Reflections.. Images of Thoughts...

The girl and her doll

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Thu, 25 Oct 2012 20:30:00 +0000

The other day I was out running some errand, a bit annoyed that I had to go out in middle of the day. On the way back in the bus, I was idly looking out the window watching people. A couple of stops later, a young mother with her two little kids boarded the bus and took their seats opposite mine. The boy sat with mama. The girl sat with her dolly!

This little girl was dressed in pink (of course!). She was grabbing her big cloth doll, also dressed in pink and purple. After she settled herself on the seat, she gently made her doll sit next to her. Holding on her doll, she started talking to her. A gentle loving voice, sometimes animatedly excited, created a myriad of tales with her doll. The everyday busy city outside the bus took shape of a vibrant story. And she made me peep back to my childhood.

Like most other girls, I loved to play with dolls. And created my own world with them. When I was little, it was mostly having my favorite doll and dragging her all around with me. I would talk to her the whole day long telling all my stories as I looked at the world with amazed eyes. She had to be there while I had my lunch, played ‘kitchen’, roamed around in my grandparents’ garden, lied down by my grandma for an afternoon nap listening to her stories, and also at night she was by my pillow sleeping and dreaming with me. She was my friend and companion, someone to share my secrets and plans.

And still creating stories...

One of my very first dolls I remember was one made of soft plastic. She wore an orangish-red dress with black hair. I used to ‘cook’ in my tiny wok, and she used to ‘eat’. I would sit with my doll and some weeds and leaves, talking to her and playing. Once I pretended she was ill (maybe after I had to pay a visit to the doctor), and I took her to the hospital, by the banana plant in the garden! She is with me in many of my childhood pictures. She was there close by as I sat surrounded with other toys. Myself adorned in ma’s saree and holding her close to my smiling face. I was reading my first book and she was there reading with me. She shared with me little moments of my first years.

I never used to name my dolls. They were just ‘my doll’. I had this big doll with blue eyes that closed while ‘sleeping’ in my lap. She had a smart white blouse and a pinkish colored skirt, her hair neatly tied in a ponytail. She even had little black shoes on with white socks. I adored this doll, but never really played around with her. My favorites were some smaller versions of her, in colorful dresses. Every time I went out with my parents, I used to ask for a new doll. I would choose as mine the one with cutest smile and prettiest dress. Then on, she would be the apple of my eyes until the day I would notice her missing shoes and tangled vanishing hair. And it was time again for another new doll.

Once I made myself a clay doll. I shaped it and dried it for a couple of days on the windowsill. When ready, she was dressed in the dress from an old doll. Unfortunately, she lasted for the shortest time, just a day. Like with my other dolls, I kept her by my pillow at night. In the morning, I woke up with broken pieces of dried clay wrapped in a dress. My sleepy hugs had sadly crumbled her into pieces. There ended my creativity with clay!

All my dolls were with a single ponytail. Therefore, it had immediately captured all attention of little me when I saw this doll with two braids while sightseeing in Haridwar. I wanted a doll with two braids, and my parents would happily buy me one such doll if only we could find it. The last evening of our stay included a frenzy search asking at every store, ‘Do choti wala guriya hai kya (Do you have a doll with two braids)?’ My excited face was almost turning sad, when we finally found it. She was wearing a white frock with colorful polka dots. Her shoes were black and eyes blue. Two neatly done braids went down past her shoulders. Instantly I was in love with my new doll with two braids!!

The idle playing with dolls and chattering to her took a more creative turn when I was around 10. She was my last doll. She came in a greenish frock, I remember. I had learnt to stitch, do embroidery and knit a bit by then. Craft and making new things have always been my favorite activity. The girlish whim of playing with dolls and the creativity came together. My doll got a makeover!! She got a new dress, painstakingly hand-stitched out of my old clothes and other scrapes. Matching ribbon in the hair completed her attire. I proudly looked at her, awed by my own creativity.

Soon, the long summer afternoons after school got busy with threads, needles, scrape clothes and craft-box. A small shelf was turned into my dollhouse. I had bought from a fair little wardrobe and dressing mirror for the doll. A bit of imagination furnished the house with a bed and side table. The bed linen was stitched; blanket, pillows, little rug were made. There was even a nice printed curtain hanging. Soon her wardrobe was full of new clothes – homely clothes, dresses for going out, and party dresses for an occasion. They were in all colors and fashion. Dida helped me knit her a small sweater! I, however, was particularly proud of her school dress. A pale yellow shirt, a yellow-black checked skirt and tie. The shirt even had a real monogram! She looked perfect, like going to a real school. Her bag was full of miniature books I had made and my used pencil that had reached its end. A rainy afternoon inspired me to make her a raincoat using some thicker white plastic! Now, she could not go out in rain, could she?

I had my doll and the creative afternoons surrounding her for a year or so. Then I grew ‘older’. Slowly the doll and everything else found place in the craft-box. And the dollhouse got filled with my clips and earrings and bangles. That winter I made a Christmas tree. Next I needed was a Santa Claus. The forgotten doll was perfect for it. I stitched a cherry red robe with fluffy cotton adorning its edges. The doll got a long flowing beard and a huge red hat. My doll was perfect in her new role.

Years passed. The dolls remained in the shelves, not anymore a little girl’s confidantes and playmates. Yet, they are never forgotten. Stories and memories linger around them. They bring back to me childhood moments, those long afternoons and the tales we created together. The dolls are fondly remembered when I see some little girl with her doll. They are part of some most cherished memories of my girlhood.

And even though I do not play with dolls anymore, I still love to own them. The old classic ones with innocent eyes, naughty smile, chubby cheeks and cute frocks. Like the cloth doll Blaž gave me last year. Dolls, even now, continue to create treasured moments.

The smell and colors of childhood..

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 20:25:00 +0000

With the rains, the temperatures have dropped down. It is not cold, but the morning and evening air has this chill. And instead of the fan, I need something to wrap myself for a cozy sleep. Therefore, I decided to take out the thin bedspread from the drawer. I kept away the book on the side table. A bit of reading before falling asleep. Then wrapped myself in the cozy warmth of the spread. ‘It smells like India. It smells like India.’ I exclaimed excitedly and loudly with a beaming smile. The warmth of the bedspread filling my heart. ‘It smells like Kolkata.’ ‘It smells like my mother’s cupboard.’ I wrapped it around me more tightly.

ZOO, bold red letters on a blue board welcome us to the world of cute colorful animal cartoons printed on the bedspread. Red elephant with a tiny birdee on its back. The ruler of the animal kingdom, the adorable king lion. The spotted giraffes and stripped zebras. One monkey hidden in a tree, two other playing below it. The coconut tree. A red flower. A blue one. Camel giving ride and boy enjoying the zoo. The big blue wet hippo and the baby red one. Three fishy in a pond. Another yellow flower. An almost hidden silly turtle. The smiling sun. And a colorful snake close by. A girl in red frock holding hands with her brother. A happy colorful adorable zoo.

The colorful zoo

I had eyes on this bedspread from when I was a child. My mother used to spread it only on some special occasions or when we had close friends over at our home. The colorful bedspread thus got associated with many special memories. And all along I dreamed, ‘when I will be big, I will have it for myself’. Finally, last April when I visited India, I fulfilled my ‘dream’. I brought back with me this colorful happy memory of childhood. It was long waiting in my mother’s cupboard with other bed linens. It had the smell of the cupboard. The smell that was always in the air whenever my mother took out a fresh bedspread. A smell of detergent, and old fabrics, and new ones, the cupboard, all together. A smell that brought back cherished childhood memories.

We were all playing around the whole day, as parents were busy enjoying themselves. The two family friends were at home and we were having one of our ‘crazy’ get-togethers. Maybe we were playing ‘catch me’ inside the house. Suddenly one jumped on the bed. The others automatically followed. We ran up from one side escaping the ‘catcher’, and ran down the other. Our little footprints were imprinted on the bedspread. As if, some children actually ran through the display of cute and interesting animals in a colorful zoo. Little dusty black hurried prints capturing a moment of our playful rush.

There is this picture in my mind. Brother and me on our tummy on the bed, and completely engrossed in the animal pictures on the spread. Every time we used to ‘discover’ something new. The monkey that is hiding in the tree, the little yellow flower we had not noticed before, the boy in blue on the back of the camel. Or we would simply look at the animals around us and admire them. I loved the hippo in blue sometimes, while most other times the red elephant was my favorite. And we counted the number of giraffes printed on the bedspread. There is this picture of a toy train carrying the dolphins around! I often imagined myself in the same train getting a ride through the zoo. Other times bhai and me wished to be the little brother and sister holding hands and looking around in wonder.

The other day Blaž said, ‘It has a lion too’. ‘Of course’ I replied with an enthusiastic smile. And I looked lovingly at the cute ‘king lion’, friendly and yellow. Then I spotted a blue bird on the back of the elephant, almost hiding. I noticed that there is a pair of blue and yellow flower, and I used to think there is only the red and blue pair!

I love this bedspread. It had always been my most favorite. It still is. This bedspread brings back to me the little girl with two ponytails fascinated by the world of colorful cartoonish animals. And with the happy surprise it brought along the smell of India, the smell of home.. The colors and fantasy of the little girl and the smell of childhood..

Dadu..

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Thu, 02 Aug 2012 21:28:00 +0000

Dadu.. I was then just a couple of days old and had come home for the first time from the hospital. You eagerly asked dida (grandma) to dress me up. You wished to take me out in the neighborhood and show me off proudly. In the end, of course you were not allowed to take the newborn out then yet. You had to wait another 2-3 months for the opportunity. Dida dressed me up in a new dress that she had stitched. A little dot of ‘kajal’ adorned my forehead. You gathered me in your arms with lot of care and took me out. Beaming with a proud happy smile you showed me to all your neighbors. Your brand new granddaughter. Your Tup.

After the lunch, I used to lie by your side playing and babbling. I was then old enough to slowly start eating normal food. Dida prepared the feeding bottle with fresh fruit juice. Your task was to make me drink the juice. However, of course I had no intention to do so. I used to try pushing the bottle out of my mouth. And you coaxed me to make the ‘choooo’ sound. The sound as air passes through the nipple of the empty bottle. With all eagerness, I continued sucking the juice to achieve the sound. ‘Choooo.’ I smiled with an enthusiastic happiness showing my empty gums. You smiled looking at me. A little everyday game. A little smiling moment of grandpa-granddaughter.

