What's in a name

As he randomly scanned one chat room after another, in search of someone suitable to strike up a conversation with - her name suddenly popped up on the screen: "Mihika_Sanyal joined the room"

His left palm started to itch. It was always a good sign. Unlike other times, where he would have immediately send a PM (personal message) to her, he waited...inhaling, holding his breath for 4 counts and exhaling deeply...just like his therapist had advised. After an agonizing minute, he typed in his text, worried that she might change rooms if he waited any longer. In chat rooms, the user name is no indication of gender, yet he felt confident it was a 'she'.

The pm popped up on her screen. She was about to click on the 'X' mark to close yet another unwanted invitation to 'chat', when the message caught her attention:

dark_knight: There is something about dewdrops which always soothes my soul

This was different. Not like the usual 'Hi. can we chat. a/s/l plz'. Whoever dark_knight was, he was different from the rest and his message had the hint of intelligence. She was sure it was a 'he'. It was one of the most instinctive rules of mating behaviour, whether in cyberspace or in real life. In all probability only a male would respond to a female username. Unless it was a lesbian, which would make it an exception to the rule. Also, the fact that he knew the meaning of her name 'Mihika' was a pleasant surprise. She had begun to take it for granted that most people would not know her name meant 'dewdrops'. His choice of words, style and the reference to the existence of the soul, pointed towards an intelligent, sensitive and probably creative or artistic kind of person.

The user name 'dark_knight' was also intriguing. As a student of psychology, her mind made a random connection. A 'knight' usually brings up the association of a brave warrior rescuing a fair maiden. However, this was a 'dark' knight. So did he believe he could delve into the darkness of the maiden's mind and rescue her soul? God knows her soul needed some rescuing tonight or else she would be prone to slipping into her regular bouts of depression. Rudraksh had stood her up, yet again! And this was the third consecutive time. She was getting tired of his lame excuses and had a feeling that their relationship was on the verge of a break up. He had already broken her heart and the official break up would only be the final straw.

She was desperate for some company. Just someone with whom she could have an intelligent conversation and maybe get Rudraksh off her mind. Anything at all to ease her pain. Tonight she was vulnerable. Dark knight might be the one to rescue her soul. This conversation could get interesting. 

As he sat nursing his drink, he waited patiently for her response. She would respond, he was sure about that. He had never been wrong in his assessment before and was a pro by now. The name 'Mihika' was uncommon. If it was her real name, it would have impacted her personality to a certain extent. She might be having a subtle pride about being the possessor of an uncommon name and that may have induced her to use her real name in a chat room where most people are comfortable with pseudo names. She would therefore try to keep up her preference for the 'different' or 'unusual' even if in a subconscious manner.

If her parents had selected the name for her then it reflected their preference for the unusual or uncommon. All individuals are influenced by their parents, whether they realise it or not. His own life was a testimony to this fact. She too would have some of this penchant for the unusual rub off on her, he hoped. And if she had selected the name 'Mihika' as a screen name then it was even easier. She liked to be different and would respond very well to someone who had a different approach from the rest.

The name meant 'dew' or 'mist' and reflected a sensual softness. He believed the resonance of an individual's name influence the character and nature as well. No wonder naming a child was such a big deal across all religions. He laughed as he thought about his pet name. He was affectionately called 'Bhukkha' by his family due to his perpetual hunger as an infant who needed constant suckling at his mother's breast. The name and the hunger had stayed with him. As he waited for her response, he felt the familiar stirrings of that unsatiable hunger, rise from within the darkness of his soul. Yes, he was sure he had selected his sentence with care. She would respond like all the others had.

His screen blinked as he heard the much anticipated 'ping' of a message:

Mihika_Sanyal: And what if the dewdrops need some soul healing for a change?

He smiled. The players were in place. The ritualistic mating dance had begun...

