'By The Ganges'

Imagine the mornings of a working woman with an infant to care for.
She has completed the chores like prepared food, sterilized the feeding bottles,boiled water kept in a flask etc. The moment she picks up her bag  to step out, her child wakes up.

Have you seen a child who has just woken up? Fresh from long and relaxing sleep and that baby smell of Johnson’s products and the sweet smell of his lil  sweat.

Since she knows the signs, she knows he wants to pee or poo. So she thinks ,  “let me be with him as I still hv 10 minutes in hand.”After wiping his soft bottom, she hugs him.Very little ones usually don’t press themselves against their moms while being hugged but they do reciprocate by resting their heads on her shoulder or offering their cheeks for a kiss.

Overwhelmed by that sweet smell and twinkling eyes,she drops the idea of going to office .And cuddles the baby and loves to be with him the whole day. Each moment she is with him, is a moment of bliss.

This is what happens to me. I usually hv a few tasks  pending  before retiring to bed. We teachers do not only give Home-work ,

We get a lot of it too.I creep towards my Vaio  for quickly  checking my  FB and Gmail. Then I follow the ritual of visiting a few blogs I have deep reverence for.

While Random Expressions  re-introduced me to Lata the Goddess  and  gave me a homely ambience ,By the Ganges enthralled  me with its usual topics and their unusual presentation.The words here carry the smell of my childhood days and cast a nostalgic spell.

 I came to this blog 6 yrs back to pay a return visit.I think it was called Journalism then.I hd thought that I wd see an elderly Bengali blogger with thick glasses but I found someone just the opposite.
  I’m a lazy reader with a very short concentration span. And if I could read a post in one go and love it ,I knew I was here to stay.I faintly remember that first post I read here was on Parveen Babi.

and later I read a post on Mithun Chakravarti. I wanted to show this post to all those friends who chided me for being a Mithun fan. There are so many posts which tell me that there is someone who thinks like me and can tell it 
so well
.So even when, there is a lot of work pending and I land at The Ganga Mail, the posts like Simpler Times , and 'No.70 Memory lane' hold my hand and  pull me. 
Like that working mom, it’s impossible to resist the sweet smell and the soft hug.

Mom's Diary-4

"Can I change it in case my parents like it"? A teenager asking a salesman.Sounds familiar to me.
 

Before you know, your kids who are afraid of entering a dark room and have to jump to switch-on the light, are taller than you and scare you with their hairstyle, attitude and philosophy.

The conversation, gesture and words we see and hear are so different now  from the times when I was a teenager, which  does not look too distant, to me at least.

There are various ‘Those awkward moments’ e.g. when I’m caught unconsciously  singing a song from ‘my times’ which has only rhyme and no reason, and Coldplay fans see each other and say ‘mummy please..’

Eavesdrop and I get a lot of stuff to laugh at.
 Her friend answered her message  "you are 48 kg and I’m 52..Oh I wd die of obesity.”

One of his fren’s father asked him who is Divya?
 Promptly came the answer.
It’s not Divyaa it’s Divy,a boy. In English it becomes DivyAA.
-But why lie?
-Why drag the conversation? And she is just a friend.

One day when hubby blurted,‘WHY I met your mother?” In a lighter vain I wondered aloud that  what if  we were married to different persons respectively. Pat came the reaction,
“Mummy, Don’t just invalidate my entire existence.”

“Nice words she you chooses” I thought.

They hate the author I adore.
 I have to read the newspaper of their choice.

If they irritate me with their way of life, I too try their patience by repeatedly getting stuck while using comp, mobile, handy cam other gadgets.‘

And Sometimes  I’m chided, when I’m told ,
"switch off the comp, it’s 1.30 am.

All moms avoid arguments knowing they would lose. Still they take place. And mine usually end up with something like,
“Mummy, you must read Ayn Rand."

Amidst discussions (read arguments), laughter, occasional smooth and often turbulent sailing, sharing secrets, I console myself that there is something common amongst us. But the very next moment I realize that I have still a long way to go when we would think alike.

That day ,I retired for my afternoon siesta with my lil Vaio. While surfing for a book, an author suggested in her ‘must read’ list for a married woman ,I reached at Flipcart.com. We were new to online shopping then.I got the book I was looking for.I kept filling the blanks thinking in the end it will deny as I did not write my credit card details. When I pressed cash on delivery, the order was placed. Was not happy with what I did.I wanted to browse more before placing the order. But the book looked good so it ws ok.Feeling a bit foolish I came out of my room and found her there with similar expressions.

