humour

London Love: Last day

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I did not marry a chocolate cream soldier. Chalk does not understand flowers, chocolates or gifts unless told to do so! For him, the essence of any strong relationship is mutual respect, loyalty and responsibility. I too value the more meaningful aspects of life than the frills. And somehow life without the fancy frills makes it more easy at my age. As for romance, I am Cheese the romantic, I can do double shift romance, both for Chalk and myself.

For Chalk and Cheese special days are usually no different from everyday, but their children feel differently. They want to celebrate their parents anniversary and won’t listen to any of our arguments. Last year we were in Pittsburgh with our son and he had made his parent’s anniversary extra special .This year our daughter, aka Kessari was in London with us. She had meticulously planned the day, keeping in mind what Chalk and Cheese liked, but most of it was her secret, to be revealed gradually. It was almost like a parents day out kind of feeling for us.

“London has to be seen with the ‘London eye’ ” ; Cheese had said this to her daughter at some point and the daughter had remembered! The first surprise of the day was tickets to the London Eye. Chalk, Cheese and Kessari Iined up in drizzling rain for the ride. The wait was long, the wind and drizzle added to the chill. A panoramic view of London slowly unfolded as the giant observatory wheel completed one circle in thirty minutes. For thirty minutes we sat in a capsule looking down at The Big Ben, Westminster, St.Pauls Cathedral, the majestic buildings of London and the river Thames reflecting the city and its skies like an old trusted friend.

Our trusted Kessari had made plans of taking us for shopping . We followed her to the The Harrods department store. The cursory visit was more out of curiosity than necessity. The merchandise were mostly very steeply priced. My choice was clear, between empty pocket and empty hand, I preferred the latter.

A friend had recommended the store Fortnum and Mason. The store was established in 1707 as a grocery store, it has ever since gained in reputation and inventories and now stands as a luxury brand in London. It is heard that the Queen Elizabeth ll, visited the store personally and that the store has been the royal grocer for a century. Kessari, my genie for the day was making me feel nothing less than the queen. So the queen mother of Kessari entered Fortnum and Mason holding her daughter’s hand. Fortnum and Mason was indeed a beautiful store at every level. It had a winding staircase leading on to different floors. The interiors were elegantly done up, there were delicate glass wares on display, teal coloured tea sets, napkins, bags, and so much more. I felt adequately tempted to buy almost the whole store.

A visit to these landmark stores was definitely not about filling the shopping bags. Cheese was melting with other emotions. My daughter was holding my hand and taking me through the different sections of the stores , as if I was the child and she was my mother. She kept asking me whether I fancied anything in particular and with choked emotions all I could do was nod. I already had my world with me, holding my hand and walking along, how could I possibly fancy anything more precious than this moment .

Chalk and Cheese had started getting a little tired after all the store hopping, they wanted to sit for a while. On any other day we would have loved to find a bench at Trafalgar Square or Covent Garden, but this day was different. Kessari had hidden surprises at every turn. She had booked a table for afternoon tea at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane.

The wide staircase with a red carpet welcomed us into the interiors of the theatre, almost like royalty. The tea room gave vibes of an old Victorian drawing room, an ideal place to sit back and enjoy a cuppa of English afternoon tea. But there was more on the platter than just tea. Elaborately layed out tables with the finest of tableware and delicate flowers had already set the mood for the evening. With touristy mode
footwear (screamingly out of place ) Chalk, Chesse and Kessari settled down to an evening of style. Tea was served along with three different courses of delicious savouries. The service and courtesy of the staff was impeccable, they also got us a cake for our anniversary . Keeping to the Coronation theme, pastries were shaped like the crowns of the King and Queen. Sitting in the heart of England, your Indian Cheese was biting into the sweet taste of the crown! What a magical moment indeed.

