How to tell the world that you are in love- a bong woman's guide to glory :)

(This is something I wrote as a facebook post a few months back. Back then, I was still a corporate slave. A lot of things have changed since then. And suddenly one fine day it turned out to be one of the controversial notes that I wrote. Sarcasm, thou is not every one's cup of tea. And so are you Mr.' sen'se of humour :) A little editing later, the much hallowed note makes it's debut on my blog. Read on.)

Google is a wonderful thing. Nowadays every other person claim to know a lot and even more dangerously have an opinion on everything, all thanks to- yes! you guessed it right- "Google" [The veracity of what they speak and the grammar (ah! spellings) are completely different stories though.] So in case you don't know it, just google it..or log onto Twitter. But the point is not that. The point that I am solely concerned as of now is about the search options Google gives. Once you punch in a few words, it gives you suggesstions.

So I am this seemingly well paid corporate slave trying to unearth some data on the business profile of a client and I have to start from scratch. What better options than logging on to Google? I did that and was stumbled. Google gives you suggesstions like "how to get pregnant" (?!) No seriously! And then there was this one suggestion which really got me hooked- "How to tell the world that you are in love" You may laugh yuou heart out but how bourgeois can Google get? Sorry! but that's the only interpretation I can think of right now (with all the seemingly colourful activities going on around me :P) I have a few pointers though. The way you can tell the world that you are in love- or to put it simply to show off your High market value boyfriend/fiance :P Don't blame me it for being an inherently 'bong' take on the issue as you might well know by now that I was the one who had once famously propounded that -"Being Boing is a state of mind" (Don't believe me, ask a few people from NALSAR) :)

1. First and foremost- update your relationship status on Facebook. In case you doing that on Orkut, you are plain and simple orkutiya. Count the comments, and individually reply to each one of them. Behave as you are blushing and play the cat and mosue game about telling 'who is the lucky one'

2. Post some randomly nice pictures taken on prinscep ghat or victoria. Of yours alone....but make it evident that you were with someone. Of course! who goes to Victoria alone, until and unless you still believe in "Long live the queen" 

3. A few days back "someone's" mother gifted me  a Nabaneeta Dev Sen book. She writes there in somewhere about the crisis called love :) and she quotes a famous saying of her generation that Bengali men and women used to quite religiously follow- "Prem korbo jethay sethay, biye korbo baper kothay" (roughly translates to- Will love/flirt around with anybody or somebody, but will marry some one proper as per my father's wish). Sadly, this holds true for my generation and may be everyother generation to come. The generation befores iconized the proverbial 'love marriage' (the concept which the 'west') still fails to understand and nowadays it's not even looked down upon. But the truth is even more simpler. Love marraiges nowadays are more akin to marriages of convenience (and I am no where excluding arranged marriages, just that they are more 'to the point' :P. The bengali girl's heart, more often than not, reaches out for that software engineer from an ivy league institution and ample monetary opportunities. That background was heavy, but that brings us to the thrid point.

She will wear those off the racks designer dresses that he must have got for her and will gleefully smile at those jealous glances of her friends and tell them "O na baire thekey eney diyechey" (He has got it for me froim abroad). The more the glances, the borader the smiles :)

4. She would be th hottest chick having a ball around the town, but once he meets that perfect IITian boyfriend of hers, she will gladly move on to salwar kameezes. When asked she wil say- "O na amar low cut blouses pora pochondo korey na" (He doesn't like me wearing low cut blouses). Telegraph rightly said- "O boleche" is the end of the world! (sigh! for those non bengali speaking people who don't understand the greatness of "o boleche" :P)

5. She will speak  in hushed tones and will grin ear to ear about those constant phone calls and when teased about them in the family gathering full of mashi, pishi and didimas. And then the proverbial  bengali meyer ma (girl's mom) will jump into the action. Mind you that's another way to show off- "tutun er jonyo na ekta khub bhalo patro peyechi. IIT r chele. Software Engineer. Amerciay thake. Ora khub jorajuri korche biyer jonyo...chele to amar meyer jonyo pagol...biyer pore ora states ei chole jabe....newo na ei chocolate ta arektu newo na....oi pathiyechey..onek to pathateyi thake... chocolates, perfume, dresses....sob tutun er jonyo" (We have found a very good match for tutun you know. The guy is from IIT. He is a Software Engineer and stays in America. The guy's side is pressing for marraige soon....the guy is crazy about my girl you know. They will live in States only after marraige....have some more chocolates...he only sent....arey! he keeps on sending chocolates, perfumes, dresses for our tutun")

