HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BROTHER: MY LIFELINE !!!

Everyone has one person in their life,who is their lifeline. Their source of sustenance. Someone who can complete their unfinished sentences. Someone who will always stand by their side, no matter which walk of life they are in. Someone who loves them unconditionally.For me that is my brother. Riddhiman.

He is that jewel which any and every sister should have in their life.

For thsoe who ahvent met him, he is a man of many talents. He is an Avid Biker and is a prominent part of the Biking community of India. He is a an awesome Animal activist. He has rescued innumerable abandoned and injured animals all across and continues to do so. He has never shied from standing up for what is right,without caring for the consequences. He is working hard in building a new SHELTER for Abandoned Animals in Kolkata.

 
Coming back to his birthday. Yes, I was due on my brother's birthday. Riona and her Mamuji would have shared birthdays,except for a few hours here and there. Riona came a few hours earlier and she and her Mamuji shared two different birthdays. Two days of back to back celebrations for our family for sure. I was at the hospital recuperating from a normal delivery with third degree lacerations, but I had made sure that my brother's birthday cake had been shipped to him,continents apart, right on time.

For the age gap, we have between us, I have always been Motherly towards him. And also been guilty of being overt;y bossy as well.

 I still remember the first time I had heard of his arrival. We had been expecting my sibling for the whole 40 weeks. Mom had been taken to the hospital and the next morning,as I was sleepily brushing my teeth, my Dad had rushed home to inform me, that I had a brother. All the sleep vanished from my eyes,and I wanted to run and see him. It was a Bharat Bandh on that day, or an All India Shutdown of sorts. Those were the days when strikes were more common than anything else, in the Indian political psyche.  The streets were completely empty. No vehicles were in sight. we made our way to the hospital. Me,my Dad and my Koiya(my Nanny). My mother was still drowsy from her Epidural as I saw her. But she managed to smile despite all her pain and tiredness.

And there he was. Our biggest bundle of joy had arrived. Riddhiman was earthside. He was in his small cot  staring at us with his big eyes. No,he wasn't crying at all. He was a very Happy Baby. You could not miss his head full of jet black hair. Full of ringlets. If there was perfection on earth, it was embodied in him.

My partner in crime for life had arrived. I used to rush home from the bus stop after I got off from the school bus, to catch the first glimpse of him at home. There he was. Sleeping in his swing in the warm Indian Summer afternoons.

How time flies. Seems like just yesterday.

He was always the outdoorsy kind, making up for my lack of being active and all about town, as a kid. We always had so much to share with each other,despite our apparent age gap.  We have always consulted each other on anything and everything,including what to wear for parties. It's always each others opinion or advice which has mattered to us.

 
He is a person, who is quite an extrovert for the apparent eye. But to know what is within his heart needs some effort. He will never reveal to you even when he is in deep pain, but will work extra hard to even remove the traces of your slightest discomfort. He will go all out to help any and everyone in need. May be that is the reason so many people try to take advantage of his goodness. He is one of those rare good people around. If there were more people like him, around the globe, the world would be a better place, for the sheer amount t of warmth he exudes even in daily life.

He manages to touch the hearts of everyone whom he comes across effortlessly. His smile is enough to make any heart melt.

Its another Birthday of his that I am far away from him. My heart wishes for his well being above everything else. May he be as special as he is. Love you Tumzee. Miss you. Always proud of you.

Our sibling love is what the legends are made of, I feel. I have so often heard from so many siblings complaining, as to why don't they have as much bonding as much as Bhai and Me do. I have overheard these conversations and sent a silent prayer to the Almighty for such a perfect bond. I could never have asked for more.

8

MY CHILD BIRTH STORY : BIRTH WITHOUT FEAR

I had been planning to pen down my Birth Story for quite some time. I had always been inspired by the blog"BIRTH WITHOUT FEAR," to write of my own experiences. My Daughter's 2nd Birthday is finally here, so it was the perfect opportunity. Two whole years to that day,which is surely my happiest day till date.

The day I held my rainbow baby in my hand. The culmination of a successful pregnancy,after not so successful one. If you are wondering how did the nine months roll by for me, I penned down MY PREGNANCY JOURNEY STORY. Trying to culminate nine eventful months, in a single post, was quite tedious.

Coming down to how the final act went off. Let me warn you,this post contains graphic details.Giving birth is no cake walk. 

I had been for my final Ultrasound Scan when my Maternal Fetal Specialist Dr. Elizabeth Wickstorm. I was at 39 weeks and I had not started to dilate. She informed me that although I had not dilated, Baby had dropped down into position. So it was best that I get Induced for labor.That cuts down the Baby's chances of going into distress. Delaying and waiting for another two weeks, could risk the chances of Still Birth. Now that is very scary for a Mom who has already lost an unborn child.

I met my OBGYN Dr. Phaedra Lombard right after this appointment. I was clearly disturbed,but I was not ready to opt for a C-Section. I wanted a Natural Birth by all means. I had heard how much my mother has suffered from two C-Sections. We discussed all about Inducing Labor. We had learnt in our Child Birth Classes that Induction can sometimes lead to slow labor and might also lead to C-Section. I was scared of C-Sections. My OBGYN(read: A perfect Angel) kept assuring me we would be trying for a natural birth as long as the child did not go into distress. 

She also told me,that a lot depended on me. If I believed in myself, that I could go through a natural birth, then I would be able to do it. I can never forget those inspiring words. They are so true. 

