It`s bright and sunny today.. The sky,bluer than a robin`s egg. The grass so green. The breeze pulling my hair back into a frizzled mess. Just like how a perfect summer day should be.

And I was walking back home from the bus stop (Yeah,Yeah the old empty home. I just cant seem to let go,can I?)

On the way, there`s a children`s day care center. You can hear the colourful voices calling out to each other,even before you spot the play pen around the corner. And as I walked by, smiling at the dirty little faces peering curiously from over the fence, one lil girl called out to me.

“ Are you Indian?”

She must`ve been around 5 or so. And I was stunned.

“Yes, how did you know?” I smiled back.

"Parents mustve had a racist conversation over dinner", I thought.(Shall dwell on the racism thing in another blog.)

“ You`re wearing red paint on your hair,like Sid`s mom does,” she said matter-of-factly!

(Referring to the ‘sindoor’ I use. )

My sister doesn’t use sindoor anymore. Lotta people don’t. Some use a red paint,like a nail paint or a lipstick – supposed to be convenient and less messy. Others use designer ones,like the ones you see in the Ekta Kapoor serials on zee tv! I stick to the regular form,along with the traditional bong style ‘shakha pola’ –Weird as it may seem to people who know me (or hardly!)- this bold,outgoing persona that I project – I`m basically timid at heart(??!!) and scared of experimenting on this one!

And as I stood there chatting up bull with the lil kid, there loomed in front of me, a huge,wobbly apparition clad in a worn-out, ill-fitting garment straight out of Salvation Army`s thrift store(I usually don’t comment on people`s clothes or looks but this one really got on my nerves. You`ll know why).

With one hand on her oh so generous hip and the other dangling menacingly in front of my face, she asked me what I was trying to do with the kid! As I stood there,trying in vain to explain that it was the lil girl who stopped me and not the other way around, she refused to take any explanations whatsoever. She continued to bare a crooked, yellow set of teeth and snarl at me.When I saw her turning purplish-blue in the face(pbly hypoxia due to continuous shrieking and forgotten gasps of breath, thought my medically trained brain!), I decided I needed to back-off before she fell to the ground,dying.Death caused by sudden rupture of a cerebral vessel in a fit of rage!! And suddenly I was glad I`m still not allowed to practice medicine in this country!The idea of doing a mouth-to-mouth nauseated me! And so, off I went. And it was only once I turned around the corner,about a mile from the play pen,that her booming voice faded into the distant air. And I allowed myself a breath.

Of all the things I have been misunderstood to be, a psychopathic child-picker wasn’t ever one!!

The incident shook me up pretty bad. I can understand a person being protective of children, especially in a country like this where we get to hear crimes of the sort,everyday on tv or through the newspaper. But some level of discretion should be exercised, some judgement should be made about whom to suspect and whom not to. And if we are to go by looks or body language or whatever it is she went by, I`m sure that by any standards, I would have to try really hard(and still never succeed) to look more "suspicious" than her!!

I kept thinking about it,getting more and more angry by the minute. Until I remembered an incident that occurred when I was posted to J&K in the Year of the Lord 2003.

I shall continue in another blog. Until then, feel free to comment ;)

Hey People!

And here I am again, roaming around the quiet streets alone. Like a lost soul. And for all I know, I may just be turning into one.

Officially it`s Summer. The semester is over and the students have all gone away. That’s why the quiet streets, the deserted coffee shops and a grey gym. It comes as a surprise to me – this uneasy feeling inside.I`m not able to grasp it completely but there`s something I don’t quite like about this. Probably because I`m still so not over the chaos back home. Perhaps I wander around,looking for familiar sights, smell or sounds. Or atleast the familiar chaos that wrecks havoc on Kolkata streets, esp under the sweaty summer sun.

But today,I feel happy. ‘Raising T’ has left a warm comment on my blog and believe this or not, she made my day :)

It may sound a lil weird. But then again,it may not. Because I`m sure all of you who write,will understand the kick one gets when one knows that there are people out there in the world, who are probably going through the same phases in life. And who consider my musings interesting enough, to devote 5 minutes of their time,to read what my mind writes!

For as long as I can remember, I have forever wanted to write. I have spent many a happy afternoons, imagining myself to be a well-acclaimed author! The “ I wanna be Jhumpa Lahiri” phase! :)

But like they say – Life is what happens when you`re busy making other plans! And so here I am.. going about doing what I am supposed to do. Playing many roles,but the one I`ve always longed to. And all the while, tenaciously clinging onto my dreams. Like a lil girl,clutching her favourite doll. And up until now,I never realized how much I valued it. Until ‘Raising T’ left a comment on my blog.

