What is it between Girls and Sarees ???

I am a hassled working mom. That is the most practical definition that I can ascribe to myself. My personal life revolves round the fact that I am a "MOM"..... all other relations are rather incidental, pushed to the periphery of my existence by the "little angels' " demands on my time, my space, my resources and of course my patience, mind you though not necessarily in that order!
Whatever remains of me beyond that I marshall, so that I don't fail to deliver on the professional front. The reader will find it difficult to believe ( I find it terribly difficult too!) that a decade ago I was quite ambitious to climb the corporate ladder ... you know the ropes ... executive to sr. executive to officer to manager, in fact I had made it to the Group Manager level before I was blessed with my little tyke. After ayear and a half of sabbatical when I landed again on the shores of " the employed", my entire perspective of proper utilization of my time and resources had changed! Phew, so much for being an emancipated woman..... with the little one occupying the major portion of my mind and motive.
Well, I have been droning along, and you have been wondering where the saree part fits but please bear with me my friends, I am getting to it...... by and by....
Well last Saturday, was one of those days when I had my own moral sanction to go out with my better half for an evening of shopping, eating and literally stealing a couple of hours of life as it was a decade back. So now you get the drift..... shopping for Pujas and sarees are inexorably bound together isn't it?
The saree shop was teeming with women of all shapes and sizes and choices, some with kids and some with husbands in tow( they make decision taking easier you know!). I and my better half gallantly landed in the central hall well laid out with low sitting stools and the middle of the hall littered with sarees of all exhilarating hues and designs.
My better half always tells me that "I come alive" when I step into a saree shop or a jewellery shop. I dont entirely disagree, but I tell him that he's forgetting to mention " the book shop"......
Anyway, it is a wonderful game that unfolds in the saree shop, you have to have a quick eye and spot "your saree" and without drawing too much attention either snap it up yourself or get your hubby to do it or make proper eye contact with the salesperson and make him separate the " unique" piece and offer it to you. Right at the beginning I lost out on a dreamy moss green with a violet / golden leaf embroidered number, because I couldnt control myself and screamed out, "get me that", immediately the woman nearest to it, snapped it up and looked at me cooly and told me she had got it first. .... well I retreated and changed tactics. I started casually pointing out this and that saree along with "that special saree" everytime I came across a saree that I wanted desperately for Goddess Durga, my mom, my mom-in-law, my sis-in law, my pishi....I was adamant not to buy any saree for myself......!!!! HonestlyI dont have the time nor the energy to dress myself up in a saree on a normal working day....what remains are some parties, some special celebrations and some Puja days, I have hoarded up sarees with the penchant of an antique collector who simply has to have "that antique" on which is mind is set. I have a collection which is represented by pieces from all parts and regions of India. I still have some more ground to cover.... but if you speak of national integration from the saree point of view.....I have almost made it!!!
So, well then, this being recession time, let me not waste money on a thing which I am not likely to use in the nearest future, I grandiloquently thought. The thought went right out of the window the moment my eyes caught sight of an off white , hand woven no. with embossed golden paisley patterns running the length of it. Rs. 1140/- the tag said,.... quite reasonable my mind said..... put it down this instant, my better mind said. I gingerly put it down, braved a look at my better half who was smiling benignly.....I heard a woman across the hall scream... hey show me that off white no, Pllllllllllllllllllllllllllssssss....... the next instant I saw dazedly, my right arm swoop out and lift the magical piece and put it on my better half's lap. I turned to him with a smile and said..... after all I am sure you would have bought me something for the Pujas???? I saw him bravely attempt to wipe the smile from his face and reply in all seriousness, " Of course! I was just about to ask you to go for the off white saree, I like it a lot, you know". Well then there sure is that something unidentifiable but magnetic between the feminine clan and the wonderful thing called "saree" which gives them a wonderful affinity like fire and oxygen, No?????

Random strokes of my daughter......

In a pleasant not so sunny morning of mid April , while showing off to me the flowers in her garden (which happen to be tended on her behalf by her dada!( granpa)) , my 4 yr old daughter proudly showed me the “light pink” flowers of the mucaenda, then the “light (y)ellow” flowers of the "kanchan" .

