A question was raised on a social network site about who watches what and how much on television . I found the answers very guarded. A few replied in total zero figure of idiot box time. While some said they watched television, but mostly of English series or English movies. The contents of Indian television production is not always very entertaining. The daily soaps where domestic drama unfolds with conniving, plotting protagonists, loud makeup and questionable acting skills, is best avoided by most. I can not blame any person for choosing not to get entertained by such jarring comic-tragedy drama. The writers of Greek tragedies and Sanskrit drama can be put to shame in front of these television story writers. They have been spinning the same yarn for years, the viewers are not completely tired yet. But I also understand that for my Amma Tai or Kanta bai, this is happy time,and who is judging after all !  Few honest answers impressed me. They simply said that they enjoy tv viewing from Big Boss to mythology as it fills up their evening hours. Now to admit that one watches Big Boss is a brave act in itself. I have been seeing social messages saying that people have saved hours and hours of good time by not watching the show. I sincerely hope they have done something productive with those valuable hours saved, or else why make a statement out of it. 

Mythology on the other hand can be both entertaining and engrossing. The grandeur of the sets and the actors elaborate costumes itself is enough at times to hold the viewers transfixed. I have learnt quite a few insights about the epics only through the television shows of mythology. The research team generally does a good job. I know the basic story line of the two great epics, Mahabharata and Ramayana, but cannot boast to have read them in their original , unabridged version. B.R. Chopra’s ,Mahabharata had gained great popularity on Indian television in the late1980’s. People would put all their Sunday morning activity on hold to watch this epic story on television. I have seen a few people sitting hands folded,moist eyed ,as Lord Krishna delivered his ‘vaani ‘ on life and battle, drawing a parallel between the two. Times have changed we would think ,but even today mythological series holds its pedestal amongst viewers. “Siya ke Ram ” is the latest ongoing serial on television, telling the tale of Ramayana in a new light, new time and newer actors.But there is one serious problem here. Mr Ram and Mrs. Ram ( Sita ) are two very good looking actors ( strictly in my own opinion ) .The part these serials play on our religious psyche cannot be questioned or argued upon. The mental images of Gods and Goddesses in our mind has been strongly etched over a period of time through various paintings . One such example is Raja Ravi Varma’s paintings of goddesses Saraswati and Laxmi .They are so beautiful and popular that even the idol sculptors give their work of art , faces identical to his paintings. But when a good looking, gym toned muscled, gently smiling young man ,decked up in the finest jewels ,comes on our big LED screen as Lord Rama, our mind gets all confused. After that whenever we try to think of Lord Ram , the image of this gentleman floats in our mind. Believe me it does not help at all in prayers ; even for this idol worshipping, truly ritualistic me. Of all I know, this person in question would be at that exact time sipping coffee at Starbucks , albeit sans make up. Even my imagination is not bold enough to think about our on screen Ram in some pub with his lady love sipping chilled beer. If he has to be seen with any lady , she has to be the country’s beloved Sita maiya. Even after the camera has stopped rolling, the show must go on , for it is not easy playing God and Goddess, on or off lime light ! But Mr. Ram ( I mean the actor, sorry I don’t know your name ), please don’t play as a contestant in BigBoss 10. If you do, we will start hiccuping each time we pray to The Lord and say Amen. 

The TRP ratings will soon shift focus to other reality shows. Reality shows garner good popularity amongst the young and old alike. Soon on television Men and women will dance like a pro, contestants will endanger their life with snakes and ladders, some will start cooking the gourmet platter. And we the viewers will feel like the ultimate Boss. Wether we vote to make our government or not, as a country of tv viewers we like to vote for reality shows. We have the power , the remote power .Moreover the men and women begging for the votes are so prettily dressed up, blinking at us with those big eyes just like our Barbies and Kens . Our heart melts, we vote , totally trusting, the naive , sweet, us, the viewers ! Every time the favorite contestant is voted out we shriek fowl. We feel cheated, we call the program rigged, we hate the production house, and next evening, sharp at nine we are in front of our television sets. Wonder who has the last laugh ? 

Did I mention that I am one of those…’Oh no, I don’t waste my time on television ‘. That big flat screen on my bedroom wall is only for viewing news and sports by my husband. So how do I know so much about the programming detail ? It is elementary my dear Watson ! Oops ! But then who doesn’t watch Sherlock and House. So what they are ‘foreign’…please see the ‘Sunny’ side of life too. We are the game changers. See you at nine tomorrow . Till then if we want the answers, we must keep asking the questions.

Living With Adam…..

