OOPS! I DO IT AGAIN AND AGAIN...

For me, following a trend or any latest fashion has always been a pain... in the wrong place. As far as I can remember, I have always been experimentative about my looks and my style, since my college days... last couple of years of my graduating period, that is. Coming from a family like mine, I always had this pressure of looking-'decent'-factor about my appearance rather than attractive. Fashion was not only debatable-it was despicable, worrisome and damnable in our family. I have always been made to understand from my school days that a 'decent girl' is the one who wore her skirts or frocks below her knees. That included even the school uniforms-white shirts, atleast 2 sizes larger than the actual fit and pleated grey skirts falling below the knee-level, hair tied or pleated in 'two', broad red-ribbons intact. Any teacher or sister who would notice anyone with their skirts above or at the knee-level, would pull open the hem-stitches of the wearer or call up the parents summoning for new 'longer' skirts immediately. If it were for my teachers at school, I'd still be sporting oversized 'decent shirts' and long 'granny-skirts' and if it were for my parents, very loose salwar-kameez with dupatta intact and pinned up in the 'right' places. Fitted jeans labelled the girl-wearer as 'super-fast', so wear if you must, there were 'baggy-jeans' available in the 'decent' category. I did sport that kind of a look till I was maybe in the second or third year of my graduation in college.

As I started reading more Fashion Magazines with shifted interest to the glamorous Fashion-designing world from the boring accountancy balance-sheets, I became more and more aware of the latest trends, colours, designs and styles suited for different individuals. I still can't get over the first reaction emitted by my college friends when I wore black-nailpolish for an annual college function (a shade which was a specially ordered via someone coming back home from abroad). It matched perfectly with my attire and make-up, but even though it complimented my looks, it was not accepted and highly criticised and discouraged. Nobody had ever heard of the smokey-eye-effect at that time, forget about gothic make-up. One of my friends even offered to repaint my nails with her matte-pink polish over my black-coated nails, to 'normalise' my look. Of-course I did not relent to the offer. Slowly, I designed myself short kurtas with patiala pyjamas as an alternative to the very draggy long salwar-kameezes which everyone wore. The short kurtas looked smarter and were more convenient when worn loose even without dupattas. But of-course, the trend had not started then, and no matter how covered or decent they were to me, eyes were rolled up and eye-brows raised. My parents were enraged and asked me soon to discard away my 'fully-faaltu' designs.

Soon after I completed my college, graduating with accountancy honors, and discovering my new-found passion for fashion-designing, I shifted base to Delhi from Guwahati (my hometown), of-course with much opposition from my parents, who thought Fashion-designing was not a career at all... an MBA degree or Bank P.O. would have been a much preferred option. However, I moved here and as I stayed away from home and far from the constant scrutiny of my parents, I found myself being free to choose my clothes and styles that I liked to carry on myself. I gave away all my salwar-kameezes that I had carried with me to Delhi, to an orphanage. Then I started wearing clothes I found more comfortable to work in. As I was always on the 'go' mode, designing-classes in the morning, part-time job at the 'Habitat Centre' in the afternoons till late night, I was mostly in jeans, 6-pocket-cargos, tees, shirts and kurtas. It was utterly convenient to board a bus or cross the busy ring-road in a hurry, without my age-old salwar-kameez-dupatta get-up. The jeans or the cargos and kurtas with pockets made everything fit in place, handier and hassle-free. I felt free and more confident. I seldom wore salwar-kameez ever, after that. (And my ma still longs to see me in them.)
Next, I got my waist-length hair chopped off to a shoulder-length step-cut. It made me look nicer and much younger. It was also more easier to style as well as to maintain my hair.

For a couple of times when I visited home during the holidays or for any other festive ocassions, each time sporting a new-look, my parents, sisters and relatives expressed shock. But then I realised and made my folks realise that people would say something or the other anyway. If I put on some weight people would remark on that; if I lost weight they would still have a problem with that. Ditto for my hair-style and dressing. Then my parents stopped being shocked any further... or atleast they stopped reacting any more...
Of course, when I went home wearing my newly acquired low-waist levi's as the fashion had just hit Delhi and the other metros in India, my ma was scandalised. She couldn't understand whether I was gaining height or losing weight, as to why the jeans always remained there so low. Also, when I donned my new 'dirt-look' cultured denim jacket (not to mention it costed me a fortune), my dad soaked it in surf-exel for two nights straight before washing it clean with all his might, until the brown colour of it was replaced by no colour or almost white. While I did not realise that my jacket was missing, my dad was so proud of his washing ability that could have given any washing-machine worth its price a run for its money. When he mouthed a string of (un-wanted) advice on how I should wash my clothes more often and I realised what the context was, I could have shouted my guts out in horror... because my priceless jacket which I had even hardly worn no longer looked its worth...

When I went home again once, with my newly acquired tan and permed hair, my folks thought I was dating an afro-american, not a south-indian. "Or was it the South-Indian's influence for my new look?" they asked. I couldn't convince them that it was my choice, not his. Yet again, when I did the poker-straight-sleek look, my ma lost her sleep imagining me losing all my hair and going bald one fine day. Next, when I tried the 'out-of-bed' look, my (then) boyfriend's parents sympathised with how much work I might have had to do or how little I might have earned, so as not to be able to take proper care of my hair. They tried to help and suggested oil-therapy atleast twice a week with genuine coconut hair-oil, especially brought in from Kerala...
With tassels, funky belts, chains, wristbands, broad-netted hairbands and pointed boots to my credit, the reactions evoked were so much more interesting! A colleague of mine said that my feet... actually my boots (which were so new at that time that I was the only one wearing them, atleast at my workplace... some two years back) looked like a witch's feet. So much for my custom-made boots with the exclusive 4-inch heel, made to order from the downloaded print of an international footwear website.
Right after my Goa trip, I went home sporting my hippie-boho-look. The concept was as alien to them as 'walking a mile-crossing the river-to school' was for me. So when I wore my handkerchief skirts at home or a shirt-kurti over the traditional 'mekhela-chaadar' for a family function, I wasn't surprised when my ma sported a 'this is satan's spawn, not mine' look.

The last time when I was annoyed to a great extent, was when I bagged an assignment for 'Schwarzkopf' the famous German hair product company. A German expert was flown in who gave me a new look with a nice style and coloured some parts of my hair, mostly hi-lighting at appropriate areas (the same look is seen in my profile picture with the red-tshirt on). When I walked into my workplace after my assignment was over, most of my colleagues were seen emitting muffled reactions. Only a few liked the look and some were blunt enough to say that it was looking 'horrible'. But that was a part of my assignment with an international client and they paid me... good. And most importantly, I liked it on me. Still sporting the Schwarzkopf-look, when I went home in April with expected reaction, my parents had a problem this time because they thought I now looked younger than my age. Till that time I thought it was a good thing to look younger than one's age (especially when you are on the wrong side of your 20's and still happily single). But my parents explained that if I looked younger, I'd be approached by younger guys for marriage, which is again not a very commonly accepted phenomenon in case of an arranged-marriage.

After the initial gnashing of teeth, swearing under my breath with clenched teeth and listening to the boring lectures from dad and prayers from my ma (as always) to let this be the last time, I tried patiently to explain to them why they need to let me be myself. I talked about my individuality, my modelling needs, women's lib and what not. When everything failed, I reversed the game. I mentioned how I do not grudge them their need to dye their silver strands into jet-black.. how inspite of me suggesting them co-ordinated clothes for a social-do, they would still wear what they fancied... that, it was them who taught me to assert my choices and decisions... And oh! How I simply controlled my urge to laugh out loud when one of our rich relatives tried to understand fashion and bought me a oh-so-bollywoodish 'Bunty-Babli' salwar-piece with 'gota-patti' sequins and dollops of colours and frills...

