life

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.

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

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.

নির্বাসন

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 4 Comments

তুমি  নির্বাসনে গেছো, এ তোমার স্বেচ্ছা নির্বাসন।
কথার কোলাহল থেকে নির্বাসন, নিরন্তর গতি থেকে নির্বাসন
নীরোগ হওয়ার নির্বাসন, প্রিয় জন কে ভাল রাখার নির্বাসন
তুমি  নির্বাসনে গেছো, এ তোমার স্বেচ্ছা নির্বাসন।

তোমার অন্তরে লুকিয়ে থাকা গোপন যত ব্যাথা,
তাদের সাথে হবে আজ নতুন কিছু কথা। 
জরা জীর্ণের উর্ধে উঠে জ্বলবে যেদিন আলো
নতুন সূর্যের ছটায় হারিয়ে যাবে আঁধার রাতের কালো।

তোমার ঘরের বাইরে ঘুরে বেড়ায় তোমার ছোট মেয়ে
বন্ধ দরজার পিছনে তোমার উপস্থিতি খোঁজে চেয়ে চেয়ে
তোমার ঘরের জানলা দিয়ে দেখা যায় যে মাধবী লতা
হওয়ার টানে বয়ে আনে রোজ মধুর ফুলের মাদকতা
আজ সেই  সুবাসে তোমার প্রাণে জাগে না কোনো আশ
গন্ধে তোমার ঘর ভরে যায়, চোখের জলে ঝাপসা চারিপাশ।

রাত  জাগা এক পাখির ডাকে তুমি কবিতা লেখো
একা ঘরের বিছানায় তুমি স্বপ্ন ভোরের ছবি আঁকো
তুমি বেরিয়ে পরার স্বপ্ন দেখো, লক্ষ জনের ভিড়ের মাঝে
তুমি  জড়িয়ে ধরার স্বপ্ন দেখো, সকাল বিকেল নতুন সাজে
পাহাড় শেষের উপত্যকায়, নদী যেখানে দৌড়ে বেড়ায়
তুমি রামধেনূ রঙ মাখিয়ে গায়ে, ছুটছ যেন রণপা পায়ে।

তুমি  নির্বাসনে গেছো, এ তোমার স্বেচ্ছা নির্বাসন
রণক্ষেত্রে যুদ্ধ করে ,আর দুটো দিন থাকবে ঘরে,
যেদিন তুমি দরজা খুলে ডাকবে তাকে কোলের কাছে
ছুটে এসে তোমার মেয়ে লুকিয়ে পড়বে বুকের মাঝে।

তুমি  নির্বাসনে গেছো, এ তোমার স্বেচ্ছা নির্বাসন
তুমি বুক ভরে নিশ্বাস নেবে, এ খোলা of বাতাস তোমার 
তুমি  মানুষের পাশে গিয়ে  দাঁড়াবে, এ পৃথিবী সবার
তুমি  নির্বাসন থেকে ফিরেছো, সে ছিল তোমার স্বেচ্ছা নির্বাসন ।

Tenancy Laws

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 9 Comments

Tenancy Laws.jpg

“Don’t push you chair back, it will spoil the wall ” said a house owner of a Versova flat we had gone to see. I was caught in a haIf sitting position and almost winced an ‘ouch’ before smiling back politely. No, the wall did not have fresh paint on it. Some people like their four walls spotless and I do not judge them. But for me to live in a house with two teenagers and spotless walls was a definite no. Though the house offered a glimpse of the sea from it’s kitchen window, we chose to choose a house which we could make a home. My sea-view apartment dream has still not seen the dawn, but in it’s quest I have managed to learn quite a few by laws of the tenancy laws and some life lessons too.

My in-laws were the only ‘laws’ I had known in my life till we reached Mumbai some fourteen years back. The only similarity between the in-laws and the tenancy laws being that I get to enter a new house (where terms and conditions apply) courtesy those ‘laws’. But tenancy laws (especially the ones which are not written on those fine lines of agreement papers) are the most difficult set of rules to adhere, understand and deal with.

