It Broke...

Someone had given me a string of beads- something that I wore on my wrist everyday, for the last two years at least!
Suddenly, a week or so before I left for Budapest, it broke. In the whirlwind that ensued, I did not get time to rethread it, but nevertheless, I carried it close with me. It travelled with me all the way to Hungary.
One day, I saw that the beads were coming apart- I realised that it was time I put everything aside, and restring the beads. I did so- but only to realise that it wasn't as tightly and strongly strung as before. I figured out that, for the time-being, I just need to let it be the way it is.
When I go back home, I shall try and get it strengthened- I shall have a leather thong reinforcing the back, and new thread to run through the entirety. It will be as strong as before, if not stronger- at least, I am not going to give up without trying. After all if it has been with you for so long, and if it is so dear to you, its worth it, isn't it?

Yet more thoughts....

I feel loved, empowered. I have friends. Friends who care about the strength of my coffee, friends who care whether my blanket has slipped off, friends who care to shout at me if I don't study- friends who stood by me when I felt utterly helpless.

Can I thank them enough? Would it be an insult to them? Could it create a wall between us- and our friendship? Just to let them know- they are always there in my thoughts and prayers...

Fleeting thoughts...

I want to run away
I want to go where its safe
I want to close my horizon
I want to rise within myself
I want to go and lie in a corner
I want the warmth of my street, my home
I want to touch everything that is familiar
I want to rid myself of this quaking
I want to physically limit myself
I want to expand emotionally
I want my mother, my father
I want to wake up to the barks of my dogs
I want to go home

For the past few days, I have been pretty unsettled. I am giving up my apartment which was home for me for the past few weeks, and have already (temporarily) moved in with friends. I cannot stay in my apartment any longer. For various reasons. I cite only the financial ones.

This Christmas, I think I shall be away from my family. My first Christmas and New Year's away. I am not even with my lover. Granted- there are many others here facing the same situation. I am not complaining. It is just that I miss my parents.

Recently, there have been demises amongst near and dear ones. It has made me realise how mortal my parents are. Larger than life personalities often make you forget that they are made from flesh and blood. I don't want to be away in case something fatal should befall them. I want to be in a place where I can reach them within a few hours.

I needed to take this opportunity- to come abroad for further studies- and I am not doing all that badly. But what I constantly keep on asking myself is- is it worth it?
Sometimes I feel like a selfish prick. Being away when they possibly most need me. I could have been home, hunting around for a job of my liking, looking after my parents, and possibly blamed myself for the rest of my life for not taking this opportunity up- but I would have been happy in my own, limited way. Ever-expanding horizons want to make you run. But sometimes, it is necessary to stop.

God, grant me the strength to hang on till the end of this course- and grant my family and lover the boon of health. I need to be back with them. I need to be there for them, like they have been for me.

Pujas in Hungary

It has been a while since I last blogged. In the mean time, I have covered my first module, and am almost through with my second module. The pressure of the course has not given me much time to think. However, I have had to take some time off in order to sort out some messes that were happening with my flat-mate.
It is important to understand each other when you come from two vividly different cultures. Why abroad? Take India as an example- East barely understands the West, and the North and South seldom meet. However, it takes time- especially when you are put into a situation where you have to deal with each other- at least the minimal requirements need to be met.
Now that all that is sorted, for the time being, I have had time to dwell on my being away from home. Do I miss home? No. Do I miss the people? Yes. Despite whatever misunderstandings I have with my dad, I miss him. I miss mom too, but at least we manage to speak a fair amount. On the other hand, one person who I used to speak to a lot at home, but can barely ever now, is my sister.
I miss my dogs as well. I miss cuddling the puppies, cribbing about feeding them and taking them out.
Perhaps all this has become more vivid for me for its the Pujas back in Kolkata right now.My friends, my family- all of them make my festivities come alive, no matter what. Whether it is just a five-rupee road-side chat, or a 5000-rupee dinner at the Taj, it doesn't make much difference- the fun and the bonding is not here, somehow. Perhaps it is because of the cultural differences, or perhaps it is because of the lack of familiarity.
I have some really amazing friends here- they are really nice, and have made me feel as comfortable as I could ever be- considering the fact that I am away from my partner and my family.
The only problem that I find is that I don't seem to have any commonality with them. I cannot bond with them as I would like to. Perhaps it is a little early in the day to decide, but I definitely hope it improves.