While all of these debates and convincing can be thoroughly time-and-energy-consuming, they are thoroughly amusing as well, atleast for me. All these debates contribute majorly to my eventful and action-packed 3, max 4days stay at home whenever I visit. But deep in my heart I know, whoever I am or whatever I wear, whether the world accepts me or not, my family and my circle of the closest friends, still will. That's love (for the real me)... that's trust (a belief that I'd never really cross the line)... that's family (who are the closest and most dearest to my heart)...

PATIENTLY WAITING FOR A TRAGEDY

Ma called up today morning at about 9-ish. It was unusual as I spoke to her yesterday only. And from the little quiver in her voice when she spoke, I could make out there was something wrong. My sleep vanished instantly and I sat up to listen to her carefully. She started with her usual, "Are you still sleeping? Its past 9am..." bit. (That's mid-day for her and dawn for me)

Then she came to the real point and it hit me hard... Planetary positions may trigger an earthquake in Assam tomorrow at around 8am. Its magnitude to expected to be of 8.5 by the Richter Scale, which is of a great intensity... almost that of the Tsunami...

For a moment I felt like losing consciousness but ma still kept on talking about their plans.... how she plans to cook everyone's favourite for tonight's dinner at home (just in case...), how she would go to her yoga classes tomorrow morning at 5 and then coming back she plans to make breakfast sooner than usual and if in case the earthquake doesn't happen, what she plans to buy as a gift for our neighbour Dutta-aunty's new-born grand-child...

Just after hearing this much I could not register anything else in my head, the rest was all blabber. My whole thought-process froze and I got nervous... I still am. I asked them to just start off for here right away. But she would not listen. Neither would my dad or my sisters. They would just wait there and be prepared to face come what may. Scenes from the movie TITANIC keep flashing by infront of me and in my mind.... how they all embrace death when they are caught in that sinking ship. What do you feel and how can you prepare for such a natural destruction? I don't know. But I can only pray that a miracle happens and prevents this earthquake from taking place. Amen!

FINALLY I'M GLUED TO THE IDIOT-BOX

For the last seven years of my living in Delhi, I have been very proud of the fact that I could survive all these years without a TV. I have been living in all kind of odd places, varying from hostels to PG accomodations and rented places and though at times I felt that having a TV would have been nice, but never have I felt the dire necessity of absolutely owning one. This is because I am a very outdoor person and don't stay at home much. I'm always on the go.

My day starts early with an hour's swimming after which I come home to have a good healthy breakfast, have a shower, wash up and read the newspaper. If there is something very important (like an assignment or an audition), I try to finish off that chore before I leave for office at around 12:30-ish. I start work at 1:30pm and end at 10:30pm, after which I reach back home at about 11:30-ish. After freshning up I usually read a book/magazine or write something or paint or talk on the mobile or sms-chat. During the weekends I usually catch up all the new movies in the nearby cinemas, thus contributing my loyal share to the sale of the tickets of these multiplexes or better still, go shopping till I'm totally pennyless... but then, that's when the credit-cards come handy. Weekends are also the days when I usually fix up my shoot dates or meet up with friends and cousins.

My friends and my folks got sick and tired of telling me time and again, in all these years to get myself a TV, but I wouldn't relent. My friends thought I was too stingy to buy a TV, whereas what bothered my parents was my spending all my weekends (and money) at the theatres. What nobody understood, was that I knew--if I got a TV, I'd be totally glued to it and leave everything else... and this was not my imagination... I know myself too well. So, when my father sent me a TV (from Assam), as a birthday gift last month without even letting me know till a day before it was supposed to reach here, I was not very amused. 'Cause that was a little too much. Obviously the cost of the courier must have been atleast at par (if not more) with the cost of the TV itself. But I didn't want to dissappoint him so I saved all my reasonings and debates which would not get me anywhere, anyway.

So even after I received the TV in one-piece and all intact, I was not happy or eager to put it up. It just lied around in the carton in which it was sent, in my verandah. I was too lazy or mostly reluctant to get it out of the pack as I could not decide on a place to keep it in. More than that, I did not want to be glued to it losing out on all my time dedicated to my other hobbies. So I kept ignoring it day after day.

My dad was disheartened when I came up with all kinds of excuses that ranged from 'I couldn't find a stand, and/or an electrician to put it up for me', 'its packed up too tight for me to open it single-handedly', 'the TV-stands/clips available in the neighbourhood market are too costly'. But then he suggested sending a TV-stand from Assam by courier again, and of-course the emotional blackmailing that my ma is so good with, did the trick. Last sunday, when I couldn't take it any more, and I did not have any shoot or audition or any good movie running in the theatres and most importantly, no money, I got a stand fixed on the wall and put up the TV. Finally! almost two-weeks after I received it. The cable was already in place as the last tenant who occupied the place before me, never got it disconnected when she left the place.

So, there it stands now, looking at me from its place as soon as I enter my room and as soon as I wake up, with its longing face... as if asking me to put it on and watch it... like a lover who never wants me to leave it. And I fall in its trap everyday... inspite of knowing that its a trap. Even if I don't want to, I still give my full time and attention to it... like a lover who's into a new relationship... ignoring all the old faithful friends... my books, my paints, sometimes even the newspaper, phone calls and my swimming classes, who wait for me ever so patiently, to attend to them too. And I don't like it. But I can't help it...

I don't know how much time it'll take before my TV understands that I can't be wholly and solely possessed by it and I'll need to share my time with it along with my other friends, but till then, I can't think of any way to make it and myself understand... Thanks Dad!

MY ALL TIME FAVOURITE POEM...

I read this poem a long time ago in a Reader's Digest edition. From then on I have always remembered it...as THE WHITE ROSE is my favourite flower... Today I found it in Google search. Here it is for all to read... See the simplicity of the poem and the beauty of the lines...

A White Rose by John Boyle O'Reilly (1844–1890)

THE red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O' the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

WHAT YOU DO MIND

(Celebrating the 59th Independence Day.......on a lighter vein)

Come morning and the sky begins to shed its silvery-grey mantle and clothes itself in a pleasant salmon-pink hue and the gentle, teasing breeze tiptoes its way through the sleeping neighbourhood, right upto your bedroom, to make it a little less than comfortable with both the cooler and the fan on full speed. So you have to pull up that 'endi-sheet' to get cozy and continue with that oh-so-pleasant dream that you dont want to end. Just then the crass cacophony of the neighbourhood dogs, roosters, children and grown-ups wakes you up and after checking the time with a squinted half-open eye, you groan : "What the @#*& ! Its only as early as seven in the morning. Why is everyone up so early today? What a way to start the day ?!" But then you remember, today is the 59th year of India's independence. They are being good sports carrying on the tradition of flying kites and showing it their way of celebrating the day. You don't mind.

You try to sleep back again and after vaguely remembering whether you actually could sleep back or not, you jump-start your day with a little exercise and a cup of black tea, as the alarm goes off at 10:00 hrs. After all, its a working day for you, as you work for a UK based call centre. And as you'll be compensated for the day with a day's salary and a comp. off, you dont mind.