My babbles had not yet turned into words then. Every afternoon you used take me out in the garden. You introduced me to the nature around us. And I looked around. My eyes full of awe and wonder. ‘That is a crow.’ ‘Look there, there is a house-sparrow.’ ‘This big tree is called coconut tree.’ You showed me. My eager eyes followed your words. I was able to recognize birds even before I knew to speak a word. ‘Where is the crow?’ Your granddaughter’s keen eyes looked around in search and stopped as she spotted one. My gibberish sounds told that I found a crow.

The whole evening I used to crawl behind you as you walked around in the house. My knees and palms black with dirt, my face shinning with smile. And together we created stories. I was too young to remember these moments. Dida told me all in her stories. I have requested her to retell them hundreds of times. I still do. I can feel your loving touch through her words. I can feel you in these stories.

And then I do remember other moments. I remember how every evening you used to take me to the VIP road. We would wait for ma as she returned from work. In the meantime, the glorious red and yellow of the ‘krishnachura’ and ‘radhachura’ flowers had caught my attention. I wanted those flowers and my dadu fulfilled my wishes. I returned home, both hands full of flowers. My face radiant, reflecting their bright colors. And as spring faded away and the flowers stopped blooming, I wished to have the leaves. Compound leaves. I still love those leaves. One day I tore those little leaflets and tried to fill the channel of the sliding door. I can close my eyes now and vividly ‘see’ my two-year-old self, busy with the leaflets. I can ‘see’ it even with eyes open; the moment is so vivid in my memory.

Every day after lunch, you had to get me one guava fresh from the tree. Your Tup’s wish. You gave me my first Cadbury ‘Fruits and Nuts’. I still remember every details of that moment. My excitement and your satisfied smile. I remember you giving me ‘cream cracker’ biscuits. Those are still one of my favorites. After finishing my own fish head, I wished to get the eyes and brain from the one in your plate. I wished to have a bit of the fried ‘neem’ leaves from your plate. To make me take the bitter medicines when I was ill, you had to bribe me with my favorite bitter leaves from your plate! As I returned home after weeks in hospital, you held on to me as a lost treasure regained.

I used to lie down by you, trying to imitate you reading the newspaper. My legs crossed. Often times holding the newspaper turned upside down, I pretended reading the newspaper intently like you. When you turned a page, I turned too. I felt so grown up and proud of me, being able to ‘read’ like my dadu. The books that surrounded you made me interested, and I was fascinated by this world. I am still absorbed in this world of books, often times reading in the same posture as you used to.

I had just started going to school. It was summer vacation. I came to your place and proudly declared that I had learnt singing. Immediately, you kept aside the newspaper in your hand, and pulled me closer. ‘Won’t you sing it for me?’ Showing off my newly acquired talent, I proudly sang ‘Jana Gana Mana’, the national anthem! You were so proud and impressed with me. I always had this habit of telling you and showing you all the new things, everything, happening in my life. I still have the yearning to do so…

I lost you when I was only four years old. I did not understand then what was happening, what is death. The next day I asked dida where you were. She solemnly replied that you went somewhere very far and would never return. I was surprised but somehow accepted it. Without any further question.That day as rain poured down heavily reflecting my loss, I did not shed a tear. I did not even understand the loss. I just remember you lying peacefully in eternal sleep, the house full of people, and the heavy rain. But when I think now, I am almost glad I did not cry. You would have never liked your Tup’s eyes full of tears. I am glad I never really said goodbye, because you never really went away from me.

A child hardly remembers anything from when she is four or younger. And yet I have all these floating images and memories of you fresh in my mind. The moments are so alive that sometimes I feel I can almost touch them. Your love and the memories we created in those short four years are so precious to me. You are so precious. I look at your picture on my writing desk, I feel you close to me. Nevertheless, I still miss you. Because I know back in India, I will just have the big framed picture of yours when I go to your house, as it has been all these years. And here I stand holding your picture, still longing to tell you everything happening in my life. And I do tell. I tell you all about my smiles and tears, all success and failures. Every decision I take, every important moment of my years. Tup still wants to make her dadu proud and share secrets with him...

And somehow I think and believe that my silent stories reach you. I can feel you with me, looking down at me with a smile. Even though I cannot see you, you are there. Aren’t you dadu? I know for sure that you are there. It is only that that I cannot reach you..

Dadu.. My dearest grandpa..

A bee story

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Fri, 27 Jul 2012 07:47:00 +0000

Red, green, blue, yellow, white.. All the bright bold and beautiful colors decorate their houses. The bee-houses. Each bee colony has its own brightly colored box in the house. As we drive around the beautiful Slovenian countryside, we see these colorful boxes cheering up the green-yellow fields drenched in golden sun. Every time they make my mood colorful and I wish to own one. Because these houses are bright, colorful and happy. Because it is about the buzzing bees. All these simply make me happy and smiling. We call them ‘Maya’ houses, from the Maya bee cartoon.

Blaž’s aunt Mojca lives in a very beautiful place. The house has a big garden with all sorts of fruits and vegetable plants. There is a small lily pool with fishes. Flowers blooming here and there add to the colors. There are no houses for meters around with only corn and wheat fields surrounding the place. And it is always so warm and friendly there. Blaž and I like to visit them. And as we went there for the weekend a while ago, there was another attraction added to the list. Uncle Janez is very interested in beekeeping and even used to have bee colonies. And now again he got enthusiastic and got a bee house in the garden!!! We were ecstatic. Specially me :)

The bee-house

In the soft yellow light of the morning, the bee-house was shinning bright and buzzing with the bees. They were going in and out, their usual busy self. Slovenia has one of the calmest honeybees in Europe. And anyway, with this air of highly professional attitude, they just meant business with no time for anything else unless they are threatened. So bravely, I stepped ahead closer to the house without giving any thoughts to the stings.

On that warm early summer morning, the beehive was thus abuzz. They danced to the nearby fields, their wings creating music, visiting flowers and collecting honey. I paid a bit more attention to the bees coming back on the landing of the hive with their load of pollen. They brought home two little bags of pollens on their legs. The sight was so amusing and I was all smiling to myself drawing the strangest analogy. I could not help but remember my dad on Sunday mornings returning home from the local market with two bags full of fresh produces and glistening silver fishes. The bees looked the same to me! They returned home buzzing with little loads of pollens in different colors. From bright golden yellow, to sunny red, to different shades of browns, the pollens told the stories of their flights, the flowers they had visited. Later when I tasted the harvested bee pollens, I could recognize the slight hint of difference in taste among the pollen balls of different colors.

Later in the day, uncle Janez told us the fascinating tale of the bee household. He was about to reveal in front of us the inner sanctuaries of the busy beehive. But not before I covered myself with the protective clothing and Blaž amused himself taking pictures of me. As an additional precaution, some mushroom smoke was used to numb the defensive reactions of the bees. The back doors of the beehive then opened, welcoming us to the meticulous world of bees.

Hundreds of bees covered each vertical honeycomb frame, busy with their daily activities. Some were building the cells, others were cleaning them, some were tending the larvae, and another group was preparing the nectar. The nectar was in different stages of its preparation. While some cells were holding the balls of pollen fresh from the field, others were glistening with the fresh viscous honey. The crystal shimmer of the honey tempted me. I could not help but dip my little finger in a cell and steal a droplet of sweetness. The sealed brooding cells nestled the eggs and larvae. We were trying to find the queen. With the worker bees always surrounding her, feeding her, and tending to the freshly laid eggs, she was difficult to find. Only after searching through many a frames we found her royal highness, surrounded by her courtiers, busy expanding her kingdom.

Though so obvious, I had never imagined bees drinking water. And my surprise knew no bound when Blaž showed me several bees at the edge of the lily pool. They were drinking water, their bodies vibrating in rhythm with every sip. Uncle Janez called us. He was about to demonstrate how the honeycomb base sheet is framed. Blaž of course had to count the approximate number of cells on each surface of the sheet. Does he love playing with numbers and calculating! I was more amazed at the simplicity of all the devices used in beekeeping. Almost archaic in look but most smart and practical in concept. Moreover, uncle Janez, so good with his hands, had made almost everything on his own!

Our whole day passed engrossed in the world of bees. As we enthusiastically observed those buzzing creatures, uncle Janez passed on tit-bits of intriguing information. In the warm rays of the late afternoon sun, we observed a little swarm of bees gathered in front of the bee-house. They seemed to fly at same positions, a few feet away but facing the house. ‘The young bees are having their orientation flight to recognize and remember the location of their hive. They are preparing before they go on their maiden flight tomorrow’, explained uncle Janez. He further clarified how the bees recognize their hive location with respect to the surroundings. The bright colors of the house have nothing much to do with it and are only for the aesthetic pleasure of the beekeeper. Well, of course, now that he mentioned it makes more sense. And here I thought bees recognize their hives with colors! ‘Mine is red, the neighbor lives in the yellow one!’

The eager and enthusiastic explanation and the fascinating buzzing world kept us captivated over that weekend. And happiest I was when last week uncle Janez invited us for another ‘bee lesson’, extracting the honey. Eagerly we went last Sunday, even though the weather was not the best for honey extraction, to enjoy another day amidst the buzz. The nearby cornfields were in bloom making the pollen bundles white this time.

With no hopes for the weather becoming any sunnier, after lunch, uncle Janez proposed to get down to the act. He decided to extract honey from six frames where the bees were already sealing the cells and demonstrate us the process. And I was like ‘I will do, I will do’ at each step.

The honey is extracted with centrifugal force using a big hand-spun centrifuge. We were working in the shed, hidden, so that the bees do not come smelling their honey. The first step was uncapping the cells using a fork. I was already getting excited as the honey almost oozed out while I was uncapping. How can one wait to taste that glistening sweetness! ‘Can I chew these wax?’, I eagerly asked pointing to the tiny bits of wax coated with honey resulting from the uncapping. ‘Sure’, said aunt Mojca explaining how even that particular wax is also healthy. ‘Blaž you must must try this’, my voice was with earnest excitement. The frames were properly placed within the centrifuge and I started spinning. First slowly, and then fast. The glittery droplets covered the centrifuge wall. And then it slowly dripped down. A bucket collected the rich golden goodness. An alluring sweet smell filled the air.

