Friends

Friends kept me going in my darkest days. My friends, of course. But also the TV show.

Having just lost Ma, my world had suddenly shrunk. I was stuck in my thoughts and did not step out of the TV room much. Seated in my trusty recliner, I watched Friends again…episode after episode…season after season. With my eyes on my favourite TV characters, my mind comfortably drifted. To memories from the recent past….and those of my childhood. The lines between real and make-belief blurred away. And while The One with the Evil Orthodontist was nowhere close to any personal experience (thankfully), I was transported to “the one in which Ma took me to the dentist”….” . And then, one by one, episode after episode, Ma made an appearance.  “The one in which Ma came to visit me in Australia” ….. the one in which Ma made malpoa”…”the one in which Ma was in the hospital”. Wait, close that tab, open a new one. ”The one in which Ma acted in a pujor natok”….”the one in which Ma posed with Boudi for photos in our Puri trip”….”the one in which we went to Mamabari with Ma”…”the one in which Ma packed Baba’s lunches”…”the one in which Ma braided Shanaya’s hair”…”the one in which Ma tried to get up from her wheelchair in her physiotherapy session”. No, close that too.

With my mind working overtime, I needed white noise…to fill the time it took to close a tab and open another. But not any type of white noise would do. Not music (I needed visuals) ….and not anything new (couldn’t let new voices and faces into my room or thoughts). I wanted the familiary and comfort of people I love. People I trust. On screen too, as in real life.

Friends was the only choice.

I was with them on the couch at Central Perk. They did their own thing. I did mine. But being close to them was important. I needed to be left alone. But not totally alone. They got that.

I did not skip the title credits like I usually do…. not for a single episode. I let it play, over and over again. For “I’ll be there for you..” never sounded more soothing. They meant it for me. And I believed them.

 

Life Be Not Proud

There's a war raging...

And a pandemic.

A routine blood test report could change life as we know it. Or perhaps a 000 call.

Everything we hold dear...every near one...we could lose. One way or another.

Our bodies are ageing. Our memory fading. Even those are not our own.

House plants die. From over or under watering. We care too much. Or too less.

Friends grow apart. Kids grow up. Dreams are achieved or go stale. Either way, beautiful things don't last.

Even love comes with price tags. And poetry with painful punctuation. 

Nothing is real. Except imagination. Until we lose that too.

Life be not proud, I say.

For in the end... we'll either turn into dirt..or lie under a pile of it.

P.S. Oscillating between John Donne's "Death Be Not Proud" and "No Man is an Island", I confronted my fear of loss.

Mahalaya 2021

 Losing a mother is like losing a part of you. For you were once a part of her, you see. It’s looking at the veins at the back of your hands and realising how similar they are to hers. It’s unconsciously humming a song you don’t even like, and remembering that she did the same when she came out of the shower and went straight to the thakur ashon to offer nokul dana, jol and dhoop (with a towel still wrapped around her hair). It’s picking up a brown nail polish at the shops, and keeping it back…because brown was her favourite colour (and nail polish her favourite indulgence).

It’s also losing a part of your identity, because nobody knows those minute details from your childhood like she did. One may know how you got that scar on your forehead, but only she can tell you how tight you held her hand at the doctor’s during the stitches (and begged for an ice-cream, specifically in a cone, later). An aunt or a neighbour may tell you how unique your dresses were, but only she can tell you how she bought the fabric and lace from that corner shop in New Market, and had it made as per her specific design at the Ladies Fancy tailoring shop.

It’s been four months and six days since I lost Ma. Well-wishers have suggested that I take the time to grieve. Friends have advised that I should write about my thoughts. But I didn’t know how to. What words could capture something that was so intense, and yet hidden in the most mundane things? How do I explain the sudden anxiety in the middle of the night, when I realise I haven’t called her that day? Or when I ask my eight-year-old to pose in her new dress, so that I can send the photo to Dida? Grief, you regular yet random, fleeting yet constant thing…how will I ever capture you in words?

Grief is like a filter. It casts a different layer to every occasion – happy or sombre. It changes the colour of memories. It makes the happiest of them slightly damp. It leaves every present moment only a tad bit incomplete. The little achievements….the proud milestones…the joyful moments…almost perfect, but never quite. It’s not a moment in time. It’s a way of life. The life before a loss….and the life after.

And this was my first Mahalaya in my life after. Mahalaya – the day, the feeling, the smell, the sounds! All changed forever…yet again after 20yrs (since Baba breathed his last). The first time when the significance of the day was more in the Tarpan than in the Chandipath. The first time when the feeling of “Ma aar nei” was stronger than “Ma asche…”.

  

Bela Bose Flipped

 Anjan Dutta (and Bela Bose) fans (and I am a fan too of the song, btw), pardon the silliness...but I wonder if "Bela Bose - Flipped" would sound something like this... ;)

P.S. Written in a silly mood (so not meant to be taken seriously).