After such a stylish experience of afternoon tea, I felt my London trip was almost over. But the daughter had yet another special treat waiting for us. The celebration continued with a theatrical extravaganza at the Piccadilly Theatre London. As we took to our seats the curtains were still down but the artists were amongst us, gyrating in slow motion, enthralling us, captivating us; titillating the imagination of the audience till the curtains raised to the dazzling show ‘Moulin Rouge The Musical’. The colours, sparkles, glitters were as much on the stage as on our minds. The delightful performance of the actors and the craft of story telling got embedded in our minds.

It was certainly the perfect romantic fairy tale ending to our anniversary date. The curtain had drawn on the stage of “Moulah Rouge” and finally it was time to draw the curtains on our celebrations for the day. A beautifully packaged gift of love from our children, a day filled with wonder, grandeur and dazzle. Chalk and Cheese themselves could not have planned it any better.

Chalk and Cheese are now back in India, settled in the comfort of home and the routine of everyday life. Writing this series of Chalk and Cheese European trip would not have been possible without the support of my friends and dear readers. Your encouragement kept me going. I cannot end without thanking my son for constantly nudging me to continue writing. He has been my cheer leader and one man technical
support team in this entire series.

It is time to wrap up Chalk and Cheese tales for now. With a promise to come back with Chalk and Cheese when we travel again, signing off, your’s truly ….Cheese.

The End.

Postcards from London

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I entered London with my own baggage, the baggage of my Indian origin. From East India Company to the British Raj and then the Quit India movement, till 1947 August 15th the stories are endless. The first East India Company that set foot on Indian soil for business was a Dutch company, the rest followed them. But it was the British who stayed back and the rest is history. Socio political history always leaves back a mark on the generations who live through it and also on the generations who come after.

Royal welcome

I was born in a free India but to parents and grandparents who had lived part of their life in the pre – partition and pre-independence India. Our history has not bound us to bitter memories alone, it has also shaped us in many ways than we would like to admit. Since then we Indians have resurrected our country to another level, keeping the sacrifices of our freedom fighters in mind. We have reconstructed our country and moved on with time. As I entered England for the first time, I held on to this feeling of being an Indian very strongly, lest it gets snatched away! But no, that cannot be. I carry my roots, my culture, my skin colour, my heritage , my passport, my identity with pride and dignity.

Black cab

Moving on to Chalk and Cheese journey, our train pulled into London Station on a bright and clear spring morning in the month of May. Chalk and Cheese stepped out of the station and in grand style Chalk hailed a hackney carriage for his lady. No matter how much I would have loved a horse driven carriage but it was not to be. The black cabs of London were also called hackney carriage. Lady Cheese was learning a few new things in this English country trip.

Chalk and Cheese were extra happy on reaching London for a very special reason. Our daughter, our ‘chalk-o-cheese’ was waiting for us in London. She was visiting her friends in Cambridge and Oxford and had planned to join us in London. Chalk and Cheese were excited like two children who have finally been united with their parent ! Roles were reversed. When your children start parenting you in their small little
ways, there is something soothing and comforting about letting go of the reins in their hands.

Letting go has its pros and cons too, specially when you have an over enthusiastic girl guide and two semi tired parents. My little girl gave us exactly ten minutes break at the hotel to catch our breath and then commanded “let’s go”. She had reached London five hours before us but behaved like she had been a Londoner all her life . She was wearing an oversized orange coat, a pair of well worn out walking shoes, a sling bag around her neck and a big big smile on her face. Sprinting ahead of us in her orange coat she looked like our Kessari tour guide. Chalk and Cheese started following their darling Kessari travels through the streets of London.

Primrose Hill with Kessari

The daughter, aka.. Kessari travels takes us to The Regent Park and makes us climb up the Primrose hill. A panoramic view of London greets us at the top. William Blake the poet who lived in London had written: “I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I have seen him on Primrose hill.” We sat there for sometime, not conversing. In silence, we looked into the skyline, the London skyline. Come tomorrow and we had plans to see London city and more.

