14 March
2016
13 March
2016
Early morning time with dad…
Best time of the day – without any question. Sitting out with dad and having tea…
Finally dad took his first picture (of me) with an iPhone. He was very pleased with the output.
“Eta ki” (“What is this?”), he asked. I told him it is my phone. He still can’t believe that it is a phone.
Of course mom coming and saying “Etai abar raasta dekhiye niye jay” (“this also will help you find the roads” – referring to google maps) has not done anything to reduce the confusion!!
I am toying with showing off Siri now. Time for more tea!!! 🙂
12 March
2016
Fourth and final order of business…
Arguably a great part for me… made a couple of cocktails with vodka, mango juice and some spices.
Opted to drink in my sister’s house instead of climbing the terrace to avoid my parents walking in. It is pretty hot outside. We did lock my sister’s house from the inside.
After an hour, my brother abruptly left us and went upstairs. Apparently to try to see if he could change my dad’s mind about not going for a quick getaway with all family members. He came back and declared “He just won’t go.”. Meanwhile the nephews and niece started making a case that the getaway was for them too – not just their grandparents.
I am kind of easy on the semantics of these kind of things. I believe I have signed up to take my nephews and niece on a 2-day vacation – with or without the grandparents…
12 March
2016
Third order of business…
After soccer game and fuchkas, time to get the whole family together… Today’s two hour session discussions extended from Rubik’s cube to whether Finland is part of Scandanavia or not. (I learnt that it is not. In my defense, unlike others, I was aware Denmark is part of it). The finale was trying to take a self timer photo on my iPhone set up on two books on a stool next to the window sill… which you can see here…
12 March
2016
Second order of business …
Streetside Fuchka!!! (Also called golgappas or paanipuris)
Apologize for the picture quality. I was too engrossed in the deliciousness of fuchkas to realize what the nephews were doing with my phone. Also, I can, at times profusely sweat from my scalp in reaction to the sharp spicy hot taste of fuchkas. Hence the cap worn backwards in my head 🙂
12 March
2016
First order of business…
12 March
2016
Finally, here!!
12 March
2016
As always, the reception committee is there at the Kolkata Airport
Through all these years, never ever have these two young gentlemen failed to show up at the airport to welcome me. Kolkata will never be Kolkata for me if as soon as I get out of the airport, I am not hit by the oppressive heat, humidity that you can knife thru and the smiling faces of these two kids…
25 December
2015
Awww!! It broke her heart to learn that Santa Claus is not real :-(
I am not talking about my daughters. I am not talking of any of my nieces either. This is my seventy year old mom in India. During our early morning ritual – a phone call – today, she started arguing with me about Santa Claus. Much as I tried to explain to her that he is an imaginary character that parents tell their kids to deflect who got all the gifts, she steadfastly stood her ground that I had no idea what I was talking about. She felt I was getting confused because I forgot his real name – Nicholas!
“Ami bortoman-e porechhi onar asol naam Nikolas”. Apparently, a local Bengali newspaper is a lot more reliable source of information than her son of fifty summers. Not to mention half the stuff those local newspapers publish clearly have been picked from books found in the local library section visibly marked “Fiction”.
What absolutely took the cake – I mean literally – is when I had to tell her that cakes are not that big a thing during Christmas here. As an aside, anybody who has grown up around the parts of the country I did in India, exchanging Christmas cards and eating cake were the big highlights of any Christmas day. I come from a state where 30% of the population are Muslims and most of the rest Hindus. I grew up in a Christian school till tenth grade. Unlike the deep division in thoughts that I get exposed to today along the religious lines, life then, was all about celebrating all the religious festivals – regardless of which religion. Visiting the festively lit up parts of the neighborhood where Christians lived, buying Christmas cards and sending them to everybody and eating a whole lot of Christmas cakes was what Christmas always meant to us. Sometimes we would visit the well decorated local churches too.
But eating cake was a must. Against that backdrop, you can imagine the jaw dropping revelation that my mom was trying to process when I told her that cake is not that big a deal here. That was sacrilege to her. She finally but slowly gave her verdict which was basically suggesting that Christmas is really a British thing. Americans have not learnt about authentic Christmas yet 🙂
But for the mute button on the phone, I could have been in big trouble today. 🙂
She did agree on one thing before we parted – “Oi debdarur moto gachhta – ki jeno?” (referring to an indigenous coniferous looking tree). “Christmas tree”, I replied.
“Yes, Yes, Christmas tree… Christmas tree… I forgot”, she mused.
Score one for her fifty year old son!!! Take that “Bortoman”
8 November
2015
Marathon race – seen thru the eyes of my Indian parents
I had just finished my race, collected the aluminum foil, banana and the all important medal. After a few customary pictures from the authorities, I started walking towards a corner of the stadium to settle down. “Walking” is overstating it. The feet were hurting so much that I was more or less waddling like a penguin.
Found a sunny corner, wrapped the foil around me to keep myself warm and sat down slowly eating the banana and sipping water. Called up Sharmila, my mother and then my brother to let them know that I had finished my run. Sharmila and my brother, who are both runners, had the expected congratulatory and somewhat relieved responses. My mom, on the other hand, was a different story. Lest there be any doubt, let me clarify here and now that neither my mom nor my dad runs. And they are not particularly excited that a lot of family members run.
My mom’s first question was “how long did it take?”. Instead of complicating the answer with run time and gun time, I just told her over 5 hours. “Certificate dilo”? Pat came her followup question asking if I got a certificate. Now, you have to understand the Indian parent context here. Unless you got a certificate for doing something , in their mind, it is as good as not doing it. “Ki abar debey?”. I tried to make light of the situation by saying that “nothing much”.
“Tobu, ki dilo?”. She insisted on knowing what did I get at the end of the day. For a moment, I thought of explaining the advantages of aluminum foil and banana but I was too tired – so I just said “They gave a medal”. Silly me. I completely forgot that I was dealing with Indian parents. Medals trump certificates. Medal means you have come first, second or third. Before I could make any amends, she was talking loudly to my dad that I got a medal. I did not even get a chance to mention to her that the guys who came first, second and third could have run back to where we started from and they would have still finished earlier than me.
Consequently, I was accosted by my dad’s voice on the other side – “Bacchu, medal peyechho? Baah Baah. Ki rank holo?” He, of course, was profusely congratulating and then wanted to know what my rank was. I explained there is no rank-shank for me. I got a medal for finishing the race. “Maaney?”. He was was totally flummoxed. I told him that whoever successfully finished the race would get a medal.
He thought for a while and then said “Eta abaar ki?”. He basically trashed the whole idea. I asked him why he thought that way, rather peeved at this point. His classic answer – “Je porikkhatey bosley prize pa-o-a jaabey, se porikkhar kono mullyo hoy naaki?”. Apparently, if you get a prize for just sitting in a test, then that test has no value.
I told him I needed to talk to my brother 🙂
