My COVID-19 Story

Tomorrow marks one month since I contracted the Covid-19 infection. The contagious virus robbed me of all my strength. Although my symptoms were mild, yet it rendered me without smell or taste for a fortnight, and this was most annoying. I had religiously been following all the rules of washing my hands regularly, wearing a mask and generally living a hermit’s life inside my house since 25^th March. Where I had contacted the virus was a mystery that even a crime buff like me couldn’t solve.

I lay in bed trying to do a slow rewind of the events prior to me testing positive for Covid-19. The contact tracing led me to a global conference which I had attended some time ago.That’s where I must have been infected with the virus! 

The conference was being held in a strange and unfamiliar place. Almost all the species of the planet were participating in this meeting.

The Red Sea Urchin and the Koi Fish had called this urgent meeting and had asked the Arctic Terns to pass the message around. The agenda was something like ‘Global Warming: It’s Effects on the Habitat and Food of all Species of Planet Earth’.

It was a noisy group and everyone was trying to be heard. Lonesome George (a giant tortoise who was about 457 years old) presided over the meeting and was having a difficult time controlling everyone. Voices resounded in anger and I could barely make out the wise Chimpanzee and the dolphin speak about destruction of forests, illegal mining of land and oil spills (they mostly avoided the word human so as not to hurt my feelings).

“Just because we cannot speak their language they make us suffer and use us for medical research. It’s absolutely unethical,” squeaked the hamster.

“We are crammed into small spaces, fattened, inseminated, castrated and then taken to be slaughtered. No dignity in life and no dignity in death!” mooed the Japanese Wagyu.

“Well, we could send another virus!” said the high pitched Flying Fox Bat who was hanging upside down in the balcony seat behind me.

“We have given them the HIV/AIDS, the Ebola, the SARS, Swine Flu and what not, but nothing stops them from treating our brothers with cruelty,” oinked the Hog.

“We need to put brakes on this madding pace of destruction. Let’s stop them in their tracts and lock them in their homes, at least for a while!” screeched the Scarlet Macaw.  

The crammed room pulsated with emotions and frustrations. And in the end it was decided that the Bat would fly to the farthest north and drop its guano (also known as ‘poop’ in common parlance) in the wet markets at Wuhan in China, and the well-developed transport system invented by humans would “crown” the deal (corona comes from the Latin word crown).

I woke up from this bizarre dream with a sore throat and running a fever.The free drinks that were being passed around by the Pangolin (the poor chap is the most trafficked species in the world) may have had the virus. I did catch a sneaky smile on his scaly face.

Here are some of the messages that were read out in the conference which I was told to spread to my fellow humans: respect the planet, be more humane towards all species, ban live markets where animals are treated with cruelty, stop wildlife trafficking, stop destroying land and water bodies, protect the environment and curb climate change.

And in the end they all sang the anthem – 'Earth Song' by Michael Jackson, which I have been humming since.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XAi3VTSdTxU

Parenting Past And Present

My husband's friend called him up yesterday. His excitement was palpable even on the phone. Their son had been accepted into California Institute of Technology to do his masters in Aeronautical Engineering. They were jubilant.They were going to the US to help their son settle down.  As  parents they were going to help their son  in his admissions and  in the accommodation process.

Rewind to the year 1988. I was on a train travelling from Guwahati to Delhi carrying my dreams in a holdall. I had first heard about JNU and DU through friends and neighbors. Students and faculty members who were Delhi-returned always impressed me. I was determined to pursue my post graduation from Delhi. All that I had heard was that there was to be an entrance exam and if I cleared it, I could get admission into the prestigious Delhi University. When I broached the topic of this grand plan of mine, my father immediately rubbished the idea.

I harped on for days about my intentions. Mealtimes resembled a cold war zone. I stuck to my guns and my father retaliated with some tales about how Mr X, Y or Z's child who had gone to study in  Delhi and had returned a recluse. In their attempt to dissuade me, my parents  would often quote that everyone in the DU campus smoked weed. They went on to great lengths to explain how Delhites had a 'criminal mentality' and that rape and molestations were rampant there.

