The brown monster

I haven't managed to write in a very long time. I wouldn't have even written in a long long time, given the surreal pressure of being Piled Higher and Deeper. But here I am, almost in the middle of the night, trying every possible trick in the world to keep the mind off the pure evil that's sitting right there on the kitchen counter and silently laughing at my misery. I call it my nemesis. Officially though, people call it Nutella. 

It was exactly three years ago that I had my first tryst with this sinful hazelnut spread. I had thought, "well it's made of hazelnut, how much bad could it be?" It tasted breathtakingly good, insanely addictive, was promoted as a healthy breakfast spread, and was consumed by a wide mass of people. So I convinced myself that it was definitely not something to be worried about. Initially, nothing happened. I kept on buying jar after jar of Nutella and spreading it on breads, crackers, fruits, and anything I could lay my hands on. Eventually, they gave way to spooning out dollops of the spread right off the jar and putting it in the mouth, and even more stacking of empty jars in the kitchen. Three months later, clothes started getting tighter. The zipper of the favorite pair of jeans wouldn't close. And people started commenting on how "fuller" my face had become. I didn't pay much attention, until I weighed myself one night at a friend's dinner party who happened to have a weighing machine at hand. 12 kilograms more than the usual weight, it told me. At first, I thought the machine was broken. But it wasn't too long before reality hit me. I remember crying that night, on my way back, and promising myself never to let that devil wreak havoc in my life! Ever.

It has been three years since then. I have lost all that weight, followed a healthy lifestyle, gained wisdom and a hell lot of experience. However in all these years, except for a few Nutella crêpes here and there, never did I once let myself be rendered helpless at the hands of that particular spread. Until, recently. Three days ago, I went to the supermarket to buy the weekly grocery. It was cold and gloomy and dull and everything bad in the world and I was craving for something that would lift up the spirits in a jiffy. I browsed through the racks for more than fifteen minutes, but didn't find something that would make me go weak in the knees. And then, my eyes fell on the familiar brown jar with the white cap. I looked away instantly, knowing how fatal the attraction could turn out to be. But in the end, I found myself picking the jar up and proceeding towards the cash counter, and returning home with a smile I had forgotten I smiled.

On the first day, I behaved. I ate only a couple of spoonful and put the jar away and didn't look back. I thought I had gained enough self-control in all these years to be able to stay away. But, boy oh boy, was I in for a surprise! That was Sunday. Today is Tuesday. And, I can almost see the bottom of the 500 gm jar. It probably won't last one whole week, eh who am I kidding, half a week even. All I did in the last two days after coming straight back from work was sit in front of the laptop, watch a few episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S and gobble down spoonful after spoonful of the orgasmic goodness. And now I feel exactly the way I felt three years ago: ashamed and disgusted beyond belief at the sinful over-indulgence, but with a happiness that says "if loving you is wrong, I don’t want to be right"! I now, can die, peacefully :)

বাঙালিয়ানা

মাতৃভাষায় এই প্রথম কোনো ব্লগ-পোস্ট লিখছি। না, শুধু ব্লগ-পোস্ট লিখছি বললে ভুল বলা হবে। মাতৃভাষায় এই প্রথম কিছু লিখছি, অনেক অনেক দিন পর। লাস্ট সেই ২০০৫। মাস টা এপ্রিল বোধহয়। উচ্চ মাধ্যমিক পরীক্ষা। তার পরে তো কলেজ-এ উঠে সাপের পাঁচ-পা দেখে বাংলার বদলে ওই কিসব অল্টারনেটিভ ইংলিশ নিলাম। কি খুশি-ই না হয়েছিলাম সেদিন। বাংলা থেকে মুক্তি, সারাজীবনের মতো! 

