For lack of words

You say you have nothing to say,
Just may say "I love you"..
You question what questions to ask,
Just may ask "How are you?"...
You wonder what you might have to share,
Just may share your journey of each day...
You seek for help in love may -
Here, I seek the lack of help.

You fail to speak or cry,
Words and tears are my victory
Countless moments, whiffs of wind
In lone homes not lone minds
I seek togetherness and spin memory
More than anything, I seek the lack of you!
But more and more, I want more of you.

Packing Up and Enough!

The very day my travel to Barrow, Alaska got approved, I was ecstatic to the “Top of the World”. The only concern that everyone else, but me, had was that it would be ruthlessly cold! Having lived in the mid-west for nearly five years and survived extended Ohio winters, I was feeling confident and could not gauge the “seriousness” of the matter. I had set aside 2 hours of a lazy Friday afternoon to do my Arctic Shopping as I call it, and had hoped for fun.

Having read a six page Clothing and Layering guide for extreme weathers, I believed I knew the rules of the game. To much of my bitter amazement, the 2 hours left me befuddled and indecisive and hopeless. I realized, it was not going to be easy to stay dry and warm in the ~30 below freezing temperatures of the Arctic Winter!!! The result – an extended research on the web, understanding synthetic insulation and moisture wicking materials and the very essential talking to “the experienced”!! Nylon blend, polyester blend, Thinsulate and Gore-Tex stormed my brain while the Parka, mittens, boots and gaiters strapped me tight. If I add all the time spent, it took me about 72 hours to complete my shopping needs for clothing alone.

In addition to that, I consulted and borrowed from friends and colleagues. I was told that all the synthetics make one smell and reek after a day’s work, knowledge of which I would rather not have and that turned me paranoid. Multiple sets of similar layers, deodorant and fragrant body lotions made room in to my luggage. Despite of all of this I was nervous after I finished packing, crossed my fingers and hoped to be warm enough and not odorous. My checked baggage had hit the 44 lbs mark and I was calmed.

The layering that I used and remained comfortable for extended hours (~ 10 -11 hours) in the field is:

1. Moisture wicking polyester/spandex undergarments
2. Silk base layer 1
3. Terramer layer 2
4. Fleece Layer 3
5. Patagonia Layer 4
6. Fleece Layer 5
7. Arcteryx Outer Layer 6

The very precious and expensive Sorel boots did not work in the field for me, and I had to resort to the famous “Bunny Boots” that squeaked all day long but snugged my feet with warmth.

In addition to clothing, what I found essential to have with me was a heavy moisturizer, sunblock (SPF 45), burt’s bee lip balm, goggles, fleece face mask, fleece hat, regular cap with shades, Gatorade, ibuprofen, muscle relaxing ointment, body powder, my favorite tea, lots of chocolates and the will power to keep smiling!!!

Memories of Sunny Nights

8 pm in a romantically pleasant East Tennessee evening, the Sun steadily seeking shelter beyond the gorgeous green of Spring, perhaps bidding farewell to the bright day. Couched in my patio chair, I wait and soak in the warmth of the last rays of today’s Sun; I fall in love with the pastel sky each day. Each day this time the red-breasted cardinal sings for me, the spring breeze sways and the blue sky blushes with twilight hues. Until today, dusk never saddened me because I knew morning was soon to follow – the Sun would rise again as the blue night departed. But today, and may be I will every day to come in my life, I miss the Sun – my Midnight Sun.

The Midnight Sun is delicate yet powerful, poignant and elusive, boastful but humble. With the power to incessantly brighten my world, its gentle rays embraced me to life as if to say there is much to  be done, much to brighten up and never to call it a day! I miss the sunny days and nights of the Arctic. Two days have gone by since, but the experience seems to have been one majestic dream. I bid you goodnight my Tennessee Sun, but I know my Midnight Sun would never say farewell!