Hung(a)ry

So much has gone by in the last two months that it is difficult to coherently recall everything. Water's flown under the bridge- and the rivers changed almost on a daily basis. From the Ganges to the Damodar, and finally to the Danube.
I am in Hungary, as I write this. Budapest, to be precise. Yes, the visa finally came through. I reached Mumbai, and met up with my sister, my brother, my sister-in-law, my nephew, and a whole lot of friends! It was wonderful! I felt I would really miss everything once I had left the country. It hadn't yet sunk in.
Here I am- 6 days old in the Paris of the East. And I still don't feel it. It is not as if I don't miss everyone and everything. It is overridden by the anticipation of a future- of new adventure awaiting me around every new corner. About being ever so close to Mantosh.
My first leap out of home- and I am not just outside the country, but on a different continent altogether.
Since I arrived, I have been connecting with people. My friend Oliver, his parter Istvan, and their dog, Gustave, have adopted me. Had it not been for their affection and support, perhaps, I would have behaved like a lot of other people- jittering in their intentions, and so on! However, I think I have made a few great friends already!
I am still waiting to get my apartment. Hopefully, it shall be soon. I am sure it wont be anything better than a hovel, but it shall be mine!
The Central European University greeted us with a party of champagne and caviare. Somehow, that did give me the feeling that we were about to be ground into fine caviar-like paste, and canned- and this was merely the taste of the future!
The people at the institute are extremely helpful. I would personally recommend the institute to anyone interested in studying certain disciplines. If you need any help, let me know!
The first day that I was here, I went off with Oliver to check out my new institute, the basilica next to it, and his workplace next to the basilica!
Somehow, I had not expected Budapest to be SO beautiful. Its been a breathtaking experience. I just hope this high continues, and helps me drive through and thrive.
Enough for now- I need to read up for tomorrow, and its a long gruelling day ahead!

Orissan Rhapsody

My original stay here was supposed to be for 3 days- and then a trip back. It was Ritu’s birthday on the 1st. Instead, now, I am going back on the 10th- a day before Mantosh’s arrival to Kolkata. When I came here, I carried with me The Bancroft Strategy and little else. Luckily Antz came down here, and I went across to her place to meet her. There, I procured two books (borrowed feathers) which are not available in Bhubaneshwar as far as the eye can see- Wodehouse’s Empress of Blandings, and another of Jeeves’ inimitable adventures with his sidekick Bertie (so I’d like to think).
Never did I think that re-reading about that exquisite porcine creature called the Empress of Blandings would give me so much pleasure. It filled out the little voids that I was feeling everyday- of going back to my hotel room and surfing through a multitude of Oriya channels. The fifty-seven-thousand-odd calories that a pig is supposed to consume consumed me. That is what happens in a city like Bhubaneshwar- no Baristas, no malls, searing heat, and little else.
Work has been a bitch for a while now. For reasons best known to the powers-that-be, I am going through one of the most trying periods of my work tenure- which, as it happens, is about to end in less than a month now. I shall be off to Budapest for my LLM in August (for the uninitiated that happens to be the capital of Hungary) and I need time to wrap up my personal stuff as well.
Staying away from the family for such an extended period of time has given me a newfound sense of longing for the homefront. I am dreading going back home to the yelping dogs, complaining mother, and passive smoking but even if you pay me a gazillion bucks, it is not going to stop me from going back to the wagging tails, the warm hugs, and dad’s wisecracks.
One thing that has helped in my surviving the boredom and borderline depression is my Little Calcutta- Oxford Bookstores. The familiar red wallpaper, the green bookshelves, the Cha Bar, the fancy kettles, and, above all, the books! If this city is starved of anything, its books, by which I don’t mean studybooks. The Lord above knows how many stores there are here to aid the IITJEE training centres and so on- but hardly any store which sells good books. This time round, twice, I landed up buying Alexander McCall Smith, instead of (the first time) Shashi Tharoor, and (the second time) Marquez. Mma Ramotswe, with her infinite good sense has never been a let-down. She gives you a sense of what is right and wrong in a way which only a Botswanian could.
It reminds me of an erstwhile India- where your wealth was judged by the number of fat cows you had (and that does NOT refer to the number of well-fed women in your harem), where you ran a car till it died of old age, where typewriters used to click-clack down office corridors instead of the tick-tick of computer keypads. No, I don’t miss using typewriters. I miss that pace. Who would have ever thought that Calcutta would actually start moving faster than mere Ambassador Cars?
Yet, despite all that, the chat sessions over tea and coffee (the number of CCDs and Baristas more or less account for the one trait of the bygone eras which has stuck around) continue. People actually spend a fair amount of dough over a cuppa outside their homes. I was struck by a statement by one of my colleagues recently at a hotel in Bolangir. She was surprised that a cup of (really nice) coffee there could cost as much as 6 rupees! That was what made me feel- our capacity to spend 60-70 bucks over a passing cup of caffeine without batting an eyelid is, despite most comparisons, somewhat of a progress.

