.....in remembrance

Today marked the second monthly death anniversary of Baba. Two months gone.

And because life has to go on, i have packed away the memories in little sachets tied with love - packed away because i need to forget to be able to move on. Is that cruel? i don't know but that is my way of dealing with grief and loss. i get drawn in an abyss of sadness if i try to remember, i see his face when i close my eyes, the way he suffered and i don't want to remember him like that. i want to forget enough to be able to remember him from earlier days - like when he fetched me from school and took me to have omelette and falooda; when he bought me those tiny cheese packs; how i used to wait up for him to come home; of being his favourite daughter; pampering me and indulging me when i was fussy about eating; telling me not to study so much when he found me still up at 1 in the night....i am so sad now i could drown. And since i cannot live this way, i choose to forget. Till the time i am healed enough to be able to remember without this pain, till the time i can smile when i see his face.

In his memory, we decided to donate lunch for the inmates of Mother Teresa's Nirmal Hriday. Bachou said it was much better than donating at a temple. i could not agree more. And so Emaibem, Ema and i went to the home today. Since the one at kalighat is under renovation, we had to go to Prem Daan at Park Circus. It took quite a bit of asking around before we could find it. There it was in a squalid crowded lane that could barely let our car in. But the gates opened and we were in another world - serene and peaceful. There were so many foreign volunteers - in fact all of the volunteers were foreigners. Some were feeding the old women, one was clipping somebody's nail, another was darning a torn gamcha (towel). i spoke to some of them - one old shriveled woman said she was waiting for death to take her away from her misery, she can no longer walk, constipated....i was almost in tears to see the sufferings. i do not have much stomach for human tragedy...It was a humbling experience. Ema and Emaibem served the inmates along with the volunteers.

i thought ice-cream would be nice in the heat after the lunch. So i got permission from the sisters to get ice-cream for the inmates. i took B, our trusted driver, and we went off in search of ice-cream in the by-lanes. i think he was worried about me and he told me to stay back and he would go alone as it was not the friendliest looking neighbourhood. i waved away his fears and we managed to collect the required number from two shops. It was a treat to see them enjoying the ice-cream and i thought for less than 10 pounds, you could make the day for 50 people.

We gave away all the leftover syringes and medicines - kind of cleaning up and letting go, step by step. Also, i managed to get my sister to open her dreaded wardrobe and after an afternoon spent with me holding up one garment after another asking 'Staying or going' and Ema and my sister deciding whether to keep it/give it away, we managed to glean two big, big bags of clothes to give away. There were some clothes that even had the tag intact!! Why do women buy so many clothes? Beats me.

Ema wants to set up a trust in Baba's and my brother's name - give away gold(plated) medals to students. i said i would rather sponsor some poor deserving students rather than dole out medal to students who would then keep it hidden somewhere (i should know, i have them hidden away god knows where). Only trouble is finding genuinely deserving students. If you know of any, please suggest.

check.. check...check-up

In the last 10 years, i have had 8 medical tests - those stupid mandatory tests you have to undergo before they let you travel outside. And i have not seen the reports or heard anything about the condition of my heart, chest, stool or urine. Ever. Which makes me think i must be very healthy!

i went for one today.

i hate these tests - for one thing i have to get up early and present myself to be prodded and poked and blood sucked out. i cannot understand why they have to insist on taking so much of my blood considering that i don't have much of it.

i don't like the gel they apply before they attach electrodes and monitor your heart or whatever else they monitor. i don't enjoy changing into those sacks which pass for gowns and look like some human drowning in a gown. i don't like them making me read out the letters or trying to make sure i can spot numbers hidden in colourful circles. i don't like drinking half a bottle of water and then squirming about ready to burst waiting for the USG.

And today, after they drew blood (fasting), they offered me a glass of glucose laden water. Damn. i was expecting sweet, milk, banana, egg...anything but a glass of glucose.

And it is funny how the GP always assumes that you being female they can just cross out the 'Do you smoke?'; 'Do you drink?' questions. i don't smoke (unless you count the one time i took a puff of a bidi when i was a kid - yes, i started early -or the one time i smoked grass in Univ) or drink. But hey, i would at least like to be asked.

i was told twice today that my Bengali is so good. Actually it was more like 'Tumi khub sundar bangla bollo' (You speak beautiful bengali) and i went my usual 'oh ekhane onek din hoye geche tai jonno'. The other day someone told me 'Tomar Bangla tah khub poriskar' (Your Bengali is very clear). It made me feel as if my speech was a stream, flowing clear! Hah! i think it is because they don't expect me to be able to understand a single word of Bengali and then i open my mouth and ask something simple like 'Bag tah ki ekhane rakhbo?' and they literally spin around and do a double take. But then i remember being just as unbelieving when non-manipuris speak Manipuri.

Oh yes, and i have gained weight. One kg to be precise. But the lady who took my weight asked me 'Oto roga keno?' (Why are you so thin?). She was a nice one - even help me get into an ugly green gown that made me look like a chinky caterpillar! Ha ha ha...

And we celebrated Meitei New Year today. Katla mach, eromba and salad. When it is your mother cooking, well, everything tastes good.

...

i want to have my cake and eat it too...And when you are stupid enough to want that, then you are in for heartache.

Calcutta revisited

i love Calcutta. It does not have anything to do with the fact that i have stayed here for so long. i love it because it has a soul. Can a city have a soul? i don't know but this place is where i feel at home, home away from home. i love Imphal too but it is a love tinged with angst, of a love that somehow feels unrequited, unfulfilled. Like mooning for something that you know you can never have.

Calcutta has changed - what with its swanky malls and numerous flyovers zigzagging everywhere. The geography has changed - i can no longer find familiar landmarks, shadowed as they are by newer landmarks i do not recognise. But there are places still untouched, still the same as i left them years ago. Like the 8B market. Still the same murghir stall, the same dada who recognises me after 5 years, who fondly complains that i no longer buy from him and says i have become too thin, who tells me 'abar aasben kintu, didi' (But you must come again). The same vegetable vendor who always ask me where i have been, who throws in a lebu extra.

And then i know why i love Calcutta. Because of the people. Them fish eating, adda loving people. Sometimes, i forget that i am an outsider. But like SN tells me 'Tumi toh ekhon Bangali' (You are now a Bengali). She believes i have become one now that i can speak Bengali!

i love this place for having given me the few friends i have -M, SN, SM,SC, SS, ...Oh, i have only five friends!! Eeeeks.....And yes, him.

i went to New Market the other day. i have never gone there alone before. It has always been either with friends or him. i went searching for this shop called Elegant located near Globe. And it was no longer there. Empty space where it once stood. i felt sad. New Market is the kind of place where i can be guaranteed to get lost and never emerge - but then i have been known to get lost even in the office. i mean, you can enter from one side and emerge at another end from where you have no idea where the other end is. So i went in, came out from another end, dazed, lost...Went in again, came out at yet another unfamiliar end. In the end, i was able to emerge with my sanity intact, with almost a triumphant swagger!

Gariahat is almost the same. The footpaths still spills over bedsheets, t-shirts, shoes, bags, leggings and almost anything you can ask for. People still haggle.

One place i have not visited is my Alma Mater. It is but 5 minutes from where i stay but something stops me. Maybe i am scared of encountering ghosts from the past still roaming about the places i loved/love. So i just gaze at it from the car window and imagine nothing has changed inside - that the basketball court would still be stained with our footprints, that the jheel would still ripple with the sounds of our laughter....

But for whatever reason, Kolkata, ami tomake bhalobhasi.