IIT, software Engineer and America. Three words and the magic is done on everyone....the mashima, didima, uncle, aunty....they will now discuss about the guy's pay package and the Dollars he earns. Recession, Credit Rating downgrade are forgotten words then :P

6. Trust me, she will never forget to mention the IIT and the America tag everytime a friend asks her completely unrelated stuff like "How did you meet?"

7. Last on my mind as of now...(but definitely not the least)....a person I knew once used to show off her love by posting cosy (ok! that's not the word)...ummmm seriously lovey dovey (read: toucht touchy) pictures of her boyfriend(s)...(she eventually married one of them) on a very public forum like Orkut....and the album was for everyone to see. so you know that next time you go on a date, know how to click pictures and how to upload them on facebook (orkut, sheesh!) 

P.S. Not everything written here is from personal experience, nor did I ever deny that I wasn't the true bong girl who doesn't mind showing off her Fiance who can buy her.....(let that be a seceret) :) :

A few springs in between....

                                                                                   I

"So, Mamoni! all set?"

Dr. Rajat Mukherjee was all smiles today. A glint of pain showed up now and then but he hid it well enough. He was proud, very proud of his only daughter Debolina. Getting one's PhD application accepted in one of the world's most revered universities is not an easy ask. Debolina had done it and how!

Debolina was happy. Relieved to the core. For years in to her graduate and post graduate studies in Jadavpur University, Debolina was always taunted by her relatives- for studying Literature. She was glared upon when her father's friends from medical school asked- "So what are you studying now?" and she answered back in a wimpish tone- "Literature, Comparative Literature." The presumption was always in favour of Medicine, Engineering or for that matter Sciences. But Literature came as rude shock to all.

And now she was going to Harvard. What an answer to all! A country where "Made in Vietnam" but "Marketed from USA" still sells like hot cakes, this was an achievement, nonethless. Dr. Mukherjee had arranged for a family get together before the day Debolina was scheduled to leave for foreign shores. Mrs. Mukherjee was busy attending to all. 

"Taposhi Di, take one more bhteki fry, please!"

"Laltu Da, one more, one more chom chom...this for Tukun"

Bits and pieces of conversation strewn across the roof followed Debolina, Tukun to her immediate family. She was ready to leave this place of her own, the only place she called home in her twenty two years of existence. She was excited about all that was awaiting her. But she felt remorse too. Boney mashi, the one who had trashed her future prospects as- "Useless!" a few years back came with a bouquet to congratulate her.

"Daroooon Khobor!! Congratulations! So very proud of you :)"

"Why are you so late Boney di?"

"Arey the traffic....so Tukun when is your flight tomorrow? Are you carrying woollens?"

"Take a few spices also....for immediate need"- Rani dida jutted in the conversation.

Tukun smiled. She smiled a lot, until she boarded her flight. May be that was the only way she could console Ma. Her mother who always took a backseat in every decision made in the household. Her mother who loved playing second fiddle to the awe inspiring personality of Dr. Mukherjee, her father. Her mother who did not cry a bit before she vanished beyond the point of security check and immigration cues in the airport.

Tukun looked up. The Air Hostess was here to ask for her meal preferences. She had a long flight ahead....and a longer journey.

                                                                                   II

"Are you looking for this?"

Debolina was startled! She was so engrossed in her search for her cell phone that she failed to notice that someone was standing right next. The Library still felt jolted to be waken up by the shrill sound of the cell phone ring. 

"Thank you so much! I just couldn't place it."

"Happens! Happens more in case you read Jhumpa Lahiri too much"

"Hey! you like her?"

"Well, being a Bengali, and that too a graduate student in an American University, if I claim that I don't like her works of Bengal, Boston and Beyond...I will surely be lying."

"You are a  Bengali?" Debolina exclaimed with joy!

"Yes Madam, 100% pure breed Bengali....I swear by my Robi Thakur."

