Homeward Bound

Phew...last 12 hours was HECTIC! Real hectic... From Heathrow to Dubai to Calcutta...heavy handbags, duty free chocolates, running aimlessly, sitting in between a car geek and a makeover freak for 8 hours and finally taking a glimpse of my own city from 19,000 feet..............i'm back home!

Heathrow to Dubai:
All sad to leave my deodorant at the security check section...exploring the duty free shops in 15 minutes( 5 minutes more than my husband's specification).... picking up Toblerone and Kitkat packs (I know whats coming "Kitkat ota to ekhanei pawa jay")

Looked at the directions for my specified flight gate...It was Gate No. 7... Standing in a queue.. behind me a strange looking guy with a punk hair girl.....glitter all over...the girl was kicking her hand luggage instead of pulling or dragging it like me...Innovation at its best and faster than my strolley!...One kick and bull's eye, it was almost close to the ticket counter...

A gentleman with his wife interrupted me amidst my profound thoughts..."May I"....Its a polished way of barging in...polished me says "Oh Sure"... This couple was sitting beside me while I was bidding my husband goodbye.... "Mr. May I" speaks "Tumi ki Bangali" (my first thought "Shit I kissed him in front of Bengalis...Embarrassing realisation after an hour !)... Yet the curious me smiled "Ha apnara?" (though the answer is written all over the question!!!!) Silly me!

My Bong Connection:

Mr. May I: Rich upper middle class...J.U passout... Typically in his 60s...salt pepper hair...travels all over the world with his wife...plans his tour itineraries on the flight...has a share trading business...Has a famous Bong lineage...palatial house in North Calcutta..one more in Salt Lake (well furnished, in case you missed that)...got my invitation for the Durga Puja... baritone voice which comes more out of his snobbery... Frequent use of accented English..

Mr. May I's wife : Quite close to Arundhuti Debi...Interested only in making matter of fact statements and reiterating her husband's statements...Totally a "Repeat after me" chorus

As I was listening to the next announcement, Mr. May I said "Ki Nervous"...( read this as "Are you flying for the first time... look at us...I almost fly everyday! ") I replied in affirmative...As I could not find the perfect fake answer...

Was getting bored so I just moved on...thank god my seat was not next to them...My seat was between a blonde make up maniac and a car geek...both busy in their respective spheres for the rest of the flight that is 8 hours...so no issues...I watched Shrek, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Henry v, 7 things to do before I turn 30 (quite apt!) and Rebound and a few more!

Dubai, Mr.Drunk and Home :

Reached Dubai at 230 am IST... Almost running through the terminals for my next flight...I finally found my seat...Stacked my chocolate bags...And my first thought 'Calcutta--just in 4 hours'...

My co passenger speaks up, "Lots of chocolates"!
Me: Yes.
A specky geeky 40 ish Bong...works in an oil refinery in Bahrain...going to meet his parents...Was interested in talking about the recent economy in Bahrain, number of Bengalis in Bahrain, comparison of Dubai Airport with DumDum Airport (common topic for all flyers)...But I was more interested in the Jennifer Lopez movie, so he was forced to stop....But he was nice and quite simple...

It was around 2 hours to Calcutta....The guy sitting on the left aisle seemed drunk..Copper brown hair(overdose of cheap brown mehendi)...red tie with floral motifs, pointed shoes with heels which had geometric designs embossed on them..Style icon for sure...speaking crap with the air hostess like "You are so nice..I work in Dubai in a pub but I'm from India...I also worked in tv serials"...The air hostess mechanically replied " Thank You Very Much Sir...Would you like any drinks sir? (Gosh No!) ...he replied... oh yes.. "Do you have Rum"..The conversation seemed boring.. I went off to sleep...

The flight was approaching Calcutta in a few more hours...I took out my pen to complete the immigration form...

