Author: sangeeta_chakladar

They Believed They Could… so they did.

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 2 Comments

Dear Parent,

This letter should have reached you much earlier, for it was my promise to you in my last blog that I would come back  with the graduation day saga. An overwhelming sense of gratitude and happiness had pushed me into a state of wordless inner  zone. I saw the children graduate, yet could not put everything I saw and felt into words so easily. Chalk and Cheese have been thrown into an opulence of emotions lately , and getting back to the blackboard and chalking away Cheese stories needed some composure and time.

The batch of 2020, 2021and 2022 graduated together. The pandemic delayed life, but the university did not let their students down, the celebrations took place with the grandeur they deserved. The young girl or boy you had said goodbye to from home, a few years back, finally  graduated from the university. I saw them all. In my eyes they were just like young children running between Squirrel Hill and Shady Side, crossing signals at Walnut street and Hazelnut street, either with a grocery bag from Giant Eagle or a bagpack on their slightly drooping shoulders. I saw your child and mine. A bunch of young people, happy, confident walking down the streets of the city, the corridors of their university buildings at ease with themselves and their surroundings. They were young adults  (much beyond our recognition) living a life filled with dreams in their eyes and the confidence to fulfill those dreams.

Chalk and Cheese were welcomed with open arms to take a peek into this world that belonged to our children. A university campus is just not an educational institution, it becomes a second home for the students as well as the teaching faculty. These modern day Gurukuls train young minds to achieve their dreams in these absolutely beautiful  campuses with fully advanced and brilliantly supported technological emenities. Each year the university gates open to welcome new students and to bid goodbyes to the passing out batches. The professors stand by the students like strong pillars, guiding them, teaching them and giving them confidence as their friend, philosopher and guide. In those long ,silent , solemn corridors of learning , I saw the Goddess of knowledge being worshiped in a focused, calm and almost meditative mode of concentration.

When a family decides to send their child away from home to an academic institution, whether within the country or in a foreign country , it is not an easy decision to make . Beyond the pursuit of a degree alone every parent wants to see their children achieve certain goals and dreams in life. Long after a child leaves home the empty rooms echo with with their laughter, the empty kitchens echo with their tantrums, and the parent’s heart echoes a lonely tune all through long drawn summer afternoons and cold winter nights. The changing seasons do not bring in Dusshera, Diwali, Holi with the same fervour and happiness ,instead parents change calendars with fall, winter, and spring of a foreign land. They live through the same anxieties and tensions ( which their children feel) of first semester, second semester, and all the way to the final semester. At the end of this long journey, D day arrives, and as the scholars wear their robe and hood, the father takes out his old but neatly ironed coat, and the mother pins on a saree kept aside for this special occasion.

While the parents and family back home coped and adapted to their changed life, the children too faced their share of challenges. Life changed for them all at once, new country, new people, new friends and new ways of life. They learn to cook, clean, manage money and all this without once complaining. The new rigorous academic program starts on immediately, and falling  back in class is not a negotiable option. So the climb is uphill right from the very start. This next generation of amazing individuals have the ability to  handle difficult situations with a calm head and clear disposition in a way which is way beyond my comprehension.But one thing these young adults could never learn ; they never learnt how to lie when they had to  answer that one repeated question from home : ” khana khaya  ?” or  “Did you eat ? ” Their half smiling mumble always gave away their truth.

So here we were Chalk and Cheese sitting upright in the audience to be a witness to this culminating day of the journey we had all started together. In this vast ocean of scholars there was no ‘ yours’ or ‘ mine’, there was no country, ethnicity, community or colur which could divide them.  Every single student had earned their day and hour on the podium. The honour to wear the robe and the hood, the honour to march in unison to a live band playing just for them, the honour to drown in the applause coming from the audience gallery.How beautiful and happy the graduates looked together, moving slowly like waves , waving out to their families and friends.They were graduating from a prestigious university to carry on the lineage of the university into the world outside. It was a day of celebration. Celebration of perseverance, integrity, hard work, sacrifice wisdom and  accomplishment . This day will always be the first chapter of a new life of adulthood, a life they are so eager and joyous to embrace.