Adam drops the wet- heavy towel on the bed with the finality of job done ! With that the last traces of morning slumber vanishes from Eve’s sleep laden eyes. She could have shrieked in protest but it would have fallen on deaf ears. Adam had moved on to the wardrobe to select his shirt for the day. Eve drags her self to the kitchen to make breakfast for Adam. Her mental count down starts ,waiting for Adam’s crisis voice to bellow down to the kitchen. In clock work precision Adam calls out. Eve smiles,she had counted ten counts extra today ! Adam would be routinely missing at least one of the following items, his wallet, his grey socks ( the black will not do), his file ,his reading glasses, the pen drive or in the least the car keys. Eve loves this morning treasure hunt game, for her the smile on Adams face and the peck on the cheek is the real treasure. The wet towel is forgotten, the missing socks is forgotten when the key to bliss can be so simple.

 The master bed room may have been named so,keeping all the Adams in mind, but all his choices come to rest beyond this point. Adam knows that the queens bed is where he will rest at the end of a days toil. Eve tucks in the sheet,props up the pillows and looks at Adam with a dare glare. Adam does not understand Eve’s obsession with ‘no crease ‘ on bed sheet and Eve cannot accept Adam’s laid back habit of making the bed his work table and dining table. Thus the battle continues in the master bedroom over the queens bed ; all things in life is not a bed of roses ! 
The remote chance of an evening watching television in peace with Adam vanishes when the argument starts on remote control. Adam loves the television remote.His leisure is from playing arm chair football, tennis, to solving world political crisis with remote in hand ! He can watch the same politician answer the same questions on various tv channels over and over again. Eve prefers watching reality shows, talk shows or simple rom com. But nothing is simple, romantic or comic in the battle of the remote. Eve waits till the debating host on tele turns hoarse from shouting and her Adam dozes off in the middle of the debate, triumphantly she grabs the remote to switch Chanel. High definition remote power is all hers, albeit only after prime time.
Adams’ discomfort when Eve is behind the wheels cannot be hidden behind that stoic wooden face he wears each time Eve drives the car. His inherent desire to control makes him unsure of Eve’s ability. Adam strongly feels that his speed, maneuvering style are as good as a race car driver and his prized four wheeler is no less than a Ferrari . Eve knows the roads better, she glides the car better over road bumps,she parks the car perfectly in reverse gear. But Eve sits beside Adam as he drives along busy city roads, overtaking buses, changing lanes, using her feet on imaginary clutch and break. Sometimes in life it is easier to use the break in the mind to keep the drive smooth and enjoyable . Nothing moves on single wheel. Transcending the difference from a drive to a journey gives Eve the meaning to her life.
Eve gives Adam the look which weakens his will against all his will. It is shopping day for Eve and Adam has to come along in this retail therapy session .For Eve to get tempted by the world of fashion and glitter is in her nature. Temptation has always been her folly ! Why else would Satan choose her with temptations above Adam. Yet the question remains was it right for Adam to follow Eve blindly in biting the apple ? Once bitten, he has to savor the bite. Eve feels lost in the shopping paradise of merchandise, endless rows of indulgence keeps pulling her and Adam gets pulled along, half grudging, half smiling . 
Some like it hot and some like it cold. Thus when the steaming cup of coffee arrives Adam complaints that it has gone cold. Eve has to wait a while before she takes the first sip. They sit in amicable silence with two coffee mugs, one too cold, the other too hot. But the warmth of emotions they share surpasses all impediments . Living with Adam shall never be easy. The crumpled sheet, the lost socks, the bumpy roads, shall change to ill fitting dentures, the medicine doses, the walking stick, but living with Adam will always remain the most bitter sweet journey of Eves life. The Adams and Eves will change with time ,but living with each other, discovering more of each other will always be the first love of their life, their garden of Eden will always remain their destination extraordinaire ! 
                                                                                           