After a while, my ‘I will do’ enthusiasm diminished. Ah, it does need quite a lot of effort! My tired hands rested a bit as Matic took over the handle. However, in a while, I was back to the ‘I will do, I will do’ eagerness. Blaž all the while was busy taking pictures and making small videos, ‘of your happy smiling face’. ‘Now continue giving that cute smile and look at the camera’, he said. A quick look and I was back again engrossed in the honey. We extracted 1.5 liters that filled two jars!! The little bubbles and the rich dark golden of the honey mesmerized me. The bitter sweetness of the chestnut honey was blissful. ‘This is the freshest honey I ever had in my whole big life’ was my enthusiastic exclamation! ‘Everything is so perfect’ I chirped happily, ‘we just need to label the jars to make it complete’. And uncle Janez happily prepared the labels. It has a picture of a cute honeybee with a jar of honey. It even says who extracted the honey :)

Now, every day, I indulge myself in a spoon of this golden sweetness. Or two spoons. Sometimes I have a few of the bee pollens, ‘Maya pikicas’ as Blaž calls them.

Chasing the train

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Thu, 21 Jun 2012 21:01:00 +0000

‘Will it be on Saturday or on Sunday?’ Blaž eagerly wished it to be on Sunday, so that he can be a part of it. He was impatiently checking the forums. And then it was finally declared. ‘It will be on Sunday!!’

On Sunday, 18 March 2012, the locomotive 361-106 set off for its last journey to Illirska Bistrica, where it now rests as an exhibit. Series 361 with the nickname Breda (after the company) were the first electric locomotives in Slovenia and were operated by the Yugoslavian Railways. Yugoslavia got 17 of these from Italy as World War II reparations. Only two of their kinds are left in Slovenia, the other being plinthed at Central Workshops in Ljubljana. The 361-106 was decommissioned in 1978 as the last of those operating in Slovenia after operating for 30 years on the Pivka-Reka line. Then it had to wait around 32 years in bad conditions. Restoration of the outside began in 2010. It was painted to match the colors from its most known period in Slovenia. After covering a total of 3.8 million km (including Italy period), the locomotive 361-106 finally found its home at Illirska Bistrica train station.

The locomotive left the museum shed at 5 in the morning. Already around 15 people were waiting there to capture the moment. We however decided to wait at the Ljubljana station from where it would officially start the journey. A couple of other people were waiting too. While taking the chance to photograph the other interesting train activities going around us, we impatiently waited for our locomotive to arrive.

Slowly we started spotting more people wearing these reflective vests for safety, and with every minute the number of these fluorescent vests around was increasing. Soon we could see the bright headlights of the helping locomotive on the bridge. The biggest diesel locomotive 664-117 brought the Breda number 106 to Ljubljana. The 664, known as “Reagan”, is quite magnificent in its old-school dark green color, and interestingly with an air of authority around it. Towed behind arrived the locomotive 361-106, the star of the show. It was the first time I saw the locomotive in real life. It looks vintage and grand. The combination of the unusual shade of green and bright red adds to its glamour and grandeur. It looks different, truly from some far away time. A piece of history.

By the time the locomotive came to rest, the platform was full of these reflective vests. And all of them enthusiastically busy with their cameras. I have never seen so many cameras and video cameras together in my life that do not belong to media and professionals. The platform was full of tripods. Some had gone down on the tracks to capture the locomotives from different angles. They captured the whole locomotive, the wheels, the specifications written in white, the emblem, and every other little detail through their lenses. There was this excitement, tension and rush that could be felt all around.

The 361-106 does not have its interior restored and therefore cannot run on its own. Hence, the diesel locomotive brought it to Ljubljana, where it was connected to another electric locomotive, 363-005. This electric locomotive is the only electric locomotive in Slovenia still in its original yellow-green livery. Both the front and back locomotives were required for safety in case Breda disconnects from any of the two, as it does not have brakes of its own.

The last journey of the locomotive 361-106 began at 6:30 from Ljubljana at 30kmph.

Breda 361-106 at Pivka station

As soon as it left Ljubljana, everyone including us rushed back to our cars. The buzzing platform was simply empty the next second. The plan was to chase the train, follow it all the way on its last journey, and take pictures and videos at several spots. We stopped at Dolgi Most, close to Logatec, Logatec, before Postojna, before Pivka, Pivka, and Kilovče, until the final stop at Illirska Bistrica. On a few other occasions, we only saw the train passing by from the car.

The short drive from Ljubljana station to Dolgi Most was nervous and tensed. As Blaž paid attention to driving, trying to go as fast as possible without being reckless, I was looking out for the train. We had to overtake the train and there were of course traffic lights, the situation was turning anxious and edgy. We quickly parked the car at Dolgi Most and almost ran by the tracks across the little railway bridge to get a good angle for pictures. Blaž said a quick ‘careful’, I muttered a hurried ‘yes yes’. As we assumed our positions, Blaž behind the camera and me with the task of taking the video, he reminded me ‘follow the green one (Breda) while taking the video’. Most of the times we are just excited about the yellow locomotive and in my enthusiasm and excitement I almost forgot that the green was the center of attraction for the day, not the favorite yellow. As we saw the three-vehicle formation with Breda in the middle approaching blowing whistles, I prepared myself to follow the green with the lens.

People were just rushing all the time. From nowhere people would arrive, ready with their cameras, all running to take their positions just before the locomotive would appear. And as the locomotives vanished behind a turn, it would be deserted in an instant. Everyone rushed to their cars to reach the next spot. It was like those chasing scenes in action movies. People just did not look at any direction. They reached a stop, rushed down to take pictures, and then left in haste for the next one. I enjoyed the tension and urgent rush all around me. People were in touch with each other over phone getting minute-by-minute updates. Getting annoyed at any missed picture opportunity. Blaž directed me about how to position myself and how the videos should look. He would have taken the videos himself had he not been busy taking pictures. And at one point he really did that. The right hand was clicking pictures; the left hand was steady taking video. Everyone was just so excited and eager!

At Pivka station, the locomotive had a long three and half hours stop. Besides the enthusiasts following the locomotive on its journey, several other interested came to catch a farewell glimpse of the locomotive. There was media doing interviews. People passing by stopped for a moment to get a picture using their mobile phones, dads showed it to their little children. Even for those who are not seriously interested in railways, this vintage locomotive was a fascinating sight. It was buzzing with activities all around. Everyone wished to capture a memory of the locomotive and the event.

They stood in a line. They were in attention with their lenses focused on the locomotive. The same angle, the same sight, and so many people in a line. They wanted the field of view to be cleared and either waited patiently or were annoyed at anyone loitering around in front of the locomotive. Everyone wanted to have a picture with the locomotive, and there was a queue to get a chance. Some people climbed the nearby tiny hill to get a different perspective of the locomotive, while somebody else climbed a tall lamppost. It was happy, amusing and thrilling to watch all the enthusiasm around. When you see so much excitement around you, the heart cannot help but race with the rest. I just exclaimed, ‘It is so exciting, interesting, and simply super fun’!

The most interesting part came when we got a chance to go inside the locomotives. Generally, one needs permission to be inside the locomotives and therefore it was a rare chance that we got. The officials eagerly explained everything and happily answered our enthusiastic questions. Blaž was especially happy to be on his favorite yellow electric locomotive. It was the most interesting one, maybe because it is the favorite one. Later at Illirska Bistrica, we even got a chance to ‘ride’ on it for a couple of meters and blow the horns. There was a chance to see the railway switchboard and get explanations about the complicated details of its working. Seeing all those buttons, levers, simple looking yet complicated machineries, feeling the heat from the engine core, one cannot be anything but excited and awed. And so were we. Like children in a candy shop, amazed at how everything works, and thrilled to get a chance to experience those.

Before long, decorated in flags it was time for the locomotive to move towards its final destination. The leading and trailing locomotives blew loud horns as the train passed each station or any spectator by the tracks to say the last “hi”. At several points, it slowed down to 10kmph to make it easier for photography.

The tracks go by the tiny empty Kilovče station and under some road bridge connecting two hills. Blaž first decided to stand by the tracks but then thought the overbridge would give a better perspective. And instead of taking the longer road, he climbed the hill, just in case to not miss the train. Few more came at the last moment, desperately climbing the hill and quickly taking positions. In a few minutes, 15 people were at different positions and 7 of us stood side by side on the bridge. It was such a chase, an adrenaline rush! People were almost speeding, running, climbing!

The closer it came to the end, the more exciting it was. At the final stop Illirska Bistrica, around 70 people and media were there to welcome it. Amidst all the pomp and show, the Breda 361-106 arrived, both its younger cousins blowing their horns loudly. With recorders rolling and cameras clicking, the last meters of Breda’s long journey was captured in history. We had a last look at our vintage locomotive before leaving. After a long life of glory and then desertion, the locomotive 361-106 finally came to rest at Illirska Bistrica station. In the following weeks, it was moved to the spot it occupies today. And what a fun adventurous day we had chasing it on its last journey!! My little heart always wished to chase a train. And then I got a chance! And in such a grand way. As I repeated several times that day, ‘It was Super Fun’!

The girl in me..

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Thu, 31 May 2012 18:15:00 +0000

I step on the crisp dried leaves and make them crunch. I blow whistle through the primroses. I dress up as Maya bee for the mask carnival and get a matching balloon. I love to swing and slide in the children’s park. I can hardly resist the temptation of dipping the foot in the tiny little stream. I still read fairy tales. I sing children songs and rhymes. I live the girl in me…

Whenever I seek for some comfort reading, when I do not wish to start a new book, I go back to fairy tales books and other favorite books from my childhood. A particular collection of Russian fairy tales was my first real storybook. And for years I had read the book almost every day. I knew every story by heart. I of course had my favorites. Even I would read to my brother every day after lunch his favorite story. I remember how I did not know reading properly when I started reading the book. Those 1-2 pages short folk tales with animal characters mostly were all I could read. How eager and excited I was each time I managed to read a longer and more difficult story. I loved all the stories with ‘Little Ivan’. ‘Baba Yaga’ intrigued me rather than scaring me. The book has completely worn out; the red paper covering the hardbound is gone. It was my very first folk tale book; and still one of my most favorite books. Often I fondly go back to its old yellowish used pages. I love reading it. And whenever I do so, the childhood glee and wonder fills my heart. I feel again like the girl making the first step into the world of books.

