CALORIES AND MEMORIES

Back in Mumbai...the annual Kolkata visit on Diwali holidays was the usual blur of eat, meet, laze, daze, ....you know the drill.

If last year's indulgence was Sarbhajas (a sweet where the 'sar' or cream atop the milk is deep-fried and soaked in sugar syrup...gruesome gluttony, eh?), this year it was the humbler, but no less horrific, Gujiya (the Bengali version is a ring-shaped sweet made of dried milk and sugar) and Danadar (which is unredeemingly made of only and only sugar drenched in even more sugar syrup).

Now I am back after eating enough of the above to last me till next year. In fact, am back in stride as well, with school and work and home and all such other busy-making stuff that life is made up of.

But time-outs are there, and they pull at the heart-strings, and also pull the facial muscles into a smile...sometimes.

There was this bottle of Dalimer Hajmi ( anardana churan...a sweet-sour digestive) that I had bought and ate in Kolkata, and had then stuffed a lot of other things in as well, from cookies to jeera golis to Narkel Naaru (coconut and jaggery laddus) made by my Mom (who was coincidentally in Kolkata during this time as well). I had taken out this bottle after unpacking to wash and reuse it as a spice jar. Before washing it, I was putting my finger inside and licking the remnants.

And my taste-buds got a surprise when after a lot of hajmi/churan/salty-sourness I suddenly bit into a small chunk of sweet jaggery-infused-coconut. A tiny bit of Ma-made naaru, travelling all the way from Kolkata. To make me all teary-eyed and wry-smiling in Mumbai.

Calories and memories...funny how closely they weave together.

HOME ALONE

This past week, I have been home alone.

The spouse and the kittens have all gone to Kolkata, and I'll be joining them in a few days, when my College will deign to give us our Diwali Holidays.

The first few days were miserable.

I was buried under an avalanche of semester-end exam papers to be corrected. Correcting bad exam papers, paper-after-paper, for nearly 500 papers always give me a feeling similar to a bad bout of influenza. I feel feverish, my neck and back ache, my eyes feel dry and blinky, and in my sleep I toss and turn in nightmares.

Then I really had a flu onset and a stomach upset.

Then I had a cleaning frenzy, fighting against every particle of dust that dared to enter the flat.

Gradually, I settled down. Watched back-to-back-back movies all evening-night, slept way past afternoon, curled up on the sofa eating lemon tarts and drinking jaljira-spiked (Diet) Cokes, dipped my feet in warm water-with-lavender-bath-salts.

And, of course, I went out.

To work, boringly.

To other places, excitingly.

Shopped at my favourite stores like Fabindia and Crossword.

Strolled at Carter Road and window-shopped at Linking Road.

Discovered a tiny shop called Shimmer at Atria Mall that sells tops and tunics in the most lovely understated shades.

Picked up vintage maps and posters from Philips Images in SoBo.

Grabbed, at Satguru's, a vintage Sholay poster and a tiny brass table fan that actually works.

Chatted with an old, smiley-bearded painter outside Jehangir Art Gallery and bought some tiny sea-scape watercolours.

Browsed through the Museum and Museum Shop and marvelled at our handicrafts.

Just as I was warming up to the experience, it is nearing its end. And really, I am so looking forward to being with them all again. And being back in Kolkata for my annual nostalgia pilgrimage.

Ah well, time flies...

STORIES AROUND US

When I'm out of my home, I'm usually very un-observant. Too engrossed in my mental cobwebs.

Sometimes, though, I look around with eyes open. And see some person at some particular moment which gives me a glimpse of a back-story. A history. A lifestory.

Let me explain.

The other day I was at the neighbouring Sahakari Bhandar, a local departmental store where you can get groceries and other stuff at reasonable rates. I always go with a list (rice, wheat, oil, sugar...) but I always overshoot the list (adding 'Buy 1 Get 1 Free' and '30% Off' and 'Offer of the Day' stuff to my cart).