Then, when you have to make do with a boring low-fat, low-calorie brown-bread-sandwich breakfast, you dont mind...it's the way to be...fit and healthy. Above all, its the 15th today and exactly the middle of the month and keeping in mind the already deteriorating bank balance (all thanks to the oh-so-irresistible SALE season and all those new movie releases), it will be a challenge to make ends meet decently till the month ends. You check the time again and shift interest between watching the neighbourhood children fly kites from your balcony and/or choosing what to wear to the work place today. Its a tuesday, dress code is ethnic wear and something possibly to give the tri-color a close competition. You really don't mind as such situations come only twice (Republic Day & Independence Day), may be thrice a year (if Gandhi-jayanti is also a working day). You take your shower and dress up, getting ready for work.

After half an hour past the usual cab-arrival time, it seems like an interminable wait for the cab to arrive, you try to keep your cool as you shuffle calls from your mobile to the company transport, to your team-leader and your colleagues in the same cab to find out the status of your cab's arrival. However, your collective hope is belied as it is almost login time and the cab still hasn't arrived. Just then, a transport supervisor calls you to give you a 'token number' and asks you to reach office on your own. You don't mind. After all, it will get re-imbursed, even though it might take a couple of weeks...a month...or a year at the most...

You reach the nearest auto-cum-taxi stand and ask the only 'available' auto-driver and when he demands almost double the normal fare plus toll-charges extra without batting an eyelid and refuses to budge an inch, you don't mind. It is a national holiday today and the poor guy has to earn that extra to make both ends meet. So what if he fleeces you in the process. If he doesn't maybe someone else will. But as you try to step into the vehicle, he suddenly seem to change his mind, as he remembers there might be a problem due to the delhi-noida borders being sealed. Just as you are in a fix and thinking fast on how to tackle the situation, there is a call from transport department again, saying they are arranging for a cab, after all. That, you certainly don't mind.

The cab finally arrives, picks you up and the minutes tick by as you're caught in an infernal traffic jam, and men, animals (read COWS) and vehicles snarl at each other just at the Ashram red-light as the toll-road begins. Just as you heave a sigh of relief on being able to inch forward, you're pushed back to the sidelines. Some V.I.P. and his entourage fly past, sirens wailing. You honestly don't mind, for he may well be on his way to innaugurate some building or flyover, which may/may not see the light of the day.

After the countless number of people being picked up from Noida and a short nap in the cab, you finally reach office at 14:30hrs..exactly an hour later than your log-in time. At work, you find everyone discussing the need to do something about the transport system. But you don't mind that either. So what's new? Which department or which organisation after all, is perfect? You only hope things get better soon. Time for another external-audit survey, maybe. As you settle down to start your work, marking your downtime for being late, and signing the PSB (pre-shift-briefing), you discover that the software you work on(read EVOLVE) refuse to function. There seems to be a SIEBEL ERROR (technology downtime)and nobody has been able to start work as yet. You certainly don't mind. After all, this is a technical shortcoming happening from the UK for all the processes and the IT-team is definitely working to get it up and running soon.... :-((

22:30 hrs, the day's work done with adequate downtime, breaktime, tea, coffee, cigarettes, meals, bay-decorating and some calls, too, its log-off time now. But easier said than done, the same old rigmarole of hunting down the right cab from the other building, starts all over. Once inside the cab, you find yourself precariously positioned between colleagues breathing down your neck, literally and otherwise, as there have been a few allignments, in addition to the maximum people who can actually fit in comfortably. You ignore the foot that is comfortably placed on yours or the elbow sticking onto your head, for all of you are sailing in the same boat...er, cab. Actually its much the same what with the roads being what they are and the driver driving the way he does.

A grand suffering later, again dropping the endless people in Noida and at all odd places on the way, you find yourself back on terra firma. Never mind, if you look like a slightly dishevelled genie, who has met a storm on the way. But the minute you step into your room with the fond hope of a leisurely aromatic bath, followed by reading that book you have been planning for ages now, with a chilled glass of juice, some crunchies and a cigarette, the electricity goes off.

NOW THAT YOU CERTAINLY MIND!

A TASTE OF LIFE FROM THE NORTH-EAST

“Catch a dog, kill it, roast it and eat it, and what you have is a north-east delicacy” , a colleague from North India once remarked jovially. While I was shocked and offended at her ignorance about north-eastern delicacies, I was also made to understand in my tenure of seven-years in Delhi, that just like their topographical beauty, the gastronomic fare of the seven sister-states remain by and large hidden from the rest of the country. Of course, food from the north-east is much more than just dog’s meat---it boasts exotic delicacies that are not a part of the mainstream Indian Fare. The rest of India knows very little about the people and cuisine of North-east India: Assam, Nagaland, Manipur, Mizoram, Meghalaya, Tripura and Arunachal Pradesh. (Though Sikkim is considered a part of the North-east, it is not yet officially declared a member state by the govt. of India). This segregation has more to do with lack of marketing than inadequacies in the cuisine itself. Also you need an acquired taste to enjoy this cuisine. So, these delicacies continue to be prepared and appreciated only within the confines of the North-east.

The dishes of the North-east are not laced with oil and spices, yet they are delicious, and the use of the locally grown aromatic herbs, make them nutritious as well as exotic. They are light, healthy and easy to prepare. In fact, simplicity is the hallmark of north-eastern cuisine. The basic components of a north-eastern meal are steamed/boiled rice, accompanied by a gravy-based fish or meat/chicken dish, a green-herb chutney washed down with a soup of boiled vegetables. The best way to relish a northeastern meal is to eat it with your hand, (though the new generation uses spoons and forks) . Unlike the oily rich food in some other parts of India, which cannot be had again, you keep coming back to the simple fare of the north-east.

There are differences in the items consumed and in the preparation of the food, based on religion and culture among the people of the north east . The tribes that are not influenced by Hinduism, relish red-meat & pork while the hindu communities like ‘Axomiyas’ of Assam eat fish, chicken, ducks and mutton, and the ‘Meities’ of Manipur eat fish at the very most. The people of the predominantly Christian states such as Nagaland, Mizoram, Meghalaya and about forty percent of the Manipuris, do not have any religious restrictions in their diet . Tribes like the ‘bodos’ of Assam consider a meal incomplete without pork and the tribes of Tripura must have fermented fish to complete their meal. The style of cooking also differs from one state to another in the North-east. Each of the sixteen naga-tribes, for instance, boasts of a distinct delicacy. The ‘angamis’ cook a chunky meat-dish with raja mircha (jungle chillies) and a paste of ginger and garlic. While the ‘ao tribe’ uses little small green round chillies smaller than peas when they make their chutneys. This ensures that the meal will be good. The ‘Tangkhul’ nagas of Manipur are so fond of pork that they have a special earthen pot called ‘hampi’to cook it, which imparts a unique flavour. Some tribes like the ‘himar’of Manipur and ‘garo’of Meghalaya are known for their love for chillies and tangal (indegenous soda). The ‘axomiyas’ of Assam relish fish curry in a tangy flavour, which is cooked with gourd and tomatoes, garnished with coriander and lime juice. They also use unripe papaya and 'khar'(an alkaline liquid made by burning the dried trunk of a banana tree) to enhance the flavour of duck-meat. Potato is used as a thickening ingredient in chicken and mutton curries. Except for the ‘meiteis’ of Manipur, who rustle up a delicious fish curry using oil and spices, the non-vegetarian dishes are rarely cooked with too much oil or spices. Pork or chicken cooked with bamboo-shoot and akhuni (fermented soyabean) is very popular amongst most of the north-eastern tribes. Chilli powder, ginger, garlic and garden-fresh turmeric, mint-leaves and holy-basil are widely used ingredients as flavouring agents, along with fermented fish, soya-beans and bamboo-shoots (known in different regions by different names). Green leafy vegetables are seldom cut with a knife in the native villages. They are torn or shredded by hand, as it is believed that a knife spoils the taste. Also, when boiling vegetables, they do not cover the pan, in order to retain the natural colours. Sometimes these greens and vegetables are cooked ‘al dente’(semi raw), which adds to the flavour and nutrient value.