Kabir had already extended his hand for friendship and Debolina couldn't refuse the easy going charm. Kabir, as she later learnt was a Bangladeshi. Debolina had first mistaken her for a Calcutta bong. To which Kabir had joked- "Snobbish Calcuttan, It seems you think all the bengalis you know hail from Calcutta and read in your convent schools. Huh!"

In stead Kabir Siddiqui hailed from Dhaka. A bright young Statistics scholar from Dhaka University, Kabir was also here on a full scholarship. Their area of research was way different, and the cities varied, but poetry and rhyme found them. And the language. Debolina had spotted almost thirty desis in and around her apartment and Department but none of them spoke her mother tongue. 

Language, what an amazing creation was it. Debolina sometimes wondered whether she would have taken that instant liking for Kabir, if not for Bengali language, a language they both communicated in. There were days when Kabir stayed back in her apartment for an extra cup of tea while they both hummed their favourite Rabindrasangeet. 

"Bujhley Debolina, This tea is a wonderful boon to us...the 'still' colonized souls from the British. This Starbucks fed nation doe snot know how much are they missing out because of coffee."

Laughter and a Joy Goswami later, Kabir would stood up to go and finish his assignment due next week.

Debolina, would wave her goodbye.

Two months had passed on since the day Debolina had left Calcutta. Her mother now knew how to use Skype and communicate. She wrote her emails. There were emails from her dad too. He spoke to her at length on the weekends. Today was one such day. Her parents were pestering her to come back home during the winter break. Debolina was disapproving. She and Kabir had made plans to visit New York around that time. A plan her parents would never approve of. She tried to divert the topic of the conversation.

"Bapi, you always told that our ancestors were from Dhaka"

"Yes, from erstwhile East Bengal. Why?"

"No generally. Where in Dhaka Bapi?"

"Bikrampur. but that was long back....why are you suddenly interested Mamoni? I say you come back this winter. Don't think about funds. You won the scholarship and am mighty proud of that. But I can fund your travel expenses."

"It's not that Bapi. I have lots of work pending here"

"Can't you come for two weeks?" Mrs. Mukherjee jutted in between the video call on Skype.

"Aha! can't you see she is telling that she has important work. you will never understand. But still Mamoni, try to come."

"I will try Bapi"

"Ok! Maoni I have to go now. I have an appointment with you siddhesh Kaku today. He is coming for a routine check up.You remember him right? His son is now working with Microsoft in New York. You can meet him during the winter break. He was thinking of visiting Boston too."

"I do Bapi and I have told you many times that I don't want to meet his son. I don't find him good."

"Ha Ha Ha, take your time. Signing off! Mamoni"

The window on her laptop disappeared. Sometimes she felt that her loving father was indeed very cruel. Very, Very cruel. He did not even let ma talk properly. She could not even say a bye. 

"Madam, busy?"

"No Kabir Da, come...look what I got...a brand new collection of Suchitra Bhattacharya stories. It's available on Amazon!"

"Aha! don't call me Kabir Da...how many times should I tell you that it doesn't sound good when a beautiful girl calls you as her brother. Btw, I am only 25 and quite eligible"

"You and your flirting."

"Madam, what will you understand of flirting. In this land of foreign beauties, nobody apart from you understands Rabindranath and Kadambari Debi."

"Aha!He was wrong. Kadambari was his sister in law."

"Debolina, when did you start thinking in the box full of black and white? Isn't there something called grey? Kadambari Debi was his inspiration."

Days Passed. The frolic and tinkle grew. Kabir was a year senior to Debolina. He had introduced him to many other Bengalis in and around Boston. Some were here for work. Some studied in the University. ! few were part of the IT crowd. Whenever they assembled, Kabir was always in the centre stage. Debolina's stolen glances caught Kabir busily distributing luchi aloordum to one and all during Saraswati pujo. The meet for Tagore's Birthday celebration found him hogging all the limelight for singing multilingual renditions of "Ekla Cholo re". He was the star. Debolina was his happy shadow.

"Your parents must be a big fan of Anjan Dutta right?"

"What?"

"Jah! You are from Calcutta and never heard of Anjan Dutta?" 

"Of course I have...but why?"