Nevertheless, being a stubborn Scorpion, I carried on my feud with them. I was 20 years old, naive and unexposed to any place or culture other then my own. But the young are fearless and adventure runs in their blood. So I decided to carry on with my plans regardless.

My Sister and my brother in law were quite supportive of my plans to study at Delhi University

My parents belonged to that generation where the elders dictated and the youngsters just meekly followed. They cared for their children but they had a different approach to parenting. We didn't argue with our parents and their word was law. Yet I was a rebellious child and never went by the rule book. My father was strict but I preferred to do things my way. In my opinion, our generation was never close to our parents. We respected them but they were not our buddies.

My parents And Me

Parenting today is a whole new ball game. Parents are totally involved in the holistic development of the child. They share their views and opinions. They have open discussions. The whole family plans together- meals, holidays, future career plans, you name it! 

My father did not come with me to Delhi for my admissions. My father never looked into my school or college syllabus or admissions. He disagreed with my  choices but in the end, I guess things worked out okay. Today I understand that fathers played a different role in those days. They were loving, caring and protective. They just had their own ways of showing it.

This post has been written for Indiblogger -InSpireEdition266

 

Majuli A Treasure Island

Once upon a time, long long ago, there was a land through which flowed a hundred rivers. The Dihing, Disang, Dikhow, Subansiri, Kopili to name just a few. The mightiest of them all however, was a mythical male river Luit, commonly known as the Brahmaputra. It flowed down the lofty northern mountains, swift and deep.

Many moons ago, recurring earthquakes shook and shifted the land and persistent floods broke riverbanks. The Dihing and the Luit intertwined and created an emerald island called Majuli – the land between the two rivers.
Legend has it that madly in love, Krishna and Rukmini decided to elope together. They travelled across many places, finally discovering a jade green isle floating on the Brahmaputra. Krishna, smitten by the serene beauty of the island declared it the second Dwarka, the kingdom of the creator himself.

Historical texts reveal that Majuli was formed sometime around 1750. Many ethnic groups and tribes have been living on this island for more than 200 years, co-existing in peace and harmony, enjoying nature's bounty. It was this tranquillity and isolation of Majuli that drew the great Bhakti saint Srimanta Sankardev to establish the Satra culture at Majuli. In the 16th century, Sankardev initiated the Ekasarana Dharma (literally translating to shelter under one religion). The chanting of prayers or naam is considered a superior form of devotion. Idol worship and rituals are forbidden.
Sankardev and his chief disciple Madhabdev established the two unique institutions of Assam – The 'Namghar' (prayer halls) and the 'Satras' (monasteries). Both these institutes are intimately associated with the social, cultural and religious life of Assamese society.

A cultural mosaic

Majuli is like the Vatican of Neo-Vaishnavism. Sankardev established 65 Satras in Majuli of which 22 are operational. Satras are sacred places where the bhakats (monks) maintain celibate stature and spend their days in prayer and the ways of living expounded by their great saint leader.

A young bhakat in a Satra at Majuli

The founding father of the cultural revolution in Assam, Srimanta Sankardev, gave religion an artistic form by introducing the borgeet (devotional songs), ankia nat (one-act plays based on the life of Lord Krishna), bhaona (musical plays based on religion), and the sattriya dance (a classical dance-drama based on Krishna's life). In Majuli, the Satras became the centres of art and culture.

A Bhaona performance 

Armed with all of this knowledge I set out to discover the island of Majuli. Leaving the hustle and bustle of city life behind our boat set sail from Neemati Ghat, Jorhat and headed for Kamalabari Ghat in Majuli.

