The black Tika on my cheek

They asked me to be a perfect mother, and more
‘Do you breastfeed and how many months more?

Do you wash his linen in antiseptic daily?
Do you massage him twice a daily?

Do you check every hour if he is hungry or warm?
Do you make the crying baby to calm?

Do you give him something for his teeth?
Do you see a doctor,why can't he sit?

Do you think his head isn't round?
He doesn't sleep well, oh see I just found!

Do you ask the doc, if he is growing well?
Do you wonder why does he yell!’

The world, people, society...peace of my mind
All worried,how imperfect I am,a mother- unkind..!

For ten months he was right there inside,
The scars remain to make the memories bright.

And forgot when last time I had good night sleep
And the dark circles look darker and deep.

When my dress smells his pee, he smiles wide,
He throws up on my shoulder, weaning -Oh a jumpy ride!

Me times, and my wander lust;
I am a mother, so rest can adjust.

Hard earned career , no strong heart to leave him alone now
It's been a year , and still wondering how!

Perfect mother! I may not be
Hope a day will come when I will be.

When he rests in my arms,and fall asleep
I feel so earthy beautiful that I weep.

Then suddenly I see myself on the mirror,
He shared his black Tika on my cheek.

An underrated word ' Motherhood'

When I became a mother, I received lots of best wishes from my loved ones wishing me Happy Motherhood. And, I personally still wonder whether I have actually realized what the motherhood truely is, till date.

Motherhood is a underrated term , is what I feel. One can not say or write enough about it. One can not feel enough of it. One generation can not experience the true motherhood. One word is not enough to give it a name.

To start from the begining, my pregnancy was a happier one. Not a single day I puked.I had treamendous fatigue all throughout this period.But medically all other symptoms were good.My blood sugar level was all time low, so was the BP, neither was I overweight nor underweight. I enjoyed all my favorite foods till end,in small proportion . I missed my office as mostly I worked from home,I missed my trips , missed movie dates in theaters, food fests, get together, festivals in my native..

That time, a baby was growing rapidly and steadily but honestly the only feeling I had about him was a sense of protection, all time thinking about how not to harm him through any of my actions.

Like all novice mother, I too thought this is that eternal feeling ,known as “Motherhood”. But I was so WRONG.

Then I waited for 40 weeks, the much anticipated labor pain didn't come. My doctor prescribed to get admitted, after much trial of inducing the pain the medical team went for caesarian delivery.

It's a very common notion in our society that normal delivery has its own glory considering the unimaginable pain involved while giving birth. But trust me, caesarian has its own story of post operative wound, unbearable pain of stitches, elongated healing time, side effects and life long scars.

I was awake on the table, surrounded by so many machines and lights. Quite a theater it was, cold and illusive. Finally when the anaesthetic pushed the epidural into my spinal cord, slowly the partial anastasia started its action and doctors concentrated on my numb body. I could barely see anything except their serious faces and I smiled back to my husband, who was sitting near my head, wearing the blue gown like the others present in that theater.

I was whispering a prayer song, when I felt a sudden jerk , like the one as if my weightless body was thrown into free air. A few seconds later I heard THAT CRY. I barely could see anything, as the nurses were in the other corner, so imagined whatever I have seen  OT scenes in Hindi movies might be happening around that corner . ‘Here you go Satarupa, this is your baby, you carried it for 10 months and it will belong to you forever. .’ . After few minutes the baby was shown to his father, and I was waiting and waiting to see him for once. I didn't know it was a boy or girl, a thousand thoughts were rushing in my brain- whether the baby is healthy, is he able to breath, what if he has any birth defects ...and I felt so exhausted , those couple of minutes were never ending. Tears rolled down my cheeks ,I saw him, nurse touched his head to my chin and I asked myself - Do they call this feeling “ Motherhood” ?

And I was so WRONG!

I remember the second day in my cabin, I was alone in my room having dinner as I sent my husband out for dinner in cafeteria. The baby started crying incessantly and nurses were away. Caesarian section cuts seven layers of muscle beneath one’s skin . I was barely able to sit up on my own due to post operative pain. But the cradle was four feet away from my bed. I still remember that evening, I would not have got up and walked to the cradle for anything else in the world, but for him. As he slept in my arms, I DOUBTED what I know about Motherhood !

