Nee how, Singapore? (How you doin’, Singapore?)

They said, ‘Singapore is a better version of Gurgaon, the millennium city bordering the Metropolis of Delhi. Nothing could be farther from the truth and I realized it the moment I landed at the Changi Airport. The city state resembles a post card destination with its meticulously created boulevards and perfect urban development model using scarce resources and almost everything imported from the rest of world. Well I will not waste any further lines on writing about the wonder that Singapore is as most of you have heard the proverbial Singapore Story. What I will share is its unique historical role during the British Raj and also to offer a peek into its cultural mosaic and the tourist paradise it is!

The city state is a microcosm of the erstwhile British Empire, who essentially built Singapore and used it as a sinecure posting for the babus of the Raj besmirched by the heat and dust of the subcontinent and also as a Sarai (Halt) for the officers and officials of the British queen on the arduous and often fraught with danger journey to Oz, the land down under. The omnipresent historian in me was trying to discern the designs of the British colonialists, who were able to dominate and rule vast swathes of territory on the either sides of the Strait of Malacca with such ease for so long has astonished me no ends. How a handful of Britishers could rule almost all races and countries over a sustained period of time all over the globe is a source of much astonishment!

Singapore too fell prey to colonialist’s designs and suffered the same fate as did so many across Asia, Africa, Far East, and Americas. One of the positive outcomes as a result of colonial rule was the emergence of Singapore as a financial and transit hub for all the trade and commerce that used to take place between Europe, China & South East Asia, Australasia, and the Far East. Owing to its strategic location, it became an important commercial hub. Even today, it continues to enjoy the hallowed status as it is located approximately midway between the west and the east and most of the commercial shipping and aviation industry uses Singapore as its transit hub.  The Strait of the Malacca is today the busiest navigation corridor for both shipping and aviation.

The British Raj was instrumental in bringing together people of different religion, ethnicities under one direct umbrella and this went a long way in making Singapore a unique melting pot truly multi-ethnic and multi-lingual and in conjunction with its indomitable spirit an inspiration to the rest of the world on what human spirit and industry can achieve if it set its sight on greatness. You will be surprised to know that it was not always so in the near past and the city too was scourged, blighted and scorched by ethnic violence, racism, and poverty. However, under the stewardship of the legendary Lee Kuan Yew, the city state evolved from a third world developing nation into a modern wonder; a financial hub and a popular destination for revellers around the world.  The Singaporean mosaic primarily consists of Malays, Singaporean Chinese, Tamil Indians, British Expats, and other disparate ethnicities.

I guess you have had enough of the pedantic and would like to know what a tourist like me is doing in Singapore. I paid visit to all the tourist havens and paid obeisance to all the modern deities such as Marina Sands Bay Hotel, a unique design, the modern avatar to the Noah’s Ark.  And yes, you must be a nerd, if you don’t visit One Altitude, the club at an altitude above many, located at tropospheric heights almost in a heavenly abode for people who want to shake their legs and party hard. You can’t find a more spectacular view of the ocean as it makes you feel as if you are in the middle of the ocean and the citylights. And of course, you must touch the feet of the Merlion, the flagship symbol of Singapore Tourism. The spectacular waterfront at Marina Sands Bay is full of eateries and pubs teeming with revellers late in the night and early morning.

The impressive boulevard houses European style cafe’s and bars offering a sumptuous spread of delectable cuisine and is crowded by mostly young people making merry and having fun. But I must warn you the city will burn a hole in your pocket as everything is exorbitantly priced. Make sure you have deep pockets when you visit Singapore!  For all of us bred in the Macaulayian tradition, an urge to tickle the sophisticated bone is never far away. Well that’s exactly what I did and went to Dempsey Hill, a fine dining arena ostensibly for the high and mighty, the nouveau rich and the upwardly mobile of the Singaporean society. No prizes for guessing! Indian diaspora scores once again and you could scores of Indians swarming the place. They were all strutting around confidently as if they belonged.

No sojourn to the exotic oriental is complete without a customary visit to the China Town and Little India.  Everywhere my gaze went, the red Chinese dragon spitted fire from every corner and mandarin was the lingua franca of the streets. I could not understand one bit but then understood the essence of what they were saying. Well, let me share a secret! There is no better place to pick up merchandise and souvenir for the folks back home without burning a hole in your pocket. The delightful trek was followed by a meal of traditional Chinese dumpling and sticky fried rice mixed with egg and a Heidinger beer to wash away my gastronomic sin. Well, it was time to move across the Himalaya aka the little stations named after British officers and head to Little India. With pride on my face and patriotism on my sleeve, I ventured into Little India. And Lo Behold, I missed the Indo- Gangetic Plains and walked across the Vindhyas beyond the land of Krishna & Godavari and walked onto the land of the Great “Sangam” culture, the pride of Dravidians and us Indians.

It was Déjà vu!  I felt like I was walking a non-decrepit street of Chennai. You sense you are seeing known faces, the unmistakable ogle and stares, (an alleged Indian trait as told to me by an English Traveler), the hustle & bustle, and the chaos of an Indian Bazaar. They have an India in the middle of the oriental Singapore! On the streets, I saw the flower men were unshackling the knots of their large brown sacks and out came tumbling flowers of all hues and shapes. We were dazzled by the heady concoction of fragrance and color so vivid and sprightly. The fragrance of rajnigandhas,  the scent of gulab petals, the bucolic effervescence of chameli, and the fruity scent of genda. Ah! it was a veritable riot of color and fragrance so Indian in essence.

