Looking the other way...

brings us to the question- Why would you want to look the other way to begin with?
Is the sight in front of you unappealing, an eyesore, difficult to chew and digest or simply because seeing it would further reinforce that things aren't as much in your control as you would like to think?

I suspect the latter. Because usually I find (on intro and retrospection) that's how things are pour moi. And it's extremely annoying and not entirely liberating to be honest with yourself. All honesty does it make things unarguably clear about the prevailing circumstances, the likelihood of things being in the future or how they've actually gone down in the past. Honesty yanks off your glasses- rose tinted and otherwise and forces you to look at things and their underbelly.

And while a good, hard look at things is usually educative in itself- it isn't a lesson that you might have wanted to learn in the first place.
Ergo, selective vision or looking the other way.

You know there's something going down that you aren't entirely right with in your mind but to get involved and set it right the way you see it may involve stepping into a quagmire or opening up a can of gigantic worms! 

Now WHO is this day and age wants to deal with the creepy, crawlies of human behavior unless the pay offs are totally worth it? Not many of us. Because human behavior is often tidal in it's nature. The tsunamis take their time getting generated but the tides and ebbs keep occurring and unless you're quite sure of getting swept under or away, most of us are ok with getting wet every now and then.
Keeps life interesting even. Adds a headache or two in the process but hey- omelettes and eggs huh?

Here's to looking away, hoping that playing semi-ostrich leads to peace of mind and not pieces and that while your head is in the sand someone doesn't come and kick the living daylights out of you!


Salut!

I don't understand..

quite a few things but reading the paper gives rise to more things that fall under that particular ambit of non-comprehension.

For example- 

• Why is it so bad to let the Tibetans living in Nepal to celebrate the Dalai Lama's birthday? Is Nepal so utterly under the yoke of the Chinese that it feels that such an occasion merits a ban?
• How a life long coach thinks he can get away with saying that he didn't have an inkling of the "contaminated" food supplements he gave to his athletes? Dude, if they started winning more after the supplements alone, maybe it should've occured to you to check if they were merely vitamins alone? Which nutritional supplement is so kickass that it'll enhance so many athletes' prowess? Are you that green?
• The Telengana Issue- this merits more rambling so no more bullets for now. Just prose.

I've been a gypsy all my life. Indian and all that sure, but linguistically am not entirely of my native state. I have links to Calcutta or West Bengal overall because of the people there who have a connection to me either by friendship or family. But no such sense of belonging occurs to me merely because I was born and half the people there speak a language that I do.

I happen to speak two other Indian languages with far more proficiency than Bangla and can also think in them. That by itself should speak volumes right? Being able to contemplate in a language? 

But neither do I align myself with those geographical areas of India where those languages are spoken, simply because I don't feel like I belong there.

I've finally put down roots in Hyderabad courtesy a myriad of reasons, but had things worked out differently I'd be writing this blog sitting in either Bangalore or Bombay today. 

Whether it's salacious reporting about youngsters killing themselves for the sake of a "Telangana" state of not, I'd really want to know for once, what a damn state is supposed to mean to someone. Does one's identity begin and end with the geographical and linguistic boundaries. There are people in villages who probably haven't seen the inside of a major city in a while, indulging in self-immolation for the sake of the T-state. Either they value themselves very high or they place a massive premium on their action; thinking it'll spur the powers that be to conform to the demands.

And is it really the demands of the masses? Any picture in the paper, any morcha taken out seems to be a collection of ne'er do wells who have been hired or influenced to join in to swell the numbers of the agitators. If anyone were to ask them about why they're agitating and how life will be different for them if a state is carved out of A.P they'll go into goldfish mode and just open and shut their traps aimlessly.

I do believe that while people want the better things in life, they also want to live in peace. Parents don't want their kids not going to school day after day, daily wage earners don't want public transport disrupted so they can't go and earn their livelihood and even politicos don't want to go on fake fasts on and off because guess what? Someone just might have a camera focused on them for good and then they might just have to pull of a proper stoppage of food and water and not merely do a bowel-cleansing 24 hour "fasting" skit.

In states which are geographically spread over different kinds of topography, it may very well make sense of have regional headquarters or separate centers to take care of specific needs of the people, but if every time a demand for a state has to be conceded then the map's going to end up looking like scrambled eggs. And if the formation of a separate state led to ease in governing, promise of a better way of life or at least cessation of the demands of the locals then it might make sense. But when it all boils down to a power play then effectively no one wins, we all sit on the bleachers and watch the drama and impressionable young people go on sacrificing themselves for naught.

