Nowadays every second person one meets on the Bangalore streets is white. By white, of course, we mean white/cream/yellow/brown/black and a few shades of gray in between. Anyone who isn’t Indian, out to “experience” the great Indian whatever-they-think-it-is, and stopped in Bangalore by the lure of a dirt cheap (by their standards) KFC or Benetton.
Most of them settle in pretty well, smack their lips like the “Southies” over a idli sambar, boogie the nite away at some random pub, and enjoy their time.
However, met someone a while back, who has, or at least had, a decidedly myopic approach to India. It was all “dirty, and ugly, and he actually wanted to go elsewhere, but landed up here by fluke”. Lovely European intonations, very musical, but the words were unpalatable. Remember being a bit irritated at his views about this place.
So, it came as a horror as I walked down Shivanagar Market area this morning, with people throwing buckets of mucky water on the roads, in everywhich way, to find myself muttering “bloody Indians!” and other expletives that would make a sailor blush.
Does this make ME a un-patriot, or is it merely a growing testimony to an era of people whose allegiance is only to themselves?
Sunday, December 11, 2005
neurotic ramblings
Have resolved to talk about anything and everything, in this blog.
So, whatever random neurotic thoughts I might be having, will from time to time, be reflected in this space. And god knows, I might be another late 20-something, wise ass, weird bordering on strange, Bridget Jones’ Diary, in the making!!! :-D
So, whatever random neurotic thoughts I might be having, will from time to time, be reflected in this space. And god knows, I might be another late 20-something, wise ass, weird bordering on strange, Bridget Jones’ Diary, in the making!!! :-D
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
the truth about cats and dogs
I have a dog at home. He is this humungous sized, typical blonde, slightly vain and eminently cuddle-able Lab. My mom, in moments of true irate-ness, swears that he is a cat in disguise, as Leo has the remarkable habit of living life only for himself. He growls deep in his throat and does a bored rendering of “lifting the lip into a curl” when one wants to drag him close and cuddle him, unless of course, HE is in the mood. The only one he cant do without is his older “brother” , Sasha, a Spitz.
Most unlike a dog really!!!
And now, in Bangalore, there’s a cat. She belongs to my neighbor, 2 doors down, a slim sinuous feline. And she’s most unlike a cat I have ever known.. I think she’s a dog in disguise. She has taken a fancy to me and my house, for reasons unknown. So whenever the door is open, she comes scampering in, till I drag her out of under the bed and send her homeward.
When I get home, and she’s around, she comes running up to rub herself against my legs till I bend and pet her. And then stands up on two hind legs, purring up at me in impatience for me to open my door.
She’s also the only cat who I have known, who plays “tooki”(hide and seek in Bengali). So, if u stand behind a pillar/wall/door and want to beckon to her, all u have to do is “hide” behind it and say “tooki”.. and she comes running.
Most unlike a dog really!!!
And now, in Bangalore, there’s a cat. She belongs to my neighbor, 2 doors down, a slim sinuous feline. And she’s most unlike a cat I have ever known.. I think she’s a dog in disguise. She has taken a fancy to me and my house, for reasons unknown. So whenever the door is open, she comes scampering in, till I drag her out of under the bed and send her homeward.
When I get home, and she’s around, she comes running up to rub herself against my legs till I bend and pet her. And then stands up on two hind legs, purring up at me in impatience for me to open my door.
She’s also the only cat who I have known, who plays “tooki”(hide and seek in Bengali). So, if u stand behind a pillar/wall/door and want to beckon to her, all u have to do is “hide” behind it and say “tooki”.. and she comes running.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Walk Tall
Saw a little girl in the bus today.
She got on, as the bus trundled through the streets, from what can be called as a "lesser economically well off" area.
Frayed socks, typical black school shoes from which both her big toes poked out of holes, a uniform too sizes too large for her.
But the uniform was spotless, the socks pulled on without a crease, the shoes polished till they shone. Her hair was neatly oiled and pulled back with 2 ribbons, as is common among all good little Southie girls.
Amongst all the pushing and shoving, she stood there holding the back of the seat, with a steady hand. And there was a sparkle in her eyes, a smile on her lips, and excitement at the thought of a new day, of playing with her friends at school.
Leena D, of class IV b, as her school bag proudly proclaimed…may you go a long long way.
She got on, as the bus trundled through the streets, from what can be called as a "lesser economically well off" area.
