Lost Essence !

Its been 2 years I tried penning down anything. Life was busy but more than that life got me distracted. This is the time of self quarantine, where everyone locked themselves at home. Everyone wanted to produce anything that is otherwise their daily schedule. Some say, they are frustrated, my tale would be different. I enjoyed being home , resting my feet always under my cozy blanket. Perhaps, that was required. Tired feet, tired eyelashes, racing against time, racing against capacity. My interest has always been cooking and savoring delicacies. So did I , took to my ladles and pans. Days would begin watching birds that chirp around my balcony. The happiness that cherubs spread, would once witnessed by the world during this extra ordinary hours .

I read about finches in my story books, never saw them in real. Once peeped out my window, only to catch few finches returned from their quarantine and humming its tales against the branch that visits my balcony. Office chores well kept everyone busy, and suddenly making tea with herbs got me interested. For a change, I wouldn't chase sunsets , rather they poked my window with its rusted hue. I couldn't keep calm but walk up to my terrace with a mug of green coffee, just to watch her saying adieu to the world. That of course left mankind with a hope, tomorrow is good and will be better.

Besides preparing all sorts of rice and prawns and chicken , my interest rested on purchasing plants. I am that woman, who wouldn't even can grow a cactus in my balcony, interestingly a disturbed tulsi plant made her place in one corner . They say holy basil is healthy and medicinal. Besides her such property, I used to smell her flowers that would gush by my living room as it breezed. Evenings became fragrant and soothing. As I slept for longer hours , I started pondering how it all began. A life, that is itself a blessing, but lost its essence in rat race.

Humans run after everything. They think they achieve millions, but choose to ignore multiple values they lose. We lose the beauty of living in our daily bustle. As I rested my feet on a cloudy afternoon, I take time to think and appreciate the lost essence. The lost many afternoons back home, where a family enjoys their meal made of fish fries and rice, the delight of watching rains dripping against the green leaves of gooseberries. The happiness around those white fragrant flowers that bloomed in the evening, and humming of the watchman who recited his daily hymns .

As the roads are blocked, humans did calm down, I take an opportunity to get nostalgic, to listen to everyone around us . We love speaking, and make us heard , what joy was this to listen to every single creature during this down time. As the incense sticks burn in my balcony, I delve into its fragrance and transport to my girlhood days . Days that never discriminated, never questioned, never hurt, never hated anyone ! If I transcend from a pole to other, let their be some space to fill in my heart with some simple joys and pleasures. Transcendence is fantastic , yet let me hold on to times that I lose everyday. The expenditure of such valuable time, let it flash my memory always and pay a visit to my lips and give me reason to smile always !

Mosses on the Stone

When I wake up early morning, and stand at my balcony with a glass of apple shake, sipping in the fluid and watching the morning sky and the feeling the rise of the mighty Sun. The winds blow hard these days and the gushing wind brushes against my face. I wonder what if I didn't want be a millennial girl, who makes her won morning shake, cooks her own meals, drives to work and packs a bunch of fries while returning back home, what if i wanted to be a swan, a white large swan in the wild grass and marshlands or a country side lass who grows spinach in the winter mornings and coriander leaves and hums her favorite hymns that her grand mother taught her since her childhood.

 I wanted to be a village lass who lived by the hills and the vegetable fields. The winters be so cold and the coriander leaves spread the fragrance of the winters. The cows and the buffaloes mooed at the winter morning tunes. I would love to dip in the waterfall in the forest, and the wet cotton towel around my hair would drip the waters of the mountains. I imagine walking by the forest roads, carrying an earthen pot of cold water back home. On the way, I meet trees filled with blossom, yellow flowers that smell like heaven. I collect them and wear on my hair, they smell days and nights like the starts twinkle in the dark sky. I cook meals while feeding the herd of sheep that graze at the nearby meadows. The big banyan tree that shades my courtyard, plays hide and seek with the sun rays, and the white flakes of clouds.

I watch the sunset and the scarlet sun that slumbers in the horizon, to give way to starry nights. I light the evening lamp, and sit beside the flowing river. Hear the sounds of lapping waters and the rustling sounds of wild grass. I float the lamp to the river, wishing it would reach the heaven, for those who rest in peace there. The beauty of stars and the dark sky would steal my heart away.

As i sleep to the closure of the day, I sleep with no stress. I smell the haystack and sleep to the spirits of life and glory.

I chose not be the woman who walks collecting the yellow fragrant flowers, but the one who sips in her artificial happiness from mornings to nights and she is thus trapped in her own desires, greed and lust. How she wishes she could break away the glass of apple shake and dive into the cold waters of the waterfall inside the green forest, and smear the peal  droplets, till she quenches her thirst of attaining bliss and solitude.

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.