ran to the bus stop. It was empty. But he did ask her to wait, didn't he? So she waited. And waited. The rain was cold. It started to grow darker and darker. Still she waited. Finally, she left. Feeling bitter and embarrassed for having fallen for something so ridiculous.

"Will you wait for me?" she woke up with a start with that voice in her head. And sneezed. She had managed to catch a cold thanks to her fruitless waiting. As she dozed off after having medicine, she whispered in her mind "But I waited and you never came!"

The boy held his handout and asked "I was waiting for you, shall we go?" Tanima felt happy and walked out with him.

Tanima's death shook everyone because no one had thought her cold was that bad. Her fever had climbed dangerously and she simply never woke up.

........

Rajiv wished he had never transferred to a new school mid season, specially during monsoon. He hates rain. He was getting drenched to the bone as he dashed to the only bus stop in the vicinity. He was about to repeat a few choicest curses he had picked up recently when he noticed the girl in the corner. Always sure of his good looks, he turned and said "Hi, I am Rajiv".

"I am Tanima."

Swiss Cows and Jingling Bells!

First of all let me apologize for the long hiatus (under the assumption that someone gives a damn!...oh well self- delusion can do wonders for your ego). It was partly due to a spur of the moment trip to the Swiss Mountains where I met the incredible Swiss cows that are said to give 20 liters of milk a day (India is never going to make a dent in the chocolate market for sure). Even though I am not into travelogues like my fellow blogger Illusions, I think I need to share a few bits of this trip with you all.

Traveling in and out of UK is very very expensive. I swear if they could charge you for breathing the British air, they would. Anyway, we paid a sweet sum for our three day guided tour, which incidentally started from Heathrow Airport and ended there, leaving us the task to arrange for transport to and from the airport itself. Now for all those who are familiar with my location, I live around 70 miles to the south of London and it takes about 2 hours or more to get to the airport, whatever travel mode you adopt. But the sweetest thing was the flight time - 8.50 am, which meant we had to report at 6.50 am, since it was a international flight. This meant we had to leave Ipswich by 4.30am at least. And nothing runs that early in the morning except Taxis, which of course would have cost us half the amount of the while tour package itself. Add to the the return flight at 9.15pm put us in the same situation again.

So, brilliant as I am, I found the perfect solution. Hire a car, drive to a paid parking lot near Heathrow and let it rot there for three days! That was the cheapest and most flexible arrangement that I could find. And it was such a waste of the car hire that it literally hurt for me to agree to my own idea! But agree I did. And that worked out pretty well at the end.

Now the other interesting bit would be our tour itself. Right after we landed in Zurich and boarded the coach that would take us everywhere during the tour, our guide took charge, who I will call the EnergyBunny (as in Duracell) for the sake of anonymity. He told us that while on the tour he is the boss, and when he whistles (which no other European evidently does) we are all to come to heel. And for the next three days, his ear splitting whistle had us all running. As one of us commented, we felt like it was a school trip.

To maintain our strict and hectic schedule, we also had to go on command. Yes, all those of you who are snickering, we were always shown the toilets and told to do our thing in the given time. Talk about potty training! And in the end, as one fellow sufferer pointed out, we all saw more Swiss toilets then landmarks in these three days. But I was personally very happy to have my own sat nav to toilets!

And then there was the whole charm of travelling in the group - the parents who could never get their kids ready and set on time, the ladies who were always late because they kept freshening up their make up and the occasional lovey dovey couples who just had to take the perfect shot. And the sound of the sharp whistle followed by our guide's bellow bringing us all running to the coach. In between, he also kept us entertained with jokes, song, games.....and a constant stream of information - like why do Swiss cows wear bells of different size? Anyone interested? Well it seems, bells of different size creates a sort of melody when the cows move, instead of a cacophony that would result if all the bells sounded the same. And this melody, reportedly, causes the cows to give more milk! ( Is the milk industry walah in India reading this?)

All in all, it was a unique and memorable and hopefully the only guided trip I will ever take. Now if you all would excuse me, I need to go unwrap that Swiss Dark Chocolate that is waiting for me....ciao!

Here is a Swiss sunset to wrap it up

Its a bronze, its a bronze....