বাংলা-র সাথে বরাবর এর শত্রূতা আমার। স্কুল এর পরীক্ষায় কোনদিন ৫০ এ ২০-র ওপর পেয়েছি বলে মনে পরে না। ক্লাস টেস্ট এ অচেনা রচনা লিখতে দিলে ১০ লাইন এর বেশি লিখতে পারতাম না। ব্যাকরণ এর উত্তর পাশের জনের খাতায় খোঁজার চেষ্টা করতাম। Parents-teachers মিটিং গুলোতে টিচার দের বরাবর একটাই অভিযোগ থাকতো- বাংলা তে আরও ইম্প্রোভমেণ্ট দরকার। প্রথম প্রথম মা বলতো, বাঙালির মেয়ে হয়ে বাংলায় এত খারাপ! পরের দিকে, নিজের মুখ বাঁচাতে মেয়ে কে তোতা পাখি করে পরীক্ষায় পাঠাতো। রচনা থেকে শুরু করে ব্যাকরণ, গদ্য-র প্রশ্ন উত্তর থেকে পদ্য, কোনো কিছুই বাদ থাকত না মেয়ে কে দিয়ে মুখস্ত করাতে। স্বাভাবিক ভাবেই, মাধ্যমিক পরীক্ষায় মা এর মুখ উজ্জ্বল করে লেটার-মার্কস এনেছিল মেয়ে।

"বোর্ড এর পরীক্ষায় এত নম্বর পেয়েছি যখন, তাহলে হয়তো বাংলা তে এতটাও খারাপ না আমি"। এই চরম ভুল ধারণা আর over-confidence এর কারণেই ক্লাস ১১-এ উঠে second language হিসেবে শেষে বাংলা-ই নিলাম। স্বেচ্ছায়। ভেবেছিলাম- মা তো আছে, দরকার পড়লে না হয় কোনো একটা টিউশন এ ভর্তি হয়ে যাবো। আর সেখানেই হলো গন্ডগোল। প্রতি রবিবার, ১০ টা থেকে দুপুর ১টা। এই ছিল টিউশন এর সময়। শুরুর দিকে যদিও বেশ মন দিয়েই পড়াশুনা করতাম। তারপরে একদিন, চিৎপটাং হয়ে পরলাম। প্রেমে। ওহ সে কি প্রেম, কি প্রেম! টিচার এর চোখ লুকিয়ে টেরিয়ে টেরিয়ে দেখা থেকে শুরু করে, বাস-স্টপ এ অন্তহীন অপেক্ষা, ছুটির পর তার পেছন পেছন হাঁটা, ক্লাস এ সেজে গুজে আসা, অন্য কোনো মেয়ে তার পাশে গিয়ে বসলে মনে মনে খুব গালমন্দ করা- বাদ দি নি কিছুই। শুধু বাদ পরে গেছিল দুটো জিনিষ। তার সাথে কোনদিন মুখ ফুটে কথা বলা টা। আর যে কারণে টিউশন পড়তে ঢোকা, সেটা। প্রথম বোকামি টার কোনো প্রমাণ নেই। দ্বিতীয় টার আছে। উচ্চ মাধ্যমিক পরীক্ষার মার্ক-শীট। বাংলা-য় ২০০ তে ১০১! এবং তার সাথে সাথে টোটাল-মার্কস এর একলাফে ২০ গুন কমে আসা। মা-র "লজ্জায় মরে যাওয়া" মুখ দেখে সেদিন ঠিক করে নিয়েছিলাম, অনেক হলো নিজের যোগ্যতা কে overestimate করা। আর না। তার সাথে এটাও যে পড়াশুনার জায়গায় প্রেম করা এই শেষ। এক্ষেত্রে কিন্তু প্রথম টা মেনে এসেছি অক্ষরে অক্ষরে। এমন কি, পরবর্তী কালে প্রেমিক দের দেওয়া love-letter এর ভাষা-ও কোনদিন "SMS-বাংলা"র ওপর ওঠেনি বানান ভুল হওয়ার ভয়ে। আর দ্বিতীয় টা? থাক সে সব কথা! ;) 

