Questions I have been asked and answers I have wanted to give.
“Do you have letter boxes in India?”
No, we use pigeons.
“Do you know what an icecream is? Have you ever had one?”
An icecream? Not sure what it is. Is it a kind of moisturizer?
“Do you have things like emails in India?”
No, we really really use pigeons.
“Indian huh? So you are kinda related to Pocahontas?”
Yes. She was my grandmother. These earrings I wear are from her.
“Of course you will know all about the Nez Perce tribe! You are an Indian.”
Yes, of course. I do wear feathers when I go back home every evening.
“So what is it really like to live in India?”
Verrrry different. People are green in color and they breathe through their gills.
“What do you think about the fact that India might be considered an Asian society?”
Huh? Ever considered looking at those bright colored things called maps?
“Is India a country or a continent?”
Neither. It’s actually a planet. Yes, you are being invaded!
“So you got up one morning and said ‘I gotta get out of this damn country?’ and so came to US?”
No, I got up one morning and decided to educate the world about how perfect my country is.
And an actual conversation I had:
“So how is the settling down in America going?”
“Pretty good actually, thank you. Although going to Wal-Mart is still a scary experience.”
“Oh! You don’t have big shops in India right?”
“No we do, it’s just that we’d rather do other stuff than worry about 70 different brands of toilet paper.”
P.S. I welcome all questions though because every conversation helps me teach something about India that the other person did not know. I like the opportunity that the interaction gives me. And every question has been asked with such frank curiosity and friendliness that it's been worthwhile. So everyone in India reading this post, PLEASE no America bashing. It's a warm, wonderful place to be in.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Monday, November 27, 2006
When You Are Not In The Movies
When you wake up on consecutive mornings and see snow on every available surface outside your window it is a beautiful sight.
When there is snow on distant mountains and it reminds you of rolling vats of vanilla icecream, it looks deliciously soft.
When the sun peeps in every now and then, and bathes the snow in golden pools of light, it is gorgeous to say the least.
When you are cupping a steaming cup of coffee or hot chocolate in your hands and the snow is falling in rapid bursts outside, it is beauty like you have never seen before.
But, when you have to walk through snow fall and reach your classroom within a certain time, it is messy, clingy, damp, and cold.
When you have to walk on snow and ice, and very very cautiously and gingerly at that because if you are not careful you could have a nasty fall, it is frightening.
Wearing several layers of woollens and walking/running/romancing the hero on snow-covered fields and mountains is a great idea when you are in a Yash Chopra movie. In real life, it's war. And one that you better win for your own sake.
When there is snow on distant mountains and it reminds you of rolling vats of vanilla icecream, it looks deliciously soft.
When the sun peeps in every now and then, and bathes the snow in golden pools of light, it is gorgeous to say the least.
When you are cupping a steaming cup of coffee or hot chocolate in your hands and the snow is falling in rapid bursts outside, it is beauty like you have never seen before.
But, when you have to walk through snow fall and reach your classroom within a certain time, it is messy, clingy, damp, and cold.
When you have to walk on snow and ice, and very very cautiously and gingerly at that because if you are not careful you could have a nasty fall, it is frightening.
Wearing several layers of woollens and walking/running/romancing the hero on snow-covered fields and mountains is a great idea when you are in a Yash Chopra movie. In real life, it's war. And one that you better win for your own sake.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Mine
I love James Bond. The man in his entirety, the books, the movies, Fleming himself...basically the whole package. On Wednesday evening, my interest sufficient piqued by Subhadip's post as well as by reviews on NY Times and other sundry newspapers, Parul and I went to watch Daniel Craig in Casino Royale. Every time that Craig walked, ran, swam, smiled, bared even an inch of his shoulders, Parul sighed. She must have said, "Saya...kya shoulders hain!" about twenty-six times during the whole length of the movie. I confess I didn't notice them... I couldn't move beyond the mouth!
So, Richa, Manasi, and other ladies around...you can keep your Bachchans to yourself. This one is mine.
So, Richa, Manasi, and other ladies around...you can keep your Bachchans to yourself. This one is mine.
Monday, November 20, 2006
27 Reasons Why Living with Manasi Kanuga is a Great Idea
1. She loves rum, silver, and dark chocolate.
2. She has a pierced nose too.
3. She sings while she cooks. (Actually we both do. And when we sing and cook together, it’s incredible fun. Our theme-based Sundays are right royal enviable. We pick a theme for the day, say, Juhi Chawla movies, or movies with the cheapest songs, or with the most annoying star couple, and sing the songs from that movie to the accompaniment of some musical instrument...usually the bread knife against the kitchen sink.)