The ferry ride across the Brahmaputra

The ferry ride across the mighty river Brahmaputra (which costs ₹15 and takes about an hour) was exhilarating. I shared space with the islanders crammed in between their cars and bikes. Majuli Island is huge and spans around 880 square kilometres, so hiring some kind of transport is probably a good idea.
A pre-booked Tata Sumo taxi cost me ₹1500 for 8 hours and was already waiting to take me to the hotel when I arrived. The driver doubled up as a guide. Other transport options include shared taxis, rickshaws or even hiring a cycle or a scooter!

Majuli is almost untouched by the modern world. The locals mostly live in traditional bamboo and mud houses (no multi-stored buildings here), cook their food on firewood and weave their own clothes. Few hotels and home-stay options are available with bare basics but it's not for 5-star comfort that you want to visit Majuli. If luxury is usually your cup of tea then do not cross the Brahmaputra.

Things to do in Majuli:
1. Drop off the urbanised masquerade and live a day of your life in simplicity.
2. Wake up at dawn to the cacophony of parrots.
3. Be amazed at magical sunsets across the wetlands.

4. Embrace the twinkling fireflies under clear starry skies.
5. Be wonderstruck at the luxuriant growth of foliage, especially the cane and bamboo trees that line the narrow pathways that crisscross the island.
6. Experience the freshly cooked simple meals in unpretentious wayside dhabas.
7. Soak in the countryside charm of emerald green paddy fields.
8. Stroll into a Mishing village and savour their traditional food and local rice beer called apong.

A Missing tribal village at Majuli

9. Watch bamboo and clay turn into fierce mythological character masks in Samaguri Satra.

Mask making at Samaguri Satra

10. Meditate at a naam ghar or better still be a part of the evening prayers with the bhakats.
11. Get mesmerised by the Bhaona and Ankiya Nat.
12. Feel humbled inside a Satra for its vast history and tradition.
13. Finally, visit Majuli because it is a pearl nestled in the middle of a huge river and it is sadly eroding away. Majuli is shrinking in size due to erosion and may cease to exist in about fifteen or twenty years. Visit this cultural mosaic before the waters of the Luit submerge it forever.

Missing You Ma

The sun rose in the eastern sky for the last time in 2018 and my mother's blue and green love birds that she cared for so dearly chirped and went about their morning business. They say that birds can sense a change in their environment. They were very quiet around the 29th of December. Was it the cold wet day that made then so quiet or was it because that was the day that my mother passed away leaving us to walk among the angels?

My mother Anny Koshy was born in God's own country- Kerala. At the age of 18 she travelled across India to the north eastern state of Assam to fulfil her fervent desire to become a doctor. While pursuing her MBBS she met my father Dr Aroon Das. They felt an instant attraction for one another and started a journey of love that has lasted a lifetime- the stuff that movies are made of!

My mother lived a very disciplined life. She taught us the importance of healthy living. Her morning walks are legendary for their punctuality, as well as the post walk laughter sessions she had with her friends all of who are at least 10 years her junior and from different socio-economic strata.

 Dr Anny Das became a well-known personality in the Uzanbazar area of Guwahati. Her lifetime of service as a doctor has left her patients full of anecdotes about her compassionate and selfless nature.Her humour and wit would often cure the sick even before they actually started their medication. 

Not many people knew this, but Anny was a woman of many enduring talents. Not only was she a great mother and wife, she was also a talented sportswoman. She was the best female athlete in her medical college, and she was also a swimmer for many years. Never in her entire life did she let her gender hold her back. She was a glowing example for both me and my sister of the fact that a woman can truly achieve anything that she puts her mind to. Even at the age of 81,she adapted to the ever-growing technological world.She would gladly converse with her family and friends using WhatsApp, share selfie images and even book Uber cabs.

Above all else however, travelling was her true passion- be it to the Lake District in UK or to visit her favourite grandchild in Bangalore. Her mind would never stop planning: new curtains, a trip to visit the Maasai Mara tribes of Kenya or creating a culinary dish for her family to savour. She was truly such a multifaceted woman that I find it hard now to encapsulate the essence of her whole being onto paper.

