Heart Day

You knew this post was coming - right? How can one help it when there is so much love all around, especially on the internet. Hopefully our economy did well and people did not delete all the red and pink promotions they received in their inbox like I did. My inbox was flooded with hearts in the subject lines offering some sort of sale. Sadly this time there was none for penis enlargements, for if there were I would totally go for it -LOL!  I was VERY tempted with one offer for liposuction though. I still feel some geek should come up with an app that if you slide the phone across your problem areas it will melt all the fat in those regions. Now, if and when you do come up with that app, please make sure you give me credits and half of your earnings please. After all it was my idea.

So here are a few facts I learned this Valentines day:

• When you say “Olive Juice” your lips move exactly the way if you were to say “I Love You”. Talk about useless information to fill your brain. But now I do posses this piece of information which will never leave my brain even while I forget to pick up my daughter from school.
• If you tell your coworker a sad enough story about yourself right before you head out to lunch together, you earn a free meal. She feels so sorry for you that she buys you lunch which you end up telling her was the highlight of your day and you might just be invited to dinner now - SCORE! (I have to admit this coworker is a dear freind of mine and I know she would have bought me that lunch anyways, it was just how the events took place that made us laugh hard about the way it turned out. I love you Ms B!)
• Less than 3 (because using the symbol jacks up my post due to some HTML crap): According to Urban Dictionary, some people use this as a heart, but those people are wrong. It is clearly a ballsack. Don’t blame me for ruining the "heart" for you - I would have never thought of that.

Jokes apart, hope everyone had a great time with people they loved, doing the things that they love and spreading some love to folks who need them. I know I did, especially since it involved Lamb Biriyani and Kababs and NO ballsacks. :)

Party Planning Jitters

I finally won over my urge to constantly be in the know of everything that was happening in everyone's lives. Its been almost three weeks that I've not been on Facebook and I must say it feels pretty good. My head is not full of useless information anymore - well, for the most part - when I'm not trying to answer questions like "mommy, how can Mary Poppins sit on a cloud?"

The chatterbox is turning six and she wants a party. If she could, she would invite 100 kids and I'm not kidding. I'm sure she even mentioned something to that effect in one of her conversations while driving home back from school. So far she has almost 40 kids on her invite list. I'm just amazed she even knows 40 kids. Yes, I know I'm crazy to have said yes to it. But I'm happy she considers that many her friends and wants to include them in her celebrations. I, however, have starting laying rules for next year already - limiting her to 10-15 friends she can invite. She sighs, throws her arms in the air, rolls her eyes and says, "mommy, but that's not even a party!" Dear God, SAVE ME!!!

So, I was chatting with a friend today and we were talking about how we cannot remember anything these days. Apparently her mom tells her the same thing that my dad constantly tells me - "if you forget everything at this age, what will you do when you are my age?" I tell my dad it was easy for them. They weren't as forgetful when they were younger because they were not as stressed as we are these days - they did not have Google searches and most importantly they did not have Pinterest. Yes, its official - Pinterest stresses me out beyond belief. So when I did a Google search on the upcoming birthday party theme(s), I was led on several instances to Pinterest boards and one particular blog and I realized there was a whole new world out there of moms with money, lots of it, and something even more precious - TIME. Well, yes, they are creative too and with the resources available to them, their creativity knows no bounds. This knowledge stresses me out why? Because somehow it makes me look like a loser and I don't feel creative anymore and realize my party planning ideas stink - I stink. The realization dawns that however much I try, I will not be able to make my daughter's 6th birthday party look like a wedding on the beach. Beat that dad!

One idea I am taking from all my party planning research though - a bottle of Bombay Sapphire will go very well with the party theme. But a disclaimer to all parents invited - that's only for ME. :)

Keeping it Simple

Look who’s back! I know how much you’ve been missing me and my tidbits on my delightfully interesting life.

It’s that darned Facebook that doesn’t make me want to write anymore. I’d rather just hit the “like” button on other people’s shit (Oops! I meant posts. No offense please. As you keep reading you'll realize I'm using the word a lot). It is almost like the freakin’ Staples “easy button” - somehow makes life that much more simpler.

Talking about simple, that’s what I’m all about in 2013 - being simply simplistic. Who knew in my quest for simplicity I would eventually find true love. You heard that right! He’s slim, he’s sexy, he’s powerful and goes places I’ve never dreamed of before. Introducing to you, ladies & gentlemen, "Mr. D" aka Dyson Digital Slim.

If you are jumping into conclusions that this girl has NO life - you’re just jealous I have a cleaner house than you could ever imagine - I mean SERIOUSLY! This thing is so cleverly designed that I would like to drop everything and enroll myself for a design internship at Dyson - the ultimate in user experience design. I cannot remember the last time I bought a product and was this much in love with it. I vacuum almost every day now. Trashing my ten year old Hoover (which took quite the bodily strength to do) was the most liberating experience in a while. My first step to a simpler life - check.

Topping my list of new year’s resolution though is to not take shit from people, both in my personal and professional life. Just when I make the resolution, shit hits the roof from many different angles. Sometimes it’s hard to react, but I’ve been working hard. So recently when I get an email from someone of importance at work saying, “I’m disappointed in you”  -  I reply back saying “I’m MORE disappointed in YOU for not checking your facts and assuming I failed without asking me what happened first.” I still have my job and there is no stopping me now. So if you are one of those people who have potential of throwing shit my way - be very careful. That stuff will hit you right back. (Wow! I’ve not used the word “shit” so many times. This feels liberating too.)

