Daring the rain, daring the transport problems , once again we set out of our house to see a little more, to soak up a little more , to look up to the sky and say ” drench us”. The Victoria Memorial, we solemnly announced to the driver. The driver repeated… ” Victoria Memorial ? “The question in his voice was evident. One, we did not look like tourists, two a mother and her young adults could have no business in a ‘ lovers paradise ‘, three it was mid noon and rain was lashing the city mercilessly, the three reasons put together I could not completely blame the quizzical tone of our transporter. As the car raced along the By pass road I looked at the skyline dotted with high rise constructions, though not a pleasant sight now, but in the coming years these very buildings will become the landmarks of new Kolkata. The landmarks of Calcutta still stand proud, at least in the eyes of the Calcuttans. As our car came out of the maze of traffic and narrow lanes of ParkCircus I promptly switched my gears from a gazer and became a commentator, ” this is Shakespeare Sarani, this is Kala Mandir, on your right is Hotel Kennilworth,on your left is Aurobindo Bhaban and so on. “My children, locked in this small car had no remote button to switch off my commentary. Though I saw the younger one desperately fidgeting with the ear phone in his hand!

Whenever I drive past these roads of the city the hide and seek of Victoria Memorial, Cathedral, south gate of Fort William, Maidan, never fail to amaze me. I keep staring out trying to capture all of it at once. It must be nostalgia; there is no other explanation of this awe struck feeling I get, each time, every time. Victoria…this majestic white monument has never failed to impress its admirers ever since. Thank you George Curzon and Prince of Wales . The empire has taken away a lot but left behind a few wonders for the romantic, the historian, the lover, the architect, the visitors , and the mere gazers like myself.
Keeping my romanticizing apart I concentrated on taking pictures of white marble wonder over the heads of Bihar/Up tourists thronging all around. I heard an innocent father enquire ” beta yeh kaun sa Mandir haye ?” Mandir hi to haye, ek rani ka, I thought to myself. The inside is well maintained ,but nothing more.My daughter Having just read ” Prothom Alo ” in translation , was identifying much more with facts and personnel recorded within the walls of the memorial.
While the rain kept pouring on the summer parched fields of Kolkata we walked inside the safe confines of Victoria soaking up history of the city we are making our new home.

The date with history was yet not over. My children were ready for the National Museum. By now our driver had given up on us. Not surprisingly he did not know how to reach the museum, but telling him to drive us near New Market ( kolkata’s shoppers oldest destination) helped and Google did the rest. Once again we queued up at the ticket counter and bought our passage into the corridors of history. But it was not history which caught our fancy at first. We found young couples sitting on benches inside the museum lost in each other. Such innovative use of museum premises amused us a lot. What better place to preserve budding love than in the sanctum of preservation. ! But we marched ahead with determination, we had a mission in hand, we wanted to go deeper and deeper into history . Archeology to textiles, mammals to geology, nothing escaped our attention. My children perhaps felt a little tiered by the end of the tour but I was strangely enthused. I was feeling very young after my recent introduction with things aging hundred, two hundred , AC BC, dates. Visiting a museum is a sure shot way to feel like a bachcha nestling comfortably in the laps of Mother Earth.

By now our little team of adventurers felt famished. What better way to end the day than take my children to Flurys’ for a high tea treat. This very old, very favorite, very famous , place is a must visit on the list of every person wanting to become a Calcuttan. We ate and ate till we could eat no more. Three happy people sat back in their car with an exasperated driver and declared…. ” waapas ” . Yes it was time to return home, our home, in our city ,,Kolkata.

My window with a view . In this long journey of life I have opened windows to a panorama of scenes . The first memory is of a big wooden window which opened into the terrace of our neighbors and beyond it the road . While my Ma listened to the frivolous chatter of the neighbors wife her whole focus would be on the road, waiting to catch a glimpse of Baba walking back home from his chamber. She always looked beyond. My first window to life was that, seeing the love my parents shared.