Mr. Drunk: Excuse me madam, do you have a pen?
Me: (Silently gave him the pen...scared of losing it forever, I keep an eye on him)
Mr. Drunk: Are you married madam? (read this as, "doesnt matter, I'll still try my luck")
After a few minutes I had to speak,
Me: Excuse me, I need that pen
Mr. Drunk: I cant believe this that you are married? ( talking to himself it seemed...disheartened for this child marriage taking place without his prior permission)
Mr. Drunk: How is your husband?
Me: Fine
Mr. Drunk: Is he handsome? !!!!!!!!@#$$$
The air hostess drops in..."Sir are you feeling okay"!

Passenger Announcement: "The flight will be reaching Calcutta, in 30 minutes. The weather blah blah blah".... I could not figure out the rest....I looked below... my city, my matchbox houses, the blue sky... my home...
Home again...Everything seems like a dream as I wake up in my apartment in Landsdowne...Everything is just the way I left it...Back to home, back to my empty room..and back to my reality...

Ode to Coffee

As I start this post I'm sipping my hot morning cup of coffee.

I guess the world is divided into 2 groups--"coffee or tea". I belong to the first one.

I'm not a coffee addict. But I hate tea and I have not tasted it at all or may be once ...once while trekking in Sikkim. I had to drink tea, as coffee was not available. The sad after effect was, I puked throughout. May be it was the after effect of the altitude and not tea. But then, I associate my puking with tea. So tea is totally out from my life.

My earliest memory of coffee traces back to my childhood when Pushudi made coffee every morning in a huge steel mug. She was in her 60s. A retired school inspector, she was the eternal dominating cynical aunt in the family. I was scared of her. She did not have a single 'grey' hair. It was all white. Her hair was like a bunch of white candy floss. That scared me all the more.

It was at her 'request' I was once served coffee. I hated it. Hated the idea of drinking something like a brown chocolately liquid in a huge cup. But I was so scared I could not refuse. I was around 10 years old and it was black coffee! To this day I hate black coffee. I like my coffee with lots of sugar and milk. Anything bitter, reminds me of Pushudi!

I remember when Pushudi came over and stayed with us she used to make me coffee every morning. I got so used to that aroma and the taste that I got addicted to that morning cup of coffee. I carried on the legacy for the rest of my life!

My memories of coffee takes me back to my Darjeeling trip. I remember a foggy morning in Darjeeling. I was walking down the mall with ma and we felt like having coffee. There was a coffee shop right at one corner of the mall. Keventers. That was my first trip to Darjeeling and to Keventers. But trust me it was not the last.

But then, we did not have coffee that day. We had hot chocolate with bacon sandwich. The hot chocolate flavor still lingers on and everytime we are in Darjeeling, Keventers is surely on the list. From the terrace at Keventers we watched the busy Darjeeling mall waking up to a new morning as the sun rays glittered on the snowy peaks of Kanchenjungha.

I think I associate coffee with moments more than its flavor. I remember every time during a train journey, my father asks me "Coffee Khabi" and I smile. The coffee vendor with his skilful hands pours the milk from the steaming kettle and adds sugar and coffee. He hands over the paper cups to us while my father gets busy taking out the coins. I promise to myself I wont sip the hot coffee, but invariably I do that. I always end up sipping the hot coffee that leaves a strange sensation on my tongue throughout the day. But then it does not stop me from having it. I like it everytime. Not the coffee. But the feeling.

Our neighbors were South Indians. Everytime I went to Sanju's place, Aunty asked me 'Coffee'? And I happily nodded as I loved their taste of coffee. May be it was not Nescafe, it was Bru coffee. They had a strange way of serving coffee. It was in a stainless steel glass placed in a bowl. I loved the entire experience of having coffee holding the bowl and the glass. The coffee had a different flavor too.

Well if its about coffee I cant forget the innumerable coffee dates I had with friends, boyfriends, crushes and can be crushes and casual dates. My first cafe date was with a guy and we went to Aqua Java in Elgin Road. I ended up marrying that guy later on but then thats a different story. The place has closed down. Though I was quite reluctant to go to a coffee shop with him. We had something in Mocha flavor, the first time we had coffee. Even he doesnt remember, but then we enjoyed it. Though we ended up fighting!

