Ipsita Banerjee's Blog, page 20

'W' for Wanderlust

If I could I would just pack my bags and head into the unknown. It's my favourite fantasy. I'd just get on a train or a bike or a car and keep going. No fixed destination, address unknown. Of course having a family and responsibilities is not exactly conducive for such adventures so I keep saving my plans for when they are flown.
For now, I move within the confines of my daily routine and go to Court and act sedate and calm and do my job but don't let my blank face fool you: For all you know, at that very moment I could be scouring the flea markets in Goa, or taking a deep drag from a chillum in Manali or riding a bike through some rain forest!
The options are endless!

'V' is for the View from my Verandah

Calcutta summers are hot. And humid. And sweltering. But come evening, there's a cool Southern breeze to calm the city down. When I am home and free, I like to stand at our verandah and watch the city as it moves towards the evening.
There are the school kids on their way home. The parents, the jostling, the crowded buses, the chaos. See that green thingie like a wheel in the right hand corner of the photograph? That's the sugarcane juice guy. And see the traffic, one big mess!
Turn to the other side. Some people have blocked half the road for some festival. They are making the pandal which explains all the bamboo and stuff, and the lines which are tiny little bulbs to light at night. And that car is winging my daughters home after a long day at school.
I love holidays, I love to travel but this is home. After a long hard hot day this is where I am, this is where I live.

'U' is for Unspoken.

I never told my father that I loved him. Our expressions of love was in our friendship, our hugs, our conversations...and I am quite sure he knew.
But I never ever can remember even one instance when I looked him in the face and said, "I love you."
He died one night and I stayed by his bedside and hugged him all night but I never said those three magic words.
I don't know why.
It's something I shall regret always.

So I hug my family and never give up on a chance to remind them that I love them. This time, I try to ensure that there will  not be anything left unspoken or unsaid.
So if any of my children are reading this, remember always, that I love you. And I am always there for you.
All the rest is irrelevant.

'T' is for Train-travel

My college was at Pune, at the other end of the country, so to speak. The train journey took close to 40 hours. It also meant I changed trains once to take the Deccan Express from this place called Kalyan, near Bombay. Yes, it was Bombay then, not Mumbai. Those days no one even thought of travelling by air-conditioned coaches. And, more often than not, it was hot.
So how did I survive these journeys?
Oh, I would perch myself on the top most bunk, tie a scarf on my head to protect myself from the dust and hunker down for the 36 hours it took me to reach Kalyan. I would read, sleep, sweat, eat everything that the food vendors were selling from jhaal-muri (puffed rice with stuff mixed in) to cucumber slices and would maintain a strict distance from my fellow travellers. Once in a while some people made the mistake of trying to talk to me. I'd like to think they are still smarting from it!
You see, I rarely had companions travelling with me, I was the only girl from Calcutta in the class and not being a very friendly sort, I had learned to live with myself.
This was such a far cry from the train journeys we took as children with the family. Mom would pack a meal, we would carry, water, biscuits, snacks and other munchies and it would be a picnic all the way. We also had a hold-all which carried everything from pillows to blankets if required. Dad loved trains, he studied the routes and the stations, together we followed the railway time-table and had tea at almost every junction! Those train journeys were part of the holidays we took and, usually, fun.
Even now, I'd happily take the train. I adore the chicken curry and rice they serve and it's the only place on earth where I opt for a tomato soup. I'd probably want the air conditioned coach and be fussier about the loo, but you put me in there with a good book and make sure the train has a pantry car and I'm good to go!

Travelling by train with the girls is a different ball game altogether. Even before we are on the train they ask twenty times how long it will take to get there. Any answer of more that 12 hours is met with resounding groans....and a grumbling husband, so we ensure we only take short distance trains.  In the first hour, they have eaten all the chips, drunk all the soft drinks and have leafed through all the magazines we bought 'for the train' that no one otherwise reads. The girls watch some movie in the lap-top. No one looks at the trees and fields whizzing by. Only my husband and I follow the stations and the time-table. When the food comes the girls fuss, that is too spicy and this tastes weird. Actually their tummies are full and somewhat crampy (I suspect) from all the junk they had been eating! Then they accompany each other to visit the loo. MANY times. So by the time we reach wherever we are going, I wonder why we didn't just fly!