For the families and friends who were in the audience and also for all of them who could not be present, it was a big day of achievement. I could see in those young faces a reflection of their parents ;  as I hugged my son’s friends I knew they thought of you, their mother or father back home. When I saw a grandmother or grandfather waving and clapping all at once, I  knew the values and unconditional love which these young people had been blessed with. My eyes brimmed up again and again, through the blurred vision of a mother’s love I saw your child and mine walk the walk, stand tall, and accept  their graduation degree with utmost humility. I feel grateful that in my own small way I could be present to see and chronicle the best day of a scholars life. The incredible journey which these young graduates have made from far away homes upto this threshold of life was worth every mile of their travel.

This blog was not about graduation day alone. You and I too had graduated from colleges ,some day in the past. There will be fresh graduates every year. This blog was about the immense sense of fulfillment which a parent gets from seeing their child’s accomplishments. This was about passing on the responsibility of the baton in able hands of the future. The journey never ends. Life continues giving lessons at every turn and we keep learning forever.

Yours emotionally ,
Chalk and Cheese ,
(Parent).

PS:  Chalk is as emotional as Cheese about this day and all the mushy feelings that goes with it.

Of Evening Walks and more …

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 4 Comments

“Walk the talk” or “walk the walk” that is the quintessential  question Chalk and Cheese are dealing with these days.
Cheese loves  “walk the talk” and my business like Chalk prefers “walk the walk” , in absolute silence ! Long evening walks have become a regular routine for Chalk and Cheese in recent times. I love to talk while I walk, so much so that at times I feel I only go for the walk so that I can talk. To clear my own head, I ask the questions and I answer my own questions. I make philosophical points over simple matters and I admire everything  around me, from the tiny flowers on the grass to the hills and river banks . Yes, I chatter, I chatter ceaselessly and the vantage point being that the partner can not run away from me, and I get to pretend that he is listening ! In reality, I am in conversation with myself.

In such a scenario what does Chalk do ? After being the subject of this “walk the talk” evenings, Chalk has come out with a new strategy. I have told you before that Chalk is the smarter partner ; so he has now beaten me to my own game. He has very smartly Chalked the walk ! To put it simply, he has come out with new routes, torturous routes  (aah…the melting feet of delicate Cheese), for our evening walks. And guess what, he has succeeded in pushing Cheese into a silent zone. I walk beside him in a zombied mode, my mind racing but my feet aching, my throat parching, and the rest of the body groaning for attention. Well, he has silenced me during the walks but he cannot stop me from spreading the word here with my fellow readers!

With these well researched, longer routes and difficult terrain plans,  Chalk has started enjoying the evening walks twice as much. Like writing on the classroom black-board Chalk tells me stories of his various adventures. I am his only disciple on these lonely roads. He tells me of his Indian Military Academy days, when as a young cadet he and his course mates had to do the Golden Ring walk in the hills of Dehradun. These young men would be left in the jungles with certain coordinates  and some refreshments to find their way back , walking all through the night for more than ten hours to reach the reporting base at dawn. I hear in amazement and admiration. This most unassuming persona of my Chalk has so many layers to unfold. He is senior to me in age yet more energetic and more enthusiastic, an army man to the core. Cheese has stopped her non-stop chatter during her evening walks, it is more out of exhaustion than anything else. Cheese is learning the art of listening, her silence is rewarding her with sack full of stories.

At times we get lost navigating new routes, well as lost as one can get in residential sidewalks with Google maps on our phone. The son calls up once in a while to track us. Chalk tells him not to worry for his mother is with the ace navigator. What he says in jest is not very far from the truth. When he navigates I drive and when I chose to navigate he takes the steering,  together we have journeyed quite a bit uphill and now from the plateau of life we are enjoying the view around.

In the coming week Chalk and Cheese will be traveling  towards the east coast, we will be going to see our son’s  university city and attend his graduation programme. Next week I will come back to you my readers with the story of another walk.The walk our children will take , the proud recipients of degrees in their chosen field of interest.There will be many parents sitting in the hall with me and there will be so many of them sitting at home and seeing their children through videos and photographs. I may not know you all in person , but at some level we have a common thread , our children. I will write for the children and their parents. I will tell you every tiny detail of what I will see, through your eyes and mine, it will be my own way to “walk the talk”.