Frayed socks, typical black school shoes from which both her big toes poked out of holes, a uniform too sizes too large for her.
But the uniform was spotless, the socks pulled on without a crease, the shoes polished till they shone. Her hair was neatly oiled and pulled back with 2 ribbons, as is common among all good little Southie girls.
Amongst all the pushing and shoving, she stood there holding the back of the seat, with a steady hand. And there was a sparkle in her eyes, a smile on her lips, and excitement at the thought of a new day, of playing with her friends at school.
Leena D, of class IV b, as her school bag proudly proclaimed…may you go a long long way.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
And here, there be Dilberts..
Quick office update.
Have settled down amidst bilious pink walls. Poor R., who had just landed in B’lore, ran around getting plants to decorate the office with. Which led to some of the more.. erm.. hideous members of the fraternity to arrange themselves artistically around foliage and take numerous pictures.
We also have 3 clocks which range askew on the walls, and show wrong timings on India, US and Switzerland. And more importantly, a huge TV, where people watch enraptured while India looses match after cricket match.
We have no windows, so we actually call up friends at the other office, and ask them “is it raining?” 9am and 9pm are one and the same. Pathetic, really!!
A little counter, fondly dubbed as the “canteen”, storing our tea/coffee/lassi/assorted biscuits etc. is where we escape to, when in severe need to “let it out into willing ear”..
We are ALL uniformly Dilberts. We clutch and we cling, to our little cubicles, and even our own chairs and stationary, having hysterics when they are removed (our water jugs even have our names written on them).
Life is beautiful, or so says Roberto Benigni..
Monday, November 14, 2005
Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sat in the bus today to come to work, bright fall sunshine on my shoulders. A motley crew crammed into the vehicle, an old woman with leathery skin squeezed me towards the window.
If I concentrate hard enough, it’s almost like our mountain bus trips at 4am, sleepily getting into the bus to go from one place to the other. People, faces split in wide friendly smiles, connections made because you share a same love and wonder for the land.
The Bangalore roads fall away, and up rise steep mountains on one side and the gorge on the other.
The mountains beckon…
If I concentrate hard enough, it’s almost like our mountain bus trips at 4am, sleepily getting into the bus to go from one place to the other. People, faces split in wide friendly smiles, connections made because you share a same love and wonder for the land.
The Bangalore roads fall away, and up rise steep mountains on one side and the gorge on the other.
The mountains beckon…
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things...
In random order.. mine..
Raindrops lashing my window panes, the sound of thunder as I sit sipping delicious hot coffee..
Soft baby whiskers on puppies, their cold noses snuffling in surprised enquiry..
Packages.. wrapped up in any paper.. I love surprises.. but my mother is terrible at them, her patent words are “I don’t know what you would like”..
My honey colored Lab and my baby white Spitz.. hugging them close can drive any blues away, miss them with a deep rooted ache..
Not strudels, but chocolates…with dark bitter centres, melting in my mouth.. and god only knows what “schnitzel with noodles “ is…
Crisp winter mornings bundled up under blankets, and I don’t have to get up for another hour..
Treks up mountains, nose and cheeks pink in the cold, smelling the crisp air, reveling in the quiet..
Rolling in hysterical helpless laughter with old friends, at nothing in particular..
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things...
In random order.. mine..
Raindrops lashing my window panes, the sound of thunder as I sit sipping delicious hot coffee..
Soft baby whiskers on puppies, their cold noses snuffling in surprised enquiry..
Packages.. wrapped up in any paper.. I love surprises.. but my mother is terrible at them, her patent words are “I don’t know what you would like”..
My honey colored Lab and my baby white Spitz.. hugging them close can drive any blues away, miss them with a deep rooted ache..
Not strudels, but chocolates…with dark bitter centres, melting in my mouth.. and god only knows what “schnitzel with noodles “ is…
Crisp winter mornings bundled up under blankets, and I don’t have to get up for another hour..
Treks up mountains, nose and cheeks pink in the cold, smelling the crisp air, reveling in the quiet..
Rolling in hysterical helpless laughter with old friends, at nothing in particular..
Dum maro dum..
Religious fervor can only be understood, when one lives, travels and learns in the heart of South India. On my trip to Tirupati, with a gaggle of office mates.. which we shall comment on at greater length in another rave/rant party… we found ourselves with 24 hours as god had decided against giving us darshan.