From Cocoon to Fire

Places have changed around me, vegetation patterns have varied, the traffic has become busier, noisier or lighter and quieter, the markets I visit have gotten distant and fancier or welcoming with the smell of the Earth, the names of the people I want to call friends have changed.

As I make this well vested effort to deep-diving self- introspection while “Leaving on a jet plane”, I only have to shut my eye lids to see my father, anxious yet happy, bravely proud while letting the fear of his little daughter cross boundaries go – boundaries of the city, of the country, of everything she had known all her life, until this day that she chose to fly across oceans of dreams and aspirations. That “little girl”, yes that’s me, can still hear those same words that father told me 5 years back every time I leave for a new journey – “Be safe, be careful and stay well”.

In due course of time, the little girl has grown; at least I hope she has, into an acceptable human being. I would always fight my parents for stopping me from venturing into the world, I always complained for their being overprotective of me and now, the reality is, I have only become overprotective of myself. No, not in the fear of a “harmful” world, but in the fear of constraining myself to the known rights, the familiar wrongs, the recognizable expressions of love and hatred, the well-advertised  faiths and beliefs.  I bow down before the Almighty each day so may I learn all the ways in which I can say “I am here for you” for anyone who might need me, may my eyes be open and my heart continue to beat to bring little joys to the lovely people I meet.

It is only natural as human beings to belong to a “Culture”, and to me my culture is no more than a habit, the habit of having rice in a certain way, of drinking tea in a cup and not a mug, the habit of being coerced to have Payesh on birthdays, the habit of running up the stairs to terrace and rescue the Kite lost by some proud owner, the habit of getting drenched on the first day of monsoon, the habit of licking fingers everytime Maa made Murighonto, the habit of lighting incense sticks in my Recollection room every evening …And such habits I fear envelope us in such tight seal to often silently suffocate us.

While it is the right thing to uphold one’s culture, it is only more right to accept another!

Maa unfortunately does not get the chance to make Murighonto for me so often nowadays, but I do lick up the hot sauce from the aptly named “Nuclear” chicken wings; while I could not give up the serene essence of sandalwood incense sticks, I do seek warmth  from cinnamon candle lights every time I pray; cheesecakes have been replacing Payesh on birthdays; the romance of monsoon will get a good fight from the first day of snow on a clear night; there is no Monkey paint draped on Holi but there is the craziness and creepynss of Halloween; there are no hidden diaries but there is a secret blog; there has been no Chaitra Sale for me for the last five years, but there has been Black Fridays and a dozens of more days to celebrate and share joy. Being a Bengali, being an Indian is as much my habit as is being an American. If I see raised eyebrows at this the least do I care – I will not give up any reason that multiplies my days to celebrate, my culture is not limited by the boundaries of my birthplace but is only expanded by my actions each moment of every day. I am thankful to my father for letting me take that first flight so I can protect myself in the flights from cocoon to fire the rest of my life! 

Over a Cup of Tea

Into a pot of boiling water

you throw a slice of ginger

or a pod of cardamom may be,

in an urge to sip monsoon ecstasy….

Unwinding down the road to past,

of laughter, joy so selflessly passed

“Joy Da…five cups of tea please !!!”

With luchi-ghugni, such eternal bliss….

In the days of glory, in the days of rot

In the nights of love and dreams you sought

When friendship meant the world to you,

In everything the heart could pursue….

The water boils; you add the leaves of tea

Shoving away grief…so gingerly!!!

Oh! You forgot the milk and the sugar

A moment more, the tea will be bitter

And to strain you rush….

Sipping through the flavors of Earth, Monsoon strengthens with a gush

Life seems so dear and wily,

Ah! Over a steaming cup of tea….

In Memories of Home

Not the tall-standing city lights, nor the blazing eyes of the vehicles that cut through the hazy darkness  in unwarranted speeds…….but could the warmth of a full moon that comforted my grievous soul in her journey towards “home”.  As the man in the next seat tried to fall into restful sleep so indifferent of my presence, I was fighting my involuntary fear of his odor, his color, of his impoverished state of life……but what did I have to fear in my world away from home…drifting from one home and heading to another!