If it makes financial sense at the end of the day, the state'll be formed. As long as life can continue being in flux despite increasing agitations, it won't. So I guess there'll be more cookouts on busy junctions, more resignation drama and more students resorting to various means to hurt themselves, and the rabble rousers will just keep screaming themselves hoarse. There's just no place for sentiments in the whole equation at the end of day.

Jai (pick a word, they're all up for grabs aren't they?)!!

?

For the first time since I've been blogging I haven't been able to come up with a title. I was surprised because when blogs are born in the noggin they go through a fairly quick gestation period and the developmental activity is pretty rapid. Of course the process of the birthing is often protracted and not always normal.

Anyhow I've been thinking for a while on the offspring's cognitive processes. I know he processes things well. It's just that he has yet to master language so he can make us understand what he comprehends and how he does so. But watching him is a treat. His reasoning and deduction makes me think to myself what kind of a person might he turn out to be later on.

Because the jury is still out on the whole Nature Vs. Nurture debate I can't quite confidently state that he will definitely exhibit xyz traits. But I do know that both hold water; to an extent.
Case in point- The Mater is a pretty good artist, in terms of sizing something up and reproducing a likeness. She's fairly skilled at the arts and crafts and her brain works pretty damn fast in picking up new techniques in the same field. But I'm all thumbs. Maybe because the Pater is all thumbs? The most creative I've seen him get with a pen or a pencil is turning one of my spelling mistakes on a greeting card into a series of extremely odd-looking dwarfish flowers. But he did do it.

I guess I'm wondering most about creativity. When I used to counsel MBA students a few years back and put them through a psychometric/psychosocial test and later interpret the results for them, I'd find that most of them associated creativity merely with the performing arts. If you danced, painted, sang- you were creative. Else not.
And I remember asking them how they were at problem solving, thinking on their feet, generating solutions, how they ideated, how they perceived various kinds of situations and suddenly they understood how their high scores on creativity were justified.

I've scored a moderate rating on creativity. I think I know why. Creativity is something which needs expression. Merely being able to think creative won't cut it. If I'm able to conceptualize something, anything...it needs to get portrayed somewhere. And creativity and originality aren't inclusive 100% of the time. That's another mistake we make.
While Kaavya Viswanathan situation isn't one we all may find ourselves in, we do need inspiration from somewhere. Where would my blogs come from if I hadn't been able to develop an ability to write? Where would this ability and love for writing come unless I'd read stuff that spoke to me. And how would a style be born in the first place unless I read something good and wanted to be able to write something along those lines.


I don't make a case for plagiarism, but creativity can often be, taking an existing idea and then putting your own spin on it. Hell if that weren't possible, Facebook wouldn't be either and we wouldn't be Superpokin people or playing Zombies and Vampires with people geographically dispersed at any given point of time or day. 

But as ever I digress. Will the offspring be good at sports (his father is- I prefer to exercise my fingers by flipping a page), at music (I did manage to learn and forget how to play the sitar and the piano), be an egghead ( javagod father- says it all) or will he just branch out into a whole different direction and do something unexpected.

With schools offering ways of shaping up a child from a playschool level I really have to wonder how much of nurture is going to go head to head with nature and who will ultimately triumph.

I would dearly love it if he made it to Caltech or places of it's ilk. And would also love it if he travelled the world and took pictures and wrote travelogues that I could read.
I don't want him to emulate Gene Simmons though because why break a guitar when you can strum it? :)

Time will tell...and maybe in time he'll read my blogs and we'll see if his mother turned out to be a soothsayer or nayer and if she found an answer to the on going battle of Nature Vs. Nurture.

Happiness that only a cookie can bring...

Ma da laadla...

YES! am indeed keeping in tune with Bollywood and using song titles for my blogs. Only I doubt I'll go the E.K way and make it (K(Ma) with the K silent :p

And while on the topic of the aforementioned...let me state what territories have been explored recently (kindly understand to mean random acts of violence perpetuated against household objects that cannot fight back)-

1. The antennae of the land-line broken and kind of droopy and loose. I doubt the manufacturers intended the phone to be dragged along by the antennae in the first place. Just goes to show how important a role children play in the quality testing of objects.
2. The screen, sound, camera of my Nokia have been so affectionately attacked that the saliva in the phone has become a reservoir. The sound of the people over the phone seems to be as if originating underwater. A gross exaggeration I admit but you get the picture. The camera's been hazy and grainy after the last contact with the floor.
3. The frame of my glasses are chipped and loose. It really has become a one size fits all :( And I thought that applied to tube socks alone.