Mere Desh ki dharti sona ugle...ahem I mean bronze ugle. Never mind Abhinav's Gold...we now have a bronze as well! Each metal counts yaar. Specially this representative of a emaciated, and malnutritioned country has gone on to flip Americans and Belorussian, who we all know are definitely stronger, heftier, taller....able to kill you by simple sitting on you types! Just goes you to show desi ghee mein kitna dam hain. Sorry folks got carried away by the vernacular idioms. Well, anyways I am glad we got at least one more medal. Better then none.

Desires

Lost I feel
In my own desires
A need to move on
Unable to run

Wrapped I am
In Chains of my own
When one breaks
Another one grows

Like Slip Knots
Are these desires
I dare not unravel
For they hold me together

I drown on dry land
A quagmire of my own
Gravity pulls down
while dreams fly off

The ticking of the clock
Fuels my impatience
I need to move
But I have strong roots

More time, more time
I howl to the moon
The orb stays silent
And desolation abounds

The landscape of my heart
Empty yet full
Too much to sort through
No space to place anew

But time still flows
Thicker everyday
Washing away
The remains of the day


And I brood over a pile
Of uncensored thoughts
Sorting through my desires
Discarding them all

WALL-EEEEEEEEEE!

As the title would indicate, I just came from watching this very beautiful animated story. Not only does it meet the standard of Nemo and The Incredibles, you even come away with some very strong modern day messages.

Wall-E ( I am not telling you what it stands for and spoil your fun) is a wide eyed, rust buckety and curious robot. The eyes kept reminding me of the famous E.T. Anyways, he here is in a desolate wasteland, chugging away at a designated task that holds no meaning and beginning to develop a quirky personality and utter loneliness, with only a insect for company.

Enter the love interest - beautiful, streamlined, advanced - EVA. And Wall-E falls for her with all his bolts and nuts! But its not that simple. In EVA's mission lies the history of Wall-E's existence and the future of mankind. A little sapling of life then takes these two in an incredible journey, where they fall in love and save the earth!

Sounds like a simple Hollywood flick? NO Sir! Running in the backdrop of this sweet and mostly funny story is the theme of modern day consumerism, carbon foot prints, depleting resources, and all other environmental issues that concern us today.

So do go and see this story. If you are a kid at heart, you will enjoy the well made animation. If you are the environmentally conscious kind, you will come away marveling at how the messages have been delivered couched in a simple children's animation. As everybody ends up saying in the movie, "WAAAAALLLLL-EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"

I need my scratch post

Almost a month of being cooped up in this little town is driving me out of my mind! I am craving like a junkie for a break (no actual experience of that though), or a scratch post! If any of you wondered the significance of my alias, where here it is - I am a definitely a feline creature, literally. The thought of getting my claws into a nice wood bean is right now very appealing. Its either that or a human substitute. But I think that may border on homicide. These are the days I wish I was cat, to be able to actually scratch some unsuspecting tree to ribbons, or curl up on afternoon sun and laze.

I am not very good at being cooped up - both figuratively and literally. The moment I feel some stagnancy creeping into my life, the whole need for scratch post materializes. I feel the urge to do something, push forward, change something....just do something. The feeling is so strong that the more saner urge to temper it only results in restless energy by the oodles. Like they say, something gotta give soon. Oh dear me, my claws are itching (snick! snick!)

....pppuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrfeeeeeeeeeeccccct!!!!!!!!!!

For the love of the written word..

I was having a discussion recently about whether book readers are dwindling in number. Without any proper statistics to back any argument, all I could put forward was the almost all of my friends are voracious readers. Of course, that earned me the "your friends are as freaky as you" look.

Nevertheless it got me thinking. I was a book worm since I could read. And most of my friends also started early. Now though, I rarely come across any youngster interested in a book. Does that mean the the next generation will not be readers? Or can people pick up the love of reading at any age?

Being a reader has done me lot of good in life. Not so much to do with enlightening me but to give me a better alternative to perhaps television or video games? Oh wait, we didn't have cable television when I was growing up! Coming back to topic, books can often take your mind of the stressful life and for a few hours take you through an entirely different world. I think books stay with you more then movies. I can be biased though.

I wonder if it will do good if we start shoving a comics in a kids hand rather the TV remote? I rather see someone buried nose deep in paper then the idiot box or Nintendo. But the it's just me. In the meantime, I hope books continue to exist and be written until I cease to exist. That way I can read till I die!