So for many of you who know me really well, know I don’t bake. You also know that my philosophy is if you can find something that good at a store, why bother to make it? Lately though, thanks to some over-achieving moms at my daughter’s school who bring home-baked goodies for class snacks, I thought I should give it a shot. So during the winter break when my daughter had a playdate, I decided to engage the kids in some baking activity. Off to the store I went with my list of ingredients to make brownies. As I stood at the baking aisle, I had a brilliant idea. Why not start simple? So I picked up a brownie mix and a baking pan instead. The next day, in the event of baking brownies with the kids, not only did I have the gooey chocolate mix smeared on my table and carpet and extensive clean up after, my daughter would not eat rest of those brownies the next day. That says a lot considering the sweet tooth she has. I should just stick to my smart choices. I buy healthier snacks for my daughter's class anyways - score! Keeping it simple is actually simple.

Yesterday my almost six year old daughter asked me "Mommy, what does it mean when two people are dating?" Life doesn't seem simple anymore - Oy vey Oy!

Pujo Shopping, Pandal Hopping & Much More...

Oh, how I wish we kids had cameras back then. I tried going through all my old photos and am bummed to find out I have absolutely no pictures of us friends in our famous pujo attires of yesteryears. Those pictures would be priceless based on our sense of fashion back then.

Pujo fashion in Kolkata was of course dominated by the latest Bollywood styles. I think it was 1990 - the year of Maine Pyar Kiya - pujo shopping in Gariahat, the street vendors crying out loud, “didi, come take a look at the kabutar ja salwa kameez” - the one Bhagyashree wore while singing that famous song. No, I DID NOT purchase that. I cannot remember if it was my choice to not buy it or I wasn’t allowed to. But whatever the reason was - thank God!

That definitely did not stop us from trying to pick up some of that fashion when it came to our hair and makeup. I have specific images of those big hair bows with nets at the bottom to hold your hair into a bun. I think that rage started with Divya Bharti in the early 90’s as well. Anyone remember her? I also remember sporting that hairdo at the Golf Green pujo pandal one year - got a non-facebook “friend request” from one of the senior dada’s there - SCORE! I wonder if it was the hair or those big button-style (for lack of better words) earrings that did the trick - LOL!

Now I cannot remember who started the whole matte lipstick phase paired with a darker shade of lip liners - but boy oh boy - we were all over that one, especially me. I had every shade of brown matte lipstick there could ever be. Followed by those pastel, short-sleeved churidar kameez from Dil to Pagal Hain.

I was surprised to see the same trend after I moved to Sacramento a decade ago. The year of Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gam  - Jaya Bhaduri sarees selling like hot cakes at the Berkely saree stores for aunties and the Kareena Kapoor outfit for the youngsters. Now, now, aunties - please don’t get mad at me for calling you an auntie. If its any consolation to you - I think I’m one now as well.

So, its that time of the year and I miss all the craziness. I have no idea what’s “IN” these days anymore. I mean, based on the recent Bollywood movies I’ve watched there is no way on earth I can sport some of those outfits worn by Kareena Kapoor or Deepika Paudokone. I miss those days when Bollywood actresses had some meat on their bodies and wore clothes maybe some of us could carry off. I guess I really AM an auntie now.

If you haven’t already guessed, the first thing pujo is all about amongst many other things  is fashion. The crazy shopping and planning of new outfits to be worn all 5 days of Durga Pujo -  that includes separate morning and evening wears. As kids, we used to keep a tally amongst friends as to who had the most number of new outfits that year. Ronita almost always won.

As much as pujo was a time to spend with family, our friends always got precedence. Our group of friends had a schedule down for those few days. Mornings were to be spent with family and anything remotely religious that was expected out of any of us. Evenings were reserved for friends and pandal hopping with them. As we grew older, we convinced our parents to have sleepovers and were out all night in the city going from one pandal to the other with expectations to out number last year’s count as well as to determine which locality had the most number of good looking males.

Pujo was also about relationships. Extended families came together and it was a time to reunite with cousins you would normally not meet the whole year. It was about friendships – both old and new. It was also a time for romance. I think the last one took precedence over the rest. It was a time for folks to fall in love – time for the guys to muster up the courage to finally tell a girl they liked them. It was a time to feel giddy with excitement knowing someone had the hots for you, a time to openly check out and be checked out without being judged. 

Bengali’s are foodies. So it comes as no surprise pujo was also all about food. I still wonder how the “bhog” always tasted as heavenly as it did, without fail, each and every time, year after year. But what was most delectable were the rolls and fuchkas being sold on the streets. You can never go hungry those five days of pujo since street food is available all night long. 

Apart from these pujo to me was waiting for baba to arrive along with waiting for Durga’s face to be unveiled,  Thamma's crisp white sarees with red borders, going to see the new protima at mamoni’s house in Tallygunge, Dadubhai’s ear plugs, those blaring loudspeakers, narkeler naaru, maangsehr jhol on nabami, the beating of dhaaks and dhunuchi naach, the friendships, the lights and sounds, Jodhpur park, Babubagan, Golpark, Ekdalia, Mudiali, Maddox square - the heartbeat of my most favorite city – Kolkata. 