Deciding a day in hand in worth two in the..well, whatever, we fell to doing our own bit of sightseeing. After much arguing… I found myself resigned to running around multiple other temples that seemed to be EVERYWHERE. In an effort to placate me, I was told that we would go to this place called “paapvinashanam” which was a WATERFALL, where one would also be able to wash away one’s sins, as the name suggested..
If any of you have seen Charlie Chaplin movies, you will know what I am talking about. As we walked down huge stone slabs crawling with people, saw an area where men would stand in line fully dressed. Each would go into a little room, and from the other side, would pop out a guy, wearing what can only be called “chaddis”.
By this time I was mystified AND skeptical. And my skepticism didn’t fail me. Paap-whatever turned out to be a huge wall, in which were embedded 5 PIPES.. from which sprang water. Millions of ghastly looking men, swarmed around in their underwear, vigorously having a bath under aforesaid pipes, in a concentrated effort to wash away god-knows-what sins. The Lifeboy ad put to shame…
Sigh!!! It WAS a trip all right…
Deciding a day in hand in worth two in the..well, whatever, we fell to doing our own bit of sightseeing. After much arguing… I found myself resigned to running around multiple other temples that seemed to be EVERYWHERE. In an effort to placate me, I was told that we would go to this place called “paapvinashanam” which was a WATERFALL, where one would also be able to wash away one’s sins, as the name suggested..
If any of you have seen Charlie Chaplin movies, you will know what I am talking about. As we walked down huge stone slabs crawling with people, saw an area where men would stand in line fully dressed. Each would go into a little room, and from the other side, would pop out a guy, wearing what can only be called “chaddis”.
By this time I was mystified AND skeptical. And my skepticism didn’t fail me. Paap-whatever turned out to be a huge wall, in which were embedded 5 PIPES.. from which sprang water. Millions of ghastly looking men, swarmed around in their underwear, vigorously having a bath under aforesaid pipes, in a concentrated effort to wash away god-knows-what sins. The Lifeboy ad put to shame…
Sigh!!! It WAS a trip all right…
I dream in Sepia
Have decided to record bits and pieces of those dreams which some people who read this, can identify with. Last nite, dreamt that P., my coz, and I were wondering in some rag-tag flea market. And discovered, in this delightful little bookshop, with dusty panes, and fading sunlight coming through the windows, and an old man pottering around after us, while we took in the wonderful smells of old books.. these old old notebook sort-of things, which were relics of P. and my past.. childish scribbles, recording random things.
My dida teaching us both English, on a weekend afternoons, from fairytales/storybook like text..
The two of us struggling manfully to write our own version of an M&B, about a female oceanographer and a man on the team, who calls her “boss”.. even at age 10/12, we were well on the way to emancipation. :)
And sepia toned pictures of the two of us, in an assortment of other people, pigtails and scruffy elbows, at diamond harbor, gorging on eelish maach.. P. did we EVER take pics that time?
In real life, I wouldn’t, couldn’t, for the life of me, remember our handwritings of all those years ago. But here it was like crystal..
The subconscious is a wonderful thing..
My dida teaching us both English, on a weekend afternoons, from fairytales/storybook like text..
The two of us struggling manfully to write our own version of an M&B, about a female oceanographer and a man on the team, who calls her “boss”.. even at age 10/12, we were well on the way to emancipation. :)
And sepia toned pictures of the two of us, in an assortment of other people, pigtails and scruffy elbows, at diamond harbor, gorging on eelish maach.. P. did we EVER take pics that time?
In real life, I wouldn’t, couldn’t, for the life of me, remember our handwritings of all those years ago. But here it was like crystal..
The subconscious is a wonderful thing..
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Last nite I dreamt I was in __________ again..
Last nite I dreamt I was in __________ again..
That’s a famous opening line in a famous book, tho I forget which right now.. if someone remembers right now, please enlighten me.
I think it was a confused entangled dream sequence with rain and family et all. For those of you who are unaware, various bits of the country are suffering under deluges.. one keeps wondering if a bit of land will suddenly break off and float off into the Indian ocean, like cream in a mixing bowl.
Anyways, I was back at home in Calcutta. Hugging my doggies and feeling so very happy, when suddenly, out of nowhere, came a little toddler with curly hair who just HAD to snuggle up to Leo (MY Lab).