Enough ramblings. This is what the Orissan heat does to you. Enjoy!

PS- My ticket for the 9th night train is done..I shall be back to the City of Joy on the 10th and Mantosh is going to be there on the 11th.. YAAAAAAY!

Hope For The Best Curry

Servants have always been a problem in my home. For some reason, we don't seem to get a permanent household staff EVER! If they are honest, they don't work, if they work, they thieve, if they thieve, they break down one fine day, confess and leave! Thus, our kitchen sees a variety of cooks, but more often than not, amongst the four of us, it sees Mum the most.

This lady ABHORS going into the kitchen. Heat-sensitive that she is, she ends up letting off a lot of steam (apparently passed on by the pressure cooker)on us, and we end up looking like a lot of steamed lobsters- slightly overdone!

However, since generally my mother happens to be one of those extremely easy-going, happy-go-lucky people, she ends up in the kitchen, cooking for her (relatively) ungrateful family- ungrateful because, more often than not, I eat out, my father doesn't eat, and my sister is not even here!

These days, she has lost patience with proportions. What she does is throw together a few things, and pray to Lokenath Baba to make it come out just right- it might seem hard to understand, but every time she has done this, the dish has been delectable! This is what she calls her Hope-for-the-best Curry. Throw everything together and just hope for the best.

Her recipe goes something like this:

Fish/Chicken/Mutton/Egg/Veggies (SOMETHING!!)
Salt/Sugar/Soya Sauce (Yes, she is a lady who believes in the power of Soya)
Oil/Oil
Onion/Garlic/Ginger or Onion AND Garlic AND Ginger
Water (lots of it)
7up Lemon/Limca (for her to sip on while she happily martyrs herself for her family)
Turmeric, Cumin, Coriander, Chilli powders (preferably combinations-if you are feeling out of sorts go green and if you are feeling naughty, go red)
Hope (oodles of it)
Anything else that comes at hand

Fry what needs to be fried, and add the rest of the things with the water. Bring to a boil and let it simmer after that for 15 minutes. For chicken or mutton, its best to use the pressure cooker (this I mean). After that leave everything in the hands of God, and serve with lots of love.

Trust me- it cannot go wrong. At least, in this lady's case, she stands to be THE case in point, and her hope has never let her down- or us.

Love her for that!

When I held you in my arms

This is dedicated to all the friends who have come into my life, and for all the people to whom I had or have been friends.... its what I felt for them, and perhaps, what they felt for me, when we parted ways... don't judge it by its literary value, but by its emotion...

I held you tight when you cried,
Your sobbing head on my chest.
I stayed awake watching you sleep
just so I could be sure you rest.
I held your hand when you decided
against your best judgment.
I saw you piecing together fragments
of your life just for the semblance of sanity.
Yet when it came to the point of holding on
the part when two voices become one,
there was none- a silence devastating
hollowing, a phantasma from the past.
No present, no future.
Did we come together for a reason?
Did we love because we wanted to?
Did we deserve what we got in the end?
For the end justifies the journey, they say.
Does it hold true for us?
If so, why does it hurt?
Why does the scar burn, like an open wound?
Why does it feel like it was yesterday
that we parted ways?
Is it so that you can come back and soothe?
No longer shall I brood,
for it is a new 'we' now.
You came, and we became.
But its the past, and I need to let go now,
for the past 'we' is no longer there
and the present 'we' needs space to grow...

For it's worth it

Why is it that after you come out, it seems as if you have just given yourself the license to kill- or in this case, just do what the heck you want? Running roughshod over a person just because the person is in the closet is not the reason why you came out in the first place.

When we come out, we often forget about the pain and angst we went through while we were in the closet. We forget that this so-called freedom came at a great price, and because of that, we end up being judgemental about the matter when it comes to people who still haven’t negotiated that price.

Let’s take a case study- me, for instance. I cannot even remember the circumstances because of which I came out. What I do remember is that for the first couple of years, I was defensive about my sexuality- if you can’t take me the way I am, to hell with you and your brethren!