I still remember loads of children songs and rhymes. I am not someone who sings a lot or listens to music much. However, I love playing these children songs on YouTube. I sing these rhymes when I am happy. I quickly glance through and read a few of the rhymes in a children’s book at the bookstore. These rhymes do not necessarily have to bring along my childhood memories. I love the Slovenian intro song of the Maya bee cartoon. And when I first heard the ‘Vesele Račke’ song I just fell in love with it. It is funny that often times while driving somewhere with the car, Blaž and me are singing these songs. Sometimes he would start the ‘Hashbabaji’ and other rhymes I taught him, and I would happily join :). I love their sunny melody, the cherry rhythm in those meaningless lines, and the sheer glee of ‘smiles without reasons’ that they bring.

Leaves have always fascinated me. I used to collect leaves during our childhood mountain holidays. My most favorite are the compound leaves. I like the small leaflets neatly arranged on the stem. After coming to Slovenia, I started liking pine needles. Whenever I am walking in nature, I like to pick up a dried twig, a dried branch, or a tall blade of grass. If I find one, that always makes me happy. Somehow, I like to drag it around with me. I love the dancing of the dried leaves in the late autumn wind. And then, I discovered the pleasure of stepping on the crisp dried leaves. I step here and I hop there. Each time I relish the churching sound under my feet. I make a crazy zigzag on the pavement and the heart soars in innocent delight. The carpet of dried leaves in the woods makes the loveliest music as I walk on.

The spring is a celebration of colors. The snowdrops peek their head through the melting snow. Soon after, there appears a dash of yellow there, some dots of blue here, a cluster of red by the road. I love the bright play of colors amidst the fresh green. We go for the ‘flower walk’, taking a nearby long path where we know different spring flowers bloom in the wild. And then I pluck a gentle yellow primrose growing by the road and blow air through it in a loud whistle. My eyes shine in joy. A bit later in the summer as the dandelions start to get dry, with a mischievous smile I pluck one dried globe of dandelion and blow off all its seeds on Blaž.

Whenever I pass by a children’s park I have this strong strong wish to slide down the park slide and soar into the air sitting on the swing. I am a lot shy and control my wishes when there are children around. However, never miss a chance when I am alone. And some children know that I can be their ideal playmate. Once when we visited Blaž’s cousin at their weekend house, the little one, Filip, wanted me to slide with him. The next moment we were sliding down his little yellow slide, the sounds of our laughter filling the air.

The Maya bee balloon

Slovenia celebrates this big mask festival at the end of winter. I went around the stores searching for a perfect costume. And was disappointed. Everything I liked was available only in sizes for children! ‘I don’t wish to dress up like that’, I thought as I checked the aisle displaying costumes for adults. I wanted to be the butterfly with the colorful wings made out of the shimmering material. I fancied being the bright red ladybug. I wished to buzz around as the cheerful yellow bee! Finally, I bought a bee costume for children. It was in the form of an apron. I decided to get it and work on it to fit my size. Face painting colors and a cute big antenna was bought. I paired it up with matching black and yellow colored dress. Lo and behold, I was smiling and shinning like a cute bee, just from the cartoon. Of course, Blaž also had to dress similarly! Buzzing around at the carnival, we saw this balloon seller with big Maya-bee balloons. I so much wished to have one. He insisted on me getting one. And bought one for me!! The rest of the day, I was walking around with the smiles on the balloon and on my face matching.

I like to chase pigeons. And watch frogs. I make a crown with dandelions and wear it. I always get this urge to put the unknown wild berries in my mouth. And every time I see a green slope, I wish to roll down. I can pretend to be an airplane running down some empty scenic road. I wear dresses with ribbons and bows. I just cannot help myself and stop being the little girl. She makes me smile every time :)

The red rose

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Sat, 18 Feb 2012 20:17:00 +0000

It was February 14. In the local stores and gift shops, newspapers, magazines, internet, it was all about things that are red and romantic. Chocolates and strawberries in heart shaped glossy boxes, candle light dinners, balloons and other decors in the color of red and shape of heart were in high demand. Then of course, there were the roses that are red. Even there was a newspaper article about how the colder American and European countries were importing tons of red roses to meet the demands of Valentine’s Day. A red rose, the romantic, enchanting, mysterious symbol of love, holds also another different meaning for me. It is also a symbol of little wishes for me. A very special memory flutters around. Red roses always remind me of this little girl.

I was in eighth standard then when I requested my parents to take me to Shishu Bhavan (Home for Children), under Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charity. Influenced by different little incidents, this strong wish of doing something for the children grew in me at quite a young age. I always had and still have a limited capacity of doing something. However, I have always believed in the fact that a little smile, a little gesture of love and affection, a little way to help even one child do mean something. And therefore, there was this wish. I wished to spend a morning with those babies, those little girls and boys. I wished to take for them some clothes. Spend the morning smiling with them. Of course, I also decided to take lots of toffees. Children love sweets, and a simple toffee can make them elated.

It was the ninth day of our greatest festival in Bengal, the Durga Puja, when we arranged to go. I had already called them to ask for an appointment. The dresses were nicely wrapped in colorful papers. In the morning, dad had bought the bags of my favorite toffees. He also bought a bunch of fresh roses in yellow and pink colors. He said to put those in front of Mother Teresa’s picture there, an offering of respect. I was so happy and eager to go.

We rang the bell, and one sister answered. We told them our purpose of visit and were taken to the office where we handed over the clothes. The room was full of other big packages from all around the world, showers of love. I then made a request to meet all the children and distribute the toffees. They gladly agreed, and one sister took us around. Such a beautiful morning it was. The laughter of children and their cheerful babbles made the beautiful autumn day more glorious.

I remember the place as two separate buildings with a courtyard in between. The memories of the surroundings have faded, but the memories of those children are still fresh like dew drops. First, we went to the building housing the children aged 3-5. They all had gathered together in little groups, playing, creating noise, running all over the place. Just like children should be. An elder girl was there tying hair of a cute little girl into two braids. Some other girls had gathered around asking her to tell one story. They were all playfully busy.

As I went to each of them to give toffees, they looked up with surprise. But only for a moment, and then they smiled. Used to such visitations, they were very comfortable. Just inquisitive, curious and such adorable. ‘Who are you?’, ‘What is your name?’, ‘Why are we getting toffees?’, ‘Can we get more than one?’, they were full of questions. Their faces beamed as each one got the toffees. Some were shy and hid their faces behind others, some smartly asked for one more, some said a polite thanks as they were taught, some gave a shy happy hug, some just hurried back to their game. I kneeled down and sat between them. I hugged one, gently patted the cheeks the other, held hand of yet another. I was so happy amidst them. Their eyes were shining, faces smiling, glowing like little sunflowers.

The building also housed physically and mentally challenged children in upper floors. The sisters were caring for them, tending them. I remember this little boy without vision. He was standing in his big cot facing the window. I gently asked, ‘Do you wish to get a toffee?’. The boy turned around with a big smile and extended one hand. I gave him one. Those little fingers quickly wrapped the toffee, and he hid the hand behind him. And then with this most cute mischievous smile, he extended the other hand. With a smile I gave him another toffee. Now with both his little fists holding to the sweet delights, he gave me an elated smile and said in a cheerful way ‘I got two!!’.

We went to the other building. Some girls, I think 5-6 years old, were playing in the big veranda there. I distributed the toffees among then. And I noticed a cute girl with chubby cheeks whispering something to the sister while looking at me. I still had the roses in my hand, and she wanted one. The sister told her to ask from me. She shyly came to me, and asked ‘Will you give me one rose? The pink one?’. I smiled at her and gave her the desired rose. Soon, the other girls got interested, and everyone wished a rose. I was so elated. I took each rose out of the bouquet and gave them to the girls. They smelled the roses, gently brushed the petals like some precious possession, one took out a petal and made it fly in the gentle wind. They looked all so happy. And the same glow of happiness filled my heart too.

We next went to the big room where children of ages 2-3 were getting ready. Some foreign delegate was scheduled to come and visit them later that day. As I gave a toffee to one little boy, the attending sister remarked how he would mess the clean shirt he had just changed into. The boy innocently replied ‘No sister, I won’t make any mess, can I have the toffee?’. The sister gave an encouraging nod, pulling another boy in her lap to change his shirt.

The upper floor had a big room with infants in their little cots. I still remember the wooden board with the number of infants written with chalk, ’92 Girls 91 Boys’. They were a few days old, a few months old, all under the age of a year. Most of them were sleeping peacefully in their cot. Some had chewing sticks in their mouth. Some of them were awake, speaking incoherent words, kicking with their little legs, smiling gleefully. A baby was trying to turn on his tummy, another was trying to stand holding the rail of the cot. One baby sat there, trying to play with the red ball. The sister said, most of them were already ‘booked’ by families for adoption. It was a mixture of different feelings.

It was time to leave. We were in the big hall saying our thanks to the sisters. And suddenly from somewhere the little girl came running. The girl who had asked for the first rose. ‘Are you going now?’, she asked wrapping her arms around me. I said ‘yes’, gently touching her cheeks. ‘When you come next time, bring me a red rose, red one, will you?’, she asked with all eagerness. I could only nod and smile a yes. She ran back to her friends.

I could never forget that wish. And the girl. She wished for only one red rose. It was a simple wish, but her face gleamed with the most beautiful eager smile. I was so very happy that she made the wish. And at same time, a little corner of my heart became numb for reasons unknown. Innocent wishes that heart whispers, a red rose is also a symbol of those wishes for me.

Inside the tunnel

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 21:33:00 +0000

This January started for us with an interesting exploration. We walked on the track inside a train tunnel. And to describe the whole experience, I can only say ‘Super awesome’!!

One train enthusiast, who with his friend has walked on almost all railway tracks in Slovenia, traditionally walks inside Bohinj tunnel for quite some years now on 2^nd January. His friend and few other enthusiasts join in. This time he sent a sms to Blaž, inviting him to join the walk too. We instantly decided that we would go. It sounded fun and interesting. Blaž loves trains, and anything related to railway. Therefore, he was very eager. I am also interested in trains, though maybe not in such technical manner. However, the idea of walking in a 6 km long train tunnel definitely caught my attention and interest. I was looking forward to it too.