The closest we got to royalty

The Queen was gone, the new king had taken his throne, coronation week was over and London city was getting back to normal. Our tour guide (an elderly lady and a devoted fan of everything Victorian) shared a royal secret with us. She told us that we were very lucky because all the royal jewelry had been brought back from the Royal palace after coronation and would be on display for tourists in the Tower Of London,
adding that only she knew about this piece of information. But standing in a very long queue to enter the Jewel House it seemed that a lot of other people were also privy to this royal secret!

Chalk, Cheese and daughter entered the Jewel House to see the display of royal jewelry, The Kohinoor and The Crown. Everything glittered, the gold, the rubies, sapphires, emeralds and intricately cut diamonds. But we are Indians, our eyes thirsted for The Kohinoor. We cannot ever forget how Maharaja Ranjeet Singh had parted with the Kohinoor, our Kohinoor. Every Indian sees a sparkle of India’s glorious past in the twinkle of that one piece of diamond. We also stood in front of the Kohinoor for those few extra minutes, trying to see the glimpses of centuries in those fleeting minutes.

A city is so much like a book. It has its own story. The roads, alleys, buildings, people, food, travel, all of them are like individual characters telling us a story. The more you walk, the more you learn about a place. We walked from Big Ben (not before standing there, craning our necks to look up in amazement at the big clock tower) … to Trafalgar Square. On our way, 10 Downing Street made us stop in our path for a
while, after all we do have an Indian connection in there, don’t get me wrong, I was only thinking about Sudha Murthy!

Later in the day met a very dear girl from India who lives in London now. It is very impressive to see how happily young people make a new place completely their own. We had dinner together at ChinaTown. China town because Chalk and Cheese were craving for some good chinese food, that familiar sweet and sour taste which would strangely give us home food comfort.

Like a typical tourist I entered random shops picking up souvenirs while impatient Chalk and Kessari waited outside. We walked around Trafalgar Square, we combed through Covent garden markets. Sometimes we got lost, sometimes we were happy to find a red bus back to the hotel. We were very impressed with London’s public transport system. The underground metro and the red double decker buses were certainly very convenient mode of traveling. Our dear Kessari made us walk, travel and eat like locals.

Sightseeing cruise on Thames took us along the city and under the, London Tower Bridge, Waterloo Bridge and Westminster Bridge. The British don’t pronounce Thames like you and me do. Their H is silent. I learnt to pronounce their Thames their way, and now I want them to pronounce Ganga the way we do at home and not call it Ganges! Seeing the London Bridge our age old nursery rhyme is bound to play through the mind …

“London Bridge is falling down…
Build it up with gold and silver,
My fair lady.
Gold and silver we’ve not got,
We’ve not got, we’ve not got,
My fair lady. “

This nursery rhyme revolves around the dilapidation and the rebuilding or repairing of the London bridge time and again. Wonder where they went in search of gold and silver? Anyway, my story is about our travels with our dear Kessari. Chalk, Cheese and daughter were yet to see the castles of England, the Roman remains of Bath, buried centuries at Stone henge, a visit to Shakespeare’s house in Stratford-upon-Avon. Our anniversary was coming up, and the daughter had planned a day for us. All this and more in the next London chapter.

To be continued…..

Summer Sojourn … Scotland

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Chalk and Cheese

Packing completed, Chalk and Cheese bid adieu to Amsterdam, its canal houses , its tulips and head out for Scotland. All through the journey Cheese struggles with a suitcase which has suddenly developed a personality of its own; it simply refuses to walk along her side . Cheese is bending at an odd angle, pulling a reluctant suitcase like an unruly toddler. Chivalrous Chalk is walking much ahead of her, ignorant of her plight, for he is carrying the heavier burdens of the journey ! Lesson learnt , do not ever carry an old suitcase for travel, go ahead and buy a new one.