The fragrance of Dasa pushpam’s (The flowers that adorn the hair of a woman in South India) was all pervasive as was the waft of Indian spices and the aroma of Indian food. This was irresistible and we walked towards an eatery as if in a trance much like the gullible children who followed the pied piper of Hamlin, the legendary story all of us read in our school.

I turned around and looked at my better half with a sense of disbelief.  She expected that expression of bewilderment and gave me a smile and without exchanging any words and the sentiments were conveyed and understood.   Being here made me realize why people of Indian origin come to Little India. No matter how far and how long you have lived away from the motherland,  authentic food is the last chord that connects the sons and daughters with their motherland and reminds them of their roots. As always, the gastronomic delight of an Indian meal trumps over any other cuisine (Forgive me for being a culinary jingoist!).  And for a tourist like me who was already homesick, the sumptuous meal was a great solace, comfort and a source of huge contentment.  On the way back, at the swanky Changi airport I can’t resist another Indian trait, (this is not alleged but true!), picking up scotch bottles of Black Label and chocolates for people back home who earnestly expect this as entitlement. You are expected to pay this tax if you have committed the cardinal pleasure of traveling abroad!  Till the next time ciao and adios!

Oh Papa and Mom! It’s my first day@ School

 Oh Papa and Mom! It’s my first day@ School

Just a couple of months ago when I celebrated my third birthday; little did I know that there was lot more in store in the next few months.  Oh! You may ask what I am doing writing stories about myself that is because my papa and mom love to see me writing and want to know the fun that I have at my nanupa’ s home.  I love to gobble chocolates brought by my papa.  I gorge on vanilla Ice cream, an absolute joy during the blazing summer. While I always fiddle with the water tap and splash water in the verandah, nanuma runs behind me asking me to drink a glass of milk and eat some khaku (food). I tease her and make her run behind me.  And when she comes closer and admonishes me, I embrace her legs and tell her that ‘Geney is a good girl’ and ‘Geney loves mummy’ and then magic unfolds! Nanuma picks me up in her arms and gives me a peck on my forehead and cheeks and I wrap my arms around her.

Papa says I am very naughty & mischievous as was he when he was my age. He tells me not to create nuisance and hassle nanuma and nanupa but papa what to do, running around the verandah in the backyard is what I love to do the most. You remember when I was a toddler, I used to pester you and mom to give me a ride in the car every night and only then I could sleep! But then I didn’t want to hassle you papa. Last night I pinched Sant mama’s leg and he shouted in agony. What a little menace I am. I am very fond of teasing him and running away with his pencil box and books. He he he! Last week I tore out some pages from his favorite book. He was very angry at me and ran towards me but I ran away to the other room to ritu mausi.

Oh yeah, why we are here and you are reading this is because - sometime back nanupa told me that I will go to the “bade bachhonn ke school.”  And as a result I was taken for shopping ; yes tell me about it, I have just learnt to hold my own cutlery and now this,  they took me to the shop where I saw bright and nice school uniforms, apparently you have to have a uniform in order to go to school. Nanupa asked the shopkeeper to show us the Don Bosco uniform and out it came ‘the red and blue chequered dress’’. Man, my eyes were fixed on the uniform as I wanted to wear it. The shoes had to be black and the one that shopkeeper showed us would not fit into my tiny feet; yes, talk about problems of growing up, everyone in the shop struggled to find the right fit for me.  I didnt quite like the fact, because I wanted the new shoes alongwith the uniform. We were asked to come the next day for the shoes. I reluctantly agreed and told him I will come with Sant mama.

It was very hot last night and nanuma, wiping the sweat on her eyebrow, while rustling up soup for me said,” Geney - kal tumhe big girl ke school jaana hai, so come over eat quickly and off to sleep.” It was incredibly hot and didn’t feel like playing with my (“bhubu” – toy dog). Although, I was tired but was very excited for the next morning.  I woke up in the middle of the night and asked nanuma, “is it morning? Can I put on my new school uniform?” She gently stroked my curly hair much the same way mom used to put me to nanhu (sleep)! Oh! Papa, “ab mai badi ho gayi hoon”. I will go to big girl school.

Voila, the sun is out early today and it’s another blazing hot day but nonetheless a glorious start to a new chapter in my journey as your daughter! The little orange bird with a feather on its hood sat on the loft above the verandah making a quirky noise as if talking to me and telling me to get ready for the big day. A gust of wind swept across my face, and I closed my eyes. The air was cool, a rare moment of comfort in an otherwise scorching summer. I could see both of you, papa and mom, and I saw that I was sitting in my pram in a garden full of resplendent flowers - red, white, orange, purple, green.  I could also hear the cacophonous voice of children playing in the park. I have springs in my feet today and I am jumping around in excitement to wear my new school uniform, the chequered dress big blue checks with blue pockets on the front. It’s a lovely dress and I quite like it. The home is abuzz with excitement. There is a discussion around me for fetching the camera, getting the dress ironed, making my hair and to top it all I finished my glass of milk in a jiffy - Hah... everyone was taken aback!