She then proceeded to inform me that , her garden also had lots of red flowers (ixora) and orange flowers (lilies standing proud with their faces upturned on their sturdy green stems) . She has a peculiar way of pursing her lips, screwing her nose, furrowing her eyebrows and then stating her point in a very adult-I- know- what-I-am- speaking –and-you-better-believe-me-look. When she does this I have this intense urge to fold her into my arms, in fact my whole being and cover her with kisses and hugs.

Then she burst out in peals of merriment rolled on the marble window seat (kept spotless by her doting "aeba" (granma) for precisely this kind of impromptu act of the little elf) and said “ mamma daekho flowers gulo te na God “toop” (as in bindi on the forehead) poriye diyeche” (mamma see, God has put bindis on the foreheads of these flowers!!) and again rolled on the window seat in genuine wonder and joy as if she has caught God in an act of childish naughtiness.

Any one who is familiar with the “kanchan flower” will vouch that it is quite abundantly found in West Bengal in white varieties. Our (sorry my daughter’s) garden boasts of a yellow and also a burgundy colour( quite rare) of the same flowering plant. This yellow one has a beautiful rich brown dot as big as the imprint of an adult forefinger deep within the cavity where the five petals of the flower join to form a cup. This was the “toop” that my daughter had suddenly noticed and brought to my attention while staring out of our living room French window overlooking the garden.

I was wonder struck by a little one's power of observation and the ease with which the observation found expression in her words.

I and my maa exchanged proud glances, a warm feeling engulfed me like a space bubble (as I left for office and went about doing the rest of the chores for the day!) and kept me happy and perky throughout the day.

Of ties that bind.......

When I am in one of my philosophical moods I wonder what is there to life? The same routine of waking up, breakfast, work, lunch, more work (at home or office or anywhere else) , tea & snacks (if one is lucky), more work , dinner (if one is very very lucky) and sleep (indeed if one is really lucky)...... Life is like a neverending saga of the daily routine unfolding with ruthless predictability and coldness. What makes it special ? worth living....? what is it that makes one want to work, to cook, to eat, to feed, to return to the same four walls, lay one's tired head on the same pillow and then start over, the same thing once again???

The heart smiles and tells me, living is indeed a labour of love, done unconditionally for those special ties that bind us to love, to life itself.....

You love your child, want to give her the best of whatever is within your power (perhaps strive for more !), so you pick yourself up every morning, and go to work. You are one of those lucky few who has a nice workplace with nicer people... but there are people who die a thosand deaths at their workplace but still keep at it for YOU-KNOW-WHAT!

You hate cooking yet everytime you like a dish or see something yummy you want to get the recipe so that you can cook it for your mom (who has till date fed you millions of plates of tasty wholesome food!) and for your dad too (who has visited the bazaar endless no. of times to provide the raw materials for those millions of plates!)

In your little ones face, you see a fleeting expression and glimpse of your sibling and stop short in your tracks, walking down memory lane with your heart in your mouth, hand in hand with your adolescent brother and your toddler sister (who are now all grown up and married and settled in their own lives and sometimes act so ummm practical and this-is-life-so why-dont you-grow-up-too-bit).

In your better half's smile, you see the tie which has held you through thick and thin, through all those bouts of you-dont-understand-and-I-dont-care-a-damn phases, and also those special moments when you would have turned down a shahrukh-khan-proposal for your practical, no frills, no nonsense kind of an ordinary (yet so so very special) man.

Aah, these invisible ties of love and nurturing, responsibility and care which bind us and make us do things which we would love not to do......... that bestows on LIFE its true charm and makes all us poor tied and bound creatures of GOD accept with gratitude the gift of life and give our utmost to all the-i-wouldnt-touch-it-with-a-barge-pole-kind of work.

A mind full of smells and memories......

Today afternoon at office, just after lunch I was taking a break from work and indulging in one of my favourite activities namely going through one of my favourite blogs "Past Continuous". Sucharita (the creator of the above named thought and nostalgia provoking blog) in her most recent post titled "Nose Talgia" has sure opened the dam which held back the tumultous waves of visual memories which are so deeply attached to our olfactory memories . So ... whatever comes on is all dedicated to you .... friend.
The most enduring smell of my life is that of my Maa in the Prayer room, her freshly bathed presence mingled with the smell of freshly lit incense sticks, sandal wood paste applied to the Gods sitting on her prayer shelf, fresh flowers like Champa, Beli, Jaba plucked from our garden..... This was the smell I and my brother (and later my sister) invariably woke up to. Thinking back, I feel it was more the wonderful, holy smell which woke us up, rather than the 3 times blowing of the conch shell (which my Maa religiously used to do till a year back.. and now she's stopped on doc's advice).