"Arey they named you Debolina after his favourite song, right?"

It was Ina di's house one summer evening where they had all gathered to watch the fresh off the rack DVD screening of the very popular and award winning Bengali movie of the year. 'Antaheen' as it was called. Rajeev Khemka, Kabir's batchmate had nervously followed him to this full of fishhead eating bong gathering. It so happened that Kabir had suddenly visited his apartment to find him doing nothing and being the strang head that he was, forced Rajeev into this. The Gujarati in him was very scared of being served non vegetarian food. It took a lot of coaxing from Ina di   to make him have the vegetarian pulao. A few minutes into the screening, Debolina was serving as Rajeev's official translator.

"What does Antaheen mean?"

"Endless wait" Debolina answered, only to be momentarily clouded by her thoughts of the wait that she was put into. Kabir was a Muslim. He was a Bangladeshi. Her father being the high caste Bengali Hindu Brahmin would never approve of the match. 

Was there a match? 

Kabir was flirting with Ina Di's sister who was visiting her from India in the other corner of the room. He was humming a famous bengali song to her. "I need you". Yes! that's what it was called.

So from Debolina to another songwriter's dream, it didn't take much of Kabir's time. Debolina often wondered whether Kabir even had a hint how since the New York trip of theirs, the stupid whispering of "Aami tomake bhalobashi" (I love you in Bengali) in the Central Park, her entire world revolves around Kabir?

Kabir obviously broke into a peal of laughter when Debolina turned a tinge red while being whispered those three magical words in Bengali. 

"Pagli!! scared you! Don't take it seriously. Actually the weather, the surroundings....can you not be in love right now?"

That was Kabir. Whimsical. He could make such fun of people. Debolina did not talk to him for the remaining two days of the trip. But she had to eventually give in.

"Madam, seems like you are day dreaming....what's the matter?"

Debolina was startled by Kabir's booming voice yet again. He was driving on the way back from Ina Di's house. They had dropped Rajeev in his apartment. There was a joke going around in today's gathering. 

"Odol bodol". They were obviously referring to Kabir paying more attention to Ina Di's cousin and Debolina sticking around with Rajeev for the entire evening.

"Seems like some one is turning green with envy."

"Why should I be?" Debolina reeacted

"Who told it's you? But, you may say whatever you like but Rajeev will take a million years to understand the pains behind Bhindeshi Taara (the distant star) in translation." Kabir winked.

"So who will understand Kabir Da?"

"Arrey, I was just saying that it has been beautifully sung by Anindya. The reworked version by Shantanu Moitra in the movie is quite good too."

"Don't divert the topic Kabir Da. You always do. Tell me who can be my distant star? ? My bhindeshi taara?" tears welled up Debolina's eyes while she spoke.

"Crazy woman" Kabir laughed. "Have you been possessed or something at this hour of the night? Ki bolchish? Go back home and sleep."

"You know how much courage did it take for me to ask you the question. You know it right Kabir Da? Who will under stand my language? that distant star"

"I do".

                                                                           III

That winter Kabir went back home. He returned with his wife Sakina. Kabir never spoke much about his family in Dhaka but whatever Debolina could make out from bits and pieces was that he belonged to a very wealthy political family. Sakina, who took an instant liking for Debolina, had later told her that she was the only daugfhter of one of the richest industrialists of Dhaka. Kabir and she were family friends. Theirs was a 'love marriage'. They had met at a party thrown that December in honour of Kabir. Their parents approved of the match and it didn't take much time for them to get hooked.

Debolina returned to India to teach languages at JNU. She later married a colleague of hers there. she lives in Delhi with her two kids.

(P.S.- All characters mentioned in the story are purely fictional. Any resemblance with anybody, dead or living, is purely coincidental)

  

The Wedding Story!