যাই হোক, তা আজ হঠাৎ ব্লগার এর language-options দেখতে গিয়ে "অ" চোখে পরলো। বুঝলাম, বাংলা তেও ব্লগ-পোস্ট লেখা সম্ভব তাহলে। আর সেখান থেকেই এই juvenile পোস্ট এর সূত্রপাত। বাংলা ভাষা নিয়ে অত্যাধিক উত্তেজনা কোনদিন-ই ছিল না আমার। তাছাড়া, ইন্টারনেট এর সাহায্যে ইংরেজি তে টাইপ করে বাংলা-য় লেখা আর পরীক্ষার আগে রাত-রাত জেগে ব্যাকরণ মুখস্ত করা অনেক আলাদা। তবে, এতদিন পর বাংলা লিখতে বসে অদ্ভূত এক ভালো লাগা অনুভব করলাম আজ। প্রতি বার, বার বার, "Pretty Woman" দেখে মনে হয় যেমন। Nutella-র শিশি তে সামান্য এক ফোঁটা চকলেট লেগে থাকলে যেমন। বা Paris ঘুরতে গিয়ে রেস্তোরার কাঁচে হাজার খানেক ভাষায় লেখা "welcome" এর মধ্যে "ভিতরে আসুন" খুঁজে পাওয়া যেমন। 

বাংলায় কি বলে জানিনা। ইংরেজি তে একেই বলে হয়তো,  soothing :)

The dark side of Youtube

So, today was one such day when my craving to munch on chocolate chip cookies knew no bounds. Given that I hardly ever keep them at home for fear of finishing the whole bunch in a single sitting, I decided to satisfy my pangs by watching "how to make chocolate chip cookies" on Youtube. It was then that I came across this- How to Make Cookies. The recipe had the highest view count among all cookie recipes (over two and a half millions) and the channel had over three million subscriptions. Naturally, I inferred that the recipe would be a mix of extreme decadence and guilty pleasure and would perhaps revolutionize cookie making, having no clue of the catastrophe that would unfold in the next couple of minutes!

I understand funny. I understand wit, sarcasm, spoof, meme, caricature, and prank. But I do not understand insanity. I do not understand psychopathy, nor do I understand nonsense. Basically, the guy mimics real recipes in some of the disgusting ways known to mankind, and pokes fun at the very art of cooking. So, while in a "how to make cookies" recipe, he smashes eggs against the kitchen counter, puts cookies and milk in the oven and immediately flushes them down the toilet, in the "how to make brownies" tutorial, he puts all ingredients in a food processor, adds a raw fish, mixes everything together, bakes them for a couple of seconds and flushes everything down the toilet in the end. Initially, I thought I missed the point- afterall how on earth could recipes so absurd and plain gross draw millions of views and comments from Youtube users? In an attempt to better understand the humor, I checked a couple of his other tutorials and figured that the guy indeed is a massive retard. Apart from food videos, he has horrifying videos like "how to babysit" and "how to make love to a chicken", which are beyond the maximum level of human tolerance (*spoiler alert*: do not check these out, I suffered enough!) They are plain absurd and disgusting and will make you loathe yourself for the rest of your life for having checked these videos in the first place.

But, sadly, that's not my point here. I do understand that people (even a madman like him) are open to upload whatever their heart desires on social media. So much said and done about freedom of speech, freedom of expression and so on, I can still tolerate attempts by pathetic individuals at redefining humor. What I fail to understand is how the channel is among the most watched channels on Youtube and how three million subscribers find it "hilarious". Is it the humor that I have so plainly failed to understand, or the "innovative ways" that have struck a chord with the viewers? Is it really the fact that people are so bored and have nothing else to do that they watch crap like these? Or is it that people, on principle, enjoy sadism?

I wish I knew the answers. On second thought, I pray that I never!