Later I tried a number of coffee shops. Different Barista joints, CCDs, Costa Coffee, Starbucks, Zen, though somehow Barista remains my favorite. Specially the Gariahat Barista. And yes how can I forget my Barista Blast!

Lake road CCD or fondly called Ashok er Dokan is also special. But the breakfast at Flury's with a cup of hot coffee beats any cafe joint coffee for me! Well may be I have special memories with Flury's as well.

The coffee at Compare, my previous office also deserves a special mention. The "Coffee Khete Jabi" call meant GOSSIP! Also if we were stressed out, we often consoled each other during the coffee breaks. There used to be a thousand coffee breaks during our 8 hours of work which we called 'pata lekha'. Miss the terrible coffee at Compare and the gossip sessions all the more.

This December, me and Supriya discovered a restaurant called 'The Cafe' while walking down the streets. Though we planned for Flurys , as luck would have it, it was overcrowded on 25th December morning. We were in a queue waiting behind 1000s of Flury's fanatics. So two hungry souls( we had a few jalebis only), tired after street hopping ended up at this insignificant place called 'The Cafe'. Its just close to British Council. We even decided not to spill the beans and pretend to others that we had Christmas breakfast at Flury's . This was our statement :

"Shobaike bolbo Flurys ey amra kheyechi" ! But the purely South Indian meets continental breakfast at The Cafe was not even close to Flury's at all in any possible way.

And yes how can I forget Sector 5 CCD and Barista, where me Pallavi and Supriya used to meet. I almost sneaked inside to find indifferent Supriya with that typical "You guys are always late" kinda expression on her face while Pallavi missing as usual. She is usually inside the elevator during these 'SOS' situations.

Miss u guys and that coffee and the sizzling brownie too!


However would like to mention this strange incident related to coffee:
A few years back when I went for a trip in North Bengal, we stopped at small street side shop and asked "Coffee kothay pawa jabe"--- The man was kind of half drunk it seemed. He took out a large cauliflower and said "Phul kopi ---ey to"!

I finally added some color to my blog! Hope it adds color to my sulk posts as well! and I end up writing something other than sulk stories.

I often end up writing my posts in a note pad and not saving them, bingo its lost! However this is not a good enough reason for not posting for the last 2 months.

Its not really working these days. I feel I cant write anymore. Not that I was a Shakespeare meets Tagore in my last birth, but then whatever it was, at least there was a need to express, need to shape up my thoughts, I dont feel that within me anymore. Back then I felt that I wanted to write, scribble, sulk and ended up posting my eternal melancholy on raindropsandshadows. And yes I badly waited for those detailed comments.

I have often asked myself, why did I end up creating a blog. I was quite comfortable scribbling on notepads, scribbling on the pages of my diary, on the last page of every school/college/office notebook I have used for all these years...Was it just to be with the trend, to post the link on orkut and facebook and say, hey I have a blog too, or was it just simply to give a shape to all these confused yet myriad thoughts that haunt me all the time.

I really dont have a clue. May be all of you have a reason for blogging , for me, I simply cant find any. May be the attention seeker I am, this was just the probable after effect. I dont know. I dont want to think. These days I have stopped thinking. I just like to go with the flow.

However this post has a reason behind it. The reason why I ended up posting today. Last night as I checked my mailbox there was a mail that said that some Anonymous has posted a comment. It was for a post written ages back. I published the comment. There was a strange kind of satisfaction that I owed to myself for a long time. And so I ended up posting once more. Thanks Anonymous. For you I ended up scribbling on a notepad again. And this time I wont lose it , at least for the time being.

London Memoirs

London sky ocassionally looks blue. The drifting clouds hide the peeping rays of sunshine that often sneaks inside my windy 13th floor apartment.