All mothers in this universe spend immense energy to bring up kids. It starts from sacrificing night’s sleep, being alert all the time to monitor when baby is hungry/ thirsty/ peeing/ in need of nappy change/ napping/ gaining weight/ eating properly/ burping properly/ feeling cold or hot/ nagging without reason.. And all these tasks are considered to be too easy to handle. It's a mammoth thing to manage as the tasks come in endless cycles and mothers are doing these ever since humanity arrived on this planet .

After the baby arrives, generally the point of attention drastically shifts to the baby.

After I brought my baby home, I felt I had a rebirth. My routine changed completely. Not to mention the sleepless days, I barely could have time to read newspaper, listen to songs , energy to sit in front of television or even sip the morning cuppa quietly. I remember watching Margarita with a Straw in four days , in bits and pieces on my phone after one month ! The word relaxation literally vanishes when new mothers need it most!

In those tough days whenever I felt depressed, I used to wonder is this Motherhood! Hell NO.

The doctor smiled when I said my baby don't sleep, said 'is this your first time? Girl, keep your mind open and enjoy the motherhood.' with a wink.

Then one morning, Anish, my son, first time looked at me and broadly smiled with his toothless gum out. And kept on laughing for few seconds. I could not help my tears..and he couldn't help smiling broader.

Nowadays I am a Radio Jockey to my son, chattering endlessly and meaninglessly whole day. I chatter while he gets fed, he plays, I change his nappies, while he burps and until he falls asleep. When I get tired of my talking, he starts his. He likes to converse and we both do, in our own languages.

May be this is Motherhood...who knows!

Letter to the Little one in My Womb

My baby,

Your little toes which have been kicking me off late day and night, tiny palms tickling underneath when I try to sleep, sleepy eyes that I am dying to see in every sonography scan, naughty punches that hide your nose in kung-fu style in the scan images – now that it’s 3 days left before I will be able to see you, I thought of writing you this letter. May be when you will be able to read and understand stuffs, you will find this letter archived here.

 My darkened skin, messy eyebrows, plus size dresses, tired and sleepy eyes, aching back and limbs,  body’s shifted center of gravity , restless nights- your mother is definitely not looking the most beautiful mother in the world, and not the fittest.

But I know all these will disappear with a soft touch of your magic wand when you will see me. After waiting for 40 weeks, I have stopped envisioning how will be that moment. How’d I feel.   It’s just some unpredictable unknown emotions which better to be left for the moment to come.

It’s been magnificent journey having you there with me for last 280 days, and I want to share with you so many things which I would never  have learned in life unless you would come.

• ·         Fear of change is good

Fear is always there for the things we don’t know or we don’t dare to know.

An year back I used to feel the hardest thing would be changing my free-spirited life into the one, where I need to care more for another human life than myself. And when I conceived this transformation and you, I was fearing these 10 months were going to be toughest and longest one, without my ‘me-times’ : frequent trip planning, my camera, a span without the word ‘career/ growth/goals’, without eatery excursions in the city, without outings and adventures – because my little adventure was sitting there waiting to grow up.

Extreme exhaustion, loss of free mobility,  managing office and home, then it was followed by putting on weight , tiring my  and shoulder, crampy limbs spoiling goodnight sleep, shortness of breath and pouncing heartbeats as I became heavier and heavier. But I still wonder how I have gained strength of coping all these automatically – as if I have been blessed continuously from a unseen source of energy or it was you who got me going round the clock. The things I feared the most, made me live in with them slowly and steadily.

Then after these 10 long months I feel the  hardest part is waiting there inside the delivery room.

You see what I feared was all about exploring an unknown chapter. And the greatest strength which helped me experience them with strength is nothing but Love.

• ·         The greatest strength is unconditional Love and Faith in Almighty .

 Love of a mother for her baby since the time it was a  tiniest cell inside her womb yet to get a human formation and now a cuddling baby communicating through placenta , endless love of a man for his heavy-weight wife who can barely get up from bed on her own and definitely looking tired round the clock , love of a family for a new member who is yet to arrive but already a family, love of the kind  Almighty only on whom you can have faith to guide you along.