As Fall arrives and the morning fog mystifies the lazy Sun, I wait and wonder if the clothes-pin still tightly hold the flowers of the scarf that I wore to School every day, if the north westerly have begun to fight the mellowed Sun of autumn in Kolkata? I face both the wind and the sun weaving hours of dreaminess as I lean over the 80-year old arms of my beloved – the terrace that listened to me in joy and in pain and that still patiently awaits my returning to home.

The drifting homes are sometimes only a couple hundred miles apart conquering one landscape after another in their stride, from the uninterrupted impeccably golden corn fields of the Fall in midewest US to the dramatic rolling hills of the Cumberland Plateau. At other times, homes are a culture apart, taking a flight across oceans, waiting to be re-invented amongst patterned window curtains and cobbled esplanades!!

“Guten Abend”, said the sweet old lady as our army of three young women continued the fight of hauling 50 lbs luggage up the dark, narrow and winding stairs of 23 Strassemann Strasse, Bad Nauheim, Germany. Even though we lacked the prowess of a common language, the kind lady welcomed us into our home for 5 nights through an animated tour of the cozy bedrooms, 60 year old books adorning the living room, the kitchen upholding the proud recycle bins, and a quaint little room in the attic. Be it the royal blue bedspreads with flower patterns, the Summer breezing through cotton curtains, relaxed Sunday tete-a-tete of people, the cacophony of crows at the break of dawn or our mock fight for a night under the attic window, I was in love with this home away of home. How can I miss recalling the traditional restaurant that served a chicken cutlet served with a salad of cucumber, onions and mustard sauce – it was not the Peep-n-Inn as a fellow Calcutta may mitsake; but in the historical, picturesque city of Bad Nauheim that gifted me the unadulterated spirit of good old Calcutta!

No matter how many homes one may build in a lifetime, the same flavors prevail, the known fragrances linger and memories get the last bet…….memories of not what we leave behind, but what we created out of marriage with moments, moments of bewilderment, joyous reinvention of oneself, of retrospection and the longing to return home.

I ponder if such flights are often escapes from reality in longing for a recluse….as I play with words choosing memories, wrapped in the warmth of Maa’s 30-year old Kashmiri shawl I can smell the Shiuli flowers as Autumn glorifies my home…..

The Beginning of Givings!

A life worth 3 decades…….sounds like an achievement and indeed is! One of those time points in life when you start looking back as much as you look ahead; the only tangible reason being you have lived through the much speculated 50% of your life - an accepted norm.
And as with each new beginning, the 30th one derives its life juices from the past – a juvenile past, the past of the “bests” left alone of “perfects”, the naïve past and the innocent past, the loved past and the trusted past!! The very word “past” has the powerful, characteristic flavor of being lost. So, are all the bests and the perfects bygones? Who gave them to me, and who took them away?!
Many more strides to come in life, and with the sparkle of optimism, may each step fall and rise, may each such stride have the strength of the child’s tantrum, may each footstep lead to the path of trust, may every footstep embark on love, and may the naïve in me persist to never perish.

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!!!

“Ami parbo…..”

Mon tokhon 6 bochhor –
Dada tokhon 13. roj sondhebela Dadu’r kachhe niyom kore porte bosha. Dada’r tokhon onek pora, history, geography, maths, translated Shakespeare o. ami tokhon ki portam moneyi pore na….bondhoy tokhono Shohoj Paath shikhchhi. Kintu dada’r oyi motamota, koto e na rongin chhobiwala boi gulo’r dike khub lobh chhilo amar. Kintu chhoyan jetona sheyi boi – kothin boleyi hok ba bhari boleyi hok. Ekhono mone ache ekdin ami Dadu’r kachh theke Shakespeare cheye niyechhilam ekrokom jor koreyi. Dadu bolechhilo “jhumi, o tumi porte parbena maa”. Amar Mon bolechhilo “Ami parbo….”. ki chhilo tate, kotodur ki bujhte perechhilam, shey smriti aaj jhanpsha. Kintu mone ache dadu porer din shokale ekta Cadbury ene diyechhilo. Chokchokhe chokhe du haath bariye diyechhilam ami. Sheyi bodhoy amar para’r shuru. Mon jokhon e bolechhe “Ami Parbo..”, ami jenechhi shey kaaj shohoj noy, kintu seshe achheyi kono upohaar!