We will miss you Ma, in all the coming years of our lives. I know you will always be with us, forever smiling and happy.

Holy Cow!

With all this tamasha going on in India about cow crusade and 'Gau-Raksha', I am reminded of a funny incident from my childhood related to the 'gaiya' or 'goru' as we in the Brahmaputra valley call the cow.

By the way, 'goru' is also used as a harmless abuse in Assam. We use it to insult anyone who we think has less brains and is an idiotic simpleton.

No offence intended to the RSS and the Bhartiya Gau Raksha Dal (this organisation actually exists and they even have a Facebook page).

 Politics is obnoxious; let's not bring that up.Today I just want to share this cute little story about a cow.

My mother came from a land owning community in Kerala. They had lots of cows, goats, chickens, and ducks around their house. When she married and settled down in Assam, she missed her 'mini Kerala zoo'. And so she kept whatever animal she could in our little house in Guwahati.

 Guinea pigs, hens, dogs, cats, rabbits, pigeons, parrots, fish, all shared space with us during our growing up years.
One fine day my mother decided we had to own a cow too.Our 1200 square yard of grassy lawn seemed a waste with no cows grazing on it, she stated matter-of-factly. The children could get fresh unadulterated milk and butter she reasoned .After a lot of cajoling my dad finally agreed to buy a cow.

 The cow came with much fanfare. A shed was specially made for her and a Nepali help was employed to perform the cow duties.

One summer afternoon I woke up to loud heated arguments between my mother and kancha (the Nepali help).It transpired that OUR COW HAD DISAPPEARED!

My mother was in a fit.She ordered my dad to cut short his much loved siesta and go on a cow hunting spree around town and not return till the animal was found.

After almost three hours of cow hunt, dad was finally back.He ordered my mother to serve him some tea and said he had been successful in locating the cow. Kancha was bringing the lost cow back tied firmly with a rope.

 When the cow finally came home, my mother ran to the gate to receive her. But to her utter horror and shock it wasn't our cow!

It was the wrong cow!

Kancha was then asked to go right back and return the wrong cow from the place where they had found her munching merrily on the garbage. We couldn't keep someone else's cow my mother concluded firmly. 

And so off went Kancha to return the wrong cow. As luck would have it, on his way back, he was confronted by a couple of men who were out searching for their "lost cow"! They saw our Kancha pulling the cow with a rope and walking down the street.

Nepalis in Assam are not very fluent in Assamese or Hindi so although Kancha tried his level best to explain things to them, they didn't buy his story and I guess it was too complicated anyways.

The men beat him up calling him a 'cow thief'. Kancha left our house that very day, "no cow, no Kancha"he said, refusing to take up any other domestic responsibilities.What followed is anyone's guess. My dad remained at the receiving end of my mother's naggings for his failed attempts at Gau-Raksha.

Reposting this to add a lighter note to the newspaper headlines on cow vigilantes. 

My Zen Mode

What does "me time" mean to you? do you think me time is important? how often do you give yourself time #MeTime

This post is being written for INDISPIRE Edition 230


Most of us go through life looking after home and hearth without spending any quality time with ourselves.I think it is very important to sometimes shut everything off from our lives and go into 'Me' mode. Switch off the WiFi, shut the door, lie down alone, close your eyes and reflect. The lucky ones can even take a vacation alone. Silence can be a good companion.

Being with myself and contemplating about life is my favourite hobby. Some people may say I am lazy but I think being lazy is underrated. Being lazy has its advantages. You are at peace with yourself and the world.

Sunset over the river Brahmaputra

This summer I decided to skip the usual touristy stuff. I packed my bags and booked my tickets to Guwahati, the town where I was born. I needed to spend time with my octogenarian parents. I was going to be with them for a month and do nothing except eat, sleep and stare.

