Investments

Those of you who know Rohit, well, good for you. Those of you who don’t, please “go and f#$% a pole” to use his own words. Although why either you or anyone in this world would want to do that to the pole or yourself is beyond my understanding. But then that’s Rohit. However, why this introduction about him? Is this post a testimonial to his wonderful wit, or warmth? Naah! Although he is all this and more. This post is instead about a decision Rohit and I took some months back, and one that we would like to tell the whole world about. So read on, enlightenment (and a ticket to paradise) is just a few sentences away.

After much thought and deliberation, Rohit and I have decided to get ourselves a country. We are not sure what we are going to call it. Any suggestions in terms of names are welcome, of course. But we are not letting everyone we love force entry into this country and claim citizenship. There are going to be rules, and strict ones at that. You will have to either fulfill Rohit’s conditions or mine in order to gain entry. If you are particularly well-behaved, by which we mean that if you happen to fulfill both our conditions, you will be entitled to dual citizenship...that of our country and of anywhere else that you might want to preserve, such as India.

So, Rohit’s rules:
1. You must loudly profess and practice a liking for beer and good music (No Himesh)
2. You must be technologically sound, by that we mean proficiency in Google Talk to start with
3. You must be honest and sincere

My rules:
1. You shall not have any regional, religious or such inane bias
2. You shall dabble in at least something creative be it art, photography, architecture, music, writing. Our fellow blogger friend Amiya is creative when it comes to crossing roads. That counts.
3. You shall not be a boring academic genius. You could have won every significant academic prize in your life, but if we don’t discover a passion for life in you, you’re disqualified.

Common rules:
1. You shall have a sense of humor
2. You must be a raving insomniac (although post America, my insomnia is usually under control. For utterly selfish reasons, I want to thank heavens that Rohit’s isn’t.)
3. You must have caffeine (and not blood) flowing in your body

And what rewards await those that decide to come to us and join our country? Lots of laughter, good food and drink, and unpredictability.

The year 2006 has by far been the most incredibly dramatic year of my life. In so many ways, it has come closest to the kind of time I would ideally design for myself. The decision to come to USA was perfect. At the risk of sounding selfish, this entire exercise showed how much everyone in my life adopted my dream as their own. (Forgive me for being shallow enough to think only about my life here, but there is something about the 31st of December that makes you want to do that, doesn't it?) So thanks to everyone who listened while I ranted or sobbed my heart out, who researched something that I couldn’t find time for, who got me freelance jobs just so I could earn some extra money, who answered every dull and dumb question that I found it in myself to ask, who put in comforting words, encouraging hugs, regular phone calls, and quirky smses. At the same time, there were some letdowns. But today, that’s fine too...it’s after all the eternal battle between having expectations and meeting them. All is good right now, the year is ending on a positive note, and that’s all that matters.

What else did I do this year? I traveled; got some fabulous gifts; discovered a lucky shirt; made new friends; taught history, English and world religions; wrote and rewrote extensively; sampled a humongous variety of food; learnt new crafts like fishing and making coffee using a percolator; had conversations with people from countries as varied as Peru, Japan, Zimbabwe, Thailand, Germany, Mexico, China, Togo, Kenya, St Vincent, Spain, and France; and relearnt my life's priorities.

Before I sign off, let me request you all to read this blog. Do pay attention to the url because that will tell you so much about the writer in question, but most importantly read the post titled Looking Back at 2006. It is the worldview of my fourteen-year-old cousin, Sinjini Sengupta, an incredibly bright, focused, and ambitious kid, and now an avid blogger as well. Do leave your comments there, encouragement does wonders for all of us after all. And I have my sights set on her. I know she is going to make our family proud.

Happy New Year everyone!
May 2007 be absolutely delicious for each one of you!

Snapshots

On popular demand (I have very kind and indulgent friends), I have uploaded some of the photos that tell quite a few of the stories I have wanted to share from America. So a whole set of links have been created on the right sidebar. Please go through them as and when time or inclination permit. And do let me know what you think of my worldview. Not so much in terms of photographic accuracy or brilliance because that is not one of my areas of expertise (I am so much more at home with words than megapixels) but in terms of a definite yet at times ill-defined point of view.

Each album has a short description embedded in it because I didn't want to clutter Kirrin Island with that. I would rather have you talk to me here.

And by the way, has everyone read the last post "Scribbles"? If not, please do so. It's one post, one memory that I am hugely content with.

Scribbles

“You want to take the train? Do you know that only weird people take trains in the US?”
“Are you telling me that you are going to travel a distance of thousands of miles via train! You haven’t done that kind of continuous train traveling even in your own country by your own admission!”
“It’s not even one continuous journey. You will have to embark and disembark at so many places! Really, you’re being crazy.”
“The station from where you will board, Spokane, is disgusting and full of strange people. It is like an epicenter of evil. You have to be very very careful.”
“Why can’t you just fly? It’s easier, faster, hassle free, and safe! Why the train?”
“I think you will be just fine. Just be careful and be on your guard all the time.”
“Don’t leave your luggage lying around in Spokane. There are thugs and drug addicts around.”
“There will be nothing to see. The reason why you are taking the train will be defeated anyway. Just mountains, or vast empty lands. Really, take the plane.”
“It will be so tiring!”
“It will be unclean. Imagine not being able to bathe for three days!”
“You are either very brave or very mad.”
“Take lots of books and music. The boredom alone will kill you.”
“Imagine lugging your baggage around from one station to another, from one train to another.”
“You will break your back.”
“Oh...are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”
“You are from Delhi, a city of 15 million! Of course you will be able to manage this!”
“Your Ma and I have already started worrying.”
“Train food is so bad. At least with plane you know you won’t have to endure it for long.”
“I am an American, and I am thirty years old, and I have lived here in America all my life. I haven’t taken the train even once. You hear me? Not even once. EVERYONE either drives or flies. Please fly, I will worry about you all the time otherwise.”
“Wow! You are a go-er aren’t you?”
“And you intend to do this all by yourself, right?”


Voices. Some incredulous, some fearful, some awed, some worried, and very few enthusiastic. But I did it. I traveled from Moscow, Idaho in the United States to Toronto, Canada using mostly trains, and occasional lifts from friends and strangers alike. A distance of nearly 3000 kms, spread over more than three days, basically 75 hours.