It thrills me no end, to open my blog page and see the comments( I wont be running out of fingers,counting them!!) and the profile visits. It gives me a kind of a kick, that even a double shot espresso does not!

While some might find this unnatural and say that they write for themselves, as an outlet vent to their innermost selves. I completely agree. So do I. But after all, I`m only human. I love to be appreciated! :) So, to all of my readers(I`m hoping there are a few atleast!) – I may not be your idea of Jhumpa Lahiri, but hey! I`m trying..(!!!) I`ll try and write some interesting stuff from now on

More later..

Coming Back Home..

Well, for starters, I managed to stay at ‘home’ today. Which means that I got some unpacking done!

* Piper pats herself and does a jig around the room! * J

The living room is looking more presentable than I had thought ( Thank God for small mercies!). Its probably the huge hand-painted wall-hanging that one of G`s students got from China. More updates on the full décor later.

There`s something else on my mind today. Mom Dad are going to be here in a month`s time. I`m so thrilled! I`m sure they`ll love it here. Like I did. I remember how I would roam around, wide-eyed and awestruck! Everything looked so new,so different, so clean.. I remember doing a recce of the grocery store in stunned silence. What first caught my eyes are the huge white onions,of the size of half a water melon back home! :)

The milk came in handy cans,instead of the plastic packets. The potatoes were huge,red and clean!! The passer-by`s were warm and friendly and always greeted you. The men would hold open the doors.There were no car horns honking away,as we whizzed along the roads at 60 mph. There weren’t any annoying pedestrians,trying to get themselves killed by the cars,as they cruised a busy lane.You get the drift…little things like that. Life comes to you,easy and clean here. America`s not ceased to amaze me..even now!

So what is it about good ol` Kolkata that I still miss so much?

Crazy as it sounds, the noise ,the chaos, the din, the pushy people. And bicycles,cars,buses,people,dogs,cats and cows – all in one crowded lane. Traffic jams,sultry weather, the smell of sweat, the kids playing with paper boats on muddy,standing waters of Central Avenue streets on a rainy day in summer.The municipality hand-pumps. The swish-swash of chappals in the sloshy fish markets.The putrid,choking smell in therel. The loud voices,bargaining with the vendors on Gariahat. The sea of people surging along the busy Sealdah station. The cat fights and the gossips in the women`s compartment of the 6 o`clock Barrackpore local. The sneering comments of the ‘muhallah’ guys. The roadside tea stalls serving tea in earthen cups. The crowd at Dakhinapan. The khadi salwar suits and ‘jhola’ bags. The jostling, the pushing and the rush to reserve seats at the metro stations. The fact that Park Street is the only metro station where the doors to the platform open on the left! The taste of fresh Ilish Mach (Hilsa fish). Biryani at Shiraz. And come September ,there will be stacks of bamboos lying by the road side,waiting to be fortressed into a magnificent puja pandal. Thousands of incomplete clay idols lined along side lanes.Some with a half painted face. While others still in the process of being sculpted into a scared figure.

Colourful faces and interesting hair-dos at Durga Puja pandals.The smell of incense,the sound of “dhak”(drums) and the ‘dhunuchi nach”(a traditional dance form in Bengal).The songs of Malalaya floating through the air at 4 in the morning,laced with some unknown,unacknowledged sadness. And ‘jilipi’ from the local sweet shops at break-fast on the day of Mahalaya(officially the first day of durga puja).

The smell of Ma`s cooking. Fresh, homemade yogurt.The family meals and the evening tea.

All of that. But most importantly,I miss the feeling of belonging. I miss the ease of mind that comes from knowing that this is my land. My nation. My country.This is the only place in the world I can roam around, without the worry of having forgotten my passport or a photo id. This is the only place I will be treated as a rightful occupant and not a “resident / non resident alien” with a number!

Would I then,trade places with anyone back home?? I guess not…

* Piper backs off sheepishly and tries to disappear! *

So much for Big Talk!

So seriously if you ask me, I do miss home. A whole lot and more. But I`m happy being where I am and dreaming about returning home some day.

Its like the story of this lil girl who is feverishly excited about returning back home from a holiday. So her mother asks her,

“ Which do you like better? Going away on a trip or coming back home?”

To which,the lil girl replies, “ Coming back home,ofcourse!”