‐--------------------------

"Bela Bose - Flipped"

Chakri ta ebar cherey debo, ogo shuncho

Eto khatakhati ar je poshachchey na

Dhaar dena gulo ebar tumi ekai dekhe nio

Nota pachtar chakri ar korbona.

Chakri ta ebar cherey debo, ogo shuncho

Ekhon ar keu atkate parbe na

Ghoreybaairey dudik shamliye, chollam to koto

Baki jibon ta ebhabe katabo na.

Eta ki 2441139?

Ogo koi tumi...parcho ki shunte?

Lunchbreak jachchey furiye

Oi boss elo bujhi firey.

Debo na kichutei ar chechatey.

Shopno ebar hoye jabe ogo shotti

Etodin dhorey eto opekhkha

Nota pachtar ei rat race e

Bodhdho jiboney bondi dujoney

Hapiye gechi roj ditey e porikhkha

Ar kichu din tarpor amar mukti

Grihokormey nipuna hobo shotti...

Shada kalo ei jonjale bhora miththey kothar shohorey

Tomar amar single-income sonsar.

Hello 2441139?

Ogo koi tumi...parcho ki shunte?

Lunchbreak jachchey furiye

Oi boss elo bujhi firey.

Debo na kichutei ar chechatey.

Chup kore keno eki ogo tumi kandcho

Chakri ta ami cherey debo shotti

Career and promotion er, ichchey geche furiye

New mantra "Netflix and parenting".

Hello 2441139?

Dhur chai...2441139?

Ogo..

 2441139...

Shuncho...

2441139

Grief

 And when the lights are off...

And curtains pulled 

When the sky is dark

And the neighbourhood quiet...

The memories march in

The wounds refresh.

The storm inside

Awakens.

The deep, dark, bottomless pain

Stirs every ounce of my being.

Scenes I wish I could forget

Pictures I wish I could unsee

Parade before my eyes.

So when they say you're "resting in peace" now.

I hope you are. At least one of us must.

Jei Meyeta

 

Partner in Crime

 

Most corporates turn their philanthropic activities into marketing campaigns. I have no issues with that, as long as the philanthropy continues…

When I was in Year 5 or 6 in school, Maggi had sponsored some such initiative. Something to do with educating underprivileged children (I can’t quite remember). But what I do remember is that they gave all the students a packet of Maggi each, as a token.

For those who know my love for Maggi, this may not come as a surprise. But I went home that day only with half a packet of Maggi. The other half? Well, I ate it of course. Uncooked. In class. Sneakily, without the teacher’s knowledge. How easily the Horlicks tag line  - “ami to emni emnii khai”, could be applied to this product too, I thought!

The other half, Ma cooked (in 2 minutes, as they claim). But I ate it in less than a minute, am sure.

 So, it pleases me to see that I have given birth to (or raised) another fan of the noodles. She happily eats the Masala variety (my favourite), and does not find it spicy (which is strange for someone who plays the “too spicy, mummy” card, way too often).

So yesterday, back home from school on a raining afternoon, we slurped our bowlful of steaming, hot Maggi. As I let her eat some uncooked strands of noodles (much to her amazement and joy), I smiled at my new-found partner in crime! 

Dear Maggi

From a chunk of cold noodles that would take the shape of my lunchbox in school...

To a bowl of freshly-made steaming noodles when bedridden with flu...

From a quick meal on a winter afternoon, when hands and mind were too frozen to cook or clean...

To a wholesome midnight snack when the book just couldn't be put down...

Dear, Maggi...what would I have done without you!

(Originally written in 2011, as a FB post)

Our self-isolation days

 Dear Shanaya,

You are 7 now. Taller, Talkative, Terrific! And to add another feather to your cap, you have dealt with the crisis around COVID-19 incredibly well. We have stayed home (or consciously adhered to the isolation guidelines, to do the responsible thing) for weeks/months - over March to June 2020. We are lucky here in Perth to be able to ease the social restrictions sooner than most other countries/cities in the world who are still battling the rising curve. But it must have been difficult for you, given the social butterfly you are! You took it really well, and never complained. I am proud of how positive, energetic and cheerful you have been through this all. Not a single meltdown (although, I myself had a few)!

We took to art (painted, made COVID-themed posters and family hand-print collages, wind chimes out of bangles, a peacock out of leaves, and even a picture of the night sky for Daddy's desk on his birthday)....

music and dancing (there was a party in our living room almost every day, as you asked Google to play your favourite songs)....

role-plays (we set up pop-up restaurants in the backyard and served pancakes and ice-cream for brunch!)...

DIY toys (Daddy made you a kitchen out of cardboard boxes, and a cool little camera...Mummy sewed a dress for your Barbie and made Easter Bunnies out of socks...and you made Play Doh animals and birds)...

