Happy Holi 2015

Holi, the festival of colours. Spring to me, like most Indian begins with Holi. So Holi literally brings colour, not only in the form of "abir" and "rong" but in nature, our smiles, our feelings and our very lives

Last year I was at a friend of a friend's rooftop near Golpark. The previous night the four of us, PB1, KB and SB stayed over at 22. We ate chinese from Mandarin and PB1's special "Death By Chocolate Brownie" which was laced with something more than chocolate. ( READ LOVE). On the day of Holi, we got ourselves some colours, called over RB(KB's brother) begged him to be our driver and ended up in the friend of a friends rooftop. There was an open house(rooftop?) Holi Party. There was every possible arrangements that a Holi party might need. Food, bhaang, sweets and ofcourse colours. PB1 and SB refused to play colours but the rest of us went upstairs and proceeded to drench ourselves with colours, smearing each other's faces and then comparing who looks the most colourful(read unrecognizable). It was the first Holi I forced myself to celebrate after almost two years. The previous two years were not the best for me and I did not feel particularly celebratory. And I had an inkling that I will not be around for the next year.

And this year, my Holi was white and grey. It snowed here. So the weather and me are both a little glum. Everyone is hoping that this is the last snow of the season and soon there will be spring.While most people here are asking each other "When will Spring come ?" I am reminded of  that famous line by Gabbar Singh "Holi kab hai ? Kab hai Holi ?? "

Kolkata : Is it my city anymore?

There is not a second passed in this village that I do not think of Kolkata. To me Kolkata is a living, breathing, growing entity. A part of me. Kolkata is mine. It makes me feel at home. But is this city really mine anymore ?

Sitting at a late night diner on Sunday night I read two very upsetting news.

1. BBC took an interview of the Nirbhaya rapists. And they, without any sign of remorse states that it obviously always is the victims fault. I do not think I was surprised. The fact that I was not surprised was what bothered me. A lot of people's reaction I gauged was that of outrage as to why BBC even interviewed these creatures ( I do not find it in me to call these humans. ) To me the interview was necessary. It proves that monsters do not repent. And right now there are a million of men who are thinking the exact same thing. That it is infact the girls fault. Our country does not know how to protect their women. And it is true.

2.The second was much closer home. My cousin was harassed in the middle of Rashbehari Avenue at 10:30 on Sunday night. I am putting her exact words here.

" Ei sahar take nijer sahar bole bhabte khub lajja lagche ajke...Time raat 10:30 Rashbehari Avenue .... Saharer byasto tomo rasta gulir modhye ekta...
Metro theke neme wait korchi behalar gari pawar jonyo... Onyodiner tulanay janbahon kom seta hoy robibar bole noyto biyebarir season bole... Ekti Otyonto obhodro lok... Pichone theke eshe nongra katha o akar ingit korte laglo.... Bolai bahulya j tini prokitistho chilen naa..ei nongrami chollo pray 5 minute....chitkar kore protibaad korate ashe pasher kichu lok moja dekhlen thik e kintu ekjon o egiye elen na sahajya korte... Thik jani na era ki nitantoi ekta bicchinno ghatana... Naki etai ajkal swabhabik byapar...
Jaihok amar bhagya sahay j ami loktike tariye okkhoto obosthay bari firechi... Kintu sabar bhagya eto ta sahay na o hote pare...
Tomader sabbaike ghatanate jananor uddwesho .... Sabai sabdhan... Kolkata kintu khub unsafe hoye geche..."


After knowing about this my first reaction was anger. How dare the man ?

But then I remembered something an NRI Bengali man I met randomly at a movie theatre, of about 40 told me when I was whining about how much I miss my city and how much I want to go back.

He asked me with a smile. " Are you sure the city is yours ? A city where a female Chief Minister punishes by transferring a female Police Officer because the Police Officer went out of her way to catch the rapists of a shameful rape in the middle of the city is pretty much sending out a clear signal to the women of the city that they are not needed."