'S' is for Solace

That day was my mother-in-law's annual shradh. Or whatever you call that once-a-year ceremony praying for peace for the departed soul. So I was up pretty early getting things ready and organised. By and by other family members dropped in. By and by they left.The room was quiet and still; the smell of incense and flowers permeated the air. My husband sat at the puja, on his right was the family priest. I chose a spot on the floor where I could lean back on the sofa and yet be of use if required. I had woken early, I guess I was also tense and tired, these occasions have a way of doing that to you. I leaned my head on the sofa, I rested my head on a bony knee. I felt a hand on my head smooth the hair from my face. I almost heard a whisper that everything will be alright.You see, I then realised, that, unconsciously, the spot I chose to lean on is the spot always occupied by my father-in-law during these pujas. He died in November 2012. But I'm certain he still sits in with us and is nearby at times like these. I like to think that the souls of those who love us never really go away. They wait for us, for when we may need them.And the thought gives me solace.

'R' is to Remember.

Yeah, yeah, there are memories and there are memories. Most of the ones are happy ones, ones we like to savour now and then , ones which never fade over time. We tell stories based on these memories, we share them with our children.
But those are not the only memories, are they?

Some memories are ugly and they hurt us. So we push them away far into the back of our minds and pretend they do not exist. I know, all the teachers tell us to let go. Surely, we train ourselves to let go but do we really forget? Do we want to forget? Should we forget?

I remember that time I put raw tincture iodine by mistake on a cut my mother had on her hand. She had faith in my first aid skills. How it must have burnt. The cut did not heal and it became a mess. My mom never complained or blamed me but I cringe each time I think how much it must have hurt.
I remember my father's eyes when he was in pain as he suffered from the cancer that had ensured that half his jaw and vocal chords had been removed. I remember him struggling to speak and his eyes flaring up when we could not understand something he was trying to say.
I remember the first time I visited a morgue. The bodies piled up and that stench that still has not left me.
I remember too the first train accident victim I saw. We were returning from Lucknow by train and our train was delayed for hours. I was in my teens, I was travelling with my grand-parents, curiosity got the better of me and I slipped through the crowds to see. My punishment for disobeying my grand-parents was right there.
I remember clearly the face of the dacoit that attacked us on a road trip. We escaped, but I can still shut my eyes and see his face, covered in vermilion paste, black and vile with rage.
I remember guilt. For hurting people I love. And it has made me remember to try not to hurt.
I remember the flames as they rose to devour my father's body the day I cremated him.

And I dare not forget. 

'Q' for Questions

When I was young I remember we had this cousin who came to visit with his family. He was an inquisitive child who was perpetually asking questions. I sympathise somewhat with the parents now but at the time I remember being aghast that the father always, but always told the child to shut up and not ask questions. Having been brought up to ask questions and having had them answered for us, this came as quite a shocker!
So when I had kids of my own, I obviously encouraged them to ask and always replied as honestly or as imaginatively as I could. But some questions have no answers.
Like for instance, when my girls were small they used to watch our wedding video on a loop. I wondered why. I soon knew. "Ma," they shrieked one day, "why did you not take us to your wedding?"
Ah, because then the wedding might not have happened, I am tempted to say.
or,
the younger daughter: "Ma, there are pictures of Didi alone but in my baby pictures SHE is always there, why?"
or,
on seeing their first on-screen kiss. "yeeew, why are they sucking the spit?"
I try to be calm, "that's an expression of love. You see, that's a kiss."
"Does Baba also suck your spit, then?"
Ah.
or,
One holiday they had sunflower seeds. I told them it's good for them. "So will I have sunflowers in my tummy?"
Of course!
All through the holiday, they would run up to me, open their mouths wide and ask me if I could see the sunflowers!
(Of course, I could!)

