Way back when – I cannot even remember – maybe I was a first grader??, my dad had brought home a green colored measuring tape. I think mom used itt for making all sorts of dresses. She had a Usha Merritt sewing machine that she used to make dresses. That sewing machine itself was a marvel for me. That needle with the eye on the wrong end, that wheel with the bar on one side, those two spindles where you put the string rolls, the maintenance box that came with it – I remember them vividly. Not sure whatever happened to that sewing machine.

In any case, I got introduced to this measuring tape fairly early on. Couple of days back, found it again while going thru mom’s stuff. Immediately, a lot of memories flashed back.

Initially, of course, I had no idea what it did. But one day, dad sat me and my sister down and taught us how to measure things. How to hold one end of the tape one one corner and then read off the tape from the other corner of the object. He also explained how to think about one-half and one-fourth. We did not go any further than that on fractions.

Have you ever taught a kid how to change font size, style or color for the first time? The next document is usually a veritable mess of all colors, font sizes and styles. Yeah, that is pretty much what happened to me and my sister. After coming back from school, we would measure up everything at home. If there was anything worth measuring, we would have measured it. It was a thrill that sounds silly today. But you would be surprised how the two of us kept ourselves busy. It was not like we were writing down the dimensions anywhere… just measuring up and measuring up again.

Then one day, the retractable measuring tape showed up. By this time, the thrill of measuring was gone. But the retractable mechanism was to die for. Previously, at times, my sister or I would stand up on the bed, hold the green tape’s one end in our hand and let it go. Somehow, we derived great delight in watching the whole thing unfurl itself and then we would roll it up again manually. The retractable one was much more fun. We could do it anywhere…

For the next few weeks, that’s all we did. Pulled the tape and watched it snap back!! Pull it again and let it snap back. The trick was to do it without getting our fingers pinched!

Indelible memories of silly, simple fun!!

Can’t believe my parents never got rid of them!!

They were reasonably excited to come to the US to see their first grandchild. Early October 1998, I had flown to India to get all their paperwork in order. On Oct 5, I took them to the US Consulate to get their visas. We submitted our paperwork and then waited in the hall.

Presently, my mom’s and dad’s names were called. As we walked up to the counter, the gentleman (from America) behind the counter asked me to tell my dad to go back and sit. He would like to interview my mom only. Also, he asked me to ask her if she would like to be interviewed in English or Bengali. I asked my mom and surprisingly, for somebody who taught English in primary school, she said “Bengali”. A translator (called Gobindo, I remember) came in and I stepped out of the booth. I was within earshot distance and could generally hear what was going on.

The consular would ask a question, Gobindo would translate, my mom would answer, Gobindo would re-translate and that went on for a few minutes. After about six fairly standard questions, he asked “Do you have any intent to immigrate after you reach there”. After the translation was done, my mom gave an answer that I have never forgotten – “Gobindo, onaakey bolo je aami to onaader bhasa-i bujhtey paarchhi na. Okhaney immigrate korey aami ki korbo?”. Gobindo faithfully translated back – “Sir, she is saying she can’t even understand your language. Why would she want to immigrate to that country?”.

Apparently, he was satisfied. I could see the smile on his face and the familiar sound of loud stamping on some paperwork followed. He excused her and called me back. “Come back in the evening and pick up their passports. And have a safe trip”.

Five days later on Oct 10, we exited India from Sahar (Bombay) airport. The next day, we arrived in New York. And their much expired passports still bear the immigration stamp of their entry – Oct 11, 1998.

As much as they were thrilled to see their first grandchild, they did not take to America too well. They wanted to go back to their own home as soon as they could. The fact that dad could not walk up to the grocery store to pick up vegetables (he could not drive a car) or that they could not speak the local language got to them fairly quickly (they would always pick desolate streets to take Natasha out in her stroller so that they did not have to face any “Good morning” or “How are you” from Americans!!). (I guess mom was right, after all).

After three months, I took them back to India and dropped them home on the 11th of Feb, 1999.

Those were the only flights they had ever taken in their lives!!!

Towards the end of her life – 2019 onwards, my mom had expressed a couple of times a desire to come to the USA one more time. That never happened; but if she had outlived dad, I know we would have given it our best shot.

Ah! Well…

I got a Facebook friend request… from my mother in law!!!

Lest you forget, I wish to remind you this is the same lady who used to bleat “Niki, help me” when she was in US a few years back because the iPad used to go all “edik-odik” (topsy turvy) on her, apparently, every time she moved!!