Mon tokhon 9 bochhor –
Goromkaale Kolkata’r loadshedding nityoniyomito byapar. Khola chhater opor shodyyo office pherot bapi r ami. Grishyokaaler taapmukto korteyi bodhoy dokhin hawa’r shrishti. Maadure boshe bapi r amar koto e na golpo cholto shey shob sondhebelaye. Mone acche porer din chhilo Class III er final exam er result. Porikka ke bhoy petam na ami, kintu result ke petam. “First hote hobe” – na na, maa bapi konodin e emon daabi rakehni amar kachhe, kintu amar mon rakhto, r mon er kachhe haar mene nite hobe, shetayi amar bhoy. Bapi jiggesh korlo “Babu, kaalke ki hobe?” Amar uttor “ami First hobo”. Bapi o bhoy dekhalo “Rima kintu khub bhalo meye”. Mon bollo “Ami parbo…” r ami bollam “Bapi, amar cake chayi kintu”. First hoyechhilam ami Class III e. Class III theke Class X. jibone’r shaat ta bochhor protyek final result er din cholto Mon r amar lodayi “First amake hoteyi hobe”.

Mon tokhon 16 bochhor –
Sesh holo CBSE. Jiboner notun ek odhyay shuru howar somoy. Mon bollo ebar r shudhu bapi’r taka e porashuno korbona. Nije tuition korbo. 16 bochhorer jed kintu bapi mene neyni. 16 bochhorer Mon ke mone koriye dewa holo shey Meye. onnyer bari giye bidyabitoron kora take manaye na. bari’r chaar dewaler nirapottaye theke jibone boro howar chesta koro. Ami nijeke proshno kori parbo ki ami banchte jekhane swadhinota shudhu lingo nirnoy kore dewa hoy???? Mon bollo “Ami parbo…..”. Chhatro chhatri duyeyi jutegelo. Chollo nirapod sikhhya adanprodaan.

Mon tokhon 25 bochhor –
Ami uchhoshito, jeno prithibi joy er anondo. Prothom janlam “bhalobasha” kake bole. Eto dewar eto pawar anondo. Bujhlam jibone bhalobashar opore r kichhu neyi. Kintu cheharata je shundor noy, barita je chhoto, ora bodhoy ektu gorib!! Mon bollo manushtake dekho. Ami hashi, boli ebar ami jitechhi – manush ta je boddo bhalo. Ekeyi tobe nirbhoye bhalobashi. Mon o shaaye dey “Ami parbo….”.
Mon ta boro boka, buddhi neyi etotuku. Bhalo o je gorib hole shudhu bhalo thakte parena. Bhalo ebar hisheb kore - kom beshi, 3 tola 1 tola, bichaar kore chamrar rong, jaante chaye property valuation. Ebar ami bhoy payi. Bhabi Mon ebar o bolbe “Ami parbo..”; kintu ebar Mon kichhu bolchhe na keno? Mon keno shudhu kanchhe?!?!?!
Maa go “tumio kanchho?”

Mon ekhon 27 bochhor –
Charu Market er hoyichoyi chhere, 4 tola’r chhath chhere, bhorer train er horn chhere, sheeth er rod er taap chhere ekhon bandha porechhi Neil Avenue er shobdohin, alohin, praanhin ekta ghore. Ami khub chesta kori Mon ke bhalo rakhte – bapi’r priyo Manna Dey, blinds er phaank diye dhoka poronto bikeler nijhum alo, dresser er opore shajano thakur, ghor jure amar Puchkai er chhobi – kintu Mon bhalo thakena. Mon khub kande aajkal, koto ki jeno bolte chaaye kintu ke shunbe!!! Ami je boro byasto – paper er deadline, TA er kaaj, project er tara – ki kore tomaye bhalo rakhi ami???