A mother, who never traveled alone even out of her city, has traveled alone almost 3000 kilometer just to be by my side whenever I needed her the most – leaving your aging grandfather and my ailing 90 years old grandmother and her all household heavy duties back at home.

Your father, who has juggled between office and home, has come home early every evening to accompany me for prescribed evening walk, has helped me now and then picking up things from the floor when I could not bend down anymore, letting me sleep till late every morning so that we both can get uninterrupted sleep.

And in the darkest hour, I have closed my eyes and prayed to the God, to keep us steady, strong and healthy.

Their unconditional love have kept both of us tough and steady.

• ·         It’s because of you I started caring myself .

 I really do not remember when did I take care of myself before. And surely I would have never cared about my well-being if it was not for you. Pampering myself with good 9 hour of sleep, good food, natural ingredients, good reads and peace of mind - distancing from negativity around. Tiny you have already  taught me to be self – content, with whatever I have, because they are the best thing which I could have in this life. And choosing between what to listen - what to avoid, to love myself first to be able to love the entire family, to be more flexible and adjusting when life offers  bumpy rides, to be more kind and caring for the people who really matters .

Who says  one should only believe on whichever is seen.

You are the most wonderful unseen thing I have ‘seen’ and felt in my life, with the strongest message of your existence ever since you have let me become a part of yours,and you as mine.

Waiting to see you

Love,

 maa

An Obituary to the Dilemma of Returning Home

I travel home this time of the year, well no forte here, it’s the most common time of home-coming for most of the Bengalis from different cities of India. To get a cheaper air-ticket or at least a 3AC berth , to get leaves approved for two weeks at least, we all struggle for 4 to 6 months prior to the month of October. And the excitement flashes in the social networking posts as soon as the Mahalaya comes around. 

The most usual conversation when you meet a Bengali friend this time would be ‘Pujoe bari kobe jachis?  (When are you planning to go home, this Pujo)'

With Sir B K Bhadra tuning into  his iconic ‘Mahishasur Mordini’ to invoke the ‘patriotism’ towards our festival and culture, the Facebook floods with the posts “Travelling to Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose Intl Airport”, “always good to  feel at home” blah blah ,  followed by numerous posts of each day of the festival, selfies with Maa Durga and her entire family with our entire family, added with humongous crowd in the streets and pandals and eateries and café. The city decorates herself with freshly arrived autumn and embraces us as if it was waiting forever.

And exactly after a week  the whole atmosphere gets paled off with few saddened faces boarding flights in the same airport or Howrah Railway station waiting for the super –fast express.

Streets that lightened up and littered by millions of pedestrian, suddenly come back to the normal emptiness, or the normal routine of office goers, road side vendors, morning tea and ‘Anadabazar’, usual chaos in fish market, jam-packed mini-buses and claustrophobic local train compartments.

And most acutely, the emptiness prevails at the home, where just a while ago entire family celebrated ‘home-coming’ of us and the Goddess.

Most of the apartments and individual houses , in the city and in the suburbs are now marooned  , there dwellers are aging citizens. And there emerges the year long silence and loneliness, longing for another festival , longing for their children to come back home, longing for next year’s merriment. The usual morning tea sipped with the crackling silence in the dining hall, the gifts just unwrapped few days back when the grandchildren presented it to their granny, the usual submission to the television and newspaper are back as they are the most obedient compassionate. The strained and aged hearts would not agree to leave their root and start from afresh in another city. The minds will be cursing the luck for the separations and would give a second thought if they could also agree upon settling with the children.

And for us, who just luckily got a window seat and the flight has just taken off, look back to the city from bird’s eye. Even after 7 years , every time at this moment tears would roll down, I feel utterly embarrassed, wipe it before anyone can see.

Then I reminisce, every year I go home something gets changed.

• ·         Maa will have more grey hair than last year.

  Baba will be complaining about the joint pain. He looks dreadfully timeworn these days.