Thus, I have traveled across 12 American states -– Idaho, Washington, Montana, North Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Ohio, Indiana, Pennsylvania, and New York --and 4 time zones. I have had some fabulous conversations: with three year old Zachary who calls trains “chhoo chhoo”; to Gary, a grandfather of three boys and well into his sixties; to Hannah, an American musician who only sings Portuguese and Spanish songs; and also to a professional Santa Claus. I have made new friends, notably with Lon McCloskey, a doctor by profession who keeps visiting India and knows more about rasam, Bangalore, and Vedanta than most Indians. I have been at stations like the mind-boggling one in Chicago that was crammed with people, food stalls, ATMs, and trains of course, to the mind numbingly vacant Cheektowaga in New York state, where I was literally the only passenger. I have seen the mighty Mississippi river, and smaller ones such as the Chicago and Columbia rivers. I have seen the snow clad Rocky Mountains, and Montana’s barren, deserted lands. I have chatted up Washington, the enormously tall, fabulously fit, somewhat oldish, and blessed with a baritone of a voice attendant of Sears Tower, the 110 storey tall building in Chicago, as also the third tallest building in the world. The view from Sears is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and you better not have a fear of heights when you reach the observation deck. As the facts go, you can see for 50 miles at least in each direction: roads that look like yellow and red serpents, planes that seem to be continuously taking off and landing and missing each other in mid sky by mere centimeters, skyscrapers that look oh-so-minute from where you are standing, and the feeling of terror when you imagine a moment of free falling from that height. But worth it, worth every darn minute of nervousness and ecstasy.

What else have I done? I have taken a lift from Judy, a schoolteacher mother and Nancy, her daughter who works as a nurse. I have had a map downloaded and explained to me by a woman whose business it is to rent out limousines, and you can see those enormously long and fabulously wealthy and shiny cars from the window of her office. I have played “Hello Kitty” with the world’s prettiest two-year old called Charlotte, and sympathized over mosquito bites with a Ghanaian student. I know that a holidaying/fishing option is cruising down the Mississippi as done often by the amateur ice hockey player that Lon and I had breakfast with one fine morning. I have seen a seventy-year old man trace gentle lines on his wife’s face as she slept on his shoulder, and yearned for that kind of romance. I have discussed the validity of Gandhi with a Vietnam War Veteran. I have nearly hugged the only Sardarji I have seen during the journey, the one with “grossery” stores in three cities—-Lewiston, Clarkston, and Seattle. I have been fed an “India wala omelet” and free drinks by Sharda Mahi, the ex resident of Greater Kailash, New Delhi, and now the owner of Charley’s, a sandwich/burrito place in New York. I have waited for an hour at Niagara Falls, the last station before the Amtrak train crossed US’s border to enter Canada. My hair’s been complimented by Mohammad, the man from Barbados, but who’s been in the US since the last twelve years. I have gotten lost, frequently. And bailed out every time, once even by the cab driver of the Millennium Hotel in Buffalo, NY. I have seen the film version of the Phantom of the Opera with my co-passenger as she played it on her laptop after having finished giving me a live concert using her fabulous vocals and guitar while the night sped past us. And I have eaten some wonderful soup at a restaurant called Pot Belly.

But most importantly, I have seen how America lives, in her small towns, farming communities, villages, and bustling cities. I have seen golf courses, schools, farmhouses, barns, wild horses, grazing cattle, universities, cranberry farms, airports, playgrounds, garage sales, car dump yards, red tractor factories, mansions, coal mines, graveyards, lumber mills, stables, ponds, bridges, apartments, churches, tennis courts, gurudwaras, tiny one-man railway stations, and red brick walled shops. As also lakes, pine forests, valleys, snow covered mountains, frozen rivers, dusty lands, massive empty skies. I have seen cafes, graffiti covered and spray painted walls, and houses with basketball hoops, Christmas decorations, smiling and rotund snowmen, and giant white dogs.

I have lived. Each moment.

Utopia

In my perfect world:
• Clothes would wash and dry themselves
• The rupee would be the most powerful currency
• The University of Idaho would be relocated to somewhere near Delhi
• There would be no snow on the sidewalks
• Delhi roads would be safe for women no matter what time of the day
• There would be no bananas
• Child molesters would get the death penalty
• Chocolates, icecreams, Bloody Mary, rum and coke will be healthy food
• I would have a movie theater sized screen in my house
• My brother and I would always be able to do our Sunday morning ritual
• Orkut would automatically ban people wanting “to do friendship” with me
• Everyone would brush their teeth twice at least
• Mandira Bedi would wear blouses
• Daniel Craig would be my next door neighbor
• Amitabh Bachhan would not have done that role in Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna
• Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna would not have been made
• International phone calls would be cheap
• I would win the Pulitzer, Booker, and the Nobel
• Everyone will be in the same time zone all over the world
• There would be a plum job waiting for me in one of the premier publishing houses in
Delhi the moment I return
• Emran Hashmi would keep his mouth shut
• Tweaking eyebrows would be the most painless act ever
• Bon Jovi’s Its My Life would be the national anthem
• My current favorite tracks – Dor’s Yeh Honsla and Salam E Ishq’s Dil Kya Kare would play themselves again and again
• Ipods would grow on trees
• There would be samosa/kachori/papri chaat/dahi bhalla/jalebi/gajar ka halwa/kulhar
wali chai ki dukan/Murthal’s parathas in accessible corners of all cities of the
world
• I would be able to just close my eyes and do my favorite road trip, from Delhi to
Chandigarh, as often as possible
• People would be imprisoned if they didn’t keep their word
• Traveling across the world would be the easiest thing to plan
• You would get money if found wearing the color red
• The people I love would never misunderstand me
• The people who care about me would put up with my temper all the time
• Fidelity and honesty would be the most aspired and sought after virtues
• I would never have to give up a friend

'Guns and Roses'

I am unsure of how to write this post. This is my third draft in as many as five days. You would think that I am about to reveal the plot of my first book! Sadly, it is nothing that remarkable. It’s not something I am remotely proud of. But dramatic it is. A friend has let me down. I invest a lot in my relationships, whatever be their nature. I am one of those people who need to be convinced a great deal of a person’s worth before I start investing my time, money or energy in them. But once convinced, once you are a friend, I invest my everything. And therefore in my case it is a colossal loss to give up a friend, but one that I am prepared for. Simply because a week of sleepless nights is enough punishment and remorse for a crime I didn’t commit. For a sin about which I was in the dark all along.

This is the story of a man who abhors the idea of being tied down in a committed relationship. He is a no strings-attached man. Fair enough, wouldn’t you say? Yes, absolutely fair as long as he is honest about it. Not just with himself but also with the women in his life.

Yes, because our man here is fond of women...let there be no doubt about that. He is a charmer, he is suave, he is funny, he can talk, he can listen, he can be enormously polished, but it is his remarkable earthiness that captures your heart and mind. And he knows the rule of thumb every man needs to know before he sets his eyes and expectations on a woman...he needs to listen. And that’s what our man is. He is an attentive listener. There! Half the battle already won. And the next half of the battle is also under his control. What does that involve? Taking a genuine interest in the woman’s life and all that she is up to. And our fellow here does that too with perfection. Again, justifiable if there was only one woman at a time. But what if there were actually more? Say about three? Or what about four? Or even more? And all at the same time? Each having been made to believe that “no, we are not in an emotionally committed relationship” but at the same time “we are in a monogamous, single partner equation”. Otherwise why wouldn’t he tell them about the simultaneous existence of the others in his life? Why would he deny even when asked?

