Letter to the Unknow Reader Series 1 - Love lessons

 

Hello Dear Reader,

One week flew by, but the Universe did press the slow-mo button for me. I was quite forced to slow down and take in things with the grace of a person, who's under the weather. The seasonal flue caught me by surprise and ensured, I kept my work hours to bare necessity. Instead I had indulged in the warm hug of the fever, on and off, for a few days. The cough and the cold played spoil sport. I took solace in the ginger teas and turmeric lattes to soothe my soar throat. 

Have you ever watched the sky from the bed,  beside the window - especially when you are unwell and alone. It takes a different avatar altogether. It reflects the inside of the room with such dull clarity, that it incites human beings to look inside through the cob web of memories, into the deepest corner of one's life. The stories that come frothing out; are of myriad shades.  With time they too, always change their colour and texture. I have observed there are two kinds of being unwell. The first kind is life-shattering ones which shows you glimpses of death. Hence when you lie on your sick bed, watching the sky, you feel a nearness to your God, your Faith, or whatever you call it. Existential crisis brings you closer to the miracle called Creation. Then there is the second kind of being unwell. These regular ones, come by often, like those irritating late afternoon sales person. You cant be rude out of your human politeness, yet you don't want to entertain them much. Unfortunately your generosity of human spirit ensures that you bear with them till they at the least completes canvassing their product. This kind of being unwell makes sure you lie on your bed, to ponder aimlessly on the loves that touched your life. 

I have been adventurous enough and befriended many to see, live or hear of many kinds of love stories. The one that bubbled up was a story of a girl who had fallen in love. Being the first of her life, it raged like an untamed wild fire. The whirlwind of emotion was new to her. Her balanced, calculative brain couldn't fathom what the hell shook her world and wrapped her into a fiercely beautiful rapture. In that one sunken hole of emotions she put her trust, her passion, her logic, her love, her faith and her entire universe , believing that true love exists. Believing that such truth touch lives to manifest itself in its glory. But like million other such love stories that crop up in our literature and celluloid, this one too died an untimely death. She was cast aside, forgotten and bone crushingly replaced. Such ends are always portrayed as tragic, but the truth is real life stories are far removed from fiction. The tragedy do not manifest for all to see. There’s no moping, life moves on without batting an eye. You carry on with the calm of a haunted house which seems ordinary in the daily grind. The grief of such blood wrenching lovelessness infests the soul of the one discarded. The girl wilted slowly, painstakingly, minute by minute, till her existence became a question in her own mind. Then one bright day, she died completely, inside. What lived was no more her. Some one else replaced her from inside out. Such love stories are never heard or read. But if you are a keen observer of life, you will see such dark patches in dappled sunlight often hidden in plain sight.

I hope dear reader, love does touch your life in the most beautiful way. Not like the morbid stories that float like muck on the mind of unwell body. May your love be like the glorious sunlight which shines upon your heart with warmth and wonder of the beauty of life. 

Till we meet again, with my weekly chit -chats. Do take care of yourself, and may your life weave beautiful stories to share with posterity.

With love,

Yours Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknow Reader Series 1 - So long farewell

 Hello Dear Reader,

Hope the last week has been glorious in providing adventures in your daily routines. For me, it was a treacherous and sticky terrain at work place. I had to duck quite a  few grenades and skittle around hidden land mines. But that is a story for another day.

I was wanting to share a glimpse into how my life looks like, to me. From a very early age I resonated a rolling stone which would move from place to place; but unlike the proverb, I did gather bucket full of moss on my journey. As strangers became acquaintances, who turned to friends, they evolved to something like a family soon enough till we parted ways and they rested in my memories in the sweetest way possible. I am convinced that I must have born under the gypsy stars, as my life rolled on, like a caravan in its journey.