I wonder if I could ever explain to my daughter what these few days meant to us. Starting this year, mainly because she is beginning to understand things better and has opinions (how did that happen? She’s still 5!), I plan to introduce some of my pujo experiences from back home. It will of course not be the same, pandal hopping will have to be substituted by pujo parikrama on the internet – but we can start our own new traditions and it will be as much fun for her as it was for me growing up.

I guess its time to start with shopping…

Disclaimer: Photos have been randomly picked from the web

Inception

Organizing a show requires more than an idea and will power. It requires a team of dedicated individuals who believe in your vision and dedicate themselves to making it happen. Apart from all the hard work that goes into it, there is also a lot of love and faith.

The idea for organizing a dance show that portrays the strength, character and beauty of the Indian woman had been brewing in my head for quite some time. Coupled with that, telling a story that partly related to my life in some ways meant a lot to me. I’ve fought social stigma on several occasions in my life, so when I came across Breakthrough’s work in India and the music videos they had created to raise awareness on AIDS and violence against women – I knew my dance would have a purpose.

Social stigma within the Indian community exists even in this country. I know that from personal experience and that of my friends. I know of women who go through abuse, domestic violence, life threatening diseases, and instead of talking about such matters, seeking help and/or putting a stop to it and gaining self respect, we continue on in our lives afraid of what our society might think or say about us.

Well, I say: If you can’t speak about such things then just dance! A few raging emotions gave birth to Raging Rhythms and only because our team was passionate, dedicated and such wonderful human beings, that this show became the success it was and we witnessed over 300 people make the drive to Davis to rise above social stigma and help us raise close to $11,000 for Breakthrough.

Good persists in almost all of us. We need to recognize it, streamline it and put it to work. And no matter what life throws at us, we are all equally entitled to a life filled with love and respect no matter what other people think. Respect will come to you only if you respect yourself. And one by one if we all share our stories and work towards educating people, we WILL get rid of the various stigmas that still plague our culture. We have the power to make this a better place to live in. All we need to do is believe.

My sincere thanks to the entire team of dancers, volunteers, and supporters for taking that first step. I surely hope Raging Rhythms is the beginning of many good things to follow.

Rising above all odds - a personal journey

Love, Sex & Dhoka

"Sex is a three letter word, not an abused four letter word" – Ekta Kapoor

So this past Sunday, for lack of better things to do, I indulged myself to a few old episodes of the Indian talk show “Koffee with Karan” and heard the soap queen Ekta Kapoor give her take on sex in Bollywood movies prior to the launch of her movie “The Dirty Picture”.

The time I grew up India, women did not talk so casually about sex on national television. In fact we refrained from using the word ‘sex’ even in Biology class. Now that I think of it, I don’t think our teachers ever mentioned the word. I remember having only one lesson on the reproductive system and all we could do was look at each other and suppress giggles. And this was in a class of all girls too.

The sexiest thing in Bollywood movies at the time was Shah Rukh Khan gently moving his heroine’s long locks and blowing mildly at the nape of her neck and that’s all it took for us girls to melt in our seats.

Well, the reason I bring all this up is because the said interview took me back to those times and the impact of love, sex and dhoka in our lives back then.

Love

I was more in love with the concept of falling in love than the real thing. Having lived in a girls hostel for the most part I did not come across boys that often (no getting ideas here). Also, I was very choosy (here some would describe me as snobby and bitchy) and most of the guys I met after I quit boarding school did not quite make the cut. It was getting very depressing. By that time most of my friends were “falling in love” and trying to sneak out of their homes and make trips to Victoria Memorial or movie theaters and writing love letters. And when my best friend at the time found a boyfriend too, I was almost determined to fall in love and did so (or thought I did) with the next guy I met. BAD IDEA!

Sex

Falling in love did not mean having sex. Well, I take that back. That information was not shared openly and not everyone indulged in it, or at least I’d like to think based on my situation. If the couple were bold enough they would hold hands in public places. That was the most physically intimate gesture couples used in public to demonstrate their love. I remember once I was walking back home from the bus-stop on my way back from college. Instead of the regular 10 mins it took me 20 mins that day to get back home. I had probably wandered. On reaching home dad asked me if I was seeing someone. The seemingly shocked expression on my face led him to spill the beans. One of my relatives had called him to disclose that I was spotted at the Jodhpur Park bus-stop holding hands with a guy. So this is what really happened. While growing up, us girlfriends held hands a lot. One of my girlfriends did dress like a boy most of the time and had super short hair too. I think whoever saw me that day holding hands with my friend mistook her for a guy. It is funny to me till this date. But it was more amazing to witness how such news traveled faster than BBC.

Getting back on topic here, since sex wasn’t part of my life, all I can think of is my first kiss. Now we all know how memorable that can be. It was to me too. Just in a slightly different way.  The guy I was dating at the time (believe me when I say I don’t know what I was thinking) decided to land a kiss on me one day when I went over to visit him at his place as he was sick. Gross alert! Why would anyone kiss another person when they’re sick to begin with? But the ultimate grossness lay in the fact his breath reeked of onions – I mean real bad! And that did it for me. I was afraid I would NEVER kiss another man again. But then again, I will NEVER forget my first kiss. So, any idea of sex after that did not for once cross my mind.