4. She is generous. With time, affection, and laptop.
5. We think alike, and have reached a stage where we can look across the room at each other, and know exactly what we are thinking about the people around us.
6. She is a foodie. (Depending on the ingredient we have bought, the cook is decided, for we have our own specialties. For example, shrimps, fish fry and mushrooms are her department, just like beef, bhindi, and Sunday morning’s egg-based breakfast are mine to make.)
7. She listens.
8. She makes me behave when I am particularly restless.
9. She had enough faith in me to let me color her hair. I didn’t, so I made her sign a disclaimer that said, “If anything happens to me or my hair, that is, if I die or go bald, it is not because of Sayantani Dasgupta.”
10. She has a sweetheart of a boyfriend. Shardul is so nice that he has already been made the Mama of my yet-unborn twin sons – Babbu and Gosha.
11. She lets me do all the christening in the house. Therefore, we have had a guest turtle called Ramlal, and two plants called Hemlata and Sulabha.
12. She invents the most interesting words, and according to her, they should all go into my book. These include ugly-ly (just like beautifully) and proudful.
13. She has made elaborate plans on how to spend the millions we will both get once we win our respective Nobels. She in medicine and I in literature. (Our other dear friend Parul is getting one too...in Chemistry.)
14. Laughter is an important member of our family.
15. She loves dogs.
16. She desperately needs lessons when it comes to drawing smileys.
17. Even our shortest conversations are awesome fun.
Sample this:
S: Looks like Abhishek Bachhan can’t take his eyes off me. (AB was the wallpaper of her laptop for a while.)
M: Of course not! You stay away! Keep your hands off him!
S: My hands off him? Done. Easiest promise to make and keep. I will keep my hands off Abhishek Bachhan.
M: You bitch! I know what you’re thinking. I meant stay away from him.
18. There are times when I am sitting inside my room, pretending to read, while I am actually sulking either because I have had a bad day or because I am desperate to come back to Delhi. She somehow knows, that in spite of the “I am reading and I am all right” tone, everything is not right. So she stands either outside the door or comes inside the room and keeps talking until the time I start cheering up.
19. She reminded me nearly five times today that I had promised a blog post on her and a testimonial on Orkut. (Phew! The pressures under which a creative writer has to work!)
20. She hates horror/ghost stories. It’s lovely to threaten her with those.
21. Her warm, million-dollar smile can make even the most homesick person cheer up instantly.
22. In four words she is :Matter-of-fact, cheerful, witty, and kickass.
23. She loves the notes I leave for her around the house. As much as she loves the text in them, she loves their placement even more. They have appeared tied to the toothbrush, on top of the pressure cooker, tagged to the switchboard, tied to the tail of her stuffed toy, etc.
24. She has made it a point to touch base with some of the people I value the most.
25. She cannot cut cabbage because it is too time consuming. Duh!
26. She reads my blog regularly.
27. She is family.
Happy birthday M!
Love
S
2. She has a pierced nose too.
3. She sings while she cooks. (Actually we both do. And when we sing and cook together, it’s incredible fun. Our theme-based Sundays are right royal enviable. We pick a theme for the day, say, Juhi Chawla movies, or movies with the cheapest songs, or with the most annoying star couple, and sing the songs from that movie to the accompaniment of some musical instrument...usually the bread knife against the kitchen sink.)
4. She is generous. With time, affection, and laptop.
5. We think alike, and have reached a stage where we can look across the room at each other, and know exactly what we are thinking about the people around us.
6. She is a foodie. (Depending on the ingredient we have bought, the cook is decided, for we have our own specialties. For example, shrimps, fish fry and mushrooms are her department, just like beef, bhindi, and Sunday morning’s egg-based breakfast are mine to make.)
7. She listens.
8. She makes me behave when I am particularly restless.
9. She had enough faith in me to let me color her hair. I didn’t, so I made her sign a disclaimer that said, “If anything happens to me or my hair, that is, if I die or go bald, it is not because of Sayantani Dasgupta.”
10. She has a sweetheart of a boyfriend. Shardul is so nice that he has already been made the Mama of my yet-unborn twin sons – Babbu and Gosha.