Fortunately, the boundaries of his and mine relationship were rather well-etched right from the beginning. And so the heartbreak is not of the same nature as some others that he has caused but I share the same sense of betrayal... as a woman, and as a friend. In fact at some level my loss is greater than some of the others’. He was a close friend, and he let me down. I don’t know whether I even want to confront him simply because, as a woman it is demeaning to be associated with a man like this, against whom the stack of damning evidence is growing sky high every moment. If he continues to remain in my circle, that means I am endorsing him. I am tacitly telling the world that this is my friend. You have my certificate that this is a good man. And that's not possible anymore. He has hurt too many people, some of whom are close friends too, he has been the cause of too many tears. And no man, no matter how dear his friendship might be, can be allowed to treat women, so many of them, like mere playthings. A predator can never be an ally.

I want to tell each of those women that there is a silver lining behind this too. As my biologist roommate has informed me, men who fool around a lot more than they should, that is, they exercise certain muscles a lot more than they ought to, suffer from its dysfunction from the age of thirty-five years itself. So, rejoice ladies! In “our” man’s case, a lifetime of humiliation is less than ten years away.

With An Apology to Every American I Love

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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)

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.

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.

Ten Unmentionables

If they ARE unmentionable, why am I mentioning them?
Because Richa tagged me to do so. I have to now disclose to the world ten things that very few people/ no one knows about me.

With trembling heart and shivering fingers...here I go:

1. From class 6 to 8, if I thought a particular homework was beneath my acceptable levels of intelligence, I didn't do it. No matter what the punishment.

2. If I think the person(s) I am with are incredibly dull, have nothing to contribute
in my life, and are already intimidated by me...I make extra effort to scare the living daylights off them. Mind you, my definition of dull is not someone who hasn't read a certain number of books, or who hasn't got a couple of degrees or certificates. You could be a genius and yet be a dullard as per my definition. So, what is my yardstick of non-dull? Someone who loves life and plays with it.

3. My best friend has sworn that as and when she has children, she will ensure that they are kept away from me until they turn eighteen. Apparently, I will teach them how to break all rules of life.

4. I can't sleep on train bunks. They make me claustrophobic.

5. I hated my brother for the first two days of his life. Especially every time my father even looked at him, let alone touch.

6. The first time I wanted to come to USA was when I was ten years old. There was a chapter called "Superpowers of the World" in our Social Studies book and it had a glitzy picture of American roads and millions of polished, flashy cars. I knew I had to come here at least once.

7. My favorite spice is pepper.

8. The first thing I notice in a man are his hands.

9. I love a purple sky.

10. I trust very few men.

And I Am Tagged Again!

The tagger is Kanu. Interesting questions all of them.
Readers, answer one of these questions atleast.

1. When I look at stars...I want to believe in magic.

2. Rains...musical.

3. Happiness is...the voices of my loved ones.

4. Books...friend, employer, enemy, passion.

5. Men/Women(Whichever applicable)...both, for different reasons.

6. Love is...the best kind of intoxication.

7. God...my faith in myself.

8. Summer of 69?...Wish the song could be rechristened Summer of 79.

9. Pride...comes before the fall? Naah!

10. Life...is a bitch. Treat her right, and she'll serve you well.

Attachments

Ramlal has gone back to his home. His mistress came and took him a couple of days ago. I am heartbroken. Have been quite inconsolable since then because I am missing that moron so much. I should never have gotten this attached to him knowing that he was going to go away in three weeks' time. Attachments are strange, powerful things. They tie you up too tightly.
I tried to talk his mistress out of the idea of taking him back. But to no avail. I am sure if he could talk, Ramlal would have told her, "I am having a lot more fun with Sayantani than I do with you. She sings to me, reads to me, plays with me, wants to take me out for walks and also feed me exciting stuff. All that you do is keep me in the tub."
I miss you Ramlal.

More on Ramlal

This weekend was eventful. Details and photographs of the same will be uploaded soon.
But one of the few things that made it interesting was a whole new series of experiences with Ramlal.

I cleaned Ramlal's tub. Plucking him out for this was an adventure in itself. If only he knew the meaning of "Stay still, you moron!" Nevertheless, the cleaning was achieved without much trouble, and in utter joy he ate four sticks of his dirty, smelly food.

All of you will be pleased to know that two new games have been created for Ramlal's entertainment. They are called "Whirlpool" and "Earthquake" respectively.
In the first one, wind is blown in to his blue tub and the attempt is to simulate a whirlpool. Of course, the entire game is accompanied by appropriate sound effects.
The second game is particularly entertaining, and my personal favorite. The objective of this is to simulate an earthquake, and it is achieved by following three crucial steps:
The first involves walking towards Ramlal's blue tub with heavy steps.
In the second stage, you are to grip the two sides of the tub and shake it mightily all the while ensuring that no water spills out from the tub either on you or on the carpet (failure to ensure so will get you yelled at by Manasi).
In the third and most crucial step, you have to maintain the tempo of the earthquake by making appropriate earthquake-like (!) sounds.

But the bore that Ramlal is, all he does is paddle with all his might or hide under that inverted cup house of his in an attempt to escape. He so did NOT seem to appreciate these innovative games the first time round. But to be fair to him, I think he is gradually getting a hang of them. For today, when Manasi was safely out of the house and I went to play Earthquake, he poked his little ugly green head out of the tub to study me for a while, which is when we played "Who can stare the longest without blinking?" Ramlal won.

Ramlal

A few days ago I reached a profound conclusion. That it would indeed be devastatingly boring if one were to born as a turtle. This insight was brought by my close association over the past two weeks with a turtle that’s been living at our house.

To start from the beginning, a friend of Manasi’s left her pet turtle with us a fortnight ago because she had to rush to India on a family emergency. The turtle, barely two inches long, came in his sky blue plastic tub that was half filled with water. An inverted plastic bowl in the tub is his home, and that’s what he scurries under every time I decide to sing to him, which is at least once every morning.

When he arrived at our house, within his first few minutes with us I decided that he needed to be taught some new rules. After all, he was going to be with a pucca Indian family now, he had to be made Indian, so what if he had been plucked out of Caesar Creek in Ohio, USA. His name was Caesar too, since his mistress had felt a need to keep him tied to his roots. However, I rechristened him, and now he is called Ramlal.

Our daily routine is somewhat like this. I wake him up every morning when I patter out to the kitchen to make coffee, “Ramlal, beta Ramlal utho. Subah ho gai hai.” After which I proceed to sing to him, and feed him three sticks of his prescribed food…dried, rotting fish-smell oozing sticks. They smell bad, real bad. Often when I am reviewing or reading out loud whichever story it is that I am currently working on, I go and sit next to Ramlal’s tub, and we pretend that I have just won the Nobel Prize for Literature and that he has come for one of my readings.