As I was standing in the queue at the cash counter an elderly gentleman, rather doddery and dressed in a manner that novelists usually describe as 'shabby gentility', came up to stand behind me. He had a shopping basket, not a trolley, to hold his meagre purchases - a bunch of 'palak', some brinjals, a broom and a (very economical) tooth-paste.

I saw him looking wistfully at the nearby rack stacked with chocolates. Hesitating, as the queue inched forward, looking away, and then yearningly looking again. Finally, he made up his mind. And reached out with a slightly shaking hand to put TWO SMALL DAIRY MILK WOWIE BARS in his basket. With a happy smile that made my day.

Immediately, sentimentally, I imagined his story. He was a loving grandfather buying treats for his grandchildren on their weekly/monthly visit to his home.

Or maybe it was a treat to be shared at with his fluffy white-haired plump-cheeked wife.

Or maybe he was a diabetic...and this was a pure self-loving indulgence in a forbidden pleasure.

Or maybe... HOW WOULD YOU END THIS STORY?

Image Courtesy: thehindubusinessline.in (Google Images)

THE UNBEARABLE WETNESS OF BEING

It's been raining pretty much continuously over the week end. Overcast skies have been shedding their watery burdens on us.

Trains are either running late or not at all.

Auto-rickshaws are either refusing to ply or over-charging diabolically.

Buses are either stuck full of people or stuck in potholes-disguised-as-puddles.

Clothes are not drying.

Courier services are not delivering on time. When I had a spat with Pafex couriers (a branch of the famed Fedex) about a parcel that was supposed to reach me a week back, the rain was blamed. But when I saw the poor drenched delivery person, clutching my bubble-wrapped parcel in his wet, wet hands, I hadn't the heart to rant at him.

If this was Kolkata drowning under non-stop rains, people would have woken up on Monday, peeped through the window pane, yawned, dived under the bedsheet, and curled up for another snooze till mid-morning and a cup of tea beckoned.

But this is Mumbai.

So we wake up.

See the rain (in fact, can't see too far out of the window because of the rain).

Heat water in the geyser, take a warm/hot/boiling bath (WHY? WHY? WHY TAKE A WARM BATH 365 DAYS A YEAR, IRRESPECTIVE OF HEAT AND SUMMER AND SEASONS????AND WHY TAKE A HOT BATH WHEN YOU ARE GOING TO STAY WET AND MISERABLE FOR THE REST OF THE DAY ANYWAY?)

Gobble down breakfast, wrap up in raincoats, unfurl our umbrellas (all the better to poke other people in crowded buses and trains).

And step out into the friendly neighbourhood ankle/knee/waist-deep puddle.

That's Mumbai for you!!! The city that never sleeps. Also, the city that never stays dry.

BEWITCHING BANDRA

Blame it on the Bandstand.

Blame it on the breezy sea.

Blame it on the bylanes.

Blame it on the bazaars.

Blame it on Bandra.

I am so bewitched by Bandra that I have neglected a lot of things. Blog-writing. Weight-watching. Researching...

The intricate, intersecting lanes that get clogged up with traffic at rush-hours.

The intriguing mix of fashion-savvy folks, laid-back lads, and crotchety crones.

The melting pot of religions and cultures that serve up a great variety of food fit for all pockets and palates.

The streets wide enough for REAL FOOTPATHS WIDE ENOUGH AND CLEAN ENOUGH AND FLAT ENOUGH TO WALK ON (which deserves a Hallelujah in suburban Mumbai), and which also houses stalls eager to sell everything from clothes, bags and shoes to trinkets, kitchenware and books.

Ah Bandra of the old-world charm and the nouveau riche fashion and the ...

...sea.

I'm bewitched. I've succumbed to its charms.

It's hard not to.

I KNOW WHAT I DID THIS SUMMER

I know that I have been off blogging for nearly two months this summer.

And I know the reason for it.

Shifting from one rented flat in Mumbai to another.

First, it was the decision to shift.