Bohinj tunnel is 6327m long, built in 1906. It was, at that time, one of the most important railway connection between Trieste and Central Europe. Presently it is the longest Slovenian railway tunnel. The tunnel has a slow uphill slope reaching its highest point somewhere around the middle, and then it again goes down. One interesting feature of the tunnel is the presence of water source deep inside it. Originally planned as a double track tunnel, there is now only one track. The other was removed to improve the drainage inside the tunnel. Left now with only the southern portal, a consequence of World War II, the tunnel stands there, still as the same important railway connection.

The plan was to take the train around 2pm on the other side of the tunnel and then walk our way back. Accordingly, we gathered at the station Bohinjska Bistrica around the time. The scheduled train was mostly for carrying cars across the tunnel and had only one small chair car. It took us around 10 minutes to reach the Podbordo station on the other side. It was fun to watch the cars boarding off the train. And then, we slowly started towards the tunnel for our walk. There was a bridge leading to the entrance of the tunnel. It was funny and a tad bit scary to walk on those iron sheets by the side of the track. Wow, I always wished to walk on a railway bridge! We let one locomotive pass before we entered the tunnel. And of course, a few pictures had to be taken. The weather was not particularly good, which meant that a constant draft wind would blow in our back. But that did not matter anyway; it only made things interesting. We were geared up with our flashlights and reflective vests; and were about to begin our in-tunnel adventure!! I was excited.

Bohinj tunnel.. Before entering..

We entered the tunnel. The first couple of meters still got the day light from outside. And then, we were enveloped in the darkness. The tunnel wall was covered with thick layer of soot and little coal particles. A result of all the smoke from the coal trains and the present diesel trains. I imagined my previous heritage steam train rides and the thick black smoke from the engine creating yet another layer of soot while passing through the tunnel. It was inches thick, a sort of crumbly yet hard layer. There were little coal particles shining like gemstones under our flashlights. At the beginning of the tunnel, there were little structures in the wall, strategic points to facilitate dynamite explosion in case the army ever needs to close the tunnel behind them. We also took notice of the architecture, how stone and concrete slabs of different sizes and shapes lay in perfect alignment.

The remnants of the second track were still there for the initial few meters. Then it was gravel and sand, a bit wet. Blaž and I walked on the tracks while others were walking on the side gravel. To me the track felt more comfortable. It was safe as we knew the schedule of the trains. And most importantly, that was what I always wished to do. During my numerous train rides to holiday destinations when I was little, I always wished to walk on the tracks. I always imagined how I would hop from one sleeper to the next. And even though I did do it before on some abandoned tracks, it was only for a few steps. I was always envious of the railway maintenance workers. Now, when I got one chance to walk kilometers on it, I was not ready to it let go. My heart made happy jumps as I stepped from one sleeper to another!

Inside the tunnel

Little posts marked the kilometers. Lines marked the nearest niches, which were each 100 meters. Some of the niches were bigger with telephone boxes etc. There were posts marking allowed speed limits and approaching signal or station. The signal was a nice glowing red, wrapped in the darkness. A few meters ahead, there was another signal glowing orange indicating the approach of a traffic signal. As we walked on and looked back, both the signals were glowing side by side. Further ahead, the signals merged into one. We switched off all our flashlights for some time, silently walking in the complete darkness. Rarely one experiences such darkness when literally nothing is visible.

At a point we had a scare that a train is approaching us from the opposite direction. We stepped down quickly from the tracks. Waiting patiently for a minute by the side of the track, we could neither see the light approaching nor hear the sound. There was no train scheduled at that time anyway. Soon we realized that it was the signal light on the other side of the tunnel, which we had mistaken as an approaching train. We were now almost halfway in the tunnel. The signal light left behind had vanished as the tunnel sloped up. The light in front of us was now marking our goal, the other end of the tunnel.

There is a big chamber inside the tunnel, almost like a room. Initially used for keeping tools and other equipments, now it is nicknamed as ‘ball room’. There we decided to have a picnic! Wow, wasn’t that fun! Having a picnic inside a railway tunnel! In the chamber there was an old table with two benches, some other higher table, and a old closet like thing. Everything had a layer of soot. Our first job was to cover the surfaces of the table and benches with old newspapers. We lit some candles. There were chocolates and cookies, and each had their own sandwiches. There was even champagne! Someone had some practical plastic cocktail glasses. We made a toast to the walk and the New Year.

The draft of wind outside the chamber had a chill in it. It was time for a train to pass. We went out to wait for the train in dark. Some had cameras ready. We saw the glowing yellow lights appear at the end. It grew bigger and brighter, but still there was no sound! The sound came much later when the train was already very close. We waved our hands and the train blew its horn a bit in response. Soon the other two scheduled trains also went by. It was time to continue our walk. We gathered our trashes, and resumed walking. And more adventure was in store for us.

Soon we came across the first of the underground water sources. A concrete wall guarded the track from the water gushing out on it during heavy rains. Now however, there was only a little stream flowing through the lower pipe. It was a tiny narrow tunnel leading to the source some 25 meters ahead. We lowered ourselves down into this narrow tunnel for more exploration. We walked on the narrow bank, the water rushing past us in the little stream. It was a tiny walk towards the source. Through a narrow shaft in the rock-wall water was gushing out. Inside there was a narrow pool, someone mentioned at least 5 meters deep. The other two ends of this narrow tunnel only led to dead ends.

We were no more walking on the tracks, which were now at a higher level. During the rainy times, a stream would flow where we were walking. Now it was only a fast stream flowing under the track. From time to time, little vents were present, and we could hear the stream. There were a few other tiny orifices with water trickling down the wall. At places, the water had frozen into pretty ice sculptures. Soon we also reached the second water source. This stream was much more interesting and mysterious. It had two different shafts, both with water. The left one is short and strong, while the right one goes slightly up for about 20 meters. The strong water made both of them almost inaccessible. Now, the water was flowing under our feet as we walked on the concrete slabs for the remaining of the tunnel.

The red light at the end of the tunnel that we had seen from far now approached closer. We were at the end of our walk. Outside it was drizzles mixed with snow. There was a bit more walk to the station and I continued walking on the tracks as far as I could. At the station, we decided to wait a bit longer for the train at 7pm. And after that, it was time to go home.

I walked on the tracks. I walked in the longest railway tunnel in Slovenia. I spent around four and half hours inside a railway tunnel. We even had a mini picnic. Four trains passed us while in the tunnel. We saw the underground water sources. I even walked to the first one. There were beautiful ice sculptures. A fast stream was flowing under the tracks and us. Was it not exciting and awesome? It was. It sure was.

I returned home all happy, excited and full of stories. It was just Super Awesome!!!

Hanging the socks

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 21:11:00 +0000

Oh, jingle bells, jingle bells

Jingle all the way
Oh, what fun it is to ride
In a one horse open sleigh

Of all the Christmas carols, this was my favorite as a child. It announced that Santa Claus was coming soon with his big red sack full of gifts. And he had something for me too! Technically, Christmas was not a festival celebrated in our family. However, in the country where hues of different cultures and religions unify to create a vibrant picture, that does not really matter. As the little lights glittered, the bells chimed, tempting smell from bakeries filled the air, and Christmas carols were everywhere, I waited impatiently for dear old Santa. And the gift.

I do not remember the year I was introduced to this idea of gift giving around the Christmas time. As my grandma retells my childhood, I realize that it wasn’t really about Santa then. I celebrated getting something all over the winter. As she would call me to wake up in the morning, I would sleepily search under my pillow. And would refuse to get up unless I found the coveted ‘gift’. The ‘gift’ would usually be a carrot, a few peapods, an orange, an apple, a tomato etc, whatever was there in grandma’s kitchen. I love fruits and vegetables; and soon after brushing, would munch on those fresh produces. I only remember those mornings in bits and pieces. I have this one faint image of me denying getting up from the bed complaining about the missing gift. My grandma hurried with a few pods of peas from her busy kitchen and kept it under my pillow. All the time I pretended to sleep with eyes closed. On some Sundays, it would maybe be one bar of chocolate or a few lozenges. Sometimes I even got a coloring box or a new pencil. I knew that ‘Santa’ was my dida only, but never stopped believing in the story somehow. I never stopped enjoying in those little moments of surprises.

The earliest real memory of Christmas I have was from the time when I was already a toddler in school. There would be a big Christmas tree in school, and one of the teachers dressed as Santa would distribute some sweets. We would enact the nativity play. When I was in the primary school, we would decorate our classrooms with paper chains and balloons and glittery decorations. We would arrange to bring a cake and have a little feast of our own. A fun filled and colorful day in the school before the winter breaks.

Where those cheerful banters filled the classroom, at home it was all about putting up the stockings on the Christmas Eve. We did not have a tree at home, not one to put the socks anyway. I used to decorate the little tree I made in the art and craft class of school. Therefore, my brother and I would hang socks on our bedposts before going to bed that night. I took pleasure in imaging that putting on the longer stockings instead of shorter socks would make Santa keep a bigger box of gift by it for me. I never made any list for Santa, simply wished anything nice. In the morning, I would wake up to a big packet hanging on my bedpost. In crisp paper-wraps would be some surprise gifts. One year it was some bright warm woolens, another year there was matching lunch box and water bottle for school. Sometimes I got books. There would be also some chocolates and other goodies. However, I do not remember getting any toys or similar things ever. Even though the gifts were always things I needed or things that were useful, they never ceased to make me happy. It was never about what were inside those packets. It is always about opening those packets.

The Christmas tree.. Gifts were already opened and loved..

Children, as they grow up, start doubting the existence of Santa. They make plans trying to catch the parents in Santa act. My brother did. That year around Christmas, he started to voice his doubt regarding the old man. On Christmas Eve, he went to bed after putting up the socks like usual. And then, he just pretended to sleep. Later at night, as my parents were hanging the gift bags by our socks, he startled them saying ‘Ma, baba, ami kintu dekhte pachi je tomra gift rakhcho!’ (Mom, dad, I can see that it is you who are keeping the gifts). My parents exclaimed, ‘Didn’t you sleep yet’!! I never opened my eyes to peek into the tale.