We were already pre-registered at the Hospital which had an updated and brand new Maternity Wing.  By the time, I was in my hospital gown and ready for the first stage of induction, it was 7pm on March 13th 2013. After the initial Blood work, and the customary IV drips, the First Phase of Induction took place. The Cervidil was administered. It tries to cheat the Cervix into thinning out and starting dilate. I kept praying. My OB nurse for the night told me that I should try and have a light dinner,as the next day I would be without food or water.

So a sandwich and some pop was my last dinner before I met my Queen. 

She also gave me a light sedative as she said, I needed to conserve my energy for the next day. 

But before the sedative could kick in, something else happened. It was around midnight when the crazy contractions started. Active  Labor had begun,without the second phase of Induction at all. My prayers had been answered at this stage. Daddy was fast asleep on his couch in my Labor and delivery Room,while I battled the craziest of contractions. I managed to buzz for my OB nurse. She sat by my bedside, woke up Daddy. 

I wanted to delay the Epidural as much as I could. 

My water broke at around 6 am on March 14th 2013. And whats when the real countdown started. As then the Baby is without the protection of the amniotic fluid. My OBGYN met me shortly later and checked for my dilation. I was only dilated to 3 cm. We decided to go ahead with the second phase of Induction. Yes, the much dreaded Pitocin.Or as they say in medical jargon, I was about to get Pitted. I had heard horror stories of one of my best friends in India., who had been Pitted and had to be rushed to C-Section. I was almost fighting with my mind, I had to Push my baby Out. 

It was around 10 am, when my OBGYN came to meet me again. She informed me that my Platelet count was decreasing progressively. If I had any hopes for an Epidural, I should take it now. Or else they would not be able to administer it later. Getting an Epidural only means, that you get confined to bed,and it slows down labor. All my hopes for a tub birth went to the ground. I decided to go for it. I needed to conserve my energy and epidural would help. 

After the Epidural was administered, the nurse assured me that I would not be able to feel the contractions. The problem with an induced labor is that, the contractions are really rough and intense. But then, why was I feeling everything and writhing in pain. We called for the Anesthesiologist yet again. Was I a smoker before I got pregnant? That was the question tossed to me, in a  room full of nurses . Yes, I was. No Wonder. If you have been a Smoker, then your body needs a higher dosage. So  we went ahead with a much higher dosage. There was also a switch which you could press , every 15 minutes, which sent an extra shot of pain killer up the system. My OB nurse told me to make full use of that. 

Pretty soon, I was all numb from waist down. The Nurse at my bedside kept a track of my contractions from the NST monitors on my belly. Me and Daddy decided to make goo duse of the swank hospital room and all the movies on order. We decided to watch a movie. Did I mention that Daddy had tucked in his lunch heartily while I was struggling with just ice chips. Super mean !! 

My dilation was somehow not increasing,my nurses kept telling,as they kept checking on me very now and then. I was still stuck at 3 cm. 

That's when the brainwave happened. I remembered from my Child Birth Class, that in such cases,  a PEANUT BALL tucked between the two legs can increase the dilation and speed up labor. I asked my Nurse for it and she was more than happy to get it for me. She mentioned that as a policy Hospitals cannot offer such Birthing Aids,but they are always there, if the patient asks of them. Bingo. I sent a silent Thank You for my ChildBirth Educator Nurse Tiffany Kinneman. 

We had some visitors at around 5 pm. Daddy's colleagues who had dropped in from work. We told them that probably Baby would arrive the next day. Daddy decided to see them off to the parking lot,when my OB Nurse decided to check on my dilation. She was all smiles. I had dilated to 10 cm and was 100% Effaced(thinned out). 

"We are ready to PUSH!" She casually mentioned,as she paged my OBGYN and the rest of the labor staff. 

"Can you please look for my Husband!!!!" was my urgent plea. 

Daddy walked in to a room full of OB Nurses. 

We were ready to Push. I had attended Child Birth Classes and practices Breathing Techniques,but your mind does go blank. Dr. Lombard kept reminding me on how to push and how to breathe through the contractions. As I was on Epidural, I could not even feel when a Contraction was happening. The nurses kept looking into the monitor and shouting PUSH when the time came. 

We tried for around 15 minutes. 

Dr. Lombard kept inspiring me. 

"Stay with me. You can do it" "You will do it" these were the words reaching me from all quarters. I knew I could not give up on this baby at this hour. I could push her out. 

Dr. Lombard tried a change in technique. She asked for a bed sheet and had me pull at one end and she held on to another. 

Baby had started to Crown by this time. 

"I can see her !" Daddy shouted

We deiced to take a break to conserve some energy. 

Daddy offered me some Ice chips as my lips were parched. The ice chips made me want to throw up,and I felt an URGE TO PUSH. And she was OUT. 

Wooohooooooooooo !!!!!!! I had done it. 

Dr. Lombard handed over the surgical shears to Daddy to CUT THE CHORD. He did his part.

6 lb 2 oz of Sheer Goodness. Perfect APGAR score of 9.99 . We did Good. 

We were officially PARENTS  to our squealing bundle of joy. Tt was time for SkIn to Skin with my Baby. Words are never enough the describe the feeling when I first held her in my arms. It was the answer to all my prayers. She was perfect in every way and surely had the lung power of her mother. Her Father's big black eyes for sure. The nurses agreed on this. 

"Do you have a camera?" asked one of the OB nurses. "I have two cameras." mentioned a confused first time Daddy which even had me laughing at that moment. Click click click went the first set of pictures of our newborn, who got her first bath shortly. 