Monsoon clouds threaten to disrupt my morning walk

My parents wake up at dawn. They walk 365 days a year, come hail or sunshine. Now since I had decided I was going to spend time with them and participate in their daily routine I too had to wake up at 4 am. It seemed impossible at the start but was wonderful when I got used to it. The view of the morning mist rising across the Brahmaputra and Umananda (the smallest river island in the world) sitting daintily in midstream was worth waking up to.

Umananda 

The flat in which my parents live has a balcony overlooking the ancient Ugratara temple and the Navgraha hills. While I am not at all a religious person, I sat staring at this beautiful scenery for hours. The green cover of trees housed many a heron and egret birds and watching the horizon was therapeutic for my soul.

The View From The Balcony

The best part was eating my mother's delicious fish and rice (Masor Tenga) and the post lunch siesta that extended to dusk. I did absolutely nothing for a whole month. No social visits, no shopping, no WiFi and no TV. It was as if I had reached my nirvana. I returned to the world rejuvenated and feeling like the Buddha.

 #MeTime

A Brief Sojourn At Pine Mount School

My eyes were brimming with tears that threatened to roll down my cheeks.Sensing this  my sister tightened her grip on my hand.I was 6 years old and my sister was 10.We were in a Meghalaya State Transport bus winding our way up the khasi hills towards our boarding school.

Pine Mount School with its red tin roof is a residential school for girls,build upon a small hill surrounded by pine trees.It was established in the 1900s and has a reputation of producing well mannered girls with etiquette

I was the younger pampered one in my family,always up to mischief and playing pranks.When my parents decided to pack me off to boarding school I thought I was being punished.I immediately hated school and everything related to it.

I was homesick, sad and hungry all the time. Although we received healthy sumptuous meals, my mind would always revolve around food; maybe it was the pure mountain air that made me hungry all the time.

I disliked studies and the only book I loved to open was this big book of pictures that said ‘Scratch And Sniff’. It had bright colorful pictures of cakes, pastries and chocolates and I loved to sniff out the pictures.They threw me into a magical world of yummy grub.Ironically inspite of my dislike of reading and learning my favorite period turned out to be the library class.

During study hour we were supposed to sit quietly for an hour and do our homework but all I did was play with pebbles, grass and wild flowers.The teacher in charge could never catch me since I would hide all my treasures very cleverly under the desk and all she saw was an open desk top.

That's me standing behind the teacher!

My  four years in Pine Mount were mostly spent in the outdoors exploring the play grounds .I would engineer  all types of games ,conjure up stories for all and sundry to hear and design hunting sprees  for me and  my friends.We would go looking for all sorts of things from pine cones, nuts and wild berries to elves and fairies.I loved chasing dragonflies and butterflies but my favorite game was Hide and Seek.When the clouds rolled down the hills we would run and disappear into a cloud to reappear and surprise the others.What fun we had!And when it rained we wore our gumboots and mackintosh and splashed and jumped on the puddles.

The seniors at the boarding school would tell us scary stories to frighten us. They would say that the school was haunted by the spirits of the British soldiers who were housed there during the world wars. They told us that if we wandered about alone we would hear footsteps follow us and whispers in the corridors. These tales would be enough to make us pull our blankets above our heads at night and not think of breaking any rules.

I was too clumsy to take care of my belongings and although every clothing had my initials inked into them I would still end up losing most of my clothes. My sister however was the smart one. She became the head girl of the school. I admired her and pride swelled up in me every time her name was announced in the Assembly. I was a contrast of my sibling. I dragged on in academics till finally my parents made a decision to take me out of the boarding school to live with them in Guwahati. But this decision came at a cost.