Dhoka (betrayal)

Petty betrayal was a big part of teenager dating as well. If not, there would be no drama or gossip. You could tell by the way folks dressed or the kind of music they started listening too, that they had been dumped for someone else. And if someone was being overly poetic and/or a realist – then you could be pretty sure that said betrayal was taking its toll. However silly the causes were, it did bring in a lot of pain and at one point each of us friends have mourned or heaved a sense of relief having ended a certain relationship over some banana split sundaes at Outram Ghat.

The simplicities!

Q&A

Okay, I admit, I have more pressing problems than my purse. Q&A sessions with my five year old whenever we drive somewhere, is topping the list right now. More often than not they extend beyond just “car time”. If for any reason I thought I wasn’t crazy enough to see a shrink before, I do so now.

Q. Mommy, how old was I when I was in your tummy?

A. Zero

Q. Mommy, how did I come out of your tummy?

A. The doctor cut my tummy open (NO, I am NOT ready to discuss natural birth right now) and took you out.

Q. Isn’t that dangerous? While cutting did the doctor not cut me?

A. No. The Doctors are very skilled and they do not cut the babies while cutting their mommy’s tummy.

Q. Mommy, how did you know I wanted to come out?

A. You knocked on my tummy and I knew you were ready to come out. Just like I can tell when you need to go to the bathroom when you do your little dance.

Q. Mommy, how did I get into your tummy?

A. {The question I was dreading} Ummm…well, when mommy and daddy get married, a baby comes to mommy’s tummy because mommy and daddy want you so much. (Let me know if any of you have a better one for this)

Q. Mommy where was I before I came to your tummy?

A. {I’m stumped} Hmmm…let’s see… (inserting favorite scenes from one of her Barbie movies) I think you were in a different world with with the cloud princess and her flying unicorns and you had long hair that touched the ice when you ice skated. {Very proud of myself here for coming up with something so creative}

Daughter{Tears start streaming down her eyes}

Mommy {totally flustered}: What happened baby?

Daughter: I want to go to the cloud princess right now! I want to ice skate with Barbie

Mommy {SHIT!!! Did not see this coming}:  But ‘shona that was a dream.

Daughter: But you just said I was there before coming to your tummy. Why can’t I go back?

Mommy: What I meant to say was you were dreaming about the cloud princess before you came to my tummy. Hey! who wants  brownie with ice cream???

And you think why my brain is turning to mush?

My "Little" Purse

Lately I've been too nostalgic and living a bit too much in the past. Its time to change that and talk about real problems that I face in my life right now. For example: my purse.

So for those of you who don't know me well, the purse to me is what a shopping cart is to a homeless person. I mean if I were to be stranded somewhere, I could probably survive from the stuff I have in it minus a change of clothes. Which, if I used a tote bag, I'm sure I'd have that too.

It can also be used for self defense. If I were to swing that thing on someone, its sheer weight could crush that person's skull.

So what is it that I have in my purse? Quite honestly I am no longer sure. The one thing I am sure about is that it does not have any money. So having lost the sole purpose of the purse - I am now at a loss. I am actually scared to empty its contents - it just gets too stressful (I speak from past experience). However, the situation is getting out of control since I am no longer able to find things I need when I need them.

As you might have guessed by now - I am not the "matching purse with every outfit" kind of a gal. That stresses me beyond belief. Which means I would have to shuffle contents on a daily basis. That could cause me a mild heart attack. I am not the expensive purse lady either. My purses know no brands, unlike some of my friends purses I might steal and sell one of these days to buy myself airfare to India. Yes, they can fund an entire roundtrip ticket to any continent of my choice actually. I once had a "Lolo" purse (that's what I call a Polo from China) which I literally used for well over a year on a continuous basis till my friends started threatening me to trash it. It was perfectly fine. They just over reacted to the leather that was starting to peel off of it.

 I miss my Lolo. And there you go - I'm back to nostalgia again!

Mosaic

I am prepped in really old clothes and have oiled my hair and tied it tightly into a bun. I knock on my neighbors doors and gather everyone on the ground floor of our building. We bring buckets and fill them with water.  We are excited and unusually loud. Well, actually we can hear ourselves talk because there seems to be barely any traffic on the streets. All you can hear is the sound of hurried flip flops and squeals of delight. The day is undoubtedly Holi - the festival of colors.

My dad will not leave the house that day and I for one will not stay indoor for a moment. All us kids in our building are downstairs mixing color, preparing the water balloons and talking strategy. Whoever crosses our path is going to be smeared in a concoction of color that will render him/her unrecognizable. In the mean time we are pretty much unrecognizable ourselves. You see, we haven't wasted much time playing between ourselves. Kids from neighboring buildings have joined us and its a big party on the streets.

The day has progressed, we've smeared color on people we've never met and will never see in our lives again. The sun is out in full force and we are almost baked in a way it seems like the color will never leave our skin. Our eyes are look so bright compared to our black painted bodies. We see our parents walk out to the balconies trying to keep an eye on us. I'm however waiting for the best part of it all.

No sooner than I'm thinking of it I hear Babun da's motorcycle. Without losing a second I hop on it and off we go whizzing past Dhakuria bridge, Golpark and Gariahat to Ballygunge where we get the best "Bhang". Going for a bike ride the day of holi is a pleasure in itself. The roads being empty, you can actually feel the wind. We load up bottles and bhang infused "shondesh" and bring the loot back to the happening place in Jodhpur park - the sidewalk of the Sen residence where we end being merry and entertain the pedestrians with our beautiful vocals.

