Hello Dearest Reader,
Hope the winter chill has seeped into your lives. December is half way through and Yuletide cheer has set in. The year of 2023 finally breathing its last. For us Bengalis, specially those who were born and brought up in Kolkata, it’s the season to celebrate Christmas lunches and New Year’s Parties in the quintessential clubs that dots the city since British Raj. The Babu culture shining through the mists of time. Calcuttans who thrive on this club culture are more British than the Brits. If you ever get sneak peak in these Christmas lunches, you’ll see roasted turkey and shepherd pies gracing the tables with drool worthy gravy, followed by the rum soaked plum cakes. Park Street decks up in lights and Christmas carols are sung in every city corner. The flavour of this old city is that it doesn’t need a particular community to celebrate life. Be it Durga Puja or Eid or Christmas, Calcuttans (and that’s what they always will be in my mind) celebrate it with all the merriment and good food.
My girlhood in the city saw winter picnics being organised within families and extended ones. Elaborate Para picnics (one with friends and families of the same locality) being planned with meticulous precision. These picnics would have bus loads of laughter early in the morning heading towards the nearest Bagan bari ( bungalows dotting the near by villages) parks and forested areas of the surrounding rural areas that girdled the city. Smell of peeling oranges and the cracking shells of boiled eggs for breakfast in those buses will always be a memory which brings a smile to my face. These picnics where the places where cricket matches were played, badminton rackets swung in the air, games of cards and memory's games played with battles fought to choose the winner.
And away from the hustle bustle of the winter galas, in the quiet corner of my Thama’s (granny’s) home we could smell the sweet intoxicating smell of nolen gurer payesh (sweetened rice pudding with seasonal jaggery) pithey, puli, and chitoi pithey (Bengali sweet dish) which made the chilly winters heavy and cosy. The Poush parbon warmth of the kitchen, where we cuddled in our sweaters and shawls, waiting impatiently for our turn of the next piping serving of the delicacies was what girlhood was made of. And then Thama’s stories would lull us to forget the childish desires of the delicious morsels. In her lilting, gravelly voice she would talk about her girlhood, her struggles, her battles with hunger and poverty in a manner which would make it seem like fairy tale beautiful. And her stories will always have a common theme. It will always be of hope, finding beauty in the simplicity of the moments, enjoying the quiet and cherishing the pause. In our lives we often encounter pauses. Where there’s nothing to do but the next thing which requires our attention. You have no conscious strategy, no battles to be fought, no action to be taken just simply sit and wait it out. Those are the moments where we become restless, anxious and feel helpless. Humankind has been trained to wage a war for survival. That’s the basic instinct. Doing nothing doesn’t come naturally. However if we observe carefully life treats us to those moments at regular intervals, preparing us for our last days of our lives. Where you wait out an end before a new beginning. My grandma would always say that, your mind should be latched on to the fluttering wings of hope.
As I battled my chronic illness I learnt that this is one of the best ways to live a life. Every time the entire medical fraternity will tell me that I don’t have many years to breathe, every time families surrounding me will have despondent looks, I always thought about the next travel plans, the return to work, the next fabulous step in my spiritual journey, the next plate of yumm food, the next book I will read, yet enjoying the brilliance of the sunset from my hospital window across the Mumbai skyline. And that’s how I learnt to live and not just survive. And as I’m ageing towards eternity, I find myself dreaming of a quiet life within the folds of the mountains where the sun shines brightly and simplicity is what days are made of. Yet I know if life treats me otherwise, I will embrace the last days on a hospital bed, friendless, surrounded by caregivers with equanimity. Sharing my stories of a wonderful life with those around then. Reminiscences of an old soul on its way out, giving back to all those who’ve touched this life.
I hope dear Reader, you’re able to enjoy the quiet of the winters. The warmth of the fire places or the winter sun depending on whichever part of the world you are in, is making you feel cosy. May the last of this year is gracious to you and you are able to enjoy the sublime lull.
Always yours,
Pocket full of life
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