I had just come out of an afternoon nap (since I come to India for a few days only, I do not even bother to try to get over jet lag – I sleep for three-four hours in afternoon and about the same at night) and stepped into the living room. In India, if you have an air conditioning at home, it is usually in the bedroom only. So, that makes for some good sleep for me. But when you come out of that room, it is like you cut through a whole room of heat and humidity to get to wherever you are trying to get to. For a person like me, who wears glasses, the “wherever you are trying to get to” is often a large approximation since the glasses get fogged up in about a nano-second.

I sat down on the chair, took my glasses out, wiped them with the corner of my shirt, put them back on and this was the sight I was hit with. My brother in law was calling somebody and my mother was rattling off something from what looked like a large brown piece of paper. Upon closer inspection, it actually looked like a large envelope.

My curiosity got the better of me. After she was done, I asked if I could have a look at the paper. It was indeed a large brown envelope. It had nothing inside of it. However, on both sides of the envelope, she had scribbled a lot of phone numbers. I realized that envelope was her contact list.

I followed her to the kitchen and had the obvious question. Why was she using an envelope instead of a notebook? Her answer was that she did not have that many phone numbers anyways and she did not want to waste a whole notebook for that!!! So, I offered to punch in all the numbers in her phone and keep them stored so she would not have to type them in every time. She immediately protested. Apparently that was getting too high tech for her. She wanted to be left alone with the envelope.

Fair enough, I said. But what if she lost the envelope – which she can be prone to. She agreed that she had no answer to that. I asked her to call me if that ever happened. I let her know that I have all those numbers in my contact list. She agreed that it was the best solution. I don’t think she stopped for a moment to wonder why do I have the phone number of the guy who delivers her milk every morning with me. What I really did was simply take pictures of both side of the envelope on my phone and saved it. I will have to send her two printouts when I get that call !!!

It was like those breakfast meetings we used to have in Atlanta when they visited us last year, except on Saturday it was in a restaurant we went out to in Durgapur. My mother in law kept getting distracted by the fact that there was an ex-minister in the restaurant too. Which soon led to an animated exchange of sharp opinions between my father in law and her (they come from affiliations of two opposing political parties). Which absolutely reminded me of the days from last year!!

It was good to see them again this time and spend some time on Friday and Saturday.

I have been doing this goodbye thing every three months for four years now. You would think that by now, I should know how to handle these moments well.

Well, you would be wrong as wrong can be.

This morning, as soon as the nephews woke up, I took them down and tried a few trick photographs. After being interrupted many times by bikes and dogs and pedestrians on the road, we got one shot that we liked. In case you were not aware, this is a simple trick in panoramic mode and does not involve any stitching or anything. Then we moved on to the real fun part. I asked them to show the picture to my dad and see what his reaction would be.

As you can imagine, his reaction ranged from hilarious to outright hysterical. It took him a few minutes to realize that the same picture had two instances of the elder grandkid. That is when his total confusion started. At one point he said “Jora lagiyechhis…” (“you have put them together”) and then quickly corrected himself .. “O! Eta to phone-y. Etey to aathha cholbey na” (“But this is a phone. Normal glue will not work here”).

He kept on staring at the picture and then came to the conclusion that one of the identical nephews is actually not the real one. We must have dressed up my niece to look like the elder nephew. To disprove that, the nephews enlarged the picture by zooming in and left no doubt that both were the original versions of the same nephew.

After about ten minutes he gave up. He handed the phone back with the comment “Aamar khabar-e kichhu missiye dili naaki?”. He asked if we had spiked his food in the morning (with alcohol or something). Which, I guessed, was his last refuge of explanation on why he was seeing “doubles” 🙂

It was house full last night. It was my third and last night at my dad’s place. The nephews had come over since their midterms just got over. The whole evening was total fun and commotion. A sample here:

One of the time tested routines for my dad when his grandkids get together is to sit with them and ask them random general knowledge questions. Somehow the kids really enjoy it. It does not work as well on my kids since my dad cannot understand their accent any ways. I remember how Nikita had taken fullest advantage of that once and after every time he would give out the answer to his own question, she would say very slowly and loudly “Yes, and that is what I said”. My dad, partially out of gullibility but mostly out of his pride that his little granddaughter from America was so smart would readily accept her statement.

Last evening, as you can see another such episode occurred. At point, my dad asked “Rishu, bolo to, gachh thekey ekta aam jodi porey jaay, kon deekey jaabey seta?”. (“If a mango falls from a tree, which direction would it go in – up or down?”. My youngest nephew, who was the subject of his question nailed the answer.

“Eta prothom ke dekhechiilen?”, he continued asking him. (“Who observed this first?”). He was obviously trying to teach him about gravity. However, my youngest nephew was not aware of all this. So, my dad asked his elder brother who answered it correctly – “Newton”. Well, technically, I am sure there are thousands and thousands of undocumented cases of human beings before Newton who had seen a mango fall, but this was one of those cases where you are expected to give the answer that the teacher expected, not necessarily what was technically correct.