In this city called Mumbai, which has given me shelter and nurtures my body at this point of time, we met a lot of folks from different traverse of the city. Some from the professional world, some from medical fraternity and some were my neighbors in a shady society I inhabit. One of the oldest residents living here, had opened their heart and hearth few months back, as we hosted the first Durga Puja in the Society. Like I said , my life is made up of stories and millions of them, I will store the special story of our first Durga Puja for some other time. But this one couple, opened their hearts and filled our lives with so much love that it reduced the longing to go back to my hometown.

The easy banter, the cracked jokes, the genuine concern and delicious food over 'adda' (quintessential form of conversation over the dinner table, albeit much more raucous than our English counterparts. Very unique to Bengali culture) made them more of family than neighbors to us. 

But as this story goes, my life resembles a rolling stone in truest spirit. If I am not the one who is rolling away on my journey; for sure the rolling kickstarts around me. This dearest family has decided to move base to another city, leaving behind fond memories and a lot of emptiness in our green nook of a society. To bid them farewell, my otherwise tedious week broke into a farewell dinner filled with love, laughter, music and yummy food.

Every tribe has their own trade mark stamp, and I think for Bengalis, its the food and 'adda' which identifies us. We may be in whichever part of the world but these two things will bind us in a genetic thread which is hard to escape. We celebrate with food, we pray with food and we grieve with food too.

Wishing these lovely couple a life load of happiness and with fervent prayer bid them good bye. Wishing over the summer stars, that the rolling stones do meet at some point of time in some other place and so I closed the week with a heavy heart full of memories.

You can very well see, that my letters give sparks of life to unlimited stories, I am waiting to write the next one to you in the coming week. Till then keep well. Enjoy the long weekend of Easter Monday if your part of the world celebrates it. 

With love,

Yours Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader Series - 1 - Beautifully lonely

 

                   Dearest Unknown Reader,

I hope you have been keeping well.

A lot has passed in the last 6 years.  A many numbers of milestones achieved and many more, which gave me a slip. The most critical of those that I missed was my sure shot tryst with death. Not sure if I had told you earlier, but the fact is that I had cirrhosis of liver which was in its 4th stage of dilapidation and the poor battery of doctors had a very tough time trying to do something about it. However human will can achieve the impossible and medical science has done wonders to manifest miracles. As my stars would have it, I did survive a Liver transplant and rocked back to life.

This post is neither about my illness nor about my slow recovery, but its more like a introduction to what you may see in this blog going forward. A connect with the kindred souls who love receiving letters which carries snippets and wonders of a personal world very different from our own. So if you kindly permit and oblige me by reading, I will be more than happy to share my thoughts on the week that passed by me. Either in a whirlwind or like being caught in the center of a storm, which usually is uncannily calming.

I used to love receiving letters, but like many other older art forms, letters died an untimely death. They were replaced by emails, which soon gave way to instant messages. Not that I am cribbing, but the old world charm , the soft old rose tinted nostalgic embrace which a letter usually used to bring with it, is very dearly missed. In the crowd of fast and furious messaging, more often than not in acronyms and emojis, emotions have taken a  back seat and have given rise to operational efficiencies of living a life faster.

So in the hope of clinging on to a lost love, I beseech, do indulge me by reading these ramblings of a beautifully lonely soul. I say 'beautifully' after a lot of thought. My loneliness is neither melancholic nor self destructive. Its the calm acceptance one feels when they come in terms with the fact that they are sufficient in their own existence. The Universe is too huge and too chaotically methodical to harness its energy for catering to individual ego. We traverse this path alone, learning lessons alone, and transform into some other forms of energy alone. What creates our world is our sense of grasping to elusory threads of pleasure and sorrow.

So here I walk the path and click memories to share with you. Urging you to travel with me in this cosmic conundrum, sashaying in your path in some other corner of this huge creation. We can watch each other, laugh, cry and learn through these letters.

Do write back whenever you feel like sharing  snippets. It will be embraced like a warm fuzzy hug  from an old friend. For this week, this is all from my world to yours. Hope you have wonders coming your way next week.