Being petite and delivering my child naturally, I had THIRD DEGREE LACERATIONS which had to be sutured by Dr. Lombard. And that's when she told me that she had delayed her family vacation as she had promised me she would stay by me. Could I have asked for anything more in a OBGYN

It was time to Nurse and RIONA latched on just perfectly. Things could not go any better for me. I kept Thanking the almighty. 

I was changed in to a fresh gown and transferred to a recovery room,which was my home for the next day as well. Then came the part that no one warns you about. You begin the worst kind of Rigors. You begin to shiver continuously. That's one of the way the body copes with Child Birth. Crazy for sure.

We had loads of visitors for Baby RIONA the next day and even an official photo shoot. I was due around St. Patricks day so we settled for an Irish Name. Riona means QUEEN IN GAELIC. 

I was due on March 15th 2013 and Riona arrived just a a few hours earlier on 8;15 pm on March 14th 2013.  Could not have asked for a more perfect Labor Story !!! Riona would have shared her birthday with my brother Riddhiman,but she just came a few hours earlier. So we have two days of back to back celebrations in our family. 

6

MY PREGNANCY JOURNEY

Just can't believe how fast time flew and we are getting close to the most special time of the year for us. Our daughter is all set to roll into her second birthday. Seems like yesterday, that we came to know we were about to be parents. The Baby Book needs some updating for sure.

But there are things,which the pages of the Baby Book cannot contain. That is the journey of my Pregnancy. The pregnancy with my Rainbow Baby Riona. So this countdown to her birthday gave me the perfect opportunity to pen it all down. What if age takes a toll, and some finer details skip from my memory.

So here's how it all began.

Having had a not so successful first Pregnancy right after we got married, it took me several years to come to terms, that I wanted to be pregnant again. You cannot stop blaming yourself for all the wrong that went on. You have your scars.

We had decided that we would start Baby Planning in 2012. We had done the customary OBGYN consultation as I suffer from both Thyroid and PCOS. And I was over 30

It took a trip to the Great Smoky Mountains, to have go the Baby Way.

Unawares that Baby was already on the way, we went head on a trip to the East Coast.

It was a dizzy spell on the treadmill at our gym, which made me take a Pregnancy Test. And another. And another. You need to be sure.

We joined in on the Pregnancy Bandwagon full on.

The bump made a debut on a  local red carpet. It was Fashion's Night Out and KC was celebrating it. So we made it there and got clicked. It was my friend Archana who as the first to notice and we were happier than ever to acknowledge.

The First Trimester came with its share of Morning Sickness in a ll its Ugly avatar. I was throwing up more than I could even take in. I survived on some Ghee-Bhaat and Bread Butter. Lime, Lemon and citrus scents were a savior.

But it was over soon enough and on came the second trimester. It was also Daddy To be Birthday. So we planned to go ahead to New England again. This time our agenda was Fall Colors. We also packing in a trip to Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream Factory in Vermont. No wonder the lil one loves her ice cream so much.

It had started off as a No Risk Pregnancy and we wanted to keep it that way,if we could.

My OBGYN had asked me to continue pre-pregnancy work out schedule and I was happy to do that. She had mentioned that it would help build my stamina for labor. She was so right.

I did get the occasional odd stare at the Gym with the growing Bump,but the majority were great wishes from everyone else working out. Which also led to some locker room selfies

The OBGYN visits were going off exceptionally well. We used to wait with bated breath to hear the heartbeat of our growing baby. It was almost like a Horse running by. The swift heartbeats of our baby. So near yet so far away.

Lo and Behold it was time for Durga Puja. Being away from India, means that you celebrate the Indian Festivals over a  convenient weekend. So we were all set to celebrate Durga Puja from Friday to Sunday. I had a OBGYN visit on that particular Thursday. It was the date of our Gender Reveal Ultrasound Scan. Yes, we were having a girl. Secretly, I had been wishing for a girl. I had been keeping my fingers crossed all through the ride to the hospital. So it was almost like, Maa Durga was coming home with us. The Pujo became extra special. I even shook a leg to the desi beats.

Soon it time time to Celebrate another year of togetherness. The Anniversary came beckoning. So we got dressed and partied hard. A fancy French dinner at one of KC's best: Le Fou Frog

The second trimester is the only time when you can color your hair. I was clearly not elating that opportunity go. Got a fresh dose of color,as I knew it would be quite some time, before i could get touch ups done. Opted for my signature warm honey blonde highlights.

Soon it was time for the Holidays. So we attended a warm and cosy Holiday party with our extended family in town.

Then we packed our bags for a Baby Moon of sorts. We were going down south.

We paid our respects to the King. Graceland was the first stop.

Then we headed off to the Sea. Gulf Shores and Pensacola.

In all these adventures, the second trimester rolled on to the Third. being pregnant over 30 also means, you enter the High Risk stage of Pregnancy at this time. So started the bi weekly Non Stress Tests, to ensure that Baby was doing alright. Nerve crunching times for sure, which we ushered in with load of prayers.

Also squeezed in our Child Birth and New Born care Classes. They did make daddy wear the Emphatic Belly weighing 30 pounds to make him feel what Pregnancy feels like in a  nutshell.

Then came the Time for my Baby Showers First up was the Desi baby Shower or Shaadh hosted by my Mashi here in KC.

The second Baby Shower was hosted by some of my Husband's colleagues. They Took us out for a Fondue Dinner. Fancy Shmancy !!!

The NSTs carried on and before we realized we were at the home stretch. Baby was full term. How did it all go from there? Time for another post for sure.

Not to forget we also had our share of a proper maternity Photo Shoot. our good friend Arka,who had also planned the Baby Shower, took some great pictures for us, to cherish for a lifetime. I managed to pack in all that I wanted to pack in my pregnancy, in proper grace.