• ·         Our room will be cleaned and arranged again , but in the book shelves I would see my old school text books have got another layer of thick dust and that small geometry box, now rusted a little more.
• ·         Once I went home after several months, I don’t remember how many, and I was looking for our pet cat. Maa told she is no more, died a couple of months ago. I had stopped loving pets ever since.
• ·         The garden on the terrace will have new plants on old tubs, but I will look for an old one I saw last year, which has stopped blooming now.
• ·         Then, baba is no more that active Bengali baba, who would love to go to fish market in search of fresh fish every day and haggle with the vendors, he goes now twice a week.
• ·         Grandfather had passed away long back, soon after I came to Bangalore… but will still be smiling from his 10x12 photo frame in the living room. As if welcoming me back. But actually he could never welcome me ever since..

 And from all these scenery, if I omit myself, there prevails nothing but solitude. The fear of insecurity for them, the nonexistence of complement which they deserve in this age and the incessant guilt feel fighting against the practicality of our situation.

Every time I give a thought of getting back to the city, I find no job for either of us. Let’s keep the pay structure apart, there is no job even in similar domain. Projects, which are handful, either demands another transferable opportunities to other cities, which is meaningless to solve this problem, or they demand to negotiate the job quality. Well I do not do any rocket science business here , and a simple Optical Telecommunication is no big bang to get attached to for life long. But even then where is the job.

My handful of friends who still works in Kolkata complain about their situation all the time.

And then I see least effort to expand the IT sector in the city. It is what it was 7 years back, with minuscule changes. Now even strangled with political red tape, bandh culture, no freedom of speech.

And here comes the infinite loop which keeps postponing the thought process, which suppresses the dilemma of returning home, which compels so many like me to settle in a different city permanently  with no hope of coming back.

Probably there is a way out to join two ends of the string , going far away from each other, I am still searching. Let me know.

When a Bengali Name goes National

I was the first child in my family. I heard from my maa that there were so many names suggested for me. Even after the final conclusion on my would be name, my parents continued to call me by their favourite names for couple of months.  My name was given by my grandfather. After 7 years he passed away still I see him in early morning dreams, among many faces in this world he is the one I miss the most.

Satarupa

In Bengali , there are less ‘S’ and more ‘Sho’. There  is no ‘Ta’, rather there is only “Taw’ or 'To'. So how my name pronounces is Sho-to-ru-pa. Difficult aye?

I think when the parents or grandparents name a child in an Indian family, less they think of the globalization of the pronunciation, rather emphasize more of the meaning or the glory behind it . I  though doubt that in current days, Bengali kidos are getting ‘glo-bong’ names which sounds well and easier when a non-bengali tries to pronounce it. Kids you are really blessed !

After moving far from the coast of Bay of Bengal, my name had visited different mother tongues, different people in office from different parts of India, different countries, different rooms in hostel- PG rooms, Naukri – Monster and other call center services, thanks to my frequent India Tours different hotels and cab –walas. The one name has got so many dimensions, millions of pronunciations .

Sometime stuck at ‘almost pronounced’ state .

Sometime stumble upon ‘oh so difficult is your name’ state.

Sometime ‘sorry give me your surname please? ’ state.

Sometime  at ‘I give up, you only pronounce your name!’.

Satarupa has become – Sattu , Satrupa, Satapura /Saturpa (the most common one, even in official mails), sometime people prefer only Rupa and I hate it  the most ( reminds me of a brand if you understand it) :)

Thank God I am married to a Bengali and nowadays I use Mrs Sengupta in most of the places or just his name.

Recently I was chatting with my school friends , found out the fate of most Bengali names are almost like this. I realize that is the reason why the famous Bengali legends of Bollywood and Music world had once had changed their name to smaller, global, easier names. Who knows !

In recent years lots of movies have been released keeping Bengalis/ Kolkata in backdrop. And they have used the bengali name very cleverly. 'Pakhi', 'Lolita', Piku', 'Bidya' aka 'Vidya', Bob Biswas, though unfortunately Bomkesh has been modified as Byomkesh and Shatyoki as Satyaaki . 

However nothing is as sweet as a Bengali name. May it be as tiny as ‘Piku’ or else lengthy as ‘Byomkesh’.

Let me know your story.

Looking back to a Dream of Buying 50 Frooti Packs

Sometime a few smallest or merest things remind us of faint memories.