We've been out for hours now and it is time I head home. I promise the rickshaw puller I will pay him a few extra rupees to take me there. Instead of going to my flat in Jodhpur Park, I find myself in a place far far away. I want him to turn back and start pedaling faster to take me back home, but he can't hear me anymore. He has disappeared into this colorful mosaic and all I'm surrounded with is memories.

The Fairy Tale Fifth

Once upon a time there was a little princess who magically turned five and all her wishes came true.

The birthday weekend never to be forgotten (I will make sure of that) was Evani's first time at Disneyland as was mine. And all I can say is I'm glad that I waited this long. Experiencing it for the first time through her eyes is what's going to make this trip so memorable for me.

As parents we've never been too keen on large birthday parties for Evani. Firstly because they become more of a hassle than enjoyment and for some reason it always seems parties like those are more for the parents than for the kids. We've always preferred keeping them small where she can spend time with all her friends and or taking her somewhere to do something that she really enjoys. As part of that we had planned to celebrate her 5th birthday in Disneyland maybe right after she was born. And the fact that we did not take her there prior made it the kind of birthday she will hopefully remember as will we.

As a typical five year old girlie girl, her world revolves around princesses, fairies, flying horses, Barbies and most recently rock stars. Possessing a very vivid imagination she weaves her own fairytales that I'm beginning to think might make a great book one day (note to self: start writing some of that stuff down). She is a bundle of personality already with a bucket list that has me cracking up. When she's six, she wants to eat at Spaghetti Factory. On letting her know that she doesn't really need to wait another year to eat there and I can take her now, she says "but mommy, I don't like spaghetti yet!" When she's 16 she wants to go to Japan to meet Hello Kitty. Once she turns 70 (and yes, I checked with her and it is not 17) she wants to meet Hannah Montana and at 80 she wants to meet Madonna. Today she also asked me how much it costs to go to Japan.

Her favorite song is Bad Romance by Lady Gaga. But ever since she saw Madonna perform at Super Bowl she has become a fan. Her sense of style kind of matches theirs already and I don't know if I should be worried or extremely confident that she's going to make it big. But I'm keeping her Bollywood genes active as well and just for kicks have gotten her singing " I am a Disco Dancer".

When she grows up she wants to become a princess. I don't know about then but last weekend she definitely was. And to see the look on her face when she was told that she would be transformed into a princess of her choice the morning of her birthday made that outrageous price tag all worthwhile.

To Evani: may your happily ever after happen every day. Mommy and Daddy loves you very much and you will remain a princess in our hearts forever.

Growing Up in a Boarding School - The Finale!

To many it may seem like life in a boarding school at such an early age is harsh and painful. It is actually quite the opposite. Once you get over the lack of homely comforts, you begin to enjoy the simple things in life and you learn to adjust, live life to the fullest and love. My journey at Gokhale was such.

Our Saturday lunch chicken stew, our outings to the book fair and Victoria Memorial, those late night dark room games and desperate attempts at bringing back Indira Gandhi with planchits (calling spirits), dancing all night long at farewell parties and then crying like babies seeing our favorite seniors go, endless practices for the annual cultural show, pacing back and forth for the millionth time trying to cram before exams, writing tasks, sneaking trunk calls from "Hedu's" phone and protesting to the governing board about the food while throwing rotis on their faces are just few of the vast sea of memories that will remain fresh in me till I die.

But the most valuable gift I still cherish from my time at Gokhale are my friends. Growing up with them was life's best experience. They were not only friends but family and sometimes more. And on valentines day all I can think of is the amount of silliness we went through to share that love amongst each other and I wish I could do the same today. So despite of being thousands of miles apart with no Archie's Gallery cards, extra quotations, red roses, secret letters with poetry and mixed tape of sentimental songs - I still want to shout out and say I love you all! A decade of boarding school with all of you taught me to love, laugh, live and learn and I couldn't have asked for a better childhood than this.

Dedicated to my Gokhale friends who will live in my heart for eternity

A huge thanks to a dear friends who motivated me to write about my experiences growing up in a boarding school. I finally did it!

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The walk to my aunt's house is short, yet it feels like the most interesting route one can take. I cross sweet shops, roadside barbers, a mosque, homes, rickshaws, dispensaries and a tube well crowded with young men lathering themselves with soap so hard that all you can see is the white foam and not an inch of the dark skin under.  As soon as I come to what seems like a clearing, I hear the bells ringing at the Kaali temple and cross the pond covered so densely with foliage that there is no way of telling if there is any water under, I know I'm almost there. It is no doubt easy to spot my aunt's house in that colony - it's the only house that shows signs of wealth denoted by fresh paint, and a car parked in the garage. It is also the only house where the man of the house sits by the window overlooking the street drinking his tea or not. It seems like he is always looking out of that window. Till date, I wonder why.

I love going to my aunt's place and will come up with any excuse to leave my grandparent's house and walk over there. It is also where I want to be when there is no power. Theirs is the only house I know with a generator where we can sit under the fan and watch TV while all the neighboring homes have people sitting by kerosene lamps fanning themselves desperately with hand fans and cursing that the power has to always go off right at the time of their favorite show of which there aren't too many to begin with. I also love going there because unlike my grandparents who won't feed me any junk food, there is an abundance of that at my aunt's place. She will also make those deep fried bread pakoras with a meat filling I love to eat so much with dollops of ketchup. It feels like heaven in my mouth and I savor it till all I can taste is my own saliva.