My Babai(dad) coming into the house, with Sunday morning "bajaar", smelling wonderfully of sweat, aftershave(Old Spice), Wills Flake. His left hand laden with a bag full of Potatoes and Onions to last a fortnight.....and a smaller bag somehow also held in the same hand holding Sunday goodies like prawn or...... hilsa and also chicken or ....maybe mutton . The other bag full of green veggies and fruits, fresh and succulent ( which one will be able to relate to only if one has spent the growing up years in a small town.....(Aah Ranchi ! How I miss the town of my childhood ...... far removed from the hurly burly of a Metro!).

The sweet baby smell (a heady concoction of Johnson baby powder, milk and angelic innocence )of my few months old little brother (aah! I can still feel that wonderful warmth, pleasure and pride bubbling over in my small five year old heart as I sit up straight on bed and wait for Maa to tuck him in comfortably on my lap so that she can do the housework on a busy Sunday morning). I revisited the same smell with the same associated feeling, but with more depth, when as a ten year old, on umpteen precious occassions I held my newborn sister close. And now as a mother, I can conjure up the baby smell any time I want to, anywhere I want..... all I need to do is close my eyes, take a deep breath and think of my daughter. I find it a strangely humbling experience....... this smell which remains constant, fresh and powerful in my memory, untainted by the cruelty of passing time over a period of three decades ..........................

Another smell which I feel very strongly about is my " Howrah Baris' ".................. this is the house where my baba, my jethu, my pishi, my sejokaku and my chotokaku grew up in. Just as the people associated with the house grew (in years and in fortune...), the house also added floors and rooms, sported contemporary colours but the essense of the house remained the same. As a kid I looked forward to my summer and winter vacations for 2 months of unadulterated soaking up time of the "Howrah Bari spirit". The wonderful aged fragrance of my "Mum"(my granma), her delicious paranthas fried in Dalda Vanaspati, spicy cauliflower and potato sabzi. She is no more but one look at her almirah(where she hoarded spices, nuts, her sarees, bedsheets and whatnots....) or the family heirloom -an ancient iron chest is enough to conjure an image of her siting on the bed in the corner of the hall and all family clustered around her... some lolling on the bed around her , some on the floor, some on chairs, basking in her presence(this scene was repeatedly enacted during the Durga Pujas when everybody came together.....). My mother and aunts to this day remember her and revere her as the lady who taught them everything they needed to know to run a household efficiently. Wish modern day maas-in-law could take a leaf from her life........

I love the smell of my maa's freshly baked cake (every b'day in the family, christmas, new year and all requests are honoured), her wonderful smelling dhosas & idlis, her dhokas & chole and of course her chilli chicken & very own bangali payas...... the list can go on..... both salivary glands and memory together happily.....working overtime.

I remember the smell of the old big library at my school Bishop Westcott Girls School, Namkum , Ranchi .... musty and old worldish, how the warmth engulfed me when I settled down on one of the old black benches, with a charles dickens or an agatha christie....our English teacher Mrs. Mehra who was also the librarian, with her porcelain skin and twinkling grey eyes , slight 60 year old frame......and crystal clear voice who brought to life all the characters in the shakespeare plays and thomas hardy and charles dickens classics and instilled in me the love for English as a beautiful and expressive language. To this day, my first impulse when I lay my hands on a book, is to take it to my nose and inhale deeply..... funnily enough, books which have smelt good have always been a pleasure to read!!!Haa.....haaa....

There are also smells which are associated with certain difficult phases of life but in this case I chose not to follow the smell trail.......

Let only happy memories prevail!!

Lessons in craft and love...