It was an usual weekend afternoon, Bangalore being too hot nowadays I am missing my food adventures or weekend gateway trips, hence was browsing Youtube. Suddenly found that song, in the suggested list –

“মন চলো নিজ নিকেতনে

সংসার বিদেশে বিদেশীর বেশে

ভ্রম কেন অকারণে…”

And in a fraction of second, a place - beautifully serene, cold like ice and filled with beautiful smell of dhuna flashed in my memory. A campus, painted in white, red ,yellow and saffron, surrounded by garden, flower, shrubs, a small pond and a beautiful temple. The benches , the open drawers inside the desks, the scattered  copies around – marked as C/W(classwork) and H/W(homework) underlining with a stroke of highlighter, the geometry box just got shared between two bench mates, the half-finished tiffin-boxes inside the school-bags and smell of ‘aloo-kabli’ around the back benches. The tiny fingers, smeared with red, tangy, saucy aloo-kabli packet- licking the heavenly taste together. A big tamarind trees standing in the middle of the playground, where a bunch of girls in white shirt and navy blue skirt- with white ribbons in their ponytails are running around in their dusty white tennis shoes. The ice-cream wala outside the school gate selling ice-creams to his tiny customers through the tiny opening in the gate. Coconut ice-cream in 1 Rupee, orange candy ice-creams in 50 Paisa. The curly-haired ‘Tandra’ di , keeping an eye to the girls around the campus. The white ‘Bokful’ and pink  bougainvillea outside the classroom. And there I saw me, sitting by the  pond stirs staring at how ducks are swimming and shrugging off the water from their velvety soft feathers after coming out of the pond. Then suddenly the bell rang from the teacher’s room signaling them to end the recess.

Yes that was my school. Those were my friends licking the chat masala and playing kabaddi. Those were our pencils and newly-bought gel pens , specially kept aside of literature classes. The benches – where I stumbled many times to cut my knee and on which we used to stand up after failing to answer a difficult question on Napoleon Bonaparte  in history class. the classroom black-board where we used to note down the names who were ‘making noise’ during the period breaks. The Rakhis, which we tied around each other's wrist, even being all girls, the hand-made New year cards we used to make during Christmas week for friends and used to look back the collection of cards after the New Year had started. 

All I used to worry were the exam results, the punishment upon forgetting the home-work copies and all I used to care about were to tie the white ribbon around my ponytails and keeping the dusty shoes white every morning in prayer line. And there were remedies for those problems too. Exam results could have been made better simply by studying, forgotten homework copies used to be made instantly by tearing off a newer copies first few pages and striking off the subject name from name label.  Dusty school shoes were made white by rubbing the chalks on it before Thursday and Friday’ s prayer. And for ponytails and ribbons around it, mom used to be always there.

Friends and teacher was the other family I had apart from my own family. And like every family, there were ‘villains’ and ‘heros’. Glance of few of them were enough to hide my face behind others, and had cried for some of them when they had left the school.

Our school temple. I still remember the cold and red cement finished flooring it had. Every morning residential students used to make fresh garland using the flowers bloomed in the school garden. The temple hall used to be less ornamented, but the aroma of flowers, sandal wood, dhuna and ‘aguru’ ( a water used to bath the Goddess) made it a heaven for me. There was a beautiful idol of Bhabatarini (a form of Goddess Kali). And Sarada Maa sitting next to her. Being a Ramakrishna Missionary school, for 10 years all of us had to chant most of the popular slokas and prayer songs in prayer classes. Once in a week we used to have the prayer class in the school temple.  Now around 30 students used  to leave their shoes outside the temple before entering for 45 minutes of prayer session, and each day I used to worry what if I lose my pair of shoes as all were in same size, same design and no need to say there was no token system to keep track of it.

There in that class, I learnt so many Veda slokas, which my grandfather used to explain to me the meaning. And few life-time memorable songs – like the one I mentioned above.

I used to dream of being so rich one day, that I would be able to buy 50 Frooti tetra packets and never had to share with anyone, only to enjoy it after coming from school in sunny, humid summer afternoon. Being 'Rich and Grown up' was defined by solely this capabilities. Because Maa used to scold me every time I'd drank it directly from fridge.

So many dreams have come true. But those innocent dreams were so precious, that they remained engraved and unfulfilled in those moments of making wish… Wish I could relive those few years of my life again.