Et cetera

Valencia. A city that has one of the busiest seaports in Europe. A city that is a storehouse of energy. A city so warm that it compensates for living in a country with an almost-perennial winter. A city that basks in the happiness of being kissed by the Mediterranean everyday. A city that offers the best Paella and Tapas in the whole world. A city where people are loud, pleasantly unruly often, that reminds of home. A city that is Spanish in every way possible. A city that needs a separate blog-post of her own. And a city with brief and not-so-brief moments of solitude scattered around. 

When I first arrived here a couple of months ago for my research stay, I was reminded of a starry-eyed three-years-younger me who had just arrived in a new country where people spoke in a strange language. It reminded me of the first night that I had to sleep alone in a small apartment and the exponentially-increasing heartrate, of the infinite nights spent crying out of homesickness and loneliness, of the innumerable embarrassing incidents experienced on account of not understanding the language, of the niceness of people around, of all the rights and wrongs done along the way, and of growing up. While all these past experiences have definitely helped in coping with this all-over-again newness, it has also made me realise one very important aspect of life that I have most often overlooked. 

Learning to ski on the Alps or swim for the first time in the wavy Mediterranean waters are perfect definitions of testosterone-fueled activities as far as I am concerned. But I wonder if it would have been the same had there been no one to dismiss their own interests and patiently and persistently teach me the sports that day. Would it have been less scary that Friday night on a lonesome train station with drunken men around if there was no one to virtually give company the entire time? Would walking on the beach on a warm summer night with the wind ruffling the hair evoked the same emotions had there not been the perfect company to incessantly gossip with? Would ogling random French guys been as much fun if there wasn't anyone to share the naughtiness with? Or would it have been the same to try Tequila for the first time, without that look of concern displayed all across that particular onlooker's face? 

There is hardly anything more satisfying than getting a chance to experience a new country, new people, and new ways of life. Staying in a big apartment with guy roommates that's still considered a taboo back home, enjoying conversations and hard liquor without caring about people, time or place, roaming around in shorts and tees and not being judged or stared at, and experiencing freedom, can be a hell lot of fun. However, nothing in the world can match up to the feeling of feeling absolutely lost and lonely on the first day of arrival in a new city and then being taken on a night-tour of the city by the still-new roommate. It is then that one realizes how much incomplete "independence" is without a companion :)

Tryst with history

".. because when life throws lemons at you, collect them, cut them up, and enjoy with some tequila and salt!"

There's hardly anything more blissful than unwinding the Spanish way with a dear friend after an enormously exhausting month. However, nothing in the world prepares you for accidentally bumping into the oldest restaurant in the world (Sobrino de Botín) while taking a lazy walk down a tiny alley in the capital city and then getting a chance to dine in! @that tequila-shot moment :D

Sobrino de Botín

The entire structure of the restaurant, on display

The certificate

The restaurant has four floors. The ground floor has three big kitchens, the reception and the alcohol stock on display. The first floor hosts the guests and has an additional working kitchen. The second floor is mostly for personal use and provides services. Finally, the cellar is completely made of stone and is the coziest (and perhaps the most romantic) place to dine in! :)

Ground floor, and alcohol stock

Jewels, in the shape of certificates and merits,
adorning the walls

Translation: year 1725

The head chef with the suckling pig, the specialty
of the restaurant

The 18th century firewood oven

The cellar

Guests being entertained

Stairway to heaven :)

Interior

The mug which Sangria came in

Free service

and that's when the evening turned from nice to magical! :)

Federer, and a Sunday

Apart from getting up very late and missing three hours of work that's due for tomorrow, the Sunday had started on a reasonably high note. Arrival of two important emails that I had been waiting for since weeks, extension of the deadline for a very important conference, a wonderful news from a close friend, and finally, a teeny-tiny bit of leftover chocolate spread found in the jar while searching for possible breakfast ideas- somehow managed to slightly twist the otherwise crabby-looking lips to a familiar U shape. Unfortunately, my morning failed to show the day. Hence, in the end, I ended up looking like the Grumpy Cat, feeling like the bright yellow-colored substance and sensing the heart being broken into thousand tiny pieces. All that, because of one particular gentleman named Roger Federer. 