It's quite exciting you know when three months after the wedding, people are still gung ho about eagerly waiting to know your story :) the story. Well! I never officially published it on the blog. Never expected that there is an audience for the story too....then I never expected people to actually read the blog and write me warm emails about how my blog constantly remind them about Kolkata. And they being eager whether I will reply back or not :)
Woah! I am surely not a snob...neither a celebrity who gets fan mails by the dozens...but truly speaking your mail or word of appreciation truly makes my day :) Like every other Bengali woman worth her salt, I too wish to publish my book someday, soon enough :P.....just wasn't sure if somebody will buy a copy or not....Kind of relieved now. A few will see the light of the day I think :D Thank you is surely not enough :))

And for those who wanted to read my story...our story rather (Mine and Deep's) you can surely do that on our wedding website, the one we had prepared to share the moments of the big day with our friends and family before the wedding-

http://www.biswawedspaush.com/

Please do sign the guestbook. We treasure your good wishes dearly. It's kind of late and awkward but may be that's the way it was meant to be. I began content writing for it vehemently, but the wedding preparations took its own sweet toll. But then again.....have I ever plunged into anything which looks certain? No, and I don't want to also. Being certain is boring. Welcome to the tanginess of life. A hint of Phuchka laced with tamarind water.

Did it make you lust? Yes! that's life for me :)

B(v)idyang Dehi!

Firstly, I am too overwhelmed to write a proper movie review.

Secondly, I am no movie critic.

It's just that I am overwhelmed by the cinematic experience called 'Kahaani'. What a movie! What a city! and what an actor(s)! (sic.)

There is absolutely no doubt that I am a devout Calcutta fan. Needless to say there are many more in the blogosphere or for that matter, in this small place whose mystery is still being investigated by a certian Sheldon Cooper ;), but 'Kahaani' has shook me...after a long, long time.

Nobody, and this includes the over emphasis of the Howrah Bridge, the phuchka in front of Victoria and Moulin Rouge in Parineeta, has shown my city, the only city in this whole wide world I call 'home' so beautifully...unadulterated, pure, charming, graceful, pregnant with expectation, warmth...and lethal. The women organisations may debate on and on...but Kolkata and 'Calcutta' you are truly 'sexy' and a 'siren'. A 'sex-bomb' I say.

The best part about the film is the fact that in doesn't show Calcutta in that very stereotypical mould of the city of the past. It is about today. It is about the constant optimism that we Calcuttan's live with.....probably the only city that balances of its 'korchi na korbo na' tradition with the new found lingo of Sector V and Rajarhat. (It's completely different that I find Camac Street a class apart :))

You know what? I think Sujoy Ghosh is a pucca Calcuttan....not any other non resident Bong...he doesn't make that stupidest mistake that anybody commits nowadays and which makes Calcuttans like me turn back and retort- "Salt Lake is not Kolkata." I know you will cringe but the fact remains- it's still a satellite township which doesn't fall within the limits of the city. Sujoy Ghosh actually moves ahead and don't fall into that beaten formula of showing yesteryear's Kolkata means- Victoria Memorial, Park Street, Trincas and Cabaret. Today's Kolkata is- Victoria Memorial, Howrah Bridge and decorated pieces in some sleepy neighbourhood of Salt Lake. That mould is broken! Most importantly, Sujoy Ghosh and the DoP, Setu, thank you for showing Calcutta moments in a mainstream collage without adding any hanky panky which is so very associated with the cities timeline.

His Calcutta is very much the Nonapukur or Kumortuli we know. Or the bylanes of a smellingly old Central Calcutta house. And the very evident and bustling South Calcutta. Kalighat, Triangular Park, Ballygunge Cultural er pujo....uuf!! ki nei.

And Durga Pujo!!!! What a montage, what a use of Dhaaks in the climax. The very religious symbolisms turn into the imagery of woman power which kills and protects. Hats off! for even thinking like this.

And I will not talk about the performances. Vidya Balan, my dear Palaghat Iyer lady, you are an honorary bong  or rather a Calcuttan now...you know that right? Thank you for being so subtle and so unapologetic and proud about being full....film after film. In today's world of heroines (not actresses) so very obsessed with their frail frames, you are a worthy exception. And so very seductive. The film also showcases the goldmine of talented actors that Bengali cinema treasures. Parambrata Chattopadhyay, Saswata, Kharaj....each and everyone. The 'kahaani' of the film is it's true hero and the scriptwriting is- to use a teenager's way of expressing her first Valentine moment- out of the world!