Maybe, because I always knew it were parents or grandparents sneaking in to silently put the gifts by the bed, I was never eager to remove the wrap of mystery. I was always keen on keeping my eyes closed and living in the fairy tale. I made myself believe that the packets arrived there magically from some old friendly grandpa like man. I liked to keep the Christmas gifts wrapped under veil of surprise and tales. I still do. The anticipation, will there be a gift in the morning by my pillow, underneath the tree. The excitement, what will be inside it? The slow careful unwrapping of the colorful paper. The ripples of instant surprise and happiness in my heart. This is all what Christmas gifts are about. As Blaž and I were wrapping up the Christmas tree last weekend, I was already eagerly looking forward to take it out next winter. I love decorating the tree.

And the child in me still loves to hang the socks on a Christmas tree. And waits for Santa to come and sneak in the house to leave a gift for her by the tree…

When he cooks for me

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 16:05:00 +0000

He loves making and of course drinking tea. Unfortunately, I do not drink tea. He is not really into cooking. He likes eating. And the best part is, even though he has his favorites, he eats almost everything. Therefore, I can happily carry on with my culinary adventures! However, it is not that he does not know cooking. He can cook simple and basic things. But, because he does not need to cook often, he does not have a feel about it. Whenever he is cooking, he tries to follow the recipe perfectly, to the T. If the recipe calls for cooking the onions for 10 minutes, he will exactly do that. I on the other hand will do that based on instinct and often add my own modifications. Thus, my experiments can yield all sorts of results from delicious to not so palatable. And that is why whenever he cooks, it is very tasty. Special..

My favorite dish cooked by him is some Indian chicken preparation with green beans and peanuts. It is just perfectly spicy and fresh. And whenever I wish him to cook something for me, it is often this dish. He also once cooked for me some simple pasta with tuna and tomatoes. Another dish I loved a lot. I love whenever he cooks. Therefore, this time for my birthday I wished a simple dinner cooked by him. I did not have any specific wish. Just something simple and tasty, maybe some pasta.. That was the plan.

In the afternoon on my birthday, before leaving work, he sent me email with three pasta dishes asking which one I would like most. We had decided to go to the grocery store quickly after work. With all the evenings almost spent outside around these festive days, my fridge barely had anything in it, except chocolates! I choose the pasta dish with lots of veggies; the other two had some heavy cream sauce which are not exactly my favorite. And even though only a limited variety of vegetables are available during winter, especially in the grocery stores, I thought it would be a more fresh and vibrant dish with whatever ingredients available. So, we went to the grocery store.

I chose mushrooms, carrots, asparagus, zucchini, and tomatoes for the pasta. Even though the broccoli was available, we would only need a cup of florets and did not wish the broccoli to stay in the fridge waiting for days and getting spoilt. He asked, “shrimps”? I was like, “no, this time let us just use vegetables and go with the recipe”. The only thing we decided to change was to not use the cream. I was really looking forward to the dinner and the evening as we drove home. “Fresh veggies and parmesan, a perfect combination it is going to be. Especially when he is cooking it for me”!

After reaching home, he started with the preparations for the pasta and I decided to talk to my parents a bit. Of course, before sitting with the skype, I helped him with the not so detailed instructions of the recipe. And while talking to parents also, I was there whenever he had any questions.

“Should I also peel the zucchini”?

“Yes, peel and cut into cubes”. The zucchini was neither very young nor bio.

“Should I start boiling the carrots and then add the asparagus after 10 minutes”?

“No need to boil the asparagus, you can sauté it with the other vegetables”.

I was answering him in between talking to parents. From time to time, I just went to the kitchen counter to supervise if all was going good. Somehow I was juggling well between talking to parents and helping him with cooking. And enjoying the whole thing.

“Do the mushrooms need peeling too”?

“No no, just give them a quick wash”

“And should I make thin slices”?

“No, cut them in halves or quarters, it will be nice and chunky”.

“How much pasta to use”?

And I went to him to take out the pasta for two.

The next big question was regarding the sequence of the vegetables for sautéing.

“First sauté the mushrooms until the water they leave evaporates, then add the zucchini and asparagus, finally when everything is almost done, add the boiled carrots and diced tomatoes”.

And in went the vegetables and the salt and pepper.

As I finished talking to my parents, I moved to the kitchen area. There was a large bunch of parsley lying on the board freshly chopped. On a plate, there was a generous portion of grated parmesan. The sautéed veggies smelled delicious. It was so tempting. Slowly it took the perfect shape as he added the pasta, chopped parsley and the parmesan. It looked vibrant. There was this mouth-watering smell in the air. I could hardly wait to take a forkful and enjoy in the delicate play of flavors.

He had already set the table. There was only time to take a picture for memory before we sat down. I wrapped my fork in pasta, and took a few bits of veggies too. There was a burst of different subtle flavors in my mouth. The chunky sweetness of carrots, the mellow zucchini, the succulent asparagus, the savory meaty mushrooms, the tangy tomatoes giving hint of tart, the fresh aroma of parsley, and the sharpness of parmesan, all created a beautiful medley. Wow! It was simply so delectable.

Mmmm...

“Is it good”?

“Mmm..hmmm”. I replied in my strange way of saying yes. Between mouthfuls of the delicacy, there was no time to talk.

“Should I make it again”? Coyly he asked me, mimicking the same question I generally ask when I prepare a new dish.

“Yes, of course. I really like it. It is very good. And I would like you to make it again for me”.

It was really very delicious. Whenever he cooks, it is always so delicious. So romantic too.

“You should tell your girl to take breaks from her experiments, and cook more for her.

Now, shouldn’t you”?

;)

Walking towards mystery

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 08:54:00 +0000

As I stepped out of work, the thick fog enveloped me. The fog had a rather yellow glow from the streetlights, but the nearest lamppost was barely visible. Then everything faded out beyond. It looked lonely and mysterious. It touched a chord in my memory and brought back one mysterious foggy night.

Some while ago, Blaž and I had decided to go for a night walk around midnight. The moonlight had made everything silver and mesmerizing, and we just decided to go out on the whim. We quickly dressed up in the warmer clothes. After putting on the reflective bands and taking the small bicycle lights, we set out. We would make the usual loop walking by the nearby hill to the main road, then walk on our bridge over the highway towards the ‘barje’ swamps, and then return back home.

There was quite a chill in the air, and everything was glowing silver. Wow, it looked pretty! Although there were clouds and fog, the moonlight had still managed to seep through and soak everything in its silver hue. The fog glowed in a silvery brilliance, playing with light and shadows. It all created a sort of mystic element.

The nearby hill looked magical. The trees were bare and dry leaves carpeted the floor. A layer of frost covered the leaves giving the floor an unnatural white color and rugged appearance. The fog shone in the moonlight, the frosty dry carpet of leaves reflected it. The silhouette of the empty trees had some sort of halo around them. The emptiness of this appearance was almost haunting, overpowering and engulfing the existence of everything else. It was beautifully haunting. It was mystic, ghostly, and mesmerizing all at the same time.

As we stepped on the main road, it was surprisingly not very empty considering the time. Often a car would pass us. However, it was not visible. We would only hear the faint sound and see the fog in front turning a deeper shade of orange before the car would actually pass by. Even though the fog was a tad bit lighter than by the hill, the visibility was not much better. We decided to go down on unpaved part by the side of the road rather than walking on the edge like usual. Like the cars, despite of our reflective bands and lights, we were also in visible. ‘Wow, what a fog!’ I exclaimed. We could see from the main road, how it had thickened over the swamps spreading out in a dark band. A dark envelope that was unwelcoming and yet inviting in a sense.

Generally, on our walks like these, we walk on the main road until the bridge that goes over the highway on the other side towards the swamps. We like to call it ‘our bridge’. Typically, after walking across the bridge we make a pause by the swamp. Unless we are looking for frogs and night insects, we do not go much around the swamps at night. We then turn towards home, this time taking the other side and completing the loop. And that night also, we were tracing our usual path, and soon reached the bridge.

And we stood there amazed and awed! It was so unbelievably thick fog! Much thicker than we had assumed it to be. The bridged had started, but then it just had disappeared into nothing. We could not see it end. We could not see it at all. Everything beyond a few steps was veiled and kept hidden. There was just this silvery mystic nothingness beckoning us to indulge in its beauty and secrecy. And though, we had crossed the bridge an uncountable number of times before, that day we stepped on to cross it towards something unknown and alien.

As we walked further on the bridge, a sort of void slowly swallowed us. Nothing around was visible. We could hardly see any orange glow of the streetlights or car headlights down on the highway. The sound from the street was also masked somehow. It gave such an eerie feeling. At the same time, there was some air of mystery and content all around. There was this thrill of going somewhere unknown, and to venture beyond the comfort zone. Everything about the bridge is familiar to us. Yet that night, it was all unknown.

And as I made another step with this hint of uneasiness inside me, I realized how in a similar way each day I venture towards the unknown mysteries of life. As I wake up each morning, I wake up with some plans for the day. Generally, nothing out of the ordinary happens. I know what to expect and the days seem familiar to me. I feel I know them. However, in reality everything beyond the present point is actually under the veil of obscurity. It is only that, except some days, I know what waits beyond. I continue to remain assured in this cocoon of illusion. However, in reality, every day I walk across the bridge.

I stood there with Blaž. Holding hands. Silent. Wrapped in mystery and thoughts. Drenched in the moonlight seeping through the fog. It was beautiful, unknown, mystic, eerie, engulfing, melancholic, happy, romantic, peaceful, void, satisfying, mesmerizing.. It was everything. Everything at the same time. It just made my heart happy. Maybe that is what it is all about..

A.. hmm... Happy Sunday!

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 21:45:00 +0000

The morning did not promise anything good. I woke up from a not particularly good sleep. I generally sleep well, and do not feel good enough when it is not so. There was no promising sunshine outside. Well, I was not expecting any. I have learnt to somehow accept this cloudy foggy autumn-winter weather. However, when the sky outside reflects no sense of cheeriness, the gray mood of mine turned grayer. I turned on the light. I hate to do that during daytime, and I dislike the almost darkish room more. ‘Ah, maybe I should just be in bed for fifteen more minutes’. And those fifteen minutes ticked towards thirty. ‘Okay, it is a better idea to get up’.