The ways in which I have suggested/wanted to enliven Ramlal’s life are as follows. (Mind you, they have all been thumbed down by my cruel roommate. Seriously, there’s just no appreciation of creativity in this world anymore.)
1. Take him out for a walk. But apparently the cold outside will kill him.
2. Feed him something nice and spicy. Apparently he is just supposed to eat his own diet.
3. Feed him chocolates. You know the answer to this.
4. Give him toys to play with. These could be pebbles or plastic. But there is another apparently! Apparently he will try to eat them and that might kill him.

Given the fact that Ramlal can’t (or chooses not to) respond to my affection the way I want him to, I suggested that we should just get rid of him. You know, maybe cook him up and have him for our Sunday lunch or something. (Yes, I know I am rather demanding with my love and affections, but that’s fair enough. I invest a lot too.) But at the suggestion that we should eat up Ramlal, all hell broke loose. At least that was entertaining! :D

Way to go Ramlal! At least you provided indirect entertainment.

Tagged Again

I've been tagged again! And this time by Leslie on email. But I will reproduce it here.

A) FOUR OTHER JOBS I HAVE HAD IN MY LIFE:
1. HR trainee at Aithent Technologies
2. Content writer for two educational websites
3. Consultant for Center for Personal and Professional Excellence
4. Research assistant for Manana library

B) FOUR MOVIES I CAN WATCH OVER AND OVER AND OVER:
1. You've Got Mail
2. Gladiator
3. DDLJ
4. Sholay

C) FOUR PLACES WHERE I HAVE LIVED:
1. Kolkata
2. New Delhi
3. Chandigarh
4. Moscow

D) FOUR TV SHOWS I LOVE TO WATCH:
1. FRIENDS
2. X Files
3. Globetrotter
4. Most well made food shows

E) FOUR PLACES I HAVE BEEN ON VACATION:
1. Narkanda
2. Jaisalmer
3. Puri
4. Bangalore

F) FOUR WEBSITES I VISIT:
1. www.orkut.com
2. www.nytimes.com
3. www.ibnlive.com
4. www.ndtv.com

G) FOUR OF MY FAVORITE FOODS( IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER):
1. Karahi Paneer
2. Tunde Kabab
3. Most things with dark chocolate in it
4. American desserts and icecreams

H) FOUR PLACES I WOULD RATHER BE IN RIGHT NOW:
1. The balcony attached to my bedroom in Gurgaon
2. Any of the art galleries in Italy, France or Spain
3. On a road trip somewhere in USA
4. Dilli Haat/ CP/ Gurgaon Malls/ Vasant Vihar/ IHC -- with friends

Alive

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning. It’s rained in the night and early morning. It’s wet, cloudy and breezy. Not to forget brr-ingly cold. But not the mind numbing kinds. Instead it's the kinds that would make you want to breathe in lungfuls of the cold air, the kind that makes your nose go all tingly, the kind that makes you want to eat an icecream to enhance the sensation, the kind that makes you want to do something you haven’t done yet, and most importantly the kind that makes you realize that you are lucky to be alive.

With all that perfection in the air, what am I doing? I am not breathing in the lungfuls of air, my nose is not tingly, I am not eating an icecream, though I am doing (reading) something I haven’t before. But there is a sensation of being alive -- although I am in the library writing and researching for six essays that I have to submit by tomorrow -- because I am listening to some perfect songs with perfect lyrics.

REALITY CHECK ON 60 days

"I am 60 days old in America today.
And today I am horribly horribly homesick, Delhisick, sick of the fact that I have to hold on to something for 12 hours before any of my people are awake enough for me to be able to talk to them.
This post will go in the bin tomorrow, just as I will be perfectly alright tomorrow. I just needed someone to yell at right now, and my blog was the only thing alive and responding."

So that's where the last post, written yesterday, ended.
It's a different story today. What has changed in the last 24 hours?
First of all, the last 24 hours brought the same awareness that I have every morning while walking to campus...that life is at this moment EXACTLY how I had hoped it would be. I get to stretch my mind a little more, I get to have yet another meaningful conversation, I read a work that I had no clue about, I eat something new, I write or develop a story I hadn't before, I meet someone new, and I learn something all the time.

But more than this daily awareness what actually acted as a reality check was the nightmare I had last night. When I woke from it this morning it took me a while to register my surroundings and get back to normalcy. What did I see?

I saw that it was the morning of Aug 9, 2006 and that I had overslept. My flight was barely 20 minutes away and I was still packing. Eventually I missed my flight. And by some strange fluke there was nothing available for the next several months. What if something similar had actually happened? Maybe not missing the flight but say something else? How would I have reacted then? Bitterly. I would have been very harsh on myself, after all studying creative writing is something I had breathed, dreamt of and lived through for the last two years of my life. I have wanted to do this more than anything else in my life. Now that I have got a part of it, I can afford the luxury of homesickness. But if I had not been able to make this happen, the same home would have tired me, the same friends and family I am missing today would have had to bear the brunt of an embittered angry Sayantani.
Therefore, whatever happens happens for the best.

Thank you all for your comments. I appreciated them very much. I have still to tell everyone all that I did last Saturday. That will be something to write about. A couple of new adventures that I am incredibly proud of.

Until then...Tata!

It's Different

Yes, Kirrin Island has a new look. It's fresh, it's gray and at some places it's even an unmentionable pink. Why is pink unmentionable? Because I rarely, if ever, buy anything in pink, let alone wear it. But on the whole I think, here it goes quite well with the page.

I had been grumbling for some time now about my blog's template and its static, stoic, no-change situation. Finally, today morning I decided enough was enough. Template change is something I had done on my own once and that had ended up being a fiasco. Since then I have methodically avoided doing this task on my own. This time too I sought to enlist someone for the job. The onus fell on the very capable and very opinionated (and rightfully so) shoulders of Richa Bhardwaj. (Have I ever told you, my dear reader, that I am a Bhardwaj too? Just that my family doesn't use that as a surname.) Richa made me shut up everytime I even attempted to say "thank you", so, here is a silent thank you to her for going over all the links I kept sending; for patiently putting up with all my "nahin yeh nahin", "chal kuchh aur dekhte hain", "ab kya karein?", "yeh theek hai kya?", "damn these buggers", "yeh to bahut hi bekar hai" etc. and for gently telling me that this new template has nothing woodsmokish about it.