We reached Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland on a wet and damp day. As we set out of the hotel, rain hits us hard. Against the strong winds and gushing rains, my dainty umbrella turned turtle within minutes. I search for some shelter and luckily find the National Museum of Scotland across the road. Chalk on the other hand, with smug pride for his sturdy umbrella from Decathlon was behaving as though he had plans to cover the city of Edinburgh on foot, come hail or storm. However, we entered the museum ( free entry ) and spent an hour sheltered from rain and cold. To see some more attractions of the city we climbed on a hop-on hop-off bus. But soon realized that hop-off was not the best choice. The heavy rain kept us boarded on the bus. Sitting in the bus, with the rains blurring our vision, we caught glimpses of some impressive buildings belonging to the period of medieval architecture, adding much character to the city.

The next day we went in search of the hiding monster in the Loch Ness lake. The drive to the lake was long, through the scenic highlands of Scotland. The lake was quiet , big and peaceful. There are so many beautiful lakes in my own country, but we are not always capable of keeping it that way for long. We spoil our environment with our own doing. And here I was in a foreign country, sitting by a lake, feeling the silence all around me and thinking where we fail in our responsibilities when it comes to “Mera Bharat Mahan.”

We stayed in picturesque Scotland for four days. We traveled through Scotland by trains and buses. Learning our ways in a new country, finding new rail stations, bus stops, not losing our way through this zig zaw seemed like a mini adventure to Chalk and Cheese. Chalk was the map reader and Cheese was the observer. Journeying on unknown paths ,we were each other’s compass. The winding roads, lakes, green countryside all around, dotted with grazing sheep, the whole scenario felt like a motion picture. A cinema where the camera was rolling without any interval.

Nestling in the lap of stretched out lush green meadows, smokey lakes and undulating hills was a kingdom that I had seen in my imagination all through my childhood. This was a world straight from of the pages of the books we have grown up reading in our school days. Right from the beginning of nursery rhymes to those wonderful illustrations on the thick silky smooth pages of Radiant Readers; the pictures have always stayed back. Then we were introduced to volumes of romantic poets and novelists , pictures were no more a necessity . By then our minds had learnt the art of imagination. Words alone could paint a scenery and fill it with the colours of life.

Silence

From the first generation of Romantic poets like Coleridge, William Wordswoth and William Blake to the second generation of romantic poets Lord Byron, PB Shelley, John Keats, they had all lived in these surroundings and had been inspired by these unending landscapes. For me to behold the same intricate canvas of nature felt very surreal. The settings of Scotland brought to life the images of my imagination right in front of my eyes.

We traveled to Windermere from Edinburgh by train with one change at Oxenholme. Windermere has one rail station, connecting it to other parts of Scotland. William Wordswoth had opposed to the making of this rail station fearing it would spoil the beauty of his beloved Lake District. Our hotel in Windermere was perched on a small hill with a breathtakingly beautiful view of the meadows and lake. This hotel gave me the luxury of time, space and beauty. I sat there for hours in a contemplative mood looking out , reflecting on these fairytale days of life.

We were in Scotland on the coronation day of the King Charles lll. Social issues of the two countries Scotland and England can be different but their sovereignty holds them together.Though King Charles is the monarch of the United Kingdom we felt an altered narrative between the two countries. The English people, specially the senior English people had devoted sentiments towards their late queen, Queen Elizabeth , and were happy to see her successor on the throne. Whereas the Scotish people swayed between scorn and indifference about their monarch and his coronation. My summation comes from what I generally heard and saw amongst the everyday regular people of the two countries. It certainly has no political connotations whatsoever.

Since the ceremonial jubilation of London had not crossed the borders, the roads were not blocked, traffic moved unaffected, tourists did not feel it different than any other day. We peacefully moved around Scotland riding on Mountain Goats ! Ofcourse not literally, the bus company we had booked with was called the Mountain Goat. In a country where I saw more sheep in the meadows than people on the streets, this name seemed to fit so perfectly. The green landscape and grazing sheep, miles after miles, a few houses here and there, this world is surely fit to be a kingdom!