After refreshing myself, I took the pile of clothes downstairs for washing. I arranged the washed dishes from last night back in the shelves. And then, I just sat on my bed, restless and disconcerted. I was longing to somehow hide in the blanket again. Hide from all the unpleasantness and agitation. But I should not do that. It would just pull me into the loop. If I would waste the whole day feeling low and doing nothing, I would feel worse in the evening for wasting the day. I gathered courage and pulled myself up.

‘Why am I so restless?’ I wondered. ‘Maybe all the stress and Blaž not being in Ljubljana is making me like this’. Ah, the sense of missing him renewed. It is not that we are together all the time or meeting every day. It is not that he is never out of town due to work. But this time when he was on this business trip, I really missed him. We both have these days very hectic. However, talking with him for a minute in a way relaxes me always and renews the lacking energy. I was missing him. And all the work, stress, and worries got hold of me.

‘Well, he is coming back today and you can give him a call at night dear girl. So, now smile’. I went to the kitchen counter to make a glass of fresh lemonade and prepared the golden apple and clementines for breakfast. I switched on the computer. I always check the newspaper first thing after switching on the computer. Especially so on Sunday. There are these supplement Sunday articles which are always interesting. The essay in the Bengali newspaper was by one of my favorite Bengali authors of scientific essays for general people. It was fascinating to read how the Quark, J/Ψ, and God particles obtained their names. The English magazine had a good article on Vietnamese cuisine. I saved it to try out some ideas later. I was already feeling better.

I took out the packet of smelt fish from the freezer to let it thaw for lunch. I had planned to make them in Bengali style chochhorri. That reminded me to call mother and ask her the exact recipe. It is sometimes funny to realize that life is so easy with internet. I can just give a call to my mother in Kolkata and prepare her recipe sitting thousand kilometers apart following her instructions. In the meantime my clothes were done. I checked a few other things on the internet, prepared my bag for work tomorrow. I was fiddling with the idea of writing, reading, or hm.. something else? ‘Maybe I should really try my hands in acrylic painting’.

I love drawing and painting. Unfortunately, I never had a formal training and therefore do not know much techniques. I try to learn and do a bit on my own. I read a bit online. Try to copy in my own way some pictures I like. And the rest I just try. It gives me pleasure and makes me happy. I had received this set of acrylic paints last Christmas. I had studied a bit online regarding basic techniques. I had all the supplies. So today, I wished to try paint this simple flower that I had seen once online. It would be a small and simple drawing. I also decided to do it on drawing paper instead of canvas. ‘Let me once try my hands and then maybe I can try on canvas,’ I thought. I am miserable with water paints, and did not have much hope from this medium also.

I like working sitting on the floor and accordingly covered the carpet, and arranged all my supplies around the workspace. I opened the window a bit for ventilation, though I loved the smell of the paints. I hesitantly started with my work. With a few trials and tries, I sort of became a bit comfortable. However, I had not really understood the ‘allowing the paint to dry’ part. I tried to apply the yellow on the red, and it was hard. The color was not getting on as I would like it to. It was somehow slipping away. Even though it was ‘dry’ to me, it wasn’t dry enough. Quickly I realized the problem and increased my drying times. In between, I picked up the book I was reading. I cleaned the fishes. I had two spoons of my favorite sweet I had made last evening...

The painting was in its half way towards completion. It was lunchtime. I decided to let it dry, and in meantime cook and eat. I gave a call to Blaž’s mother, and talked a bit. She was also about to start cooking. I was quite looking forward to this simple and spicy fish preparation. The only mistake I did, I had put all the fish in the oil for frying at the same time. Instantly I realized the blunder. But well, it couldn’t be corrected then. ‘Hm, I have to cook it again to have a nice picture for my blog’. And, that is never a problem. The taste wouldn’t be compromised and I was happy for that. Steaming rice and some spicy fish. What can be a better food for a Bengali? I enjoyed in those delicious senses.

I left the dishes for later and went back to my painting. A few more sittings and it was finally finished. I gave a satisfied look to my work. ‘Not bad for the first time’. It did almost turned out as I had envisioned it. I got busy with cleaning the brushes and putting back the things. Then, holding the picture in hand, I sat. I was becoming happier and happier. I really couldn’t believe I had managed to do so satisfactorily. I for sure knew I would have to leave it in the middle. And there I sat, holding it with the pleased smile. I knew there were many mistakes. But I had at least learnt something. I was excited about that. So much excited that I decided to sit with yet another one. Well, this time I chose to do a simple dry pastel work that I had in mind for long long time.

My fingers were covered in gray dust when the phone rang. Blaž’s grandma was calling. We happily chatted for a few minutes. She told me about some new cookie book and her plans for Christmas cookies. And I eagerly was telling her how we would make them together. Then happily, I went back to my drawing. This one was very simple with a simple idea. However, it is always gratifying to see the ideas translate on papers.

I was so excited that urged to show them to someone. Especially my first acrylic painting. So I called my parents and asked them to come on skype. And as my dad excitedly started, ‘okay, we have something to show you..’. I just had to cut him in between to say, ‘me first’. First, I showed the simple dry pastel drawing. ‘Oh, good. You drew after a long time’. ‘Yes, and it is just the starter’. Then, I happily revealed my flower. Smiling at their appreciation, I was excitedly telling them all the details. Next, it was their turn. They had just returned from the handicraft fair and showed me the big vase, little figurines etc they had bought. We happily discussed about all things nice.

After talking to them, I tried to call my grandma. Sadly it did not work. Ah, I must talk to her soon. I miss her. I read a bit of my book. Heated the dinner, which was of course again the fish and rice from morning. I packed the lunch for tomorrow and did things here and there.

I again sat at the computer. This time, to watch the latest episode of a cookery show. I was watching the last part when I heard the bell ring. Well, no one really comes to me without my knowing beforehand! Surprised I went towards the door. As I unlocked, I saw none. I was only about to close the door thinking I had heard something else, when I heard Blaž!! He had moved away a bit and was talking to someone.. I wasn’t expecting him to come at all to my place. He was tired and had things to do at home. I knew I would see him on Tuesday. And there he was standing at the door! Surprised and happy happy I was. As he always says, my face was smiling and glowing. ‘I am so happy, and I missed you’, I said as I hugged him tight.

All reasons to smile!

I was soo happy! The silly smiling face of his can make me relaxed and merry always. He had brought me a big pack of kinder eggs chocolate. Oh, how I love getting those tiny gifts inside the kinder eggs. ‘Make me a glass of menthol or lemon drink please. No menthol’. We talked a bit about his trip and about what I was doing over the days. We discussed some Christmas plans a bit, and others. I showed him my drawings. And the new ‘Cats in crisis’ poster from National Geographic. I heated for him some chicken I had cooked yesterday. And packed the other little tit bits I had kept for him to taste. He saw the new photo-frame I had got in the picnic yesterday. I showed him some pictures. And all the time I was blabbering gleefully like always. He went home after a short visit; poor tired him.

It is the end of the day and the melancholy is replaced by the bright happy radiance.

It wasn’t so bad a Sunday after all. I used acrylic painting for the first time with pleasing outcome. In the excitement, I drew something else too. I had interesting articles to read in newspaper. I cooked and ate some typical Bengali food that I was missing for a long time. I talked to my parents about things nice. And the cherry on the cake, Blaž surprised me with his little visit. Also, I got this big pack of kinder eggs. Now I am writing about my day all cheery. And then, I will go to bed with my book. Smiling I will sleep into the dreamland. It was good actually. Very good!

A very happy Sunday!!

Let's turn on the lights!!

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Sun, 04 Dec 2011 21:24:00 +0000

Yesterday we turned on the lights!! The city in its brilliance and glitter is now anticipating the festive days. The sparkling lights have also made the faces around radiant with smiles.

Switching on the lights is my favorite event in December Ljubljana. All these days on way to work and around, I saw how slowly they were putting up the lights and the huge Christmas tree at the city center. Finally, yesterday, all the city got lit up with these sparkling dots. The lights are turned on every year on 3 December, the birth anniversary of France Prešeren, the national poet of Slovenia. There is a little ceremony at the Prešeren statute in the city center. And then, with the countdown, the lights turn on.

Yesterday afternoon I quickly dressed myself up and was all set to go out. Even though this time a sudden increase in the temperatures had made the standing and waiting for the lights less chilly, it had also brought the rains. So, I grabbed my umbrella and stepped out. At the bus stop, it was an unusual spectacle. There was such a big crowd! It was even bigger than the morning rush hours. The bus came. And it was impossible to get in. I boarded the next bus that would take me a couple of stops before my destination. I decided to walk that little distance.

The drizzles and downpour could not dampen the mood. The entire city was directed towards the city center. Young people with cheerful chatters and happy company walked on. They had plans for party the whole evening. Young couple walked hand-in-hand. It was a nice romantic and cheery evening. Children walked holding hands of parents. In little woolen caps, their faces were filled with glee. They knew Santa Claus is coming soon. Even elders weren’t at home. In their feeble steps, they walked towards the merry city center. And I was also another pair of happy feet and glowing face in that crowd.

Slowly I made my way to some favorable spot by the Three-bridges. It was a bit difficult to find the space, especially because of the rain. Everything was covered with open umbrellas and it was annoying to walk through the crowd trying to find a spot from where I would have a nice view of the tree and the decorations. I was in such a dilemma. Should I keep the umbrella open, or should I just close it? The rain was not just a little drizzle. I did not wish to get wet and catch the cold back. But it was so difficult to have an open umbrella! Ahh..

The little crowded city center by Ljubljanica River was all covered with darkness, except the Prešeren statue. It was lit up and decorated. The ceremony started.

The city mayor addressed the crowd. And there were famous songs performed by musical groups from schools. It is so happy an event to see all the people singing. The music played and the crowd sang along. Happy music and happy chatters. They recited some known poetry. Poetry about lights, and happiness, and festivity. The music, the cheer, the crowd, the glowing statue amidst all dark, it was so beautiful and magical. And my heart sang along with the melody.

Finally, it was time for what we were waiting. Ljudje, prižgimo luč! People, let’s turn on the light!

Everyone was excited. All the cameras, video recorders, and mobile phones were ready. All eyes were fixed at the dark city profile.