A typical north-eastern kitchen is very spacious. In olden days, people entertained their guests in the kitchens. Most of the hill tribes are great meat eaters. Chicken, pigs, cows, goats, ducks and fishes are reared at most village homes for consumption. To make sure they never run out of meat, almost every kitchen in the north-east, especially in the hilly states, stocks dry meat. Wedding ceremonies and religious functions are the best occasions to sample traditional dishes. At the weddings among most of the tribes, it is almost customary to serve as many non-vegetarian dishes as possible.

A north-eastern meal is quick to cook and does not involve elaborate preparations. It is served with all dishes placed on the table at the time of dining, rather than in courses. The dessert, of course, comes at the end of the meal, but it is not served daily, and only during special feasts. Though milk-rice-kheer(paayox), coconut laddoos(naarikol-laaru), rice pancakes stuffed with sweetened coconut gratings (pitha), sesame-jaggery stuffed pancakes and sesame-jaggery laddoos (til-pitha and tilor-laaru) are some of the festive sweet dishes in Assam, when it comes to sweets, the people of north-east cannot match their counterparts from the rest of India. They do not necessarily round off their meals with sweets. While they enjoy sweets, they'd rather prefer the natural flavor of fruits. Almost every home owns a banana, a guava, or a mango tree, so they are seldom bought from the market. Seasonal fruits such as papaya, pineapple, guava, mango, jackfruit, peach, lychee, jamun and pomegranate, usually complete the meals.

With rice taking the centrestage of the meal, and the abundant use of fresh vegetables, leafy greens, herbs and fruits, supplemented by meat or fish, north-east cooking is high on nutritional value, less on calories, and is actually a high-fibre diet. Experts correlate this diet with low rate of cancer in the people of this region. The north-eastern women are also known for their exotic ageless looks with clear baby-soft skins and lustrous tresses. A north-eastern meal is always balanced and for every spicy dish there is a bland one. Among the hill tribes, no meal is complete without plain boiled vegetables, to go with the more spicy dishes. It is the soup of these boiled vegetables that gives the tribes men the strength to climb the lofty mountains and walk the miles to their fields.

In this age of health freaks and diet watchers, the answer to most problems is a low-calorie high-fiber diet which is what north-east cuisine is all about.

Often, we find the Tibetan momos and 'indianised' greasy-spicy chowmein being consumed by some North-Indians, associating them with northeastern or chinese food. But in reality, there are some local vendors who are just cashing in on these borrowed items in the name of northeastern or chinese food, while experimenting with the traditional dishes adding oils and spices to their own whimps and fancies.

But I believe, it wont be very long before the northeastern flavors start getting popular. Northeastern cuisine is just waiting to be discovered and this article (most detailing of which has been taken from the preface of a book I once read, about some north-eastern recipes...i don't remember the writer's name) is just an attempt to introduce the flavors of my native place to the readers of this blog.

BE SELFISH in LOVE !

on Love... from a slightly different viewpoint...

Who comes first, YOU or YOUR RELATIONSHIP? Answering -THE RELATIONSHIP- may sound the only appropriate answer with a deep sense of love, loyalty and commitment... but it would be a very unhealthy answer, for sure. If you do not seem to agree, just think over it again... Isn't it true that only when you can honor and love yourself first, that the relationship can be a truly loving one and not one based on need, dependency, fear or insecurities? Only when each partner comes to a relationship whole and complete, the relationship is healthy. That relationship becomes an enhancement of your life and not life itself.

Still not convinced? Just think. When flying on an airplane, ever wondered why the flight announcer tells you to put on your own oxygen mask first, before you help your child, in case of an emergency? Seems selfish, doesn't it? Because we have been taught from our very childhood, that the ultimate in love is to sacrifice. Then why do these airlines tell us to save ourselves first? There is definitely a practical and more sensible reason to it, as against the preaching from our school-time moral science lessons. Think about it. How can you save someone else, for that matter your own child or spouse or anyone else so dear, when you're either unconscious or worse still- dead?

Love is similar to that air mask. We can't love fully and wholly unless we love ourselves first. If we strap that air mask on, good and tight, we can love an endless amount. If we don't love ourselves first, we would have no love to give. If we truly put ourselves first in love, nurture our souls and hearts, honor what we want, and make our happiness of the heart and peace of the mind the number one priority, we are better equipped to love others... love deeper.

Again, we ought to know exactly what we want in love. Today, the definition of love is not the same as it used to be. People are more materialistic, conveniently termed more 'practical'. Today, when a relationship starts, most of the times the word LOVE does not come into the picture at all... as if it is associated with some kind of fear of committment. Most of the times its an unsaid 'understood' term for later convenience. But why the pretence? If we do not want to be in a relationship, we should not force ourselves to be in it, just out of any kind of obligation-be it sex or social pressure. It would just make everyone in the relationship unhappy and do no justice to anyone. It is better to be single than to be in a relationship which is incomplete, makes both the partners unhappy and hurts everyone else involved.

...because love is an emotion, a feeling, a wanting and a being, which should make us and everybody else, feel good. An unhappy mother cannot raise happy children. An unhappy husband will never be able to keep his wife or children happy. An unhappy boss can never motivate his subordinates enough to get good work out of them. An unhappy lover will always break the relationship than blooming it into a beautiful one. If children choose careers just because their parents wanted them to and not because of their own passion, they can never excel in their careers. We love others to the degree we love ourselves. So before entering into any kind of relationship or taking onto any commitment of a new or existing relationship, we ought to make ourselves happy first. Only then can we work at our relationships... be it with friends, parents, children, lovers, spouses, friends, colleagues or anyone else. Only then, our lives would be different... healthier, happier and more meaningful...

PLEASE FORGIVE....

Please forgive me for still crying for you at times,
and I'll forgive you for not being bothered.

Forgive me for missing you so,
and I'll forgive you for not letting me know if you do.

Forgive me for the loud racing of my heart when your name is mentioned,
and I'll forgive you for not hearing it from so far away.

You forgive me for playing your games now,
and I'll forgive you for once toying with my emotions.

Forgive me for once being so dedicated to you,
and I'll forgive you for cheating on me.

Forgive me for putting you up so high,
and I'll forgive you for letting me down.

Please forgive me for wanting to be with you,
and I'll forgive you for letting me go.

Forgive me for believing in the hopes and dreams you've shown me,
and I'll forgive you for crushing them...

As they say, forgiveness brings inner peace
So, I've forgiven you, my love...
Have you forgiven yourself yet ?!

