Ipsita Banerjee's Blog, page 19

Nearer

For some time now, the sound of the doorbell has been waking me up in the middle of the night.
At first I tried to ignore it, I would stay in bed and pretend it did not ring.
Then some nights I went to the door and looked through the eye-hole and dismissed it because I could see no one there.
A few nights ago the doorbell rang again. This time I went out there in the dark and yanked it open.
I could not see anyone there.

Last night there was a knock on my bedroom door. 

The tiger under the bed.

As a child I sometimes went and visited and stayed with cousins during holidays. One such visit really broadened my horizon. The cousin's place was a fairly big old house with quite a few rooms. Unfortunately, however, we were never allowed to explore the rooms or even enter them. This was, because my aunt assured me, there were "baghs" (tigers), "jujus" (loosely translated as ghouls or the flesh-eating-undead) and "bhoots" (ghosts) in every corner. Specially as night fell, these creatures would lurk behind curtains, hide in dark corners and basically attack us if we shouted, played loudly, disobeyed the elders, fussed over our meals or did not sleep at the assigned bedtime. As I had never encountered any such creatures in my own household, predictably, I was fascinated. And, I must admit, more than just a little frightened. I returned home soon enough. One day while we were sitting for dinner, my dad asked me to get my grandfather's glasses from my grand-parents' room. The room in question could be reached after a short walk down a rather dark corridor and was itself lying in darkness. I would have to reach it, fumble for the light and then search the room for the glasses. We lived, it is to be remembered, in a older house with large rooms and more than enough furniture. With the new creatures occupying my head, the task was daunting. So I mumbled something about a tiger. My father stopped mid-sentence. Tiger? he was shocked. And angry. The next thing I knew he had a torch in one hand and I was accompanying him to find the animal. Frankly, I was scared but did not dare argue. Obviously, my dad did not switch on any lights. He made me look for that tiger with the torch light, even sweeping the beam under the beds. In the end he finally switched on all the lights and made me check again. I was convinced there were no tigers (or the like) out there. When my daughters were young, many a time, many a maid, relative or well-wisher used to  attempt to coerce obedience by talking about  jujus and tigers and ghosts. I was resolute that my kids or even their friends would not ever be threatened with such creatures. I was very vocal, even rude about it. But I absolutely would not have my girls growing up frightened of the dark or strange creatures that just waited to pounce. And even now I frown when I meet kids who have strange creatures planted in their head. I keep insisting that none of it is real. And they look back at me wide-eyed as though I am talking in some strange tongue. "Real life has enough to be frightened about," my dad used to say, " do not burden yourself with nameless fears."
So true. 

Prayer

It was one of those things. My mom probably said it first: that she wanted to see the Grand Canyon. And my father promised to take her. Then somehow it became one of those larger than life things that you aspire to do.
The other day, at the dining table Ajoydada asked me why Sedona? Who on earth even heard of Sedona? And I found myself telling him about that last night I ever had a lucid conversation with my dad, that night before his operation... And I mentioned that even that night he was waiting, " let me get well," he said, " you and I, we will go..." The tears threatened to well even as I said it.
So I didn't tell anyone the rest.
I didn't say how, near the end of his life, when pain was the only constant companion my father had, he called me to has side and told me to pray. "There's so much I still have to do," he said, " so much undone. I have to die to be born again, study, grow up and only then can I finish all I wanted to do. So pray for me. Pray that I die, so I can live through your eyes, so I can live again."
I do not know if he was right or wrong.
I do not care.
But today, a few days away from a much awaited trip to the Grand Canyon, I have to say I feel I am not here alone.
And yes, back then,
I prayed. 

New York, revisited

"....you go dancing through the doorways
just to see what you're gonna find
leaving nothing to interfere
with the crazy bends of your mind
And when you finally reappear
at the place where you came in, 
you've thrown your love to all the strangers
And caution to the wind."