Ritu mausi  helped me take a bath and put on my new uniform. I said jay jay to bhagwaan ji as nanuma told me to fold my hands and pray. Then it began, oh the photo session in my new uniform. They told me that when I will be grown up, they will give me the photos’ – ok I believe them. Mausi asked me to pose a little and I obliged. The session went on but my heart was just set on the arrival of the autowallah.

Oh! Papa, all of sudden I hear that the auto has come and I must rush to reach the school to meet my new teachers, new friends, and a whole new world that awaits me. My excitement is fever high and I can’t wait to get into the auto. As the auto made its way out, I saw gulmohar trees on both sides of the road and a group of pigeon not far away near the road. Pigeons are my friends ever since I came into this world. I love them so much. They winked at me and fluttered by as the auto whizzed past them.

When I reached the school, I entered a big blue gate and a huge red building, like the one I have never seen! I am nervous as this is my first day at school away from home. I saw a bunch of dogs (bhubu) outside the school gate and immediately clutched on to my bhubhu toy that I carried to the school. You know that he is my best friend! I love him and he loves me too. I was very happy to see some of my old friends from the play school but they didn’t come with me to my classroom as they went away to another classroom far from where I was. I just followed my new teacher’s instructions.

When I entered the classroom, I saw that other children were crying and wailing but I did not cry though I felt uneasy and I held mausi’s hands to comfort myself. I watched around with nervous curiosity and saw the teacher in the other corner of the room. I looked at her while she tried to pacify a few children who were constantly crying. Then I froze for a moment as the teacher came right infront of me and asked my name. I took a moment and muttered my name…She asked me again and this time I shot back “Ilvikaa Narayan”. What’s your Father’s name,? I said “papa” and on hearing this she burst out laughing as a smile ran across my face too. I gathered myself and said “Pradeep Narayan” and Meeta mom is my mother !

For the rest of day, I played with the other children and filled color in apple and banana in the color book not much different to what I used to do in my play school; just the old stuff that I am used to. After some time, I felt hungry and ate out of the lunch box given by nanuma. I drank from the Mickey Mouse water bottle that you brought for me, papa.  A boy pushed me from behind and I stumbled and almost fell down. I turned back and leapt at the boy but then the teacher came to us and stopped us from fighting!! I would have taught him a lesson if not for the first day..

As the time to go back home approached, I felt happy as I wanted to be home and sad too as I was enjoying playing with children and my new friends. Mam asked all of us to come back tomorrow and I nodded and ran across the little playground infront of the classroom with other children following me to the big Iron Gate. I saw nanupa standing outside the big gate to take me home in our red car! He gave me my favourite chocolate and I was pleased to bits.

Nanupa honked the car as we reached home and I saw Sant mama and Nanuma were waiting for me at the gate, I ran to them excitedly and leapt into the arms of Nanuma. She asked me whether I ate from the lunch box. I said yes and I also told her that I went to the toilet alone and made new friends. Sant mama asked me if I liked my teachers. I was really happy to be home with everybody around. You see I am just a three-year-old and very tired at the end of a long day but a memorable day at the school. A day I will not forget and will always remember!! Papa and Mom, I love you so much and writing about my first day at school makes me proud of both of you.

The European Armada - The Trail to Paris

The European Armada - The Trail to Paris




Today our Geney turns 2 and brings back the abiding memories of the days leading to her 1st birthday and our sojourn across the European Continent



The swanky T3 at the Indira Gandhi International Airport is teeming with travelers of all hue and shape, some dawdling around with blank faces, some in earnest haste to perhaps reach their departure gates, and a few just whiling away time. The place is abuzz with people shopping at the various glitzy stores and shop. Eateries are full of people catching up on a quick meal before their long flights across oceans and continents. There are long serpentine waiting queues at the eateries and a the prospect of a quick meal hopeless. Children are running into the stores and are cajoling and coaxing their parents in tow to buy them a gift, a toy, or a candy. Old people, peering into magazines or catching up on The Times of India, are warming their posterior on the comfortable and sleek sofas placed at different corners of the Terminal. In between, fearful of missing the flight, they steal a quick glance at the innumerable monitors fixed on the pillars at various vantage points, displaying information about the flight departures.

There was no such fear on the faces of business and corporate travelers trying to utilize the spare time (if ever there is one for these geeks!) and were seen furiously punching the keyboards of their sleek laptops to fine tune their business presentations, a last minute ritual and rigmarole. The ubiquitous smartphones as their companion, these geeks had headphones plugged on to their ears perhaps some music to sooth their frayed nerves!

The tourists like us are surveying the terminal with admiration in our eyes and gloating over the modern amenities and wondering if indeed we have a turned a corner. The eyes of the tourists wide open exerting to extract as much information as possible from the various signboards and information desks. The glint in the eyes is palpable!

The janitors, dressed smartly in their GMR uniforms, are mopping and scrubbing the floors with perfumed cleaners every few minutes. The whole place is oozing with energy, vigor, and life. Your prying eyes cannot miss the glamour quotient of the place teeming with groups of beautiful women who are smartly attired with fashionable shades perched on top of their heads and exquisite dangling earrings adding to their splendor and beauty. The terminal resembled an up market shopping malls like the ones dotting the skylines of Gurgaon, the millennium city. The T3 is truly a world-class magnum opus, a tribute to India’s growing economic and global clout, and a rejoinder to the doubting Thomases of what India can achieve if it gets it act together.

