A Perfect Day

Yesterday was a perfect day, not in the sense of it being the happiest day of my life or something, but because it was a perfect example of life and all its stages...be it birth, growth, or death.

There was the launch of one of our (Routledge's) books, so it was a birth of sorts. There were guests who had come to meet the author, and wish well for the book. So in a way we were all with a proud parent basking in the glory of his creation.

A college friend who is about to get married day after tomorrow, had her bachelor's party. Good food, good drinks, and lots of reminiscing, and dreams for the future. So she is a about to make a transition from her present life and start a new life as it were.

Yet another friend got married. She and I have been friends since school, and as I hugged her and her husband and congratulated them, I couldn't help thinking that our friendship goes back to so many years and I am so glad that I am still a part of her life, and joining her on her special day.

Another person I know, decided to stop being with someone she was increasingly enjoying being with. So in a sense, it was a death of sorts. Unfortunate and unfair, but that's how life is supposed to be.

So today in the morning when I was going over yesterday's events, I realised that it was an all-encompassing sort of a day...busy, packed, eventful, and with repurcussions for the future.

Being Bengali

The other day a colleague, who has returned to India after having lived in England for the last seven years, was talking about stereotypes. About how everyone around him, be it the Brits or the Indians, assumed several things about him, simply because he was an Indian living in the UK. But then again, I found nothing strange in the idea of the stereotype. Because I know from personal experience that whenever a person belonging to a minority community (owing to his creed, religion or region), lives within the parameters of a majority community, the latter always assumes things about him or her. It is the majority’s way of dealing with anyone who does not fit in, or is not one of them, so to speak.

Here are some of the generalizations that I have put up with all my life. I am okay with questions being asked about me and my family of course, after all how do you learn about different people if not by interaction? But it is the confidence with which these generalizations are stamped on me that I find amusing. The assumption being that since I am a Bengali, the following must be true about me:

Myth 1: Sayantani is a Bengali name, and it sounds like St Anthony. So I must be Christian.
Reality: On the contrary, Sayantani is a Sanskrit name meaning evening. I was named so by my grandfather because I was born at about 8 pm.
And I am a Hindu and not a Christian.

Myth 2: Home must be Calcutta.
Reality: Sorry to disappoint but home is Delhi, in fact, it is in Gurgaon, Jatland.

Myth 3: I must be a fanatical Durga-worshipper.
Reality: I am an atheist, so the question of worshipping Durga or anybody else does not arise.

Myth 4: I must be passionately in love with Sourav Ganguly.
Reality: Err, no. I do not have the hots for him. His inclusion or exclusion in the team does not alter my life.

Myth 5: My mother must make rasgullas in her spare time.
Reality: Again no, she has far better things to do with herself.

Myth 6: My mother must wear Devdas-style Bengali sarees at home, and put 100 gms of sindoor in the parting in her hair.
Reality: She wears sarees, yes, Devdas style or its volume or price, no.
Sindoor yes, but not a hysterical quantity.

Myth 7: I must break into Rabindrasangeet every now and then as a matter of choice and principle.
Reality: Although I speak the language fluently, I can barely croak in it let alone sing.

Myth 8: The only food cooked at our house is rice and fish.
Ever heard of dal, roti and subzi?

Now the assumptions from the other side, that is, when I go to Calcutta, where I am again assumed to be different because I am a Delhi Bong. Mind you, the assumptions are less here not because Calcuttans are any less judgmental or opinionated than Dilliwalas but it is so only because I visit Calcutta once in like two years, whereas Delhi is where I am based.

Myth 1: I do not eat fish.
Reality: I love it so much I could live on it.

Myth 2: I do not read/write/speak Bangla.
I do all of them and more, probably better than a lot of people living there, specially the younger generation whom I see avoiding the mother tongue like the plague. To me, nothing sounds sweeter than Bangla.

Myth 3: I must hate Delhi because it is such an unlivable city.
Says who? I love it passionately.

Signing off,
The very-Bengali, yet very-Delhiite, Sayantani

10 Simple Things That Make Me Happy

Honouring Richa's request, here goes:

1. Walking into a bookstore and seeing something I have worked on displayed, without my having to ask for it.

2. Rushing to tell my mother about the day's events the moment I reach home. Actually, spending time with her. We could be pottering in the kitchen, or chatting in the balcony, or taking a walk together.

3. Fresh, red roses. Very cliched...but that's me.

4. Writing...letter/ email/ blog/ sms/ anything.

5. Good coffee. Little milk, very little sugar, and lots of coffee.

6. Watching the night sky.

7. Making a huge fuss over someone on his or her birthday.

8. Late night/ early morning conversations that can go on forever. Otherwise throughout the day, one's mind is so preoccupied with so many things.