I'm sitting on my balcony and sribbling words, as the wind plays with my unkempt hair. Beyond my glass balcony lies the beautiful horizon mixed in blue and grey with a few highrises at a distance. The city often reminds me of Calcutta, though it is quite different from my hometown filled with different colors, people, faces and different names.

I have never been out my city for such a long time. This was the first time I'm not there for a month. I have left behind my usual shuttle hopping and switched to the red buses and fast moving local trains. I have left behind my Gariahat street side shops and done window shopping here; converting every pound with my currency and leaving it back to be picked up by some snazzy Londoner.

I often don't understand why everyone is in such a hurry over here. May be I'm out of that race, or has it always been like that..I love watching life in motion as I quietly sit on one corner bench around the street.

Theres a man who strums Bollywood numbers on his guitar at the end of the street. Its mostly 'Tujhe Dekha to Yeh Jana Sanam' and 'Kuch Kuch Hota Hay". He is a musician. No actually he is a beggar . People throw coins while he strums the guitar. On lazy Sunday afternoons I often sit on one end of the street and listen to him playing the tunes that reminds me of my city, my home, and my regular dose of Channel V and MTV.

Sometimes I dont understand their dialect. May be I'm still not used to their way of speaking English, intercepted with occassional 'eh's and 'yeah's. I have noticed they dont move their lips as much as we do while speaking. That might be the British subtle art of communication, which I'm trying to get used to.

The strange thing about the Brits is just as Indians are after fairness creams, most of the Brits here are crazy about tanning. Wherever I have been there are tan parlors, tan lotions and potions, tan beds, tan areas. During the sunny weekends as I dab an extra dose of compact on my dusky skin, the Brits are out there on the parks, streets almost half clad busy getting a tan. No ones happy with their color!

Most of the newspapers here hardly have any important news. The entire fat newspaper is like Calcutta Times filled with mindless page 3 gossip. I hate reading the newspaper here as I cannot relate to any one of their page 3 personalities! I miss my Telegraph and Calcutta Times!

However theres one section in the newspaper that was quite interesting. Just like our matrimonials they do have their dating columns where they look for dating partners:

There was one advert that went out like this:
"Looking for lifetime love with someone who would hold hands and just stroll on the beach, kiss me goodnight and look at my eyes every morning when I wake up"... Can we really do this back home instead of "5'8 , fair skinned groom earning 8 lacs per annum and looks for homely beautiful convent educated bride"-- May be thats the difference between lifetime love and marriage. Though I'm sure nothing really lasts.

I will miss London, I will miss my home here and my life too...Loved this experience of living a life on my own. But then so much waits for me in Calcutta... maa, baba, bari, my office, my friends, my streets, my shuttle hopping and my usual life ... may be my space...does it really exist..who knows..right now I'm packing my bags for Flight EK 007 to Calcutta via Dubai...

I intended this post to be like a travelogue though it ended up as an anecdote of my personal experiences in a different city. Trying to come up with a travelogue soon!

I'm feeling terrible tonite...my machine says its 11.16 PM...and wat am i supposed to do now? sulk? sleep? scribble crazy stuff? silently look at the lavender walls? everything looks so neatly arranged....is this my room? no unfolded levis...no half opened books... no scattered towels... I have changed...

My window opens out to a 19th century red brickwalled structure... a mansion built by some nameless zamindar of yesteryear...the dark terrace looks eerie tonite...its lonely out there too... the summer breeze gently whispers through my half opened window...may b i cant write anymore...may b i'm losing it...

How would you feel if you were under a microscope, where you're completely unable to do anything...and even if you do...that would be the laughing stock of millions who are watching you... the eyes that follow you every moment... the glances, the smiles exchanged...why do you have that spot on your face...why is it kept this way? why this and not that...why dont you smile? why are you crying? are you feeling lonely? hungry?

And burdened under this 1 million whys ifs and whats...you start parting with the 'you' which you had carefully nurtured for all these years....