Sunshine On Sale

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 2 Comments

Every morning when I wake up the bright sunlight filtering in through the blinds make me smile. It reminds me of where I am, I don’t have slatted blinds on my window at home. I am in America and sunshine is celebrated here in a big way. This is essentially a cold country, so when the sun shines and  warmth spreads it makes people come out of their homes to soak in the sun, it gets them busy collecting sunshine. I too am loving the warm glow of sunshine on my bed.

Last Saturday was no different, I gave a lazy-hazy smile to the blinking blinds as I woke up. My dreams from the night were fading slowly as the present day, hour and moment dawned on my sleepy senses. Some fragments of last nights broken dreams were still lingering on. I was crossing the Howrah bridge in a yellow taxi to take a train to leave my city and that train was running on the Brooklyn Bridge taking me from Manhattan to Brooklyn where my daughter was waiting for me at the subway station. Oh what an utter confusion of bridges and places and people. But that is how dreams are most of the time ; memories float in easy in our dreams. All dreams make sense when we add up the cue cards. Bridges connect, they take us from one shore to another and the same bridge brings us back from where the journey began.This apparently disjointed dream made perfect sense to me. I was seeing my own journey, I was missing my daughter, compounded by all the planning from the  previous night to visit the Golden Gate Bridge came in together to bridge-up my dream.

We were all set to drive upto San Francisco city.  ‘A beautiful summer day’ I often hear people say this around me. For our Indian acclimatized body and mind cells… summer days are not essentially beautiful, they are hot and scorching days. Summer is… the heat wave people are experiencing back home in India, summer is…water scarcity, summer is…parched paddy fields, summer is… the time to stay indoors or visit cooler places. In this American summer Chalk and Cheese both shiver. Chalk has brought with him all summer shirts for sunny California,  but his Indian body needs to stay warm. He is now styling up in son’s jackets and hoodies. My  beautiful summer dresses too are still in the suitcase. There is just one way to dress up here, jeans and jacket with walking shoes. Going out for an evening walk or going out to see one of the seventh wonders of the modern world our dress code remains the same. Mark Twain had rightly said “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. ” Mark Twain I can shake your hand on that !

The Golden Gate Bridge is the most internationally recognized symbol of San Francisco city and the state of California. A sight which we have seen in so many movies and television shows was right there in front of our eyes. As we approached the bridge I rolled down the window and took off my glares to catch the bright orange-red colour of the painted steel with my non tinted eyes. Cycling on the bridge is a thing people do, and there were so many cyclists zipping away, it amazed me . My son informed us that he too had cycled on this bridge with his friend and that it was a tiring adventure for them.Chalk gets particularly excited about the cycling idea, he likes new challenges and I can go hiding in a closet in the name of any challenge. There are many viewing points of the bridge, depending from which side of the ocean you stand on. We crossed  the length of the bridge and drove up some winding  hilly roads to reach a breathtakingly beautiful view point.The view was spectacular and the mobile cameras came out capturing the spectacle. Golden Gate Bridge is a suspension bridge which was built in four years time and was completed in the year 1937. There stood the bridge blushing in radiant orange against a crystal blue sky, celebrating the sunshine on sale !

The Piers of San Francisco are another place of tourist interest. The piers are lined up on a long stretch of road, from Pier 1 to Pier 39. These are like huge gateways leading onto  the platforms which are supported on pillars connecting the shore into the water. Once again there were happy people all around… walking, cycling, children playing , or families just sitting on green patches .On this sunny Saturday afternoon Pier 39 was bursting with tourists. Sunshine was definitely on sale today, and people had come out of their homes from far and wide to buy and soak in all the sunshine they could possibly gather. Pier 39 of course has more to offer than sunshine alone, there are shops, restaurants, and a view of the Alcatraz and the San Francisco Bay. Alcatraz , located on an island was a U.S military prison since 1859. The prison closed down in 1963 and now the island and the prison house has opened up for visitors. We did not have any prior bookings or tickets to make the trip to Alcatraz .Chalk was more keen about this tour than Cheese. Maybe we will come back for it another day.