By and large, age took over, problems took over. I started realising that the need of the hour wasn’t to be defensive but to be acceptant of people around me. Everyone cannot be expected to be the same. My parents weren’t half as cool with my coming out then as they are now. Today, my parents actually accept my partner as a part of the family (and so do my dogs). However, it took a lot of bridge-building to get there.

My partner has been extremely supportive throughout- a little history for the uninitiated- Mantosh and I met in 2007 at the Rainbow Awards for the Siddhartha Gautam Film Festival. He was and is in the closet as far as his family is concerned. I am not. I am nothing more than a name for his family. But I am his life. That makes a difference to my life- and to our life. My accepting this clause took some time. I felt that by coming out, I had given myself the right to be in an out-and-about relationship, with acceptance from his family as well, just like my family had.

I used to feel hurt on some level- but what made my hurt disappear was when I realised what he goes through, trying to balance the home-front and the love-front. I am as tempestuous as ever, but I try and reason out my anger nowadays. I remember the hard times I gave him- the times when I wanted him to say something intimate, and he could not. There were times when he went and sat on the roof of his house, in a chilly Bokaro winter or a mosquito-infested summer, just so that I could carry out my tirades. I was taking my angst out in the comfort of my own room, on the softness of my bed.

Such reasons have often destroyed the rosiest of relationships. Yet, somewhere, it strengthened ours. It watered our tree of love to an extent where once, an immense storm blew, and not even a leaf blew away.

It takes a lot to make a relationship work out. Let us be a little easy on ourselves...and at the same time, let us not give up so easily...for it’s worth it.

Morning this day

Walking in the morning sun
A cool breeze wafting by
Dogs running about
Grazing by you as they playfully scoot around

The green of the leaves
Swaying gently in the wind
The sound of the trees whispering in my mind
The birds chirping and chattering

The swirl in my coffee cup
The steam rising
The phone screensaver
With my lover's picture

The smile on mom's face
The cheese omelette
With diced tomatoes and onions
With an ice cream sandesh to wrap it up

Life in 2010

It has been a good three months since I last blogged. So much has happened in the first quarter of this year that it has been absolutely impossible to clear my mind's cobwebs and sit down to write some sense for you guys out there.

This year brought about a few revelations for me-
a) that I am capable of doing things which I never thought I could
b) that the people I work with are selfless enough to think of money as a secondary factor
c) that the people I work with have become, in more than just a manner of speaking, extended family.
d) that the unknown areas that I am stepping into are making me a stronger person
e) that I am over and done with people who are snobs without reason
f) that it is impossible to find as much support as I have from my friends and my family- including my love...

My work scope has expanded immensely. From being a part-time consultant for SAATHII I have become a Service and Advocacy Coordinator for two states. At this time of the year, both the states, Orissa and West Bengal, happen to become boiling pots- especially Orissa. I don't know how I am going to manage the heat, but someone up there has some plans for me....evidently.

Around this time, last year, I wasn't sure whether I was coming or going. I was upset at myself for trying out for an MBA- for chasing after money wearing Barkat Ali suits are not what I ever thought I was meant for. Yet for some reason it seemed to be the only way- and then I got called for the final round in TISS- Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Mumbai- for MSW. That was the only silver lining in my life at that time. I had realised by then that I would be much happier doing what I was best at- advocacy, capacity building, etc.

However, TISS fell through- but at the same time, it opened up other doors for me. Rohit, a friend of mine, who went through the same rigmarole with TISS as me, works with SAATHII as well. He, along with Pawan, an old-time acquaintance of mine, as well as the Director of SAATHII Kolkata, got in touch with me, and asked me to take on a part-time legal consultancy with the Legal Aid Unit of SAATHII- something that I could do while practising.

By and large, I got more and more involved and engrossed in the work- and soon I decided that I no longer want to run to the courts, wearing a black gown and a suit in the searing heat.

Today, I have grown a lot. I have gone beyond the inherent snobbery that I had to a snobbery of a different sort- of achievement. Emotional and intellectual achievement. Financially, I am lagging behind a lot of my friends who are practising, or perhaps working in the corporate sector, but I am happy- which is more than what I can say for a lot of people. People who need to be defensive about themselves, for they lack conviction in themselves, for they are uncomfortable in their own skin. People who need to be happy, but aren't.

This was a lesson I needed to learn- and luckily I learnt it at no cost to myself on any level. Life is not just about Prada and Gucci. Its about having the gumption to trod the fields of the country while wearing Prada and Gucci.