Those misty nights

Taking my memories back, is always my favorite plot to write a blog. Memories heaped up during my late childhood and early teens, can accumulate a stairway to blissfulness and tales. I had an interesting growing up days, not so grown up yet a life filled with adventures and experiences to pen down. I was 14, when I performed as a dancer in local shows. I always aspired to be in show business and had been engaged in various sorts of art forms, but life had a different vision for me. That transported me to where I stand today.

It was a misty night of late November and the city is cold. I traveled for performing to a different town.Away from home for the first time. We were given a dorm where there were about 20 beds. This was my first time experience to live in nights such this. People who travel would know about Hyderabad and its gemstone attraction- "Ramoji Film City". I and my mother always had a vision of me becoming a dancer and travel the world spreading the culture and rich heritage of India. And so following the dreams I joined a troupe of dancers, and that landed me to Hyderabad.We went for a show and as a part of a huge troupe, I played a negligible role in the show. The life of a simple girl who travels to achieve her dreams. There were other girls who were hired and they stay away from their parents for years together. They wake up in the morning, and run for their shows , entertain the visitors and come back home tired at nights. I joined the show for a week's time, would have been back in seven days time but these dancers live in the days and nights of performance, lights and a agile life.

November nights are my favorite. They smell of winters and the leaves, trees, flowers all smell of cold and happiness. November 2008, i witness a different sight of struggle and survival. The lights were not so soothing around me, they gleamed of the struggle of those women who toil days and nights to serve a plateful to their parents. Life is stage and lights and audience. I couldn't survive the life, i moved on to pursue a different career later. Yet, the evenings, where those ladies wearing make up and glitters on face, to mask despair and port happiness to the world.

Tales from my Solitude -4

It was 2014 spring. Bangalore city is indeed so colorful and fragrant. I became more understanding towards this world and about myself. My mates were extremely well-to-do, where as I had to support my weekend siestas on my own . I began working post my college hours for those little joys and eat outs in the weekends. I began teaching people, who had not so fine communication skills, not children, but adults. In the process I learnt so much , myself. I had English in my bachelors degree too, so it helped me at large for this. They say, Almighty always has His plan for us, and so there it was. I taught in the evenings, did college in the mornings and nights were those peaceful time, when I watched the starry sky and the beauty of moon from the terrace and imagined how life is blessed.

I waited for a suitable job, without knowing what would it be. I had no idea what would I do, what would suit me the best, my campus placements failed at large. I didn't pass any of the tests in campus campaigning, yet I had the spirit to survive this vast city, without any keen on leaving it. I was called for an interview for the first time in my life, I was 22 , just 22. I met a member of interview panel for the first time, and was nervous. I don't know what must have I spoken in the interview , I cleared it. I was selected in a job of HR. I wrote my last exam on 5th of April 2014, and joined this small firm on 7th April 2014. I was remunerated a sum of 10,804 Rs per month. The journey of 3 long years of my studies in college was terminated  and a life  to the real world began.

This life had a blend of emotional binge, worldly desires and hardships. I woke up 8 in the morning, had breakfast made of idly and coconut chutney and walked for a straight 40 minutes to work. This saved my money for transport and also, helped me remain fit.Holding my umbrella up, i walked towards a life that had happiness and taste of hardship both. My intent was to work hard towards success. Things seemed fall in place very easy, or not so easy. I didn't have my family members in here with me, I was in a distant land, struggling with my destiny alone. Passers by in life came and left, but my own life remained intact with me. I returned home at 7:45 PM and hogged on a platter of rice, roti and pulses and green vegetable curry. Only Lord knows what was the taste of the food, cause I used to be hungry like a refugee would be at her camp, and gobbled up the meal like there is no tomorrow. And by 9 PM , I began snoring, as if any wand would have chanted some spells over me and I delved in slumber with no sense at all. My room mates told me tales of how ignorant I was about what happened otherwise. I am sure, the terrace missed me, so did the sky filled with stars and a bright moon. I lived a life of discipline and austerity. In the blink of my eyes, the spring of the year passed, so did the summer and monsoons. The umbrella that I had, witnessed all, and it was the dawn of the beautiful autumn. My favorite season arrived. Autumn and winter spell the most beautiful tale of the year and perhaps, my destiny had in store something out there.

the leaves of the cherry blossom trees in the city shed off, and a new fragrance arrived in my life. What is a life if there aint any phase and a cycle. I love my life as it took me uphill and showed me the darkness and the silence of the burrow too. The rolling stone moved on, and hence gathered no moss still.