Scotland seemed to be whispering in my ears to stay on for a while. I was weaving unforgettable memories that would last me for a lifetime. We were driving through the English Lake District, stopping by to see William Wordswoth’s house in Grasmere village. We had time to stand and stare at the hills where he had seen ” a host of golden daffodils ” We tasted ginger bread from Wordswoth’s favourite bakery which still bakes the same bread. Amidst the fields I could imagine “the solitary reaper” bending at her work, ” to stop here or gently pass” was certainly a thought that will stay with me forever.

What is love I ask myself ? Is it not the pure emotions of joy and pain mingled together that I have nursed in my heart for years. The seed of romanticism, the seed of poetry , the seed of loving nature like a lover, were all planted years ago in my heart. With such happy thoughts and a content heart I move forward from one country to the other. London calling, will be the last chapter of this journey of Chalk and Cheese.

To be continued….

Leaning on each other

Solitude

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Solitude, you are the lone bird above, soaring high,
You are  the caged bird, desiring to reach the sky,
You are the first drop of rain, on a parched piece of land,
You are imprisoned, in an hour glass, like a grain of sand.

Solitude, you are in my mother’s eyes, waiting tirelessly for me,
You are in someone’s broken heart, weeping alone, by the sea,
You are in a little boy’s smile, when he sees the shooting star,
You are in the old man’s stride, walking homeward , very far.

Solitude, you are in the midnight silence,of a busy city street,
You are in those countless waves, thrashing at the rock’s feet,
You are in that crimson light of dawn, waking up from sleep,
You are hiding like a tiny tear drop, lost in the ocean’s deep.

Solitude, you are with a lone soldier, on guard, near the fence,
You are in a sailor’s heart, searching the shore with his lens,
You are on a poet’s mind, amongst the hills and meadows,
You are a silent prayer by the night, with a grieving widow .

Solitude, you are in the echoing chants of Gurbani, by the day,
You are in the evening azan, welcoming the evening to stay,
You are in the shlokas , flowing like music in a melodious voice,
You are sitting within the Chappell, tuning to my inward noise.

Solitude, you are in my absolute silence, you are in my chaos,
You are in my joyful reverie, you are laced with pathos,
You are in my drama, you are in my shameless fall and peak,
Solitude, you are my treasured companion, it is you I forever
seek.

Who’s in your wallet?

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When Chalk and Cheese were planning their long vacation in America, one obvious talk was about the expenditures ahead and how much money to take along.

When we say ‘money’ it is an all encompassing concept, something like ‘humanity’; undivided by continents and social structures. The word money may be universal but the universality ends there alone. The minute we start thinking in terms of currency, the divide crops in. The Dollar, Pound, Yen, Yuan,Taka, Rupee, the currencies  line up together . And to see our dear Rupee standing way behind in this greased and slippery queue is not very enriching.

Since enough is never enough, Chalk and Cheese together settled for a certain sum which seemed reasonably ‘enough’ to them. We kept in mind our Rupees stamina and strength to run along with Dollar for a three month long race.

With a day or two left for our departure from India, I sat down one fine morning with a few Dollar notes spread on my bed, arranging them in my new wallet, and humming ” ye jo thore se hai paise..” when suddenly I heard a voice. I looked around in surprise and saw that the Rupee notes were peeping out from my old wallet and staring down at the new display of Dollars. I waited for Rupee to say something , for I firmly believed at this point  “paisa bolta hai” !

With a hesitant voice Rupee whispered,  ” Since you are about to visit America and now you are displaying all these fancy Dollars in front of me, let me tell you that though Dollar is my first cousin , I am not particularly fond of Dollar .”
I looked up with curiosity at Rupee and asked “But why so ? Isn’t Dollar the most accomplished, the most famous one amongst you cousins ?”