So, today was the Men's Single's Wimbledon Final. Djokovic versus Federer. Given the current form of the latter (who, by the way, was in the Wimbledon finals today after two long years), I had hoped and prayed for an exciting match and a result that skewed entirely in my favor. It did, till the 4th set, and then something happened. Something very very wrong, that pulled the heart out of the chest and tied it around the throat (if it sounds gruesome, imagine how it felt). In a matter of seconds, Federer had lost the game, the set, and the match. It was the end. The expectations, prayers, nail-biting, and the hope to finally see the look of immense happiness on the guy's face when I would tell him that Federer had won- all over. I sat motionless for a while. Then got up, moved around in the apartment contemplating murder of anyone and everyone, and finally sank in the bed and cursed. The feeling of immense disappointment and hurt, however, did not last very long. That, also because of this one particular gentleman named Roger Federer.

Roger Federer is one of the very few men I am completely in awe of. Not just me, Federer-love happens to run very high in the immediate and extended family too. The brother is a huge Federer fan, so is father. The guy is more of a fanatic than just a fan, and so are a few close friends. I, myself, am somewhere in between. Since ages, I have been fascinated by the sheer genius, poise, style and strength of the man. For me, he is greatness redefined on-field. Evidently enough, today's loss, that too at his most favorite ground, came as a shocker. But soon after, I was reminded of something that took away the pain of virtually watching him fail at the Centre Court today. What, you may wonder? Federer versus Youzhny. Gerry Weber Open, 2012. Halle, Germany. The day, coincidentally, was a Sunday too. And, Roger Federer, was just a few meters away :)

Long story short, after having uselessly planned for years, spontaneity got the better of us and we went to watch Federer play at the Gerry Weber Open in Halle. The match itself was a dream, and we had to pinch ourselves to believe that we were actually witnessing the greatest player live in action. We watched in awe the maestro, as he maneuvered his way into the Finals. After the match and subsequent press conference, the huge crowd gathered near the exit to catch a glimpse of the man. A while later, he came out, waved at the crowd and started signing autographs. We were crestfallen at that time, having been mercilessly pushed backward every second and hence convinced that our tryst with the great man would die an untimely death. But, we were proved wrong. He continued signing autographs and shaking hands for the next half an hour, stepping out of the barricade to reach the fans at the far end, and smiled and smiled. In that instant, he was not this top-ranked millionaire tennis player with 17 Grand Slam titles, but he was just one of us. It was then that I figured why Roger Federer was beyond on-field success and failure, beyond record-book records and prize money, why Roger Federer was loved and respected by millions, and why that day I experienced a familiar warmth in the heart :)

So what, if he lost the match today? So what, if he failed to achieve his 18th Grand Slam title? He won hearts, millions and millions of them, and that's what matters in the end. Not sure what I mean? Just watch the replay of today's match (or any of Federer's match) and listen to the intensity of the cheering he receives from the crowd, and you'll know.

P.S. Some of the pictures from the Gerry Weber Open. Ingredients that recipes of perfection are made of :D

The World Cup fever in Spain

Indeed the result so far does not look convincing enough.

Indeed my ignorance about football equals that of a certain Sen's in politics.

But there's no harm in soaking in the World Cup spirit when I happen to be in the port-city of the defending champions, right? :)

P.S. I found this super awesome video on the web and was left salivating for hours. What a perfect, perfect way to enjoy the World Cup :D

Time travel

Do you know the feeling when you come out of an airport exhausted, simultaneously dragging and cursing the mountain of luggage, and your scrutinizing eyes finally rest on a familiar face in the sea of people? When the ears turn red, the vision blurs and the heart skips a beat? When you forget all about the marathon flight, the long delay, the years of separation, and instead just grin from ear to ear?