Then, it was a round of seeking admission to new schools in the chosen area. As a school Principal said, "If you had one child, it wouldn't have been a problem. But...". Since no one had informed us of such future problems when pushing the 'two-children-happy-family-theory', we had to make double the effort now. Finally, though, we got both daughters enrolled in Arya Vidya Mandir, which, from all accounts, is a good school to grow up in.

Then, it was a search for the right flat. Oh, there are flats and flats, but a suitable match between a likeable residence and an affordable budget is really tough to find. You see, you shortlist, you negotiate, you wait...the negotiations fail...and then you go through this over and over again.

Then, it was a matter of waiting for the right approvals from the right authorities, for legalities, and contracts and verifications. I AM NOT TALKING OF BUYING, BUT SIMPLY OF RENTING PROPERTY ON A COMPANY LEASE.

Then, it was getting in touch with Movers and Packers, and watching all your beloved stuff being ruthlessly stuffed into bubble-wraps, cartons and cardboards, dragged into wet trucks (it was raining heavily that day), and dumped carelessly in new, strange rooms.

Tiring.

Traumatic.

And also rather exciting, actually ;)

Suffice to say, we have shifted to a new flat with kids, clothes, books and utensils in tow. This flat is still being done up by the owner, so we will be living a very public life amidst carpenters, masons, plumbers and electricians for a few more weeks. The house in a mess, there is a huge amount of unpacking still to be done, the kitchen is a work-in-progress, one bathroom looks as if it has been bombed...

Still, we can see the sea in the distance from some of the windows, and there are a lot of quaint churches and little lanes with sloping-roof houses to be explored. When the sundry people banging away around the flat finally leave...

Thank God for Maa, but that's another post!

All in all, a summer spent in fretting and fuming and sweating and waiting, and a monsoon beginning in a shifting.

What a waste of a lovely summer vacation!

THE BAG THAT CAME BACK

It is an unassuming black net bag, the kind we call 'tholee' in Bengali. That's the bag you carry to the local vegetable (and/or fish) market.

It's weightless, although it can carry enormous amounts of weight. Kilos of apples, bhindis, cauliflower, beets, gourds, pumpkins, cabbages, dozens of bananas, bunches of palak, methi and kothmir, quantities of fish and fowl, have all nestled in happy weekly harmony in the confines of the bag, with a not-so-happy effect on my shoulder and wrist.

It's rather tatty and holey - precisely because of the above-mentioned weekly habit for working with heavy-weights.

It's got a heavy drinking habit, too - my husband often uses it for bringing home dozens of cans of Budweiser or bottles of Tuborg or...you get the drift?

It's recycled - in fact, it has been recycled ad infinitum, in all kinds of environments. It is as comfortable in grubby street-side markets as it is in air-conditioned restaurants where you have to pay through your nose. Because we always take it out of my much-more-expensive shoulder-bag if we have take any leftovers home.

It owes it's arrival in our household to an environmental crisis - after the humongous and horrendous rains of July, 2005, when drains blocked with plastic bags contributed greatly to the tragedy that ensued and prompted the Government to declare a ban on use of paper-thin plastic bags (isn't that contradictory?). I went to Big Bazaar and bought this net bag for Rs. 65/-

The ban was soon flouted, but the bag has stayed with us, loyal for nearly six years.

Until two weeks back. It had been carelessly pushed into my shoulder-bag (which is its usual resting place until it is called out for action). And it fell out while the spouse and I were on the way to, where else, the vegetable market. Its disappearance caused us a lot of grief and regret.

And then, like a miracle, it came back. My maid called me at work to say that another maid had found it hanging on a hook above the security-guard's desk in another wing of the building. It had apparently been lying there, unclaimed and unloved for a fortnight. I returned home with a happy spring in my step, the cheerfulness bubbling over in my voice when I called up the spuse with the good news.

And the very next day, my faithful bag-that-came-back was back in action.

For some reason, a tatty old 65-rupee bag has taught me a lesson in values beyond money.