Me and Kaberi,my sister

One beautiful summer day, when the sun was shining and everything around the little hill on which the school stood shone in its pristine beauty, I decided it was time to build a gigantic castle. To do this I needed a large amount of dried pine needles, dried leaves, twigs, mosses and grass. I employed all my friends in this enormous task of collection and we ran around all morning very engrossed in our business. When the formidable structure was near completion I stepped back and admired our handiwork .Now the only thing missing in this art installation were some bright flowers and I knew exactly where to find them. I went racing to the flowing tree and jumped and shook the low branches but unfortunately for me along with the flowers fell a whole bee-hive right on my head .

The next thing I knew I was in Shillong Civil Hospital and my face had swellings as big as custard-apples! The medicines eased the pain but the best part was that the whole school trooped in to wish me speedy recovery and I basked in all the attention and almost felt like the Duchess of Sussex sitting up on my hospital bed bee stings and all!

And thus was cut short my primary school years at Shillong and I was put in St. Mary’s Convent in Guwahati.  As my mother would say, ”Qui Sera Sera- whatever will be will be”.


Photo Credits-PINE MOUNT ALUMNAE 
and My Own Collections

Stone Ages and Other Age Issues

People say, "Age is just a number", "You are as young as you think you are!" But people say all kinds of things! Someone said baby peacocks are born from tears and that GST was the magic wand our country needed. We live in denial most of the time. My close friends call me an ageist as I obsess over my age a lot. Nevertheless, selfies do not lie so I stopped taking those.

Age is a touchy topic, my view may differ from yours and you may act like the RSS (who cannot allow differences to exist) and send the vigilante knocking at my door.

A few weeks ago I had fever and I felt the submandibular gland swell up (that is the salivary gland on the left jaw line). Thinking it to be mumps, I searched the net and the symptoms matched.

Mumps mostly infect children. I felt elated that at least my body still thinks I was a kid and had invited a childhood infection to breed.

The blood reports were sadly negative. The doctor now asked for a CT scan and a sonography of the swelling. The pictures were not pretty. There were four or five of them all in a neat row strung into my saliva gland like a garland. Everyone who heard this replied with a shocked "What? Salivary gland stones! I am hearing this for the first time."Well so was I!

Well at least now, I know the cause of my silence in blogging. I had marbles in my mouth! 

Life in these stone ages is rough. I have to eat sour things 24/7 (sour food cause more saliva secretion). The sales girl behind the counter stared at my grey hair when I asked her to give me the sourest lozenges she had.

My double chin looks very "healthy" now with stones and all. It is painful yes, but I get a good reason to skip my walks and lay in bed dreaming that the ENT surgeon, who plans to literally slit my throat, may wake me up from my anaesthesia induced slumber and say, "Here are your diamonds, Madam".

 Here is a spoiler to my diamonds in the sky dream, Salivary Duct Stones occurs in middle-aged adults only. 

Twilight musings

The morning alarm rings. I wake up with body ache. Something is not right with the left side of my body. My left hip joint is paining. My left shoulder feels stiff (O My God, I sound like a hypochondriac). In September, my blood test revealed I had hypothyroidism. So now, its hypertension, hypothyroidism, Perimenopause all rolled into one 50-year-old body!

My birthday celebrations this year was over shadowed with the nation celebrating demonetization, thanks to the PM's momentous announcement. So with creaking bones and all I move ahead to face the approaching new year.

I am not apprehensive about the future. After all, I have survived in this jungle for half a century. I have seen all species of the homosapien. Can there be any more earth shattering revelations left to witness?

If I was told I could go back in time, I swear by my receding and thinning hairline, I would refuse.

The bullying and peer pressures at school.  The lack of self-confidence at teenage. My confused 20s. Mastering the impossible art of being a good parent at 30s. To do all that learning, understanding, gaining insight into the complexities of human nature all over again! No, thank you. I think I am quite okay where I am right now, muffin top, double chin and all.

I have been there, done that. I do not have big regrets. Of course, I have taken many wrong decisions. However, like someone wise had said, "Sometimes a wrong turn can take you to the right place!" So no remorse what so ever.

Do not mistake this to be arrogance; it is just self-confidence that has come with age, exposure and with countless experiences big and small.