Aaj chhuti nilam tomar jonne. Bhablam golpo kori tomar sathe, dujone mile nahoy eksondhyaye smritiromonthon kora jaak. Dekho toh shobayi koto khushi tomake niye. Mon shara deyna. Ami boli eyi toh shuru ekla thaka, ekhono je onek poth baki. Mon ebaro bolo “Ami parbo…”!!! Mon ekhono shara dichhona keno??

Chithi

Bhai,

ami toh proti muhurteyi e-mail check kori...tao toke uttor dite besh deri e holo...ashole chayichhilam jokhon tui e-mail check korte ashbi abar totodin obdhdhi jeno eyi "chithi" ta tatka thake :)

hmmm...ami kemon achhi? bhalo e achhi re. e deshe bhalo thaka khub shohoj.........besh nijer moton thaka jaaye, keu karor jibon niye matha ghamaye na.....chayile shobbar sathe hoyi hoyi koro, r na chayile ghore boshe Sunil Gangyopadhayye gelo....tobe bangali prochur eyi paraye...tara majhe majhe naak golan bote :P. bondhu temon bhabe keu hoyni....ekhane "shudhu jawa asha, shudhu shrote bhasha...". khoniker jonne eksathe hoye khub hashi thatta anondo kora...abar nijer duniyaye pherot. bhalolegechhe onek ke, oneker satheyi bondhuttyo kora jaaye, kintu ami ekhono korini :)........

ekhane ashpasher shobayi e student....maane amader bari ta jekhane.....etake bole South Campus...r South Campus e Indian students e beshi...infact bhorti bangali. Saraswati Puja theke Durga pujo....ebar naki poila boisakh o hobe....hujug uthteyi thake kichhu na kichhu.............amio besh mete uthi sheyi hujuge. janish ekhane eshe ami naach o korechhi :)...Columbus e 2008 er Bangamela hoyechiilo...onek boro artist ra eshechhilen...3 din dhore bongoutshab r ki! Suni theke Samaresh...Lopa theke Srikanta, Swapan theke Satinath..shobayike dekhlam ekhane boshe...r sheyi bangamela'r inauguration e amra nach korlam!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Kolkata e boshe eta bhabte o partam na.

Amricans ra dibbyo manush...amar besh pochhondo hoyechhe....ekhane lok eto kom, je bhir ki jinish praaye bhulte boshechhi. ekhane shobayi nijer raja. "Freedom" er swad ekhaane esheyi bujhlam...lagamhin swadhinota shobbar odhikaar edeshe. tobe niyom o achhe, ayin o achhe r ta na maana hole kothin shashti o achhe. ekhane raasta e poth cholti protita manush dekha hole heshe "hello" bole...irrespective of caste creed color and religion...........shobayi e jeno bondhu howar jonne raaji hoyeyi achhe. amar besh bhalo legechhe United States of America! Shudhu thanda ta boddo beshi r rod tao boddo beshi.....

Amar advisor bhishon e bhalo manush, jemon bhalo scientist tar theke onek beshi bhalo mansuh uni.....tobe ekhaneo ek mushkil...prochur swadhinota...majhe majhe mone hoy karor hathe nijer lagam ta dile ektu nischinto hoyi :(

porashuno bhalo e cholchhe...coursework praaye sesh....erpor candidacy tarpor shudhu e research...kichu ekta khunje ber korte parleyi kella fateh :)

ekhane kotha diye somoy chole jaaye bujhte parina...ekekdin ektu kuremi kori bote..kintu somoy boddo taratarti kete jaay ekhane.

adjust korte edeshe karor e osubidhe howar kotha noy....amar ontoto hoyni. amar roommates ra khub e bhalo....oder help peyeyi besh ranna korchhi aajkal.....ja bolbi khayyie debo.....machh to murgi..payesh to pathshapta...fried rice to biriyani! Indian to Italian.

