Bubbles

I had left the cocoon of family, of my known world three years back, but this city had someone, as though waiting to embrace me and say “I am here for you sweetheart!!” An unknown place, an unknown culture, I was not sure how to react and what those words really meant. I was touched; yet, I was hesitant to accept all the affection that was being showered on me. I felt like a Princess as Jerry calls me, but I had to fight to remain grounded to the reality that I am an alien to this place.

Jerry had lost his daughter Natalie years back, a loss that is only corporal. Natalie is like sunshine, a zillion bubble of light, which might be shrouded in the dark clouds some days, but persists to shower life on her world, all day, every day. I do not have her dazzle but I do have the strength, strong as that of wind. May be that was what Jerry found in me – he said I was his daughter, the Indian Princess!! A day, a moment was engraved in my life. Did Jerry find the Wind to blow his Bubble?!

It was scheduled to be a day of celebration, a day of donation to the cause of wetland research. A boat, named ORWNatalie was destined to float on the Olentangy River, to carry the researchers closer to the troubled Nature!! The boat named after Natalie was to bring new life afloat. Somehow, at some moments of remembrance by all that knew this lovely lady, a teardrop reached my cheeks. I had never seen a father in such loss, a mother so grievous, a brother so proud of his sister but in so much pain as his quivering voice. I had never been with a family that mourned and remembered the loss of their daughter!!!

But there I was, thousands of miles away from my family, embraced by a new family. I felt helpless, I felt distressed. Can I ever make it up for them? I am no gymnast, not a winning danseur, but I am a daughter and I can be a daughter.

Light passes through Bubbles and Light passes through Wind, too…..

Photography by Jaideep Banerjee

The Colorful People

Every place has its own color. While every country tries to unite its Culture across the state borders, every corner of it still has a fragrance and hue of the people that live in it. Coming to this country to me, may be due to my utter naivety of the world, meant only to come among Whites!! Some more pink, some yellow or some more paler than that...but the shade of the skin was akin to white in my mind. While light skin has continued to mean superiority for ages, we have persisted to ignore the illumination of the dark.

For whatever reason, everything in this "developed" part of the world had to fall in place and time. Breach of time, dishonesty,littering in the streets, hunger, homelessness - these words had seemed so unfamiliar and unacceptable for months. What it means to be in the United States of America was all shine and glory. But then I was told to be scared, too! Getting back late at night, walking alone in the alleys, being alone - if any of these are true, I am expected to be scared and cautious - not of darkness alone, but of dark people, too. I see them everywhere in the city streets, in the markets, in the libraries, at the eateries, at school and I always see them so colorful. They manage to talk aloud likeh there is no one around, they burst into laughter as if laughing their heart out, they can dress so colorful as in motley, they speak an English I hardly can follow, they swing to music at all moments and adeptly balance everything on their hip! They are huge, tall and big to me....and I know some who have even bigger hearts. They will call you "honey" at every approach and be the most comforting stranger in your pain. They do not always seem to be rich in money though, their dresses are creased, oddly bright or torn, often. But they have an aura of carelessness, and a contrast so starking to the larger paler population. They are impoverished, vulnerable, may be victims, too, of fear and being feared!

In our city, these oddly big, motley loud people commonly serve to carry the pedestrians on the city public transport systems. Limited to the Campus area, I often took the same bus to the same place for a year and became acquainted with a black man. I began with caution as had been advised while travelling on these buses. May be it was me or may be it was the student in me, this person would always talk to me. He was funny but he was kind, too. He would see a heavy bag on me and drop me far ahead of the stop. He also knew my regular companion and would ask about his absence some days. He said he wanted to visit India after he has saved enough. He was never silent on those travels and never was he without a smile. He would made me wonder at his energy and lightheartedness. I began to call him "Bus kaku" as I would have in my hometown. Of course, never called him aloud..but I wish I could. I have a car now and do not travel on the bus as much now. I have a secured seat, a more familiar person for the drive. But I miss the laughter, I miss his incessant words that were gibberish to me, I miss the long talks with him in those 15 minutes, and above all I miss his Color!!

Friend

Turning around time and again, looking back through the haze of years

It was you who held my hand, wiping away yours and my tears

Oh Friend you have been with me since then ----

The first awkward step in school and cinema

Through the screams at “Enkushe” and the pride of “Sesher Kobita”.

You cheered my defiance of the world, you feared my heartbreaks,

Oh Friend you stood by me at the rickshaw stand, patient for the last bus, listened till the end ----

Your forms have changed to the open eyes

The bob-haired tom boy, the specs and pigtails, the shy vermillion

The hints of moustache, the wrinkled shirt, the evolving of a man.

All I need to know its you

Oh Friend is your warmth ----

Not the pair of trinkets you gave me once, nor songs of Rabindranath

You gifted me your years of care, a zillion memories so close to the heart.

Your praises have been with me so have been your rebuke

Oh friend I fear to go to school now, stranger to me is the Rickshaw stand

I dread to be the adolescent and tread the path without you.