And then came the kicker question – “Can you explain why?”. If my younger nephew did not know about Newton, there was very little chance that he understood gravity. But he was already smarting from the fact that his elder brother showed him up. So, he thought for a while. And then somewhat himself unconvinced – as you can see from his mischievous smile – he offered -“Keno? Aamra kuriye khaabo boley!” (“So that we can pick them up from the ground and eat them”) 🙂

Coming to think of it, he had a point there. It would be conceivably impossible to pick fruits off the ground and eat them if they started meandering away from the earth willy nilly after getting separated from the tree.

Class was dismissed following a loud guffaw from the granddad while he focused on telling the funny story to everybody who was getting near the porch we were sitting in.

One of the best times of the day when I am in my dad’s house is the early morning hours when we sit down in the porch watching the day break over uncountable cups of hot tea. Today was no exception. Other than the fact, we talked for a longer than normal time. So long that before we knew anything, breakfast was brought in by mom.

Now a Bengali mom’s breakfast for her son is not to be underestimated by any stretch of one’s imagination. It is a religion unto itself. The sheer rigmarole of preparing a host of dishes – which can be most aptly described as “Carbs R Us” – is daunting enough to wean away those that are weak of the heart. Which is rich in irony. Since that is pretty much what happens to your heart after you partake of a few of those equal parts deliciousness and equal parts cholesterol savories.

We Bengalis might be dark in skin color but you should check out the white in our food. Rice is white but you cannot have that for breakfast. No problems! We shall have puffed rice (“muri”). That “paratha”? Made from white flour fried in diesel errrr… refined oil. Same with the smaller rounder “luchi”. That yellow curry? “Aloor dum” – made from potatoes. That brown stuff? Fried potatoes! Even those juicy yummy dessert items are white “rosogollas”!!!

In any case, my dad and I continued talking thru the breakfast albeit at a far lesser speed. Did I mention that those smorgasbord of white stuff can be as tasty as anything you ever eaten in your life. And you certainly do not want to deprive yourself of the indulgence of going thru the experience by being constantly distracted with small talk.

Towards the end, my dad commented – “Ei je baar baar du din-er jonno aasis. Jiboner sukh dukkher katha boley bhalo laagey” (“I really enjoy talking about all the joys and woes of life every time you come and visit me – although for a few days”). I weighed in his comments. And let the big potato bite first melt in my mouth. Then I fired back “Tomar saathey abaar sukh dukhher katha ki? Sarakhhon to khali dukkher-i katha”. Basically, I took a dig at his always complaining about everything. (which by the way is something I have noticed in all elders in India sans a few).

He stopped chewing his food and gazed into the outside. He had a frown on his face and kept thinking. Then finally admitted that what I said is true. “Sotti, sob somoy dukhher golpo-i hoy”. A full quiet minute later, he asked “Aar sukh-i ba kotha?’ (“What is there to be happy about?”).

I could have launched into a philosophical debate of happiness being a state of mind but I was not in a mood to distract myself from the “fulko luchi” (again a fried bread made from white flour) that I had just laid my hands on. So, I pushed the initiative back to him “Tomar cheye sukh-e ke aachey?” (“Who has more reasons to be happy than you?”)

He was sensing that he might land up on the losing side if he let me control the questioning. So, his quick response as he wrapped up his breakfast was “Se tumi Ambani-r saathey golpo korleo dukkher katha-i bolbe”. He basically implied that if I chat with Ambani – the richest person in India – even he would be talking about his woes and problems!!

The speed of conversation had slowed down considerably. Perhaps with the exhaustion of having to eat so much food. Eventually the maid servant came and cleared out the plates. After she left, my dad had a few very kind words for the lady “Tor maa-er jonno khub korey. Ja bola hoy – taar chey onek besi korey”. Basically my dad was trying to say that the lady was very helpful to my mom (without which my mom could not have managed given her condition). He explained that the lady went beyond the call of duty in getting some things done.

The food was probably starting to digest quickly. Carbs have a way that way. I was starting to spoil for a fight. “Ei ja! Ekta sukher katha boley felley”. Basically I teased him that he had slipped and mentioned something that he should be very happy about.

He laughed out loud startling me (and also making me realize that he is in a much better shape now; I had not heard him laugh like that for almost a year) and said “Khub hoyeche Ja. Uthey por ebar”. He unceremoniously shooed me away 🙂

Familiar scene of every trip – saying Good Bye in front of my parents’ (and sister’s) residential building. This time my dad could not come downstairs. He wished us goodbye from his bed…

As reported back in July 2013, our (brother, brother in law and self) regular evening intake of OH molecules is forcibly moved to the top of the water tank on the roof of our parents’ building. Even if my parents did sneak up to the roof, they simply cannot scale the sides of the tank to get on top of it. Did I mention drinking alcohol is a taboo in our house? 🙂

Bowling to dad was the easy part. Now that he has returned a catch, which one of us is in charge of holding on to it?