Very very foggy morning. 41 degrees cold (5 degrees Centigrade). 8 in the morning on a Sunday. After the Saturday night Lakshmi Puja activities. Most Bengali can be located only under “lep”s (blankets) under such circumstances.
Except the Chalu-pas. 10 of them – including 2 junior runners – showed up with winter running gear sans any “monkey cap” 🙂 Not counting Ashok-“warm-clothes-are-way-overrated”-Deb 🙂
Most of you who know me, also know very well that grocery shopping is clearly not one of my core competencies. I have rarely done it and I am totally clueless about the aisle layouts. Once in a blue moon, Sharmila will hand me a list of things to pick up. Typically, once in the store, I will look at the top of the list and then roam around the store looking for that item, listlessly 🙂 Eventually, I will give up, call her up and then ask for instructions. She will remotely guide me to the aisle, I will find the item and then tell her “I have got it from here” before dropping the call.
Then I will see the next item on the list, again walk around the whole store completely confused where to find the item, call her back again…. and so on … till I have made as many calls as there are items on the list. It is the same story every single time.
So, these days, she tries to be very explicit in her instructions when she absolutely needs me to go to the grocery store.
This is the text message I got from her when I was out running an errand this morning.
The good news is, following her directions, I landed up in the potato section. Except there were lots and lots of potatoes. And I had no idea in God’s green earth when to deem a potato “good looking”. Frankly, they all looked rather unseemly to me 🙂
As you must have guessed, a phone call ensued… 🙂 🙂
Some incredible poetry…
“Jo puchha ke kis tarah hoti hai baarish / Jabeen se paseene ki boondein gira di,
Jo puchha ke kis tarah girti hai bijli / Nigahein milaaein – mila kar jhuka di
Jo puchha shab-o-roz milte hain kaise / To bhehre pe apne wo zulfein hata di
Jo puchha ke naghmon mein jaadu hai kaisa / To meethe takallum mein baatein suna di
Jo apni tamannon ka haal puchha / To jalti hui chand shamein bhujha di
Main kehta reh gaya khata-e-mohabbat ki achhi saaza di”
Need help from somebody who is more knowledgeable in Urdu than me but roughly I think it is…
When I asked her how does the rain fall / She let a few beads of sweat fall from her forehead
When I asked her how does the lightning strike / She looked at me, and then lowered her eyes
When I asked her how does the night and day come together / She slowly moved her hair away from her face
When I asked her about the magic in music / She whispered a sweet things in my ear
But when I asked her about my own wishes / She quickly snuffed out a few candles
And all I was left saying was, what a punishment this is, for the sin of loving!!
Eating out or ordering food is always a nightmare for me. Decisions, decisions, decisions. Do you want Caesar dressing or balsamic vinaigrette? Do you want it well done or medium rare? Do you want skimmed milk or fat free? Do you want sugar or Equal? Do you want eggs or white eggs? Even for something as innocuous as simple as fries, now it is Do you want regular fries or sweet potato fries?
Do you want wheat bread, white bread, or sourdough bread?
Well, thanks to Emirates, I do not have to deal with the last question any more. Look at the bread they gave me with my meal. It is three different kinds of bread fused into one!!! 🙂
I know people always accuse me of being over-friendly and talking to everybody. By “people”, I, of course, mean my wife and two daughters. But they cannot blame me for what happened today.
I arrived at Kolkata airport early morning to start my long 30 hour haul back to Atlanta thru Dubai. Today being Id (Bakhrid, I think), it is a holiday here and both the roads and the airport were pretty empty. I breezed thru checkin, immigration and then had to go through security. I had put my stuff on the conveyor belt and then was getting frisked by this young CISF guy. Just before he stamped my boarding pass (the process in India is different from US), he suddenly looked at me and asked softly “Aap Hindustani hai?” (Are you from India?).
I affirmed that and his next question was “Aap ka wahan pe security kaise hota hai?” (How is airport security done where you live?).
I started explaining to him the process in US and then noticed that there was a queue behind me. He also nodded me away realizing that I might be in a hurry. I picked up my stuff and instead of going to me gate, sat in a chair nearby.
After the queue had died down in about ten minutes, I walked up to him and asked him if he wanted to hear the rest of it. He was very eager. So, I explained how we take off our shoes and belts and watches etc unlike in India. I also explained how we have to take out the liquids and gels in a ziploc bag. (I did not have to do any of those things at Kolkata). He was very interested and intrigued by how the scatter-ray machines work at US airport. His conclusion was “Aap log bohut advanced hai”. (You guys are very advanced).
I then explained also how TSA Pre works. He agreed with the concept. “Do char logon ki liye baaki logon ko bohut taklif hoti hai” (Everybody suffers because of a couple of bad guys).
I found out that Rakesh Singh is from Mughalsarai area in Bihar and he joined the CISF at a very early age to be able to support his family back in Bihar. He was excited that he will be meeting them during Diwali in a few weeks. Before I left, I asked him why did he pick on me to ask his questions. He said that before frisking me, he noticed my name on the boarding card and that the passport was from US. He guessed rightly that I am from India now settled in US!!
I wished him the best on his road ahead and told him that with the level of intellectual curiosity he has and his ability to observe and judge, he is going to have a great career in front of him.
I walked away thinking how I always avoided those stern looking machine-gun toting CISF guys at Indian airports – and yet, at the end of the day, every one of them is a human being. And like all human beings, each one of them has a story….
It was 4:15 in the morning. Got up early and came out to sit on the balcony of dad’s place. It was dark but nice and cool. In the thick fog, the street lamps looked dim and sleepy. The first round of birds were trying to clear their throats already.
Fifteen minutes later, my dad woke up and hobbled himself to another chair in the balcony. And eventually mom woke up and gave us some tea.
For the next half an hour or so both of us just sat there quietly doing nothing other than sipping tea and watching the night fade out as day light strove to melt away the fog. The birds kept getting increasingly active and louder as the east kept taking brighter hues of red. We sat there, wordless. It was like time had stopped for both of us – yet it was visually progressing in front of us…
Eventually, I broke the silence and said that I should ready and that I had to leave by 6 AM.
He broke his silence next asking when I will come back again.
I promised to make it in 3 months again.