I FELL IN LOVE ALL OVER AGAIN

As the year 2005 was about to end with the advent of the new year 2006, I fell in love… though ‘strangely’ this time with a place, not any person… while living amongst strangers… a place I had never been to before… GOA. It was a totally unplanned trip. I had it in my mind all the time but I couldn’t just figure out how. And then, the next thing I know, I was in Goa, instead of being at my home, for my Christmas and New Year’s vacation. The first time I was on my own, far away from the comfort-zone of my loving friends, folks, relatives and my not-so-long-lost lover, on Christmas eve. Confusing? But then, that’s just me. I preferred to travel alone this time as I had broken off with my boyfriend of four-years, for good.
I have a duffel bag into which I threw my essentials in a jiffy, my photo-identity proof and papers, bought myself a ticket to Goa and I was in a ‘to go’ mode. Clutching my very heavy bag (being a cancerian, I have a tendency to want to carry everthing while traveling), I got into the train. I instantly made friends with two Indian girls from Delhi (both first-timers like myself) and two Austrians (the been-there-done-that duo), all of us been thrown in the same ladies’ coupe. And then, it was all non-stop girlie talks-discussing everything from books, bikinis to naval-piercings. I handed out yoga and reiki tips to the foreign travellers, in exchange of which they offered me suggestions on which beaches were the most ‘happening’ ones, the cost-effective ones and THE best ones to be on. I got out of the train at Thivim while the others had to get down at Margaon, and I headed straight towards North-goa, where there was enough action for a life-altering experience and more, as suggested by my ‘Firang’ friends from the train.

The first thing I noticed there in Goa, was that no one noticed me or paid any heed. Now, I know I am no head-stopper drop-dead-gorgeous-looking Babe, especially after travelling in the train for about 30hrs. But having lived in Delhi for the past seven years, I was so used to the discomforting stares and the up-and-down surveys of most men (regardless of their age, stature or educational background), especially when you’re alone, unescorted. But there, suddenly in a strange city, amongst strangers, I was free of the age-old habit of constant vigilance, and everywhere there I got away without a local even batting an eyelid. In Goa, no one just bothers who you are, where you are from or what you are doing. And I was swept off my feet at once. The colours, the sound, the energy, the delicious Goan sea-food (and I have no food allergies, thanks be), the hottest swanky night clubs, the endless beach shacks, from rave parties to genteel live entertainment, acid-trips, street shops, tattoo-artists, North-Goa throbs with activity that could make your head spin, depending on how many feni-shots you’ve gulped down by the end of the night.
I fell in love with the freedom that came here with sheer anonymity. The varied cultures and the simplicity of the locals, took my breath away. While the Goans are traditionally ‘susegad’ (laid-back) in their attitude, and mind you, you won’t get breakfast there at 7am and dinner after 11pm and almost all shops close sharp at 1pm for lunch and the afternoon siesta, but then again, who wakes up at 7am in Goa, especially for breakfast?
I spent my Christmas evening with jazz and retro rock blues at the ‘Souza-Lobo’, an open-air restaurant at the Calangute Beach which had authentic goan food and ‘live’ music by a handsome goan-born internationally renowned singer, while my New Year’s eve was spent swaying the night away to the psychedelic and techno trance and house music (by DJs from India and Israel) at ‘Club Paradiso’ and ‘Hill Top’ at the Anjuna Beach. Here, the party doesn’t end even as the sun comes up. ‘Club Paradiso’ has amazing fireworks at mid-night as the clock strikes 00:00 hrs to a brand New Year and ‘Hill Top’ is an open-air new-age hippie’s answer to alternative clubbing. Getting to and back from the clubs were relatively easy, as taxis were available at all hours of the night, though horrendously expensive. Women partying without escorts are seldom harassed there, almost never heard of… but then, in Goa you are never unescorted. ‘Club Tito’s’ at the Baga Beach and ‘Club Cabana’ at the Arpora Beach, were the other hot clubs I covered in my nocturnal hunts on the other nights. They had funky music and in-house as well as guest DJs spinning great tracks.

In Goa, you feel hungry almost after very half-an-hour. It must be something in the hash-induced sea-air and sunshine. In the daytime, besides hogging on the mouth-watering local cuisines of prawns-curry rice, mackerels, king-fish, tiger-prawns and crab-dishes washed down with port-wine or feni, I took time out to go street-shopping for beach-wear and junk-jewellery at the Wednesday Anjuna flea-market, bought port-wine, giant cashews, feni, goan-sausages and home-made prawn-balchau from the Friday market at Mapusa and souvenirs from the Saturday night market at Arpora.

I fell in love with the spirit of life there… the largeness of the vast, vast Arabian Sea, with beaches where I could get lost… where I wanted to be alone, but could never be lonely… where I could smile at strangers, accept a dinner date from the cute Italian who occupied the beach-cottage-room opposite mine at Anjuna or go club-hopping with the Lebanese group from Dubai, without wondering if I would be raped or robbed or plainly taken wrong. It was cool to do drugs but equally as cool to say NO to it. Nobody would insist, persist or trap you into anything. It was a constant discovery all the time, be it taking a walk on an unknown beach early in the morning to see the sun come up, or learning to climb into a local bus with 50 people, in 30 seconds flat, striking up conversations making tentative new friends who would exchange life-stories till I reached my next destination. Or better still, I could just drink myself silly on all the cheap booze, lazying on the beach, ignoring the sun-tan, really working on absolutely doing nothing.

Then a few of my friends joined in for the last couple of days, when I had already had enough of the frenzy of the north. So, we then seeked respite to the more calm and romantic beaches of the legendary Donna-Paula and Miramar Beaches, a day before we were to return back to Delhi from Vasco.

There was something about Goa that left me refreshed even after the mere eight days that I spent there. I fell in love with it… head over heels… so much that I had to return again… by February end again, to attend the Carnivals (or Carnaval, as the locals call it there). This is the most vibrant and colourful of all Goan festivals, which offers four days of non-stop fun and feasting, from the 25th to the 28th of February every year. This time, I had one of my girl friends with me and it was all about the fun of travelling together, rooming together, enjoying new water-sports, trying out the delicious pork-sorpotel and mussels-fry, talking in low-voiced ‘assamese’ lingo so that no one understood our less-than-demure comments about the four hunks from Chandigarh in the train sharing the same coupe with us, or laughing together at the strange 'firang' who was jogging on the beach right under the bright afternoon sun at 2pm with a really drained-out-looking pup who he had 'adopted' after his wife left him. And it doubled our fun to watch Goa break out into a riot of colour, music, dance and lots of fun with massive and glittering ‘floats’ parade in Panjim, Margaon, Vasco and Mapusa (in that order), filling each town and village with street plays, traditional carnival dances, costume parties and fireworks at night.

Refreshed, I happily came back to my routine to the city where I live, to my friends, my colleagues, my workplace, to do my share of daily call-targets on the week-days and the fun-jobs on the weekends… everything I am familiar with, firmly placed back in their own places. It was like coming back home. But there was a difference. Now I’ve got a song on my lips, a smile in my eyes, a spring in my steps and a renewed zest to overcome every obstacle that comes by. I have now got a memory of the adventures I had, of the fun, the non-stop partying, the freedom I experienced, the discoveries I made, the people I met and all the delightful things I did. It made me realize the actual person I am (free-spirited) and the kind of person I’d like to be (a hippie)… and it makes me smile… it makes me feel like I’ve fallen in love all over again… with Goa. And mind you, once you get there, you’ll fall in love with it too. And then you will feel compelled to return to your beloved again and again and again… just like me!