I could give him no good answer. Because no matter how much I try to defend my city the city has done nothing to protect her women. And right then, sitting at a diner seven seas away in a small sleepy town at 11:30 pm at night, I was feeling completely safe. Yes I had my friend with me. But the truth is even if i did not have my friend with me in there, I would have felt safe. I knew I could call a cab and that would pretty much ensure that I reach home safe. The cabs are constantly monitored by police radios. And there are police cars at the darkest nooks and alleyways patrolling. And at the same time even if my friend was there with me sitting at Hobby Centre in Park Street at 11:30 at night and I had to go back home in a cab, I would feel unsafe and nervous in my own city. Or maybe the city truly is not mine anymore.

My Experience in Amreecan Village Part 2 : McDonald's Our Food Your Question.

This particular experience belongs to not me directly but my oldest friend ASP and particularly her husband VP.

Last weekend I went to visit them in another Amreecan village by the name of Parsippany in New Jersey. Now VP has always been the biggest fan of McD back in Bangalore. When I would visit them in Bangalore, me and ASP would spend a considerable time charting  which restaurant to try out. VP would invariably suggest McD. It is best to mention here that VP is a Vegetarian but eats Eggs(I guess that makes him an Eggetarian) and the McEgg back in India was his favourite.

So now they are in NJ and the true patron that VP is he takes ASP to McD. ASP orders her standard burger and VP goes up to the pimply teenager taking the order and with a lot of anticipation asks " What are your vegetarian options? " The guy at the counter solemnly replies "Fries," VP tries to be a little more clear and says "Like to eat ?". The guy without any change of expression replies "Fries." VP tries one more time. "As in real food ?" The guy replied "Fries". And after thinking for a couple of minutes adds "And Coke."

At this point ASP suggests VP to take the burger without the meat. What comes are two burger buns with four pieces of fried onions in the middle. So I guess the question is "Where is the food ?"

And I have to add this photo of ASP and VP I took at the Dover Station when they came to see me off in the freeze rain. I adore it. Two people who are simply just made for each other.

SEASONS' GREETINGS with warm wishes from an Amreecan Village

Christmas and New Year's are definetely cumulatively, the biggest celebration in this part of the world. Everything is lit up brightly(because electricity obviously costs nothing) and there is this general cheerfulness around that makes even a cynical person such as myself smile at strangers.
This time around most people from my part of the village have not been very happy. They have been crying about the fact that it has been a warm winter and this has not been a White Christmas. I have had my managers, friends, roommates, acquaintances tell with great nostalgia and a smile hovering on their lips, as to how last year the winter was truly bad. Apparently it was the coldest winter recorded in Philly for over 20 years. I personally had a great time. I went over to Pittsburgh and West Virginia for Christmas. The giant Christmas tree and the street all lit up reminded me of Kolkata around Durga Pujo. The only thing is here most people are homebound during the festivities. They stay home, put on Christmas jammies, eat enormous amount of pies and spend it with family and friends. Back in India festivals are the time when you put on your newest outfit and take to roads for pandal hopping with family and friends. For New Years I took myself to Philadelphia. It was brilliant. Larger than life. And the fireworks from Penn's landing. I have to say that no matter how much I am still doubtful about the efficiency of this country in general, this country knows its fireworks. I have never seen anything like it ever in my life. It was spectacular. But even while shaking in my shoes at midnight and seeing everyone kiss all around me at 31st night I heard people complaining as to how warm this New Year's day is. I will be the first one to admit, I do not understand the hankering for below freezing temperature.
What I do understand now is the meaning of the age old greeting of "with warm wishes". Remember how we use to write it at the bottom of our New Year's Greetings card back in school. (I wonder if the kids still write it.) Growing up in a hot and humid city like Kolkata, I had always wondered why warm wishes. Why not with comfortable wishes? But then while waiting for my bus at the bus stop on 2nd Jan 2015, for an hour, and having cold literally penetrate my very bones, the meaning of warmth finally hit me.
So here is WARMLY wishing all 13 people(or less) who has ever read my blog, a fantastic 2015.