It's not that my kid is destructive mind you. Not at all! The cardinal sin that he suffers from is curiosity. What is kept so high up? Let's go explore. Why does the microwave light up and have a rotating object inside...let's touch it and see? What happens if I press that button...and the list goes on.

And there's his wish to hear how things sound ergo throwing them becomes the next logical act.

The way I see it, he'll discover something BIG one day...an explosion at the very least will not surprise his father and I one iota!

As for how to assuage his undying thirst for knowledge...well, as long as there are things for him to list, climb on and taste in this house the skirmishes between him and I are guaranteed. I guess his scurrying around is still preferable to him turning into a zombie tater tot in front of the telly. But commercials have never been more of a lifesaver for me. Especially those of fair maidens getting fairer.

Here's to all the manufacturers of fairness creams. You are the chief reason my son halts in his tracks atleast a few times in the day. May you keep preying on the mindsets of the fairness-obsessed people and keeping hiring geisha-faced girls to help out mothers like myself!

Here endeth the rant. For now :-)

Hai Rabba...

The problem with teaching your kid new words is that they may very well end up using them against you! And usually to their advantage.

Case in point- my child says 'bye' at the drop of a pin to everyone. I mean everyone. He also verry conveniently says bye to me everytime he wants me to stop talking or leave him in peace to wreck his mischief :)

Another example- The word moon. Simple, nice round word with long vowels. I first showed him the Supermoon and he became moonstruck from the word go. Actually moon :p anyhow now he sees the moon everywhere and makes me see it and acknowledge it too! Am sure it's his Telugu genes kicking in...the telugu grooms show their new brides 'din mein taarey' so our man took it a notch up- din mein satellite :D

The list runs long and is convoluted. But his speech aint! Tis simple and limited. And it's shaping my speech up the same way. 
So when you meet me next, if you find me a bit moony...don't call the loony bin on me...just remember this note and say 'bye'...I'll probably get the hint :)

Leaves...

Avian Traffic Controller

The Crooked Room

There Goes the Birdie...

For the birds...

Aunty Mat Kaho Naa :(

It's a given that if you have some much-loathed extra baggage (read fat or lard depending on how coarse you want to be) and are toting around a kid you MUST be an AUNTY!!

Well, this aunty attracted the attention of another kid who clearly doesn't have a diet chart anywhere on the horizon. This child wanted to tell me that MLM had taken her badminton racquet. The object was returned post-haste much to MLM's distress.

The chubby chicklet then felt bad for telling on MLM and started following us around to join in playing with us. She and MLM played on the slide, on the ground and she unbent enough to tell me that she knew that there were different types of birds (crows clearly did not qualify in the line-up) and she wanted to spell it out for me.

She then wanted to exchange girlish confidences and started talking about the magic rope she shared with her daddy :) I hope it was a metaphor for a good time else am quite puzzled by what that's supposed to actually stand for...

But a genial kid she was and am sure I'll have to attend more spelling bees when I see her in the park again :)

The Indulgences of The Maternal Uncle's House..

erm...yeah..I know..it's quite a mouthful of a blog title and out of the blue it seems to not really make much sense. There should be some context, shouldn't there?

Well, there is indeed! Taken in Bangla, the title makes mucho sense. A Mama (or the maternal uncle) is the person whose house the grandparents are usually supposed to be found in. Grandparents mean heap loads of love, abundance of everything good and basically a total and nearly complete immunity from rules, regulations and of course, parental glares and edicts *smiles*

This is the first time that MLM and I are staying with my folks purely for fun. Earlier there were family functions et al and not enough time was found for my son to reveal the full gamut of his monkeyness to his grandparents- or to me  come to think of it.

Apart from becoming more expressive he started by getting the lay of the land as it were. He did a thorough recce a few minutes after we arrived and then proceeded to go and grab and mark as his own, most things which spoke to him. That I was usually scurrying after him didn't deter him much. If he needed me off his case, he simply called to his henchmen (aka my parents) and I was told to clear the way for the king of the land.

And kid is kingg in this case! The kitchen, bathrooms, the balcony, the birds in the sky, the planes he spies flying overhead, the occasional street dog, the maid servant, the cars, the driver (let me know when I should stop with my recital...) all have his patronage and he favors them with his smiles, the thumps of his hands and his incessant babble. Not speaking complete or coherent sentences doesn't stop him much (read AT ALL!!).