The seat beside now holds a creaseless shirt, an i-phone

The chewed corner of my handkerchief to him is so unknown

Oh Friend will you care to stop me like then

From tearing the threads off the cloth

Oh friend I need your warmth, I need your hand now and again and again.

Becoming a Predator

The toxic fumes of a pesticide burnt my nostrils, I refused to breath in the air that so heavily smelled of death – attempted to open the windows, but the fumes stifled me already…..Escaped, the word is still a misnomer, into a brightly lit cubicle, still stifled by the insensitively cold air in the atmosphere. I am still trying to breathe in - - -



Clear blue skies, flourishing blooms, the greens breaking through the ground to rise above the dark soil, the onset of Spring stole the grey white sheets from over me, too. But, little did I realise the returning of warmth in the air was to break the dormancy of another powerful species!!! TheCimex lectularius have made this Homo sapien completely insomniac and a predator in the making.


In Spring I learned about them, identified them and prepared to combat if need be. Prudentially, tried to maintain a “sweet” introduction from a distance. Restrained visiting friends who I knew had become hosts to the bedbugs and I guess, was being hated in reciprocation.

I was fooled though. Came late Spring and I would wake up in the middle of the night looking for my elusive “guests”. They were crawling over me, piercing my skin, injecting anticoagulants and anesthetics and feeding on me!!!


To begin with, I was nice to my guests – did not take “ their” bed away, instead lost mine!! Live and let live, what say?


Came in Summer and along came the sweltering heat. Perfectly snuggled under my bedroom carpet they were, feasting on reportedly every night; we have played the hide and seek game for a month now. They have grown in health, in numbers and shown courage in the light. I wait till dawn comes to only stretch my spine.


Extermination is known to be hard game and I have provenly failed!! But I have to battle to sleep. The fumes burn my nostrils, my eyes blur from insomnia as I wait for the dawn ---- of the day and everyday!

If I Knew You

I know you

I know who you are, I know you deep inside -

My eyes have formed you, my mind gave you the heart

I see the world the way do your eyes!

Yes, I know you

I know who you are

You stand amazed in the rainbow of flowers

I find solace in the fragrance , scavenge hope in anthers!

You show me the Fall clouds in the sky

I see dark purple waves roaring through scattered gold

I felt the golden disc beyond, bedazzled by the ripples in the sky!

You took me to the fountain some days

To the music of water, the rhythm of cascades, the spirits to mesmerise

My dreams my hopes my faith revelled high!

Yes, I know you

I know who you are

You took me to the world one day

Gave me a name, called me yours –

I came to know you had your eyes and a heart of yours!

Still I know you,

I know who you are

My lonely days spin dreams for you, my nights descend to cry

I stand alone by the fountain, gaze at the sky

Not a petal to pass by!

The shards of Life

The picture frame a friend gifted refused to hang on to the wall - a weekend afternoon nap getting disrupted by a "thud" and a brief span of dismay if I may. The Made in China wooden part of the frame was totally lame but the glass remained a little more than shards!!! As my instinct would have it, I held the bigger glass pieces in my hand, light shining through and on them... did not want the giant trash receptacles to ground them back to silica. The School Glue fixed the edges together, some paint helped to hide the cracks......to add on, some seashells gifted by a loved one helped beautify and turn the pieces together into one piece pleasing the eyes. How I wish there were magic glues to hold together, some forlorn paints to add color to........and gifts of the nature - the scattered seashell-like smiles and laughter, memories and love that could put together and glorify the broken pieces of life, too........alas.........

Not a Food Blog

Nopes...this is not a food blog as the visuals may persuade you to see, smell or think :)........Although the "male alimentary canal" has long been known to be connected to the "male heart" through good food, food can appropriate any soul!

In a strive to revive my blogspot and seek entrance to all your hearts...may I use some savories, too :). I love to cook and as I cook for the week, I try to make each weekday a little special in its food after a day's grind at work. This week begins with Kashmiri Dum Aloo...

Memories of a sweet delight

There is no denying of the fact that I have rightly inherited the genes to be a good cook from Maa and the patience to be good at something from my Bapi. Not a single day has passed since my last visit to Kolkata...to my home...that I have not missed the two Angels of my life. And as always, I try to live each day in the Eastern Time Zone as I would have lived in the Indian Standard Time!!!!

While Maa would have hardly imagined in her dreams, I did make "Roshobora" today. A dumpling of lentils dipped in sugar syrup.......the grainy texture of the lentils, the taste of Urad daal and the sweetness used to be a welcome snack if you will for the family. Donot remember which time of th year Maa made them....but the Roshoboras had been haunting me over the last few days. And as I take pride in my culinary expertise, the Roshoboras are perfect this evening, too. Stealing time from the deadline of an Abstract submission for a scientific pursuance by midnight, I let my emotions take over as the golden brown dumplings stare back at me through the glistening syrup!!!