19

Looking back not in anger, but with a happy smile

Look Back In Anger !!! Well, people who know me well enough, associate this with me a lot, as I tend to bear grudges for a long long time. Yes, I do accept the fact, that looking back with anger, has been my speciality. But looking back with a smile on my face, is a feat I have achieved over time. And I feel, its an achievement which has been truly worthy through out. Learning to look back with a smile, has surely helped me mature more, and has been what can be called  a truly special journey. 


If I cannot smile at the same joke forever, why should I cry at the same sorrow. The pain has to fade away, and I have to let go of the pain, for it to fade away. Hence looking back with a smile, is something which has enabled the pain to start fading, and fading away fast. Earlier when I was angry, it led to arguments, fights, heartbreaks and what not. Now when I am angry, the arguments have lessened. I try to busy myself in something creative. Cooking is by far one of the best anger management remedies so far. Writing comes a close second. Yes, I am penning down my very first book, hoping to get publishers some day soon. 


And how can I deny all those lovely moments, which tug at my heart to look back with a beaming smile. To forget such special moments would be a sacrilege. There are innumerable such happy moments, but its strange, we tend not to remember them, when times are low. One thing which helped me a lot was going back to old online conversations, and that somehow brings an instant smile. Its quite natural that they have a page dealing with this particular practice on a popular social networking site. Its after a popular practice, which all of us have done at some point or the other. Some mushy discussions, some naughty discussions, some friendly banter and even some so called gossip sessions, all these do bring back smiles, when I am down and out. I know it sounds super duper cliched, but also going through old photographs of happy times, crazy times, drunken revelries or romantic captures, also tugs at the heart to bring forth a grin or even a beamin smile. 


A small gesture as playing my favorite Hindi numbers, on a long drive, or an idyllic walk, albeit in the cold, shall remain special. There have been numerous date nights at several so called good eateries, but taking me out for having just phuchka(panipuri), in Kolkata, is worthy of bringing a smile. Never complaining about the food, on days when I goofed up in the kitchen, how can I forget that. Being patient with my mood swings, and truly repenting for the all the wrongs, is surely praiseworthy. Yes, the man has been there and done that. 


If I had to recount at moments which I can look back with a smile, the most special would be laying my eyes on the man, I call my husband, after two and half months, on a busy mid west airport, on a particular evening last year. Although we did not start talking nineteen to the dozen, or even take each in a tight hug, but I guess, it was just the look in his eyes, which did the trick. It was much more than words could say. And the semi silence between us, on the way back home, spoke a different language altogether. Often words are not enough, or often words cannot even express. Men try their best to be macho, but often there are some expressions which give away their feelings. Feelings which they sometimes do not know to properly frame in words and sentences. These are the moments which bring a smile, and which ease away the pain. 

9

Pop Art is the apt synonym for Farah Khan's canvas on celluloid

As a journalist, I learnt how to read between the lines, and as student of cinema I had learnt how to read between the frames. Maybe thats the reason, I came up with this idea that Pop Art is the  apt synonym for Bollywood film maker Farah's Khan's canvas on Celluloid.I am not saying Farah Khan is the new age Andy Warhol. But she is a Pop artist in her own league.    


Pop Art, has its wild supporters and its harsh critics galore. With Farah Khan's films, though, the critics seem to be slightly in a higher proportion. The choreographer's move from the dancefloor, to the director's chair, and from superb dance numbers to somewhat loud and kitschy films, has been the source of many rounds of criticisms. But did we all realise that be it Main Hoon Naa, or Om Shanti Om, or the latest Tees Maar Khan, its her ode to pop art which just shines through. Was that a conscious decision to introduce pop art through her films, or am I reading too  much? Well, that can surely be a bone of contention. 


For the uninitiated what is POP ART? Its a precursor to Post Modern Art, but all this sounds quite wordy, does it not. Here comes our favorite encyclopedia to the quick rescue. Wikipedia defines Pop Art as an art movement  that emerged in the mid 1950s in Britain and in the late 1950s in the United States. Pop art challenged tradition by asserting that an artist's use of the mass-produced visual commodities of popular culture is contiguous with the perspective of fine art.Pop art employs aspects of mass culture, such as advertising, comic books  and mundane cultural objects. Pop art is aimed to employ images of popular as opposed to elitist culture in art, emphasizing the banal or kitschy  elements of any given culture, most often through the use of irony. Now this definition should already bring forth certain similarities, does it not? Or is my assumption about the Pop Art connect so dry? 


Now to deconstruct and debunk: 

KITSCH,  thats the word which comes to mind when one starts soaking in the frames of Khan's reels. And she has ensured that she has maintained that trend in all her films so far. Pop art highlights often the kitschy elements of any popular culture. Ms Khan does seem to be doing just that, if one decides to read between her frames. The 1970s and 1980s were known for the over the top Bollywood films. The larger than life characters, the  exaggerated sequences, were staple. And a quick look at Farah's  platter just shows the uncanny similarity. Om Shanti Om, Main Hoon Naa and Tees Maar Khan are quity kitschy for that matter. Many complain of stupidity, many complain of loudness, but do we all miss maybe the conscious effort to highlight her films as an expression of Bollywood Pop art of Bollywood kitsch. Her films  borrow heavily from all the exaggerations which were earlier a part of Bollywood. Think of the songs from TMK, and Main Hoon Naa and their picturizations. Now think of maybe a song from the film Himmatwala, for instance. How about a Jeetendra jumping around with his leading lady in tow, in a beach adorned with several dozens of dancers,and not to miss the oh so loud colors. The similiarites between the films shines through when we try to think. So basically in her ode to pop art, Farah has surely borrowed from a once popular phase of B town's own productions. 