My girlhood

Summer vacation in our days back in home was from mid- May and that would last for 6-7 weeks. Calcutta is extremely hot during summers. Like children these days, I wasn't fortunate enough to holiday abroad, playing with blue waters and canoeing the island waters. I belong to a middle class Bengali family, rich in culture and heritage and arts. My mother sang, danced , my father wrote scripts, and he was good in recitation and playing tabla. My grandfather was an engineer in British army then and later Indian army.He too supported us at large to perform. Summer vacation was a lot of time, to perform a dance drama at the courtyard in our house.

The whole neighborhood rose to excitement to make this event happen successfully. Afternoons were too hot to begin with any rehearsals, hence we reserved our rehearsal for the evenings. Cool breeze accompanied us to perform "chitrangada" or "Shyama" ( Tagore dance dramas). We chose our expanded terrace, where the women assembled to sing and dance and make merry to the good times.
Men helped us narrating and providing cues. These days neighbors turned to one big family, helping each other with logistics and supplies. We ate together over lentil soup and rice with potato fries, and pointed gourds. The very Bengali lunch and dinner. During the rains, we would go to the fish market and buy the best Hilsa and ma would make the best hilsa curry with white mustard seeds and a sumptuous fish-eggs fry. Only a Bengali would relate to the taste of this dish during the rains. We gossiped about the lad and the lass hooking up over the practice and laughed our heart out to the melodramatic love story that wouldn't last long.

The final day of program, we would dress up, paint our faces with cosmetics and "alta" on our palms and feet. the hard work would be paid off with a platter of kachori and aloo curry, that tasted heaven after the performance. We didn't have social media then to upload the pictures that we clicked. The prints would have to wait for a week's time, till the camera person provide us the hard copies of the beautiful memories.

Life was ecstasy around the cultural bringing up that happened to us. I owe a lot to the family that I belonged to, especially my mother , who would take initiative at large for make such events happen.

Tales from my Solitude - 3

Days turn into nights and nights grow into bright days. Human beings have great abilities to fold and unfold the spheres of one's life and learn , unlearn in the walk. My life was so monotonous with 200 meters walk to college, attend all classes, sit in the first bench, write down hell loads of notes and come back. My evenings would involve talking to my family members, watch Tamil movies, and savor food in my hostel. The food tasted so bad always, as I was still adopting to the taste in south India. Life was dragging and snuggling until my  my hostel happened to shut down suddenly and we were noticed to move out and find a new home for ourselves.

I had a small suitcase filled with my world and had only that to move out with . My life was simple until then. It was my second year of college, and Bangalore life kind of befriended with me by then.

I found a small attic up in the 2nd floor of a house. The house already looked so haunted and I found a Bengali roommate who was an year junior to me. She introduced to the new evenings of Bangalore. The clubbing, the parties, alcohol and smokes. This era of my life told me that Im pretty and can easily attract men of all sorts. This is the time, perhaps was important in my life as it showed me the dark phase of a city. The times then was just mere few hours spent with toxicity, but now when I write this up, I understand growing up demands a human being to see the good and the bad phase of everything, of his or her world. Hence these 2 years were important.

It wasn't sad to know men who  trade emotions and happiness. It wasn't upsetting knowing women trading beauty and selling dignity in terms. The values, the limited knowledge of this world change and expand. The primitive values towards life alters to a new enlightenment. One gets to know another in person, closely. The short noticed flings, and stands got me growing in this city. The slow killing of my innocence was in process. The layered eye shades and kohl reinvent yourself in the heart of the city and an independent living of a woman.

Weekends nights flowed so fast, as fast as I forgot the love from the core has disappeared from me and a human filled with hatred and diplomacy is born, May be this is how one grows and there is nothing wrong in that. Now standing at my 26th, I believe everything happens for good and there is nothing wrong in learning anything. Hatred is born so that I didn't get betrayed again or perhaps it didn't matter again. The strong one is born and what is wrong in hiding the soft one inside and wearing a mask of a strong. Isn't that something required in present society of ours ?

Betrayal, cheating, jealousy, hatred are equal emotions that exist in us , in all of us  and one must witness all. If one hasn't seen all, how would one know which is to be accepted and which is to be rejected ? The phase of coming close to all these seemed very disgusting then and seems very valuable now. A part of growing up , a part of living and hence the just beautiful turns out to be bold and beautiful !

Tales from my solitude : 2

It was my first Sunday in Bangalore. I was a paying guest with an Andhra concern near Christ college. My roommates asked me to visit a nearby market n get supplies ! I needed a bed spread, plates, spoons, etc . This was my first ever time , when I moved out of my family, had no idea of equipments to survive alone. Boarded in a public bus, reached Commercial street , the shoppers paradise in Bangalore.

I was in awe of this place as the roads are loaded with bangles, earings, towels, bed covers, bamboo basket, fibre stuffs, dress material, tailor shops n everything a human would require to survive ! As I entered the bus station, my eyes took a glimpse of the church that stood with vain at the entrance of the market. Women selling bunch of red roses n yellow roses with intense sticks to offer to devotees. All I wanted was a plate , as a girl of 18, I was confused which one to pick ! Green, Orange, yellow, pink ... colored utensils everywhere. My budget didn't permit anything more than 30Rs, I slowly purchased the same n took a look around .