                      

mind games my mind plays with me

I am totally fascinated...with my mind. I just cant figure out how it works. What I am convinced of is that my brain wiring must have got messed up due to some circuit problem at birth and never got repaired. It keeps getting worse with each passing day. Recent example:

Background:

The scene: 3 of us chatting.
Time: between 3:30 - 4 am.
Food for thought (this means some form of midnight snacks without which I cannot function): Leftover pizza+wine+passive smoking

Flowchart representation of my thoughts with reference to context: (split second processing done by my brain)

 
Friend planning to settle in Kolkata ----> needs house -----> servant----> fulltimer ----> nepali (since we always had extremely hardworking, trustworthy nepalis working for us as household help) -----> dangerous (perceived notion about nepalis) ----> murder -----> khukri (popular nepali knife) ~~~~~~> (brain signals jumbled) ~~~~> nepali servant hemraj murdered (retrieved information from facts stored in memory chip about aarushi murder case)~~~~~> khukri (what if he was murdered with his own khukri) (dont ask why my brain was connecting these words) ~~~ ~~~ ~~~~> what would be the famous last words of Hemraj before he was killed with his own khukri ~~~> ~~~~> @#$%^&*&%#$# (screening of random images - I m a visual person....weird images ALWAYS accompany my thoughts/words) ~~~~~> IMAGE selected: A bleeding Hemraj on the ground....staring at the killer khukri with an 'et tu brute' expression in his eyes ~~~~~> famous last words selected by my brain and assigned to hemraj.......ready for verbal output "

Final verbal output in response to friend's query about finding nepali household help in Kolkata:

"Hemraj ke jodi ore khukri diye khoon kora hoto his last words would be meri khukri mujhise meaowww"

:-( :-( :-(

Current status: Looking for a suitable exchange offer for my brain.
Product description: Mint condition (hardly used). Slightly dysfunctional (what...its a sales pitch you dont except me to tell the truth about the functional bit do you...shhhhh)

Anybody????

Re-cycled lives?

I have loved you before
And love you now
I'll come back to love you again
A lifetime of sharing
A short separation
Then once more we'll dance in the rain

If you love me now
Have you loved me before
Let your heart answer your mind
Close your eyes
And now if you can see
You will find our souls entwined

The change is here...

Like I have always said - there is something special happening in my life during the months of November to February each year. It is always a mixed bag - lows merging with highs. No matter what the experiences are the learning graph keeps going up. The change (usually internal at times external) is usually always for the better. It is the phase to travel, bid farewell to some people who were part of my life and welcome new ones into my circle and strengthen existing bonds like never before.

I feel the change this year too. Something is happening. The loss has already made an appearance. Now I am waiting for the wheel to turn upwards. The winter months won't let me down. I just know it. And when the transition sets in I will be ready to head towards a new direction... yet again.

I am waiting at the threshold with open arms, ready to embrace whatever it is that life brings to me.

Just another happy day

Kolkata. Nostalgia.Trams. All these go hand in hand. If you have nothing better to do then simply hop on to a tram going anywhere. The destination is not important. You anyways didnt have anything to do in the first place, remember? Take a window seat. And when the conductor pulls the string and the bells go 'ting ting' -let your journey begin.

Now, time is of crucial importance if you have chosen to travel by this particular mode of transportation. You must have enough time on your hands. If you are in a hurry to reach somewhere, trams are not a good idea. You could reach there faster by walking. Also a virtue which will be immensely useful on this journey is patience! The tram could unexpectedly come to a halt due to a variety of reasons - a cow choosing the particular tram line to rest for a while and get philosophical about life or even a power cut at the place supplying the electricity for the tram.

To make your travel a little more comfortable, you may opt for the first class compartment. The ticket, I believe, costs one rupee more than that for the other compartment. However, you will be able to enjoy the luxury of huge fans overhead if you invest that additional rupee. Now just sit back and enjoy the ride.