And before I sign off for the day, here are some pictures. There are three albums in all.
The first one is called Hell's Canyon and it's got pictures of us (Parul, Manasi, Amit and me) at this gorgeous national park we visited on a fine Saturday in August. It was my first ride across America, therefore will always be memorable, and not just because Manasi and I sang ourselves hoarse.
The second one is called A Day with the Albrechts. You might remember that the Albrechts are my friendship family and the purpose of our interaction is to learn about each other's culture. The family comprises Lynda, her son Jason, his wife Stacy, and their two children Nik and Alex, and several dogs, cats, chickens and horses. Jason and Stacy met each other at the U of I and fell in love with the place so much that they decided to stay on here in Idaho. They are both school teachers in Moscow.
The third album is called Downtown Moscow, and will give you a fair idea of the city I live in.

Well, such experiments shall continue. As will the search for the perfect blog template. One that will probably bear the imprint of all my favorite things--books, music, black and white photos, Delhi, wanderlust, rain, chocolates, rum and coke, snail mail, torrid seas and lofty lighthouses, and brilliant night skies.

Until then, I shall continue meeting you here.

Dead Poets Society

“But only in their dreams can men be truly free. Twas always thus, and always thus will be.” – John Keating

Anyone who hasn’t seen Dead Poets Society or has seen it so long ago that they can barely remember it, needs to drop whatever it is they are doing — be it attending college, working hard, or earning money — and rent the movie and watch it. And I mean NOW, I mean ASAP.

I am, quite unsurprisingly, completely in love with certain words. Not so much because of what they mean, but because of the way they sound...the way they roll off one’s tongue, the almost erotic process by which they marry the tongue and the teeth, and create a sonorous concert for the listener. Given the context, one of my favorite phrases is carpe diem. I love the way it sounds, and in this case even for what it means. Carpe diem is Latin for “seize the day”. Carpe diem stared at me from my phone’s screen for the longest time, it was my password for an even longer time, and it was the preferred name for my blog...alas the last wasn’t meant to be. But carpe diem remains a philosophy close to my heart.

Dead Poets Society, in more ways than one, pays homage to the sentiment behind carpe diem. At its crux, Society is the story of Todd Anderson, a shy teenage youth who has been sent to a famous and conservative school where his popular older brother was a student and whose past achievements still linger around and threaten to overwhelm Todd. Todd’s roommate is Neil Perry, a bright and popular boy who battles his own demons due to his overbearing father. Todd and Neil and the lives of five of their friends are transformed for ever when they meet their new English teacher, John Keating, played by Robin Williams. Not only does Keating tell his students to address him as “O Captain, my captain!”, which is the title of a Walt Whitman poem, but he also teaches them how to think for themselves, how to love poetry, ideas and words, and also how to ‘seize the day’. The movie focuses on the boys’ personal journeys, their awakening, and the ultimate result of Keating’s preference for non-traditional modes of teaching.

My favorite lines from the movie would be Keating’s in his first lecture: “We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for...”

For me, Dead Poets Society was wonderful because it reiterates the point of view that it’s your life, your only one life, think for yourself — do the things that matter, keep the people who mean something. I am publishing one of the many poems that were mentioned in the movie because this is a personal favorite.

O Captain! My Captain!
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Hear Captain! dear father!
The arm beneath your head!
It is some dream your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shore, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

We

Students on
rollerskates
skateboards
foot
bikes (cycles)
bikes (as we understand them)
and in cars.

Students with
tattoos - on ankles, around ankles, hands, arms, shoulders, back, hips, legs, chest
piercings - on eyebrows, forehead, space between the eyebrows, lips, tongues, ears, cartilage, chin, nose
dreadlocks – in monochrome, multichrome, well-textured, rough, long, short
hair – black, yellow, brown, white, blue, orange, red, pink, hot pink, green, multicolored, curly, wavy, permed, straightened, tied, bunned, left open, dull, shiny, abundant, none.

Students in
classrooms, gym, library, women’s center, international programs office, writing center, food court, laboratories, washrooms, lawns, tennis courts, fraternities and sororities, offices, cafes, downtown, university residences and off campus housing.

Students wearing
blue jeans, skirts, blue jeans, shoes, blue jeans, sandals, blue jeans, shorts, blue jeans, ribbons, blue jeans, t-shirts, blue jeans, rings, blue jeans, shirts, blue jeans, trousers, blue jeans, pajamas, blue jeans, kurtas, blue jeans, torn jeans, blue jeans, ragged jeans, blue jeans, beaded jeans, blue jeans, colored jeans, blue jeans, cargoes, blue jeans, capris, blue jeans, wrap-arounds, blue jeans, dresses, blue jeans, sweatshirts, blue jeans, sweaters, blue jeans, hats, blue jeans, caps, blue jeans, bandanas, blue jeans, watches, blue jeans, hairbands, blue jeans, bracelets, blue jeans, spectacles, blue jeans, bags, blue jeans, earrings, blue jeans, ponytails, blue jeans, headphones, blue jeans, armbands, blue jeans, jackets, blue jeans, pendants, blue jeans.

Students
studying, reading, writing, lecturing, surfing, walking, running, biking, making out, emailing, climbing, chatting, photographing, singing, daydreaming, dancing, praying, playing, catching up, working, teaching, lounging, exercising, yelling, talking, arguing, fighting, eating, drinking, dunking, sleeping, meditating, protesting, Blogging.

More America

“The Grizzly Bear, sometimes called the Silvertip Bear, is a powerful brownish-yellow bear that lives in the uplands of western North America. They reach weights of 180–680 kg (400–1,500 lb); the male is on average 1.8 times as heavy as the female.
The Grizzly has a large hump over the shoulders which is a muscle mass used to power the forelimbs in digging. The head is large and round with a concave facial profile. In spite of their massive size, these bears can run at speeds of up to 55 km/h (35 mph).
They usually inhabit Alaska, parts of Canada, and states of northwestern United States including Idaho, Montana and Wyoming. Being omnivores, grizzlies feed on a variety of plants and berries, insects, large mammals such as moose, sheep, and caribou, and fish like salmon, trout, and bass. The year 2005 was a notably bad year for fatal bear attacks in Canada with 5 in span of only a few months, generating increased media attention on the subject. Wildlife conservation officials issued public warnings in certain areas known to have large bear populations in close proximity to humans.”
-- Edited text; source: www.wikipedia.com

My friend Leslie took me grizzly bear watching last Thursday. Something that I had so far seen on television and read about in books and magazines, stood right in front of me, barely 3 feet away, separated from me by two wire meshes. Thick, steel wire meshes. In spite of that, when the tallest and biggest of the group decided to check the two of us out -- and therefore stood up -- I backed away a couple of steps. He must have been at least 6 feet 3 inches or so tall. In other words, 6 feet plus of pure muscle, fur and grizzlie-ness. Leslie and I had gone to the Washington State University, to see the grizzlies on campus bred by their veterinary science department. Grizzlies of all ages, sizes, and gender indulging in all kinds of activities. So while there was a “toddler” grizzly frolicking in the water and taking occasional sips of the same, there was another who decided to walk the entire length with us and even stood up and rubbed his back against the wire mesh as part of his “check me out, girls” plan. A few, and these were huge, were safely tucked into sprawling cages…they chose to pace the cages continuously and occasionally looked in our direction to grunt and acknowledge our presence.