And then there is that one person who has probably given words to all my emotions...every single time :) His song written probably quite a few years ago binds the thematic representation of the story at a level where we all identify. Probably he doesn't need any more reckoning and we are minions to  give him so.....but once again he proves, and a point well proved, that those who call him outdated are so very obsolete and poor (the word couldn't possibly match up to the emotional content of the bengali word 'deen').

The only character who overshadows all this and rises much beyond is the lady who is better known as the city of laughter, joy, warmth and tinkle- Calcutta!

Have you known a person who secretly dates his married wife while sipping coffee at CCD? I know one :) and he is mine :)))

Besides that weddings in the family..lots of occasions to dress up and a brilliant 'phalgun' in good ole' Calcutta is keeping me occupied. I will be back soon to tell the stories of the bright red polash phools soon enough :)

The politics of dressing up- Narrative 1

Almost a year ago I wrote a post about Saraswati Pujo which is, and continues to be, one of the most read ones on this space of mine. An eventful winter and many ceremonies later, this Saraswati pujo arrived and I finally got to attend one in person after five long years. The festivities, the mirth and the golden hues jamdani would make for an absolutely delicious feel good post...but I have some food for thought and winter adda too.

A facebook post doing rounds and being shared incessantly by many (including many of my erudite friends) shows the juxtaposition of two pictures- one old and one new against each other and asking a pertinent question of our times. The old picture shows an old black and white photograph of two young girl-ladies draped in traditional saris posing in front of the camera in their natural coy and shy manner. A sign of their times may be. I am no one to judge or comment. 

The newer photograph shows two young girls of (probably) Calcutta posing while showing off their well toned backs peeping out from the made to order backless cholis, on Saraswati pujo morning. The caption that goes along is- "erporeo ki bolbe meyera pichiye ache" (Will you still say girls lag behind?) or something of similar tune.

Having taken note of the question posed and the furious amount circulation which makes it in line to beanother stand alone joke on facebook- I do have a question of mine- How is the question of women liberation, blah blah and progress even related to the images of women dressing up differently probably on a scale of 100 years and being playful with their cholis? Does that backless choli ring your modesty bell, mister?

We really are a generation full of stupid people who judge beauty, development and progress by just the way we look...or the way we dress? who told that the person wearing Prada and who dines at the fines of the restaurants is not regressive enough to decide the perfect match for himself  going by the horoscope of the bride? (since that's how it goes till now in most of the cases)

Who is the one to decide that the real life jounrney of a brash young lady from a dingy South Calcutta lane to be one of the most popular and dynamic leader of a very complicated state in India is not a success story- a story of progress- clad through out in her taant sari and hawai chappals?

Who decides if the girl in Purulia who protests against child marriage and under age marital abuses clad in her simple salwar suits has not light years ahead of the girls posing in their backless cholis. I am not disputing their modernity, but who told that women liberation was all about dressing up? Will the brand of lipstick decide how far we have moved?

I am sure many people are conversant with the works of Ashapurna Debi, in Bengali and in translation. She had once very simply portrayed the tribulations and three generations of women empowerment in Bengal through her trilogy of books- 1. Prothom Protisruti 2. Subornolota 3. Bokul Kotha. None of her heroines wore fashionable clothes...but did that make them or the millions of women from post partition refugee families who went out to seek work and defined the economic independence of women in Bengal and India any less progressive? ( Ashapurna Debi was just my reference point here. The same goes with Ismat Chugtai or Mallika Sengupta.)

Who told that those two young ladies from that photograph had not moved ahead of their times while posing in front of the camera?  Or do we just judge a woman by the way she looks- till today? The backless choli hurts and we know why. We still want woman to conform to her very sacred and shy image that goes with our sugar and spice everything nice mindset. So we prefer them nicely covered. In case they are not, the Delhi CM goes out and issues a statement about women not 'venturing' out in the night- even if her professional commitments demand so.

In the end- the thought that clouds my mind is that whether I will be termed a hardcore feminist after writing this one, after all we are tagged one in case we think anything on our own and about our conscience. Thing about it guys!

Munch on!

1. I love the way he makes early morning tea for me. The perfect blend. The wonderful warmth :)

2. I have again fallen in love with cooking. The random aloo pneyajkoli bhaja that I try to fry for him in the nonstick kadhai before he leaves for office and I sit with my work in front of the laptop, gives me a high. 