I have always enjoyed observing people and creating stories in my head about their lives. A tram ride is one of the best ways to observe a sea of humanity. You will meet the harried office goer, who will lunge for an empty seat like his life depended on it. If you choose to eavesdrop then the conversation he carries on with his colleague will probably be about politics, football or if he is especially disgruntled then about his boss. It may be advisable to take a seat as far away from this gentleman as possible because there would be high probability of him suffering from a chronic case of body odour. It is actually not his fault. Blame it on the high humidity which is a part and parcel of Kolkata climate and his complete lack of awareness about the existence of deodourants.

Another interesting character would be the chatterbox lady in a gaudy synthetic saree, distributing free gyan to her companion. The words of wisdom could be about ways to deal with a scheming mother-in-law, heavy discounts being offered on 'poran jaye joliya' sarees, high price of vegetables or even the last episode of some saas bahu serial on Star Jalsa or Etv Bangla.

One interesting observation I made was that the crowd in trams seems to be infinitely more civilised than that traveling by public buses. It could, of course, be a figment of my imagination,since I have not travelled by bus in over ten years now. However, most men seemed to be 'bhodroloks' who didnt indulge in popular activities like pushing and shoving and of course blatantly staring at interesting anatomy of their female co-passengers.

The tram conductor seemed to be a rare specimen left behind from pre-historic age. He was middle aged, dressed in a 'clean' uniform, wore spectacles, looked extremely decent and was POLITE and HELPFUL. What a combination! Now, the speed of the tram (or the lack of it actually), probably makes it a transport of choice for the elderly. An old man who was almost blind and had an incoherent speech got up at a particular stop. He could not explain the right destination and as a result missed his stop. The conductor and another gentleman did their best to decipher the place he wanted to go to and realising he had missed getting off at the right stop, helped him get off and took pains to give him proper directions. The tram meanwhile was halted for some extra minutes while this discussion was taking place. And not a single person protested about this delay. One of those things which makes me so proud about being a bangali in kolkata :-)

Next was the candy man. Old man with a jhola filled with a variety of desi candies of all flavours and colours - lemon, tamarind, orange, mango and even pineapple. Old age and candy - two of my major weaknesses. What could I do except buy a bunch of those sweet things from that sweet old man? The way those colourful lozenges filled my cupped palms transported me back to my childhood for a moment. It is just one of those split second feeling which I call my 'aha' moments.

Something about traveling without a destination and with plenty time to observe life around you makes you a little more open as a person. So when I finally got off the tram, I would like to believe that I was a little less introvert than I usually am. Proof? If you know me then you would know I can never ever start off a conversation with a total stranger. But right after we (hubby and me) stepped off the tram and were crossing the road, he ran into a sergeant (police) on duty, who he knew through a common friend. Bikes were the topic of discussion. Strangely, I joined in the conversation - discussing Royal Enfields and Yezdis from a 'bored to death because of bikes' wife's point of view. So there we were, a strange sight for many, a couple happily chatting with a formidable looking policeman on a very busy road of Kolkata.

My spurt of sudden extrovertism didnt end just with that encounter. Next we took an auto. A 'shared' auto - yet another mode of transport which I had completely forgotten about. In Kolkata when you are travelling by auto, be prepared to share the space with strangers. The auto driver usually takes on atleast 5 passengers at a time. Three at the back and two sitting or rather hanging out beside the driver! So there we were travelling with total strangers moving towards a common destination. I sat next to a lady with a child of about 8 years of age, on her lap. The kid threw out a piece of paper on the road and guess what - the mother actually scolded her. She then went on to tell her daughter about civic sense and responsibility about keeping the city clean. I was so impressed that I did it again! Started talking to a stranger. Congratulated her about instilling the right values and discussed about the lack of civic sense in most people, dirty metro stations, blah blah blah, till she got off at her stop and happily waved goodbye. My husband meanwhile was staring at me open mouthed! His expression said 'wtf %%&&^&^*&^'

My adventure ended with yet another auto ride home. On the way I stopped to chat with the flower seller :-) and bought all time favourite rajnigandhas (though they always remind me of funerals or solemn prayer meetings). Overall a great day filled with a stroll down College Street and peeking into every possible book stall, stop over at Paramount Sharbat (in existence since 1918, this place sells only sharbats. Must try - dab sharbat - sweet coconut water with loads of ice and a generous helping of soft coconut pulp/kernel) and gorging on yummy chicken sandwiches and mutton cutlets at the famous Coffee House (never ever try coffee at this place and it hasnt allowed the cola giants to enter its sanctuary so water is the only safe bet).