Yeah, questions are fun, questions are good.  But they sometimes wring the hell out of you. And often, they give you something to smile about later!

'P' is for Potty-training!

Ah, the joys of motherhood!
Potty-training. Something every mother has to go through. Sometimes more than once. How can we ever forget?  Those endless times we waited for the little darlings to 'go' in the pot and not on the bed. The times we waited and gave up only to have a wet child in our arms. I always said I dreamed of potty-trained new-born babies! When my elder daughter was born, I was told a strategically placed metal bowl would help in the mornings.... I gave up on that soon enough. My daughters, who are only 13 months apart, had minds of their own that told them to poo only when they felt like it and they then lay there smiling and cooing sweetly! I should have known right then that those girls meant trouble! Those were the days when at every party or social gathering all us young mothers would get together and discuss our child-rearing woes.... Diapers, Nappy-rash, Breast-feeding, the works... There were times when I thought I would never get past it! I particularly remember one holiday when we went to Kathmandu. We were staying at this fancy place that served a huge buffet breakfast. How I drooled over it! And spent most of the time running to the loo because one or the other child wanted to 'go'! That's the time I wished I had at least one son so that my husband could do the honours!
Like all things, that stage too, passes. You can actually go out without those bulky diapers stuffed in your handbag once more.It's a sense on accomplishment when your child tugs your hand and says "I've gotta go." and then actually lasts till the loo! You can wish back the dimpled smiles and cuddly morning hugs and tiny feet but I bet no mother wishes back the potty-training days!

So cheers to all the Moms who have been there, done that. As for the rest of you, hang on in there, this too shall pass! 

'O' is for Outsider

There's this nice little family I know. Mother, father and two adorable young girls. Their lives are not perfect, but all said and done they look happy.
Ah, did you say they have problems, which family doesn't?
Despite it all is where I'm at.
My family, did you say that is my family? Really, how have I been so fortunate?
You see, sometimes, I feel just like an outsider. Only looking in. 

'N' is for Nothing!

Nothing. What a versatile word that is!

When I was newly-wed, I sometimes used to ask my husband what he was thinking. Pat came the same reply every time. "Nothing". It took me quite some time to figure that some men are wired that way, they do not think so much all the time.
That is so unlike me. I am a compulsive thinker and there's no saying where my thoughts will take me. At one point of time I was keen to meditate. All the books told me to clear my mind. Think of nothing in particular, they said. Impossible, just the fact that I was told not to think of anything made me run the list from dinner to summer vacation to Ugandan politics!
When the girls were young and I was home, sometimes, they were unusually quiet. Any parent know that can only mean trouble. I'd enter the room and ask. "What are you doing?" Two guilty faces would look at me. "Nothing."  Of course, that nothing either meant the contents of the toy cupboard were all on the floor, or there was water and paint everywhere or some similar disaster.
As the girls grew older and their educational demands grew, they started studying into the night. I would wake up suddenly and hear strange noises emanating from the kitchen. The lights are blazing. I quietly ask, "what are you doing?" They jump. "Nothing," comes the reply. Of course, nothing means that the cookie box has been raided, the cola is over, the ham and cheese are on the kitchen counter and the girls are happily munching on something!
I get home, the girls are fighting. Right from the staircase I can hear them, just about getting ready to murder one another. I enter through the door and yell. "What the hell is happening. Why are you shouting like that?"
Of course, the silence is immediate. An answer is mumbled, "nothing."

Yes, this nothing-ness is everywhere. In the absence of those we love, in the tear drop that we did not allow to escape, in the quiet sigh of another day just before it starts. It fills my life. And  as time passes, I appreciate it more and more, what a lovely place to hide!
In fact, if you ask me why I just looked away and smiled, I too would reply, "nothing."