DARLING DOGS can never be COOL CATS

The domestic cat has always been a contradiction to the term ‘pet’. Cats first purred their way into human hearts thousands of years ago, and have been our treasured companions and soul-mates ever since. No animal has ever developed such an intimate relationship with mankind, while at the same time, demanding and getting such independence of movement and action. Cats lead a double life. At home it is an overgrown kitten which needs attention from its human owners. Out on the roads, it is fully adult, its own boss and a free-living wild creature, alert and self-sufficient. By living both with other cats and with humans during its kitten-hood, the cat becomes attached to both world, and considers that it belongs to both the species. It may be a cat physically, but mentally it is both a feline and a human. But once it is fully adult however, most of its responses are feline ones, and it has only one major reaction to its owners—it treats them as pseudo-parents.
All this is rather different in case of the dog. For thousands of years, dogs have been cherished as devoted companions and exuberant playmates—their unconditional love, limitless affection and unwavering loyalty never fail to melt our hearts. The dog may be man’s best friend, but it is rarely allowed to go out on its own to wander from streets to gardens and off to the jungle. The obedient dog has to be taken out for a walk. The dog too sees its human owners as fake-parents, but it has an additional link.

To justify what I mean, I would like to quote the instances of the series of pets we have had back home, both from the canine as well as the feline societies.The earliest memories that I have of any of our pets is that of our adorable ‘Johnny’—a hairy local breed from Bhutan which looked more or less like a Lhasa Apso—all white hair with a few black patches on the back. He was brought home almost the same time I was born and we grew up together. I have memories of Johnny being a brat of a dog, who could be tamed only by my dad. But he was a ferocious hound to strangers and outsiders. He did not cause any harm to my new-born sister when she was brought in from the hospital after my ma’s delivery or even later after that. But he would never spare anyone unaccompanied by any of our family-members who would try to access our main door or the back one. He would often break loose out of his iron-chain clasp to scare beggars or street children who would stop by to steal fruits from our garden-trees within the compound of our house. As a child I had a very weak appetite, which resulted in me sneaking away my unfinished meals to Johnny on the sly, when not being watched by my parents or our caretaker, and he would gulp everything down as fast as he could. We were the perfect ‘partners in crime’. He was poisoned to death by someone in one of his usual chain-breaking-escapades to the neighborhood. He returned to die at my mother’s feet. He lived to be six.

After Johnny, my ma almost swore never to keep a pet again… except for a few ducks and hens on and off. She could never forget the pain of Johnny struggling to death in front of her. My Aita (granny) often told us stories about my ma being more of a cat-woman in her pre-marital days when she could not be separated from her pet cats. But we could never imagine having a cat as a pet. My dad was not found of cats and I hated them to the core of my heart. My younger sisters were of-course too indifferent to the idea. But as luck would have it, one fine day, a glossy jet-black cat (Ma named ‘Kalu’) took to visiting our home-ground on an almost-regular basis. But this cat was actually a ‘saint of a cat’, I admit. He was gentle and docile, never scratched, never stole and maintained decent distance, never trying to access into our house. He was almost a wild cat who preferred to hunt for his prey, but on a dry-day when he could not kill a mouse or a sparrow or anything else, he would come by, sit outside our kitchen window and meow to ma, demanding food. Kalu’s good nature amazed my dad and made me curious about his ‘cat-life’ beyond our kitchen window. His favorite amongst our home-made dishes prepared by ma was a fish-curry cooked in a special local herb, which has medicinal values. My ma was convinced that Kalu must have been her child in ‘their’ previous lives. One day Kalu mysteriously disappeared.

My ma was heart-broken, yet once again, but not for long. ‘Cause after a few days, maybe a few weeks, another jet-black cat, almost like Kalu, appeared all of a sudden. At first we all mistook it for Kalu and were happy and relieved that it would finally end my ma’s grief and mend her broken heart, but ma was the first and only one to notice that this cat was younger, slimmer and more elegant than our sturdy Kalu. It was a she-cat and her emerald-green eyes were scared and wild. She was at first a little scared to befriend us, but amazingly, she had all the good-natured-ness of Kalu, which of-course made ma calculate and establish that this cat must definitely be Kalu’s alleged daughter. We instantly named her ‘Kalu-jr’. She continued to visit us on and off like her ‘parent’ whenever she couldn’t get her day’s kill, and whenever she prized an extraordinary one, like a fancy-looking bird or a giant rat, she would bring it to the ground outside our kitchen window to show off her skills to ma.

Then what happened is far from what anyone can imagine. There must be the word-of-mouth culture practiced in the world of the wild too. Otherwise, why would an unfamiliar pregnant cat come to our compound and give birth to two identical golden-brown kittens, leaving them to my mother’s nursing and care. Ma, being the cat-woman she was, welcomed the beautiful new-born kittens gladly. She brought new feeding bottles and plates to feed the kittens. Within a few weeks, they grew up into cute, chubby golden-brown kittens. The naughty and lazy one (we suspected to be Garfield re-incarnated) was named ‘Tuku’ and his very opposite-natured twin brother with no cunningness of a cat was named ‘Babu’. Kalu-jr. took all this in a good spirit without any jealousy and played a very responsible elder-sister to both the kittens, in her infrequent visits for lunch or dinner. Tuku and Babu were the in-separable twins who grew up in our house as complete pets. They never went out to their feline society to experience real cat-lives. My ma was their only mother they knew. Both of them were drastically opposite in their natures. I adored Babu for his straight-forwardness of a dog and hated Tuku for his laziness and cunningness. On a couple of occasions, I even caught him trying to steal food from our kitchen. He was like a real cat which I hated. My ma and my sister adored and loved him for his catty habits. They would spoil him with all kind of pampering to make up for the punishments I would carry out on him. I never liked that grin (of revenge) on his fat lazy face.

Come the next mating season, another set of four kittens this time, for my ma to bring up. We were beginning to believe she would have to open up a nursery for kittens. She welcomed them too with open arms. Meanwhile, our response was swift and firm: No more cats! The lonesome four were not welcome by us and we gave ma a cold shoulder about the new kittens. Seeing everyone behave the way we did, ma suddenly lost interest in the new-born kittens too. She would give food to Kalu-jr., Tuku and Babu in their respective meal plates, but the new-born kittens remained hungry and homeless. Two of them died in about a couple of days and two of them survived. Kalu-jr. played her same sisterly-role, while Tuku-Babu remained indifferent. I was touched by the cute young things trying so hard to survive on love, play and tap-water. Alas I had to intervene. I stepped in and vouched to take them into the family. Ma agreed to keep them long enough for them to grow up just a little so that they are safe from scavenger birds or other enemies. Then they would have to go—no arguments.

These two kittens were totally different to look at. ‘Foxy’ had a thin pointy fox-like face and was of a reddish-brown color. The other one which had grey-black catty stripes, had a very beautiful face. We named her ‘Bhotokla’ (like a ‘Bhokot’- a pious saint). Both Foxy and Bhokotla must have somehow understood their situation. They seemed to study the other three cats and their interactions with us. When the other cats were aloof, these two were attentive. They came when their names were called, and would behave well. Finally persistence paid off and they were accepted as a family. Our family of five with the family of five cats. We separated when we sold off that property after a couple of years to move into our present property at the other end of the city.