My Experience In An Amreecan Village Part 1 : Zor Ka Jhatka

So I have moved from Kolkata and I miss my city and I find myself in a village in the middle of nowhere(read Pennsylvania) in the big bad world of Amreeca. So I have now decided to chronicle my experience in this village and start a sub-blog. I wonder if I should change the name of the blog ??(HMMMMMM!!!)

Before I was coming over all my non-Amreeci Amreecan people(friends and family who lived in the U.S) gave me plenty of advice most(yes I said most) of which was useful in dealing with the culture shock. But no one prepared me for the literal shock I would get after landing in the country. The dry winter cold generates so much static that anything and everything shocks you, from car doors, to walmart carts, to PB2's faux-fur coat. And I have no idea why nobody warns against that.

Then I had this firm belief that I could go on talking in Bangla and no one around me would understand. It somehow made me feel I posses this superpower. Again, noone told me any better. From the cabbie, to the hotdog vendor, to the owner of the local Dunkin DoNut shop...everyone seems to know Bangali and are either from Bangladesh or Medinipur, specially in New York.

But the biggest shock I got about the above was right here in this Amreecan village. My cousin MSM and her husband SS had come the first weekend that I landed in the continent to help me settle in. So to celebrate my first weekend in the States SS, (based on my other cousin AB's suggestion)took all of us to this Carribean Restaurant called Bahama Breeze. We ordered a lavish dinner and was conversing away in Bangla. The bill finally came and while SS was calculating the tip MSM was telling me how in New York the servers will run after you if you do not tip properly. Our Bahama Breeze server, however was standing behind politely waiting for the cheque. After the bill was paid we walked out and was waiting in the waiting area for our cab. MSM and I were sitting in one corner while SS was standing by the door keeping a watch out for the cab. Our server suddenly comes and shows the bill to SS. MSM walks over to SS, puts her hand on her hips and asks SS in Bangla "Ki re ? New york er moton obosthya ? Beshi taka chay !! " (What is it? Do they want more tips like in New York?). To this SS replies that he had made some mistakes on calculating the tip also in Bangla. So MSM being the person she is turns to the server and explains to him in English that SS was too tired and therefore made a mistake. To this our server replied, in plain and simple Bangla " Kono somosyai noi. Erom to hoyei thake. " ( Do not worry. This is not a problem at all. We are used to things like this happening.)And this is what Amitabh Bacchan used to refer to as "Zor ka Jhatka, dhire se lage."

A Temporary GoodBye

I have to say goodbye to this city of mine for atleast the coming 6 months. In another 2 days I will be sitting on a plane "don't know when I will be back again". (But I will definetely be back)

It is with mixed feelings that I will be saying bye to the city. I will miss my people in the city. I think I will miss the city more than I can miss a person. For the last two weeks I am trying to get all of the city in me, from Chinese in Mandarin, to Arsalan's Biriyani, to VivekAnanda Park fuchka, from walks along DeshaPriya Park to long lazy walks around Park Street, from street shopping at Gariahat to hunting for bargains in New Market. I will even miss my one and a half hour journey to and from office. Specially the times when I would take an auto to Karunamoyee, then another to UltoDanga, then another to Shova Bazaar Metro and take a metro to TollyGunge tram depot (Uttam Kumar) and walk home. And to top it all Kolkata has decided to dawn the best weather possible right now. The light cool breeze keep on caressing me and bids me a long lingering loving goodbye.

I will be back soon my lovely. I will miss you.

Chutzpah

I have met women in my life, some of them are in my family who choose to be the victim. They choose to be beaten, abused, ill-treated, and walked all over and they glorify their lives because they had to  go through or are still going through all this. They turn themselves into some sort of sacrificing martyr. These women scare me.

And then ever so rarely you come across stories of extraordinary deed by ordinary women such as Shabnam Ramasamy. These people in Shabnam'w word hold life by its collar, push it to the wall and say ‘you live according to me and not me according to you!’

 SALUTE !!