In another city, another house, the window opened to a factory chimney with the blue sky in the backdrop. The black smoke emitting from the chimney formed shapes in the blue sky. I had already learnt to look beyond. I saw the soaring birds, flying away from the black smoke.

Life moved on, windows kept changing. The window from my hostel balcony opened on to a beautiful cathedral . Many sun sets I have stood looking at the cathedral and wishing I was not bound by the tall walls of the school compound . How I wanted to run into a field, breathe in a lot of air , each time I felt so my cathedral window gave me my share of open sky, my share of free air.

The window of the University girls hostel opened to the waiting Prince Charmings of most of the boarders. This window wanted me to believe that love and lovers can wait for each other till eternity. But the windows in my childhood had taught me to look beyond. Like a sceptic I knew that promises are not made forever !

Time and tide took me to places and homes with changing windows. A green landscape where the farmers ploughed their fields from dawn to dusk was once my window view, teaching me to toil in the field of life. I would sit idle by this window for hours and speak to my baby girl, trying to open the windows in her life as she gurgled with laughter and played with her toys.

Years later the window to the snow peaked glaciers held me transfixed. This beauty played its magic on my mind with its grace and magnitude. Through rain and snow this window taught me to stand strong in adversity . I looked beyond and it seemed as though the mountains were passing on a message to me.

Years passed; and when I opened my window to see my son going to school for the first day my heart weeped in a strange upheaval of joy and pain. My window reminded me once again to look beyond. Children grow up and move away, but the mother still stands at the window awaiting their return.

Two windows from my two metro homes have shown me the passage of traffic. In the city which never sleeps my window has been my constant companion all through those wakeful nights. I have seen girls waiting on the footpath in glittery clothes, I have seen big cars stopping by, I have seen revelers by the night light, I have seen the mid night tea seller waiting patiently. Look beyond your good night kisses and sweet dreams my window has shrieked out to me.

In the city of joy my window opens to a huge bus stand.I see buses come and buses go. I see passengers alighting and getting off. No bus ever waits for any one passenger. If you need to go some place you need to be on the correct bus at the correct time.

The city window showed me the passage of eternal life. My window tells me ‘just keep me open’. Let the sun, moon, light, wind come in. Let life come in. Never shut any window of life. Windows teach me to look beyond.

Write,write,write…the mind kept hammering ! Why do you ask me to write, I have no time.I have enough chores at hand. The help has not been coming for a week, I have dishes to clean,floors to sweep, meals to cook,clothes to wash. Where is the time to write ?
Write,write, write…the mind kept hammering! Why do you ask me to write,I have no time. The world is shaking , tremors every day. I have to watch the people left homeless, the helicopters dropping food, the dead being buried.I am so dumb struck by the earth quake hit world. Mother Earth has just informed us that she can shake us off her lap whenever she wants. We are all scared beyond words. I am busy keeping track of the next seismic wave. Where is the time to write ?
Write, write, write…the mind kept hammering! Why do you ask me to write, I have no time. I am busy listening. Arnab’s panel is having a debate. I have to listen to The Salman drama being unfolded minute by minute. The noise is silencing even the Parliament debates. Bills passed can take back seat. I have to know what the Nation wants to know. Where is the time to write ?
Write, write, write…the mind keeps hammering ! Why do you ask me to write, I have no time. I am busy reading. So much is being written all over the internet, press-about how the earth shook, when he went to jail, and how great neighbors and friends we are ! Where is the time to write ?

A blog page, this is a gift from my two kids and husband. Who thought gifts could be so innovative, so technical. I did not. A pen and paper would serve the same purpose, I thought so. But my loving family wants me to keep pace with the time. So here I am , I -pad in hand ( Daughter’s gift) and reading/ writing glass perched on my nose typing away. The blank page stares back at me, almost daring me to fill it up with words, I am staring at it quite dumbfounded. The page or me, who shall blink first?
We shall see in times to come. The page has many alleys ,while I go out in search of mine.