Source: Google 

It was right after my higher secondary exam when Baba brought home our first personal computer. The brother and myself were thrilled beyond words and we spent every waking moment exploring it. Be it late into the night, in the middle of a working day, or right before an exam, there was no way we two could be un-glued from the computer. Besides computer games, one of our most-favorite pastime was browsing through numerous wallpaper websites and changing the desktop wallpaper everyday. However, there was this one particular wallpaper that we both adored, and hence stayed on the desktop much longer than usual. It was a picture of an old castle, in the middle of snow-clad mountains, that looked straight out of a fairy-tale. We had stumbled upon it randomly one day and therefore had no clue of its whereabouts. But it was enough to make a teen-aged me realise what love at first sight meant!

It has been a decade since then. I have grown from a starry-eyed teen to a (pseudo)mature woman, have traveled extensively, lived some of my dreams, and experienced personal and professional growth. But in all these years, never did I come across the sight that had made me go weak in the knees years ago. Until recently, when I finally experienced my Cinderella moment and realized that it was totally (with as much stress on the word as possible) worth the wait.

Neuschwanstein Castle. That's what it is called. Built in the nineteenth century under Ludwig II of Bavaria, the enormous neo-Romanesque style castle is located in the hills above the village of Hohenschwangau in Bavaria, Germany. It can be reached within an hour from Munich and therefore serves as a perfect weekend getaway for tourists. The Hohenschwangau village, located close to the small town of Füssen, is set at the foot of the breathtakingly beautiful Bavarian Alps (German Alps). The most efficient form of transportation to reach the castle from the village is walking through the dense green forests, although there are a number of transportation options available. The castle itself is one of the most popular tourist attractions in Europe, drawing more than 1.3 million people each year. In fact many of Disney's movies have implicitly showcased the castle as the epitome of romance, and rightly so. There are not many accommodation options, especially if you are a poor PhD student or a budget traveler, and therefore it is advisable to plan the trip in advance. The official website of the castle also provides detailed information on how to reach, opening and closing hours, transport facilities and other practicalities, which makes the trip hassle-free even for a non-German-speaking solo female traveler.

Itinerary aside, the rest is nothing but pure magic! All you need to do is sit on an imaginary time-machine and helplessly fall in love, all over again :)

View from outside

Rotate you head ninety degrees and this is the view you'll get :D 

The castle entrance. 

Look behind, and this is the view that meets the eyes. 

And this! (I visited the castle twice in two days,
hence the mismatch in the color of the sky :D) 

From the inside

Tourists, queuing up for the guided tours.

The panorama from the castle. If this is not breathtaking, what is? 

The Neuschwanstein from the Marienbrucke. *gasp*

Up close, and dreamy!

Not only is the castle stunning beyond words, the entire Hohenschwangau village presents mind-numbing panoramic views of the snow-covered Alps and the Alpsee and Schwansee lakes. Hohenschwangau itself boasts a royal castle of its own and a museum of the Bavarian kings that are worth a visit.

The Hohenschwangau Castle

The Museum of the Bavarian Kings, located just beside the Alpsee lake. 

The lake Alpsee. Relaxing on a bench by the lake, icecream in
hand, and a clear sunny day- ingredients that recipes of perfection
are made of. 

And then, all of a sudden, this! Happiness, doubled.

The Lech river just at the border of Austria.

The river-beach, captured through the lens of its sole admirer :)

A place this beautiful is bound to take the breath away and leave one speechless. However, nothing in the world prepares you for the sight when you get up in the morning, look out the hostel window and suddenly catch a glimpse of the fairy-tale castle, radiating in the fresh morning light! Surreal? That's the word.

What's cooking?

Of late, I am noticing that the number of cooking blogs being posted on Facebook is growing by leaps and bounds each day. There are days (which happen to be almost everyday) when the news feed overflows with pictures and recipes of food, food, food and more food. Breakfast food- check, lunch and dinner food- check, mid office snack- check, desserts- check, Indian- check, Asian- check, Continental- check, Mexican- check, and the list goes on. No, I am not at all against cooking blogs or posting food pictures on social networking sites. On the contrary, the amount of effort, patience and creativity put into cooking fascinate me to no extent. And ofcourse, it leaves me salivating, putting 'Pavlov's dog' to shame. 

