USA

Who’s in your wallet?

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 7 Comments

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.

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 2 Comments

Dear Parent,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours emotionally ,
Chalk and Cheese ,
(Parent).

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

Of Evening Walks and more …

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 4 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

Sunshine On Sale

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suitcase full of love…..

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 2 Comments

The Atlantic Ocean never seemed so deep, big, far and wide before. It was just a tiny ocean on my Atlas. But oceans separates countries and countries separates people. My daughter was about to cross the ocean and enter New York with her three bags full with as much India she could pack within them. She had got admission in the Columbia University for her masters program and as much as we were delighted with her achievement the thoughts of sending her to another country was mak8ng me restless by the days.

In the last few weeks before her departure, my time was consumed in packing and re- packing those three bags full. It all began with the purchase of suitcases. Much research was made, about durability and brand. There were suggestions from well meaning friends. My family likes considering many view points before making any major purchase. In this case suitcase was the major purchase. Our existing suitcases were heavy duty stuff meant to last a life time ,doing train journey but failing the ultimate test of air travel. The permissible luggage weight in domestic travel is a mere15 kilograms. Thus the travel people became wiser and flooded the market with slim trim multicolored beauties with sleek handles. The display almost looks like a beauty pageant where each suitcase is competing with the other in weight, height, and beauty category, My family too possesses a few of these delicate beauties which we use for our short travels. But situation in hand was different , we needed big ( size specifications very accurate), light weight, not very costly suitcases. After two three trips to the stores we finally came home with what seemed the perfect choice.

The next step was a much more uphill task. My darling baby opened the ‘ Alibaba ka khazana ‘, her wardrobe.! I sat in a room filled with soft , colorful, dainty looking silks , cottons, Khadi all around me. All of this were her clothes! When did we buy all this I wondered. Mother and daughter sat down sorting out the pile. There were sarees to be packed for those festive days, lehenga for Diwali, Churidars and Patiyala salwars, kurtis for class, tops, shirts, dresses, jeans, shorts, sweaters, jackets, scarfs , shoes, socks, the list went on and on and we kept getting tangled amidst all this fabric and nic knack . After days of struggle I triumphantly announced mission accomplished. Father of the daughter joined the ladies with a weighing scale in hand. Quintessential army man ( hubby dear) would not allow us to weigh the suitcases . After all it’s a mans privilege to carry the burden !

Lo behold, the drama unfolds, the suitcases are overweight. Never mind the overweight father and mother, but the suitcases need to be exact 23 kilograms each. The fauji father takes charge, unpacks both the suitcases, (my two days hard work ) and empties the contents on the floor. Daughter dear had smuggled in diaries, letters, cards, books, all favorite memorabilia , without which she refuses to depart. Don’t go, stay back, I almost blurt out these foolish sentiments. But I have to make things lighter now, in every way I can. No space for sentimental baggage.

A visiting family friend stated that their son had gone abroad carrying three jeans, six shirts, one foot ball boot and a deflated football ! I looked at my daughter wistfully. Alas, daughters are our Princesses, they need their pumpkin carriage, they need their ball gown, they need their glass shoes too ! Search for the lightest baggage started all over again.

Finally, the perfect suitcase, the perfect weight combination had been achieved. Wearing the tri color ribbon ( saffron , white and green ) the suitcases were ready. The day and hour of departure came way too soon. The lost, unrest feeling within me would know no rest. Did I pack everything ? Was I forgetting anything ? Will she need anything more ? The questions haunted me long after she had walked inside the glass door of the international airport. The glass wall separated us for a while and then the vast Atlantic Ocean separated us !

How could I pack my first sensation of motherhood, those little fingers entwined with mine, the gentle smile, the naughty smile, the foolish smile . How could I pack our hours of fights, arguments, sulking . How could I pack our short walks, long talks. How could I pack our lazy Sundays, late night dances, our reading each other’s unspoken thoughts ! I could not pack all this and much more. So I sitting on my side of Atlantic with all my excess baggage of emotions very neatly, carefully, lovingly packed within and hidden ! Waiting to open them together before the pages turn yellow .