However, for the moment it will do, as Geney ensconced in the baby carrier, tightly strapped around my shoulders facing me, gives a wink and thumbs up to the place. M is moving ahead purposefully in the immigration queue perhaps a little eager to get that stamp on our passports and get over the formalities without any hiccups. She was a bundle of nervous energy in complete contrast to Geney’s ‘could nt care less’ demeanor. Her eyes seem to say, “This is not over till we touch the tarmac at the Charles De Gaulle Airport.”

The brow eyed tobacco-chewing babu at the immigration counter reeked of jojoba oil. His red colored hair wore a faded appearance, perhaps a result of years of dyeing. His countenance was officious, pedantic, and appearance as mean and stingy one could imagine. Cunningness was writ large on his oval face with a bulbous nose and bushy moustache. He saw us all the way come to the counter and was giving us an unpleasant stare! His attempts to indulge in small talk about Geney irked me, as I did not want to answer a single question he asked. Sensing my predicament, M took over and answered all his questions!

We came out of the immigration triumphant blowing the bugles of victory. Well, that is what you feel, if you can come out of these traps unscathed! Nevertheless, it was a sigh of relief to have made it across one of the many bureaucratic hurdles we encounter in our country. We literally glided on the grey and white carpet leading into a narrow alley and into the belly of a humongous and beautiful aircraft waiting to take our Geney on her first sojourn across the oceans!

As the jet soared into the skies, I peeked out of the window and Delhi had become a blur in a jiffy..

We were on the ninth cloud as a beautiful young air hostesses strides to us and offers a menu card. Geney was showered with bounties; baby food, toys, and a baby cot to sleep. I managed to gulp in a few pints of Glen Fiddich, a premium single malt whiskey followed by a sumptuous lunch. M was more interested in the Wine! The radio above us crackled with the commander’s brit accented voice, “cabin crew prepare for landing. We are about to land in Dubai.” We did not get much time at Dubai, as we took a long walk from the arrival gate to the gate to catch the flight to Paris. We could barely see the Duty free as we kept walking following the advice of the classis John Walker one-liner!

The flight to Paris was largely uneventful and long. Geney got cranky not being used to be held up for long periods and obviously hindered by her inability to move around the aisles with freedom. We left her on the floor in front of us but to no avail. M tried to cajole her but Geney dint let her watch any movie! Frequently, I took her around the aircraft to the crew on board at the rear end of the aircraft. One of the hostesses took her in her lap and played with her for some time. Geney is a sociable child and makes friends very fast and she had great fun with the group of air hostesses. One of the crew places her duty hat on Geney’s head and my word the little air hostess was ready to take up to the skies. They also took her snaps and gifted us a treasured memory.

We dint realize the time zone had changed and it was soon turning amber outside as we entered the French airspace. Paris, the city of romance, high fashion, and gourmet food is not far away and a smile ran across my face. As we approached Paris late in the evening, the beautiful skylines and magnificent monuments of the city left us spell bound as the excitement became palpable. The aircraft descent was all grace and finesses and perhaps as a tribute to the beauty of the city it gently kissed the tarmac at Charles De Gaulle.

We are tired, exhausted, and spent by the time we left the airport towards the hotel but the excitement of being in Paris kept me awake although both Geney and M were half asleep with an eye on the Parisian night. As we sped towards our destination, I leaned and couldn’t but chuckle that It was a truly memorable beginning of the journey with our little angel on a special occasion, an event to be cherished for life….

To be continued….

Pujo through the eyes of a non Bengali!!

As the year draws closer to an end, it is pertinent that I bring another perspective about Durga Puja to my fellow Bengali friends!!

For me autumn every year will always be synonymous with Pujo!  Growing up in Ranchi, the non-decrepit Industrial town of Jharkhand, also a hotbed of the probasi Bengalis’, we could not but just love the fervor and excitement that gripped the residents of Ranchi for a month each year during Durga Pujo..

For people who have not been to Eastern India, it is difficult for them to associate with the grandiose pujo celebrations across the length and breadth of Bengal, Bihar, Orissa and Assam. Anybody who has seen the Lord Jagannath Yatra in Puri, Chaath Puja in Bihar, will testify that religious festivals in the east are often characterized by popular participation, hysteria, and mass celebrations and are most importantly inclusive in nature strengthening the secular fabric of the society and building bridges across the different communities.

For us the Pujo is the bridge between the Bengali and the Non-Bengalis’ as it showcases the infinitely rich and vibrant culture of Bengal and how inclusive the entire celebration is when people from all sections of the society are welcomed with love and affection. In a pujo pandal, there is no religion, caste, ethnicity, and regionalism, it is one grand courtyard, where devotees of all faith congregate and thank ma Durga for bestowing innumerable bounties to us and also seek her blessings for a fruitful and meaningful life.

Even as a kid, I could not but admire the Pujo as it symbolized the vibrancy and richness of the Bengali culture and cuisine. Everything from the language, the attire, the Thakurma Jhuli (our response to Chaucer’s “The Canterbury Tales”), and its famed rich cuisine aroused great admiration and triggered a certain amount of envy (Neighbors envy owner pride!!). To me Pujo was Bengal and Bengal was Pujo!!