“যদি দেখ পথে ভয়েরই আকার

প্রাণপণে দিও দোহাই রাজার

সে পথে রাজার প্রবল প্রতাপ,

শমণ ডরে যার শাসনে। “ 

Why does a woman climb 100 extra stairs, while a man only 10 ?

When I am a Woman :

I wake up in the morning, stopping  the roaring alarm clock and waking up the snoring husband, I rush to the kitchen.

Start with putting the milk in boiler, cutting veggies for lunch, washing rice and grinding masala and juicing up the fruits and whistling up the daal in pressure cooker.

In the meanwhile the clock ticks 9 and I serve breakfast in table, pack lunchbox and fruits in office bags.

While he sits for breakfast I finally get a chance to brush my teeth and looking for any urgent mails/messages.

Finally, once he leaves for office I get my own sweet time for super quick breakfast and getting ready for office.

I reach office at 11. Start reading incessant unread mails in inbox. Run into the task list and head to the laboratory door. Work very hard, try to keep my work unquestionably good always.Try to finish up my work by 6 , but it always gets delayed till 7.30.

I come back home at 8. Threw the laptop bag in a corner. First thing to think -what to prepare for dinner and then for next day lunch as well.

Fill the water bottles, clean the room, whisk up the dinner and serve hot to family.

Till 11 PM at night, I would be managing left over food in fridge, gas-knobs are switched off, windows are closed, mosquito repellants are working, things to throw inside washing machine, electricity bills are paid, enough stock of food in fridge, any immediate grocery needs attention and so on..

  

And in weekends the list is endless, planning the grocery list, cleaning house, attending visitors at home or being visitor to somebody’s home, keep in touch with  relatives & if get li’l time then pursuing high time ignored hobbies.

Now if I were a boy :

I wake up and with a big yawn, head towards to washroom. Brush my teeth with half closed eyes and grab the newspaper or switch on NDTV.  Then I have breakfast and leave for office.

I work hard in office. I reach office by 9, before anybody comes. I start checking mails and then straight head towards the to-do list. Complete my work by 6, sometime it gets delayed till 8. 

When I am back home, I switch on Arnab Goswami, yelling “the nation wants to know the truth” and I too want to know. I listen to songs, watch the movie trailers, finish reading news from tweeter feeds, chat for a while on FB and watsapp.

Then I have dinner, warmer the nicer and check the office mails again. Finish any pending office work from home till I am awake. Execute some script and leave for overnight execution. Anyway tomorrow morning I am going to reach early.

And still,

• ·         There are endless jokes on hundreds of common Indian television comedy  shows – how marriage ruins the life of a man.. how a woman creates a virtual jail for him. How an Indian woman talks / behaves/ laughs/ cries/ fights  at home . “Ghar Ghar ki kahani”
• ·         The Indian soap saga – most of the vamps are either business tycoon of a famous business emperor or a secretary. Have you ever seen an ideal bahu becomes the business tycoon and still retains “ideal bahu”  position in the serial? Think think.

• ·         There are hundreds of questions, sharp or blunt – always being asked to woman – “ will you continuous to work after marriage” , “do you cook at home or your husband <with a polite ha ha ha>”, “poor he, does not get time to spend with his wife”,“ why have you not called me for such a long time, always busy & busy”  , “girls go to office only as a hobbies, not for money or ambitions. why do you stay late there”, “if girls also become so passionate about job, who will bear the child and bring them up”, “please don’t run behind all these beta”

• ·         I remember one of my ex-colleague saying – girls always enjoy the privileges at home and work. At home, you get extra privileges for being a working woman, and at work you always escape late evening work by “showing off family concerns”. Really we are privileged.

• ·         At the time of appraisal, from office or from home- of course these factors play a key role. If you work 10 hours a day   and over weekends and over public holidays – management is happiest and you get rewarded. But your family will always frown at you, as you are somebody’s wife/ mother/ sister/ daughter/ daughter- in – law and when you come back home with a yearly bonus, only few of them actually understand the prize you paid off.

• ·         I see so many mothers carrying their child on lap and leaving them in nearby play school- so that they can keep visiting often from office. I see so many promising engineers leaving their job after their child starts growing up, for a quality parenthood.