With love,

Yours Pocket full of life

Solo trip - Bikshthang

-So I decided to meet my master-more for my personal and spiritual well being, once again. And as I'm prone to do, I had decided to get going alone. He was a kind and gentle man who gave his smacking life lessons amidst his more serious renditions of tougher spiritual concepts. He had a child like twinkle flashing from his creaky eyes and he laughed at his own jokes with a childlike innocence. Never ever met someone who could make formidable complicated concepts seem easy-peasy and simple principles of life look scary as hell. I learnt from him that being a good human being was a tough job and enjoying simplicity,  obnoxiously scary.  We tend to believe that these daily mundane morals,  are what binds humanity in today's world,  but try and look deep. We deviate from them more often than not.

To cut the story short - I was planning to stay in a quaint resort in Sikkim, which would give me easy access to where Rinpoche (master) resided. This is a place where I stayed earlier during a family vacation. Over time,  the owner of this place has become more of a friend cum soul sister instead of a mere acquaintance in the journey of life.

However  to my deepest sorrow just before my trip,  Rinpoche decided to leave us and move on to life beyond, in his usual unsuspecting way. No premonition, no notice, no good byes... just left me at the mercy of my faith, memories and his teachings. My journey to meet him turned into my journey to pay my last respect. From the meagre little that I learnt from him, life lessons are to be cherished and learned from.  Hence I went ahead in my solo journey  to bid adieu.

The trip gave me back quite a lot of experiences -just like the teachings of Rinpoche. I made a pact with myself to groom my soul so that I can embrace life with all its magnificence.

I bonded with a girl and our soul connect was stronger than life connect. I stayed with a family which seemed my own and spent time with them enjoying the quiet beauty of Bikshthang Heritage Farmhouse.

The resort is a sight to behold. Lovely wooden cottages sat in the shadow of the majestic Kanchejunga, the guardian deity of Sikkim. The infinity pool almost plunged into the Cliffside,  with awe inspiring mountain casting reflections on the rippling water. The fluttering prayer flags amidst the lush greenery invited you to tap the calmness within. The home cooked food -sourced from the resort's farm was delicious. I took their famed herbal hot bath-Menchu. It was bone warmingly relaxing and I slept like a baby post that.

And to top it all,  my ' Bid adieu' trip turned to 'I'm always around' trip. By some uncanny miracle, when I reached Gangtok to pay my respect, it never seemed like it is my last one. Rinpoche's calming presence engulfed me in its completeness.

I still don't know if this story is of my stay at Bikshthang Heritage Farmhouse or is it of Rinpoche. The connect weaves magic cause Kahlonsharpe family of Bikshthang brought me close to Rinpoche and Rinpoche got me closer to the family.

If you ever lack a place where your self can stand stark in front of you- try Bikshthang Heritage Farmhouse. The people, the place, the aura rarely will dissapointed you.

Jadavgarh - Royal Tent

Even though financial sense ditches me most of the time - I have in actuality grown up with finance.Through out my life - much to my agitation, debit-credit,audit-investment, savings-expenses had played havoc.

Hence when it was a toss up between spending on a weekend trip and giving my dear hubby his birthday gift - I applied rules of 'Merger'. Voila - my unsuspecting husband got a weekend trip to Jadavgadh (a heritage resort in Pune) as his birthday gift. To add to the 'Feel good factor', a Royal Tent was booked for his 'Royal Highness' to enjoy an over night stay. And our motley group of three went ahead to enjoy a break from the city's mad rush.

Jadavgadh is like a green oasis amidst a tiny nondescript village. The walls and the heritage wing sweeps you to the past when Maratha rulers headed the small kingdom. The wooden doors, the huge hinges, the low ceiling-ed dungeons and the stone stairs connect you to the ancient ways of the world.

 The ushering of guests were accompanied with playing of humongous pipes and beats of drum (we call it nakada). A dainty girl(she is from Darjeeling, which is like a second home to every self respecting Bengali) wearing a Nauwari did Aarti with flowers and diya. Vermillion tika was smeared on our forehead....we really felt like Royal guests on a Royal tour(Please bear in mind,  Bengali's are genetically imaginative - dreaming is our favorite pass time and hence it was very easy for us to day dream,  given the ambiance of the place and and the warmth of the people.