We had lunch at the fisherman’s wharf ( Pier 39 is one part of the fisherman’s wharf complex) and walked around the place looking into the ocean beyond. The sea food restaurants offered pocket friendly delicious sea food platters. The Cheese in me was engrossed observing people, the sun soaked gaiety, the sea lions lying lazily on huge wooden platforms, the prison island far into the sea, the sailboats in waiting ; and I completely forgot to capture these scenic beauties on my camera.The Cheese in me was melting in this happy sunshine afternoon.

Driving back home we saw the beautiful Victorian styled stand alone houses lining up the expensive streets of San Francisco. The houses here do not have name plates, so you don’t get to know if it is a Mannat or Jalsa, whether it houses a Mukesh or a Ratan. The houses here only have numbers,  they belong to the rich no doubt and the identity is held in the number games. I have filled the glass half with my melted cheese stories the other half  of the glass gets filled with the Chalky captures from Chalks camera. With a promise to come back again with more tales from Chalk and Cheese…adieu.

Maiden Over

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 6 Comments

A week into the new life, new place and Cheese continues feeling like a “pardesi girl”. I am a total ‘pardesi’ in these American surroundings and being a ‘desi’ makes me feel in tune with myself. The Bay area has many Indians and seeing them in the supermarkets, the malls, the restaurants makes me feel quite at home. I don’t miss home yet, but I am missing two important people of my life! My everyday help Kamala bai and dhobi bhaiya. I go on washing dishes, pans, karhai, karchi and keep singing ” Meri Bai nahi aai, aaj Bai nahi aai, bartan pe jum gai kai”. Yes, yes, there is this wonderful machine called dish washer but I have been made to count its disadvantages more than the advantages. As for the dhobi bhaiya replacement I am trying to make Chalk feel like an Iron-man, but clever Chalk doesn’t fall for this word play and the washed clothes are piling up in waiting. Meanwhile the mischievous son is taking polaroid shots of Chalk and Cheese in ‘ghar ke kaam’ wala action mode and displaying them all around the house. There is no deleting of certain truths and moments. Welcome to American life Chalk and Cheese!

The other day, son took us to a ‘Kirane ki dukan’ a few miles from his house. The place is called “Bharat Bazar”. I half expected an Indian flag to be swaying somewhere nearby because the place had such strong Indian vibes. But no, and why should it be so, this is not my country. Americans love flying their national flag. One look into the horizon and surely there will be a flag or two swaying in cool breeze on top of some building, some home. The stars and stripes against the blue sky looks beautiful. But my tiny heart strangely aches for some saffron, white and green. I do not feel these ‘desh-prem’ type feelings in my day-to-day life in India. Is it my romanticism alone or does this happen to most people when they are removed from their places of identity? To cut short my Cheesy moment Chalk announces, “let’s have some phuchka at Bharat Bazar”, my Bangali babu..it is ‘golgappa or panipuri ‘ here, but what’s in a name…it is filled with those desi flavours which makes us say ” ye dil maange more.”

Talking of flavours and taste something happened last Thursday. We woke up to a rainy cloud covered day and the first thought that came to our mind was ‘khichuri or khichri’. These days major part of the planning process goes around food and kitchen. And for a quintessential Bangali rainy day and kichuri are almost synonymous. Chalk and Cheese also identify themselves with ‘ khichri ke chaar yaar. dahi, papar, ghee aur achar ‘. Well, once khichuri / khichri was cooked it was time for the chaar yaar. Dear Chalk doesn’t like his ‘papar’ microwaved or deep fried, he likes to roast it on an open flame. I suppose you have guessed it already my readers…the minute he started roasting the ‘papar’ the house got filled with  smoke and the fire alarm was set off in a shrill loud and scary way. Chalk ‘ne aag laga di’, well, almost literally.  Sonny boy and mama Cheese instantly started jumping around opening doors, windows, switching on the exhaust etc.  All this while Chalk stood perfectly still and totally nonchalant. Endless cups of Darjeeling tea, Rabindra sangeet, IPL matches and that nonchalant attitude, I think Chalk has quite enjoyed his Maiden Over in America.