Yesterday would have been like any other Sunday, sleeping it out till a little later, warm in the knowledge that no alarm was set on the mobile last night...... wouldn't need to rush through the regime of getting up, a quick yoga routine (to try and ensure that the heart and lungs continue to take uncomplainingly, the grind of modern living....), wakeup the little one, trying out different methods of ( coaxing, threatening, cuddling) to keep her from going limp again and closing her eyes.... in short go through the entire marathon of a working day routine.

But my little one had better plans for me. I felt a little soft palm across my cheek and sprung open my eyes. A beaming pixie face greeted me, full of the promises of a bright and sunny day... quite like the beaming sun peeping in through the half parted curtains....." Mamma craft korbo"(I want to do craft!!!)......I do a double take and trying focussing all my attention ( read eyes and ears) on the little bundle of energy who was trying to get settled on my midsection..."Craft????".. I manage to croak! My all of three years and ten months old bundle of joy nods her head confidently and says " aami butterfly korbo" (I want to make a butterfly). By this time she also had the attention of her father who sat up groggily rubbing his eyes and asked me " what did she say she wants to do ???" I rolled my eyes and again focussed on the little cherub, " Baby you want to draw a butterfly with crayons or paint??". She shook her head sending all her hair into a tizzy and educated me " naa naa Mamma, craft korbo paper diye, gum diye..... scissors diye ....". O.k O.k , now I am fully in the picture, she's in the mood to follow in the footsteps of "Uncle Neil " of "Art Attack" fame..... a program on Disney Channel which rocks with the kids.

The morning ablutions, breakfast all are a cakewalk, thanks to the child's by-now-on-fire-desire to get busy with scissors and paper and gum.

So by 10.00 am the mother-daughter duo is ready to begin the Krafty-Butterfly Program.

I ruffle through my bookrack housing old magazines and glossies to gift my daughter a peppy and ready to fly butterfly and presto, find a 2006 may edition of Filmfare Magazine full of pages with colourful ads and starlets in bright designer wear and jewelry.

I take out her drawing book, pencil, eraser, the glossy, fevistick and spread them on the bed. By now my daughter has planted herself squarely in the middle of the bed, her upper body swaying to and fro in anticipated pleasure.

We get on the job without much ado...... I draw a big butterfly taking up an entire page of her large drawing book. I ask her to choose a coloured paper from the glossy and she chooses a green and grey ad page. I teach her how to tear little pieces from the page and show her how it should be stuck on the paper. She laps it all up like some eager beaver...... Her face is a frame of happiness and concentration. She proceeds with amazing dexterity for a three and something year old.

We have been at it for the better part of an hour now. I supply her with more coloured papers " Mamma eto colour paper keno dicho " (why are you giving me so many coloured papers???) I tell her, "Beta ..... a butterfly should have many colours on its wings or it will feel sad...."

She thinks about it and asks....

"Mama aami jodi anek colours di tahle butterfly ki bolbe??"( Mamma if I give many colours to the butterfly what will it tell me??"

I ponder and say " tomay thank you bolbe beta aar khushi hoye ure chole jabe..." (It will thank you and fly off happy...)

She looked at me with round happy eyes and said " Satti mamma"( Is it the truth Mamma?)

I shake my head in the affirmative and hold out my arms.....she jumps into them, I hug her little body close and thank her silently, for giving me this wonderful and priceless lesson in the Craft of Love....

To my Maa - with love

It is difficult,....... no impossible to imagine my world without you. You are like that invisible yet strong thread which holds all the lovely pearls together for the entire world to admire and praise.

Your silent contribution in creating our family foundation and sustaining it till date with constant physical and emotional labour always leaves me OVERWHELMED with wonder and thankfulness.

Maa, with the daily hustle and bustle of our lives, I hardly find time to give you time, but you are happy if I lend you a patient ear just for quarter of an hour ....

You feel guilty, if I thoughtlessly comment that it has been a long time since we had dahi badas and rush on immediately to set correct the aberration........

Maa, I am AT PEACE in the knowledge that by daughter will get the best upbringing, protected and cared for as she is, under your wings......

365 x 24 x 7, you endure my tantrums, emi's tantrums, our great dad's tantrums and a three and a half year old's tantrums (which beats all the tantrums put together), and at 10.30p.m. we still have to literally push you to get into bed......