The moment the young lady mentioned she's from Darj, I was hell bent to build the Bengal connection. She obliged and added that she has relatives in Durgapur, which filled me with glee.

 There was also this aged gentleman in black suit. It seemed he has spent quite some time in the fort with the management group. He was a local but spoke flawless English in an enchanting accent which reminded one of the Raj era. He courteously directed us to the restaurant, the in-house Ganesha temple and the Royal tent whenever we we lost our way in the maze of by-roads, which was quite often.

The yummilicious food was digested in a jiffy as the picturesque walk from the dining hall to the tent took care of our gorging. The fort also has its own museum, which stores different kinds of kitchen ware, utensils, cute wooden carts pulled by wooden horses for toddler royals,  and different artifacts used by the royal ladies. Believe me some of the silver combs can make you dream of Disney fairy tales. They are uniquely pretty and bring out the romantic in you. Most of this artifacts were huge in size by their modern standard counterparts. My man quipped, that the general height, width and breadth of the people of those era must have been twice our times. And he concluded ceremoniously that's because they belong to another era (Yuga in Hindu philosophy).

The Tent was royal for sure. Antique king-sized

 bed and other furniture exuded old world charm. The white canopy remind you of the hunting days.But most of all what appealed to my thirsty soul was the green all around me. The fruit trees, the bird nests, the foliage and the calm lake tugged my heart string and calmed me down. 

I've spent my childhood in small villages and quiet suburbs. My father in Government services ensured we travel from one place to another - most of them rustic and cradled amidst nature. This went on till the call of the city was too hard to resist. The family fell for the rush of the city with its lights and sounds. However amidst the city zing, I still feel like a fish out of a pond, a little girl lost in the crowd. The city robs me off my soul food.My son however, born amidst the city circus - hunted for televisions, I-pads and Wifi connection in Jadavgadh and failed miserably. Slowly I could draw him to the magic of the swing,  hung from a huge banyan tree and enamored him with the pleasures of star gazing, lying on a hammock. He unfurled his imaginations and looked at eerie shadows of trees on a full moon night. More than the food (which was a phenomenon by itself) the night walk enchanted him and more than some rap songs, the bird's chirping made him laugh.

With a full heart - I headed back to the city the next day. I did manage to pass on my roots to my young man. Jadavgadh heralded a new bond between my childhood and his. Oh!! besides all this - My King did love his gift of a Kingdom - albeit for a day.

Yumm to Yuck and back!!!

Last few days has been extremely exhausting and stressful. My little man was not well. He was down with high fever and a bad cough. For me, it was a deadly combination of sleepless nights of giving him cold sponge bath, rushing to the doctor and managing work in office. To top it all, he had the most important exam of his life - FIRST TERM EXAMINATION OF HIS GRADE.

The issue however was not the fever, the medicines, the sleepless nights, exams or managing work. It was 'FOOD'. To give you all a background, I come from an illustrious family of excellent cooks. My dad can give the top chefs a run for their money. My mom is fusion food personified. My brother can rustle up the best of biryanis (by the way it is the sacred food for Bengalis). Adding to my agony, I was married to a man who had a legacy of brilliant chefs. My late grand-mom-in law, mom-in-law and aunt-in-laws serves the most gorgeous, tongue tantalizing dishes to savour. Hence my son, since his birth has been exposed to culinary extravaganza. He is way too sure about what he wants and knows his mind a tad too much when it comes to his food preferences.

The doctor with all his firmness told me to prepare light, less oily, less spicy dishes for my unwell child and thence began my struggle. I am sure any one in my family could have married the doc's prescription with child hypnotizing tasty cuisines. But for the life of me, fate played truant and I had to bear the burden of the cross.

o out came pumpkin-onion soup. It was easy to prepare with pumpkin puree, fried shallots, oregano, salt and pepper (all those endless hours of watching TLC). I swear on God it tasted good, but all I get in return of my efforts - a puckered up nose. Mr. Junior commented with all seriousness that the onions  are not adding to the taste and its only reminding him of the fact that I am force feeding him yucky vegetables.