Playing ‘ghar-ghar’ in their new avatar Chalk and Cheese are bonding in a very different way and feeling strangely young all over again. This lovely energy of doing the unfamiliar things together is creating conversations we have not had in a long time. Back home in India we start taking home and house-work for granted, we enjoy the privilege of so many helping hands to do our daily chores. But living in a foreign country we start taking responsibility for those very chores of our everyday life. When Chalk walks upto the white board and scribbles something, a curious Cheese peeks in, it is a simple to-do list for the day. A bemused Cheese stands silently, melting in the warmth of this simple moment.

In this season of changes for Chalk and Cheese they saw their son’s transition from toy store hot wheels to another stores hot wheels. To celebrate this game changer day of our son we drove upto a Gurudwara, built on top of a hill, looking down into the valley. Amidst the absolute quiet harmony of the surroundings with the chant of “Wahe Guru”, “Wahe Guru” encompassing one and all, our hearts filled up with gratitude and love. May the ultimate master of the wheels of our destiny teach us the balance of life at every given situation. In God’s home there is no foreign land, there are no boundaries of countries, cult or culture. Chalk and Cheese are travelers today and tomorrow they will be homeward bound. In this in-between time let us collect more memorabilia than what can be filled in those suitcases.

Till the next blog, till the new places we see, till the bridges we cross, till the people we meet with their stories, alvida.

First Day First Show.

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 11 Comments
The scientific method

Chalk and Cheese have packed their bags once again. The readers of my old blogs would be familiar with the Chalk and Cheese series of our travelogs. For the new readers, Chalk is my husband , the firm, reasonable, full of knowledge and no nonsense kind of guy. I am Cheese who melts with or without any reason, highly emotional , and loves to spread a word or two of her travel experiences amongst her readers. Having given the above introduction, let me begin our new travelog. I will try to tell you the stories of our everyday life in  new environment and about the places we visit.

The pandemic and the rules and regulations of different nations had kept the world confined for two long years. Restless travelers are now picking up their bags once again to set foot outside home, to experience the bounties beyond boundaries. Yours truly Chalk and Cheese did the same. We packed with us our little world of necessities and left home  for another home ( our son’s home in the United States). I noticed that many of our fellow passengers were parents  (like us) who had stepped out of their comfort zone just to meet their children who have chosen to live in a different country. As the flight took off from Kolkata airport , sitting on the window seat and looking  out at the lights of the midnight city my heart started humming ” But I’m sad to say, I’m on my way, won’t be back for many a day, My heart is down, I’m turning around,  I had to leave a little girl in….town”. How a mothers heart strings gets pulled at both ends and how she lives with this extended cord is another story altogether. 

The Sun on the west coast of America shined bright and mercilessly into our eyes as our plane touched base in SanFrancisco. Our son was waiting for us at the airport, dazzling with anticipation and happiness. Young men are not very open with their emotions, but this time around he just couldn’t help smiling. As the car ( which was being driven by the son ) rolled out of the parking slot I wishpered ‘ Dugga, Dugga’ in my mind. The high ways in America all look the same to me,year after year, smooth broad roads and zipping big cars in four or five lanes and exit signs marked prominently. But this time around everything looked different in my eyes because my son was behind the wheels. I sat stiff and anxious in the back seat, perhaps my heartbeat  was running faster than the speedometer. Last time I had seen my little  boy behind  the wheels was in his bicycle,  when did the equation change so fast, when did those two wheels turn to four ? I realize that the wheels of time has taken many turns in these years. Today the drivers seat had been taken on by the son and the father sitting beside him was a relaxed man enjoying the drive.

When we entered our son’s very meticulously organized, shinning clean smart home, my eyes blurred with tears. I had a time travel moment. I recalled my parents walking into my first home, first time, so many years back. In my son’s face I saw my own reflection, mirroring a thousand  emotions all at once. The tables had turned, here was my son, my youngest born now a grown up young man giving us his thousand dollar  smile. I stood transfixed in time with choked voice and moist eyes.