Osubidhe shudhu ektayi hochche....dine dine maa r dida'r size er dike egochchi....eta Amrica'r jonne na gene er jonne shetayi bujhte parchhina.

bari jete toh bhishon e ichche kore....kintu jader kachhe jabo tara toh dakena bhai!

dekha jaak, kobe daak pore.

ami toh onek kotha likhlam...tui o tor shob kotha like janash.

bhalo thakish,
Buri

Dear Jerry

Dear Jerry,

Hope you are doing well! You thank me for being in touch with you - but true to say, I thank you more.

I am really sorry that I took so long to tell you about myself. We met in the Swampfest. That was Fall and this is the end of Spring. I really wonder how time flies. You know what, it has been a year and a half now since I have seen my parents, have touched my mom, giggled with my friends out there, pampered my 2 year old nephew - since I have been home!

My aspirations to study higher, study better brought me to the United States of America. I traveled for nearly a day to arrive at this part of the world, away from the still "developing" sphere of the earth. I belong to a middle class Indian family, from a part of the country known to be the Cultural Capital - Kolkata. Having grown up in a very crowded city, buzzying with traffic, roaring horns, vehicle exhausts stinging one's eyes and ever noisy streets, Columbus was like all deserted to me. There is more to this missing list of mine. I miss the hot sweltering summers, the sweet winter mornings, the soothing breeze of spring and songs of the Cuckoo. We have a monsoon, too. Heavy torrential rains from the tropical clouds are like music to the ears as the dark clouds turn a day into night. Indian classical music has a raga devoted to the roar of the monsoon clouds known as raga Malhaar. I miss my early morning sunrays, I miss my fullmoon on my moonlight flooded terrace, I miss the verandah where I have spent hours together singing, watching and listening to the streets and just wondering. I miss my home.

Had it not been for my Masters dissertation in Soil Microbiology, I would never have aspired to work with Prof. Richard Dick and not have applied to The Ohio State University. And here I am now, a PhD student in the School of Environmental and Natural Resources. I spin my time studying, working in the lab and teaching now. I love my students - I often try and find in them the time of life when I was of their age. I really envy their sense of independence, their confidence and their ability to express their opinion - I admire their self-reliance and only wish if the children of my country were as equally heard as they are. Life at OSU has been a mix of feelings for me - I have received more than I have given to it. Not only the respect of being a graduate student, the faith that the people around hold in me is as rewarding as it is humbling. I should be honest and must say, I now love the freedom and amiablity here. I love the Winter snow and the frosty flowers on the frozen ground, I love the red-orange-golden leaves of Fall, I love the smell of Spring and revel in the heat of the Summer. I love the serenity and the wild of the Wetlands - I love the red maple and the honey suckle as much as I love the golden rod and the cattails. I am fortunate to be in this free world. I love the crazy Buckeye fans, the uncanny styles of the students, the smell of Adriatico pizza and fresh Panini bread; I love Caesar salad and hot-fudge brownies. I am surprised to find a "made in India" shirt at JCPenny and cannot resist but have it - at times I feel, I can still touch my Motherland, can still smell its soil, air, grasses and sunshine from this faraway New World.

I still have a long way to go and fall in love with the rest of the US and overwhelm my love affairs with the Smoky Mountains and the New York City. I still have to find myself among the most revered Soil Scientists and still to dream higher.

I do not know if I have said enough for you to know me; this has been like moving forth and back in memories, distance and time. I am really glad to have a friend like you who wants to know about me. Thank you Jerry.

I was shocked to know about the passing away of your daughter - she IS so beautiful and vibrant. I am more of a blue placid lake whose bottom can be easily seen. I cannot say if you can find her in me - but surely, I promise to be your friend.

Stay in touch and take care.

Best Wishes,
Taniya