Its not just the songs which scream about the similarity of  Kitschy Bollywood. Its her entire MISE- EN- SCENE, which screams KITSCH. Mise - en -scene refers to everything that appears before the camera  and its arrangement—composition, sets, props, actors, costumes, and lighting. The uber colorful clothes of the protagonist in Tees Maar Khan, the overtly oldish style of Ram Prasad Sharma, or Sushmita Sen's chiffon sarees, or Amrita Rao's grungy avatar, in MHN's  college saga, or the lifestyle of of Om Kapoor, in OSO. Everything seems to be over the top. Farah has carried forward this notion of being over the top, in her characters, sets, costumes, frames, in all three of her films. Its a thread of conitinuity which passes seamlessly. And Pop Art is often criticised for being over the top.  


Now who remembers the sequence from Main Hoon Naaa where Shah Rukh Khan tries to dodge the saliva from his professor in a Matrix like avatar. We laughed our hearts out at the stupidity of naminga  rickshaw "Dhanno." Or the mere introduction of the Mohabbat Man character in the film within the film in Om Shanti Om. How about the Ismail Koyla connect in Tees Maar Khan where the offenders teeth shine through like in an award winning chewing gum ad? How about Master India the thief in TMK, and why not any other thief? Bollywood scriptwriters could have come up with any other thief? Pop art is known to borrow imagery from advertisements,comic books, and popular music. Isnt Farah doing just that. She is consciously borrowing from popular culture, borrowing from images already well known to us, to create a text of her style of filmmaking. If you watch the films carefully, then many more such elements will come forth, how and where she has borrowed from, to form her canvas on celluloid. Matrix or Superman, Sholay or Chewing Gums, the connect is there for you and me to notice. 


So next time  we decide to write off any film maker as making absolutely meaningless films, maybe we should delve a bit deeper, and read between the frames. 

8

raindrops are falling on my head

From a sunny morning, its suddenly all grey. Its almost dark, although the clock says that it is still afternoon. The first few drops of rain on my balcony, seem to be a total mood uplifter. And when it starts to pour, its almost magic. Rains and romanticism, have been spoken about, and written about, in a zillion. But somehow, its never enough, to write about the magic of rains.

Songs and poetry, novels and columns, stories and lives, many things rush to my mind, as I just enjoy. Enjoy the magical raindrops kissing my cheeks, wetting my eyelashes, and almost soaking me to the bone. The temperature is still at whats the coldest in my hometown, but why do I not feel the cold chill down my spine? Maybe its because the rains are soothing my bruised heart, caressing my shattered soul, so the rains are calming me finally, from the restlessness my mind was in.

I start humming," raindrops are falling my head," as I head indoors to change into something warmer, and my restless mind starts to race again. Rains bring forth so many memories. In reconnecting with me after almost a decade, a certain man close to me, had said, that he would love get soaked in the rain, while he walked the roads of the city of joy, holding my hand. Boy, was I floored that day, when he had just mentioned this. Its a different story that our hearts were not bruised as they are now. So everything seemed magical. Rains came and went, but we never did walk hand in hand with the raindrops falling on our heads. Now we just rush for the car, when the first drops of rain come down. But never say never, maybe we will walk in the rains, some day, when our hearts are healed for good.


I remember a lunch with a friend and a co worker who was visiting my city. suddenly the Kolkattan afternoon was all dark. And the first thing I heard was , rush and go and do a story, how dark it is in mid day. We did rush, and picked up my camera person from office, and shot the story, in central Kolkata. Shot the story, as Kolkattans and tourists ran for cover, hawkers covering their wares with plastic sheets, and 'Him, photographing me and my moves, in the melee of raindrops.' Rains and so many memories.

Rains and wading through almost waist deep water, for work, to show how affected the city was. Standing in the waist deep water, to do lives, and get teased by one and all at office, as to how they thought I would drown in the water logged streets. Rains and lives from atop the office, clutching onto the umbrella in one hand, and the microphone in the other, craning my ears to listen to the anchor, when the transmission often went noisy in the bad weather.

Rains and the madness with my dogs at home. Going out in the garden with all my dogs and just acting wild. With Ma shouting how all of us would catch a cold, and with all the excitement streaming through my pooches. Rains and ma's lovely cooking. Rains and Khichuri-begun bhaja at home, with hot gheee. Rains and hot coffee, rains and vodka on the rocks. Rains and shayari by Gulzaaar saaab.

Rains in school days meant the elusive midweek holiday--Rainy day, as we called it. Rainy day which started getting rare and rare as we grew up. Rains meant giving the colorful raincoats a miss, when parents weren't around. Rains meant splashing and jumping around in puddles, with childhood friends in tow. The memories are so sharply etched in memory, that it just seems like yesterday.

And how can we forget Bollywood and Rains. They seem to have an age old connect. From classics, to sleazy, from romantic, to fun, the rains and Bollywood's leading men and women have been captured in every mood and every possible combination. From Raj Kapoor- Nargis, to Shahrukh Khan- Kajol, from Zeenat Aman, to Mandakini, from the "pehli bhool" to fights during film climaxes , we have seen and enjoyed it all.

Amongst all the memories, all the romanticism, all the madness, rains come with that healing touch, rains come with hope. Rains cleanse our broken hearts, heal our overworked minds, soothe our souls. Rains urge us to walk the extra mile, instill the much desired optimism, in our otherwise dark and pessimistic reality. Rains, I shall love always love theee. The love story just gets stronger and stronger.