“God knows where my mother had been hiding this brat of hers”, I thought irritably. “What audacity, doesn’t she know these are MY dogs, and she has no business to be here?” Wanted to rap her, for cutting into my time with dogs..
Looked out of the window, and the road in front of my house was gone, in its place was a beautiful, shimmery green expanse, gently undulating as people walked thru it. Faint dark shadows of roads that once were, could be seen in the semi-depths.
Spied didubhai (my pet name for my gran), wearing shorts and a t-shirt, cap perched jauntily of her head (similar to her attire at the beach) waving to me.. I think my dream must have caught up with her AFTER she finished her “dead float” :). Went down to the road, and brought her back home, with her on my back, like the “old man of the sea”.. not a very flattering allusion, but I’m talking of the mere posture here, people.
Back in my room, which, by the way, my mother has lovingly reconverted into a living room, the MINUTE I left home… and looked down to feel and wetness around my ankles. My room was afloat. Looked out of the window again, as I heard waves crashing into rocks below. We were perched on a little ledge, and our house had become a little hut, being buffeted by gales. Behind us stood a little helicopter, to carry us away to safety.
It says a lot of things about a lot of things, that my reaction was to pick up Sasha and Leo, and leave aforesaid kid behind. Remember dumping didubhai in the copter as well. I must have been really irritated, that I don’t remember Ma.. she must have been behind with strange brat. :-D
Came back to wakefulness with sounds of rain lashing my window panes.
That’s a famous opening line in a famous book, tho I forget which right now.. if someone remembers right now, please enlighten me.
I think it was a confused entangled dream sequence with rain and family et all. For those of you who are unaware, various bits of the country are suffering under deluges.. one keeps wondering if a bit of land will suddenly break off and float off into the Indian ocean, like cream in a mixing bowl.
Anyways, I was back at home in Calcutta. Hugging my doggies and feeling so very happy, when suddenly, out of nowhere, came a little toddler with curly hair who just HAD to snuggle up to Leo (MY Lab).
“God knows where my mother had been hiding this brat of hers”, I thought irritably. “What audacity, doesn’t she know these are MY dogs, and she has no business to be here?” Wanted to rap her, for cutting into my time with dogs..
Looked out of the window, and the road in front of my house was gone, in its place was a beautiful, shimmery green expanse, gently undulating as people walked thru it. Faint dark shadows of roads that once were, could be seen in the semi-depths.
Spied didubhai (my pet name for my gran), wearing shorts and a t-shirt, cap perched jauntily of her head (similar to her attire at the beach) waving to me.. I think my dream must have caught up with her AFTER she finished her “dead float” :). Went down to the road, and brought her back home, with her on my back, like the “old man of the sea”.. not a very flattering allusion, but I’m talking of the mere posture here, people.
Back in my room, which, by the way, my mother has lovingly reconverted into a living room, the MINUTE I left home… and looked down to feel and wetness around my ankles. My room was afloat. Looked out of the window again, as I heard waves crashing into rocks below. We were perched on a little ledge, and our house had become a little hut, being buffeted by gales. Behind us stood a little helicopter, to carry us away to safety.
It says a lot of things about a lot of things, that my reaction was to pick up Sasha and Leo, and leave aforesaid kid behind. Remember dumping didubhai in the copter as well. I must have been really irritated, that I don’t remember Ma.. she must have been behind with strange brat. :-D
Came back to wakefulness with sounds of rain lashing my window panes.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
an old old tale
Well, first there was the Pujos.. Shosti I was at work.. my concession to the celebrations was manfully managing a slithery chunni of a new churidar.. Saptami I took off.. and just went to the parlor, spent 3 hours there being pampered, and slept.. then in the evening, non-Bong friends came over, to experience “pujo”.. needless to say, it rained so heavily that the "maath" was floating in a sea of red muck… so, came back to the puja near my place, where they proceeded to gobble up fry, chop and mishti.. and came back to my place, ordered in food, and played taboo till 3 am..
Ashtami was the day our entire office set out for a corporate offsite, which was to last 3 days.. we left in the afternoon, for a place near Banerghatta.. we were staying at the Jungle Lodges.. so there we were, in timtimey light, getting relaxed.. a lot of drama stuff incorporated to get us “comfy” with each other.. role playing, trust exercises, so on and so forth.. very interesting.. winding down with lots of beer and kebabs over a campfire, while strange jungle sounds happened around us..