I love spending time with my sister. We sit on top of the winding stairs that lead down to an overgrown garden and talk for hours. She is much older to me but somehow we find common ground. I am jealous she has her own room in a home I would die to have. I can sense she will make strides in her life like no other women in our family.

In a house so full of fun, laughter and love, lurks shadows dark and ugly. They spring out of nowhere and grab me by surprise. They thrust their long ugly tongues inside my small mouth and I can taste bile rising up my throat. I'm afraid to venture near that window where I know he will cuddle me and shower me with his love in a way that makes me want to run far far away and never come back. The night I sleep over and yet am unable to sleep because my hand is in places that is beyond the wildest and darkest imagination of a little girl - I just shut my eyes tight and try my best to not throw up and wish and pray my aunt doesn't wake up.

My uncle dies a few days after my wedding. I hope his soul has not rested in peace.

Dedicated to all those little girls who are molested by family members and are unable to speak up in fear of...well, FEAR.

Growing Up in a Boarding School - The Journey Continues…

Having the house to myself, access to unlimited wine and streaming old Bollywood hits definitely requires a blog post. Especially since I've been on a hiatus. While the whole world (yes, US of A definitely considers themselves to encompass the whole world with their world series on everything) watches football ( I don't even know why they call it that...sigh!), I can actually hear myself think after what seems like a trillion years.

The songs currently playing are from my school days and recent Facebook pictures of some of my hostel friends have stirred in such nostalgia that I need to go back to the day when I heard I would be moving to another boarding school - a school that had swings, slides and a jungle gym. A place where I couldn’t speak my language freely or have to pray to Jesus every night was not my cup of tea. But most importantly, the fact that Pratt's playground was barren of any play structure, did not sit well with me. So, I was excited to leave Pratt memorial and head for Gokhale Memorial Girls School
(GMGS).

It didn’t take long for me to make friends at GMGS. In fact, I found one while taking the entrance exam for that school – a fair and pretty girl from Guwahati who sucked at written Bengali as much as I did – Moumita Saha. Our journey at Gokhale began together – and what a journey that was.

I will always remember this school with fondness as most of who I am today was due to my time spent in those dormitories, corridors, dining hall and playground. Not to mention the ‘ghupchi’ and ‘gauri kund’ where some of us went to escape and share a few laughs. But I will remember this place mostly due to the “Guru Chela” fan system we had going. My first day at GMGS hostel, I was indoctrinated into this age-old custom of becoming a “fan” of a senior by Maitreyee. Too bad we didn’t end up inventing Facebook with its fan pages. Whichever senior I picked would become my “Guru” and I would be her “Chela” (disciple). My first "Guru" I remember was Tora Sinha who was sadly subjugated to my horribly ugly handmade cards and letters expressing my love for her.

Talking about letters - for some reason we wrote a lot of those in Gokhale amongst friends whom we'd meet on a daily basis. We'd exchange letters secretly, hide them in the folds of our socks (folding of the socks was considered fashionable) and hand them over while passing each other in assembly lines. I really don't remember what we could have possibly written and even though it seems extremely silly right now - it is something we devoted a lot of time to. It was probably the only way I knew to express myself. Till date I feel the same way. I am able to express myself better in writing than have a conversation about things that make me uncomfortable.

My love for the arts developed in class VB when our art teacher “Practish” gave me an 8 out of 100 and mocked my “view of a room” in front of the entire class. Apparently I had made no distinction between the walls and the floor and they were all painted in one solid color. My love for Hindi movies – specifically “Aamir Khan” developed right at the same time. It was the year of “Qyamat se Qyamat Tak” and a first in the history of our hostel when the girls united and forced our Matrons to take us to the movie theater to watch the movie. What followed were two dorms full of love-struck girls, listening to QSQT songs, hugging the little black radio on occasions and collecting Aamir Khan postcards. Yes, he was my first love who got me into trouble and I somehow found myself facing severe punishment in class for “dealing” with these postcards of images on Aamir hugging Juhi. I am still convinced though that our teachers wanted those postcards for themselves and Aamir’s cuteness was much discussed in the Staff Rooms.

I most certainly cannot complete my GMGS experience in this one post and I have this feeling creeping up on me that my "alone time" is about to end. So I do need to go back to drinking my wine, closing my eyes and remembering the good old days. More to come soon with pictures...I promise!

Letting Go...

...is probably the hardest thing to do at times. Yet, we all have to do it for various reasons at different stages in our lives. Sometimes I'm amazed how I've lived my entire life with all my belongings in one small cupboard shared by two boarders and one bedding. When it was time to let go of that, I moved into our 1100 sq ft flat in Kolkata with one room complete with a desk, bed and armoire entirely to myself. It felt very complete and even though there didn't seem enough space in the room to walk around - it felt like I had everything I need. Out here in the US life began with big dreams - the US dream of a four bedroom house and two car garage with a big backyard and we didn't take much time to move into a 2300 sq ft house and once again furnished it to its fullest. 