When I  was very young I secretly idolized my cousins. They were about10 years my senior. They looked very wise and grown up. I always felt small and humble in their presence. Today when I look at retired folks, a similar thought flashes across my mind. They look so confident and content with themselves. Well, it is only just a matter of time. Like this friend of mine who always use to say "Time and Tide Waits for None". And time, my friend, goes by faster than you can imagine.

The lessons I learnt so far (Well I am still learning, mind you): Treasure your days, they are numbered. Keep your life simple and keep your heart free of sorrow. Revere nature, it will be around long after you are gone. In this vast galaxy, you may be a small star but be a happy twinkling star.

Parenting

My father was asked to deliver my sister's lunch box to school. He was to say "Kaberi Das" and "4th grade" to the nun at the office. When my father reached the school, it transpired that there were two girls called Kaberi Das studying in the 4th grade! My father not having a clue about the complexities of classes and sections was then presented with both the girls. As the story goes, it seems that none of the girls was his daughter!
The nun, being kind and patient agreed to take my father for a short tour of all the sections of the 4th grade to identify the missing daughter. They walked down the corridor peering into all the classes and inquiring about the presence of a Kaberi Das in the class. However, the exercise proved futile.
By now, a very worried parent and the nun were desperate to resolve this dilemma. They were hurrying back to the office to check on the records when suddenly my father spied a familiar face sitting in the first bench of class 5A. It was the real Kaberi Das, his daughter!
It so transpired that my poor sister had been sitting in the wrong class for almost a whole month of the academic year with the wrong books and my very puzzled mother every evening struggling to make sense of the home-work  given.
The student, the teacher, the school and the parent had no clue that such a muddle that been going on.
Almost four decades have passed by since that 'confusion', and Kaberi Das has become Kaberi Bhuyan, a successful C.A, wife and mother.
My parents, whatever their parenting style, have produced two happy children.

Parenting has become a difficult job these days with all the information available. It is a tough choice between being a Tiger or a Free-Range Parent. Every child has a unique personality. No two children are similar (even from the same parent) and no parenting style can be 'the best one'.
I was never too serious about life and my parents didn't force things on me. I am still not serious about things but life is okay!
In the school where I teach, its Open Day for parents every Friday. I wait patiently for them to walk into my class to discuss their child's progress. As I sit and listen to them, I remember my 'lost' sister and my confused dad searching in the corridors of another school a long time ago and a smile spreads across my face.

Pink-Not A Movie Review

It had been a long tiring week and when I got home dog-tired on Saturday afternoon, my husband informed me that movie tickets for 'Pink' had been booked.

Pink hits you hard from the first scene. It is that kind of movie that takes over you completely. The film has a remarkable cast and some superb acting. I am not disclosing anything about the movie here.Walk into the theater with a blank mind and come out captivated. 

That it is a powerful movie is an understatement. Everyone needs to watch Pink. There are no two ways to this. It is that relevant a film.

For those who still need to read a review, please click on the link below.I wish to be a Lazy Blogger today.

Pink movie review

My Mother's Cow

With all this 'tamasha' going on in India about cow crusade and 'Gau-Raksha',I am reminded of a funny incident from my childhood related to the 'gaiya' or 'goru' as we in the Brahmaputra valley call the cow.

By the way,'Goru' is also used as a harmless abuse in Assam.We use it to insult anyone who we think has less brains and is an idiotic simpleton.(If any member of the RSS is reading this,please ignore!)

 

                                                                                                   Gau Mata

Politics is obnoxious,let's not bring that up.Today I just want to share this cute little story about a cow.

My mother came from a land owning community in Kerala.They had lots of cows,goats,chickens, ducks around their house.When she married and settled down in Assam,she missed her 'mini Kerala zoo'.And so she kept whatever animal she could in our little house in Guwahati.
Guinea  pigs,dogs,cats,rabbits,pigeons,parrots,fish,all shared space with us during our growing up years.