For us the small ones, Pujo meant holiday from studies and ten days of unrestrained fun. It meant visiting the exquisitely decorated pujo pandals, wherein the organizers, The pandal parishad, vied to outdo each other by being more creative and innovative. The center of the attraction is of course the beautiful idols of ma durga, made by famous artistes imported from neighboring Bengal, adding to its luster and pedigree!!

The pandal premise presents a kaleidoscope of cultural activity with teeming masses thronging the enclosure with great gusto and fervor.  As you move into the premise, several stalls lined up along the perimeter of the pandal are selling popular electronic products and hordes of enthusiastic vendors  are selling the finest ethnic traditional Bengali fabric such as Daccai Jamdani silk saris, the crisply starched printed cotton and the elegant silk kurtas, and various utility articles. Before you could lift your eyes a waft of aroma invades your senses and makes you go weak on your stomach!

And then magic unfolds in front of your eyes!! The fabulous stalls are selling a variety full of mouthwatering delicacies and patrons are seen gobbling with glee and glutton the Chinese, Indian, and traditional Bengali dishes such as puchka, mughlai parontha, Luchi aloo dum, Calcutta biryani, a unique concoction of Kolkata markedly different in taste, aroma, and appearance compared to its Hyderabadi, Awadhi, and Malabar cousins.

There is no greater joy in life than to gorge on the famed Bengali desserts.  The crowd is simply unstoppable and is tearing into a variety of desserts at display, not to mention the sentimental favorite the mouth watering rosogolla (Pronounced with the typical Bengali “ssh”!), the irresistible misti doi, the sumptuous milk Kalakand, the succulent cream chops, and before I and you start salivating, I must stop listing out the fare!!

The eateries do brisk business and laugh all the way to the bank. Nobody complains though!

Another striking feature of the pandals is the galaxy of beautiful Bengali mai (Girls) decked up in traditional Bengali cotton and silk saris talking animatedly with their friends. The jewelry is minimal and barely visible, but the style and the grace are apparent.  Their appearance is sweet as is the Bengali misthi. The babu moshai’s are seen flaunting the very best, the inimitable and traditional silk and cotton kurta’s. The kaku’s attired in crisply starched cotton kurta’s present a handsome spectacle. The kaki’s ooze class and grace with their sartorial style and would put to shame even the most elegantly dressed young women!! The children go completely unrestrained and are mostly seen running towards the food and toy stalls

Somebody shouts, “aee.. rontu ek tu jaul niye aaoo” a rather shrill shriek, and not to be left behind, the lady in the red across the pandal shouts at her husband who looked back  rather puzzled and wore an expression, “ what the fuss is all about.” However, the retreat was fast and swift as the husband literally ran across the pandal to oblige the women with a bowl of pista kulfi. Apparently, she had asked for some kulfi, but he was lurking near the stall eating some chops clandestinely!

 A rather meek and emaciated dog managed to slip into the pandal through a slit in one corner ostensibly to grab a few bones scattered near the food stalls. You can’t blame them for not being able to resist the aroma of the delightful food on offer and the poor chap is asking only for the bone and if his luck is good might end up having a feast! A couple of pot bellied volunteers tried to shoo away the little one before I stepped in to let the poor animal have his bone.

The pujo fervor reaches its peak during the Ashtami and Navmi celebrations, where the devotees throng the Pandals to get a glimpse of Ma Durga and seek her blessings for a prosperous life. You can see serpentine queues outside most of the pandals. Inside the Pandal, the devotees are greeted to the reverberating beat of the Dhaakis and the captivating rhythm of the traditional Dhunuchi dance. The Dhunuchi is an earthen pot ware filled with dry coconut fiber which is lit and emanates camphored smoke. The frenzied dancer holds the dhunuchi in his hands and sways vigorously back & forth and sideways accompanied by the beats of the Dhak. (Drum). The dance form is extremely popular in Bengal and often there are competitions in place for the best Dhunuchi dancer award.

Another enchanting experience is the Sandhi Puja, where 108 earthen lamps are illuminated and kept on dais in front of the idol of Ma Durga. The radiance of the light mesmerizes the devotees and seems like a dream sequence you usually come across in the Bollywood movies.

Any Pujo follower worth his/her salt would never miss the community gathering for the bhog (offered to Ma Durga). As a kid, I used to stand in long queue’s to savor the Khichudi and that is the most divine Khichudi I ever had!! How life has come full circle, when last year, my daughter in my lap, tasted her first bhog! All the memories came rushing back.

The bhog is usually followed by a sumptuous lunch for the patrons. The lunch is simple yet leaves you licking your fingers and is divine in taste! The pujo evenings are action packed and essentially musical in nature. The singers, tabla players, dancers and comedians set the stage on fire with their action packed performances. Nowadays, bowing to popular demand, most of the pujo samiti invite numerous popular singing artistes, who play the popular filmi songs and usually the crowd reserves its loudest cheer for these shenanigans! But the discerning crowd waits for the traditional rendering of Bangla form of music & song (Rabindra Sangeet), which is probably the highlight of the evening in most of the pujo pandals.

On Vijay Dashmi, the married women offer sindoor to ma durga followed by a riot of Sindoor Khela, where women dressed in white and silk sari smear sindoor on each other faces and hair accompanied by blowing of the conch. Normally, this signals an end to ten days of joy filled festivities. For countless years, this is the time for us to bid good bye to Ma Durga with a prayer on our lips requesting her to come back next year.

