"কোথাও আমার হারিয়ে যাওয়ার নেই মানা...
মনে মনে..." which roughly translates to "My imagination knows no bounds" (Pardon me, O Rabindranath Tagore, for the audacity to even attempt the translation of just one line of yours)...
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My grandmother (called her 'Thamma') was quite an awesome lady. She couldn't complete her schooling because of the turmoils caused by the Partition (millions of people got uprooted from their ancestral homes and forced to settle elsewhere). But that didn't stop her from being wise. She had the stamina of an athlete, and determination of a mountaineer. However, one thing she was absolutely petrified of is snakes.
It is said that perseverance pays off. Although my mother was and still is (rightfully so) totally against wasting food items, once in a while, due to my constant nagging, she had to hand over small pieces of wheat dough. Using that, I could've sculpted anything: tiger, dinosaur, rat, gorilla, you name it. But what did I create? That's right. Dough snakes!!! Approaching from behind, I used to place the doughy forms on her shoulder, and scream "Grandma, Snake!!!!". It used to scare the shit out of her. Every time. I know. I know. I won't be allowed to enter through the gates of Heaven. Back in the 90's, communication device was a shared family asset. For those who didn't have access to landline phones at home, STD-ISD-PCO-cum-Xerox centres came in handy. Remember that creaking sound of small bills being printed on tiny rolls of paper the moment the receiver was put down???
We had a dial-pad landline phone at home. I thought this was pretty cool, until I chanced upon a rotary-dial model at a neighbour's place. It was love-at-first-sight!!! Every now and then, I used to find excuses to go to uncle's house, just to get a chance to play with those magical, rotary dials. Most of the times, the need to make calls from someone else's phone was genuine. However, occasionally, I used to cook up bogus excuses such as "Our landline is not working, have to call dad. Urgent", which worked just fine. Instant access. I used to pretend calling a number, and then say "Line is busy" and leave. In doing so, the primary aim was achieved, without any collateral damage. White lies. Sometimes, when uncle /aunty was outside earshot distance, busy with their chores, I used to do miniature role-plays, pretending to be a grown-up, dealing with some office shit!! Reminessant of a by-gone era, these landline phones provided sound exercise for the mind. Didn't we all remember half of the numbers by heart? For everything else, there was that diary, which had all the numbers, written alphabetically. Any wrong entry, upon discovery, fetched much rebuke and ridicule. The style quotient of these archaic devices was taken for granted then. In hindsight, I must admit the product design exuded oomph and class, which can put all the Galaxies and the iPhone to shame. Any day!!! DISCLAIMER: THE RIGHT FOOT IS NOT INSIDE THE STOVE. IT'S ON THE OTHER SIDE. YOUR MIND IS PLAYING TRICKS. NOW ON TO THE MAIN STORY. THANK YOU.
As a kid, I had always hated doing household chores. Like my family members said, the reluctance was pretty much visible: on my face, in my body language, and by the response time. However, like the silver lining of a cloud, there was one thing I thoroughly enjoyed. Lighting up a desi stove or 'chulha' ('unoon' in Bengali). This I did with a lot of alacrity in my heart. The 'chulha' especially came in handy during the winter days, when hot water was needed in large quantities for bathing. I just loved the different phases. First came the preparation phase: ransacking the store room to locate the stove, bringing it out in the open, getting rid of cobwebs (if not regularly used), gathering the items (cow dung cakes, dry wood / sticks, a bunch of newspapers, little bit of kerosene oil, match box, and, of course, a hand fan). A metallic rod or a decent length of wood was also required to stoke the fire once in a while. Then came the decoration phase: placing layers of dung cakes in the top chamber (not too densely packed, mind you), and pieces of wood and twisted paper below. And finally came the ignition phase. The trick was to keep the air flowing, using a hand fan. After the initial smoke (which I loved, but my eyes did not), when the dung cakes turned glowing-red, it was time to place the aluminium utensil on top. Washing the hands (not only with water, but with soap as well) after the marathon was mandatory. Rules were rules. Like they say, the house always wins. Hitting someone was, is, and always will be something one should refrain from, especially from behind, which is truly dishonourable. However, using handkerchief as a whip was too much fun!!! And the best part was that it only made sense (and maximum impact) when the posterior was targeted...
"Get busy living, or get busy dying" said Ellis Boy "Red" Redding (of 'The Shawshank Redemption' fame). "It's good to get busy studying, but one should always find time to get cracking" was my philosophy. If there is one thing I absolutely hate, other than paneer, is waking up early. The regular struggle during schooldays (school started at around 7am) was tormenting as hell. It was even more agonising then, because negotiations such as "5 more minutes", "Little bit more" didn't work at all.
With the onset of Autumn, something magical used to happen: the blooming of 'Shiuli' flowers. Those tiny white flowers, with reddish-orange stalks, singlehandedly drive Bongs mad with its intoxicating fragrance. This flower, along with 'Kaashphool', jointly declare the arrival of the greatest festival for Bengalis. Although these factors didn't help at all in easing the waking-up process, they did provide a wonderful incentive once I was up. Picking up the flowers from a bed of dew-covered grass early in the morning, while savouring the fragrance, was simply blissful. |
ConceptOnce in a while, we all reminisce about the good ol' childhood days. Back when the lifestyle had a carefree rhythm. Archives
August 2020
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