I learnt the difference between landowner and licensor, and of the tenant and the licensee. Our new identity was of a licensee who lives in the house of the licensor. Just when I start to understand the simple equation of a family needing a house to live and another family wanting to put their property on rent, a third and most vital character enters the story, he/ she is called a broker. The director and producer, that’s the owner and I have to take back seat for the broker. He is the legitimate script writer of my story ‘hunted-house’. He is the bridge between the director and producer. One has to give credit where it is due, the broker does a lot of house hunting before he is ready to show you some half a dozen empty flats. Mr. Broker has the keys to multiple flats, the doors to which open like Khul ja sim sim, and you get a peekaboo into these houses. They are mostly empty, dusty rooms, which makes me feel very lost and confused. The idea of making these houses my ‘home’ seems very remote on these visits. I want to be in anyplace but this, but this is a transitory feeling in fear of displacement. After the first few times I pretend to have gotten used to the idea of displacement. Once we had walked into a flat where a window had been kept open and some two dozen pigeons had already made it home much before us. Another house we saw was totally furnished, even with crockery, utensils, and furnishings. The owner insisted that we bring in only our suitcases with us and live in like you do in a service apartment. But alas, my attachments to all my earthly possessions, (aka linen, glasses, pans-pots, books, boxes, wall pieces,etc) stopped me from entering a house without them. One owner refused to take away his name plate from the entrance, and we insisted on having ours put up, both forgetting the famous bard’s line “What’s in a name? ”

After seeing several houses one realization dawned is that the trick is in letting the mind win over the heart. You have to learn to look hard with a trained eye to see damp walls covered with fresh coat of distemper, sliding windows that don’t always slide, termites hiding behind bathroom mirrors and pelmets that may fall off at the sight of curtains. The list is long but not listed in any contract paper.  I have acquired all this experience over a decade of being a licensee in this mega city of dreams. My husband had done the ground work of renting our first flat in Mumbai all by himself, while the rest of the family were sitting like nawabs in our nawabo ki nagri, Lucknow. Therefore, moving into our first flat in Mumbai had left us without any experience of house-hunt.

Monsoon was drowning the city the year we landed in Mumbai. Like an eager gypsy I had looked down at the city from the plane window with dreams in my eyes to see the place where I could make my own ‘ashiyaan’.  The blue plastic sheets over the roofs of Mumbai slums (the first glimpse of Mumbai from air) did not look anything like a dream. My Urdu sensibilities of ‘ashiyaan‘ jerked aside sighting ‘jhopar patti’ nestling comfortably all around Chatrapati Shivaji Airport.   “Life in this city would not be cake walk” my pounding heart told me as our taxi drove through crawling, rain-soaked traffic towards our new address. My still young children were trying to explain to me the meaning of BHK, a term they had just been introduced to. A definition of BHK, bedroom, hall and kitchen, marked your space in this apartment city. A four BHK would mean super luxury, a three BHK spelled very spacious, a two BHK meant comfort and one BHK was economy. I already knew that in the days to come I would be getting sad and miss my last house with a lawn, backyard, kitchen garden, and the big rooms for my children to run around and play hide and seek. But for now, I had to learn to play hide and seek with my emotions and practicality.

Our first rented house was a comfortable three BHK, but my nine-year-old son had exclaimed the cliche that first day, ” Ma why does the house end here? ” on entering the third room! Growing up in spacious government quarters till then, his understanding of four walls was much more expansive than what he was seeing in the ten feet by twelve feet master bedroom.  And why blame the child alone, we all missed our old home very dearly, but it was time for fresh perspective. The sliding windows of the flat kept injuring my fingers for some time, and then I learnt to slide the windows without hurting inside-out. The house owners of our first house in Mumbai were an elderly couple and in the years that we lived in their house bonded us like family and changed our relationship from licensor/ licensee to uncle-aunty / beta-beti. There are laws above tenancy laws, the laws of human bonding, of love and compassion.

From one lease period to the other we will keep finding a new home for ourselves. Maybe the larger picture is for me to understand that nothing that you own or assume to be your own is yours in reality. The bundle which I can hold within my heart and hand is perhaps all I need for a fulfilling life. Could not end this note without quoting these favorite lines which so beautifully sum up the story of our existence.

Time you old gypsy man , 
Will you not stay, 
Put up your caravan 
Just for one day. 

Last week in Babylon,
Last night in Rome, 
Morning, and in the crush
Under Paul’ s dome;
Under Paul’s dial 
You tighten your rein-
Only a moment,
And off once again;
Off to some city
Now blind in the womb, 
Off to another 
Ere that’s in the tomb.

Ralph Hodgson

Destination Unknown .