Now I realize the excess. Everywhere I look around me I see 'stuff' more than half of which we really don't need in any way or form. Its time to dig deeper and free myself from this materialistic clutter I've created around me. I thought it would be an easy fix. I was wrong. As I put furniture and other personal things on sale and see them go away one at a time, I can't help but feel a bit of sadness and loss. Feeling this way has taken me by surprise since I never knew I was attached to them this way.

Tonight as my formal living area lets go of its last piece of furniture I convince myself change is a good thing and this will be good for me in the long run.

"Ohm"

What's in My Fridge?

PEE. Yes, you heard right - I have PEE in my fridge, aka URINE. Ah, the joys of parenthood!

Anyone else grossed out?

So before I put it in the fridge (as per doctor's advice and not some sickening pleasure you think I'm deriving out of this), I actually debated whether I should let it cool to room temperature first and exactly how many ziplocs would I need for this. I'm on a budget here, so I ended up using only one. As for the cooling - the fridge took care of it I suppose.

Welcome to my week. A week of endless fever (starting Saturday night and still persisting), sleepless nights, two antibiotics, two bottles of Tylenol, endless (I'm probably going to be using this word too many times in this post) whining, 0 sick days now moving on to vacation days (I hate to admit that this is what is probably disturbing me most) and now I have urine sample in my fridge. And all of this might persist for 48 more hours (minus the pee thankfully). Hell yes, I'm CRANKY!!!

It started off as a sinus infection. The first antibiotic probably didn't work. Now the congestion is in her chest and there is a possibility of urine infection. So she's on her second antibiotic and we can only hope this will work. Poor baby is miserable from being sick.

Scene at the Paul residence

Thanks to all my FB friends who tried to guess what I had in my fridge. Hope you are all grossed out now - I am surely deriving some pleasure out of this  :)

To those local friends (minus one) who knew E was sick and didn't bother to call/email - this mom who is single during the week is PISSED (pun intended)!

At this point I'm just glad I drink red wine and it doesn't need to be refrigerated.

Blah blah blah blah blah

Yes, I know I need to finish my series on boarding schools and it would be wrong to say I don't have the time. The fact is when I do have the time I just want to...well, do nothing! Most nights I've been falling asleep by 9pm out of exhaustion and not the physical kind. My brains are fried from having listening to my daughter talk and ask questions continuously for five or six hours straight. Her hand always gets tired after maybe 5 spoonfuls of food into her mouth. How come her mouth doesn't get tired from all the talking I'm still to figure out. I know I sound like a horrible mother, but I need this to stop asap - duct tape anyone?

There are times I think she tests if I am listening. She will ask me a question knowing very well my answer will be no. But after maybe an hours worth of listening I have of course tuned out and without even knowing what she is asking for I just nod trying to show I'm listening. Right at that moment she will try to snatch whatever device I have in my hand and get my attention by asking why she is allowed to do so and so. Now after hearing what she really wants I have to take back my nod (yes) and say no. Now what follows is a whole set of why's and this time I have to answer all of them so that I stay consistent with the lesson I'm trying to provide which at this point I'm utterly confused about. Make sense? No? Welcome to my life.

Yesterday I took her for a walk after school. At the end of it I wasn't tired of walking as much as I was from listening and trying to answer a million questions.

Today she is sick and at home, which means six additional hours of talk time. Which means wine alone will not do the trick.

For all my friends updating their status on FB with all your fun travel plans for this long weekend - anyone want to take this opportunity to show me what a TRUE friend you are and take E along? :)

Photo from our walk yesterday by E.
However many seconds it took to take the photo was the ONLY time she wasn't speaking.

Growing Up in a Boarding School - Amen!

I've probably never been as exposed to religion in my entire life as I was during my first four years of boarding school at Pratt. We knelt by our beds every night to say a prayer as well as before every meal. Our school had a Church that we visited every Sunday morning and I learned to sing hymns from the Bible and make a cross in the air with my hand. I was too young to grasp the concept of religion then, but I do remember looking forward to going to Church. It was a chance to escape the four walls of the hostel and come in contact with the "outside world". I also loved the architecture, the stained glass and how the Church smelled. After Church I went to special Bible class by choice because I was intrigued by all the stories. I knew all about Christianity before I knew anything about Hinduism.

So naturally Christmas was big at my school. Before we closed for the Holidays, the boarders put up an annual show and party. Imagine my excitement when I was told I would be the "Guiding Star" and would be in costume and makeup. The play was going to depict Jesus being born and only a handful of junior dorm students were selected to be in character and I was one of them. I was elated. However, Jesus must have noticed my yawns at Church and I fell sick right before the play. High temperature had me lying in bed at our "Sick Room" for days and I missed rehearsals. One evening Tota came to visit me and let me know that she was given my role. That night I cried - I was so sad. I did end up being in the play but as a last minute addition where I had to enter with a bunch of girls and skip and hop and leave. I was not in costume and had to wear one of my own outfits.



It still intrigues me how I did not end up being all that religious after all of that. Maybe because I eventually realized that people think being religious makes up for all the wrong they do. However, I am thankful for the life I've had, the experiences that have taught me so much, loved ones and now my daughter. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit - amen!

Growing Up in a Boarding School - The Dining Experience!

I cannot remember if getting into the groove of things at Pratt was easy or
difficult. My memory of those first few years is somewhat fuzzy. I stayed
there for about four years moving on to another boarding school, but more on
the move in future installments.