The next day, we were given some stuff to figure out our strengths etc, and also to see how well we collaborate/compete… needless to say, the 2 teams collaborated well within themselves, and competed really badly.. we became quite horrible.. tried to walk a plank, and slipped twice, after which my poor back refused to let my mind dictate it
After which, we were given this exercise of designing, building and executing a raft.. we had to plan how to build it, make it, and sail across a huge lake with it… 6 people to a raft.. so, we had this brainwave of building one designed for speed.. rather like a Kerela snake boat.. what we forgot to take into account completely was the fact that it was also the most unstable.. I was one of the “rowers ….so ¾ into the lake different people just tipped over.. the ones who knew swimming, practically refused to get back on, so we backstroked back to shore.. a very long haul…
Sat there dripping… with ACHING appendages.. I didn’t know so many muscles existed.. then went for a midnight walk in the forest, and pointed out constellations to each other..
Came back to camp around 9.30.. changed, went to campfire, guzzled more and more beer.. danced on the way to dinner.. then tried planchett.. 4 of us daring souls… we had gotten fired up by the stories I told of Ma’s planchett-ey days…obviously it didn’t work…. So we went for another walk through the forest at 1 in the night… intrepid explorers all….
Next morning, a particularly boring session with lots of “self- back-patting” the bosses.. where we all in different stages of “nod-off” then back home to sleep…
Lots of new friends made, and old ones renewed.. overall, very eventful..
Note:
Maath: a large park-like area, where usually pandals are built and pujas held
Mishti: the ever-so-famous Bengali sweet.. the most famous type being the rasogulla
Timtimey: light.. coming usually from a hurricane of sorts.. the ambience lends itself particularly well to ghost stories
Ashtami was the day our entire office set out for a corporate offsite, which was to last 3 days.. we left in the afternoon, for a place near Banerghatta.. we were staying at the Jungle Lodges.. so there we were, in timtimey light, getting relaxed.. a lot of drama stuff incorporated to get us “comfy” with each other.. role playing, trust exercises, so on and so forth.. very interesting.. winding down with lots of beer and kebabs over a campfire, while strange jungle sounds happened around us..
The next day, we were given some stuff to figure out our strengths etc, and also to see how well we collaborate/compete… needless to say, the 2 teams collaborated well within themselves, and competed really badly.. we became quite horrible.. tried to walk a plank, and slipped twice, after which my poor back refused to let my mind dictate it
After which, we were given this exercise of designing, building and executing a raft.. we had to plan how to build it, make it, and sail across a huge lake with it… 6 people to a raft.. so, we had this brainwave of building one designed for speed.. rather like a Kerela snake boat.. what we forgot to take into account completely was the fact that it was also the most unstable.. I was one of the “rowers ….so ¾ into the lake different people just tipped over.. the ones who knew swimming, practically refused to get back on, so we backstroked back to shore.. a very long haul…
Sat there dripping… with ACHING appendages.. I didn’t know so many muscles existed.. then went for a midnight walk in the forest, and pointed out constellations to each other..
Came back to camp around 9.30.. changed, went to campfire, guzzled more and more beer.. danced on the way to dinner.. then tried planchett.. 4 of us daring souls… we had gotten fired up by the stories I told of Ma’s planchett-ey days…obviously it didn’t work…. So we went for another walk through the forest at 1 in the night… intrepid explorers all….
Next morning, a particularly boring session with lots of “self- back-patting” the bosses.. where we all in different stages of “nod-off” then back home to sleep…
Lots of new friends made, and old ones renewed.. overall, very eventful..
Note:
Maath: a large park-like area, where usually pandals are built and pujas held
Mishti: the ever-so-famous Bengali sweet.. the most famous type being the rasogulla
Timtimey: light.. coming usually from a hurricane of sorts.. the ambience lends itself particularly well to ghost stories
Monday, September 26, 2005
if only I had a hachet
So, it was my birthday weekend.. well, technically on Sunday, but what the hell, I deserve a little pampering..
So, dear cousin of mine, invites family friends over to my house, and tells them, in a somewhat grand gesture.. “Come over, I will cook”..
She repeats the same dialogues to another family friend.
She then proceeds to write a blog about how I made HER cook for the teeming masses, as it were…
And very happily chooses to ignore the fact that she made me shop (while she read Archie comics by the dozen) chop, clean chicken thingys, fry, etc etc etc…
Revenge, when it comes (and it will), will be dire and sweet..