So the mother says to her, “ Well honey, if you like coming back home so much, we wont take you along, on our next trip.”

Puzzled, the lil girl says,

“ But Mommy, if you wont take me out on the road, How will I ever come back home?”

That sums it up, I guess… :)

The House at Iona Lane - edited to add

Hi Readers,

How sanctimonious of me to assume that people across the globe would actually spend time reading my blog!! :)
I hope you all do..
Anyway, for those of you who read the previous blog - I`m sorry I had to remove the pics I posted. The Goltin is paranoid about posting pics and revealing identities over the internet. He nearly asphyxiated when he saw the Iona home pics flashing all over my webpage. I know because I could hear the loud gasping amidst his frantic attempts to convince me to remove the pics forthwith! I actually felt sorry for him. Poor guy has too much on his mind already,what with a hectic work schedule and a neurotic wife. He probably doesnt deserve to worry about some psycho getting an access to the home or whatever it is he is scared of!
Anyway, so considering how sorry I felt when I heard him hyperventilating and trying to rant away about security and stuff, I removed the pics forthwith. Needless to say, there wont be any more of them, no matter how much I`d love to share.
I dont necessarily fancy the idea of trying to resusciate an asphyxiated Goltin all by myself! :)

Unpacking

There`s so much work at home. We haven’t yet unpacked. And it’s a little uneasy to be living out of suitcases and packed cardboard boxes. The Goltin as always has been terrific about this too. He`s patiently waiting for me to finally settle back in here,so we can pick up the threads of life from where we left.

The reason we haven’t unpacked as yet is because The Goltin has to attend the U – has a paper deadline on Friday. And I am too scared to stay at home alone. In broad daylight! If that seems a little peculiar, that’s because it is I guess!

So,the only time we have for unpacking are late evenings, by which time I`m dead tired –just by roaming around deserted university avenues and coffee shops and surfing the internet in an empty ,forsaken home for 9 hours at a stretch,waiting for The Goltin to finish work! And The Goltin,dead tired by the never-ending juggle between an over-committed work schedule and a nagging wife!

Anyway.

So, last night,The Goltin and me started talking and he asked me a question that set me thinking.

“ Since when did you start feeling scared of being alone? Was it since any particular phase in childhood? Or was it forever?”

He was probably trying to play Freud!

Well, I really cant seem to remember. Maybe since forever now. I have always been scared – really scared of being alone,on my own. And that ,coming from a doctor! Who served the Indian Army for the last 6 ½ years and who`s seen it all!! Believe me,I`ve really seen it all – from the underground bunkers at the Line of Control between Pak-occupied Kashmir and India. To cross-border firing between the two estranged nations before cease-fired kicked in. From inhuman living conditions without running water or electricity. To handling tons of battle casualties, regular as well as the fatal open gun-shot wounds in ambush encounters .And I`ve been alone. By myself. Without the luxury of cell phones or landlines. Without the luxury of a television to keep me company. Without the luxury of the internet. Without a home to go back to,at the end of another gruesome day.

Looking back, I wonder how I survived that phase.

Was I scared back then? Oh Yes! Ofcourse I was. But there in the wilderness, all of us, officers and troops alike, would huddle close - as if our togetherness could build a fortress of strength within each one of us out there. A fortress of strength and an unflinching will to go on existing and the hope that someday we will be living our lives and not just struggling to exist.

Those were amazing times. I`ll be eternally grateful for having had the priviledge to see this aspect of life and to know what 'living on the edge' really means. Not everyone gets that chance. But do I want to return back? Do I ever want to repeat the experience,just to remind myself that life has dealt me a great set of cards?

Well, lets see...uummm....NO?!!!!!!! NEVER AGAIN!

So,coming back to the point I was trying to make - Its strange that I should feel scared of being alone - scared to pathological proportions. Strange because I left home after high school and have been out there in the world, living on my own for the past 12 years now!! And yet, the thought of staying at home alone in the day time,when The Goltin goes to work, really scares me! Its not the fear of ghosts or lizards or any of the normal fears that normal people have. The fact that the backyard is lined with trees, so I really cant see beyond our own fence line, bothers me. The fact that the home is in a very quiet neighbourhood,with hardly any people walking by,bothers me.The Goltin says that here in the U.S, the sign of a safe and good neighbourhood is that there are no strangers loitering around. That is something I will have to learn to accept. Because, isnt that exactly the opposite of what I have always been trained to be aware of ,back home? Never to venture into quiet places alone. To always try and be near a crowd or a public place to avoid unnecessary hiccups? Well, whoever taught me that,obviously forgot to mention that it was only when I`m on the road. And not about residential neigbourhoods!