3. I realised I have got too many expensive saris for my wedding. Saris I do not know when to wear. And that gives me more reason to shop and get a new pair of jeggings. 

4.Oh! that reminds I am yet to wear almost two new dresses that he got for me from Amreeka. And the brand new Tarun Tahiliani exclusive evening wear that I got as a part of my wedding trousseau from my shashuri ma :)

5. I am so bad at housekeeping...am yet to put things in proper order in mine and deep's new pad.

6. Tasted Litti for the first time with amazing chokha while we visited Jamshedpur, my hubby deearest's home, this weekend. Being the 'notun bou' I was pampered silly with all my favourite delicacies being cooked in one single weekend and awesome neighbours sending in sheetkaler peethey payesh. Truly speaking I am the proverbial city girl who can't sleep through if she doesn't get the hint of honking horns outside in the street (it's a different story altogether that my house and the location as such in Calcutta has gifted me many a envious glances- the ones I enjoyed to the hilt) - but I will agree with the fact that small towns have a charm of their own. Got to see his school, heard stories of adulation that he earned while he went to IIT. Obviously! I was a very proud wife then. Laughed my heart out while hearing stories of his idiosyncrancies. Each incident (and each day!) makes me realise that I have truly married a geek.

7. Finished a new Suchitra Bhattacharya book while on my way back from Jamshedpur to Calcutta. It was really chilly out there....but my shourbari's garden was beaming with freshly bloomed Dahlias and flowers I was not even aware of. My shashuri ma had packed a bunch of bananas from the garden's tree and I quite stupidly asked her whether thor (the vegetable) grew from a banana tree :P (blame my city habits)

8.A friend recently asked- "So has anything changed after marriage?"

My answer to that will always remain an emphatic YES! The wedding and the cacophony of Anandabazar reporting almost 'Londonesque' weather in Calcutta, I realize that I refuse to come out of that 'just married' state. And that is going to continue for a long, long time :P But yes, equations do change. Earlier my mom used to pester me whether I would be able to cook or make one single cup of tea for my hero hiralal after marriage...now she is the one who tells me not to work so hard :P

Jokes apart, Marriage (though I am no Baba or counsellor to say that) is a boon. It makes you aware, responsible and all that comes wrapped in the flavour of nolen gurer sondesh. Beat that!

Married!

Married!

Quite a crazily proud proclamation as it may be- but yes! am married....to the man I knew was the one quite tailor made for me. The realization had struck me the very first time we exchanged emails....and rituals, customs, lal benarasi sari, topor mathay bor, a rather warm December day and the big fat bong wedding over......almost a year later since the day we keyed in a few words through a very formal mail on our parents' insistance- I, sorry, 'we' stick to that.

People often ask me whether it is an arranged marriage, how did we meet and stuff. I suppose people going through our wedding website must have an idea by now(the one I laboriously did content writing for and my utterly geeky tech friendly hubby dearest supervised :p). We met through a very traditional arranged matchmaking set up where our parents talked first....saw whether our educational, professional and family backgrounds were compatible. But somewhere I started believe in the lore- 'every marriage is based on love'- without that it just cannot survive.

Yesterday or the day before that while setting up our new place in the city of my dreams- Calcutta- I asked him a question- "did we actually have an arranged marriage". "We had a marriage....a lovely one...Let's not call it names".

I think that profoundly describes it. He is surely the best best thing to have happened to me in a really long, long time.....and I hope it stays like that for years to come. I am not saying that because of the unlimited shopping bonanza he treated me to while in Bangkok. But for the way he held my hand and reassured me while that scarily dangerous snake show in Phuket. To the time we held and hands and took small baby steps in the pristine green waters in Phi Phi....Cheers....here's to many more to come.

Love you Deep. Stay the way you are. I love those fights we have over who is a better cook. And you know I love cooking for you. Thanks for gulping down the gibberish. Thanks for the wonderful family that I added to my own kitty. A mom in law who cooked me a proper six course Bengali meal on my birthday right after the wedding.

The day I turned twenty three, I was holidaying in Agra...visiting probably the most romantic monument on earth- the Taj Mahal with my family.....I had one day thought of finding someone whose love was a as pure as the "subhro sommujol" Taj Mahal.....never knew by the time the days took a turn and I grew a year younger, my life will be so different...for the better. Never knew I will meet you.