As the hours rolled by to the next day I tried to blend in as smoothly as possible into the new life of my son. But I am Cheese after all, I spread unnoticed, I start mothering-up his lifestyle and smart home in my own limited edition ancient ways. I place a fragrant rose next to his 3D printer, I hobble around in the kitchen boiling daal – chawal, I use tissues as ‘poncha’ (the search for a rag cloth was on agenda ), I switched off the air-conditioning and open windows for fresh air. A whiff of cold air hits my face, yet I keep standing at the window looking out at the hills in the distant. We are in a valley, but this valley is no meadow from my story book world. It is the Silicon Valley where ways of life is very different from the one I am used to. Time will tell how much the mother board can get compatable with the changes around her. The micro chip which was once a part of her has grown up into an individual beyond recognition.

Chalk meanwhile is quite adaptable to the white boards of life. He finds his own ways of settling down and unwinding himself. Even after soaking hours in bubble baths and red wine his emotional quotient remains dry and Chalk white. But I am sure as the days go by Chalk will bring out the multicolours of his persona and Cheese will definitely  spread the word for her readers. Till then a jet lagged Cheese would like to wind up her story of ‘First day First show’ and catch up on some sleep. 

The valley

Yoga Mat Mantra.

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 2 Comments

The above is a picture of a sad yoga mat. It is sad because  of its present status, a prop for photoshoot. My yoga mat thinks ( yes , it has an independent mind of its own) that it has in its power to make me connect with my inner self ! This has been my mat from my initial days of practicing yoga. The mat has seen better days of glory. It has been with me in my journey of learning and relearning how to bend my ego and spine both together. 

Once upon a time the mat had had a place of respect in our house. The minute it unfurled a whiff of fresh air and positivity would fill the room. Alas, those days of the past is like a distant dream for the mat. For sometime now my mat has been living under the bed, sharing a dark space with a ladder, a long forgotten briefcase, one pair of lost chappal, and a folding (one leg broken) laptop table; out of sight- out of mind. A life of total ignominy. To add more misfortune some spiders made a comfortable studio in the hollow cylindrical belly of the mat and were making their own web series. This web story was perhaps the last straw to my mat’s patience. It decided to finally reach out to me.

As I wrote earlier,  my mat has some special powers! It has the power to connect with  me. With years of having practiced yoga together our connect is quite strong. I could almost hear the mat cry out in pain and indignity.  And as I bend down low to recover the mat from under the bed my back muscles groaned and moaned in protest. So one thing was clear, my once flexible  body had become stiff and lazy. The muscles had forgotten to stretch and bend.

The only Surya namaskar my body had done in the last two years was to stand in the balcony with folded hands saluting the 9.am sun. The only Tree pose I had done was to stand under a tree and take a nice photo. The only Baal- Asan was to behave like a child filled with impatience. And my all time favorite, the Sab-Asan was performed on the bed. Now that I have made my reader count all my follies,  the picture is amply clear that I had not done any yoga for two years and counting. There is no connect with my inner peace, my restless mind is wandering, and my physical body is moaning  and groaning,

The mat insisted to be pulled out from under the bed, and I obeyed. But my escapist mind promptly found other uses for the mat. It became a prop for photography, It became  a place to sit on with the morning paper and coffee, and last but not the least the mat became my muse for another blog.

My mat is still talking  to me. It is humming  in my ears that Yoga as we popularly call it is actually Yog in Sanskrit. Yog, meaning connect ! Connect of the mind with  the body, connect of the mind with the soul, connect of the mind with the universe beyond ourselves. The concept of yog stretches much beyond the stretching of a few muscles and limbs. It is an ignorant and vain mat, proud of its bright red beauty and will not shut up till I transform my lifestyle once again and connect with my mind. I guess it is time to say “Thank you yog mat for your mantra”.

Forwarded.