Birds I View!

While sorting through my huge collection of photographs this weekend I realized I have been a little partial to my feathered friends and have a sizeable collection of pictures that can be titled BIRDS! Well, being the generous soul that I am, I thought I share. Also, as my muse seems to be vacationing somewhere warm, this is a space filler for you all readers!

She could take it back

She will take it back someday........

For all the Pink Floyd fan's, these lines will probably jar the memory as being the refrain for their song "Take it Back' from Division Bell. For all those who are not familiar, the video of the song shows Nature striking back for all that we are put her through.


While this theme isn't new, it had never seem so realistic before. With rising concern over global warming, changing weather patterns, alarmingly receding glaciers and an increase in devastating natural disasters - the threat of Nature taking it all back seems to be more a reality then the theme of a song.

We used to read in the school about the possible results of ice caps melting. Today I wonder of there will much of the ice cap left to read about in the text books in future. Here is some before and after looks at the known glaciers. Well, I am off to build the Ark folks!

With some luck..

In a recent conversation with my intellectually inclined father, he suddenly told me - no one can achieve any remarkable success without some luck! My knee jerk reaction was to deny it. But then I mulled over it a bit and realized it was partially true. And then I mulled over it a little longer and realized 'By god, it is true!"

Of course this so-called second hand epiphany did nothing for my sour mood. Because my subsequent thoughts were - so we can never achieve anything in life even if we are extremely talented, unless we are also lucky. Because we can have talent and bad luck and never go anywhere with that talent. Depressing thought there. And where does it out the other contradictory epiphany of "where there is a will there is a way!"'.


Can some one succeed on just sheer talent and will, even if luck never favors them? Of course, we have seen semi-talented people make it big in this world because they had the lucky break. More personally speaking, does that mean I can write deliciously and come up with zilch if lady luck turns away. Bad bad epiphany. I liked my naivety before where I believed it was all destiny, which sounded so much better and solid than luck. Luck always follows in my brain with the word fickle. Can't I just pair luck with lottery and greatness with destiny? It sounds a little less scary.

Coming back home...

For everyone of us who have left home to go far away, whether it was another state or another country, coming back home is always a bittersweet experience. Some only see the dust and dirt and some can smell the sweet air of home.

I remember the winter breaks when I was in school. We used to travel to Kolkata where the majority of the relatives stayed. Even though we enjoyed the warmer weather and meeting friends, as the vacation drew to its end, my feet will get restless and my heart will start fussing. It was time to go home.

We use to fly to either Silchar or Guwahati in Assam and then drive our little town of Haflong. It wasn't until we reached half way to Harangazao that the whole "I am almost home" feeling would hit.

We used to stop in Harangazao in the little tea shops for a break and as we stretched and took in the fresh and cold mountain air, it will smell like home. Some thing will flutter in my heart and it will not stop until I was back well inside my house.

Now that I am globe trotting, the feeling hits me the moment I step outside the airport. You can hear the buses, cars, honks and occasional crows crowing and all you can think is "Damn, it feels good to be home!" And if you don't feel it that's fine.

But there is that one little ingredient necessary to make any place feel like home. Good memories and friends. As they say, home is where the heart is. If you don't have either about a place, there is little there to make it a home. So whatever is home to you, whether its a place or even just a house - you should have someplace to come home to.

We the outsiders!

What happens when you fear being an outsider in your own country? I am referring to the ever growing trend of regionalism and separatism that seem to have caught on globally. And for a country like India, which is a kaleidoscope of cultures and ethnic origins, the possibilities are rather terrifying.

Take for instance the Jaipur bombing. Two days after the bombing, when news trickled out that a Bangladesh based terrorist organization was allegedly involved, the reaction over the table was very disturbing. All Bangladeshis will be rounded up and interrogated, I was told by one person. Which than translated to anyone speaking Bengali will be rounded up. Since the instances of mob justice have grown in the past few months in India, can anyone be blamed for fearing such a situation? Will a mob know the difference between a Indian Bengali and a Bangladeshi? To that matter, what will be the fate of those legal migrants from Bangladesh who probably have been in India since Independence. Will the angry, scared mob think twice?