After moving into our new home, my ma of-course missed her five children of cats. She even tried to find out about them from the family who bought our old place. They informed that the cats did not come around any more. Ma was just beginning to feel depressed again, when dad brought her a cute new-born pup, a local breed from Nagaland. She was distracted from the thoughts of her separated kittens and more concentrated on her new pet. She named him ‘Tuktuk’. Tuktuk was totally pampered and spoiled by ma. He never liked dad and was totally scared of him. On one occasion ma had to leave Tuktuk for a couple of days with dad, when she went to visit granny. Both dad and Tuktuk had a non-co-operation movement between them. Tuktuk refused to touch a morsel of food or even a drop of water till ma returned after a couple of days. This pup of ours had a funny fascination for crossing lanes, unattended. He was killed instantly when he came under a vehicle while crossing one of the neighborhood lanes. He was about six months old. That was about two years ago.

Last year in February, when we had gone to Arunachal Pradesh for a family holiday, ma fell in love with one of the three new-born pups of the dog of a roadside food-vendor. So, on our way back home, she bought the pup she had earlier set her eyes upon. This pup was a ball of black fur with light violet eyes. He was the strongest of the three pups. I felt bad to see the mother and the father dogs search frantically for their missing pup after it was quickly picked up and put into our car. But I knew ma would take better care of it than its own mother. Everybody said the pup would not live as the climate in Guwahati(my hometown) is much warmer than that of Arunachal. But he survived. We named him ‘Laddoo’. After we reached home, I washed it clean and got rid of its ticks and germs, as my 'vet' sis could not be bothered with anything related to animals...(she's the butt of all jokes for that). I fed him with biscuits softened in milk for him to swallow. He was a ball of fur on four feet who was overweight and would roll off the stairs when he tried to climb them down. I then had to leave him to my ma’s care and nursing and return to Delhi. When I went home in August, I was shocked to find that he has grown up to be the size of an Alsatian. My ma informed me that he was re-named 'Dhunu' (meaning 'good-looking' as he no longer resembled a 'laddoo'). He forgot me completely and barked at me ferociously but quietened down to swallow the toffee I had bribed him with, which he is generally not allowed. After I showered and changed, he refused to recognize me again, and I had to start the introduction session all over again. He is the dumbest of all dogs I’ve ever known. He chews on you when he likes you, but doesn’t know how to bite. The milkmaid and the fish-hawker are his best friends. He blocks the road when let out in the mornings, wanting to play with the passers-by thinking he is also a human, but does not befriend other dogs. His best friends are two black goats from the neighborhood. He is extremely jealous of kids or babies, especially the ones my ma picks up or cuddles with love. Every time he is angry with ma, he tears into tiny shreds leaves from the indoor-plant pots kept in our living room. Or swallows one of the tiny Ganeshji idols from the display table and then fall sick. He cannot stand the word ‘vitamin’. The situation of 'Dhunu' not recognising me remained the same even when I visited home again this April. I am convinced now that either he has no smelling power that dogs are so strong with,or that his memory is really poor. My sister has no clue on this whatsoever..

With a series of both feline and canine pets at home, I realized that cat-lovers tend to be rather different from dog-lovers, and as a rule, they have a stronger personality-bias towards independent thought and action. The argument will always go on—feline self-sufficiency and individualism versus canine friendship, loyalty and good-fellowship. But in reality, there are many people (like my ma) who enjoy equally the company of both cats and dogs. Nearly all of us have both feline and canine elements in our personalities. We have moods when we want to be alone and thoughtful and other times when we wish to be in the centre of a crowded party. But the fact remains that we humans have entered into a solemn contract with both cats and dogs and have developed an unwritten and unspoken pact of love and bonding with them.

THE TRUST OF LOVE

I walked down lazily to the 3Cs complex in front of ‘Westside’ in Central Market of Lajpat Nagar-II, New Delhi, feeling very confused. It was the morning of diwali-eve, some four years back. He called me up in the morning, asked me to meet him at about 11 o’clock in front of Westside for my Diwali shopping, mumbled something quickly about someone else also supposed to be there, and hung up. It had never been like that before. We had been in a one-year-old relationship by then, and whenever we needed to go, he would always pick me up from my place on his bike. This was the first time he was asking me to come down somewhere on my own….. never mind if its just a 5-minute walk from the other side of the ring-road, where I live. I felt there was something more to it and more strangely, something about the other person who was supposed to be there with us. I could sense something was being hidden from me and I hated that.Before even reaching there completely, from in front of 3Cs Cinema Complex entrance, I could see the love of my life, engaged in conversation with another woman. The woman’s back was turned towards me, facing him, and I could see that she was nicely dressed in a salwar-suit made out of rich south-silk with gold borders. Her long jet-black hair was braided and adorned with small white flower garland. The gold trinkets on her ears and gold bangles completed her look. She had a good shapely body, accentuated by the nicely cut salwar kameej, and was almost my height. Being slender with curves in the right places gave her an upper hand.I suddenly felt under-dressed, in my casual Tee, low-waist jeans and sandals with no make-up, no accessories and my wash-n-wear hair…. A thousand thoughts crossed my mind. I felt like turning back and running home for a quick change and magic-makeover. I was suddenly filled with inferiority-complex, jealousy and confusion, all at the same time. I did not know what to do next. And most importantly, who was SHE? I remembered him talk about his two ex-girlfriends from his school and college days, but neither of them had been South-Indians. So was this woman his new-found love or a fiancée-material that his parents might have chosen for him? But why had he brought her here? I became more and more jealous as I proceeded step by step towards them. After all, being a ‘cancerian’ I am an extremely possessive, clingy and jealous lover.He saw me approaching as he looked out at me out of the corner of his eye, and knew immediately that I would be extremely upset. He smiled... his usual mischievous dimpled smile, and kept talking, waiting to see what I would do. As I made my way over to them, the conversation was clear, though I did not understand a single word of it as they were speaking in ‘Malayalam’- a South-Indian language, spoken by the natives of Kerala. They laughed and she giggled. This made me even more furious and I quickened my steps until I finally reached them. As I was about to demand an explanation about who this woman was, she quickly turned around as if by instinct of my presence. Suddenly my anger was replaced by extreme guilt, nervousness and shamefulness, for what I saw in her face was an exact replica of him… only with a few silver hair surfacing her forehead and the vermilion-filled middle parting of her hair.He introduced her as his mom who had come to meet me for the first time and to do some shopping together, for diwali. And the whole thing was a part of the surprise package that was kept under wraps by both mother and son.
That whole day we laughed and ate and shopped, but the guilt of doubting my love and losing my trust on him, even for that tiny fraction of time, remained with me forever…

HAVE YOU EVER TALKED TO THE WIND ?

HAVE YOU EVER TALKED TO THE WIND ?

While driving along the toll-bridge
or on a highway bike-ride,
Have you ever talked to the wind ?

The wind is in love with you ….
She gushes at you with joy
just to play with your hair …

She breaks into so many pieces
just to shower you with a thousand kisses
She rushes from your left to your right ,
take a turn from behind your neck ,
and whispers your name in your ears a million times….

She moves away , pauses
and rushes back to touch you again……
…. and again……..

Have you ever talked to the wind ????