So, dear cousin of mine, invites family friends over to my house, and tells them, in a somewhat grand gesture.. “Come over, I will cook”..
She repeats the same dialogues to another family friend.
She then proceeds to write a blog about how I made HER cook for the teeming masses, as it were…
And very happily chooses to ignore the fact that she made me shop (while she read Archie comics by the dozen) chop, clean chicken thingys, fry, etc etc etc…
Revenge, when it comes (and it will), will be dire and sweet..
Monday, September 19, 2005
the shift
I have not shifted so much in my whole personal life, as I had to do, in this one office. Let me explain. When I joined this company, we were a small bunch of 11 hardworking, enthusiastic youngsters. We had a huge expanse of grey-blue carpeting all to ourselves, and would happily rattle around there. Lots of windows, lots of light and fresh air.. we thrived on it.. makes us sound like a bunch of plants, don’t it?
Then we moved, literally across a plank, into the next building. By this time, we were a large bunch, getting larger by the day.. about 100 odd employees. Not bad, as things go. The office was nice and large, light colored walls, embossed pillars, etc. We sat at our desks, and became quite Dilbert-ish about our spaces.
Today, we walked across the gangplank yet again, back to our old building, but on the top floor. Not all of us, only a select few. Amidst the curiosity of what the new office is like, a general sadness fills us all. We are leaving behind close friends, whom we have shared our “goods and bads” with. People we have literally grown up with, in strange office parlance. We all promise to meet respective workmates for lunch” and “coffee breaks”.
Getting ready to move. All over, are stragglers, lugging accumulated junk across 7 floors..3 down one office, and 4 up again. There is a reluctance to leave the old, the friends, the light. It will take a day or two, for all residual scrap to be cleared away completely.
The office is gloomy. Dark wood, strange pink walls, the smell of fresh paint pervades the air. No natural light, no ventilation (except for the receptionist, who gets to have that prize). The power is off today, as finishing touches are being given, so no ac either. But they have shifted our machines, so we don’t have a choice but to follow. I can only hope I will loose a few pounds by sweating it out.
This must be what civilization is all about.
Then we moved, literally across a plank, into the next building. By this time, we were a large bunch, getting larger by the day.. about 100 odd employees. Not bad, as things go. The office was nice and large, light colored walls, embossed pillars, etc. We sat at our desks, and became quite Dilbert-ish about our spaces.
Today, we walked across the gangplank yet again, back to our old building, but on the top floor. Not all of us, only a select few. Amidst the curiosity of what the new office is like, a general sadness fills us all. We are leaving behind close friends, whom we have shared our “goods and bads” with. People we have literally grown up with, in strange office parlance. We all promise to meet respective workmates for lunch” and “coffee breaks”.
Getting ready to move. All over, are stragglers, lugging accumulated junk across 7 floors..3 down one office, and 4 up again. There is a reluctance to leave the old, the friends, the light. It will take a day or two, for all residual scrap to be cleared away completely.
The office is gloomy. Dark wood, strange pink walls, the smell of fresh paint pervades the air. No natural light, no ventilation (except for the receptionist, who gets to have that prize). The power is off today, as finishing touches are being given, so no ac either. But they have shifted our machines, so we don’t have a choice but to follow. I can only hope I will loose a few pounds by sweating it out.
This must be what civilization is all about.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Pages from a diary
So, two nights ago I had a seizure. After 6 long trouble-free complacent years. To top it all, I was in office, for the world and sundry to gasp over.
Sounds ghastly? Well, yes, it was. My first attack was when I was 9. My whole extended family had hysterics while I had hysterics. Looking back, I can make wise-cracks about it, but at that time, it felt that my world had shattered.
Over the years, it happened 3 more times. Monday was the 4th eventful one. My medicines had become a part of me, much like my spectacles, and I never even bothered to “realize” it. Along with time, I had to face a lot more than a blackout, there have been heart problems, high BP and sundry other ailments I have faced. So, I “shatter” a lot less nowadays.
Though, I agree, a few cracks HAVE appeared in my armor now. My smug, self-satisfied air of “I’m taking care of myself REAL well” has taken a severe beating. It will take about 24 more hours for my Cheshire-cat grin to be firmly back in place.