Probasher Kashful .PROBASHIR Kashful  The day I married an Army man and left my city Kolkata to travel the vast length and breadth of this country I attached a tag with my name, Probashi. As a true probashi I speak languages other than my mother tongue, I celebrate Onam to Ganesh Chaturthi with equal fervor , I can dance on Baisakhi and sing a Christmas carol in chorus. But what my heart aches for, my eyes become misty, is when I have to live away from my city Kolkata during Durga pujo. Therefore I use a cliche ,you can take a Bengali out of Bengal but you cannot take Bengal out of a Bengali. Durga pujo and Bengali are as synonymous as roshogolla is to Kolkata .  The October blue sky with snow white cirrus cloud floating around aimlessly , luxuriously, spells pujo time. The Kashful swaying happily in the back drop of green fields, spells pujo time. The sweet fragrance of shiuli spells pujo time. Where ever in the country I have been, my thirsty eyes have always waited for these special symbolic announcement of the joyous period approaching. Why we rejoice with this opulent sense of well being in the anticipation of those five big days is not very specific. Perhaps our psyche is filled with a sense of renewal, a fresh lease of life, a hope for a new beginning. All celebrations , social or religious have this common thread of bond which gives the human race energy, power, goodwill and brotherhood to face life. Living life after all is quite an uphill task ! Therefore we embrace these few days of festivity with open arms.  During this time of the year Nau Ratra is celebrated in the northern states of India. The Devi is worshipped for nine days ;people fast or in the least turn vegetarian for this duration. The deity Hindus worship are the same but their form differs. Bengal’s Durga is dashabhuja riding a lion killing the Asura( representation of evil). The North Indians worship the Ambe Ma , charbhuja and riding a tiger. But the religious sentiments to appease the Goddess, the nari shakti would be essentially the same. But there is a big difference in all this, it is the ‘Pet Puja ‘ ; which we Bengali people indulge in shamelessly all through the five days of celebration. To wash away sins, or to detoxify the body, no way can you convince a Bengali to give up on gastronomical indulgence .    Every Bengali fasts till  he/ she has offered Anjali to the Goddess. We love dressing up in  new ,crisp, cotton sarees, pajama and Kurtas. Our children wear a freshly laundered starched look, in colourful new clothes. We seriously feel all our sins getting washed away as we stand flower in hand chanting …”Ya Devi sharbabhuteshu Shakti Rupeno Sangsthita….”. The puja pandals on those mornings vibrate with humble submission and offerings of the mere mortal on the feet of the omnipotent power of Ma Durga.  I have missed being part of such beautiful pujo days for many years. Though the Kashful swayed and tickled all my emotions with everything beautiful, everything pious, but I missed seeing a Protima many a years. Then again in big cities like Mumbai I have seen the glamour of Durga Pujo festivities. The Pujo pandals are more famous by the names of film world celebrities . Crowds throng to see glamour and goddess together ! During sandhya arti  the dhaki playing their drum and celebrities dancing to the beat is a spectacle which enthralls all pandal visitors. Certain things remain common, the awe striking, competitive, light dazzling pandals. The beauty of which many a times surpasses human imagination. Queued up visitors waiting to enter this wonder land often forget the purpose of their visit, the Deity ! Yet, braving the crowd, touching the bottom line of patience and physical stamina , people do come out of their homes in hundreds and thousands. After all they have come to see the Goddess of Shakti. People bustling around the pandals, eating, laughing rejoicing have the ultimate counterpoint just a few feet away, Ma Durga ,standing in total silence. The silence that shall reach our core long after all the noise outside and within have died down.  Coming back home this year to my city Kolkata ,the probashi me is swaying in joy. The longings of all these years safely treasured for this special occasion is surfacing. I can already hear the Mahalaya chants in my mind, “Jago Durga, Jago Dashoprohareno Dharini, Tumi Jago….”.  Another day, another flight may take me away from home ; but not before I have filled my heart to its brim with the joyous song of, “Bajlo tomar aalor benu, maatlo re bhuban …”.

My nephew bought a new car today, a Volkswagen Passat. I don’t know much about cars so I had to check the name twice because it sounded more like pasta to me ! I am a little partial towards this young man and so my enthusiasm is a little overboard. I will take a drive in his Passat when the time comes . As for now the time machine in my mind is taking me back to my childhood. The car- nama from Fiat to Rolls Royce ,from Mercedes to Duster, from gallons to liters have travelled a long way. But my story is a modest one filled with memories of first cars, simple cars.

The first family car was bought by my father when I was about six or seven. WBG 5840,the number plate of that olive green Ambassador has stayed with me forever. I have grown up sleeping in the back seat of that car, literally. Our driverji with his big mustache and his big hands on the steering wheel would drive us miles after miles on those narrow pitch roads of Bihar . My father would sit in the front seat while Ma would settle with didi and me in the back seat. Was it my tiny size or was the seat really big I do not remember, but there was always ample place for me to lie down and doze off with my head nestled in my Ma’s warm lap and the feel of her nine yard saree. It is strange how certain memories stay so vivid even after all these years. Yet, where did we keep the car key, deludes us every day.

The Hindustan fourteen was another car very close to my heart. I wonder today, why was the name of this car so funny. But back then it did not seem strange , but the shape of this car was very unique. The owner of this car was my uncle and often on Sundays we cousins would be designated with the task of washing the car. Together we would turn it into the most fun activity of our Sunday mornings, a car, soap, buckets, pipes, water, rag cloths and three kids. No car shined as brightly to us than our Hindustan fourteen.