Maa, any goodness that I may have in me, any capability to make a difference, any patience to put up with plain selfishness and thoughtlessness and still believe that God takes care of good people..... I owe it all to YOU.

YOU ARE THE GREATEST MAA, AND AT 60 , MORE BEAUTIFUL than Sharmila Tagore and Hema Malini put together.........

I wish God gives me the power and the resource to keep you protected from the vagaries of a selfish world, just as you have kept me protected and nourished.

I love you more that I can ever express or more than you will ever know and understand.......

"HAPPY MOTHERS DAY" MAA

11TH MAY 2008

To my daughter- with love

Dearest child,

It has been quite a journey, the mother of all roller coaster rides these past three and a half years................. but the pleasure, the thrill has been unmatched despite the close calls that happened to my poor heart.

At 1.20 am on 7th October, 2004, you decided that enough was enough, the waiting-for-the-right-time-to-see-the-world game had become quite tiresome, and it was time to take matters in your hand. Had you paused just a moment to consult your poor mother, I would have tried to put some good sense in your stubborn head, but now since I know patience is not one of your virtues, I realise that perhaps it would have been in vain. Your timing was bad, child, the sky looked pensive and heavy with a thousand dark intentions. I hated to go down and disturb the sleep of two of the kindest people who walk this beautiful earth( your dear dear grandparents).... but since you showed no intention of listening to me, I had no option but to wake them up and then call up the hospital.

Your "dada" said he will drive me to the hospital and "aeba"would need to come along as well. It was around 3.50 am when we started, the drizzle was steadily increasing to bigger and rounder drops and within minutes the roads resembled slithering, glossy, hissing serpents....... The famous potholes on our Kolkata roads now assumed the look of craters, rapidly filling up with the liquid ire of the Rain God. Well, you sure handed over a great responsibility to your "dada", handling his precious cargo and reaching safely the destination, in that mad, mad night. So at roughly around 20 minutes past 5 or maybe a little later we rolled in through the hospital gates. I was wheeled in with royal treatment and assigned a room with a 72 year old who had (I dont know how!!) broken one of her hip joints and now had a steel ball in her hip socket as replacement .wow imagine!

Well as a matter of fact, you had been in your new home only for 36 weeks, it would have been so much the better for all of us, if you would have stayed back for just another 1 or 2 weeks more.

...... Well, come to think of it, it wasn't that bad actually, because Ma Durga was sheduled to visit her earthly abode around the 19th of October, and Pujas being what it is for Kolkata, doctors might have gone for extended leaves, and what could have been worse, than spending the "DURGA PUJAS" in a hospital bed, when the whole city would be lost in joy and merriment.

There I go again rushing ahead in my tale, sorry sweetheart, lets go back to Room No. 203 A of Aurobindo Seva Kendra at Jodhpur Park....

By 7.30 the entire city was waterlogged, lifts stopped working, doctors couldnt keep deadlines since their vehicles, midway, swallowed water, hiccupped and stalled, the morning shift staff couldn't reach as trains were halted at god forsaken stations and the nurses, attendants and doctors were forced to work overtime.

The same fate was meted to our Omni and your dada and aeba had to dump it at the petrol pump (thank god, the car had the good sense to go kaput there!) and wade through knee deep and then thigh deep waters to come to the hospital at around 10.30 am.

I was getting worried about your safety and kept enquiring for the doctor...... everytime being told not to worry... he was on his way....... finally they couldn't keep it from me anymore, my doc would'nt be able to make it and so his next in charge would take over. I was besides myself with worry. I trusted my doctor with my life and more importantly yours - it was a bond which had gradually developed over a period of 9 long months every moment of which was cherished and loved.....

The lift was not working so 4 (strong) attendants lifted me on a stretcher and carried me up two flights of stairs to the OT. I felt quite funny besides being scared!

7th October, 1.30 p. m. : Suffice it to say, I hate OTs.... they scare me, my nerves desert me and it is living hell........But oh ! I see the familiar face of my angel doctor who smiles behind his mask, I see the smile in his eyes and am reassured.....

7th October, 1.37 pm: my anaesthetist asks me "what do you think.....will it be a boy or a girl......"

7th October, 1.38 pm, Thursday: A sweet feeble cry....... I say 'its a b...a GIRL", the doc smiles and says " yes you are right , a girl it is!"