New York City. Much louder than I remember. And bigger. That's the thing that always struck me about the US, it's huge. When we were here as kids I remember telling my dad about how much bigger the skies here are, how the fields and the roads seem to stretch forever! He laughed at me but I think he's here with me somewhere and he agrees with me. Now, sitting on an Amtrak train that's transporting us go Niagara, I gaze at the scenic Adirondack and reiterate my theory: If it seems bigger, it must be the USA.
Anyway, back to New York City. What can I say about it that hasn't been said already?
We stayed in West NY close to the Lincoln Tunnel. Outside our window the Manhattan skyline reflected it's many myriad moods throughout the day. In the city we walked. I mean really walked. I have two girls with several degrees of aching muscles following me about... Not to mention my own. Did the whole Times Square Central Park circuit with the Empire State building and the Rockefeller Centre thrown in. The tavern in Central Park, Strawberry fields, chicken from the Halal guys on 53rd and 6th, even freezing vodkas in ice glasses at the minus five ice bar! We were intermittently joined by my cousin Jayashree who drove in all the way from Massachusetts just to meet us and who  I met after years and it made things that much more interesting. How can I forget the ghost of Johnda or the loo break at the Plaza Hotel?  We also did Wall Street, Chinatown and the 9/11 memorial. The Brooklyn Bridge, the Staten Island ferry and the works.... The list goes on and on.
Hectic? You bet it was, but isn't that hectic pace just what New York city's all about....? No bites please, I just sank my teeth into the Big Apple!
Picture credit: Amitesh Banerjee. 

empty

It is dark, I reach for the light switch and find it does not work. I have the key in my hand. I fumble for the lock, open the door and enter.It is just as I expected, the furniture arranged neatly, the summer night fragrant and the curtains billowing in the wind. I smile to myself, knowing it is you who creaked those windows open, not willing all that dust and mustiness upon me. I arrange myself on my side of the aged worn-out sofa. The springs sing out, I place the glasses on the low table and wait.I do not have to wait long. I know exactly when you come and occupy the empty seat across me: we raise our glasses in a toast and smile into our lives. Like we have been doing for the last twenty-one years."All is not lost", I hear you say, wistfully, almost to yourself. And I find myself smiling through my tears . Unable to say all I came to sayand for which there are no words anyway......
And when I close the door behind me, the walls heave a sigh.All that remains are two dust rings on the table.And a room full of empty.

Blogging from A to Z April Challenge: The Blogging from A to Z April Challenge Reflections Post 2014 #atozchallenge

Blogging from A to Z April Challenge: The Blogging from A to Z April Challenge Reflections Post 2014 #atozchallenge

http://asliverofmoonbeam.blogspot.in/...

Reflection. The A to Z Challenge.

Frankly, I had no idea such challenges existed. I had no clue that bloggers from all over came together like this. To me, my blog has always been a slightly wider expression of my personal space, visited by friends and the very occasional stranger. I heard of the AtoZ Challenge on twitter. And frankly, a lot of people thought I'd lost it truly and completely when I took it up. But here I am, patting myself on the back for having successfully completed it!
Well, looking back on the challenge, it was a bit difficult at first and I found myself trying to pre-plan it. Some posts came from the blue and some I had to mull over. Some I pre-scheduled and some came to me when I needed it most. Bingo! There it was!
And yes, I had a lot of fun. I specially recall discussing with a cousin the letter H. We spoke about so many things: home, husband, holiday, house, home-sickness, the list was never ending. Come the H morning I was full of which one to choose and there it hit me right between the eyes. H for Horror! How could anything else go there?
I think it's a great idea, so a big thank you to all the organisers and the people who made this little adventure possible. And thanks too to all the new friends I have made, the kind strangers who visited and stayed long enough to write a few words.....it has made a lot of difference to me.
There's just one thing: Since 30th April, I haven't had much to do. I miss that little espresso shot of words that greeted me each morning!!!