I, perhaps, am the worst cook in the whole world. No, not even the worst cook. Far below the worst. In the last two years that I have lived alone, friends and colleagues have made futile attempts to make me cook. They have made fun of me, threatened me, forced me, tried to teach me. But nothing has worked. I have nonchalantly ignored them and continued eating salad and bread for breakfast, lunch, snacks and dinner. To be honest, I am quite okay with it. More than okay for that matter. People have often wondered how I never crave for home cooked Indian food, given that I always claim that eating is a part of my soul. Agreed, I love to eat. Eating IS a part of my soul. But then there's something else that defines me. Lyadh! Lyadh (which when translated means the highest degree of laziness), is, according to me, THE path to Moksha. Hence, the effort needed to keep the other part of the soul happy has got lost somewhere. 

Having said all that, I can as-a-matter-of-fact make four things. No, not CAN (as it might mean that I am good at making these). I have managed to MAKE four things in the past. Chocolate/Vanilla cake (blindly following the easiest-recipe-on-earth from Ma),  pasta (after being spoon-fed by the guy), Chili Paneer (with cottage cheese, that took me three hours instead of the usual 30 mins) and Aloo Dum (again from Ma, and super-simplified given the Lyadh). I am not proud of any of my achievements. Infact I feel nothing but sorry for the person who has been on the receiving end of my cooking expedition. But then, isn't love all about pushing tasteless food down the throat and making the 'wow-it-was-so-good' face? :D

Enough self-loathing done, this post needs a face-lift now. And what better than to end it with a proper food picture from my stock! Two months ago, I made Luchi for the then-room-mate. It is a traditional Bengali flatbread made of flour, to be had with curry on a Sunday morning. In the beginning, I was all excited at the prospect of making my first ever Luchi. However, by a cruel twist of fate, just before starting I figured that the rolling-pin essential to make the dough was missing. When all attempts to acquire/borrow/buy/.. a rolling-pin ended in disaster, we decided to invent our own method. The end-result: A hilarious looking Luchi, prepared, using a bottle of red wine instead! :D 

Narcissism

Being a strong believer of "Stressed when spelled backwards is Desserts", nothing in the world makes me happier than indulging in chocolates and cakes and anything that has either of these two words. As a result, people who know me well enough (or otherwise) invariably end up gifting me variations of these on birthdays, anniversaries and other special occasions. However, while the love for desserts enjoys an undivided attention, personalized gifts come a close second on my happiness-index. Personalized anything- be it a hand-written letter, note or a diary, a self-made card, sketch or a cake, home-made liquor or a pair of gloves- takes away the pain of a not-so-great day/week/month and fills the heart with immense joy. 

The reason for this unabashed proclamation of preferences is the fact that the week happens to be the week of adding another feather to the 'i-am-getting-old' cap! While friends and family haven't left a stone unturned in reminding me that I am fast approaching the very wrong side of twenty, the customized gifts accompanying such nasty remarks have made me wonder if I am the most loved (and not to mention the most materialistic) person in the world! :D

Indeed, presents make me happy. Very happy. Dancing-in-the-clouds kind of happy. And when they happen to be someone's DIY's (Do It Yourself), the happiness knows no bounds. So, while a tiny hand-painted birthday card with scribbling all over moistens the eyes, a three-page letter about bad-handwriting pulls the cheeks apart. While a collage of 'over the years' pictures becomes the reason of a big lump in the throat , a filled-in diary becomes the reason for many sleepless nights. While a digital testimonial makes the heart fall in love all over again, a hand-made cake with a single candle and a chorus of cheerful voices adds the icing on top. 