The answer I am tempted to say is no. But since it has not happened yet, I will reserve my judgment and keep my fingers crossed in hope. But, aren't we, collectively the mob, being encouraged to pick on the outsider in the name of regional pride these days? Mumbai and Thackeray comes to mind, Assam and ULFA comes to mind, and numerous other outsiders will soon be feeling the brunt of being not in their own backyard very soon if the trend continues.

So what is the alternate? Last time I looked I was an Indian and India was my country. But should I now stay where I was born or where my mother tongue is spoken. Will I be an outsider in my own country, if I am in the wrong city or province. Are all our labor over writing those 'Unity in Diversity" essays in school going to waste? For a country which stood united and fought for its freedom barely half a century ago, isn't it deplorable that we took no time to fall apart and tear at each other at the name of regionalism?

MS Paint on a leisure time

The art of communication is not lost....

..its just hiding behind the television set. I read this phrase long back in Reader's Digest I think. Then television was the baddest influence on our culture and people still met over coffee, not orkut. Not that I have anything against that medium. But a recent blog by a fellow scribbler brought the whole new age communication thing into my mind and I set down to blog it.

Since my work is all about communication, I have found myself unconsciously eaves dropping on other peoples communication style - picking up the good bits and trying to avoid what doesn't work. This has also led me to realise there is a huge difference between the good communicators and the bad communicators, and it has nothing to do with their intelligence or other skills.

A lot of very intelligent and smart people fail to make the right impression or get their point across because they either cannot communicate properly or do not care to communicate properly. And I have also met many excellent communicators who can sell you the Moon. And somewhere in the middle are the truly exceptional jewels who measure their words, edit their sentences while speaking, pause at the right time, emphasize the right words....to create a crisp, clear communique that leave a great impression.

I remember back in my journalism class, we had a lecture by P. Sainath, the Magsaysay award winner journalist. He was slated to speak on Ethics in Journalism. In he walks into a class of 65 odd brats who have nothing better to do then tear the speaker apart at the first chance. And he starts by asking what we know of the Hiroshima Bombing. Did we know about the Australian reporter who was in Japan at that time and was the first to reach Hiroshima and report? No?

And then he told the story of this reporter who knew nothing about what had happened, and continued to report of the horrors until the Australian media was forced to block his report due to international pressure. He spun the ethics angle on it by and by and we were hooked. The story was told with such finesse that you could have heard a pin drop in that lecture hall. And I will always remember having met such a brilliant communicator in my life.

Of course, I have aslo come across Actors, celebrities, politicians, authors - who are able to deliver their sentiments in words or writing, precisely and concisely. And somehow I have always wished I can reach that level of communication in whatever media I choose to communicate in.

Getting back to the original argument, I feel in today's world of media exposure and trial by television, communication is not hiding behind the television set anymore, it is being flaunted in front of the camera and put up in Youtube. And we should take note and start dotting our i's and crossing our t's and try our darnest best to get our point across - or be lost somewhere in the editor's table.

El Laberinto del fauno

Or The Pan's Labyrinth is a movie that reminds me of the many intricately woven shawl I have seen in the north eastern India. The story weaves the threads of a Grimm's like fairy tale on to the cruel and dark story of the real world. Its Visually astonishing and heart rending in its story telling. A feast in any sense.

The story is told often in the lilting Spanish which itself lends a unique cadence to the story's own mythical quality. A long long time ago lived a Princess, the Daughter of the king of the woods...............who had dared to come into the world and had been lost in all humanity. But the story goes that the father always waited for his daughters soul to come back into the underworld kingdom.

Flash forward to 1944, Spain. Fascist troupes are crushing the rebels hiding in the mountains. In this scene enters the Fascist Captains heavily pregnant wife and her older daughter from a previous marriage Ofelia. Not yet a teenager, Ofelia still believes in fairies and soon finds her way into the old Labyrinth in the forest where she meets a faun or pan, a pagan god of the woods.

And she is drawn into the story of the young princess and escapes into the forest to the perform tasks given to her by the mysterious faun to prove her worthiness as the princess, as she also escapes the fascist captains dark realm where cruelty and fear abounds.

But both the world come crashing down on her when fantasy becomes terrible as well. Ofelia is left on her own to face both worlds, and both her and the rebels take a last stand against the Captain...to a stunning end. A must watch!