Maybe I’m paranoid. What really gets my goat is to be treated like an invalid. I keep telling people IM FINE, but people take time in believing that. This illness is one that makes you go “boom” internally, for whatever time it takes, and then, within 24 hours, u’r up and jumping around, and yes, PERFECTLY NORMAL. That, I think, is sometimes a little hard to digest for others, because they are looking at you with expectant eyes, WAITING for you to put on a show or something.
The pro to this whole mess…
a) it was in office, I had people to take care of me
b) it was late, so, not ALL colleagues saw me having the seizure
The con to this whole mess…
a) it happened in office
b) it happened at all…
Having been-there-done-that… and faced it, and writing about it, for the world to see, is a catharsis of sorts.. I can come face to face with my mental blocks about my illness, and shrug off stigma. Hey, if Steve Waugh can have it, and emerge a winner in more ways than one, I’m in good company :)
A deep realization comes about my well wishers, my friends who love me, and have surrounded me with care.. I don’t know what I would do without them.
The blackness also comes from within.. a frustration .. what did I do wrong, what could have gone wrong, why me again, etc etc. The frustration builds as I had been given a clean bill of health by my doc, for the last 6 years and never dreamt this would happen.
My doctor tells me “you seem fine, absolutely no problem… but ur crash dieting brought down ur blood sugar levels to a dangerously low point, so ur body reacted”. So, we all make mistakes. Good that I made it now, than later at a more critical point in time. I just wish god had a nicer way of nudging me along in the right direction.
Sounds ghastly? Well, yes, it was. My first attack was when I was 9. My whole extended family had hysterics while I had hysterics. Looking back, I can make wise-cracks about it, but at that time, it felt that my world had shattered.
Over the years, it happened 3 more times. Monday was the 4th eventful one. My medicines had become a part of me, much like my spectacles, and I never even bothered to “realize” it. Along with time, I had to face a lot more than a blackout, there have been heart problems, high BP and sundry other ailments I have faced. So, I “shatter” a lot less nowadays.
Though, I agree, a few cracks HAVE appeared in my armor now. My smug, self-satisfied air of “I’m taking care of myself REAL well” has taken a severe beating. It will take about 24 more hours for my Cheshire-cat grin to be firmly back in place.
Maybe I’m paranoid. What really gets my goat is to be treated like an invalid. I keep telling people IM FINE, but people take time in believing that. This illness is one that makes you go “boom” internally, for whatever time it takes, and then, within 24 hours, u’r up and jumping around, and yes, PERFECTLY NORMAL. That, I think, is sometimes a little hard to digest for others, because they are looking at you with expectant eyes, WAITING for you to put on a show or something.
The pro to this whole mess…
a) it was in office, I had people to take care of me
b) it was late, so, not ALL colleagues saw me having the seizure
The con to this whole mess…
a) it happened in office
b) it happened at all…
Having been-there-done-that… and faced it, and writing about it, for the world to see, is a catharsis of sorts.. I can come face to face with my mental blocks about my illness, and shrug off stigma. Hey, if Steve Waugh can have it, and emerge a winner in more ways than one, I’m in good company :)
A deep realization comes about my well wishers, my friends who love me, and have surrounded me with care.. I don’t know what I would do without them.
The blackness also comes from within.. a frustration .. what did I do wrong, what could have gone wrong, why me again, etc etc. The frustration builds as I had been given a clean bill of health by my doc, for the last 6 years and never dreamt this would happen.
My doctor tells me “you seem fine, absolutely no problem… but ur crash dieting brought down ur blood sugar levels to a dangerously low point, so ur body reacted”. So, we all make mistakes. Good that I made it now, than later at a more critical point in time. I just wish god had a nicer way of nudging me along in the right direction.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
sugar and spice and everything nice
My grandmother, or didubhai as the whole brood of grandkids used to call her .. what can I say about her, and what can I not? My childhood revolved around her and her days around mine.
My earliest memories are of her waiting patiently, unwearying in heat and storm, for me, at the bus stop where the bus would drop me off after school. In my younger days, we would walk back, hand in hand, me chattering incessantly about school and other sundry topics..
As I grew older, of course, so did my sense of self importance and indignation.. “Was I a kid that someone would pick me up from school?” I raved and ranted, in righteous anger. So, she would bribe me with “dosh paisar badam, aar dosh paisar hojmi”, every single day. Its hard to imagine how much largesse could be got in those times, with 10 paise. In the end, greed won…and so did she.