Celebrating a special day away from home is never easy. Celebrating a special day attending seminars all day and feeling suicidal afterwards on account of a horrible discussion with the supervisor is perhaps the worst. But then there are certain ingredients that recipes of contentment are made of. Thankfully, I have some.

On another similar note, I came across this phrase today on Facebook (originally by Audrey Hepburn): "I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls". A few sadnesses here and there, no wonder I looked the prettiest when I looked at myself in the mirror tonight. Also, no wonder I have named the post Narcissism :D

Pencil on paper

Last month while visiting home, I came across a wooden sailing ship, casually displayed on the window of an interior decoration showroom. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and all I could do was stand outside and ogle the 'magnum opus' with lustful eyes. And then, as all my dreams came crashing down with a single look at the price tag, I decided to own it nevertheless, by hook or by crook! :D

Reviving the old habit. Pencil-shade, after ages. Happy feelings.

Memories in March

They say, home is where the heart is. I say, heart is where the home is. The last one month has been all about that.

I visited Calcutta after a year and a half. Amidst the usual pampering and spoon-feeding, night-outs, weekend trips, sudden plans and the nostalgia, writing took a back-seat (as did work, the PhD, conference deadlines, Skype discussions with supervisor). But then, as an angry child desperate to regain the lost attention, it fought its way back into my priority-list and forced me to serve its demands in these wee hours :D

Home, as always, was great. However, the highlight of the trip apart from the usual madness, was the three-days trip to the land of Rabindranath Tagore, with the best friends, during the festival of colors. That *life-is-beautiful* kind of feeling, experienced.

Santiniketan is a small town in the Birbhum district in West Bengal, India. Internationally, the place is known for its association with the famous Bengali Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore, and attracts thousands of tourists each year. Although numerous cultural events are organized throughout the year, the place is best known for its Poush Mela (in December) and Basanta Utsav (in March, during Holi) celebrations. Luckily this year, we were part of one such :)

The train journey from Calcutta to Bolpur, Santiniketan takes approx. 3 hours. So the place serves as a perfect weekend getaway for many. There are also several accommodation options, from cheap hostels to fancy guest-houses, and can be booked at short notice. However, visiting Santiniketan during one of these festivals can be tricky (and annoyingly messy) and therefore it is advisable to plan the itinerary well in advance. Alternatively, if you believe in spontaneity (can also be read as stupidity by some), you can ofcourse do what we did- pay an unplanned visit :D

We stayed at the Bharat Sevasram, located in a small village called Muluk, some 5-6 kilometers from Santiniketan. This required us to travel daily, back-and-forth. But what seemed like an ordeal in the beginning, turned out to be the most enjoyable part of the trip. 

The color festival, with its utter mismanagement, was not overly impressive. Also, the fact that most of Santiniketan, including the entire Visvabharati University campus and the famous deer-park remained closed during this time, left us disappointed. However, the ambiance in and around Santiniketan, the enthusiasm of people, the breathtaking handloom and handicraft collections, the mesmerizing Baul singers, the peaceful sunset on the banks of the Kopai river, the mindless strolls taken along the deserted village roads and the not-always-perfect conversations on the balcony on a full-moon night gave us memories of a lifetime. 

The famous laal-mati (red soil) of Santiniketan. *mentally humming country-roads-take-me-home while writing this* 

Sanibarer Haat- a weekly craft fair organized by the West Bengal Tourism, that presents outrageously beautiful and inexpensive collections of traditional Bengal handicrafts, decorative items, hand-made jewelry, textiles and more. 

Muluk being explored, on foot, on a hot Summer day, and later, rest under the shades of the palm trees. Breather. 

Often, people ask me if I consider myself fortunate to have been given the opportunity to travel to new countries each year. I always answer in the affirmative, given that I consider traveling synonymous to breathing. However, one doesn't need to visit Europe or the US to experience the joys of traveling. Small happinesses of life can also be discovered in a tiny village, from the indecipherable yet serene look on a Grandma's face :)