The story of Yin and Yang

She would always get annoyed when he lectured on her immaturity. On most days she would approach him with an emotional problem, all hyper and excited and asking for advice, and he in turn would just ask her to be patient and calm. "You never give me a concrete advice, only tell me stupid philosophical stuff that solves nothing. What's the point of being calm when the problem is not solved in the end?" she would ask angrily. In response, he would say that the key to mental peace was to be able to handle a crisis calmly, angering her even more. 

Often, she would think how two people could be so much different. There she was- chatterbox and a social butterfly, excessively extrovert, hyperactive most of the time, and sensitive; while he was- practical with strong principles, a quiet listener, lazy, and completely at peace with everything around. She would wonder how he was capable of not reacting to situations, not getting angry, and could stay calm most of the time. During fights, she would throw the choicest of words at him, and he would listen without any argument or protest. After awhile of one-sided blood-boiling conversation, he would finally say "Do not get so angry, you'll get a headache otherwise". Often at that point, she would rush out of the door, contemplating murder and wondering if he was the biggest mistake of her life. Later at night, she would lay awake in bed and wonder how perfect life would have been if they hadn't been so dissimilar. 

Then one day, her wish was granted. She was complaining about something, when suddenly he turned to her and let out a loud grunt. With that, he started replying to her every complaint, pointing out her faults one by one. Dumbstruck and alarmed, she tried to put forth her claims but was silenced again and again. Tears started rolling down her cheeks, and being unable to hide them, she ran inside. Later that night, she stayed up in bed with swollen eyes and thought how scary and emotionally draining counter-arguments were. "I need to have a proper talk with him in the morning", she decided before dozing off. 

The morning turned out to be no different from the day before. She tried to talk, but got no response from him. He uttered not a word, and quietly sipped tea. "Are you listening to me? Can we atleast have a sensible talk about the whole issue?" she asked. "I do not want to talk, please leave me alone", he flatly said without looking up. Like a bolt of lightning, it struck her then. "That's not him, that's how I am! I am the one who fights and gets angry. I am the one who shouts and screams, and later needs to be pacified. I am the one who gets agitated and starts complaining. I am the one who is immature and not capable of handling a problem peacefully. That's all me!" She stood there, stunned into silence by the realization, and prayed for him to be his old self again. Later that night, as she laid in bed with her head on his shoulders, she noticed for the first time how complete a picture the incompletenesses drew.

Yin and Yang. That's what they have been called ever since.

The other wonder of Rome

One usually associates Rome with the ancient Roman civilization, the Renaissance, Julius Caesar, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, the Vatican, a spectacle of ancient and medieval buildings, fountains, museums, squares and ofcourse, Dan Brown. But with this, probably never :D

En-route to the Colosseum. Incredibility and perseverance, at their best.

Old messages

Re-reading old G-talk chats and text messages gives me happiness like no other! On days like these, when the mind fails to concentrate on the work at hand and wanders off to uncharted territories, the age-old chat histories bring a smile. I close my eyes, mentally climb on a time-machine, and go back to the time when texting and chatting seemed synonymous to breathing. As a tsunami of memories comes rushing in, I try to remember a younger me- in a crowded bus, in the middle of a boring social gathering, during lectures and seminars, or late into the night- typing, erasing and typing again, non-stop. I read the anxious chat messages of being newly in love, the angry and uncomfortable texts after childish fights, the texts sent out of boredom, short messages before a date or after reaching home safely, conscious texts on account of complicated situations, long chats on nothing in particular, and a strange calmness paralyses me. I wonder what I must have felt during all those times, and realize how different people and things have been back then. I feel no bitterness, or anger at the fact that those days might never return. Instead, I take a deep breath and feel the sides of the cheeks being pulled into a small wide-armed U.

On a completely irrelevant note, while writing this, a picture came to my mind. I had found it months ago while checking out a link online, and had wondered if there was anything more perfect than it. The warmth of a hot bath, smell of scented candles, the joy of reading a good book, a cup of brewing coffee, distant thoughts, and a tug at the heartstrings. Bittersweet, yes that's how I feel too. 