Not only did I not have my camera that evening, photographing them would have been particularly difficult. The wire between them and me (not that I am complaining!) would have rendered it nearly impossible to find a big enough spot through which to focus on them. However, Leslie has loaned me a picture to put up here. It shows her with a baby grizzly. Leslie’s friend works at the Washington State University, and has the onerous responsibility of taking care of baby grizzlies. Here, at her house, Leslie can be seen doing the same. Hopefully, before my return to Delhi I would have had a similar opportunity. As long as they are this size, picking one up and posing will not kill me with fright, it’s the 6 feet tall adults that I am not that enthusiastic about.


The next evening, that is Friday, was an adventure of a wholly different kind. The Latah County Fair, which I assume is an annual event in this Moscow, was held this weekend. On my insistence, my dear friend Parul trudged along with me to check it out. Even a small local fair, has so much on display that it’s mind-boggling. Food, animals for buy and sell, toys and games, and rides. Scary rides. We chose to be brave and hence tried out the two scariest rides that were available.

The first step of Ride 1 is to take its passengers-—seated in individual seats within a cage—-to a height of 250 feet (I checked the height with the operator) and leave them suspended there facing the solid ground below. Yes, you are facing the ground below, and not the world straight ahead. And then you are released from that height at a breakneck speed. From 250 feet up in the air, you rush down to meet the earth in a crazy marriage of fear and excitement. When you are absolutely at the top, the feeling is one of absolute paranoia. And then the cage waits for a tantalizing five seconds or so before its heady rush towards the ground. You can see the ground, oh so far, below you. There is nothing between you and certain death except this one layer of steel wire. In case that breaks, that’s it. It’s akin to bungee jumping, except that when you bungee jump, the actual jump happens only once, whereas in this crazy ride, it happens again and again and again.

Ride 2 looked like child’s play compared to this. That is, until we sat in it. The objective of this one is to go round and round in a whirr of speed, crazily oscillating height, and topsy turvy seats. The seats are such that your legs dangle in the air to create the feeling of you holding on to a bar of steel that's in front of your waist, while being thrown out of an aeroplane in midair. Again, if the bar breaks while you are in flight, you would actually “fly” a certain distance thanks to the momentum, before hitting the earth way below you.

Our reactions? Parul shut her eyes within the first fifteen seconds of each ride and then chose to keep them shut throughout. She also stayed absolutely quiet, probably in meditation or in conversation with God. I kept my eyes open but screamed my lungs out, as did several others around me. No wonder, our hearing seemed affected after that. Additionally I did think of the exact process in which I might die in case anything significant were to break in midair.

And oh yeah, American rides go on forever. So in that sense, they are worth every penny you spend on them.

A Bit of This & A Bit of That

Homesickness hits you at the oddest of times:
# When you have just woken up and are still in bed, and you can hear the neighbours talking to each other outside. And it's not in Hindi.
# When it's a loved one's birthday...a close friend's or your sibling's. And this is the first time that you cannot yell "Happy Birthday" to them several times in a day. Or generally make a huge ruckus at their expense.
# When you desperately want to recreate a flavor from your mother's kitchen, and in your heart of hearts you know that even if you spend five times the number of hours as her slaving in the kitchen, your product will not come any close to her level of perfection.
# When your eyes have drank in enough of the sunshine and mountains of Idaho for the day, and they long for the madness, hysteria, chaos, dirt, and disorganized orderliness of Delhi...simply because it's home, and where you truly belong.
# When a stray ringtone from your classmate's phone reminds you of your own not so long ago dependence and complete devotion towards your phone and through it towards Hutch.
# When you are crossing the road, and an Indian student is coming from the opposite side with his ipod on full volume playing Mitwa, probably Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna's only saving grace. You are reminded of the last time you heard the song, perhaps someone sang it to you.
# When you go pubbing and you are achingly reminded of the fact that Moscow is a small, university town. The biggest pub here is not even half the size of the addictive places you frequented in Delhi. Oh...anything for a Turquoise Cottage, or a Geoffrey's or a DV8 or at the most even a Blue's.
# When you overhear a stray sentence or a voice and it sounds familiar for a second, only for you to realise in the next that it is your foolish imagination playing tricks once again...and that it is just your struggle within yourself to remember a particular voice because you haven't heard it for so long, and that you want to hold on to its memory.

But it all works out alright, when
# You get a call from Prashant. If I am asked to recount the conversation as such I don't think I will be able to share it, suffice it to say that we laughed throughout...and that made my day.
# You manage a technologically brilliant conference call with Richa and Rohit. Richa called Rohit's cellphone, he put her on speakerphone, brought the phone close to the computer-attached microphone, and then called me using GoogleTalk. And the three of us talked for nearly two hours. Just like the old times.
# You have as perfect a room-mate like Manasi who goes out of her way to cheer you up. Thank you M, I really mean it.

Your Story

Yesterday evening, during class we were dissecting a story where the main character was afflicted with a fatal disease. The story was as much about him as his best friend. In the midst of the discussion, the teacher asked us -- as a means of getting into the skin of the character -- , "If you knew that you had only one month to live, what would be your story? What story of your life would you like people to remember?"

I know what my story will be. Do you know yours? Care to share it?

Me Firsts!

Insomnia strikes again. It’s 3:30 am on Monday September 4, and I am up doing the second best thing I do when I can’t sleep. Blog. At the same time I am listening to Yahoo’s online radio, checking Orkut and pacifying Sas on YM every now and then that all is well with my life and nothing is not the way it’s not supposed to be. We are also testing each other’s knowledge of Anand’s dialogues.

This is a long weekend. September 4 is a holiday in the US. Labor day, not very sure what all that entails but I know the bit that affects me the most...no classes. I was supposed to go to Seattle this weekend to meet a friend, but that didn’t work out, and fortunately so because I managed a few achievements here in Moscow itself.

1. On Friday, I attended my first potluck here. At my teacher’s house where everyone from the creative writing department was invited. Their house is situated atop a hill and the view from the living room is to die for. Valleys and rolling hills, and huge old trees all around the house. Picture perfect. My contribution to the potluck was keema (with ground beef though in the absence of ground lamb). Drank the combination of bourbon and tonic for the first time in my life.

2. Had breakfast at an utterly odd time in an all night café. After the party on Friday evening I had gone to my friend Parul’s house, she lives in the same neighborhood so that makes impromptu drop-ins possible. We sat up and chatted till 2 then decided we were hungry enough for breakfast so drove 20 minutes to an all night eatery situated in the campus of Washington State University, where keeping in mind American quantities we ordered one plate of all kinds of sin, split that and devoured it to our satisfaction. There is something incredibly liberating about doing this sort of a thing with another girl in the middle of the night. (Chill Ma, it was perfectly safe.)