Rest in Peace - Still Life/Ipswich, UK

Record players and golden afternoons....

As I listen to the bassy voices of Debabrata Biswas and Sagar Sen sing out of my tinny laptop speakers and eyes stray to the park across the road, it takes me back to when I was in school. we had a HMV record player and two wooden speakers and a whole bunch of records.

And on sunny afternoons, Dad would put on any of the Bengali old greats on that record player and as the rich sound floated along from room to room and in and around the hills, it will weave a magic of sound. It didn't matter what we were doing, the music will reach us. Some one would be curled up with a book, my brother will likely be doing crosswords or trying to catch an siesta, mom must have been trying to catch up on her school papers while sipping on some tea...and the music will simply invade the atmosphere and settle around us.

And then there were moonlit nights on clear nights, which will soon lead to every one dragging a cane chair into the front lawn and getting comfortable in their colorful shawl, while some one popped in another record into the trusty record player.

There will be scratches and hisses at the beginning and then suddenly sound used to pour out the wooden boxes, soft and soothing. Many people find Rabindra sangeet tedious because of its repetitive slow melody. But in those afternoon's and nights, they just fit the moods and the songs stayed in the memory along with the moments.

Mind you though, we did have modern music systems later on, but the tradition didn't stop, it just changed the medium. We would pop in a CD instead of a cassette, but there would still be those moments in like framed by that music.

And it spilled out of bengali into Hindi and western. Afterall the north east india resonates with music anytime. I am spoiled, I confess. Still now, i can't resist humming a good song when I see a golden afternoon or a moonlit night. It is kind of gloomy out side today, but in my mind its a golden summer afternoon.

I am sharing one of the old Bengali modern songs that used to play a lot in the record player. Click to listen

Sweet memories of Poila Boishakh!

Poila Boishakh means first day of Boishakh month, which is the first month is the Bengali new year. In a nutshell, it means Bengali New year. I will take this opportunity to wish everyone a happy new year.

Moving on, this day always brings back memories of me and my mom making sweets back in my childhood home- The sweet smell of frying peetha's and coconut, the delicious aroma of thickening milk and sticky fingers from eating all the those goodies coated in sugar syrup.

Over the years, I have really lost my sweet tooth and hardly fancy much sweets. But every new year I feel compelled to prepare something, may be in honor of those memories or just sticking to tradition.

Whatever be the reason, the act of making these sweets always brings back those afternoons spent in my mom's kitchen, squatting on a wooden pidi (low seat) and trying to make coconut laddu's and yelping as the heat stings my palm. My mom was always encouraging, even when my laddu's looked suspiciously like bullets, and held all the five finger impressions. Even today as I make the sweets, I can remember the instructions. I think tradition is as much about making good memories and passing then off to the next generation as much as it is about maintaining age old customs.

Round the Bend

For someone who loves books, I have grossly wronged my lovelies by not blogging on them yet. Well, better late then never. Well I just finished having a long conversation with my brother who lives across the ocean and as usual we started discussing books and movies and Nevil Shute.

There are a few books that leave an impression in your mind that fade but not go away. Round the Bend by Shute is one such book to me. On the surface, book tells the story of two people - Thomas Cutter, an ex-world war II pilot trying to make money by running cargo planes in the gulf and Connie Shaklin, his half-Chinese half-Russian engineer with a strange spiritual belief - that doing honest and good work is the best way to worship.

As the story progresses, Shaklin weaves his concepts of Buddhism and good work with the motions of aircraft maintenance and becomes a spiritual leader of sorts to the other mechanics. I can compare the energy of this story to another good book- "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" by Richard Bach.

He(Shaklin)has been saying that in studying the stresses and the forces in the structure of an aircraft, the thermodynamics of an engine or the flow of current in the oscillating circuits of a radio transmitter, we are but following the injunctions of Guatama (Buddha)...the world is full of suffering and pain caused by our wrong desires and hatreds and illusions, and only knowledge can remove these causes of our suffering ..."

Strange, yet compelling the story is not for everybody. Its also a very different book from Shute's other books. If one wants to start with Shute though I will suggest reading A Town Called Alice- a classic that will last a long long time

Mystery gifts in the soya bean box!