9

I HAVE A YOUNGER BROTHER AND IT COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO ME

They say Purple is the new Black, when it comes to fashion. And when it comes to safety of women, "KOLKATA" is surely the new "DELHI." Kolkata, used to be considered one of the safest havens, when it came to women travelling across the span of the city. Now it is surely the worst nightmare for any woman and her family. The brutal murder of Barasat boy Rajib Das, is surely the deadliest example of the real situation at ground zero. Sixteen year old Rajib was mercilessly murdered when he tried to save his sister from being molested. And all this happened in the close vicinity of the homes of the district's top law and order sustainers, yet the cops decided to not pay a heed. Its appalling how the bonechilling entire episode was even sought to be downplayed by the authorities, and now the Dirty Politics which surrounds this incident, leaves all of us spell bound.

It might sound a bit far fetched for me to write about the safety of women in Kolkata, when I am miles apart, in a different country and a different continent. But this is something, I feel which touches the chords of our heart even when we are far away from our homeland. Every newsreel about Kolkata gets even more personal for us, those who now stay away. We all want a slice of our favorite city, but the slice just keeps getting bitter for us. The mudslinging which follows is what it makes it even worse.

Having stayed in the city for quite a few years as well as Delhi, and worked for odd hours, courtesy my television journalism days, Delhi seems safer to me. Rajib's murder, and the plight of his sister just convince me all the more. Its just not this one single case which has happened to shake the city and its peace, its the numerous cases which are still going unreported. The administration and its skewed attitude towards the safety of women are not making the picture any prettier.

Why is the safe haven suddenly been transformed into such a bottomless pit? This is not a political platform, neither do I consider myself to be overtly political, but yet I wonder, whether the winds of change in the political arena of the state, are responsible for this. I am not ashamed to say that I am scared to imagine the state of affairs if the winds of change initiate a significant political makeover in West Bengal.

Its not that I am racking my brains and scribbling away after reading a few reports on the safety of women in the state, being miles away from it. It is after all easier to value judge. Hence I will not resort to value judgements. My visit to my city, Kolkata, last Summer, had just proven to be the tip of the iceberg. I dreaded what would follow. Lewd comments in a departmental store by a group of drunken men, in a posh mall in Salt Lake, just saw me and my friend picking up a fight and then almost fleeing from the scene, as the rest of the store remained silent at our plight. Public transport had always been my preferred mode of transport in the City of Joy, but after my last visit, I have decided that it is not so good an option any more. These incidents are nothing when compared to whats happening now to all those families in the city and its outskirts. But if I could get affected with these incidents which happened to Me, maybe I cannot fathom the real pain which the affected have faced.

EMBARRASED is what I am. It is my city, and even I have a younger brother, and this is something which could have happened to me as well. I am embarrassed that my own city has become a place where I do not feel secure any more.

4

Reflections on our state of being

A paper I had presented on International Women's Day 2006: The days of active feminism and days of being inspired by Ulrich Beck's Risk Society: Cheers to those days:

We talk of discrimination of the girl child, complain about the sexual harassment at the workplace, celebrate International Women's Day with great fervour, but we somehow become very resilient when it comes to initiating changes in our lives, in terms of gender justice. In most cases, our feelings are relegated to thoughts alone and our actions are often a compromise with our surrounding situations.

This "so-called hypocritical" stance which, we, the women of a risk society, like Kolkata , adopt, is due to the prevalent idea that a woman's life is all about risks.

Discrimination of the girl child has been rampant over the ages. However at today's time, discrimination dons a completely new garb. It is neither education nor opportunities, where she is discriminated against, it is "fear" .Parents are more scared about the well being of their female child in her day to day activities. Specific time limits are often set by society, within which a woman is said to be safer from the risk of sexual harassment than the rest. For example, often parents strictly instruct their daughters to be home by 9p.m. However, what is not realized is that sexual harassment has nothing to do with time. It can happen in broad daylight with equal probability as at 8.55p.m or at 9.01 pm or at 12 noon.

Moreover, the dressing sense/ choice of a girl is often sought to be strictly monitored by the parents or boyfriends or husbands. This is so, for it is still believed that women who wear western clothes or "so-called" revealing clothes, project themselves as objects of lust and are therefore at greater risk of being sexually harassed.

However, sexual harassment has nothing to do with the clothes worn by a woman, for if it was so, then women of a particular social strata, observing a particular dress code, would be at risk, which is not what happens in reality. Sexual harassment is more of an expression of the power relationship between man and woman, rather than as a satisfaction of sexual urges as patriarchal institutions and values want everybody to believe. The sexuality of the woman is as if a "toy" in the hands of the males, by which they can establish their stronghold in society.

However it is not that we are only at risk with regard to our dress code or the time at which we return home. In the real sense, we are not safe anywhere, in whatever endeavour of ours.

The risk is often not so blatant, as dressing sense or time. The subtlety with which , the risk, hits us, makes it all the more dangerous for us. Speaking in terms of risks , our educational institutions, whether schools, colleges, or universities, are not very safe, however safe they may appear to be. Often normal classes are laced with sexual innuendos, which are very objectionable. Sexual harassment is not restricted to physical touching only. Communication with sexual references are a very severe form of sexual harassment, where often the woman cannot retort back, as the man in question, refers to sexual innuendos. Often we are harassed in the guise of praise. Often male teachers start praising us and that praise is just the premise they build for the verbal sexual harassment which awaits us. More often than not , these incidents remain hushed up, and even if the girl confesses of the incident she can often do very little against the accused, owing to his superior power position. So in spite of our knowledge about what is sexual harassment, and even our will to save ourselves, we can often do nothing, other than feeling helpless and disturbed.