To salvage my pride I prepared grilled assorted vegetables with eggs. I read somewhere that children should be having different colours in their plate and hence used bell peppers, mushrooms and baby corns. The colourful plate garnered frown. I was promptly informed that red and yellow are not some one's favourite colour. I should have avoided them at all cost and instead used blue as that is the colour my son favours.

Utterly demoralized and cursing myself for not honing my culinary skills, I tried a Bengali staple - dal, rice and fried potato fritters (Dal, bhat, aloo, bhaja). No Bengali mom worth her pinch of salt can go wrong with these. This combo has been comfort food for genres. Piping hot food was served to his highness. The 'High and Mighty' graciously glanced down at his plate and said he would rather fast as he can't possibly be expected to live without his daily dose of fish.

I really needed some screaming at the world at large, but kept my cool. All my motherly instinct left my heart in a jiffy. Strangling the little imp was foremost in my mind. I coldly declared he can fast if that's what he wants. Immediately a naughty smile tweaked the lips, the mischievous glint came back to his eyes and with all sugary sweetness, he sat down to finish his meal. The battle was won...

Yumm to Yuck and back!!!

Happy Smile

I apologise profusely ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, pocket was pretty empty for the last few months. Life fell out of tattered pockets of mine. Hence the pages where as blank as my mind.

Without much ado-let me mend my ways and start once again to give you a glimpse of merry madness.

I've realised, generally first half of my year goes into dark oblivion of the work frenzy. This is a phase where you work like some devil possessed soul (not by choice though, Ahem! Compulsion is the name of the game ). The entire financial industry across the globe have their worker elves burning midnight lamps and scrouching in front of neon illuminated screens to spew numbers at lightning speed. The survival of the world depends on them and hence the relentless efforts. If you call this life, which with due respect makes me cringe a bit... then my pocket had been too full of it. So full filling it had been,  that I could barely bring it to see the light of the day.

Now lets talk about the sunny dreamy part of the year. This is the hallowed second half. Summers across the globe and Indian monsoon brings in a dose of romance. It makes for a good space to let your imaginations bloom and your dull eyes do catch a rainbow here and there.

On a day like this... on my early morning drive to office, snapshots of beauty, fun and eclectic caught my eyes.

I saw a small ubiquitous store near Mumbai University gate. The shop had a board which boldly read... MULTI PURPOSE UTILITY STORE AND XEROX. What do I see... blue, green and brown 'Lungi' (Lungi is like a wrap worn on the lower half of the body in Asian and South-east Asian countries) hanging in neat rows. Surely it was no Xerox, but Lungi serving multi purpose utility did capture my heart. My lips twitched at colourful thoughts.

As my car zoomed by the fresh Mumbai morning... I caught  a flash of white, yellow, red and green on the express way near the airport amidst the concrete jungle. On careful examination it turned out to be sparkling white spider lilies kissing the red and yellow of Canna lilies snuggling on a bed of greens. My lips smiled involuntarily.

Then as my journey progressed-I saw a girl riding a bike, head covered in a scarf which peeped out of her helmet... leg covered in tattoos that winked out of her harem pants, having the most timid looking boy with golden dreadlocks as a pillion rider. A wayward truck tried to over take and met with the choicest abuses hurled from the pretty young lass. The accompanying  man on the other hand urged the biker not to get into a street fight. The right to chose and the right to be... in the early morning street made my heart swell.

Lastly the eclectic part of my story. A lifeless office building with a glass facade showed off neat rows of cubicles from its devouring belly. The advantage of driving through elevated express ways is that you can take a sneak peak at unsuspecting buildings. Surprise! Surprise! Amidst the dull looking cubicles stood a lovely guiter flaunting itself accompanied by few others of its own species.

Mirth filled my soul as my mind twirled the endless possibilities for a happy smile curving up ahead in life's road... specially when you are least expecting it.... on way to office.