One fine day my mother decided we had to own a cow too.Our 1200 square yard of grassy lawn seemed a waste with no cows grazing on it she stated matter-of-factly.The children could get fresh unadulterated milk and butter she reasoned.After a lot of cajoling my dad finally agreed to buy a cow.

The cow came with much fanfare.A shed was specially made for her and a Nepali help was employed to perform the cow duties.

                 And so we owned a cow.

One summer afternoon I woke up to loud heated arguments between my mother and kancha (the Nepali help).It transpired that OUR COW HAD DISAPPEARED!

My mother was in a fit.She ordered my dad to cut short his much loved siesta and go on a cow-hunting spree around town and not return till the animal was found.

After almost three hours of cow-hunt dad was finally back.He ordered my mother to serve him some  tea and said he had been successful in locating the cow. Kancha was bringing the lost cow back tied firmly with a rope.

 When the cow finally came home,my mother ran to the gate to receive her.But to her utter horror and shock it wasn't our cow!

                                                                     

                   I am the wrong cow!

Kancha was then asked to go right back and return the wrong cow from the place where they had found her munching merrily on the garbage.We couldn't keep someone else's cow my mother concluded firmly. 

And so off went Kancha to return the wrong cow.As luck would have it,on his way back, he was confronted by a couple of men who were out searching for their "lost cow"!They saw our Kancha pulling the cow with a rope and walking down the street.Nepalis in Assam are not very fluent in Assamese or Hindi so although Kancha tried his level best to explain things to them,they didn't buy his story and I guess it was too complicated anyways.The  men beat him up calling him a cow-thief. Kancha left our house that very day,"no cow,no Kancha"he said, refusing to take up any other domestic responsibilities.

What followed is any one's guess.My dad remained at the receiving end of my mother's mutterings and nagging for his failed attempts at  "Gau-Raksha"!   

Hope On

The atmosphere in the house was gloomy. Nobody wanting to eat, watch TV or even speak to each other. Everyone walked around with lost eyes and drab expressions. It was the summer of 2005.Our plans of visiting Assam that year had to be shelved the last minute. Duty calls, he said, and sometimes priorities change, informed my better half solemnly. He was on election duty for the entire month! My  daughter's school holidays had just started and all our bags had been packed. We were crestfallen with the sudden change in plans.

My parents are movie buffs. When we were kids they always took us along with them to the theatre. Once the movie had been a blockbuster and ran to full house. We went for the matinee show but disappointment awaited us there. Tickets were all sold out. It was a hot afternoon and the return journey, without getting to watch the film, was long and torturous. I thought apprehensively about how my mother would now tell me to change into my home clothes and worse, take out my school books and prepare for lessons. I sulked all the way back home.

That day the world seemed a ruthless and cruel place. From time to time soft whimpering mourns would emit from me from the back seat of the car just to let my parents know of my displeasure and pain. Suddenly I got a flash of one of my favourite things, food! I  asked my dad if we could stop for a treat. My dad agreed. I immediately got all happy at the sight of yummy samosas and jalebis. Things didn't look too bad after all, I thought gleefully to myself  as I chomped on the hot snacks. The trip had not been a complete waste. Those snacks saved my day!

That year when our holiday travel plans got postponed and the long summer days threatened to stretch  bleak and empty, I had made a list of things I would do. My list was simple-Sightseeing trips around town with some photography thrown in, trying out new restaurants, reading a couple of books, learn to swim and watch lots of DVDs. That list was my hope. It gave me some aspiration to dream on and to hope that those vacations were not wasted after all.

Life is not always smooth sailing. Well made plans can sometimes get messed up. Hope is a good thing to have in such times. Finding little joys in the mundane can make difficult times bearable. Hoping that things get better, that things work out gives us a positive energy. And well, in the mean time there is always yummy samosas and jalebis to hog on!

Happy vacations everyone!