In my case , things have been slightly different. I was in my final year of graduation, in the most renowned college in the city, which recently got its autonomy. We had a guest lecturer, who was a big shot in my subject, and who was one of the framers of the syllabus that we followed. The professor concerned, resorted to rampant verbal sexual harassment , with great ease. After tolerating all this harassment for some time, myself and a friend of mine , who is currently a correspondent with The Times Of India, decided that we had had enough. We explained to our friends that what they were hearing in class, was a form of sexual harassment. It was not an easy task, but we succeeded in the end. We gave a petition to our Vice-Principal, and after a lot of trouble, he was shown the door. But we were still at risk, as he was one of the paper checkers of our final exams. But we stuck to our ground without thinking of the consequences. This same person also teaches at the university, where I study now, and continues the same thing over here, although he does not take my classes. However I do not see any of his current students objecting against this, all though some of them come to me and state that they feel uncomfortable. Not everyone can be as radical as I am , but we all should try to make some difference, in whatever way we can

Verbal sexual harassment has also found a new form in this sms age Often working women receive sms jokes with explicit sexual content, from their male colleagues. Often when the women complain about the same, their male colleagues say that jokes are after all jokes, and they should not over react. However this is very objectionable, where often the women cannot do anything, other than feeling extremely uncomfortable This is the present state , where we are aware of the risks, but can often do nothing , other than feeling angry that nothing could be done, or very depressed that we are always interpreted in terms of our sexuality.

There is another risk we face, where we are always interpreted in terms of our sexuality. No matter what we do , it is always our sexuality which is of concern to all. For instance, when I took up a particular special paper, I was told by a teacher that I was somewhat unsuitable for the subject, as I was very fair complexioned, and had coloured hair and dressed in a particular way So my physical appearance was more important than my capabilities, for success in the subject. Moreover when I first joined the university, I had to hear comments that I was only about good looks, and branded clothes and overt feminism and students should sit with "good" girls at the other corner of the class.

So our sexuality is as is if the only asset we have , for the people around us. And anyone can take advantage of it .However, in a film called Jism , which was touted as the press as a sexual thriller, showed in a sequence a woman who tried to strike a difference in this male chauvinist world. There is a stereotype that women who wear western clothes are loose, moreover if the woman goes to a pub then she is interpreted as a woman who is inviting trouble, and if anything happens to the women then the men are not at fault, as the women invited it and even enjoyed it. Such is the belief on which society thrives. But this film, Jism showed a woman , who wore a revealing western outfit, and went to a pub alone, when her husband was out of town But this woman slapped a man as he tried to make a pass at her and stated that she maybe wearing what she is comfortable in, and no one has a right to make a pass just because she has come to the pub alone. This I feel was quite a statement, but unfortunately it was lost in the eroticism of the rest of the film.

There is another risk we face, our opposition to sexual harassment , often, paves the way for further trouble for us. It is as if a section of women are teaching the others to oppose such behavior, so they should be punished in some way. Feminists are seen as corrupting the minds of other women against the order of nature. This is so pathetic, that sexual harassment of women is as is if what is destined by nature. This is the reason for which my parents often tell me not to react to lewd comments on the road and just avoid them, as if I did not hear them at all. So we hear objectionable things and remain quiet, as opposition maybe dangerous for us.

The risks which await us are innumerable, and we are still very helpless in spite of our awareness. Beck spoke in terms of manufactured risks, and we can speak of risks manufactured to subjugate the women all the more she strives for her liberation.

Socialized with the "risk" of such "risks pervading all around us" , we suffer from a great sense of fear. For example, in my case, I may be speaking for the rights of women, protesting against cases of sexual harassment against students, be a non- conformist, I feel safer when my boyfriend is with me, when I return home at night. Moreover I dress up in a different way when I know that my boyfriend will drop me home, then when I would be coming alone. The world may say that I am "hypocritical", but compromising with my surroundings to some extent is the only solution I have, when I know that I have to travel across the city, [from Birati to Alipore ]in public transport, and often return late alone.

So we, the women of today are trying to make a difference, but in this endeavour we are falling prey to the clutches of the patriarchal set-up, where we often have to depend on another male---- our boyfriends, husbands, fathers, brothers, friends, for saving or protecting us from the "risk of other men."

8

SCRIBBLINGS OF THE WANDERING MIND

The mind plays the biggest games with us, as it wanders so fast. Often the wanderings of our mind keep us awake on perfectly peaceful nights, and also they bring a smile to our faces in a crowded room, when we are feeling o so lonely. Some brand us as being over imaginative, some feel we turn our normal lives into a news reel.

I wonder what is it that goes on in those minds who brand us so easily. Well, these are people who are surely the rock stars in life. People who can waltz from one stage to another, smoothly giving royal performances, winning accolades, while the audience(read us) are left awestruck at the smoothness of these operators.

I have finished cooking dinner tonight, and there is nothing good in television now, but somehow my mind is wandering too fast to write. So here I am scribbling away, trying to fathom where my fleeting mind will take me next.