Does anyone remember the mystery gifts that came with Nutrela soya chunks and Maltova drinks? It was a big thing with us when we were kids. I remember the anticipation and excitement whenever mom bought a new packet which had the magic words in the box "gift inside"!

Unlike today where these gifts are mainly action figures or tattoos etc, in those days, the gifts were not targeted towards children. So they were often glass bowls and steel spoons which were of no interest to us. But sometimes, we got cool gifts like small mirrors or combs or something equally unique that was not useful to the adults but caught our imagination.

I still carry one of these gifts with me. I got it when I was in class seven or eight. It was small pocket mirror inside a plastic casing shaped like a red heart with an arrow through it. Inside the mirror was round. One used the end of the arrow shaft to pry the lid open. I still have it with me somewhere - not cracks or scratches...just like new!

Ratatouille - A must watch!

Remy the rat was fascinated by a french chef who inspire him to cook! So what does he do? He tried roasting a mushroom by pegging it into a roof top antenna over the chimney. How did it taste? "Lighteningy"!! Oh did i forget to mention there was a thunderstorm?

My weekend movie pick Ratatouille was a total entertainer, I was left howling and rolling on the floor for most of the movie and the rest of the time I was in total awe of the totally realistic impression of the busy kitchen.

The moral of the story? - Anyone can cook! (I wish it was that easy...wait I wish I was Remy the rat!) Remy's totally unrodently talent takes in a gastronomical journey to Paris and a yester-years great restaurant. The movie than goes on to tell the story of the unlikely friendship between an young men and the furry creature, and the journey of a life time to great food and deep realisation. Sounds very serious? Not at all...you just have to see it to experience it.

A Love Song

I miss you love
Even when you are here
Sitting beside the fire
Playing your favorite tune

You and your guitar
A sweet love affair
I see from afar
Sitting in the dark

It's suppose to be me
In your arms there
Singing along with you
As you strum your guitar

But it has been years
Since our love affair
Now its just a memory
Snapshots tucked in a diary

The fire burns low
Your face is in the shadow
Your eyes look through me
To another face in time

See me love, see me
I am still here
Siting by the fire
Waiting for our love song!

A gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard

For all those bookworms, I am sure this line will be familiar. While I loved the Gift of the Magi when I read it, I somehow didn't grasp the true extent of these few lines until I came to UK. The weather here gives a new meaning to the word gray.

I dread the gray skies. I live in a beautiful town and now that winter is packing up, the English tulips and daffodils are making riots of color. I would love to take a picture but the gray skies don't afford enough light to capture the bright colors. Want to explore the beautiful countryside? Gray skies mean it might rain.

I am yet to see London in a sunny disposition. About a week ago I was passing through London and was persuaded to experience London eye - which is basically a giant Ferris Wheel which gives you a nice bird eye view of the London.

Since we were passing through on Saturday, we stopped in to see the sights and found it to be very very gloomy. We decided we try the Eye on our way back on Sunday. The long queue for tickets was also daunting and we enterprisingly booked online for the Sunday trip.

Sunday started sunny and remained sunny till we stepped out of the Westminster tube station- IT WAS RAINING! Imagine our dismay - all the planning, all the money - right down the drain. We only got hazy, blurry shots of Big Ben (Its the only thing big enough to be recognized in the hazy photos!) I have come to dread the BBC weather reports more then the current stock market news!

I hope I will get to see and a bright orange tabby walking on a white picket fence on a sunny afternoon. People, wish me luck!

Look- Sheep!!

That's what my husband kept repeating throughout our trip to Scotland. It went to the point where the rest of us pretended not to know him. It didn't help that Scotland had more sheep then people - there were sheep on the hill side, by the river, by the loch, in the farm, on the road......You get the picture I hope. Of course, my Hubby's attempt at taking pictures of sheep in far away hills from a moving car got him only fuzzy results. It seemed that our Scotland trip will get over without affording him the luxury of immortalizing sheep's at a close quarter. And then it happened - we had to stop to let a bunch of sheep cross the road (remind me of the buffaloes on the road to Hi-tech city in Hyderabad).
Enlarge picture to see the fabled sheeps.