3. Managed to activate all the voice chat facilities on Yahoo Messenger and Google Talk. End result? Conversations--with voices, sounds, laughter, and life-—and with some of the people who matter the most. It was incredible...I was actually talking and not merely typing into a clinical chat window. I could talk and hear words in Hindi and Bangla...oh nothing has ever sounded better. No wonder so many revolutions have centered around languages. If you spend days talking and digesting foreign language(s) nothing sounds sweeter than your mother tongue. And if it is a nearly free service it is saccharine.

4. Introduced the virginal and winding mountain roads of Idaho to some kickass Punjabi music. Moscow and its roundabouts—-where Parul and I went for a drive today—-has probably never heard Tenu kala chasma jachta ve, jachta ve tere mukhde pe. Wah wah wah! Kya lyrics hain! This song and several others like it were introduced to me in my days in Chandigarh, and since then, I, who never thought could end up tolerating Punjabi pop, has actually gone ahead and invested time, money and resources into procuring more of the same.

5. Saw my first movie in an American hall. What leg-space! Not that I ever complained in Indian cinema halls, leg space was always more than adequate for me! But I remember how Prashant grumbled, and grumbled and then grumbled some more when we went to see Rang De Basanti. Poor man, he did look thoroughly scrunched by the time the movie ended. So what movie did I see? Snakes on a Plane. Why? Because I love unrealistic special effects, and this movie is currently very much in the news not just because of its creepy crawly subject but also because this is the only movie so far in the history of cinema to have generated massive publicity in blogosphere. It’s a stroke of marketing genius that the film is a hit thanks to the pre-release publicity done by bloggers.

Ok my eyelids are beginning to feel droopy now, so I guess I will tend to them. As Rohit would say, “Jeez man! It so sucks! Sleep is such a waste of time.” I agree.

Hell's Canyon

A snapshot of my life here. These are some of the pictures of my first weekend when my friends, Parul (wearing white), Amit (in green) and Manasi (in black) took me along with them to Hell's Canyon, a national park a few hours' drive from Moscow.
Manasi very sweetly let me use her camera, and I think I clicked everything that caught my fancy. Will sort and post the link later...have to run for a class in a while, and this is not one that I am taking, it's one I am giving. So wish me luck!

Five Points Sayantani

Just wanted to write a quickie before dashing off to yet another class.
1. My apartment is made of wood.
2. Indians can be prejudiced and racist too. And usually very very unfairly so.
3. Americans love desserts and conversations as much as we do.
4. We treat our teachers with a lot more respect usually.
5. I have always disliked my name. It was a burden to carry around even in Delhi. I was tired of repeating it, explaining it, spelling it. Now I hate it. Not because it's been mocked or frowned upon or disliked. In fact, it's been treated with a lot more respect here than anywhere else. But I hate it now, simply because I am exhausted.

Class time! See you later.

The Weekend Rocked Because...

50th post on Kirrin Island, yippee. OG, my ex-boss would kill me if she were to see me start a sentence with digits as I just did in the last sentence...but somehow I didn't want to use the word fifty...this digital 50 seemed more appropriate.

So much for a completely useless and worthless introduction. Moving on.

In my new life here, I am trying to pack in as many first-s as possible. And make friends with as many people and nationalities as possible. As I see it, this is the only way I can justify leaving home, family, friends, and everything I was familiar with, in pursuit of a completely unnecessary but deliciously mad dream.

So what are the new things I did this weekend?
Friday evening I explored the entire University of Idaho library. That was awesome since it is huge, split on several floors, and has tons of books on every conceivable subject.

Saturday began on a good note. My flatmate Manasi had a friend over for the weekend, so the three of us made breakfast, then I got down to the nasty business of finally unpacking properly. That took pretty much the whole day. In the evening I came to the campus for a while, pottered around for a bit, and went back home to a dinner of all kinds of munchies, three kinds of American beer, and cigars. Yes, smoked my first cigar on Saturday, and I quite liked it. The three of us (I assume in a slightly inebriated state) composed a song; listened to Mark Knopfler, Indian Ocean and Rabbi (one after the other); ate several portions of delicious garlic bread, and finally went off to sleep at nearly 3 at night. Ah, the joys of living outside home again! :D

On Sunday I was invited over for lunch by the Albrechts. The Albrecht family is my friendship-family. They and I were matched together by the University of Idaho as part of the international friendship program. This is not incumbent on every new international student, it's something we are asked to do voluntarily. The idea caught my fancy, and since I am usually game to try everything at least once, I said "yes" without any hesitation. I met the Albrechts for the first time at the International Students Orientation Program. Their family comprises of Jason and Stacy (both school teachers and products of the U of I), their two sons Alex and Nik (Alex is a sports enthusiast whereas Nik is going to grow up to be a creative writer) and Jason's mother Lynda (fond of growing herbs and writing stories for children). So yesterday I went to their lovely house set amidst the hills, and had a great time chatting them up on subjects as diverse as Indian festivals to zucchini to Moscow vis-a-vis the bigger cities of US. I also met their two horses, three dogs, several cats, chickens and hens, and ate an authentic American lunch that included homemade icecream. It was fabulous! After several fun-filled hours with them, Jason and Stacy dropped me back to the campus where I had to attend the President's Dinner (something on the lines of a dinner thrown by the principal of a college/university in India).

This dinner was an outdoor event. First the U of I marching band played for us, and it was great fun to watch that. Then the President and the First Lady personally welcomed all of us new students. After that dinner was served to the accompaniment of live music. In the midst of it all, I befriended Michael, a student of landscape architecture who turned out to be a passionate pianist as well. And the best part? He could be easily coaxed to play some tracks for me.

Nice, packed Sunday. Loved it.

Fifty Observations

Spanning the last ten days or so...ever since I left home to come to my new home...here are fifty random observations.