A SPACE OF MY OWN

Growing up is not easy… especially not with the complexities of living with an extended family, interacting with them 24 hours a day and yet craving for some personal space.During my teens, I remember this great desire for a pad of my own… where I could hibernate and escape from everything and everyone to be with my own self. Those days I was anything but this gregarious extrovert which I am now. Like all teens, I used to be extremely shy to confront people. And I could give anything at my possible capacity to anyone who would save me from this huge punishment of ‘socializing’ with so-called ‘guests’.It was easier said than done. For one, my ma never used to leave me alone. She would want me to come out, meet the guests and talk to them… talk sense, that is, while she prepared tea and eatables. Second, I had to share a room with my sister younger to me. So, most of the times when I headed for the room for some private moments, she would follow me straight into the room and try to protect her secret possessions or ‘treasures’ like crayons, stickers, stamps or comic books from my reach. At other times, she would blabber what prank her best friend played on the teacher they all hated or ask me if I liked that cute boy who has recently moved into our neighborhood, because she liked him too.Or worse still, compete with me in reading out our respective lessons aloud to insist that she is the better reader amongst the two of us. The result? We would both get tired and fall asleep before dinner at our reading tables and that made my ma lose her temper real bad. Fortunately, my dad was the only person who did not bother, as he was hardly at home, due to the nature of his job.I finally got some solitude I craved for, when my sister packed off to a hostel when she got through in the veterinary college situated in our neighboring state of Meghalaya. And hurray ! I finally had our room entirely to myself. But that was not for long. Her place was quickly taken up by my youngest sister who was growing up fast and trying to take guidance and inspiration from me. But that time you don’t realize the importance of such moments which you don’t get ever again in life. That time I used to find it such a bother when my youngest sister asked me to help her solve a math problem or to help her draw a village scene for her summer project. And whenever my other sister returned from her hostel to spend the weekend at home, we three had to hole up in that one room, fighting like cats and dogs or chatting up like long-lost friends throughout the whole night, which would drive my ma crazy either ways.When I look back to those days now, I realize that the concept of personal space probably did not even exist then and maybe that is the reason I have such a strong bond with both my sisters even though all the three of us are so different in nature and so far from each other now.It was only after I came to Delhi some six years ago, I felt the dire need to have a place of my own. At first when I was working part-time to earn my expenses for the Fashion Designing Course I was doing, I needed to live at a minimum expense. So I had to share rooms with different girls… which varied from the strict-motherly kinds to the stingy living-on-your-expense-parasite kinds. Then again there was this hygienically challenged kinds to the quarrelsome kinds. Yet again, the over-educated lawyer kinds or the student-kleptomaniac kinds. And most of the times than not, I had a tough time adjusting and catering to their natures and needs. Then I decided to stay as a PG with a Punjabi family, but had a tough time explaining my odd late night habits and the never-ending line of friends visiting at all hours of the day due to the designing projects.Slowly, after I completed my course and got a job as an assistant designer in one of the leading export houses, with a decent pay-package, I felt the need to move out of the ‘Family’ with whom I accommodated as a PG and to take up a room on rent to live on my own. And that’s when I realized what it means to have a space of my own. I could actually burrow into my room to do what I liked doing at any time of the day. Most of the times, I would just sit and stare into space, perfecting the arts of (day) dreaming or doing nothing. It kept the world out of my hair and I finally had good sleep at night. I experienced pure ‘nirvana’ once I closed the door to the rest of the world. A room for my own self, which also stood for my freedom… freedom of thought and action. It was the only place where I could ‘maro a sutta’ without anyone else finding out. It gave me creative ideas to design, paint, read, or jot down my thoughts. I could play my own music, at the volume I pleased (at reasonable hours of the day or night). I could keep things the way I wanted to, dress the way I felt like and stick the kind of posters I loved to drool over (read—a shirtless wet-n-wild John Abraham—drool…drool !!). It was a precious place for concentrated study to clear the designing papers to get the diploma or prepare for the numerous interviews that followed.Measuring it from all the sides and angles, after all these years I feel, in today’s world we all are under tremendous pressure from both within and outside the family. The pressures of family, siblings, room-mates, bosses, peers or job-targets can be quite over-struggling and can even sometimes throw a person out of gear. So, I vote for a single solitary place for each individual which we all need not necessarily a room, but a little space we can call our own. A place to unwind… a place we can be with our own selves without any pretence… a place to find our own identity… a piece of peace on earth !

NOSTALGIC 'NAAMTI'

My earliest memories of NAAMTI---a small village, located in the outskirts of Sibsagar (a small town in Upper Assam)---were the regular annual trips with my parents, either during my summer or winter vacations. My dad hails from 'Naamti' and I simply love the place.

As a child, I remember those countless winter nights of story-hearing sessions upon my grandfather's lap, wrapped up inside his warm 'endi'-shawl, between his arms and upon his knees, rocking along with him in his armchair, and falling asleep in that same position at night after dinner, carried to bed carefully later on by dad, without waking me up from my land of sweet dreams. In the cold evenings of those winter days, I would sometimes sit with my paternal aunt by the fireplace in the 'Dheki-Ghar' (a room with the big wooden rice-grinder, to separate rice from their cover-skin to be used for cooking or to be powdered), or go chasing fireflies with her in the summer evenings. Away from the somewhat busy, hectic and mechanical life of Guwahati (where my parents have settled down), Naamti is the place, which always gives solace to my heart.

Like most of the small places, Naamti used to have frequent load shedding, especially at night, those days. But there you would find this a blessing in disguise, because at such times, we all used to sit in the long open verandah at the stairs, with 'Aita' (my grandmother, who used to stay there alone after grandfather's death and after my aunt's marriage), and chat with her, enjoying the cool summer breeze, or listening to the distant sound of hundreds of unknown insects.

What has fascinated me most right from my very childhood, are the numerous fireflies that appear like glittering diamonds, in the dark attire of the night, to go with the twinkling starry night-sky. The big pond there, in the front-yard, is deep and is a large house for a variety of fishes. The caretaker--'Jogesh' (who has been serving the family right from his childhood days and grew up with my dad and his four elder brothers, two younger sisters and four cousins, like a part of the same family), is an adept fisherman, and he never returns without a prized catch, whenever we wanted to have fish-curry cooked by 'aita' in the traditional assamese style. He also used to take us to the paddy fields during the harvest time in our winter vacations, to gather crops and also to our favorite harvest (bonfire) festival.

Jogesh taught us the pleasures of climbing mango & lychee trees, careful of the huge red-ants, and how to devour the ripe fruits there, up on the tree itself. He also trained us how to recognise the various trees, their names, their importance, uses and their rarity and demand. I remember the countless adventurous trips that we took with 'Jogesh', with bamboo-sticks in hand, to drive away snakes and the innumerable practical knowledge that we gathered during these trips. As for instance, which leaves to rub against a poisonous insect bite, which herb to use as a mosquito repellent, how to get rid of a leech that has stuck to your feet in the paddy fields, or how to call out to the wild birds.

Naamti is a place, which gives indefinable serenity. The vast paddy fields (green in summer and yellow-ochre in winter), the quiet front and backyard ponds, the gentle cows with their calves, the smart and naughty monkeys with their cute antics, the paddy store-houses, the outstretched mango and litchi groves, the exotic wild orchids, the backyard vegetable garden, the dense bamboo groves, the melodious harmony in the chirpings of cuckoo and brain-fever birds, etc, never cease to give a healing touch to any disturbed mind.

Life is beautiful there--very simple, fascinating and so welcoming! As the years roll on, I find my emotional bond with Naamti becoming stronger and stronger. Maybe it has something to do with psychological and emotional factors. Whatever the cause, I pray that Naamti retains its charm, natural beauty, hospitality and charisma forever and develops in the field of availability of power supply.

Though Aita is no more today, Jogesh still continues faithfully to take care of our ancestral property there, with his wife and kid. One day, when I get married and have kids, I will definitely want them and their kids and the forthcoming generations, to know what a hidden treasure of natural beauty and resources Naamti holds in store. And what a paradise on earth, actually looks like…