11. She lets me do all the christening in the house. Therefore, we have had a guest turtle called Ramlal, and two plants called Hemlata and Sulabha.
12. She invents the most interesting words, and according to her, they should all go into my book. These include ugly-ly (just like beautifully) and proudful.
13. She has made elaborate plans on how to spend the millions we will both get once we win our respective Nobels. She in medicine and I in literature. (Our other dear friend Parul is getting one too...in Chemistry.)
14. Laughter is an important member of our family.
15. She loves dogs.
16. She desperately needs lessons when it comes to drawing smileys.
17. Even our shortest conversations are awesome fun.
Sample this:
S: Looks like Abhishek Bachhan can’t take his eyes off me. (AB was the wallpaper of her laptop for a while.)
M: Of course not! You stay away! Keep your hands off him!
S: My hands off him? Done. Easiest promise to make and keep. I will keep my hands off Abhishek Bachhan.
M: You bitch! I know what you’re thinking. I meant stay away from him.
18. There are times when I am sitting inside my room, pretending to read, while I am actually sulking either because I have had a bad day or because I am desperate to come back to Delhi. She somehow knows, that in spite of the “I am reading and I am all right” tone, everything is not right. So she stands either outside the door or comes inside the room and keeps talking until the time I start cheering up.
19. She reminded me nearly five times today that I had promised a blog post on her and a testimonial on Orkut. (Phew! The pressures under which a creative writer has to work!)
20. She hates horror/ghost stories. It’s lovely to threaten her with those.
21. Her warm, million-dollar smile can make even the most homesick person cheer up instantly.
22. In four words she is :Matter-of-fact, cheerful, witty, and kickass.
23. She loves the notes I leave for her around the house. As much as she loves the text in them, she loves their placement even more. They have appeared tied to the toothbrush, on top of the pressure cooker, tagged to the switchboard, tied to the tail of her stuffed toy, etc.
24. She has made it a point to touch base with some of the people I value the most.
25. She cannot cut cabbage because it is too time consuming. Duh!
26. She reads my blog regularly.
27. She is family.
Happy birthday M!
Love
S
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Love Letter
Dear Ma
I very rarely, if ever, talk about you on my blog. In spite of the fact that you are the most important person in my life. Is it because we are not a demonstrative family as such? We don’t tell each other how much the other one means to us--it’s just one of the many things that Dasguptas and most other Bengalis don’t do--we don’t demonstrate our love, instead we intellectualize it. I wish we were more Punjabi-ized in this aspect. You know, be more pappiyan-jhappiyan kinds. Spontaneous kissers, big huggers. Today I am going to try being that with you. Because I want to, because I miss you so much every day, and because for the first time in our joint lives together, no matter how hard I try, I will not be able to make it in time for your birthday.
My earliest clear memory of you is the day you were trying to teach me “he” and “she”. I was about four years old I think, and neither “he” nor “she” were appealing to me. I was familiar with “he-she” in Bangla, where of course it stands for something entirely different, and I was adamant about not embracing these unfamiliar Anglo terms. You persisted, you slogged, you tired yourself out, and finally, after hours I was enlightened.
My next clear memory is of the morning we were leaving Calcutta for good. At that time we didn’t know that it was going to be for good. It was just something we were doing because Baba had got a new job in Delhi. I must have been barely five years old then, and I remember you woke me up with tears in your eyes. You must have hated the shift that time, right? Leaving behind friends, family, home, your city...all for an unknown, unfamiliar life. At a time when there was no Internet, no inexpensive STD calls, no google-talk (our present lifeline). But see how good Delhi’s been to us? We have progressed, we have grown, we have had an enriched life. And most importantly, Delhi’s where Riju joined us. The only non-Calcutta born member of our family.
Our first months in Delhi were interesting. Especially your afternoon story-telling/story-reading sessions. They made books and words come alive. So much so that now they are indispensable. I enjoy being with them, I love living off them, I cannot imagine a life without them. And all because of the first grain you sowed.
Do you remember my entrance test at Tagore International School? Where on being asked to write the letters of the alphabet, I wrote everything from A to Q, and then forgot everything that came after? In my defense, I told you, “But Q is so strange!” Later I overheard your conversation with Baba. “How will this girl ever learn English? She can’t even remember all the letters after Q! Says Q is strange! English is the language of communication. What will we do?”