I have never seen a man in a home-maker or baby-sitter roll, but I have seen many women as home-maker & as parent & as good team mate & as excellent manager & as business tycoon roll.

Amazing. Isn’t it ?

Little Boxes: 'they all look just the same'

If you ever have wondered the life you are leading is how you choose to be or by the choice of others- surely you have stumbled upon these points, like I do often:

• -          Why my day starts with a routine to wake up when the alarm rings, why not when I want to wake up? (Not being lazy here though )

• -          Why I feel happiest every Friday evening and yell “Weekending”, not feel happy every morning I start up with?

• -          Why the hell did I read sin,cos,tan theta and broke my head at semesters, missed world cup cricket matches, missed dance schools, missed tri-color ice-gola before exams and now they are nowhere around my life? I

• -          Why I had to maintain 80% attendance in Chemistry lab, never bunked a class to savour pocket-money biriyani, when I have forgotten the color of copper nitrate or how the carbon structure of CA(OCL)CL used to be, only remember the smell of the high school lab?

• -          Why did I never sit in college canteen and enjoyed that part of life, all I feared was how to get a job?

• -          Why I am an engineer today, where all I want is to work for Fox Traveler? Why do I worry about bug-fixes where all I want to do is to see the world before I die?

• -          Why my life have these partitions like a computer hard-disk – Family, Office, Health, Age, Grocery, Society etc ?

• -          Why like a product life-cycle, my life should be following clear defined states – was A kid, A student, A worker, A wife, A mother and then end up DYING one day ? Like the “Little Boxes” – Malvina Reynolds.

Well, there’s probably no elucidation, no straight answer to this. We shall keep on stumbling upon these tricky doubts on ourselves until we sleep well at night and wake up by the same alarm clock and feel every thing’s alright.

May be there’s only one way to find an interstellar and escape fleetingly. That is by living your life by your choice for some time. Rewarding moments of life to oneself.

• ·         Pick up a guitar and sing out loud. Who knows you can be better than a bathroom singer!
• 
  
• ·         Pack the back-pack and head up to destinations. It’s the journey that matters, not where or what you’re heading for.
• 
  
• ·         Switch off the phone and walk down the lanes of your city which you never explored. One can explore more there than social-media or search-engines.
• 
  
• ·         Forget you have Diabetes for one day and pamper yourself with a “Death-By-Chocolate”, A thousand death is worth it!
• 
  
• ·         Write down some codes on crazy ideas you have in mind for which you could never make time and be an innovator.
• 
  
• ·         Walk into a street side evening school and take voluntary class.
• 
  
• ·         Take a long-leave or quit the job for few months and go for world tour or work as free-lancer or join dance-classes or go for photography work-shops or learn a foreign language or join the academics again. We live only till 50, and after that manufacturing-defect starts showing up in human body. Time is less and wish-list is long. Possibilities are higher in numbers.
• 
  
• ·         Make a plan to meet up with old-friends , a meeting which gets postponed every time by other priorities.

May be these are not enough, to live a life king-size. May be there are thousand better ideas and opportunities which can make a life worthy of living.

Let’s search for them before we end of being “products”, with a strict discipline and guidelines for our content, labelling, manufacturing, packaging and selling identities.  Not living entities any more.

Festival Differentials | Diwali for all?

It’s Diwali again...but is it Diwali for all ?Let us look around.

A Beggar and the Giant Mall: That night, I went for dinner with my family and decided to take a walk rather taking an auto. It was quite chilled out in Bangalore, and we were walking fast as it’s almost 10.30.

I saw him again! This man I see very frequently,almost every day, near Kundalahalli Gate Signal. As the signal turns red he bumps into the cars and autos and Beg. That night, he was also returning home, his lean body was shivering in cold as his kurta was not enough to warm up his aged physique , he was  walking  slowing with a stick in one hand and that dusty bag in the other. He was in no mood for work now, so he was not following his usual route  .Rather he was walking on the footpath.  We neared him further, in front of  Hyper City Mall. The mall was boasting of its lavish Diwali discounts and decorations with artificial LED diyas. In that light I could not make out his face, but when I did, he seemed stop for a while to look at the Mall and smiled. This was not a festival smile, nor a sarcastic one. I remembered the old Cadbury Diwali special ad “Toh  iss Diwali aap kise khush karenge? “.