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 2 Comments

The man of the house keeps sitting for hours with his mobile phone in hand and I see him smiling ,frowning or hear a hearty laughter now and then. There is a world of ‘forwards’ on his phone, which he receives from his multiple  w.app groups, and this ‘forwarded’ world keeps him absorbed for hours. The videos he plays can get quite annoying, for they start blaring all of a sudden. They can range from jokes to songs to ‘prabachans’ or even a diet plan, never lacking  in mix- matching variety! The man refuses to use his ear phones. Initially I was sympathetic to his dislike for ear phones. After all, as a pilot he has been wearing the head-set for the longest hours of every day of his flying  career, and now if he wants a break from putting noise pollution into his ear drums I am in complete compliance. But when the bedroom starts echoing various decibels of noise pollution at any time of the day, I do take offense.

I ponder, I think, I introspect, till I let guilt take over my  reasoning.The fault must be mine, I blame myself, infact I convince myself that my communication skills are largely at question. This gadget companion of my man ( the mobile phone )  could do what I have failed to succeed in in so many years of our life together. The phone can evoke various ’emotions’ in my man which I can not, no matter how hard I try. No one can blame me for not talking enough, I talk endlessly,  I don’t  expect reactions, I just do my bit…chatter chatter. He stays calm and quiet. All these years I was giving him the benefit of the doubt, I had started to accept that his emotional quotient was less than mine. I believed that the man was not capable of expressing or perhaps even feeling emotions. And here was this same man displaying more emotions than there are emoticons for them,  and his  expressions keep changing by the minute, depending on the ‘forwards’ he receives.  For me it is like discovering a  new man behind my solemn faced ‘fauji’ .For so many years I was content looking at a straight face ( thinking it to be equanimity) or a knotted brow (thinking it to be contemplation). But alas, my man has a completely hidden  side of which I knew nothing.  A world of whatsapp forwards!

Finally I gather enough  curiosity and ask him to share with me this private world of his ( which of course cannot  be too private for most of the forwards read ‘forwarded many times’) .To my surprise he happily introduces me to his  sanctum of entertainment.  Soon, a bit too soon, my mind gets the answers to my man’s muse. I think I would rather choose my man as my muse to w.app forwards ! He angers me, he frustrates me, but he also makes me smile and laugh like no one else can. Therefore let him continue filling up his spare hours and his mobile phone’s storage with whatsapp forwards while I fill my hours with my words, Netflix, and Prime. Let us each have our own guilty harmless pleasures in peace.

A last note, the man of the  house has read this blog before I thought of posting it. And guess what..I got my first reaction/ emotion…”it is funny ” said the man. Hurray,  I have made him smile at last. Long live the pen! Tring,  tring, tring, that’s  my w.app calling , bye.

April Fools’ Day

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 2 Comments

Another fools day came  and went by leaving me a little more foolish than yesterday. I am a declared fool. I get fooled very easily. The day of playing prank on one another did not ever go empty for me. Some tried and some succeeded.  I am happy that some people  still remember the April fools day as it used to be years back.

I asked my friend Google to make me more knowledgeable  about the history of the day, how , why and when were fools of the world awarded a special day. Ignorance is no more a bliss. No one needs to stay blissfully ignorant anymore. If you have a question on your mind  then there is always  an answer for it. But before Google, answers did not come easy. Thus I grew up building my very own  fool’s paradise where the realm of reality and imagination often blurred my vision. 

There’s is no special  pride in being a fool.  But when for a whole day you can laugh at simple foolish pranks, it gives a sense of comic relief.

Our childhood  was very different,  we lived and grew in a world where  everyday life had simple pleasures and awe filled moments.

April first always brought  some excitement, when everyone  could get away playing  a prank, one had to be watchful all day lest you get fooled ! I remember on April Fools’ day I would run down  the stairs to ring the  door bell and come up running and panting to tell Ma ” ke esheche dekho ( see who has come )”. Ma would go all the way to the door, open it and find no one on the other side, she would look up at me standing at top of the staircase clapping and calling Ma..April Fool. Ma would climb back the stairs smiling, without ever making me feel the fool, perhaps she knew all along !