Thank you is not enough. **Touchwood** (Am very scared of the evil eye) :)

Musings

There are no excuses this time. I have been away for long..and that is quite wholesomely long this time. I was just going through my blog and honestly this looks like a personal update page rather than what it was intended to be. Not that I owe an explanation but just felt like saying it aloud. Or rather typing it with elan and facing the words on the laptop screen (since that's the end word for many things these days). It's the easier option actually :)

I have the utmost privilege of typing out this post while sitting within the comfortable periphery of my South Calcutta home. Yes, that's a privilege I have earned after quite sometime. For at least sometime in near future I will be in Calcutta...or at least I will prefer it to be that way. And it's crazy out here. 

The craziness does not limit itself to the never ending queue before the Jodhpur Park Pujo pandal on Saptami night. It extends much beyond that...namely the great Indian Wedding. My family is gearing up for dual  weddings this winter. My cousin sister is getting married shortly. The other one which will follow shortly, is of course...mine :))

Yes! am getting married...and I am already into that this red banarasi sari or that maroon one mode. I am truly enjoying my last few days of spinster hood. Same goes with my 'ogo shuncho' (a typical bong way of calling your husband..according to Hindu mythology 'supposedly' you are not supposed to take your husband's name and this one fits in perfectly...universally acknowledged, response guaranteed ;))

Wedding, yes! but what interests me more is the completely idolised and revered institution of marriage. What makes a marriage tick? Is it the grand wedding that you plan? Or a perfect lavish foreign  honeymoon? Or the solitaire?

None.

My fiance was away from the country for a long period of time and he finally returned home this September. I got to meet him only in October though due to our professional commitments. The first day I met him after so long, I generally kept quiet...for long. Anybody knowing me will vouch that this is not only quite unusual on my part but also that I have small bout of insanity. But we just smiled and looked into each other's eyes. And we smiled. May be that's just a part of it, but I wish to have this amazing journey with him..like this..always.

Of course I won't mind the Fossil watch or the kindle that he gifted me...or the amazing chocolates that he got for me. And more spicy food at Benjarong (Mainland China was such a disappointment this time- foodwise!). But those are just add ons :)

"jol jomeche buk er bhetor, rod er obhabey....."
 ar shakti chattujjey r koyekta line ei onibarjo shohor ke niye....kobitatar ostwittyo somporkeyi wakibohol chilam na....facebook er duniyata dure rakhe shohorta theke...abar kanday jokhon mon khuje beray pujor gondho makha shohortar kotha bhebe.

shotti ki kolkata chere giye keu boleche sukhey achi? ami bolini...ami janiona erom keu boley kina..hoyto bole..hoyto boley naa...kintu sobar ei mapkathir bhirey ami nei......

kolkata kolkata korche monta shokal theke...ei shohortay jara thakeni kokhono tara b odhhoy janena ekta shohorke niye kibhabe ekta okritrim fantasy gorey uthte pare...amar jemon ma er jonyo mon kandey, temoni kandey shohortar jonyo...ashole shohorta amar onek ta jurey ache.

hoyto ba aaj firley pore dekhbo je smritigulo aankrey ami boshey achi..je smritigulo niye meghomollar, tar kichu ba ache, kichu buriye geche amader boyosher sathe sathe, kichu ba swapner hatchani te pari diyeche bangalore, bombay, delhi, hyderabad...kintu oi shohortateyi atkey ache amar sotero bochhor boyoshta.

oi shohortayi amake beche thakar swapno dekhatey shuru kore...chotoboyoshey palatey cheyechi onek baar oi shohortar theke....oitukuni meye tokhon b oltam "ei shohortay kono opportunity nei"

aar jokhon aaj eto durey tokhon upolobdhi kori keno sob sobujer rong neel hoyna...sob neel keno amader chnuye jete parena..sob neel ke keno amra chnutey parina.....


amar boltey kono dwidha nei..aaj ei ekla ghorey amar sob peyechir araleo amar khed acha kolkata tomay chere ashar jonyo.....amar protyekta swapner modhye unki marey "kolkata jodi tomar kache firtey partam"