My husband was out of the car with his handy cam - with the professionalism shown by journalist in war zones - proceeded to video record the behinds of at least 20-odd sheep. Needless to say he was very proud of his accomplishment and we breathed a sign of relief knowing we need not screech to a halt every time he spotted a sheep anymore.

Disclaimer:- No Scottish sheep was harmed in the writing of this blog!

Video killed the radio star....

Remember that retro song!! Well a recent blog by a friend made me realise Notepad has killed my muse! Confused? Well notepad is the computer program i use to doodle. I switched to notepad recently as in the past I always preferred good old fashioned pen and paper. Now, somehow I find that I have more ideas to jot down when I have a piece of paper in front me than a open notepad page on my laptop.

On that note, I remember one train journey from Kolkata to Chennai during my student days. I was nearing Chennai, as the steadily increasing heat in the sleeper compartment indicated. It was almost dust and the view from the window was a water body in the distance that ran along the track and merged with the skyline - which was curious mix of grey and brilliant orange. And all I wanted to do was write down this words that seem to run around bouncing inside my cranium. Of course, even if i had dug up my trusty diary, i seriously doubt I could have written anything with the trains swaying motion. But the scene will always stay in mind -like a mental snap shot!

The Little town by the sea

This will probably describe a countless number of small towns in England. Rows of red brick houses with slanted roofs and flower pots on the window sill, lining small streets that never go straight for too long. Walking is a charm in England, I have discovered. May be the similarity in the tree lines walks with my hometown gives a feeling of kinship with the place. Beauty not-with-standing, life in this little towns is slow and sleepy.

So to break the monotony during the weekend, me and my better half has taken to exploring the country side around us. Last weekend our travels took us to Felixtowe. With still a limited amount of daylight available to us, we decided to hop onto a bus and see a little bit of countryside on the way. After a scenic tour of about half an hour we were let off in the Felixtowe town centre. As all town centers go, this one too has cobblestone walkway lined with shops with small park areas with wooden benches.

After a little exploration around the town centre, we headed off towards the sea. If you have been Pondicherry you will know how Felixtowe opens up to the sea - suddenly. You take a turn and suddenly see the sea over the house tops. Then we are walking down a steep road that suddenly stops smack on the side of the wharf, where the sea is busy smacking the pebbles.

There is something about the sound of waves that soothes me, i can't explain. But the constant swishing of the water breaking and receding and breaking again has an amazing attraction for me. Felixtowe doesn't really have a beach as one would think of it- its more like a wharf with a gradual incline, with a walkway running along the water for miles and miles.

We walked along this with a bunch of other people who were taking advantage of this slightly warmer and sunny winter day. As the sun started to go down and the wind got cooler, we decided to cut short our walk and return home. All in a all a beautiful day in a small town by the sea.

A little bit of Silhet in Bilet.....

From the few short visits I paid to London, it makes me believe Silheti (A dialect spoken in the province of Silhet in Bangladesh) is the second most spoken language in that city. My first contact was in Heathrow Airport where I landed the first day. As my husband was keeping true to his reputation for arriving late, I was treated to what I believe they call cultural dichotomy.

Here was this spit-polish pink-white British guy talking on his phone -proper British accent. He hangs up and shocker! He immediately starts talking in raw Silheti to his family who were more traditionally dressed.

And I hadn't even stopped eye-balling him when the man sitting beside me - dressed in the traditional Muslim garb, complete with long beard and a Burkha clad wife - switched from speaking in Silheti to English (complete with the British accent).

I immediately realised while in UK, it would be prudent not to let slip any compromising comment about anyone in either language. God knows who understood which one. Though knowing Silheti does come in handy when you are buying fish from a Bangladeshi vendor....in UK.

Of travels and new places..

Hi there everybody. It has been a long time since I set down to jot anything. The truth is I have been lazy and busy. With the recent shift to UK, it meant a whole new routine of life. And we even managed to squeeze a short trip to Scotland in that time.
For all you folks who feel curious about visiting Scotland, please please do. Its a beautiful place, quite untouched by the hustle bustle of tourist (at least it wasn't when we went in the dead of winter) and the natural beauty the place has to offer is amazingly refreshing. I would be waxing poetic eloquence if I wasn't so lazy. I promise to give the details of my travel soon. In the meantime, for all those who care to peek in from time to time - I am back!