My husband and I bought our first car after seven years of our marriage. It was a second hand Maruti 800, beige in color. The previous owners had left it with cartoon printed seat covers. I loved that seat cover and did not change it for as long as we had the car. I learnt to drive in that car. I would make my six year old daughter sit holding her six month old baby brother in the back seat of the car and drive around town doing daily errands. No seat belts, no baby seats, and no fear ! Today even the memory of that scene makes me feel terrified. We changed a number of cars in years that followed, each very precious, each like a member of the family. I have this strange thing of getting emotional attachment towards all Non living items that become part of my house. In my mind I give them a character and personality. Only if they could speak,I would have a gadget story 1 and 2 production of my own.

New cars came, old cars had to go. I have cried copiously bidding adieu to each of my old cars. The journey from miles to kilometers have seen a little girl grow into a young lady, having her own babies,and then those babies growing into young man and woman. It is not just the change in metric system or models and styles of cars that I have seen. I have seen beautiful places driving in these cars, I have seen laughing children enjoying family picnics in these cars. I have seen romantic drives in these cars. I have seen festivals, marriages, parties, good byes, in these cars. I have seen the story of my life changing, growing ,adding miles and miles in the story of my life.

The joy that a new car brings home binds the family together. It is not just a vehicle to serve the luxury of transport alone. A car brings joy, pride and hope. From grandfather’s ambassador to grandson’s Passat, from WBG 5840 to GZR 4377, it is all a tale of a beautiful journey. Keep on adding the miles.

I want to profusely thank the cosmetic industry, not for the magic it has done with my wrinkles, my tresses, my stretch marks; but for keeping me entertained all through these years. No one is born with wrinkles and grey hairs and no one ages without them. Accepting them is called graceful aging , but not always as easy as told. With my troubled sense of humor I call my wrinkles ‘the people’ in my life. The prominent lines on my forehead are the people who have made me think, worry, judge, and left me wiser . The lines around my eyes are the people who have helped me see the world in a new light,made me more appreciative,and humble. The people who touched my life with laughter, joy ,have left their mark around my mouth. I so love these people, for without them in my life I would not be the person I am. So which cream or lotion has the power to erase these line !

Bless the cosmetic industry for being such a life long friend and entertainer. As I turn the pages of glossy magazines I can stare, read, and believe every word the advertisement is trying to sell. Year after year the lotions change, the promises read more convincing, and I devour each word with gospel conviction. Then comes the visit to the malls,the aisles with luring line up of beauty products invites me with confident magnetism. Hours go by reading and analyzing bottles and jars till the right choice is made. Do the lines fade ? No. How can they, remember, they are people after all.

Mothers have a distinct scent of their own. I remember my mothers scent , so comforting and soothing. Yet I don’t remember her wearing any perfume ever. But she had her loyalty to her few but regular beauty products, Boroline, Nivea, Charmis and Tuhina. Those were the constant on our dresser through the years. My own dresser displays a confusion of errors ! Barring the comb there are not very many constants on it. I love to experiment with the new launches of creams and lotions. In fact I like to believe that I contribute a lot to this ever growing industry. After all I am their guinea pig, i am their consumer, i am their advertiser. In return they keep me entertained. Every few months the label changes, the packaging changes, the hydration changes, what remains constant is my reading the fine lines ,believing the fine lines, giving in to the fine lines, year after year ; for after all they are my fine lines, my people .

Run, run away from home,

Go to Spain, Go to Rome!

On the beaches find your lair,

Live a life full of flair

Just run away from home.

Where the shackles of constant bickering stare,

Where the ticking clock dares your glare .

Where the pillows carry your sweaty smell,

Where walls with peeling plasters dwell ,

Under that dark roof nothing is left of home !

Run, run away from home,

Go to Spain, Go to Rome!

Aging folks all around,

Threatning to curb your thoughts profound.

Like the old owl who has forgotten to fly,

They sit and smirk at whatever you try.

Their fading body, wrinkled mind,

Has long forgotten to be kind .

In such a place you once called home,

Nothing remains of the glorious dome.

So pick up your youth, pick up your jest,

The world beyond is having a fest.

Step out into that amazing world,

Don’t wait to see your plans stalled.

Challenges you will face anew,

To hold your hand , just a few.

Yet, march ahead, don’t look back,

No matter how heavy gets your sack.

Run, run away from home,

Go to Spain, Go to Rome!