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 :)

Catty

I am not a cat person, and would prefer any other pet to cats any day. But when these bundles of joy happen to be the first things you see in the morning, and realize that a random stray cat has chosen the deserted store-room in your garden to be the birth-place for her babies, you can't help but feel proud. And happy. Very very happy :)

Lost in Transit

Amidst marathon packing, distorted luggage, submission deadlines and the sudden realization that so much needed to be done at the last minute, I came home. 

Calcutta, and the new airport. Calcutta, after more than a year. Calcutta, on a month-long vacation. Calcutta, with the entire family and extended family around- I had enough reasons to rejoice. But then I was given a bonus- a minuscule visit to a Middle-east country while in transit. That *walking-on-the-moon* kind of a feeling, in Dubai!

On the day of the travel, our flight got delayed by more than six hours in Munich and we missed our connecting flight from Dubai. As a result, we were offered a place in the next flight to Calcutta and given the treatment only royalty could expect :-)

Dubai airport happens to be the largest in the world, spread over an area of thirty-five kilometers. It's beautiful, immaculate and breathtakingly expensive. Every time I fly home from Germany, I stop in Dubai, browse through the shops and outlets while never looking at the price tags, ogle the casually displayed Porsche's and Ferrari's and Rolex's, gape at the grandeur and then fly to Calcutta. This time around, we were pretty exhausted by the time we reached Dubai after a long and delayed flight from Munich. Added to that, the fact that we had to wait for another seven-eight hours before the next flight to Calcutta. We were almost preparing to blow up, when the airlines offered us a hurricane trip inside the city- with paid meals, accommodation and transport. Oh how quickly the frowns turned into big wide-mouthed U's!

We spent an hour in the airport strolling through the terminals, a starry-eyed me gazing at the magnificence and a pragmatic he complaining about so much being spent on luxury items. Shortly afterwards, we were taken to the hotel, through the city, where WE (to be read as its mirror image!) behaved like never-been-in-a-hotel-or-for-that-matter-inside-a-room type of school children, giggled stupidly, took infinite photographs, checked out every single item with lustful eyes, ate ex(t/p)ensive breakfast and, well-oh-well, slept! Hours later while boarding the flight for home just on time, the guy asked me, "We didn't even manage to see the city, only a few buildings and sights on our way to and from the hotel. How come you are still so happy?" To that, I said, "It was never about seeing the city in the first place", and the guy added, "..which was evident from the look on your face!" and burst out laughing. 

It was, infact, never about seeing the city. It was always about the things we were offered, *free* being the key-word here :P. I had never set foot on a middle-east country outside the premises of the airport before, which had been exciting enough. However, the fact that it was accompanied with an "all-expenses-paid" trip made it even more special. It took away the pain of flights being delayed by more than 12-hours, of dragging the luggage indefinitely and made me realize that the best things in life are indeed free! :-)

Slurp!

“All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt.” 

As the world celebrates the day of love with sickeningly sweet gestures, I stand outside my favourite cake shop indefinitely and ogle the assortment with lustful eyes.

Fast forward half an hour, love's labour's FOUND, and how! :)

Books and More

I recently came across this post on Facebook, and wondered if someone went inside my head and stole my thoughts! Ignoring the fact that a book is incapable of doing what alcohol can ;), I wish with all my heart for this to be the norm soon.

Good books give me goosebumps. Sometimes, in a bus or a train, I see someone reading a book by one of my favorite authors, and I feel a compelling urge to approach them and strike up a conversation. When people ask me what gift they should give me for birthday/anniversary/christmas/festivals/farewell/..., I say books (and chocolates), unabashedly. Everytime I go home, I visit the local book-markets and buy atleast a dozen to bring them with me. Not that I manage to read them all, and the numbers on my 'to-read' list pile up. But their mere presence on the study rack lifts up the mood after a hard day. I borrow books as well, from friends and colleagues and relatives and whoever is willing enough to let me lay my evil hands on their books. The reason I say 'evil hands' is that once I borrow a book and fall in love with it, I find it physically painful to part ways and do not return it- until the owner threatens me with dire consequences. :D 

In college, I had a couple of friends who shared similar passion and we stayed up all night and discussed books. In the process, we identified with every female character we read about, drew parallels with our lives, shed buckets of tears and wondered how everyone else carried on with their lives as though we hadn't experienced "emotional trauma at the hands of a paperback".

On a personal note, Jeffrey Archer happens to be one of my favorite fiction-authors. When the first book of the five-book series 'The Clifton Chronicles' released  in 2011, the best friend (who, unfortunately, has been the victim of my not-returning-books habit almost always) said to me that each subsequent book would be a birthday gift, for the next four years. Now, as I turn the pages of the third book of the series in these wee hours, the scribbling on the first page makes me happy and sad at the same time :)

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.