Diwali gifts for who works at home: In most of the offices, we get Diwali sweet boxes. Or may be Diwali Bonus. Or may be sometime gifts. We always nurture high hopes for this Diwali packages. After getting the sweet boxes, the first thing we do is to share feedbacks “hey how’s that chocolate?  Aur ye mithai taste kiya kya?./...this time this is not at all good yaar, I didn't like the soan papdi/….office wale kanjus ho gaye…last time was better!”. More than the sweet box, the enthusiasm of getting gifts or sharing the sweet and sour comments make our upcoming holidays special.

Now remove yourself from your office and put your Maid in your house which is her work place. She expects Diwali bonus, we complain. “Arey yaar this is too much, why should I give her 1 month salary as Diwali bonus, on the top of that she will be on leave on Diwali..”. She expects (some time) sarees/ good clothes/ mithayi from you, and you complain “ Bonus bhi liya, now she is expecting new saree also! I can give few ladoos but yaar not new clothes ..I told her enough is enough”.   Unfortunately she does not have an HR to go to, and she has fear to lose her holiday on Diwali as well.

Tough Sergeant  , Celebration awaits: Some people like me, who do not get much Diwali holiday, may be just one day , they plan for a day out with family or to visit relatives to celebrate the Diwali together. So afternoon we all get ready, do puja and start from home. Now we get stuck in the traffic signal and yell “ Nothing can help this city! In Diwali also this much of traffic! What the hell the Traffic sergeant is doing! Can’t he control this much traffic in holidays?”. Wait and remember.

He has not got Diwali holiday today like us! He has a family, who might be expecting him to come home early today, but he is stuck here in the middle of millions of cars who are heading for CELEBRATION! What the hell is going in his mind now? And still he is doing his job, like he did in all the past years, like all the recent festivals days in this year and may be like all the upcoming festivals!

No School, No Vacation: Near my house, there is a municipality dustbins, where all apartments dump the daily waste bags. When I go to office, I see a group of young boys, in the age group of 9 to 16, and picking up are sophisticated black-colored "eco friendly" waste bags and dumping them in the waste carriage. People around them would put hanker chief on nose and walk by.  This place will be immensely filthy especially during any festival or marriage seasons. And the localities will curse the municipality for their own waste dumps! These boys will work without a gloves or boot and without any sign of disgust on their face, for the bread they are earning for it of course.

But at the time of festivals , when our kids are getting Diwali Holidays , these kids DO NOT GO TO SCHOOL, and they have NO DIWALI HOLIDAY. Spare them if you meet them at your localities, for the unfinished work they had left overnight. May be they took a small break to steal a moment to be kids again , for firing the crackers!

Like all these stories, there are many stories around us:

The Drivers, who may behave rude but he is driving from morning shift .

The Security guards, who sits near the apartment gate with a pale face. He comes for far north-east and have not gone home for past 3 years.

The Ladies in Parlour, who are working in beauty parlour day and night to manage the festive rush. They are making your face  glow , but they have the privilege to light up a Diya in that Diwali evening, only after the shift ends.

The Construction workers around, their lean tired figure, almost covered with cement and sand, for them the festival is to get to eat and sleep peacefully at night.

And

Some IT people who has  to work from office or from home because of deadlines (LOL)

And

Many more………

Thanks to the Facebook, Watsapp, Instagram or Google+ , we all are more or less freaking out showing off how we celebrated the festivals. I see pictures coming up from Gujrat to Bengal, from Punjab to Kerala , from Germany, US, London, South Asia and almost every corner of the world. This makes us happy, this makes us jealous to ask for more, this makes us to hope that next year we all will be together to celebrate Diwali .

My pledge is - apart from this, let us do something to make the above stories a little brighter.

To put a smile into every story.

 Of course, I am NOT telling you to  SHARE A COKE BOTTLE to share the happiness. But there are many other ways we can find out.

We can burn ten candle less, if that can enlighten their Diwali evening.

 Let us be little compassionate  about their lives and their jobs. It’s their Diwali too..

Kindness is the Greatest Religion and sharing makes the Biggest Festival.