Thankfully, Baba wasn’t worried at all, and can I now safely assume that I have made mincemeat of your fears?
So many memories, so many rituals:
Returning from school/college/university/office, and then seeking you out before doing anything else in order to tell you everything, well, nearly everything that I did that day...conversations, compliments, criticisms. You know every friendship, every betrayal, every scar and every bit of glory. As also nearly every sin, every crime, every passion. You know about every man I have ever dated, and you have shaken your head and disapproved of each one of them. Because so far no one’s been the bhalo Bangali chhele...the sort you want for me: responsible, kind, calm, someone who will keep the wildness, the impatience, and the madness in check, someone who will keep me tethered yet let me fly. Someone like you.
Sitting so many miles away from you, I miss our conversations the most. They were the funnest ever, weren’t they? The one over morning tea while Baba went about yoga and the news, and Riju slept peacefully dreaming about yet another Manchester United glory. And then the one in the evening, when I came back from office. We stood in my balcony and watched the skyscrapers in the distance, while we poured our hearts out. I miss your kind of food, I miss the sound of your voice and laughter, and the touch of your fingers while they untangled my dense, usually unmanageable hair. I hate it that I can no longer walk into the kitchen and see you cook, while I hover around, waiting to taste, to check, “whether you have made it right or have messed it up”. I can no longer walk into your room, and curl up next to you, and then snatch from your hands whatever you are reading to either read it myself or to force you to talk to me. I miss sitting with you and watching inane shows on TV, the dumber the better being our thumb rule, while we debated over who will win the next year’s Miss India/Miss Universe contest--you or me. I miss pulling Riju’s leg, either by myself or by ganging up with Baba while you rushed to defend your “baby” who was always more than capable of taking care of himself.
I am reminded of yet another incident. The one just a few days before I started school in Delhi. We were going somewhere, the three of us, Riju still two years away. We were in a DTC bus, you and I were sitting while Baba was standing and holding on to the rod. You said to me. “You are in class 1 now. It’s a new life. It’s going to be exciting. Make sure you’re always careful, especially in the bus. Remember to take your seat, hold on to the bar. Be careful of your surroundings. All the time, always. Oh my baby! How will you travel so far every day?”
The distance between home and St. Anthony’s, Hauz Khas, was all of 7 kms, and you were worried. Twenty-two years later you still worry. Of course, the immense geographical distance adds fuel to the fire. From that sweltering, hot day in April, to this cold, wintry day in November, I have come a long way haven’t I? And every time I recount yet another adventure to you, your reaction is the same. “You took another risk, didn’t you? Why do you have to be this crazy all the time? Ektu shanto ho, eto tara kisher? Aaste aaste shob hobe, shob korbi.” Your words actually sound like music to my ears, even when you are yelling, because they tell me that I am on the right track. That I could go that extra step, take that extra bit of risk, because you made it possible. You created me that way, you gave me that confidence, you made me believe something you say to both Riju and me all the time: “If you have the intelligence and the interest, everything is possible.” Yes Ma, I agree. Which is why I spent the greater part of this Monday roaming around yet another new city. Walking, getting lost, taking directions from strangers and maps, discovering new people, sights, tastes and smells...completely on my own. And enjoying every bit of the adventure.
So, Happy Birthday Ma. Hope November 17 brings with it lots of joy and sunshine. Have a great day and a wonderful year. And yes, I will be home soon. I promise.
Love
T
I very rarely, if ever, talk about you on my blog. In spite of the fact that you are the most important person in my life. Is it because we are not a demonstrative family as such? We don’t tell each other how much the other one means to us--it’s just one of the many things that Dasguptas and most other Bengalis don’t do--we don’t demonstrate our love, instead we intellectualize it. I wish we were more Punjabi-ized in this aspect. You know, be more pappiyan-jhappiyan kinds. Spontaneous kissers, big huggers. Today I am going to try being that with you. Because I want to, because I miss you so much every day, and because for the first time in our joint lives together, no matter how hard I try, I will not be able to make it in time for your birthday.
My earliest clear memory of you is the day you were trying to teach me “he” and “she”. I was about four years old I think, and neither “he” nor “she” were appealing to me. I was familiar with “he-she” in Bangla, where of course it stands for something entirely different, and I was adamant about not embracing these unfamiliar Anglo terms. You persisted, you slogged, you tired yourself out, and finally, after hours I was enlightened.