We were born in idyllic days, days spent in going to school in the mornings, afternoons spent listening to stories about didubahi’s childhood and her trips.. “oy beratey jaowar golpo ta ABAR bolo”. And then in the evenings, she would herd all the cousins down “keyatola lane” to take us to ILSS, where we would swim from 6 to 8, with didubhai running around the pool to make sure we 5 were all right..
The minimal studying I did, was all with her, in my baby years, with her teaching me English, and Bangla and spellings. With math she somehow managed the basics, after which ma, thankfully, took over... and then, when I would win the spelling tests in school, didubahi and I would fight as to who would get the credit for it..
Halcyon days, touched by love, and light and wonder, stories of “shikar, jongol”, interspersed with some mythology, from all over the world, and “the little mermaid” of Hans Christen Anderson. She was, in a lot of ways, responsible for my love of literature - like Scheherazade, she would leave the story just as it was getting interesting, and say “aar parchi na, bakita nijey poro”
She was a grandmom I could display to all with pride, and certain smugness. Who else had a dida, who would wear shorts and get into the massive breakers of “Purir shomudra”, or wear jeans and be on horseback during a trekking trip at the age of 70, cap tilted rakishly on her head. And who would, while deep in pujo of her beloved Gopal, who, by the way, traveled everywhere with us, in his little Air India bag, would say “chandan, amakeo jeno ektu diyo”- we called it “karonbari” after that. When I went to my Tirupati trip (for larks, not religious fanaticism) this April, all I could think of was her, and that I was in the land of her Gopal… maybe, I was doing it for her.. god knows.
As I grew older, we drifted apart. Caught up in a whirlwind of life, I usually had less time to spend with someone, for whom time had slowed down. Always impatient, always running.
Memories come crowding in, jostling, pushing, shoving to be let out, to be given centre stage. My mother tells me, “write a few words in her memory”.. and once I start writing, I cant seem to stop.. words become pages, and its still not enough.
My earliest memories are of her waiting patiently, unwearying in heat and storm, for me, at the bus stop where the bus would drop me off after school. In my younger days, we would walk back, hand in hand, me chattering incessantly about school and other sundry topics..
As I grew older, of course, so did my sense of self importance and indignation.. “Was I a kid that someone would pick me up from school?” I raved and ranted, in righteous anger. So, she would bribe me with “dosh paisar badam, aar dosh paisar hojmi”, every single day. Its hard to imagine how much largesse could be got in those times, with 10 paise. In the end, greed won…and so did she.
We were born in idyllic days, days spent in going to school in the mornings, afternoons spent listening to stories about didubahi’s childhood and her trips.. “oy beratey jaowar golpo ta ABAR bolo”. And then in the evenings, she would herd all the cousins down “keyatola lane” to take us to ILSS, where we would swim from 6 to 8, with didubhai running around the pool to make sure we 5 were all right..
The minimal studying I did, was all with her, in my baby years, with her teaching me English, and Bangla and spellings. With math she somehow managed the basics, after which ma, thankfully, took over... and then, when I would win the spelling tests in school, didubahi and I would fight as to who would get the credit for it..
Halcyon days, touched by love, and light and wonder, stories of “shikar, jongol”, interspersed with some mythology, from all over the world, and “the little mermaid” of Hans Christen Anderson. She was, in a lot of ways, responsible for my love of literature - like Scheherazade, she would leave the story just as it was getting interesting, and say “aar parchi na, bakita nijey poro”
She was a grandmom I could display to all with pride, and certain smugness. Who else had a dida, who would wear shorts and get into the massive breakers of “Purir shomudra”, or wear jeans and be on horseback during a trekking trip at the age of 70, cap tilted rakishly on her head. And who would, while deep in pujo of her beloved Gopal, who, by the way, traveled everywhere with us, in his little Air India bag, would say “chandan, amakeo jeno ektu diyo”- we called it “karonbari” after that. When I went to my Tirupati trip (for larks, not religious fanaticism) this April, all I could think of was her, and that I was in the land of her Gopal… maybe, I was doing it for her.. god knows.
As I grew older, we drifted apart. Caught up in a whirlwind of life, I usually had less time to spend with someone, for whom time had slowed down. Always impatient, always running.
Memories come crowding in, jostling, pushing, shoving to be let out, to be given centre stage. My mother tells me, “write a few words in her memory”.. and once I start writing, I cant seem to stop.. words become pages, and its still not enough.
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