Apart from sleeping in an uncomfortable bed with a room full of total
strangers and using those common toilets and bath area I think the biggest
adjustment was the food. If you know anything about Bengali's you would know
we are all about our food. Our daily meals are pretty elaborate and
delicious and parents jump through hoops feeding their kids to make them
round and chubby. Before stepping into hostel life I did not quite appreciate
that of course. I used to be one of those kids not too keen on eating and
would take hours finishing one meal. It didn't take me long to realize the good life I'd left behind soon after I sat down for my first meal at the hostel.

The aluminum plates and a trolly with two large buckets filled with rice and daal respectively and some kind of vegetable concoction already served on those plates still manages to churn my stomach whenever I think of those days. Breakfast consisted of a runny porridge also served on plates which later somehow became my most favorite food at Pratt. Non-veg which consisted more of curry and less of meat was only served on weekends. One positive came out of this culinary experience - on my fist vacation back home I absolutely devoured anything that was served to me. From there on eating was never a problem and I could eat almost anything given to me without being picky. I truly began to appreciate food. Till date I hate wasting food - it reminds me of those days where I didn't have much to eat.

Talking about food - we did have a tuck locker back in our dorm area. This was the place which held the most precious of our possessions - little snack items that were sent from home. These were all kept locked and was given to us on weekends. I remember relishing each cream biscuit one lick at a time. There was also a guy who used to come to the hostel on weekends to sell cookies from his black trunk. He had these bright pink and white cookies that he sold for a few paisas. I would almost always spend my tuck money on those.

These days I'm served huge portions wherever I go to eat and I see the amount of food being wasted around me. It makes me sad and I remember those days as little girls when we would have given anything to eat the way we do now.

Growing Up in a Boarding School - The Beginning

My interview at Pratt Memorial School consisted of a spelling test. I had to
spell three words given to me by the principal. I had spelled one of them
wrong and was sad that I would not get admitted. The word was 'face' and I
had spelled it with an 's' even though I had known the spelling. Probably
because I was nervous. I was five.

I however did get admitted to that boarding school and was soon accompanied by pishimoni (aunt), ma (mom) and a black trunk filled with my belongings on my
first day there. I will come back to the trunk soon but right
away I need to tell you that I still remember the feeling I had in my
stomach that day as I was being dropped off. I did not shed a tear maybe
because I was too confused with the knots I was feeling deep inside me. It
was probably the calm before the storm - because later in my life there were
plenty of tears to make up for that one brave night and probably the most important moment in my life.

Coming back to the black trunk. It was an object of awe the very first time it came to the house. I don't know why exactly but maybe because it came with the significance of leaving home and entering into a brand new territory. I still remember my name and address being inscribed on it with white ink. It was like the most artistic and incredible thing I'd ever seen. Later that trunk became an integral part of my happy and sad moments both. It made me happy when it was brought out of the hostel storage - that meant I was going home on vacation and made me sad when I had to pack it at home at the end of a month long vacation.

But I digress. This post is about my first day at boarding school and even though we didn't have cameras back then to record first days of everything in our child's life - I still have a crystal clear picture of that night. The boarding section of the school was situated on the third floor of the very old building. It was built during the Britsh Raj and had grand staircases and huge windows (more like doors) with green shutters. After you climbed up the stairs to the third floor you entered into a long corridor that led to the Matrons room on the other end of it. The three dorms (junior, intermediate and senior)ran parallel to the corridor on its right. Our lockers and shoe racks ran along the two walls of the corridor and that is where we all conglomerated every night to polish our shoes in preparation for the next day.

And I've digressed again. It was late evening when we arrived at the hostel. It was already dark outside and all the dorms were empty. My place would of course be in the junior dorm and while my aunt spoke with the matron and handed her my belongings I was asked to walk into the dorm to take a look. As I did, I noticed a solitary girl standing at the other end of the dorm looking out from the window. I went up to her and asked her her name. She had the same last name as mine and I took that as a sign and we became best of friends for the next few years. She told me that it was a special night and so all the other girls were in a common room watching TV. She stayed back because she was missing her mom who I found out some time later was no longer alive.

It was because of her my first day there didn't seem as bad. That night when I lay in my bed amongst almost a hundred other girls of different ages and backgrounds, I realized my life had just begun and little did I know those were the years that would make me who I am today.

Tota Bhowmik - wherever you are, this post is for you!

Following dreams

Thanks to my daughter I've watched the movie Tangled close to a hundred times (not an exaggeration)and surprisingly each time I've LOVED it and wished I was the lost princess who is finally able follow her dreams. One thing I've realized while growing up is that I have always lived a life that was deemed right and proper by someone else. Even the dreams were more or less set for me. I'm not saying I've had a bad life - but it was mostly not of my own choice. I think a lot of my friends from India have been in similar situations and felt the same way, yet we always end up doing what we think everyone else will think is right. Now that I am a mother such expectations are much greater. Every step I take I have to be convinced I am doing the right thing for her.

Deep down inside I know whatever I do, I will always have her best interest in mind and will not love her any less. I hope she grows up living her dreams and knows it is okay for everyone else around her to do so. As we sit and watch Tangled for the 101st time and she tries to braid my hair, I foresee a strong, beautiful and independent girl following her dreams just like the lost princess Rapunzel (even though her hair takes forEVER to grow):)

Happy 4th readers and here's hoping you are all following your dreams or are at least trying to do so.