My next clear memory is of the morning we were leaving Calcutta for good. At that time we didn’t know that it was going to be for good. It was just something we were doing because Baba had got a new job in Delhi. I must have been barely five years old then, and I remember you woke me up with tears in your eyes. You must have hated the shift that time, right? Leaving behind friends, family, home, your city...all for an unknown, unfamiliar life. At a time when there was no Internet, no inexpensive STD calls, no google-talk (our present lifeline). But see how good Delhi’s been to us? We have progressed, we have grown, we have had an enriched life. And most importantly, Delhi’s where Riju joined us. The only non-Calcutta born member of our family.
Our first months in Delhi were interesting. Especially your afternoon story-telling/story-reading sessions. They made books and words come alive. So much so that now they are indispensable. I enjoy being with them, I love living off them, I cannot imagine a life without them. And all because of the first grain you sowed.
Do you remember my entrance test at Tagore International School? Where on being asked to write the letters of the alphabet, I wrote everything from A to Q, and then forgot everything that came after? In my defense, I told you, “But Q is so strange!” Later I overheard your conversation with Baba. “How will this girl ever learn English? She can’t even remember all the letters after Q! Says Q is strange! English is the language of communication. What will we do?”
Thankfully, Baba wasn’t worried at all, and can I now safely assume that I have made mincemeat of your fears?
So many memories, so many rituals:
Returning from school/college/university/office, and then seeking you out before doing anything else in order to tell you everything, well, nearly everything that I did that day...conversations, compliments, criticisms. You know every friendship, every betrayal, every scar and every bit of glory. As also nearly every sin, every crime, every passion. You know about every man I have ever dated, and you have shaken your head and disapproved of each one of them. Because so far no one’s been the bhalo Bangali chhele...the sort you want for me: responsible, kind, calm, someone who will keep the wildness, the impatience, and the madness in check, someone who will keep me tethered yet let me fly. Someone like you.
Sitting so many miles away from you, I miss our conversations the most. They were the funnest ever, weren’t they? The one over morning tea while Baba went about yoga and the news, and Riju slept peacefully dreaming about yet another Manchester United glory. And then the one in the evening, when I came back from office. We stood in my balcony and watched the skyscrapers in the distance, while we poured our hearts out. I miss your kind of food, I miss the sound of your voice and laughter, and the touch of your fingers while they untangled my dense, usually unmanageable hair. I hate it that I can no longer walk into the kitchen and see you cook, while I hover around, waiting to taste, to check, “whether you have made it right or have messed it up”. I can no longer walk into your room, and curl up next to you, and then snatch from your hands whatever you are reading to either read it myself or to force you to talk to me. I miss sitting with you and watching inane shows on TV, the dumber the better being our thumb rule, while we debated over who will win the next year’s Miss India/Miss Universe contest--you or me. I miss pulling Riju’s leg, either by myself or by ganging up with Baba while you rushed to defend your “baby” who was always more than capable of taking care of himself.
I am reminded of yet another incident. The one just a few days before I started school in Delhi. We were going somewhere, the three of us, Riju still two years away. We were in a DTC bus, you and I were sitting while Baba was standing and holding on to the rod. You said to me. “You are in class 1 now. It’s a new life. It’s going to be exciting. Make sure you’re always careful, especially in the bus. Remember to take your seat, hold on to the bar. Be careful of your surroundings. All the time, always. Oh my baby! How will you travel so far every day?”
The distance between home and St. Anthony’s, Hauz Khas, was all of 7 kms, and you were worried. Twenty-two years later you still worry. Of course, the immense geographical distance adds fuel to the fire. From that sweltering, hot day in April, to this cold, wintry day in November, I have come a long way haven’t I? And every time I recount yet another adventure to you, your reaction is the same. “You took another risk, didn’t you? Why do you have to be this crazy all the time? Ektu shanto ho, eto tara kisher? Aaste aaste shob hobe, shob korbi.” Your words actually sound like music to my ears, even when you are yelling, because they tell me that I am on the right track. That I could go that extra step, take that extra bit of risk, because you made it possible. You created me that way, you gave me that confidence, you made me believe something you say to both Riju and me all the time: “If you have the intelligence and the interest, everything is possible.” Yes Ma, I agree. Which is why I spent the greater part of this Monday roaming around yet another new city. Walking, getting lost, taking directions from strangers and maps, discovering new people, sights, tastes and smells...completely on my own. And enjoying every bit of the adventure.