Shhh...dont tell it to anybody but I think I might be falling in love with Kolkata once again! 

R.I.P

Death is a strange fact of life. Like everything else, it is momentary yet permanent at the same time. I have always been fascinated by the memories which push up to the surface of one's mind whenever there is an encounter with death. It is especially strange if it's the death of someone close to us. We may remember the most trivial incidents, seemingly inconsequential to our relationship with the person who died. It seems that just by dying that person made those moments special.

My English teacher, who taught me in school, died yesterday. Mrs. Mukherjee. She was not that old so it was natural for many of us to be shocked by this news till we heard she had been battling cancer. She lost the fight. Yes, I was sad when I heard the news and almost decided to attend her prayer service being held in St.James' church today. Then some long forgotten incidents suddenly came to mind.

• Mrs. Mukherjee seemed to tower over us, both due to her height and personality. She constantly chewed paan and as a result had prominent bright red teeth - providing enough material for creative visualisation of imaginative students. One day after receiving a scolding for talking non stop in class (what else did you expect from me?), my friends and I drew a symbolic representation of her on the classroom wall. The face on the wall was of a errr...hmmm...devil with horns and two teeth sticking out from the corner of the mouth. We ensured that the drawing was barely big enough to be visible to us sitting on chairs right next to the wall. Each day before her class, one of us would add a little length to those teeth. It was our private joke ... or so we thought...until one day she asked us 'why does that devil on the wall have perpetually growing teeth?' We realised that besides large red teeth she also had exceptionally good eyesight and a sense of humour beneath that stern exterior. Needless to say, the teeth stopped extending from that day onwards.
• I was never interested in memorising stuff. I figured if I loved something enough I would remember it and if I didnt it was not worth remembering anyways. I realise this philosophy is not helpful in case of subjects like history or geography and in case of Mrs. Mukherjee, in answering refernce to context questions. I had seen classmates write flowery essays in english, bengali and hindi with a fair sprinkling of quotes from famous authors/poets. It reflected their immense knowledge. I reflected my ignorance by making up my own quotes instead. Anything suitable to context was put within quotes with a tag saying 'as a great poet/author has said'. I took care never to mention which great poet or author had said those famous lines and hoped my teachers would never discover that the great poet was me. It worked fine till I had to answer questions set by Mrs.Mukherjee with reference to Shakespearean plays which we had to study. One day she read out my answers to the entire class while I stood there praying for the bell to ring. That was the day she officially renamed me 'Ranjini William Shakespeare'. I was embarrassed but I also realised that she had seen the humour even in this circumstance and in her way had appreciated the creativity even if I did mess up my answers. Yes, she made fun of me in front of the entire class but there was nothing derogatory or insulting about the way she did it. I could laugh with her and my classmates even if the joke was on me.
• Mrs.Mukherjee forced me to enter the elocution contest. She even found the perfect poem which I would recite and then coached me for the contest. The poem was 'Cinderella' by Roald Dahl. She was so thrilled with her coaching and my recital that she kept making me repeat the poem for her whenever I bumped into her anywhere in school besides our regular practice sessions. I remember reciting in classrooms, library, playgrounds and assembly hall. And then it got worse. She started to get hold of other teachers and made me recite for them as well while she stood there grinning proudly at me. After a while my mom found me reciting 'Cinderella' even in my sleep. It was then that I decided to put a stop to it. I was convinced I would puke if I was asked to recite 'Cinderella' one more time. Mustering enough courage I finally told her I didnt want to participate in the elocution contest due to 'stage fright'. She was surprised since I had always been an active participant in all cultural programmes. However I  was determined. She was disappointed and had to find a very quick replacement to represent our class. I am just happy she never found out the real reason for me backing out. 