Now I am afraid, she might get on to Instagram too!! (that would be a one social media she is on that I am not).

(In an ultimate self referential irony, she is going to read this whole post in Facebook!!!)

I am still rubbing my eyes…

Brother’s and sister’s families left this morning. And I came over to Kolkata airport to commence the 4 airport, 33 hour trip. For the first time, I am feeling lonely. As long as the siblings were around, it took the edge off missing our parents. I am sure they are feeling the same way.

There is an old Hindi song that I am constantly reminded of…

नI जाने क्यों होता है
ये जिन्दगी के साथ
अचानक ये मन
किसी के जाने के बाद
करे फिर उसकी याद
छोटी छोटी सी बात
नI जाने क्यों…

Na jane kyun hota hai
Yeh zindagi key sath
Achanak yeh mann
Kisike jane key bad
Kare phir uski yad
Chhoti chhoti si bat
Naa jane kyun…

Roughly translated (improvements welcome)

“Don’t know why
This keeps happening to me
After somebody has taken leave
My heart is suddenly flooded
By memories… of that person…
… of the snippets of dialogs we had
Don’t know why….”

It was a fantastic family time in India…

Four days and four nights were enough for me to make a lot of new friends among the staff in the JW in Kolkata. From Simran at check-in to Parash, Kalam, Suman, Aayushi, Boni and manager Rahul in the restaurant to the two Tathagatas – one at the concierge and one in the lobby and the gentleman helping us at the pool (I forget the name), I got to know the life story and aspirations of a lot of new friends.

And guess what they did for us? As we were finishing up breakfast to start getting ready to checkout – a farewell cake showed up!!!

Over 500 stays in different hotels in different parts of the world in the last 25 years. This is a first for me!!

(BTW, do not worry about mask standards in the JW. It is very strict for staff and the guests were also more or less compliant. The staff took off the mask just for a couple of seconds for my brother to take the picture).

One effect about the pandemic is that we have decided not to increase our exposure outside of the immediate family. So, we have stayed in the hotel the whole time and neither taking visitors nor visiting anybody. Which means, the nephews and niece are spending most of their time either in the pool or eating all those great food lined up.

It was certainly very relaxing to just laze around in and out of the pool. It was a hot and humid day and the pool water felt perfect. Of course, it did not hurt that the service was top notch – including getting us tea and cookies (“cha-biscuit”) at regular intervals.

One of these days, I am going to figure out how to get all these salwar kameez wielding womenfolk in my family in India to change into swimming gear and get into the pool too.

Even for a very un-Bengali Bengali, not eating sweets takes the level of blasphemy against everything Bengali to a whole new level. At home in US it is easy. In India, I had to come up with all sorts of tricks – the common one being “Sugar aachhey” (meaning I have diabetes). The identity of Bengalis is so intimately intertwined with eating sweets (and trust me on this one, they are nothing short of heavenly) that sometimes even after forwarding an argument that is designed to shut down all debate “daktarer maana” (meaning the doctor has proscribed it), I have had a few hosts saying “Kichhu hobey na. Ekta osudh kheye nebey”. (meaning – don’t you worry, take a pill after the sweets).

Today, in a bit of misguided adventure, I ventured into where I have not ventured in a long time. I decided to dig in to the sweets section in the lunch buffet arranged at the JW Marriott in Kolkata. And when I say “dig in”, I went all in. Rosogolla (there is no such thing as a Bengali plate without Rosogolla), Pantooa, Mihidana, Sitabhog, Gajorer Halwa. Name it and I had it. Admittedly, I put about one fourth the portion of what others were putting in their plates.

These things usually soak in sugar syrup and are often fried (some of them in clarified butter called ghee). Certainly not for the weak of the heart – at least not the ones insisting on keeping their heart valves and pipes clean. Or for those not wanting their sugar levels to scale nearby highrises.

But, I swear, they are the most delicious tasting stuff one can have in God’s green earth!!

Again, why are great tasting things so bad for you?

In a rare trip outside hotel/home, went to Free School Street in Kolkata to pick up some vinyl (LP) records. This street used to have at least a hundred record shops. There are only three surviving.

I went to only one this time. Picked up about a dozen. All are Bengali records that has at least one song that was a favorite of either parent or I had heard them singing.

The one exception – Mukesh and Lata in Albert hall – has a story behind it. Back in June 1984, three of us had pooled all our pocket money to buy this record for the fourth one on her birthday!!! (the four of us were fairly tight friends those days)

The mercury is flirting with three digits