Google 3D animals, ranging from tigers to giant pandas (who looked quite comfortable in our living room)...

star gazing with our new telescope (bought at the Perth Astronomy Fest 2020)...

video/Zoom chats with family and friends (and even virtual birthday party and cake cutting for Daddy's birthday)...

reading and story-telling (and making video clips of jokes you read out from your new-favourite "The Treehouse Joke Book")...

walks around the neighbourhood (spotting the teddy bears and rainbows people left at their windows to lift up the spirits...and the most gorgeous pink skies at sunset)...

cooking and experimenting in the kitchen (especially the Dalgona Coffee that became "viral", and Daddy's signature goat curry and pulao)...

science experiments (of invisible drawings that reveal themselves in water, and shape shadow on walls)...

Lego competitions (where Daddy built a bridge he named "Poku"and you built a whole city, with a school, playground, hospital and even a church!)...

gardening and home-decorating (we planted a new yellow-flowering plant that we can see from the kitchen window, while Daddy took to grafting roses)...

homeschooling (which was bitter sweet - some days were fun, and some were stressful, as Mummy was still working full time, and had deadlines to meet!)

backyard cricket (where money was always involved!)...

writing letters to our friends in the neighbourhood (and receiving replies in our letter boxes, because we couldn't meet them in person)...

makeup and manicures (our nails have never looked so good before!)...

TV and movie nights with pop corn (Nadiya Hussain's cook shows were our favourite, and we even tried a few recipes like beetroot pasta, orange baklava, soda bread, peanut butter chicken casserole)

candle-lit dinners (because, well...one day, there was a power cut around dinner time.. and one day, because we just felt like it!)...

radio shows (yes, Mummy even did a quick interview with a radio station in Kolkata, to share what the COVID situation was in Australia!)

and a pet (we brought home Shelly, the snail).

Turns out, the best thing we got out of this crisis was memorable time with the family. I hope when this is all over, and the world has found a way to defeat this virus, we can look back on these days, and remember how we survived a pandemic, together as a family. Most of all, I hope we continue to be grateful for our blessings, big and small...and never take anything or anyone for granted.

Love,

Mummy

Shelley

"Mummy, I'd like to have a pet snail", she said one day during the lockdown period.
Surprised (but relieved) that she had lowered her demand from a dog to a snail, I play along. "That's a lovely idea for a pet", I say. "If you can find one in the garden, you can keep it. We'll feed it leaves and scraps."
Excited at the prospect, she starts to spend considerably more time in the garden, looking for a snail. Better than being in front of the TV, I think.

The search continues for a few days, but no sign of a snail. She comes back with an ant instead. "Look who I found, Mummy! She's so pretty. I'll name her Curly!" (because the poor ant had curled up in fear by then).

So Curly finds a home in a plastic takeaway box, and is placed centre-stage on our dining table. It was almost lunch time by then, and her Dad had made his signature Biriyani (her favourite too). When we weren't watching,  little fingers placed a fat grain of saffron coloured rice in the box. "There you go, Curly. Eat some biriyani."
Now, we had always joked to first-time visitors that we weren't great cooks, but nobody who ate the food we cooked, had died. We will never be able to say that again.

Because Curly died.
Whether it was from pure joy (from the best meal of its life) or from the constant talking or frequent touching...we will never know.
But tears were shed. Prayers were said. And a burial in the backyard followed.
Pet-less again, the search for a snail started anew. Days later, hopelessness sets in. "There are just no snails in our garden, Mummy". But she remembered seeing snails in one of our friend's gardens. "Can you ask them to catch one for me?"
"Of course not!", I say, imagining how that conversation would pan out. "Hello, how are you? Calling for a small favour. Could you please catch a snail for my daughter? We promise it will get a loving home at ours".

I cut that imaginary conversation short in my head. Especially after Curly's demise, I wasn't sure if I could promise anyone a good home anymore!

But I did have that conversation in reality. And the friend did not hang up on me. In fact, she called back a few days later with news. She had managed to catch a snail during one of her evening walks!
So we rushed to her house (like rushing to the hospital at the news of the arrival of a new baby!). And what do we find there?
A snail with a birth card and gender announcement! It was a girl! Miss S was finally a big sister!
I had happened to mention to my friend that Miss S had planned to call her snail (if she found one), Shelley (obvious reference to its shell, duh!). My friend remembered!

And so, with a heart full of gratitude, and  hands holding a box with her "little sister" inside, she comes back home.
Days pass. We make Shelley a home...with soil, a rock to climb on (for the view of the garden), a leaf to sit on, and a food dish where we leave fruit and veggie scraps. We read her stories (preferably one with snails in it) after school.
Shelley soon earns an adjective. "Shy Shelley", we start to call her, as she never comes out of her shell to show us her face (or any other body part).
Until today.
Looks like she has finally warmed up to us. She lets us watch her, while she eats an apple!
And while tomorrow marks one month since we got her home, we celebrate today, when Shy Shelley isn't so shy anymore...