These ten days symbolizes the pride and spirit of Bengaliyat (A term which signifies that Bengal is above ethnicity and is not region specific)…..

These ten days are a case study on how to celebrate with gaiety and joy and without rancor….

These ten days are the best days of our lives…..

O ma durga…! O ma durga! Keep showering your blessings on us!

The European Blitzkrieg - I

All travel is unarguably a learning experience and ours was no different. On March 27^th, 2012, my young family set afoot on our first journey abroad with our doll “Geney” and the better half “M”. The date will remain etched in our memories for ever for its sheer priceless value and significance. The trip was conceived to coincide with the first birthday of our princess and to form a lifelong attachment to the special event. Special events demand special journeys, and therefore, the colosseum* in Rome was pencilled in as the special destination to mark the occasion of our beloved’s first year with us. 

*The colosseum amphitheatre, the symbol of ancient Roman’s grandeur and might, the battleground of the countless gladitorial combats, provided an ideal backdrop for the occasion. Ofcourse being students of history, both M and me, made our choice easier. We could not have chosen a place which is more steeped in glorious history than the Colosseum. It was a grand theatre and a platform to proclaim to our daughter how precious she is to us and the extent to which we can go to make her happy and realize her dreams! The sheer size and scale of the colosseum inspires us the lesser mortals to greater deeds and dreams. During our first trip together within India to Oodaypoor, Geney learned about tradition, determination, valor, sacrifice, and independence from the glorious past of the Mewar Kingdom. At the colosseum in Rome, we believed for Geney to dream big and what it takes to achieve those dreams and never feel short on inspiration if ever.

 The three of us - On the way to the terminal

My mind flashes back to the day - we visualized this trip and the plan that we put in place. In a silent moment of retrospection, I remember the many questions and ponderables that haunted us giving us sleepless nights: Geney, so young and tender, would she cope up with the obvious exertions of a travel, what she would eat? Is it going to be too cold for her, and several other hazaar thoughts streamed in our minds. After a little but intense deliberation, we made up our minds to proceed with our European sojourn with a positive intent and prayer on our lips.

M planed the itinerary meticulously till the last details were filled in. We booked the air tickets and hotels six months in advance (smart travelers that we are!) to economize our cost. The passport and VISA were duly stamped three weeks prior to our departure. The leaves from our office were duly sanctioned well in the nick of time. But the entire process was not as seamless and smooth as it appears and like a hitchcockian thriller, as the D day approached, several twists and turns accompanied it. 

At one point of time, the prospect of a job change and early joining almost thwarted our well laid out plans. And to make matters worst, the troubles seemed to be far from over, as news poured in about the worsening economic crisis in Europe and a resultant simmering wave of anger and discontent speading across the entire European continent. The spectre of a Tahrir Square*

(*Tahrir Square revolution has come to symbolize the revolutionary intent and anger of the people of Egypt against its autocractic ruler Hosni Mobarak. This was just one of the many demonstrations to have swept across the Arab nations in the Middle East in the recent past) type of revolution hung high in Europe. Spain and Italy, two of our main destinations on the trip, were the worst affected and probably the most vulnerable amongst all EU members. The whole thing could turn into a nightmare if we are caught up in the imbroglio affecting these countries. To allay our fears, I got in touch with the Spanish & Italian embassies and earnestly checked for the travel advisory only to be informed that indeed, as M suspected, I was making a mountain out of a mole!

In my earnest defense, all I can say is that the reason for my schizophrenic reaction was because both Geney and M were accompanying and the risk factor multilplied manifold.  No less to blame was the role played by the TV channels who provided an endless and round the clock coverage of Tahrir Square demonstrations and to a lesser extent the newspaper reports which leave no stone unturned to paint an image of extreme violent upheaval and unrest in our unsuspecting minds! Ofcourse I wouldn’t pin the blame on my avid interest in witnessing and probably visualizing exciting regime changing political developments across the globe!!  The power of plebian revolution did however succeed in sowing seeds of suspicion in the minds of us the merry making travellers”!!

However, the cherry of the cake goes to one particular BBC dispatch which reported plans of a massive strike in Barcelona on March 30^th, 2012, the day we were to arrive in Spain!! This report did get my goat and emboldened me to present a mild petition (Golden Rule 1: you don’t protest to your wife but only submit petitions!) to M that after all I was right to think the way I did!  As expected I was snubbed and stubbed into submission and what typically happens in such situations is that the entire discussion dies its own death after a while.

Chastened by the experience, I returned with the zeal of a missionary and worked clockwise with the precision of a butcher/surgeon (take your pick!) and in no time we were back on track with our plans. We both sighed  and whispered to each other what we hear so often “everything is destined”, and it was our destiny to take this trip and to soak in its happiness with our little dotty. 