And into this mix, add my extended family, my parents classmates of old and of course Red (whom he saw after 17 loooong days), his new red tricycle, the neverending bubbles, the mini cars and gasp gasp, pant-puff..and the offspring is truly in his element and blossoming more every day.

For the record, this child hasn't faced this kind of humidity before and neither is he being kept in an airconditioned bubble. But he's happy and his happiness cools him a lot more effectively than the ac can. Although he doesn't hesitate to drag me by my hand/clothes towards the bedroom and say imperatively, "Mamma AAYCHEE!!". Nor does he mind declaring happily, "THANNA (thanda)", when he enters an airconditioned room and is soothed :)

And where does the maternal uncle come in finally in the whole tale? Well, since the maternal uncle is symbolic of summer fun and bonding with far-off relatives I guess the symbolism has been understood good and proper!
I used to look forward to summers in Calcutta (yes I did, and no I wasn't suffering from humidity or sun-strokes) because people made a fuss over me. My grandmother (the galactic ameba bless her nearsighted, chubby soul) would be in a festive mood and literally scold me if I didn't eat everything that she'd made for me expressly; there would be the childrens' classic books awaiting me as gifts from my grandfather and the time would go by very well without a phone, a t.v. and definitely without AC.

As I got older, the kind of time I spent with them changed too. Although my grandfather's stories of what all my mom and her sibs did as kids didn't change at all. And he enjoyed telling them each time SO much, you couldn't sit with a passive face even though you could preempt him word for word, pause for pause. One had to smile and be pleased with the antics his kids were upto.

My grandmother didn't go out of the house much after her eyesight deteriorated but she was still very fond of everything new. But what she really liked was knowing I was in touch with my Bong roots. So after lunch, she, my mom and I would end up on her huge four-poster bed and sit with the Geetobitan (the complete one- songs, lyrics of Tagore) and yes, yours truly would sing. My grandmother would join in and after a while that would lull her to sleep. Yup, kind of like singing to a baby :)

Cut to circa 2011, my son sings his gymboree songs (his own rendition of course, the child is TOO talented by half!!), wants Chilaaa (Sheila ki Jawani) and does a tandav  when the mood takes him. And this fatigues my mother to no end. And yet, the very next moment when he's up, she encourages him again by reminding him of all the fun he had. And that, in essence is the 'mama'r baadir aabdaar'.

Am sure there'll be more aabdaar (indulgences) as the years go by. And Calcutta will get known to MLM as the land of the grandparents, the place of fun, glass figurines at every bend and most importantly- as the land where Mamma has no sway at all :)

That's all folks!

There's something about one's hometown...

am guessing that of course. I merely have a birth place but no properly defined hometown as such. My life was nomadic right from the start and Calcutta had remained a place where I visited my grandparents or went for the yearly family Durga Puja.

Now with the grandparents gone, the puja coming at a time when it's tough for Red to take leave, the only draw towards this city are my parents. But part of me still thinks of them back in Hyderabad :(

So I needed make a fresh connect with the city I was born in, visited practically every year that I've been alive but strangely (and sadly) know so little of. And what better way than take the summer vacation route? Of course that's stretching things quite a bit. With a kid not attending any school..it's vacation 365 days a year (for him..never for me alas) and whatnot!
But I digress.

MLM and I arrived in Calcutta on Saturday afternoon sans Red. After the usual kacharbachar on flight and while collecting the luggage, we made it to my parents' place. Let me add here that my turning up was a total and complete surprise to my mother who literally jumped for joy seeing us.

And we've been here since...with MLM feeding the birds each morning with my father, and getting acclimatized and introduced to his Bong roots via mishti doi in the khullad and fish curry as of this afternoon.

And he's been eating it all up. The food, the attention, the works!

Now it just remains to take him out and show him the city. And in the process get to know it myself.

These are my things to do-

• take him to the zoo and the aquarium right opposite.
• get him to taste a good singari aka samosa to the uninitiated.
• a meal at Tangra.
• pastries at Flurys
• take him to meet with a few great-grandmommies viz my nani's sisters.

But am sure, since the best laid plans do often go awry, so might mine at some juncture...but I'll get a Calcutta darshan out of it for sure!

Bongily Yours....

badmonkey and his posse...a few are missing tho...

Smothered!!!

Kiss the chef...however mini...

Pearly whites..

I brush everyday!!!

A Glimpse of My Life...

A typical day, a usual disarray and me...then and now..

Future Bookworm

The smile that means worse is on the way..

Treasure Trove

Both my treasures in one place...!