9. Not having to worry about how I will reach home.

10. Keeping my word, and others keeping their word to me. It could be over something as simple as 'I will call'.

Chandigarhhh

Yesterday morning I returned from a weekend at one of my most favorite places in the world, Chandigarh. And so I am happy, and in a brilliantly positive frame of mind. In fact, I remember thinking while looking at the sunset outside my train window on Friday evening, while en route Chandigarh, there is so much in life to be thankful for.

So what is it that I love so much about Chandigarh?

First of all, the life that it gave me for 18 months. One of my most favorite visual images right from the time I was a child is one that is seen in so many films, especially foreign films. It is of a young woman unlocking the door of her flat, entering it and then tossing her keys on the shelf or on top of the fridge. This visual representation of independence is something I have craved for always. And when the Chandigarh job happened and with it came the opportunity of being really independent for the first time in my life, I rushed to take it. And every morning when I locked my house and every evening when I came back, it gave me a sense of control over my life and destiny. And that felt good.

Secondly, Chandigarh and its people accepted me for being me. I cannot remember a time when either my friends or neighbors expected me to behave in a certain way because I was a single woman living on my own. I was allowed my space, and for any person, especially a woman, that is a liberating feeling.

Thirdly, the people of Chandigarh. I am so glad for the friendships I have been blessed with there. Quick thank-yous to those who made my life so spectacular, and continue to do so just be being in it. This will sound like an Oscar-award winning thank you speech …but I can’t help it. :)

1. Gaurav: For being my first friend in Quark, for your stoic, quiet self that still found plenty to argue with me.

2. Puneet: Mrs Bains, thanks for helping me set up my house...be it shopping for upholstery or gas stove or utensils, all the quick recipes, all the ghar-ka-khana. For Patiala. For being your no-nonsense, practical, funny self.

3. Shalini: No Shal Singh, you still cannot and should not sing. Thank you for welcoming me into your group and for being one of the most helpful colleagues and friends ever.

4. Shivani: For all the gossip, Simu, impromptu dinners and movies and for being one of the nicest people I have ever met.

5. Saurabh: For all the daily mails and stupid forwards, for listening, for being there in those couple of bleak months.

6. Brijesh: For everytime you said, "San, there's a new restaurant in town...chalein?", for "Just Desserts", for knowing that communication is a two way process. For ensuring that Swati is now as much a friend as you are.

7. Devinder: For all the rides, for being my bestest buddy, for eating all the maggis and scrambled eggs, and all the experiments in my kitchen, for putting up with all my nonsense (blow horn, lahu, “I am getting bored, can we please argue about something?”).

8. Karan: For being my brightest spot of sunshine in Chandigarh. For that freezing trip to Karnal and the fun trip to Kasauli, for all the on-the-spur of the moment plans, drives, walks at the Lake, and for truly being a good friend.

And Meeta. Boss, friend, mentor, guide, surrogate mom…words cannot do justice to all that you were and still are.

Coming back to the trip as such…highlights of it include:

1. Watching a brilliant sunset from my train window on Friday evening.

2. Being greeted (yet again) by the millions of birds that inhabit the Chandigarh station. Mornings and evenings are such excellent times to go to the station, just watching the birds is an awesome experience.

3. Meeting friends back to back for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Being pampered and treated with lots of affection. Bliss!

4. Wearing pink, a color I never do, and I don’t think I wore it ever in my 18 month stay in Chandigarh. Reason being I think I cannot carry off nice, ladylike colors like pink and peach and pastels. But well, once in a while one should experiment. The first words that were uttered by the three sets of friends I met on that day were as follows:
a. Pink? How come? Although wear it more often, suits you.
b. Why are you wearing pink? Are you in love?
c. Oye!! Pink-shink!! Kya ho gaya tere ko?!

5. Shopping for papads (I love the papads one gets in Chandigarh), and movies. Odd combination did you say? So? Do I care? Anyway, there was a sale on at one of the stores so I picked up some of my most favorite movies dirt cheap: Monsters Inc, Finding Nemo, Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron, Sahib Bibi aur Ghulam. And also An Affair to Remember. It’s an old movie starring Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr, and one that I had been searching for quite desperately. Hear the story, you will know why. Grant and Kerr meet on an ocean liner, and although they are seeing other people, there is instant chemistry between them. And this chemistry is only through conversations (well, to start with) and even their most regular conversations are engrossing to watch and give you the viewer a part of that high. Awesome film, awesome conversations. Of course it has its low points but the first half of the movie when they are discovering things about each other only through their minds is so electrifying that it makes up for any faults eventually.