So, Happy Birthday Ma. Hope November 17 brings with it lots of joy and sunshine. Have a great day and a wonderful year. And yes, I will be home soon. I promise.
Love
T
Sunday, November 12, 2006
High Fives
Since this tag is fresh and in everyone's current circulation, here's my version of it. Deepti, my take on your maha long tag has me NOT answering all the questions... simply because a blog is not the place for ALL confessions, and also because agar sab yahan likh diya to autobiography mein kya likhoongi? :-) Also the red font, asterisk font, asterisk preceded by a - had me all confused.
So from the list of things I have done, I am going to pick five randomly. And the next list comprises the five things I am rather keen to do...in fact, I could do them NOW.
The DONEs
1. Slept under the stars (quite a few times)
2. Asked out a stranger (once)
3. Taken a midnight walk on the beach (splendid and memorable)
4. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
5. Thought to myself that I am living my dream (Often)
The TO DOs
1. Backpack in Europe (Yessssssssssss)
2. Take a trip in a hot air balloon (anywhere)
3. Get a tattoo (can't decide on the design)
4. Visit all 7 continents (have touched base with 3 so far)
5. Eat fried green tomatoes (loved the movie with the same name)
So from the list of things I have done, I am going to pick five randomly. And the next list comprises the five things I am rather keen to do...in fact, I could do them NOW.
The DONEs
1. Slept under the stars (quite a few times)
2. Asked out a stranger (once)
3. Taken a midnight walk on the beach (splendid and memorable)
4. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
5. Thought to myself that I am living my dream (Often)
The TO DOs
1. Backpack in Europe (Yessssssssssss)
2. Take a trip in a hot air balloon (anywhere)
3. Get a tattoo (can't decide on the design)
4. Visit all 7 continents (have touched base with 3 so far)
5. Eat fried green tomatoes (loved the movie with the same name)
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Baking The Baby
One of my most favorite persons in America gave me a huge basket of apples last week. She is my teacher. Yet another favorite person gave me the recipe for a traditional apple pie. She is my colleague. A third favorite person helped me make it. He is my friend Dan.
Those in India reading this, please say hello to Dan. He is one of the funniest, wittiest, nicest people this side of the Atlantic Ocean. Those in America reading this blog, please make Dan the president or something. Here he is in this picture with Manasi and me. No, I am not trying to strangle him!
Dan has already enriched my American experience in four significant ways:
First, he has taken me to a football (as these guys understand it) game. Although he made a valiant attempt to make me understand it, I couldn't. Blame it all on what I understand by football (Manchester United, Sir Alex, transfer market, English Premier League, so on and so forth...oh how I hate my brother!), and also on the decibel level around us which made normal human conversation nearly impossible. Thirdly, because it IS a weird game. Players wear funny helmets and shoulder pads so much so that they look like aliens made in the mould of Hercules. Every once in a while someone picks up an egg shaped ball and frantically runs with it. Or, he collapses or is made to fall down, and on him falls every other person in the field. Then suddenly the game stops and music starts blaring or there are commercials showing up on the giant screens. Or cheerleaders take over the whole field with their perfect smiles and bodies and gravity-defying stunts. It is at this point that everyone in the stands either starts dancing or chanting or screaming. The the music stops and game resumes. With all the running, falling, hitting etc intact and including obscene terms such as quarterback and touchdown. Touchdown! Is everyone getting the same images as I am?
Dan has taken me fishing. One particular Saturday evening, I went with him and his friends Nate and Andy to Spring Valley Reservoir to catch fish. So there I was, being one of the boys...drinking beer and learning: how to dig out the worm from its home, how to straighten the wiggly and won't-be-still-for-a-moment worm while I drove the end of the fishing rod into it so that it could serve as bait for the fish, and then how to cast a line on a spinning rod. Dan, Nate, Andy...expert fishermen all, and well, towering over me in their over six feet avatars. But that particular evening, guess who actually caught the fish? The only person to actually catch the fish and thereby give greater power to all novices in the world in the face of challenges posed by the experts? ME! I caught a Blue Gill. A beautiful, small little fish, but fish nevertheless! I had thus, taken the first step towards buying my own fishing trawler. For these men, since fishing is more of a sport than anything else, the idea is to catch fish just for the fun of it, and then gently extract the hook from its mouth and release it. Back to freedom.