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 8 Comments

Destination Unknown .
Sometimes in life we take a journey ,to acquire a ticket for a future date and destination about which we do not have a clear idea. In my faith system we call it Moksha. The ultimate release from the cycle of birth and death. Man struggles through life to get a ticket to moksha, mostly in vain.The path to this is neither well defined nor easy, therefore we keep coming back on earth to serve our time as humans.All cultures ,faith and society has certain path and dictum laid down for us to follow. The journey of life often perceived as an uphill task can do with a helping hand from time to time. Our eagerness to hold on to that support system makes us a very vulnerable race. We walk through this zig zag maze of need, desire, good, bad, tolerance, intolerance , creating our own road maps. Our map in hand each one of us seek a journey. To put my metaphysical thoughts in simpler words, mans quest to eternity has many avenues .Pilgrimage being a simpler road is often taken by many. My journey this time was of a tourist ( being me ) traveling to a pilgrim destination.
The sun was shining bright and happy, reflecting the sparkle on the ocean below.The windmills all along the coastline added wind to our drive on the high way. The speeding car, old romantic songs and the monotony of the topography lulled all my thoughts to a meditative silence. Topography, a word I had learnt and liked since school days. It is a detail of hills, mountains, ups and downs on the surface of the earth. Like the topography of earth my emotional topography too keeps changing all the time. On this particular day I feel like a world traveller, never wanting this drive to finish, never wanting to reach any destination. I want to stretch these few hours of drive to a timeless period. But the fuel tank of the car mercilessly breaks my reverie, the world traveller jolts back to the reality of a petrol station on the side of a dusty road in Gujarat. The car needs to fill up its tank and I need to look for a toilet. Over a period of time most of the high way roads in India have become smooth, pot hole free. But the condition of the public utility services remain dirty and pathetic. Depriving myself of oxygen for a minute or so I finish my business and come out of the toilet feeling horrified. In my mind the stench keeps following me inside the clean ,air conditioned, ‘ Ambi Pure’ sweet scent of the car. Our drive resumes ; this time all romanticism swept underneath the undulating topography of mind and earth. 
The car gains speed and the conversation inside the car changes to a philosophical level of all that is needed to be done for the country, wether it is our duty or the political leaders duty whom we elect every voting year. Conversations of such micro issues often reaches a point where every sentence gets soaked in apathy and is presented with disdain.My brain longs for a respite from this atypical monotone of discussion which was going no where. Even the romantic songs on the music system had gone on a repeat mode. As though in answer to my minds longings I suddenly spot on my side of the window a lake type water body ( back waters from the sea ) and in it wading away majestically about fifty or more white and pink flamingoes. These are migratory birds which flies from cooler climates to warmer places every year. Such grace and beauty in the middle of nowhere lifts my spirits instantly. We get off our car, click pictures, feel mesmerized , get a new lease to conversation and then resume our journey. After seeing these birds appear like magic I am enthused with regained imagination to take my flights of fancy to soaring heights.
Our car reaches destination after a while. We always had a chartered plan of starting point and finishing line, it was only in my mind that I was having this desire of being without a terminating point in this journey. The illusion of endless ness created by the ocean and horizon was playing tricks with my senses, wanting to merge reality with the surreal .

Two temples , one on an island and the other on the shore. Both temples of Lord Krishna . The Lord who had more girlfriends than wives ! We love this God of love, he does not frighten us with dire consequences if we err in our paths. His wit, charm and playfulness is almost human, thus we can identify with him easily. He teaches us to do our duty in life and not focus on the outcome. But the temple priests threaten us ( donate or suffer ) ;the crowds of pilgrims threaten us (give way, or get trampled ),the free roaming cows and bulls threaten us ( with their horns ) .But we have our focus on God, and with this determined focus we finish our darshan and come out feeling victorious! 
With the hint of dusk in the western sky the day is announcing closure. We get back to our waiting car for the return journey.This trip has earned us one ticket on our way to moksha. There are many such tickets to be earned before the final journey begins.There is a creeping doubt in the mind about ones eligibility to get this ticket. Is it all so easy, a drive, a darshan ,and my future is secured ! The mind is wavering between belief and disbelief. With the patience of a hermit, understanding of a saint, and strong will of a true devotee, I have to pave my road ,block by block for the ultimate ‘ destination unknown ‘.