1. The Indira Gandhi International Airport sucks. So much so that loo doors don't close.
2. The staff at the IGI Airport is cooperative and friendly.
3. I have had kinder-faced principals than the stern looking airhostesses that were aboard my flight from Delhi to Frankfurt. I was so petrified of them that debated a hundred times before asking them for water.
4. The same flight played several movies back to back...and entertaining ones at that.
5. Different matter altogether that they were all silent since something was wrong with the plane's sound system.
7. Watched a silent Ice Age for the first time in my life.
8. The food aboard this flight was cold, flaky, and little in amount.
9. The Frankfurt airport is spotlessly clean.
10. The Germans look and behave so efficiently that it's nearly scary.
11. The Air India flight from Frankfurt to Los Angeles had pretty and attentive airhostesses, very very good food, excellent sound system, and better TV programs.
12. Why? Just because the number of firangs were more on this flight than the earlier one did AI think it necessary to spruce up its act?
13. A flight where 96% or so of the passengers were Indians didn't deserve good service and good food is it?
14. The Los Angeles airport is HUGE.
15. I got lost a hundred times.
16. Everytime there was some staff member to bail me out with a "Hi! How may I help you?"
17. People (and not just staff) of all ages, shapes, sizes, features, and colors were helpful. So much for all those who had made me paranoid that post 9/11, American airports treat South Asians badly.
18. Los Angeles airport is big, huge, and somewhat confusing. But the people are friendly and helpful.
19. From Los Angeles, I caught an Alaska Airlines flight to the city of Spokane in the state of Washington.
20. Domestic airlines within the USA do not give the kind of meals Indian domestic airlines do.
21. They serve only meager refreshments.
22. I had a brilliantly red colored cranberry juice. The glass and the juice in it were lovely.
23. And the accompanying spicy peanuts were very good too.
24. The Americans love students.
25. Idaho is a mountanous state.
26. Walking up and down my University will make sure that I am reduced to half my size by the time I come back home.
27. Which is a good thing.
28. Of the international students I have met here I got along exceptionally well with this one guy from Peru and another from Zimbabwe.
29. The largest ethnic group from India here in Moscow comprises Teluguites...yes, Andhra Pradesh rules here.
30. My apartment number is B7.
31. It is located in the quietest place I have ever lived in my life. No one blows horns.
32. The food servings in America are huge.
33. You better not order a single plate by yourself. You will never be able to finish it.
34. I love my teachers already.
35. They are maha excited to have someone from India, a completely new experience for them too.
36. People actually work.
37. And they look up when you approach their desk/counter with a question. They take pains to answer and if they can't help you they make sure to direct you to someone who can.
38. In a small town like Moscow, it's common enough to leave your car unlocked for long periods of time.
39. My flatmate is a darling. Manasi loves silver, food, men, movies, books...in no particular order.
40. And makes excellent food.
41. Walmart spoils you for choices. Too many choices, too many brands may not always be a good thing.
42. Saying "hi" is inbuilt in this system. But at times I do wonder how much they mean it.
43. Moscow is pretty.
44. Health and health insurance is a hugely big deal.
45. Dinner invitations are at the ridiculous time of 5/6 pm usually!
46. It's nice and warm during the day but chilly at night.
47. I miss my phone.
48. And therefore not being able to call and sms all those people who were an intrinsic part of my daily life.
49. Life is good here.
50. I miss my mum the most.

Sunshine

I apologize for the disappearing act. I apologize to everyone who read the last blog post on Calcutta and commented, and did not get an answering comment in return. I apologize to everyone (including my parents) who checked and rechecked my blog every day to see if I have updated it, and saw no change in status. I apologize to the writer in me that saw situations, and mentally wove words all the time and thought that they would make excellent blog material but never got down to typing them out.

But please everyone, do forgive me. I have been getting used to a new life, to a whole new set of people, to a transition from being a professional to a student, to a way of living that is not necessarily better or worse than ours but is hugely different indeed. And all this takes time to get used to.

Someone I met today asked me, "So how does it feel to be here?" I pondered for a while before saying, "Overwhelming." Because that is indeed exactly how I feel. It's been a long journey. Nearly two years of thinking, mulling, planning, emailing, running, crying, saving, believing, smiling, and tiring myself before reaching my campus...the University of Idaho set in the beautiful city of Moscow in the state of Idaho, USA. I am still getting used to everything here, particularly because I am just one week old, and the campus itself is huge...so much so that I keep getting lost about a million times every day.

There are a hundred new experiences I am undergoing everyday. Learning completely new things like using a coffee percolator, sitting on the right side of the car and not driving, acquiring a taste for amber-colored, non-bitter and therefore better beer, lightning fast Internet, and my favorite...the fact that everyone greets one another, be it with a "hello" or a "hi" or "how you doing today" or "how's it going?" It's nice, polite and friendly.

I also want to write about my new home, my great set of friends here, my amazing
teachers, but I don't know where to start. It is, as I said before, overwhelming. Give me time. But for all those of you reading this, all I want to say is, I am glad to be here.

Memories of a Dear City

I had gone to Calcutta, my birthplace, a few weeks ago for a week-long vacation.
One's place of birth is always special, especially when it has repositories of affection like grandparents and sundry other members of the family. Which is why every trip to Calcutta is worth its weight in gold.

But if I were to look at it from an outsider’s point of view what would I see?

Firstly, a city that is any foodie’s paradise. Be it all kinds of non-vegetarian delicacies, or sweets, or several snacks and savories...there is food to suit every budget, location, and whim. My brother and I sampled a cross section of food...be it straightforward, no-frills street food, or fine dining at one of the premier restaurants of the city. Our verdict remained unchanged -- for good, value for money food, Calcutta is Mecca.

Secondly, it’s a city that revels in art, culture, creativity. Even the tiniest neighborhood seems to have a club of its own, with its own little library and book store. There are schools, colleges, museums, libraries, and several other such institutes that owe their modern day existence to our British masters’ decision to set them up in the then capital, Calcutta.

Thirdly, it is the place one should go to, to learn about a very significant part of India’s history. There are heritage buildings everywhere, balustrades and spires that would have seemed commonplace in 19th century England can be seen peeping out from the most unlikely corners, and there is an inbuilt, old-world charm that is hugely different from the flavor of other historically rich cities such as Delhi or Agra or Lucknow.

Despite all this and more, as also the new chief minister’s drive and zeal to improve things, a most obvious facet of Calcutta is how dirty it is. I am not just talking about the crowded parts of the city where a multitude and variety of people live, even inside a premier institute like Presidency College, which is unarguably one of the finest institutes of the country, the dirt factor is so high that my first thought was, “Thank god, I didn’t give in to a childhood whim and leave the pursuit of St Stephen’s to come and study in Presidency.” How can students not take pride in the environment in which they are studying? How is it okay in their scheme of things to invite professors and students from outside ostensibly in an attempt to show off their fine college and its infrastructure, and yet keep it so dirty and unlivable? Mind you, I went there on a day of work and activity, and the squalid environment and working conditions were pathetic.

Another problem with the city is the people themselves. Bengalis by far, must be some of the laziest people in the world. Give us the time to pursue beautiful, creative mistresses such as literature, painting, sculpture, music—-we are happy. Even academics can be our cup of tea. But tell us to exert ourselves, to sweat, to get up and work, to make money, to be commercially and financially successful...naah! That’s not us. Which is why every time I go to Calcutta, it strikes me how the entire city seems to sleep, to let things be the way they are and not shake them up, and therefore perhaps losing out on some of the shades and flavors of the unpredictable, exciting adventure called life.

Note: Pictures are ready and uploaded, but Flickr has chosen to give some trouble. Hopefully, it should be up and working soon.