We all face blows in our lives, but yes, we all move on. Just like we drool over the sweetness, to just learn to gulp down the bitter, with no spoonful of sugar though. The mind wanders and wanders. Fears grip us, when repetitive flaws keep spiraling in our lives. Do we imagine it all? Are our fears justified? Do we not have the liberty to even feel for ourselves? Get scared, as we have been bruised. Someone who has escaped from a burning house, feels scared when they see the redness in the sky at dusk. Why do the same trends repeat themselves? Why cant life just change for good for a change, without having to see the same trends unfolding in front our eyes, with just changing faces. Sometimes a wannabe make up artist, sometimes a HR graduate, or sometimes a software professional, everything starts with the same trends, its only that different labels are given for every changing face. Sometimes its JUST a casual comment, sometimes its JUST remembering one's past with passion and fondness, and sometimes its JUST a joke, the labels just get newer and newer. And yet, we are the ones who are imagining? Are we?

Is it possible for all pains to be imagined? If all pains and fears are imagined, then we are all living the Inception life, but I just cant see the top spinning anymore. If I am truly living the Inception life, then did my life inspire the film's screenplay? After all being branded as imaginative, maybe the Nolans were inspired by the wanderings of an imaginative mind.

But yes, we just have to smile. Everyone is more often than not waiting for that elusive smile. Smiling, and savouring the few good moments life throws at us. And trying to remember those moments when we are misty eyed, when again we get scared. And maybe again waiting to get branded as imagining our fears. Did anyone see the top spinning around? I am yet to find the spinning top around me, and the search is still on for that spinning top.

6

Migratory bird

Migratory birds have been a common visitor to the cool winter clime of the Alipur Zoo in Kolkata, as far as I can remember. Well, I have always been more interested in wildlife, or lets say, animals in general, right from childhood. The travels of the migratory birds intrigued me. How the birds flew for miles and miles, to settle down in warmer clime for a few months every year. From my childhood memories of anecdotes about these birds from my parents,to almost being a migratory bird myself, the journey was quite a journey. A bitter mix of better and sweet or a heady cocktail of changes. The changes which almost changed me and my identity became just one. The identity of a migratory bird.

From shouting out loud and almost grilling politicians in a press conference, to working double shifts quite regularly, to watching television mindlessly the entire day, what a migration of roles it has been. My parents were keen that I add a so called Amreekan degree to my cap, but I was not interested. So it was good old Kolkata and my great alma mater, which now features on my chequered CV. I used to crib to everyone that I was always short of time, how could I add more hours to a day. Student years meant classes, frequent visits to the British Council Library, and teaching a melee of students in the evenings. Add to it shopping sprees, dates and what not. I was almost trying to fit in any activity in any and every hour.

Migration has been a steady feature in my life, hence now I do not complain. I migrated to a totally alien city, when I started to work. Delhi became my mother city, as it nurtured me, so well. From having a bevy of servants taking care of everything in the household in Kolkata, to having an apartment of my own, and managing resources, was quite a challenge. Migration it truly was, and I was learning every minute. Add to it, the nature of my job.

There is a sms joke which circulates in the TV circuit. That if someone has chosen to be a television journo, they simply have a distaste for social and personal life. Its almost akin to signing a pact with the Devil. I did sign that dreaded pact with the father of Adrian. Off days were there on record every week. but they existed only in records, for I was always struggling how and when to avail the Comp offs. I was as usual, asked more than often to work on offs. There were even off days, where I was officially off, yet had to do a speedy PTC (Piece to camera) in the morning. I was having the rest of the day off, after all. And off days, where I was perpetually on the phone, giving instructions to interns, or co ordinating news breakage. What was truly a holiday, I often wondered. But yes, I loved that adrenaline rush. I have a friend, who always complained, that whenever I was out with her, I was talking more on the phone, than I was to her. My very last boy friend, and now husband, had gotten used to being hung up, when he was just about to say something romantic, because I was getting another call. But even he lost it one day, and just shouted out that I was more interested in breaking news than anything else. The other men in my life used to be complaining so big time, that it would take almost an entire post, to recount that episode.

Migration was again on the cards. Here I am again in a different city, this time in a different country. A new role, a new set of engagements, and reaffirmation of my identity as the ultimate migratory bird. From a buzzing cell phone all the time, to not using one for over a year, that's migration. From being on television every day, to just blankly staring at the television nowadays, that's migration. From festivals only meaning another day at work, to finally enjoying the Pujas and New Years for a change, that's migration. From writing for a living, to writing as a hobby, that's migration. From being someone, who always prided herself for being overtly independent, to being dependent, that's migration.

Roles keep changing,and priorities often de-prioritise, my identity as the migratory bird does remain strong. wonder whats the next role going to be.

10

WHEN HARRY MET SALLY

HARRY:

HE WAS IN COLLEGE, WAS BUSY WITH HIS MUSIC..LIFE WAS ON A ROLL FOR HIM.

MET

SALLY:

SHE WAS IN SCHOOL. A TYPICAL HAPPY GO LUCKY GIRL, WHO FOUND A REASON TO SMILE IN EVERY CORNER OF LIFE.

THEY MET EACH OTHE

R..MORE THAN A DECADE BACK...MISUNDERST

ANDINGS AND MISCOMMUNICATIONS TOOK THE BETTER OFF THEIR IMMATURITY. SO THEY PARTED WAYS..SEASONS IN SUN AND RAIN AND YET MEMORIES DID REMAIN STRONG. MANY NEW FACES CAME AND WENT IN BOTH

THEIR LIVES..BUT THE MEMORIES NEVER FADED.

HARRY DECIDES ITS TIME..TO DO SOMETHING LONG PENDING..BRING SALLY BACK.

SWEET-BITTER-HOT-SOUR: A NEW HISTORY WAS MADE...AND ITS STILL ROLLING O

N!!

CHEERS TO GOOD TIMES.

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