'Z' is for Zumba Fitness

Ah, Zumba! It's quite the rage nowadays, isn't it? Everywhere we go there are these ads screaming in your face for attention. In the Clubs and gyms all these glamorous ladies are signing up for Zumba classes. It's the latest in fitness.
Let me share my experience on the topic. A few years ago when we were in the UK and at the HMV store, in particular, my eyes fell upon a Kinect Zumba DVD. I pounced on it. You see, in spite of having two left feet, I like the idea of dancing, specially the Latin American types, (imagine Antonio Banderas in a tuxedo with a rose in his teeth) and Zumba sounded like fun. That DVD cost a pretty penny (thankfully my husband still does not know exactly how much!) but I said to hell with it and mentally justified it on the money I would save by not taking up a gym membership completely unmindful of the fact that I have never had a gym membership! My daughters who were at a more impressionable age at the time took one look at the sexy midriff on the cover and were shocked, "you will have to wear that to do zumba?" they asked. I didn't have the heart to tell them that I would never dare wear anything like that, zumba or no zumba. In any case, we got home and the DVD predictably, gathered dust. Then one day, I found it while looking for something else and knew I just had to do the Zumba! Obviously, I needed a partner in crime. Who better than my niece who incidentally is also a Z : Ziggy. The stage was set. Late afternoon we drew the curtains and started on the beginner course. As I said I have two left feet. I can of course wriggle my butt like anyone else but steps and all leave me cold. Ziggy coped better than I did. We both huffed and puffed and sometimes banged into each other during the first session. The next day everything ached. We decided it was no time to give up and huffed and puffed through it again. The third day our joints hurt a little less, the moves seemed easier. We wondered whether we should move up to the intermediate course. We decided not to push it. My daughters watched us and were alternatively amused and embarrassed. Then came day five. We tried the intermediate course and congratulated ourselves on our accomplishment. That was it. Something or the other came up and the DVD again gathers dust. Ziggy left school and went off to Bangalore for her studies. As for me? If anyone asks me if I want to join Zumba classes, I smile knowingly and tell them 'BTDT"(Been There Done That)!!!

'Y' for you, yes, YOU (who did not believe in me)!

I guess we all have positive and negative influences in our lives. I've had my share of both; but let's just talk about the negatives today.

That uncle who went around telling anyone who would listen that I was a drug addict just because I had a mind of my own and did not conform to his idea of a "good girl". That Aunt who shook her head and said I would come to 'no good' . Those relatives who shook their collective heads and berated my father for sending me to an unknown city for my education instead of getting me married. Those classmates who thought I was cheap because I talked to BOYS! Those friends I have now out-grown, whose constant whining about the in-laws I cannot stand, the ones who blamed me for all their nonsense just because I was rebellious and easy to blame. The teachers who said I was difficult and would fail.. Those relatives who said I was cold-hearted because I did not cry in public when my father died. That brother-in-law who had the gall to come and tell me when I was getting married that I had made a good 'catch', after all no one expected me to amount to anything. That acquaintance who wondered how my friends endured my scarred face. The other one who wondered how I get along and have so many friends since I am not fair and hence not 'good-looking'!

Shocked? Hurt? I guess I was at some point of time. Yet, I got over it.

So here's to YOU. The ones who did not believe in me. The ones who bitched and cribbed and made me feel small. At the time I said 'up yours' and moved on. But now that I think about it, you made me what I am today, you helped me grow a thick skin, you helped me believe in me.
You made me strong.
Thank you!

'X' is for Xaviera

When I was in my teens, I was heavily into the secrecy thing. And privacy, to the extent that strangers (especially strange boys) I met were often not told my real name. I'd fabricate one on the spot and lie about everything. This stupid quirk of mine got me into a lot of trouble as you can imagine. I also sometimes wrote to this youth newspaper called "Asian Age" which invited short stories and poems from it's young readers. The pen name I chose was Xaviera.
Ah. Why Xaviera? I guess it sounded exotic enough and it began with X. The unknown, one of the most uncommon letters to start with, or so I thought then. So here I was writing stuff and sending it along and lo and behold some actually got published by the paper! I was over the moon with joy but when I showed it to my Dad, he was less than impressed. "Why not use your own name?" I had no answer to that. I went away quietly.
After Dad died we went through a lot of his papers and stuff. One file contained a whole lot of my school stuff. The first prize I got for Art at age four, the birthday cards I made him as a child, stick figure drawings, leave letters, notes written in a rounded baby hand and certificates of merit earned over the years. And among all of those were two newspaper cuttings. One poem and one article written by some 'Xaviera.' I couldn't stop crying.
Now the two articles are yellowed and frayed. But they still have pride of place on my daughter's desk!