I was told that she has placed an order in a site called Flipcart. She thought without giving Credit card number the order will not be placed. It happened accidentally. “ I didn’t even ask you”.and the regret is if I had to place the order I would hv broused more.The book is good though.

At least something in common is there between us. I sighed.

Thank you Flippy (Flipcart) .

The Mind of a Writer

Remember Firaaq Gorakhpuri? He hated his wife so much that he refused to see her face even when they lived under the same roof.But that was an extreme.When Premchand married a widow,I wonder weather his first wife was around.Though Ghalib married his childhood sweetheart but wikipedia says 'There are conflicting reports regarding his relationship with his wife'.Our very own Gulzar left beautiful Rakhi.

In the west most of the famous writers had multiple marriages.Hemmingway married thrice,Henry Miller-five times,just to name a few.But it is common in their culture.They might have been like this even if they were not writers.

Generally people who are very popular and admired by many,considered witty with great sense of humour are not equally amiable at home or with the people closely related to them.

What can be the reason? One what I think is that they don't want to be interrupted.unlike any other profession they cannot resume their work after making small talk and start where they had left.They have to be selfish it seems.While writing,one moment of distraction and there slips an apt word and an idea which he might never catch again.

At the dentist's waiting room I was reading Mahesh Dattani's column and he was complaining how ppl who know that he works from home,drop in.In spite of telling them that he is not expecting anyone at that time.

so what happens if a family member needs the writer's attention.They can't be formal at home.And what if his wife wants to know if she should keep her hair short or long or has she put on weight.What for dinner? Writers don't also have fixed working hours.

The other reason can be that the wife doesn't resemble the character he is creating in his notebook who is obedient,fresh,knows him so well and speaks only when he wants.

I know a writer who lives in a mansion with his two dogs, a bar full of alcohol and a few devoted servants.Though separated but the wife is in touch and still cares for him.So one more thing which I observed,is common that though separated these wives are not sure what exactly they hated in their husbands and still respect them.I fail to understand how can wives even stand them who made their lives hell.I was brooding all this when I saw Rakhee touching Gulzaar's(One of my most fav writers)feet on the stage in an award function.

I know we cannot generalise as on the other hand there are writers like Jug Suraiya who cannot write an article without the mention of his wife.

Madras Memories

It was like a foreign land for me when I reached Madras around 15 yrs back. Language seemed the only barrier between me and the city where I planned to stay for the rest of my life. But I took it in my stride and by the time I reached Vellechery, I could already read ‘Pallavan’ in Tamil.As it was written on all the city buses in English and Tamil.Same goes for all the sign boards and most of the hoardings.

The warm smile of our landlady made me forget the fatigue caused by the 36 hrs long journey from Lucknow. She asked us what wd we like to have: coffee, tea or Horlick? I would have ROFL if in Lucknow someone wd hv offered me Horlicks. Hubby stared at me with surprise When I said 'Horlicks'.Horlicks was good. Which was warm and sweet like her smile. For two months we lived like a big family. And then we got a house on campus.

The Hindu every morning looked so different from TOI and IE I grew up with. While my 2 yr old daughter and I had to interact with ppl who didn’t know English, hubby was comfortable with his colleagues and students.
IITM was a pleasant mixture of quiet surrounding amidst the jungle and fast city life just outside the main gate
I had my fears when we planned for our second child in a new place and far away from my parents,Still I enjoyed my ‘fatso’ days there.I read all the books by RK Narayan from the Faculty Club library and ate lots of south Indian food and was sure to deliver a Swami straight from Malgudi Days.

Choosing/selecting a doctor was a tough task.I found an around 80 yr old lady doctor when I reached the clinic,a friend had suggested. She took good care of me throughout .Specially with the diet plan etc. But just one month before the due date I wondered about her capabilities and facilities in her clinic in case there was going to be any emergency.
At this point we met Dr Prabhawati at ‘Andhra Mahila Sabha’ hospital.She looked like a typical doctor from advertisements. Smart with short hair and wore a crisp cotton saari. Like most doctors she also spoke less, but gave me all the important instructions politely and assured me that everything is fine with my health. After just 2-3 routine check ups ,one fine midnight I found myself at the hospital. The nurses on duty must have called her. And at 3 in the morning she was with me,though I was feeling guilty for disturbing her.At 4 am I delivered my child. After that I met her just one more time..
Around this time hubby got an offer from another IIT which was near my hometown. I had to leave Madras before I could explore it.
One day I saw Dr Prabhawati’s pic in the obituary section of 'The Hindu' at a south Indian friend’s place.Then I came to know that my doctor was in the advanced stage of cancer when I needed her at that unearthly hour.She did a lot of social work also in the rural areas.