Rupee was quiet for a moment, then with a sad face it replied “That is the very problem with Dollar. Everyone thinks so highly of Dollar and success has gone to its head. In a brash and boastful manner it makes all other currencies, I mean cousins, feel very small and insignificant. “
Rupee took a deep breath and continued “And why will Dollar not get all the importance, when in my own country I am not treated with respect.”

Hurriedly I butt in “Of course I respect you dear Rupee, you were in my first pay check, you are in my life long pension, infact whatever luxury I could ever afford was because of you.”


Rupee was not listening to me, it continued in a papery voice, “Why blame others for being more powerful. Every big and small note, even the smallest coins in the mint are  constantly living with the fear of demonetisation. You humans will never understand, how painful it is to be told without any forewarning that this particular note is no more noteworthy, it feels almost like amputation “.


“Well, some of us do understand your pain ” I attempted to reply, “As humans we too felt the pinch of demonetisation, all our treasured notes losing their value overnight was quite shocking. And then the adjustment with those pink, blue and green coloured new notes, it created so much confusion and anxiety for us !” 


Rupee looked at me indignantly and continued ” Please don’t  talk of colours.  We did not chose to be pink or blue and not even black or white ! You humans have made us wear white and black as per your own convenience. “

The hurt was obvious in Rupees voice. I tried to calm it, and said somewhat reassuringly “I really value you dear Rupee, it is you who bought these Dollars for me, in a way it is you who will be going with me to America”.


Rupee was not calmed with my reinforcing chatter. With deep sadness laced tone it continued ” If you valued me so much, would you rush to exchange me in such a hurry with those proud-green Dollar notes? I feel so depreciated at this moment. You don’t  care for me much, you are taking me to a foreign country locked in a forex card where my value will keep falling everyday “. 

With that conversation with my dear poor Rupee etched in my heart I left India ; but I also made a promise to myself that while in America I would think in Rupees while spending in Dollars. No matter how loudly Mahendra Kapoor sang inside my head ‘ mere desh ki dharti sona ugle, ugle heerey moti, mere desh ki dharti ‘ , I knew the hard hitting truth that our economy was not doing the best, not when our next door neighbors could beat us in per capita income.

The day Chalk and Cheese had entered the United States a tired and somewhat rude immigration officer had asked Chalk “How much money are you carrying?” Quite an indignant question, I had thought.  Chalk’s reply had satisfied the officer enough to give us an eyebrow raise and a nod. I had smiled to myself and thought, as tourists we can only add to a countries economy, and our Rupee empowers us to do so.

In the initial days of spending I would constantly multiply Dollar with Rupee every time I had to pay for something .  Gradually the habit of doing mental math stopped  because the more zeroes I kept adding the fear of numbers became bigger and bigger . The easy escape route was to forget the math. I started thinking of one Dollar as one Rupee. Somehow the familiar thought of spending in Rupee started comforting my mind. I started buying tomatoes with 4 Rupees, potatoes with 3 Rupees , eat out with 70/100 Rupees, and finished a lot of other shopping with just 100 Rupees. I had stopped converting. I was treating the Dollar like Rupee. As the multiplication stopped in my brain, everyday life felt more affordable and easy.

In a few weeks time Chalk and Cheese would be winding up their spread sheet in America and head back home. A home, where a daughter, mother, sister, brother, friends and family awaits their return eagerly. A home where…there can be songs on ” panch rupaiya bara ana”. A few Two-thousand Rupee notes in my wallet  waiting to fly out for some hawa pani. Once home Cheese needs to call up dear Rupee friend to say that the Dollar sends its regards .

Someone new in the market called Bit Coin has started ringing the door bells of the currency cousins. For once Dollar is feeling it needs to say hello to everyone , after all family is family.

They Believed They Could… so they did.

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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 …

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“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”.

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

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.