They bring you near, my heart wells up in my eyes, a pretty child, so frail and delicate ( child, I ate such a lot, what happened ? you let me down you know, 2 kilos and 250 gms, it sure was a bad performance!)

The following 2 days , are a little hazy dear, I was worried for you but not overly..... it was later that I came to know that you sure had battled it out with pipes and tubes and incubators...... but I had always known that you my child are a Fighter with all the letters in capitals and you will make your own destiny.

14th October , Thursday: WE are HOME!!!

Several million milestones later.......

1st February 2007 , 9.15 am : As your dada and I take you to your first date with school "ROCKFORD HOUSE" we are tensed and besides ourselves with worry. The initial moments were easy, you walk in holding my hand, raising shy eyes to the new "aunty" who is smiling at you.... its only when she holds your hand and leads you away that you cry out in protest..............Ah child it wrung my heart to leave you and go to office.

At 10.30 your dada calls me up and tells me that you have been so inconsolable, crying "dada... dada" all the while that they have let you go. Papiya aunty tells your dada that this is the first time she has come across a child who could not be consoled, quietened and diverted by all the means that she had hitherto employed successfully, for all other new entrants to her fold. Well, did'nt we all know how obstinate our little angel could be.......

27 days of pure agony, interspersed with occasional hours of ecstasy followed. You pleaded with us saying " Papiya Aunty baaje (bad), aami ecool (school) jabo na...... dadaaaaaaaaaaa, aami ecool jabo na". Saturdays and Sundays you loved best ....... we agonised over your settling in school, would it ever happen? were they treating you well ? maybe we needed to change schools ???

Aah, finally 28th February 2007 : Before your "dada"'s and my startled eyes you accept Papiya Aunty's hand held out to you, smile shyly, wave to us and go through the school gate WITHOUT A PROTEST. So, our wait is finally over , you have actually started liking school..... looking forward to it in fact.

You sing, you dance, you recite your nursery rhymes in your high pitched sing song voice and each and every word and action of yours we would like to freeze in the frame of time and preserve for ever in the albums of our mind. Oh! how I pray that the cruel hands of time not dim the memory of these moments and our accompanying feelings of pride, joy and weak kneed thankfulness.

I , for one, now fully understand the profoundity of " I love you so much, it hurts". You will too but you have to wait till god lets you become a mother...........................

7th April 2008, Monday: We have lived out a lifetime these past three and a half months, but that is a story for another day, another time.

Today you take your first step towards making your own destiny, preparing yourself for leaving behind footprints on the sands of time.....You did not cry when I handed you over to your class teacher Ananya Banerjee at Delhi Public School. You were brave and I would want you to be so , take every new step with a sparkle in your eyes and spring in your step, however frightened you be in your heart.

You cried when I went to pick to pick you up after school. My heart welled up, I hated your misery as much you hated it...... but dear, as you grow up , life will teach you that man's got to do what man's got to do..... and I was supposed to to be strong and guide you, right?

You blackmailed me into bunking office" Mamma please jeyo na, aamar ssathe thako, aamar khushi hobe". I was too weak hearted a mother to be a disciplinarian and called up to excuse myself.

Aah my child how it wrings my heart when every night while going to bed you ask me in a plaintive voice "Mamma kalke school nei toh..." (mamma, do I need to go to school tomorrow....). And then in the morning again " mamma please dont send me to school...... I dont want to go to BIG school". I go through the entire cycle that I went through when you first started school.

You come back with your tiffin untouched.... throwing us into paroxyms of anxiety...... the entire day you are a happy child but as night comes your question pops up again..... when will you fall in love with your school child ?

7th May 2008, Wednesday : ON the ride to the school I tell you, how your summer hols will commence from 1 day later..... you ask me again and again , Mamma...CHHUTI????, "Yes beta tomar 30 days chutti, tumi khali khelbe, drawing korbe, aamra shopping jabo" , you stare at me your eyes twin twinkling stars.... "mamma satti bolcho toh"(mamma are you telling the truth?)

I promise that its GOd's own Truth.

That day YOU enter school with a SMILE on your Face!!!!!.

So DEAR CHILD we resume anew with renewed hopes our BLESSED journey THROUGH LIFE......