The women in burkha busy tailoring blouses, kids jumped and hopped eating candy floss. Men walked by ,some returning from daily namaz or busy hectic schedule at their shops. The danglers n the laces flung down the shop ceiling, the jewellers pinned their art onto silver n gold. I loved the aroma of biryani cooked into distant shack, and my mouth watered to taste the long sized rice grain that are steamed in ghee n butter !

The colorful duppatas hung against the wooden poles n the breeze kissing them over n over again. They whisper of love n ecstasy, n the sky rolls in the gossip of love . The best part of the place is the evening prayer in the mosque in central Market. The evenings are bright! Brighter with neon lights all over . The boys would come after you to sell wooden carvings n the dream catchers ! The stores, the lights,the crowd,the spark n the warmth I felt,lasted a long with me .

I still love to take a stroll in commercial street,I feel nostalgic. I transport myself to my childhood, and I pick gulab jamuns, buy earings,pick street food n savor them alone . I visit here alone still n I fall in love with the whole thing every time I enter the market.

Tales From the land of Solitude - Part 1

It began 6 years back, on boarding in an Indigo flight, that carried me to this city. I don't know if all teenagers think the way, I thought back then. Raised in an environment filled with strictures, my soul needed to breathe. My nights were restless battling with the rules and regulations in a family that had no son. Daughters were to be raised composed and  sedated, hence my parents imprisoned me to a old typical Calcutta house that we lived. "Not allowed" was the term that I and my sister grew up listening and was an obvious reply to any request made. Escaping was the outlet that I had to find at my 18. had to move to a new city The reason had to add on a degree, well then , this degree was just a a cheese for the rat in my life , valued nothing more , could think nothing better .

Stepped in a new city, led to an independent living ! I was eager and waiting for this all my life. Hence, the chunks of depression, sorrow or a little heartbreak were removed from my face value and disguised under a happy smiling , jovial lady of 18. The University norms were enough to keep me occupied the entire day. The colossal campus encouraged me to delve in the beauty of the concretes. The course engaged my evenings in the library of the 9th floor building of the central block. The evening read and the view was amazing . I could see a bit of Bangalore, the busy traffic and the flyover that connects Richmond road . I loved to wade though the pages of Sociology books, loved the theories by Darwin on Social Change, the postulation of the theory of idiosyncrasy, mores, and so many stuffs. Actually came to Christ University with a passion in Psychology, but later fell for Sociology and of course my Literature classes. Not only the taste of subjects , I discovered a loads of changes in my attitude, cognition, fallacy within me and reinvented myself in a new way.

Mingling with friends was a tougher task than walking through the roads of Koramangala alone. Well yes , talking of South Bangalore. For about first 5 months , had passed my hours reading books, passing through a new block of area to the other , discovering the claustrophobic me in the public buses , got down and rather chose walking to my destination. The city was so damn expensive for a 18 year old. The pocket money disappeared in no time. The delicacy was to buy a 100 gms of Jalebis from a road side vendor at Rs 6, or devouring over a plate of egg dosa. The south Indian cuisine was still getting on my nerves, lived as a paying guest with an Assamese warden in charge. The explanation of the taste of the food is indescribable today! had to gulp in the sambhar that made no sense to a Bengali well - fed girl, and the rasam was not even something we would ask our stray dog to taste. The dinner was chappati and tomato sabji, a curry that has only tomatoes and nothing else , probably the last thing I could dream of in my little world of 18 years .Tears rolled down my cheeks, but never intended to miss home. Well, yes with freedom comes responsibilities , and sacrifices too.

My mid term paper was good and my class mates started recognizing me . Met a very chubby pink girl, sitting at the back bench of my class. She was short, round , pink on her cheeks, who smiled at me and wanted to do a project with me. Thank God , she spoke or else I would have starved myself without friends. She wore everything pink that day , a girl of my age from Kerala. I got to know about a Malayali for the first time. The tales of coconut, Mohanlal, Kuchipudi, banana chips, Vishu, Onam and of course fish fries! I tasted similarity and loved this lady's attitude towards my life. My solitude witnessed a spark of light . She is a famous lady in campus, God knows why and how everyone knows her. She was very rich and dared not speak a single word that comes to her mind .I observed her for sometime , for few days  and discovered the other half of mine in her . I was so quite, always sitting on first bench, listening to lectures, a monotonousness in me throughout, but may be I wasn't the way I led my life. may be I too wanted to speak my mind at any given place, to any given person, may be I would also want to be that jovial and cheerful always. She told me, she thought Im a nerd and didn't want to mingle initially, and I felt that I need a change in me.