Now suddenly she is no more. The memory of these incidents are all that remains in my mind. Everyone else whose lives she had touched will remember her in many different ways. I want to remember her as someone who made a difference to my school life - adding a little learning, a little fun and loads of colour to my existence as a child. I did not attend her memorial service today. I did not want her memory tampered with the sadness of her death. R.I.P maam, wherever you may be!

Crossroads

His cheeks felt warm. Maybe he was standing too close to the fire. The heat wrapped a comforting blanket around him on this chilly December night. It was just like her. Radiating a sense of warmth and comfort even under trying circumstances. He should have felt at peace. Her presence always had this effect on him. But not tonight. Tonight he was cold. It seemed like the chill of the night had seeped into his very being, claiming his soul and leaving an empty space where his heart used to be. He knew he would now have to carry the burden of this emptiness for the rest of his life after this night.

He watched as the others started to leave. The fire had settled comfortably into a steady rhythm and burned with a sizzle. He sat down next to her, in companionable silence. He always treasured these moments with her, when they could sit side by side and not say a word. Out of habit, he reached out for her hand, anticipating the comfort of interlocking fingers. Tonight, she didnt respond. His fingers gripped cold air and startled, he quickly withdrew his hand.

He had prided himself on being a no-nonsense, no-emotion kind of man. A man of few words, he believed his actions were sufficient to convey his minimal emotions whenever required. And she had understood. He remembered her eyes widen in surprise when he had once confessed how much he needed her in his life. The look on her face had been worth letting down his guard, even if for a few moments. He now wished he had done it more often.

Memories are dangerous. Simultaneously created with every moment that you are alive, they hide in the dark recesses of your mind. And rise to the surface when you are least expecting them, taking you by surprise and often leaving behind intense pain in its wake. She was doing that to him now. Coming alive in his mind as a laughter, a pout, a glance or a kiss. He shook his head in an effort to clear the images but she just wouldnt let him be. The wind joined in, laughing at his misery, as it ran through the trees.

The fire was starting to die. It would be morning soon. He knew he should leave but he was not ready to let go of her, not just yet. He was so lost in his thoughts that he had failed to see the two men sitting in the shadows, their backs turned to him. Perhaps they were respecting the privacy of his moments with her. So he was surprised when a dirty hand offered him a cup of steaming hot tea. He looked up to see a dark man in a tattered shawl and dhoti, extending the earthern cup to him. He was shocked to note the lack of warm clothing on this man. Noting his questioning look, the man nodded towards the area surrounding them and quietly said, 'these fires keep us warm.' Handing him the cup, the man walked back into the shadows.

Holding the hot cup in his hands he realised he had not smoked ever since he had come here. The aroma of tea had triggered the latent nicotine urge and he reached into his pocket for his pack. He welcomed this opportunity to share a smoke with her, smiling at the memory of how they planned to quit smoking each time they lit up a cigarette. The fire was now just a warm glow but enough to light up the last stick he would share with her.

The sky was waking up as the still hidden winter sun coloured it with a misty hue. He rose and dusted his trousers and pulled his jacket tighter around himself. He then did something which was so unlike him and so much like her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his clean, neatly folded white kerchief and spread it open on his palm. He bend down and with his free hand, scooped up a fistful of ash. Gently, he placed that ash on the cloth and tied it into a tiny bundle and kept it in his pocket. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he turned and began the long walk to his car, parked just outside the iron gates. He did not glance back as he quickened his steps, not wanting to see what he was leaving behind. An empty earthern cup, a cigarette butt and her funeral pyre, now razed to the ground...