7 June 2017

Five years back…

Exactly five years back, on this day, at this time, I was sitting with my dad in his house in Durgapur and had a funny conversation which I had posted in my blog that day.

Here is the repost…

P.S. The best translation of the last line might be “It works. But you might have to slap and kick it a little at first”.

More P.S. Before he left Durgapur, he donated the scooter to the guy who used to tend to our garden. For all you know, this thing is still plying on the road of Durgapur…

—-
Repost from Jun 7, 2012:
In an apt display of how the previous generations valued things (when money was tight), my dad has stuck with his first and only vehicle he ever bought. In 1977!!! The manufacturer does not exist any more!!! There is only one mechanic in town who is even willing to fix it.

The value of the scooter literally doubles every time he fills in petrol ๐Ÿ™‚ The ignition key, which comes out loose in all that rattle and ruckus during a ride is permanently chained to the scooter (see the photo carefully). Still, he refuses to give it up!!!

I actually took it out for a ride today. Before that, I asked him “Eta ekhono choley?” (does it still work?). He thought for a few moments and then reluctantly admitted “Choley. Kintu ektu maardhor korey chalatey hoy”. [i need some help from Bengali FB friends for the transliteration to do justice to his sense of humor]

30 May 2017

So”fa”, so good!

Sharmila and I came back home from dinner and found the two girls flat out in two sofas in the great room. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that the dog, not to be outdone, took a page right out of their books and was sleeping in the third sofa!!!

26 May 2017

Samir-da and Sima-di!!

During my business trips this week, I was fortunate enough to spend a few hours with Samir-da and Sima-di! It was way back in 1994 that Sharmila and I had just moved to Dallas from Florida. We did not know anybody there. And some how Ashok-da found us out and invited us to the local Durga puja (the big festival for us Bengalis). And then he and Sumita-di had us over at his place. It was there that we got introduced to Samir-da and Sima-di.

For the longest time the Ghoshals and the Chakrabartis were the local โ€œdada-s and didi-sโ€ (elder brothers and sisters) that Sharmila and I used to love associating with. Then, life took over. We got kids and became busy. We used to meet them only during the Pujas. Eventually, Samir-da and Sima-di left town. And then, we ourselves, left town.

For a long time, I had been wanting to spend some time with the Ghoshals and the Chakrabartis. Well, I got one part done.

And Samir-da was as hilarious as I remember him from the Texas days. Between his description of calamaris – โ€œrubber band-e beson maakhiye bhejey daiโ€ – meaning โ€œbattered and fried rubber bandsโ€ to the stories of how he consistently failed in math every single year from first grade to sixth grade by either scoring 0 or 10 (out of 100) unfailingly (or should it be failingly? ๐Ÿ™‚ ) had me in splits the whole evening. By the way, for the curious, the school, in certain years had a policy of awarding 10 grace marks to failing students. And that is how, apparently, Samir-da would score 10 undisputed marks in those years!!

Like I said, it was too funny an evening and greatly satisfying to see Samir-da and Sima-di in high spirits!!

19 May 2017

Repost:: My inimitable nephews

This is a repost from this day, last year. I had a chuckle remembering the incident. The two nephews are, without an iota of doubt, my biggest fans. Note: nobody has yet accused them of having standards ๐Ÿ™‚

Easy lies the head that wears a “crown” ๐Ÿ™‚

It was yet to be 4:30 AM. I was on my way to Portland airport to catch a flight back home. Called up mom and then my brother. As soon as my brother started talking, I could hear the yelling of “Jethu?” (which is what my nephews call me – it is the Bengali word denoting dad’s elder brother) and then I figured the nephews had snatched the phone from my brother and were talking all over themselves trying to tell me something very excitedly.

Once they stopped to take a deep breath, I asked them to calm down and explain the whole thing from the beginning. What I gathered was the following – my sister-in-law (their mom) is in China now for school work and my brother had brought the nephews to my parents house for a few days. So far, this was old news to me. I kept mechanically driving to the airport as they kept telling me what I already knew.

Then the conversation took a quick turn. Turns out that on Day 1 with grandparents, they got their heads shaved. Why would they get their heads shaved?, I asked myself. In our culture, that is the custom if one of your parents die – which clearly was not the case here – or perhaps if you had an attack of lice or something even more sinister – which would be a shame. In my confusion and surprise I missed my turn at the airport ๐Ÿ™‚

As the story started to sort itself out, I came to know that my dad told them the story about my brother getting his head shaved at their age. [Oh! yeah! in those days, as a kid, we used to get our heads shaved a few times. We were told that our hair would grow stronger and better; I have lived long enough to know that there is no truth to that advertising ๐Ÿ™‚ ]. In any case, my dad told them how my sister and I used to write with “dot pens” (ball point in today’s terminology) on his head. The nephews found that story very funny. Presumably, which was what my dad’s purpose was.

But then the two brothers started asking themselves how come they don’t get their heads shaved. Having not come up with any good reason by themzelves, they approached my brother. Who had the same logical question every rational thinking dad would have. As a response, I understand, the younger one, driven by sheer desperation, came up with the following – “Jethu-r moton dekhtey laagbey, tai”. (“so that we can look like Jethu”).

My brother, apparently not convinced that the world has suffered enough with looks like mine, quickly obliged and a short trip to the local market later, they came back with this… ahem… “barber”ic act ๐Ÿ™‚ My brother said that the whole day they had been waiting for my daily call to tell me about their moment of “crowning” glory.

Once I understood the whole story, I got in on it too. “When I come to India next end of June, we will all get shaved together and take a picture”, I suggested. To which, the elder nephew protested. “What happened?”, I asked. He demurred that the kids in school would make fun of him. I figured they still use “dot-pens” in school these days ๐Ÿ™‚

So, we opted for the second best course. They took pictures of themselves and sent them to me. A little stitch here and and a little paste there, I was able to put together the following picture. Which should make you laugh in stitches.

Sometimes I worry if I am setting a low standard for my nephews…