Amongst all the lessons driven home to me through kind words,yells and sometimes even brick-bats - this was obviously a lesson I never forgot! Its safe to be in a crowd - (even at home though???!!!)

Gotta run.. more tomorrow.

Blogs

For quite some time now,I have been thinking about blogging on a more regular note and not just write a prose or a short story once in a couple of months. But it has just not been possible. Not because I have been insanely busy or anything. I mean,that too. But everyday as I religiously sit with the laptop, facing a blank page - I wait for some grand idea to pop in my head,so I can jump up,shout “Eureka!” and start writing! It never happens. So today I decided to just start writing about my life. Just how I spend my days. My thoughts. The events that occur through the day. The troubles I get into. The tears I shed and the laughter I share.You know,little things like that. And see,if I can manage to make an interesting blog,for people to read.

Some of the blogs I read,are those of new mothers and old ones.Working Moms and full-time ones. They all write about their lil ones. How exasperating it can get at times and how they sometimes want to fling their lil wildcats out of the window.The guilt they feel about not being able to spend enough time with the kids. But how,at the end of the day, a lil goodnight hug or a funny word or two from them, can so totally make the whole exercise of parenting oh so worth their while. I love reading these Mommy blogs. They almost tame me into wanting to experience these lil joys of motherhood myself!

Sometimes I read blogs of 20-something single women, waltzing their way through life. It reminds me of my own time in the past and the wild and free bird that I was. Some of them are vocal to the point of rudeness while some more timid. But all like to speak their minds out to the world. And why not? Its their own space in the blogosphere and no one else has a right to that. I love reading these blogs. Sometimes I even post a comment, only to have them deleted(??!!). And I wonder to myself. Are the youngsters of today a lil less tolerant than how we were? Cannot really generalize – because its not that I`m a generation gap older or something! Hey, I`m a youngster as well J

Then what can the reason be? For someone to erase my comments, when I take meticulous care to phrase every line to sound just right and polite? It bothers me, but then that’s my problem. It puzzles me because I would love people to read what I`m writing and comment on that. Not rude,insensitive or anonymous ones. But yeah, comments in a more civilized format and NOT necessarily agreeing with what I`m saying.

So anyway, I spend a large chunk of the day,reading a lot of interesting blogs. It amazes me and makes me think. I love getting to know all these bloggers,through their posts. I love knowing their opinions on various aspects of life. And it makes me want to blog some more…

But sometimes it’s a lil distressing because I don’t really have a happening life like any of these fellow bloggers. I don’t have kids. I don’t work. I`m at home all day,reading other people`s blogs! So what can I possibly write about. Well, we`ll see…

More tomorrow.

The House at Iona Lane

We moved into our dream home yesterday. Moved our stuff along with all the memories. And I`m back to the old,now empty house today to finish up the cleaning before we hand over the property back to the university guys. As I sit here on the floor by the glass door typing away my thoughts, I feel a tinge of sadness laced with nostalgia about the life I had here and the knowledge that it wont ever be the same again. This is a small 2 rooms townhome where we always had to struggle to fit in all our things. We had to put on hold so many plans like buying the kind of furniture we liked, just because the house was too small to accomodate. But it was the first home I had after marriage. Here is where I spent happy afternoons,sprawled out on the couch reading. Or watching the rain beat down the glass door. Or learnt to cook a full meal. Here is where I spent time with The Goltin, honeymooning!
The new house at Iona is splendid in every way I can imagine. Its huge.It has 3 bedrooms, other than a big family room and a glass covered all seasons porch. And it is in a splendid "high-demand" neighbourhood. It is everything that The Goltin and me had ever imagined our first home to be like. And yet it isnt home, as yet..
Last evening as we were standing on the lawn outside and admiring the most expensive investment of our lives, the neighbours all walked over to where we stood. And we stood there,The Goltin and me, under the Big Tree on our lawn,chatting up with them. The light summer breeze was straddling the afterglow of the setting sun.And it felt just right.It felt warm and nice to be welcomed this way to the neighbourhood. They are all pleasant and caring old couples,some of whom have been living here for the last 40 years! I`m sure we will too - The Goltin and me. This house may not seem like home as yet.This house may not be the first home we stayed in after marriage.But it is definitely the very first home we own. And most definitely,the home we will grow old together in..
I`ll sign off here on a hopeful note. Shall definitely come back with more updates on settling down.