My only regret of the evening? I wasn't carrying a camera since the trip was a spontaneous decision. Digging around the Net hasn't been particularly helpful. No picture, no words can describe the indescribable beauty of the Spring Valley Reservoir. The narrow path we walked on to reach the fishing site, the changing colors in the sky while the sun set, the mountain range and forest cover surrounding the lake, the pack of wolves in the distance as night closed in, and finally, the luminous, perfect moon that rose over the lake. It was sheer magic.
Here are two pictures that will give you an idea of the lake and the fish, the best I could do with help from Google images.
Dan's third contribution has been feeding me some real American junk food that I had not eaten previously. Corn dogs and curly fries -- both of which he made at home. (Incidentally Dan makes some of the world's finest cookies.) For more on corn dogs go here and the best way to describe curly fries would be curly French fries, just that the curlies are somewhat spicier.
And finally, Dan's fourth contribution has been supervising the creation of my first Apple Pie, which was quite alright for a first attempt. (Yes, I am hoping to be able to open my bakery soon enough.) I would open the oven door after every ten minutes or so (because I was so excited) and it was at one such moment that I said to Dan, "Aw...it is browning. Isn't this like watching your own baby grow?"
And he replied, "Yes, just that in this case we will be eating the baby. Manasi come out and see Sayantani baking her baby!"
While I dissolved into peals of laughter, Dan continued his diatribe on my cruel, uncivilized behavior as a mother.
Those in India reading this, please say hello to Dan. He is one of the funniest, wittiest, nicest people this side of the Atlantic Ocean. Those in America reading this blog, please make Dan the president or something. Here he is in this picture with Manasi and me. No, I am not trying to strangle him!
Dan has already enriched my American experience in four significant ways:
First, he has taken me to a football (as these guys understand it) game. Although he made a valiant attempt to make me understand it, I couldn't. Blame it all on what I understand by football (Manchester United, Sir Alex, transfer market, English Premier League, so on and so forth...oh how I hate my brother!), and also on the decibel level around us which made normal human conversation nearly impossible. Thirdly, because it IS a weird game. Players wear funny helmets and shoulder pads so much so that they look like aliens made in the mould of Hercules. Every once in a while someone picks up an egg shaped ball and frantically runs with it. Or, he collapses or is made to fall down, and on him falls every other person in the field. Then suddenly the game stops and music starts blaring or there are commercials showing up on the giant screens. Or cheerleaders take over the whole field with their perfect smiles and bodies and gravity-defying stunts. It is at this point that everyone in the stands either starts dancing or chanting or screaming. The the music stops and game resumes. With all the running, falling, hitting etc intact and including obscene terms such as quarterback and touchdown. Touchdown! Is everyone getting the same images as I am?
Dan has taken me fishing. One particular Saturday evening, I went with him and his friends Nate and Andy to Spring Valley Reservoir to catch fish. So there I was, being one of the boys...drinking beer and learning: how to dig out the worm from its home, how to straighten the wiggly and won't-be-still-for-a-moment worm while I drove the end of the fishing rod into it so that it could serve as bait for the fish, and then how to cast a line on a spinning rod. Dan, Nate, Andy...expert fishermen all, and well, towering over me in their over six feet avatars. But that particular evening, guess who actually caught the fish? The only person to actually catch the fish and thereby give greater power to all novices in the world in the face of challenges posed by the experts? ME! I caught a Blue Gill. A beautiful, small little fish, but fish nevertheless! I had thus, taken the first step towards buying my own fishing trawler. For these men, since fishing is more of a sport than anything else, the idea is to catch fish just for the fun of it, and then gently extract the hook from its mouth and release it. Back to freedom.
My only regret of the evening? I wasn't carrying a camera since the trip was a spontaneous decision. Digging around the Net hasn't been particularly helpful. No picture, no words can describe the indescribable beauty of the Spring Valley Reservoir. The narrow path we walked on to reach the fishing site, the changing colors in the sky while the sun set, the mountain range and forest cover surrounding the lake, the pack of wolves in the distance as night closed in, and finally, the luminous, perfect moon that rose over the lake. It was sheer magic.
Here are two pictures that will give you an idea of the lake and the fish, the best I could do with help from Google images.