Im not a nerd, don't intend to be one, I too want to open my hair against the air and smile outside the window pane of the car and close my eyes and breathe the cold winds of the cold mornings. I too want to feel the chilled air through my nostrils, my hair strands, my vain and discover myself outside the campus and the library, and the course. She asked me if I would like to travel with her and friends to Nandi hills ? My answer in no time was " Yes" ! Probably that was my first step to unfolding the strong packaging within myself , the packaging of a little world that I came from, the little knowledge that I had about the world, people and their culture, that was the beginning to break free, may be the real reason behind moving away from Calcutta and my family.

To the Sand and the Ocean!

Be it a fairy tale, or reality, we all wish to break free. Break free to the depth of waters, to the lush green forests, lumps of white clouds, grains of golden sands. The relationship between a human and nature is like ocean waves and the granules of sand. They meet and meet again, to satiate each others soul.

Arrived at the airport, the clock ticked  its 11 PM IST. Resting against the chair in waiting lounge, I wondered, how the island country could be outside, which is now shrouded black. My heavy head demanded a cup of coffee and a bun , the journey had been hectic. All day work and no sleep till I landed here. Travelers gushed in and out as the flights landed at their schedule. Rucksacks, strollers, backpacks eagerly waiting to break free into the city. Took the city bus shuttle to Colombo, vacationing in  Srilanka. The city disgusted me greatly, the scorching heat and the people. Well, could it be a sad decision to come here in summer? bargaining with a trishaw driver, arrived at the villa booked by the marine drive. The villa owner spoke  fluent English and refused us to check in as we were early of our scheduled time. the city slept like a pig and there was no option but to lie on the boulders by the Ocean. The city trains that whistled like a monstrous conch shell disturbed me at large. The train path heppens to be just by the sea and the passengers looked at me as sleeping on the boulders is a criminal offence. opened my eyes to the sunshine, tired and tanned already. Boarded on a trishaw to take a look into the city. The beautiful arcades caught my attention, well nothing else. My eyes searched for street food and street shopping, just the way anyone would want to hop in a city but sigh ! the city was too decent for me . Felt the hunger pangs in me, hogged on Srilankan plateful. Munching on the rice and dal with a chunk of fish, my eyes glittered with joy, I knew why exactly I came here . The evenings in the city are boring. The people looked at me as if they have identified a Martian. Well, the villa was cozy to rest my tired feet. The Western province had nothing much to offer.

Left in a city bus to the southern province. My disappointment cleansed with the green and blue waters of Indian Ocean. The beautiful Mirissa welcomed me with the amazing mangroves, golden sand and the vast expanded green ocean. Reminded me of the queens chest filled with emeralds. My private beach and the amazing breakfast contented me at large. The resort was embedded by a small village- Thalarambi . Initially it was a small underdeveloped village for me, with time passing by, met the amazing fishermen there. The fishing economy made them strong boatmen, scuba marshals and many more. The girls with pleats on their sides came smiling, talking of their afternoons and their nights. The hours of dusk against the corals were amazing. The dutch settlement, the fort, the culture and the beautiful fenced courtyards took my soul away . This is Lanka, land of Ravana. I wouldn't know if I wouldn't have met them , how helping, how warm they are. The roads amidst the village became so friendly and those red hibiscus that said hello every time I passed by. The corals that I collected every time I bathed told me the story of the Ocean,the whales, the dolphins who merrily sing the song of waters.

Cr-using into the ocean left me spellbound, the answer to the infinity. At nights when I turned off the lamps, listening to the roar of the waves, I could see an auditory image. The turtles underneath, the lost fish, the robust blue whale, the jovial black dolphin, the white corals, the talks of the golden sand the kiss of the sky and the ocean ... Dreams dawned down to my eyes ...

From the waves to the hills, well not really hills but Kandy is prettiness. King Asoka spread Busddhism here, hence the place has many Buddha stupas to offer to its visitor. Ups and downs and green meadows and streaming brooks, this place kisses you all over. The highest peak in Kandy shows you the entire city. The Sunday village market, the watch tower, the busy streets, and many more. Bagging the amazing spices , had to depart but the memories are etched in my heart.

The flight takes just an hour from India, but it takes so much more to understand the warmth of a person across the border. The stories of tuna, the basa, the Mirrisa corals, the lamps on the beach, the music, the buses, the trains, the trishaws, the pineapple jam in the breakfast, the pancakes in kandy resort, the green waters, the sunsets, the cook who baked vegetables, the giggle of the village girls in the evenings and so much more. Some I could carry back, most of them lied there ... in the island, looted by the monstrous ocean , and thrusting them back with so much newness.

It doesn't take anything away, it returns back ... returns with a new story to be collected ...