The year that it was

As I sit back and flash upon the year gone by, various thoughts and memories crowd my head. One more year gone by, one year less to achieve all the things I wish for, one more year to painfully remind me of being on the wrong side of twenty, and one year less to finish the PhD. But, overall, it had been a good year, not spectacularly eventful perhaps, but quite a good one nonetheless. So, as an act of thankfulness and reciprocity, I dedicate the first post of the new year to the surprisingly well-behaved 2013.

It was a year when two of my best friends got married, and for the first time ever, I felt like a mother- delighted and at peace to have finally seen the loved ones well-settled, but with a tinge of jealousy and possessiveness for having to share my property with complete strangers :-\

It was a year when two other close friends and an elder sister had their first babies, and I realized that mere pictures of these bundles of joys were capable enough to lift up the mood in a jiffy.

It was the year when I went to my first ever international conference, in Nice, and gave my first academic talk in a room full of scholars. Apart from the nausea and the butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling the entire time, I also figured how breathtakingly beautiful the Mediterranean was. It was also the time that came with the sadness of people lost and happiness of finding new people to share moments with.

It was the year when the parents visited me in Germany for the first time ever and I lived a dream with them; a dream of seeing and showing bits and pieces of Europe, suggesting the local cuisines and drinks, taking long walks and river-cruise rides, explaining extensive details about each place, and feeling fortunate. It was the year which made me realize that places breathe, and smell too- of happiness, of colors, of life, and, of goodness of people.

The year marked my official entry into this blogging world. I always read about the popular blogging communities, but never quite imagined myself registering for any of them. And then one day, IndiBlogger happened. I remember waiting with bated breath for the "your-blog-has-been-accepted" email, and how incredibly happy I felt afterwards. There has been no looking back since then, only an affirmation of the belief that I am blessed with great people around me, virtually and otherwise. 

It had been a year of goodbyes, with respect to the favorite sport. Sachin retired, and then the cricketer with that familiar green-yellow jersey numbered 3. It marked the end of a major part of my growing up, a part I considered very close to my heart, the part that bore the name of Jacques Kallis :-( 

The year saw not much difference in personal and professional life as compared to the year before, which was quite unexpected, given the close relationship I share(d) with mental turbulence and setbacks. I continue to keep my fingers and legs crossed and mentally thank my stars, well almost. Oh dear stability, how much I missed you!

The year ended with the things I love the most- yummy food, movie-marathon, long conversations, night-outs, sleeping till afternoon, revisiting childhood, baking Christmas cakes, watching distant fireworks on freezing nights, perfect company and general happiness all around :-) On that note, Happy 2014 everyone!

Winter in Germany

It's very very cold in here. Dragging the lazy body out of bed, dressing up (sadly, bare essentials during this time mean a minimum of two sweaters, thick overalls, winter jacket and gloves) and coming to the office with frozen ears and the nose seem like a painfully long process. Winter gets this wintry in Germany. And it stays FOREVER. However, there are reasons, more than one, why it still tops the list of my most favorite season. 

In Calcutta, winter meant snuggling up to the mother and the brother under one blanket, skipping baths, nolen-gurer sandesh and pithe-puli (Bengali desserts made from date palm jaggery and milk), joynagorer mowa, picnics with the family and relatives, steaming cups of Bournvita/Horlicks with sunshine on the shoulders, old over-sized sweaters with long sleeves that covered the palms, Park Street and Esplanade during Christmas, a visit to St. Paul's Cathedral on the 25th, surprise gifts from parents, yummy food, book-fair, adda with best friends in Maidan, school reunions, and tidbits of romance thrown in here and there. 

In Germany, winter is different. For one, it is extremely cold, with the temperature hovering somewhere around -15 degrees for the most part. For two, the extreme coldness is accompanied by snow. Snow is beautiful though. One afternoon you look out of the office window and suddenly notice thin light snowflakes falling from the sky and accumulating on the grass. Within minutes, everything turns white. You run outside in the freezing cold, and let the snowflakes fall on the hair. The joys of experiencing first snowfall, you realize with a grin. Two years, exact same experience both time. No signs of boredom still.

Associated with snow, also comes alpine skiing and other winter sports, for people who are bravehearts and not scary-poos. However, I have figured that I do not belong to that category, and therefore shall not write more on this.