Dan's third contribution has been feeding me some real American junk food that I had not eaten previously. Corn dogs and curly fries -- both of which he made at home. (Incidentally Dan makes some of the world's finest cookies.) For more on corn dogs go here and the best way to describe curly fries would be curly French fries, just that the curlies are somewhat spicier.
And finally, Dan's fourth contribution has been supervising the creation of my first Apple Pie, which was quite alright for a first attempt. (Yes, I am hoping to be able to open my bakery soon enough.) I would open the oven door after every ten minutes or so (because I was so excited) and it was at one such moment that I said to Dan, "Aw...it is browning. Isn't this like watching your own baby grow?"
And he replied, "Yes, just that in this case we will be eating the baby. Manasi come out and see Sayantani baking her baby!"
While I dissolved into peals of laughter, Dan continued his diatribe on my cruel, uncivilized behavior as a mother.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Untitled
The day had begun on a good note. When I stepped out of the house, the cold wind knocked me out for moment, but as I started walking, it began to feel good. The day was going to be good, I just knew it in my bones.
Reached office but it was a light load so it was a relatively free day. Met some friends online and the conversations were rocking. When suddenly, one conversation backfired. It ended on a bitter note. It left me angry and hurt, the other person puzzled and disgruntled because I appeared to be overreacting and making a mountain of a molehill, and the third it left disillusioned and doubting about how much I could be trusted.
I take my friendships very seriously. If I cannot trust a friend, or worse if I somehow break a friend’s trust in me, it devastates me. It literally is the easiest way to destroy me. Luckily the fiasco didn’t cause any permanent damage and I would sincerely like to believe that all the friendships will not only survive but flourish as well.
But I was despondent and unhappy and a senior colleague was quick to notice it. She sat me down and now at the end of it, I think it was one of the best conversations I have ever had with someone. What lessons did she teach me? That we all have varying levels of what we consider acceptable and unacceptable in a relationship, any relationship for that matter. What might be a heartbreakingly faithless act in my scheme of things might not register as such to another person. Does that make him or her heartless or unkind? No. My colleague gave me an example from her life to prove her point. Let me try to quote her here.
“Sayantani, I have been married for nearly thirty years now. Have raised two sons, and now I have three grandchildren. It’s been a full life, filled with rough rides. And the reason why even the rough rides have been manageable is because I have been married to the kindest and warmest man on this earth. He doesn’t always get what I am saying, my sons very often don’t get what I want from them, my friends have sometimes misunderstood me. They all have let me down as I am sure I have let them down too. But what keeps us all going is our mutual respect. If you cannot respect the other person then you won’t hear them even if they stand next to you and snarl into your ear. Respect them, respect their point of view. And insist on communication. Let them know how you feel, even at the risk of sounding stupid or unintelligent.”
I just did.
Reached office but it was a light load so it was a relatively free day. Met some friends online and the conversations were rocking. When suddenly, one conversation backfired. It ended on a bitter note. It left me angry and hurt, the other person puzzled and disgruntled because I appeared to be overreacting and making a mountain of a molehill, and the third it left disillusioned and doubting about how much I could be trusted.
I take my friendships very seriously. If I cannot trust a friend, or worse if I somehow break a friend’s trust in me, it devastates me. It literally is the easiest way to destroy me. Luckily the fiasco didn’t cause any permanent damage and I would sincerely like to believe that all the friendships will not only survive but flourish as well.
But I was despondent and unhappy and a senior colleague was quick to notice it. She sat me down and now at the end of it, I think it was one of the best conversations I have ever had with someone. What lessons did she teach me? That we all have varying levels of what we consider acceptable and unacceptable in a relationship, any relationship for that matter. What might be a heartbreakingly faithless act in my scheme of things might not register as such to another person. Does that make him or her heartless or unkind? No. My colleague gave me an example from her life to prove her point. Let me try to quote her here.
“Sayantani, I have been married for nearly thirty years now. Have raised two sons, and now I have three grandchildren. It’s been a full life, filled with rough rides. And the reason why even the rough rides have been manageable is because I have been married to the kindest and warmest man on this earth. He doesn’t always get what I am saying, my sons very often don’t get what I want from them, my friends have sometimes misunderstood me. They all have let me down as I am sure I have let them down too. But what keeps us all going is our mutual respect. If you cannot respect the other person then you won’t hear them even if they stand next to you and snarl into your ear. Respect them, respect their point of view. And insist on communication. Let them know how you feel, even at the risk of sounding stupid or unintelligent.”
I just did.
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