During my check ups I used to be so occupied with my queries and fears that I never noticed that she wore a wig.

Life in a Non-Metro

Just got out of a hot shower in a December morn,I reached for a pair of denim and well ironed top/kurta, knowing that I had a lot of running around to do at the Annual Sports Meet in the school where I teach. Though there was no dress code but it is a truth acknowledged throughout India that saari is the safest bet if u are in a formal environment.So I chose one from a few I have.

As I was signing the register a colleague smiled and said, "lucky saari ! you are wearing it :-)" Cute compliment.I never heard it before."yes"I responded,"I didn't want to disappoint my fans.;-) (who belonged to III A ). In the class, girls chirped, "looking nice ma'am" and boys gave me the look of 'what happened to this lady'? She is looking so different.

My students come from varied backgrounds. A child who has already traveled half the globe, rubs shoulder with another whose father washes clothes in one of the hostels or cooks food in some mess, in perfect harmony. One was absent for a few days and told me that he went to Princeton.And when I asked Saina why ws she absent for two days.shyly she replied and I didn't believe my ears,

"Ma'am our cow ate my uniform".
Somehow I could resist laughing aloud. People who know me, know how I love to laugh.
Now some complaints:

Ankan Verma: Ma'am these people call me Ankal (uncle)
Maanas: Yes and they call me Minus:(

By the way Class 3 won the Trophy for the 'Best special Display.' Sari was lucky indeed.:)

Enjoying my afternoon siesta is in my DNA. And internet is the lullaby. I could be the founder member of the page:‘I don’t watch TV’ On FB. But Luckily I got to watch a part of the documentary on Madhubala which was being telecast on one of the news channels. The segment I watched was dedicated to Kishore Kumar and how he married and then tortured her later.

I never cease to thank God for my evening walks.Mostly I'm alone. Sick of the same songs on my mobile,I took hubby’s IPod and the first song was ‘Jab Tak Maine Samjha jeevan kya hai,jeevan beetgaya' sung by Kishore. Thinking abt his devilish behavior with Madhubala , I hated him and felt like skipping the song.Then I thought of wot I read somewhere:
“All forms of madness, bizarre habits, awkwardness in society, general clumsiness, are justified in the person who creates good art.”

So if a person is gifted he has a right to hurt/humiliate others? I almost agreed and couldn’t skip the song and what a song!

My locality is full of small and big temples .I pass by many of them. And here was one.It looked like a well and covered with a lid. Some smooth round pebbles, marked with vermillion reminded me the saying about my native place. It goes like..’Jitne kankar,utne Shankar’.

After supper I watched Bawarchi with my MIL.(Kishore Kumar again!) I was fast asleep just after I heard Jaya asking Rajesh Khanna.
‘Itna pyaar diya ,uska koi mol nahi?”
RK had no answer.

How different my life would have been if I were living in a Metro,having a good job.I put myself in the shoe of those ladies whose profiles I view on FB and wonder do they have a life better than mine? I don’t really know.

Happy B'day Jesus

Just felt like having a Christmas Tree at home.Didn't have one since my children stopped believing in Santa.Thinking of Dickens' famous lines:

"I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year"

People

In the hullabaloo of cosmic Mela It seems that we lose our dear ones and traveling through time we again cross paths.Our brain,though en extraordinary organ, having its limitations fails to recognize but our heart gives some signals:

How out of numerous colleagues,only one,whom you get to meet only once in a blue moon ,gels so well with you that u become permanent members of the 'Mutual admiration club'.Like that day at work, how could she
differentiate between my usual cheerful self and the fake broad grin? When she asked."looking dull now a days.Any problem? Or just Monday morning blues"? I couldn't lie so kept quiet.
whereas colleagues/friends who are inseparable,couldn't see anything.