So that was all I did in Chandigarh. Dying to go back again. Because the city fulfills all my basic requirements from life so well. Good people, good food, the ability to buy books, movies and music whenever I want to, and weekend trips. I am all set!

When Love and Hate Collide

Ok...a spur-of-the-moment entry. And it's going to be mushy and utterly sentimental, and I am not sure why I am writing this in the first place.

What is it about younger brothers that makes them so adorable? My brother, who is incidentally eight years younger than me, has just dropped into my office. He had gone to BCL for the day, ostensibly to study, in reality probably to check out every Manchester United related information available this side of the English Channel. He looks tired, although I fed him a good lunch. He looks cranky, just the way I do after a long day at work. So far so good, we are behaving like self-respecting Dasgupta siblings.

And as I am looking at him, I want to tell him that much as I want to kill him nearly everyday of my life because, he has either made fun of a certain CD of mine or has forgotten to run an errand or because his chalta-hai attitude towards most things in life are nauseatingly annoying, I also want to tell him that I love him to death. For a million reasons. But particularly for always being the first one to listen to a certain kind of my grievances, for instinctively knowing how I would react to every situation, for looking across a crowded room to catch my eye and letting me know that we are thinking the same thing about a relative or neighbour, for being a far better human being than I can ever be, for not having an iota of envy or dishonesty in him, for being my punching bag, for sharing his enormous collection of non-veg jokes with me, and for teaching me that gratitude is probably the most essential of all human virtues. And most importantly for our Sunday ritual. For all this and more, Riju...I will always keep you.

P.S. I will probably delete this post tomorrow...because the moment we step out of the office today, we will argue, and he will annoy me in the process and I will tell him, "Please go and throw yourself in front of a moving vehicle". And the argument shall continue...

Are We Civilised Enough?

I am back to spewing angst again! Can't help it...I am just back from a concert, and a nice one at that, a fabulous piano recital by a 14 yeard old prodigy, and I want to ask every concert-goer...basically anyone who has ever attended a live concert, or wants to in the future,
"Are we as a race fit to attend live shows?"

I have attended several concerts in my life. Be it plays, music shows or dance programs. I love live shows, in fact it could showcase a woman giving a haircut, and I would still eagerly watch it. The venue is also irrelevant here. Right from the majestic Qutub Minar to the smart Siri Fort Auditorium, from the languid lawns of my College, to community halls and stages...I have attended concerts that have showcased brilliant talents such as the Wadali Brothers, or Navtej Singh Johar or Indian Ocean, as also those performers whose energy levels have more than made up for my lack of faith in their ability to be master entertainers. These shall remain unnamed although they are huge stars in their own right. I have also attended concerts where my own friends have participated, and have enjoyed them thoroughly for the extra reason that the "celebrity" is my buddy.

The point here is not just about who is the artist or whether s/he can perform as well as is expected to. Although this too is an important aspect certainly. After all, if I spend good money to procure a ticket, I shall certainly go with the expectation that I should get my money's worth. And there is nothing wrong in feeling like this. Yet at the same time, the point is also whether we Indians deserve to be part of something as brilliant as a live show.

Just the other day, I heard from a friend about the dismal way in which Zubin Mehta's concert in Delhi was received. People were constantly walking in and out of the auditorium, cellphones kept ringing, and I assume the master composer probably felt worse than ever for having given into the demand or desire of performing in his own country. I have myself attended and enjoyed Indian Ocean's concerts by keeping my eyes closed throughout the recital. The fact that people walk in and about during any concert is distracting as hell. And in an Indian Ocean concert! Where you not only need to concentrate on the music but also on the lyrics, on the chemistry between the band members...so you either keep your eyes open and die of shame for being part of a society where a ringing cellphone signals your worth and worse the decibel level with which you answer your call reconfirms your position in society. Or, you do as I do, keep your eyes closed, imagine that the band is playing just for you...and there you have it, your personal paradise.

It was almost the same scenario in today's concert. The pianist, Utsav Lal, was fortunately not facing the audience. Else, what would he have seen? People of all ages walking in and out as and when it suited them. Friends dabbling in gossip and casual conversation. Bigwigs getting calls and answering them. Or forgetting why they were in the auditorium in the first place, and treating it instead like their personal living room. One gentleman right in front of where my friend and I were sitting, stood up and clapped, YES, he put his hands together and CLAPPED to make sure that his guests who had just entered the auditorium actually saw and heard him over and above the music Utsav was beautifully creating. Kudos to them, they saw him flapping and heard his clapping and after much shoving and pushing, found the right place for sitting.

To Utsav and others like him, do yourself a favor. Keep making your wonderful music but perform only in front of people who will give you the respect that you as an artist deserve. Forget about the others. Remember, they know how to buy CDs.