The entire plan was kept a well guarded surprise and within the confines of our home not to be shared with anyone until the appropriate moment.  But much as you want to surprise others, it always surprises you back by sneaking out and staring back at you! By January 2012, most of our friends got wind(but ofcourse M!) of our European holiday plan and the reactions ranged from the wild and enthusiatic WOWs, FANTASTIC, AWESOME  to the ususal sobering and probing questions, to list a few, did you book the entire trip on your own, have you taken  a package? How much is it costing you? How long will you be there? Etc…

 And for the few who were left out; the reactions ranged from  “tumne mujhe bataya nahi?” tum hume apna nahi samajhate ho?  hum naraaz hain!!  etc….Daunted by the prospect of facing a volley of such emotions, I duly informed the entire gang of people  who mattered to us,  not to appear selective in sharing our plans!! (Golden Rule 2: you can never appear to be fair with everybody however hard you might try to do so!)

On the D day, the nature seemed to have reserved its best for us and presented to us the most beautiful sight to behold. All three of us woke up to a glorious sunny day and as we lay on the bed, the glistening golden rays of the sun played truant with us through the small openings between the curtains. The rising sun, still in its infancy much like our little doll, was a sight to behold as it emitted energy and shone resplendently in its cosmic beauty.

The fun had just begun as the time to leave for the airport came nearer. For the next 15 days, there was no one standing between us and the joys of a holiday or so we thought.  M’s BP shot up as the taxi we had booked didn’t turn up on time. I too got a tad anxious and whispered “hope we don’t miss our flight”. On hearing this, M lost her cool and blurted out “this is what you want and your words will come true as you never say the right thing!” I replied tongue in cheek “What an auspicious start”!!

As I sat down on the couch, strapping my wristwatch and puting on my shoes, a stream of thoughts came rushing to my mind. I couldn’t hear a word of what M directed about keys, suitcases, diaper bags… and couldn’t see a thing with a blur infront of my eyes. My generally languid style gave way to a pensive brood and soon a stupor.  I turned towards Geney for succor, frolicking playfully in M’s lap, and looked into her eyes as if to seek reaffirmation of the purpose of the visit. The moment her eyes met mine, the last of the lingering doubts, fears, and trepidation withered away overpowering me with a magical sense of purpose, strength, and inspiration. I was ready to take off with our precious birdey to the skies!!

“The First Monsoon”

Gurgaon’s skylines are dotted with dark clouds ominous yet pleasing. Baby Geney squeals at the sight of the dark clouds, roar of the clouds, and crackles in a coded language, “daddy, this is my first monsoon with you.” Amidst the squeals and cackles of Baby Geney, I jog my memory, and the time travel takes me to the Monsoon. The roles have reversed, I was the one squealing and screaming at the sight of the dark thunder clouds with silver streaks, the deafening thunder clouds, the stompings in the puddles of muddy water, and the breathtaking green cover of Ranchi's flora and fauna. It could have been straight out of the picturesque post cards that we so often come across. Today as I stand in the balcony of our house with baby Geney in my arms, I cannot but reminisce about that beautiful day in Ranchi and how much joy it gave to me. This is the first monsoon of her life with both M and me and an enthralling one! The six monsoons before with M and the seventh with both of them have been joyous. The emotions of each year gone by are vivid and etched in our minds.

The rain gathers momentum, and skies are opening their heart out satiating the parched land beneath. Geney lunges forward and springs forward as I hold firm and wonder If she wants to break free just as the rain droplets. She is gathering strength and is growing by the day, and communicating to us her needs, moods, and affection. I have started to miss her early phase when she was an infant unable to do anything except feed on her mother. The days and nights are moving faster than I had thought and this is unsettling for me.
The rain gods seem to be angry as the rains are accompanied with lightening and deafening thunderstorms. Geney’s facial expressions suggest that she is startled not fearful, amazed not shocked. Now that is what I call “fearless” slowly but surely, we are able to decipher her expressions. Her enigmatic expressions are no longer beyond complete comprehension, but she can still confound us with her antics! Baby Geney will see many more such monsoons, but we will never forget her first one with us. When she grows up, she will see what Daddy wrote on her first monsoon and will comprehend how precious she is to us!
Geney is bristling with energy and on seeing M approach lunges towards her. M will take her in the lap and babble. It is her exclusive time with M. Geney, her mouth open and lips formed like a circle, is talking to her mother in the Babylonian lingua but then you don’t need words to understand emotions. The baby and mother’s relation are symbiotic, and I am not the last person to realize this. As the rain comes to a halt, the clouds wither away, the grey turns into amber, and a beautiful rainbow stretches across the horizon, the birds fly away to their nests, and baby Geney cackles in her mother’s lap, the glorious evening is coming to an end and so is our Geney’s first evening of the Monsoon. It was beautiful just like M&G are!

Thank you for such a wonderful spectacle!

The Roots I

It was long overdue but when it came it was worth the entire wait! The return of the prodigal to the lands of forefathers was a thrilling experience and worthy of remembrance for life. The approach to our village is dotted with unbelievable treasure of flora and fauna and the green made me envy the landscape. The orange robes of the devotees across Rajgir and the green cover of the forests presented a breathtaking spectacle and Meeta couldn’t but sigh in admiration. We could nt believe the quality of roads in Bihar and it seemed that the people have woken up from their long slumber and are determined to surpass other states in terms of development. 15 years ago when I came here, the land symbolized darkness even though the landscape was as beautiful as it is today. Today the same place evoked a strong sense of hope and determination to overcome the past to build a beautiful future which has no place for fear! Soon, we left the swanky highway to a lane made of bricks and rubble leading to our village and a timely reminder that we have a long way to go in Bihar. “But atleast there is a road,” said Chachaji.