Then there are these Christmas markets that marks the advent of Christmas. They are very popular in Europe, more so in Germany, and also a major contributing factor to my love for winter. These are usually street markets held in the main city squares, where one finds decorated open-air stalls selling hot food, mulled wine, roasted nuts, traditional gingerbread hearts and other seasonal items. In bigger Christmas markets, one can also find a variety of mind-numbing rides, traditional song and dance performances by the locals, innumerable decoration materials and that mouth-watering smell of baked cookies and crêpes in the air. 

(The above picture is taken directly from Wikipedia. If you search for 'Christmas Market', you'll get this image. This is in Jena, the place where I live. *feeling-proud* moment. The rest are from Berlin).

Then comes the New Year celebration. In Germany, it is huge, and very loud. The day is marked by fireworks and crackers, alcohol, making toasts and never-ending parties. Every house is decorated, every corner and tree lighted up, with happy faces everywhere. Diwali in India, to a great extent. 

On a personal note, however, winter means more- frequent parties at office, lots of glühwein, gifts from secret Santa, trips to local cathedrals, indulging in hot desserts and cakes without guilt, and a relaxing time with the guy(s). But then, there's one more reason why winter happens to be so special- it is that time of the year of going HOME :-)

The unknown

There are these moments in life, which I call "groping-for-the-right-word" kind of moments. This was one such. A moment of wordlessness.

I found this while strolling down a tiny deserted alley in Porto, Portugal months ago. I was with a friend, and this was the last day of our five-day trip. It wasn't the best of weather that day, and we were desperately hoping that the sky would clear soon enough to let us go to the beach, as planned. When by early afternoon we figured that all our hopes of enjoying the Portuguese sun had been destroyed, we decided to not let the disappointment dampen our spirits and take a walk around the city instead. After a while, hunger struck, and we started looking for an untouristy place far away from the maddening crowd where we could eat 'traditional' Portuguese food. That was when this happened. 

We took a turn and there it was. Every house, on either side of the lane, had these pictures put up on their windows/balconies. I stared in amazement, wondering what it was all about. There wasn't anyone around, barring an old Portuguese who looked clearly surprised to see us. We wandered around a bit, soaking it all in, taking pictures, and then resumed our quest.

We came back, got busy with our lives, the picture almost fading from memory. Then today, while going through my archive, I found it again. Memories came rushing back, with that familiar question: what was it all about! I started thinking, maybe it didn't mean anything afterall. Maybe the locals were just religious and it was a way of expressing their gratitude to Almighty. Or maybe it meant something. Maybe it was a special day. I wished I knew. I wished I had asked.

But then I thought, maybe, some things were indeed better left unknown.

End of The Era

I see the social networking sites overflowing with ThankYou Sachin status messages, I see the madness surrounding the last two test matches (incidentally, one in my home town and the other in his :) ), I see friends celebrating his accomplishments as their own, I see people crying at the news of his retirement, I see the on-field crowd stunned into silence and then erupting in a roar of applause and cheers after the final innings, and my heart warms. How lucky he is to be loved and respected by millions, I wonder! And then I think, how incredibly lucky we are to have him.

I have never idolized or worshiped him the way most Indians have. I have not sat glued to the television everytime he played. I shall not be able to recall how many runs he scored or how many wickets he took on that final day of that particular match in that year (as my brother can, with ease). I do not know his career statistics by heart. I have had infinite arguments with the brother and a Ponting-fanatic to decide if he was indeed the greatest. But I do know that he has re-defined Cricket for us Indians. I do know that the guy is perfectly capable of creating miracles on the field. I do know that I always thought nothing bad could happen to India if he was around. And ofcourse, I do know that we share 'almost' the same birthday! :)

So while I can hardly take part in the mania that has engulfed the country right now, I can sit in my office and silently thank him for everything he has done for us till date. And all I can tell him is that you make us proud, very very proud. 

Take a bow Little Master. You'll be missed :(

p.s. I share with you my most favourite picture of him. Lifted by the team mates, The Tricolor in hand, and The Night when we conquered the world. Perfect, isn't it? :)