Mr. Pinocchio,  people  made the biggest fool of you and your image. They made you believe that your nose kept growing  an extra inch every time you lied. In my fool’s paradise lying was a naughty thing to do. Thus I tried to be as truthful as I could.This led me into troubles more often than I liked. Yet my  tiny nose kept growing inspite of all the truth abiding days of my childhood. The Pinocchio syndrome has not affected  the world at all, and thank God  for it , or else we would  be having a world full Pinocchios. At long last the fool in me stopped blaming my long nose and started appreciating it for what it is…just a nose. Whether lying is white or black, vice or virtue, it doesn’t help in growing a long nose.

Shakespeare’s court jesters were no one’s fool. They said the most hard hitting truths of life garbed in wit and humour.  The one who makes us laugh easy is neither a fool nor ignorant. A fool’s humour comes laced with the irony of life and gives us a looking glass which adds that extra shade of colour. In a world burdened with divisions, chaos, hunger ,power politics, lies and deceit, let there be one day for the fools too.  A day where there will be a little mindless laughter a day to get fooled with another fool with no malice in heart.

Book lovers

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 3 Comments

It all started with this one small wish of mine, wanting to sit on that inviting chair, ‘The Chair’ in the garden and day dream. In my dream came knocking a sleepy town in the south of France where all doors were closed. I called the town, the town of ‘Closed Doors’. I kept peeping through each door to see a little more. In that state of reverie Trisha and her ‘Filter Coffee’ spilled all over my mind. And now they want to hear the story till the end! But where is the end and how far from my reach I wonder. Trisha was travelling alone and on a magical sun-set evening in a serene beach side cafe, she had met an attentive and interesting man.Yes, their friendship happened very naturally, without any effort, and they also exchanged numbers with the intention of catching up some day somewhere. It was not a “you are my latte” kind of friendship ! Coffee lovers can vouch that competing with coffee love is not too easy. Trisha must have reached back home by now and tucked away the memory of that warm evening in her magic box neatly tied with a silver ribbon. Unlike Trisha I don’t  travel alone, I travel with my people, with my words, and most of all with my readers.

Words turned into sentences and sentences into paragraphs and slowly my mind started waking up and giving each line a meaning, an image, a picture , almost like a reel. The words within became a reality more real than the one around. 

I borrowed the book for two nights and days. I knew I couldn’t finish reading it in that time. I read slow, as slow as a tortoise peeping out of its shell ! The book was a thriller and I left the story unfinished. Every story that I start does not reach its end. I learn to live with the unfinished tales of life. I learn that every sun set does not become a poem or every lark flying is not completely free. I returned home with an unfinished book on my mind and an unquenchable thirst for more and more words. A good friend came to rescue, she suggested that I dive into the  world of “The Heart Asks Pleasure First”. And yes I am now slowly drowning my senses into…heart asks pleasure first !

Words chase me no matter where I go, or is it the other way round- I keep chasing words no matter where I go. So here I was in a hotel lobby taking in its interesting decor when I saw the bookshelf. An open bookshelf, leaning against a pillar,  almost hidden from view, standing silently extending a wordless welcome to the curious travellers. I approached it tenderly, scared to ruffle the sleeping pages of the books within. My fingers ran gently over the ribs of the books till they touched “I’M TRAVELLING ALONE”. I gingerly took the book in my hand and started reading.

Filter Coffee.

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 2 Comments

A steaming cup of filter coffee in a steel glass with a steel bowl to hold the glass, this was the ultimate of coffee love for Trisha. Her impatient fingers could not wait, she touched the hot glass with her right hand and an instinctive “ouch” came out, louder than she thought. The man sitting on the table opposite to hers looked up. She gave a self conscious half smile, and before she knew it he walked upto her table holding a glass of iced water, “dip your fingers in this glass, you will get instant relief” he said. Trisha obeyed him like a small child and then started laughing loudly at the whole situation, he joined in too with an open smile. Without invitation he pulled out the vacant chair on her table and sat down. Their Hi Hellos slowly turned into some interesting conversation. Like the mellowing evening they eased in each other’s company. Dusk was settling its ink blue sheets on the ocean’s waves. Trisha’s hot filter coffee and his iced drink knew that this hot and cold acquaintance was turning into a warm friendship. Filter coffee sure knows how to break the ice and start an unfiltered conversation.