Just how much contrast you can experience in few minutes!!

A rollercoaster and bumpy ride brought us to Sihin, our ancestral village. The approach to the village summed up the current mood in the states as we witnessed barren land with no sowing of the paddy fields. Bihar is in midst of a severe draught because the monsoons have failed to satiate the thirst of its parched land. For a state which has just begun to crawl back to life and freedom, the draught could spell disaster. However, the current state government has done a remarkable job in restoring the faith of people in governance and deserves to come back again and the people would do well to keep out the “thugs of Bihar” who looted and murdered its conscience for over two decades.

Back to Sihin, it is located close to five kilometers from the ancient ruins of the magnificent Nalanda University, a UNESCO Heritage site. I am sure the ancient scholars of the University would have graced the meadows of my beautiful village. It presents a picture postcard image of a quintessential Indian village and my adrenalin was pumping with anticipation at its mere sight from a distance. Just across the verandah of our Kothi, is the dry river bed of River Tilaiya usually swollen with water at this time of the year but also no rains as yet!

Standing in the verandah with Meeta looking at the river brought back memories of the village and the time my father spent here as a kid. The magnificent Kothi, a source of great pride to our ancestors, wore a desolate look badly in need of repairs just as its old friend the river Tilaiya was in need of water. My grandmother anecdotes came flashing back about the four huge courtyards in the Kothi. Each courtyard had a different function; the first one was a bawarchi khana, the second one for bathing aka Sauna, the third one for storing the grains, and the fourth one used for growing fruits and vegetables for supplies to the kitchen. WOW! And that was not the end, there was a fifth one for the horses, cows, and would you believe it for Elephants. My great grandfather Shri. Raj Kishore Narayan rode an elephant to marry my great grand mother!! 100 years back this place must be abuzz with life.

Looking at it today, it is hard to believe that the place was once abuzz with life and laughter echoed in its fore walls. My father spent the first few years after he was born here before my grandfather moved to Ranchi, my birthplace. The courtyards wore a desolate look and for a moment I could not help but sympathize with its sadness and loneliness. Meeta, chachaji, and chachiji were with me standing there trying to find some life amidst the ruins but in vain.

Just across the first courtyard is the home of our kul devi, goddess Kali. She is our supreme deity and protects all the Narayans from evil forces and bestows bounties on us. Everybody in our lineage has tremendous respect and devotion to the deity and every year during dussehra, the Narayans are supposed to come here and perform a special puja. My father used to narrate stories to my elder brother about the esoteric nature of the puja performed only after midnight and with very strict regulations on participation in the puja as only the members of our clan could attend it. There were stories about a person not belonging to our clan and who was not supposed to be present during the puja dying just a few days later. I don’t know whether that really happened but is just goes to show the very private and secret nature of the rituals. All of us bowed our heads infront of the goddess in reverence and invoked her blessings for a good present and future full of life and happiness. We could feel a sense of strength and calm in her magical presence!

Although the caretaker of the Kothi and our properties is an old man but has a very strong and alert voice at his command. He knows all of us well and shows respect & admiration for the good work our forefathers did for the village. He had ordered a simple meal of daal, chawal, aaloo bhujiya (Fried potato wedges), and chicken curry for us. We gorged on the food and were amazed how much we ate because it was simple and not laced with oil and spices! We were given a royal treatment and slowly but surely the true significance of our lineage began to sink in. This must have been the daily routine with our forefathers however, for all of us, the city breds, this is only stuff made of legends in the movies or in history and I am talking not too far back in history, merely 200 to 250 years old.

Next on the agenda was the visit to the fields and other kothis of my great great grandfather’s four brothers. All the five kothis was lined up adjacent to each other. We are in the middle of the lot. The villagers waved us in acknowledgement and I could hear them whispering at our back, “brij babu ka pota aur putohu aayen hai” (My grandfather’s name was Brij Kishore Narayan and putohu stands for wife of the grandson). Soon after enjoying the splendor and beauty of the village, the time to leave for Patna had arrived. We wanted to stay back but the Kothi was not ready to accommodate us as it was not in shape but took a promise from us to get it repaired so that next time we can spend a few days basking in the glory of the river Tilaiya, its courtyards, and sprawling fields in the village. As we began to move, the villagers and people attached to our families for generations showered us with good bye’s galore “pranam malik and malkin.” The children jostled with each other to catch a glimpse of Meeta, the bahu of the khaandan. Chacha and chachi were surrounded by the faithfuls of generations. The feudal system is still alive and kicking in some of its trappings much to my disgust but Rabindranath Tagore said once, “our villages have ceased to change for ages” and to expect them to change in 60 years of self rule is ridiculous to say the least. As we left the kutcha road leading out of the village on to the swanky brand new highways of Bihar, I felt goose bumps across my body and soul. Modern Bihar has made a promising beginning after years of misrule of darkness and the indicators of progress, the roads, revamped primary health centers, encouragement of the girl child education, improved law & order gives me hope that the will to do something provides a way in the most hopeless situation as Bihar found itself in for the last 20 years. We all agreed to the conclusion as the Narayans should when they have just visited a common ancient heritage and are bound with it by love and affection!

Good bye Sihin and thanks for reminding us of our heritage!