Ten.. Nine.. Eight.. Seven.. Six.. Five.. Four.. Threee.. Twoo..

Oneeeee..

And it is all glowing! The Christmas tree and church at Ljubljana city center

And the lights turn on.. Everyone bursts out into the loudest ‘Yaaaaa’.. The festivity is announced..

The Christmas tree gets covered with yellow sparkles. And there appear out of nowhere stars and spheres, and the spirals of galaxies. The theme is same always. It represents the vastness of the universe in all the solar systems, galaxies and stars. And it also shows the speck of life, the DNA in its double helical glory. Some children were even lighting those sprinkling crackers. The winter fair also started. Little shops with food and trinkets lined the riverbank. The smell of sugar roasted almonds, cooked wine, cinnamon was in the air. The smell of winter. The smell of festivity. Everyone was ecstatic. I walked around in that cheerful crowd. Everything looked happy. And it was like a little fairytale.

I am always fascinated by lights. Especially when darkness lights up in bright specks of happiness. This is the reason I love Mahalaya, to witness the break of beautiful autumn dawn announcing the greatest festivals in Bengal. This is why I went to the city center. To countdown, and see the lights glow all around me. Festivals for me are all about being happy, being surrounded by people, and enjoying all the good and positive things of life. And this transformation from dark to bright in a magical and mystic way always represents the essence of festivity to me. It made my little heart flutter with happiness. I love those lights.

As I took the steps towards home, I looked back once more. The city was glowing. I stood and looked on, letting everything seep down deep in me. The happy lights of promises.. The happy sounds of festivity.. The happy smell of winter.. The happy me..

Through the window..

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Sat, 03 Dec 2011 11:37:00 +0000

I took my eyes off the glaring computer screen and looked out through the window. It gives the well-deserved rest to my tired eyes working whole day in front of the computer. The little window in my office frames a pine tree, roofs of the nearby houses, the grey façade of some ministry building and then some more trees beyond. However today, the picture had turned unfamiliar. Each detail had vanished in the dense fog. For a moment, I was confused. ‘What is happening outside?’ Somehow as the familiar sight outside hazed out, a hint of unfamiliarity crept inside me. Even though everything was just the same, the fact that I was unable to see the familiar objects through my window made me somewhat placed in an unfamiliar environment. I realized, not just the arrangement of furniture or the color of the wall, what I see when I look through the window also forms a part of the familiarity where I feel comfortable every day.

I now know why my grandma’s dining room window is not as special to me for past few years. As a child, I used to sit there for hours, running between kitchen and the dining room window as my grandma was busy preparing some delicious meal in the kitchen. I would feed the crows in the morning. Look out at the garden, the blooming flowers, ripening fruits and birds that used to come. I would count the coconuts in the tree and admire the slender smooth trunk of the betelnut tree. Sometimes I would sit there with my drawing supplies and take inspiration from the garden. During hot lazy afternoons, grandma and I would sit there for endless chats. Beyond the garden there used to be this huge empty land. In monsoon days, boys from the camp would play there football and other games. I always wondered how one reached there. A fenced plot was nearby, covered in a thicket and different trees. That window was a place for lazy dreamy wandering of a childish heart.

I do not know when it exactly happened, but slowly everything changed. I grew up and along the time, the world outside that window changed. Grandma’s age did not allow her to take care of the garden so much anymore. However, the most prominent change was the building of the houses in those empty lands beyond the gardens. The openness that the window used to offer shrank to the garden only, limited by all the concrete around. Always used to see the coconut tree against the green background, it was a drastic change to see it now against the huge apartment building. Even the sky shrank in its limits. I was no longer always able to see the trails of the airplanes as they crossed above us. Maybe I never took time to familiarize myself with the changed picture. The increasing works in school did not allow me to spend most of the summer holidays with grandma. Nevertheless, I do not really think that is the reason. Through the window, I used to get a vast canvas to paint with lazy thoughts and wanderings. The limited and altered view also limited the comfort and warmth associated with it. The window was never the same.

Our house in India had some vacant plots all around, ready for houses to be built, but somehow still empty. And in the meantime wild climbers and bushes had taken the place of the houses. There were birds and little animals all around. My windows overlooked to two such empty plots of both sides of the house. I remember the long hours we spent sitting on the window the first time Blaž visited home. He got introduced to common tropical plants through that window. Last time we visited, there was a house standing in that place blocking all the view. How many times we exclaimed “Ah, we miss the window”.. The changed view outside changed something about the window. It is no longer familiar.

This spring while working in San Francisco, the first thing that made me feel comfortable in my rented room was the window. It overlooked the garden. I would come back to the room after a tiring day; and more than the things in the room, the similar view through the window made me feel at ease in that place. In a temporary accommodation, I do not feel associated with the furniture and arrangement of things in the room. It is the view outside the window that I relate to more easily. The view outside gives me some sense of belonging to the place, even if temporary. And so it did. Looking at the buildings and the expanding sea beyond from my work-desk is what made the desk my own for the three months.

We are most comfortable in our own space. A space that is familiar to us in all its little elements. That gives us all the warmth and security of belonging. That not only just defines the space but somehow us too. The arrangement of furniture, the little colorful corner of books, the little things and pictures on my desk, the orchid plant, all my spices in a row, the train picture on the wall, and even the little red wall clock, all these make my apartment mine. It can be not prim and proper always, but because I know everything in that mess, I do not feel like an intruder. When I come to work, I come to what I had left the day before. I can easily fit back into it. However, things are not the only elements to define a place. The family at home and the colleagues at work, they bring the smiles and create the memories in those places I call my own. And then, there is the window. I look out in a solitary moment, I take a break, I admire a pretty view, or I simply check the weather. All these while I am assured that I will look out at the same buildings, the same plants, the same square of sky. The constancy of the view outside gives a sense of stability to the little world of mine inside the room. A change somehow creates confusion, and an eerie feeling seeps in unconsciously.

It takes me a few days to get familiar with a changed arrangement in my closet. It takes even longer to look out with the eyes of familiarity at a changed view outside my window. And sometimes that never happens. The change slowly makes the place itself foreign for me. I fell back into the comfort zone instantaneously realizing it to be only a temporary veil of fog hiding the known view from me. I could never get used to the changed picture outside my childhood windows. My happy memories simply do not fit in there any more..

The plans and wait..

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Sun, 09 Oct 2011 21:46:00 +0000

After all the waiting, all the eager anticipations, all the preparations, all the excitements we are again back to the same routine life. The festival is over.

Last week, Bengal celebrated Durga Puja. It is the greatest festival of us Bengalis, a festival worshiping goddess Durga, symbolizing the win of good over evil. In the end however, it is a celebration of life, joy and happiness, in the most glittering and grand scale possible. The festival officially started last Sunday, semi-officially seven days before that with Mahalaya. However, in reality, it had started months before with all the preparations. Month long preparations for just five days. And after those wild five days, everything just has to go back to the same routine. One can stretch it for a couple of days more. But the sad tune starts playing already on the evening of the fourth day. With immersion of the idol the next day and distribution of sweets, we sadly remember, ‘from tomorrow it is the old life again’. It makes us all sad. Even sitting in a different continent with no sign of festivity around me, I am sad that the puja is over

It all starts with the para clubs (neighborhood clubs) frantically trying to finalize their themes for the year. It is only February, when the club members are already busy with the meetings, brain storming different ideas for a festival in October! The smaller clubs would start with their discussions a bit later, but still quite a few months before the puja. In their case, it is mostly about the budget and other technicalities.

As the grey sky slowly turns pristine blue, and kash (a typical autumn weed with white blossoms) blooms in the fields, you suddenly see all around that there is this air of festivity. One morning, some bamboo poles on the blind-end lane or the nearby field will announce the coming festivity. It is coming, it is coming. The greener fields, the bluer sky, the merrier air, all announce, it is coming.

People start with their shopping slowly. I think we Bengalis buy the most clothes during this occasion. One has to get at least five sets of clothes for wearing on the five days. Better if it is ten, for wearing each morning and evening new clothes. Then there is jewelry and other accessories to match the new clothes. From roadside stalls to glossy shopping malls, everything gets busier as days get closer. Then one has to of course buy new shoes. And the new attire is not only for us. The house needs some refurnishing; let us wait for the puja. Planning to buy a new car, let us wait for the puja. If the plans are not so big, then we buy new table clothes, cushion covers, curtains, etc etc. We seem to schedule everything around those five days. For those five days.

Idol makers get busy with making the idols of the goddess. However, just before the festivity, they have to work all night to finish in time. The potters get busy making the clay utensils required for the worship rituals. Artists are busy making the pandals, the temporary temples where we will worship the goddess. Each pandal turns out to be such a beautiful work of art. Also, no less busy are those simple pandals with smaller budgets. People are busy creating pictures with little colorful light bulbs, beautiful decorations that will light up the whole city for those five nights. The special shops get busy stocking up all supplies required for the rituals, and so does the flower shops. A few days ahead, village families are busy picking lotus flowers. Hundred and eight of those are required for offering to the goddess on the most beautiful late night ritual. The drummers set out for Kolkata.

Children are busy deciding which dress they will wear on which day. Counting how many new each one got, they compete with their friends in school. They remain busy planning the games they will play, the storybooks they will read, the fast food they will eat, the pandals they will visit. Those five days will be without any strict rules, five days of freedom to do whatever the heart desires. Young people make plans regarding when they will go out with which friend groups. The pandal hopping routes, the parties, and all other details of the five-day long celebration are carefully decided. The middle-aged people choose to relax and just spend the days in the neighborhood area chatting all day long, visiting friends and family, eating good. Or some of them goes back to become young again and roam around the whole day. Older generation plan for their families, maybe the daughter or the son will return home from their work city. They do not plan to go much out, but still have all modest ideas especially for those five days.

The writers are busy finishing their novels. For this occasion, several literary magazines are published with novels, stories, and essays from eminent writers. Bengalis celebrate festivity with literature also. Special features start on the newspapers and magazines. New individual books are published, new music albums are released. All puja special.

The media is busy reporting the themes of the famous clubs for the year, the latest fashion, and so on. The advertisements are targeted for this occasion, and there are a lot of offers and discounts in every shop. This is also the time when people go for vacations, and there are even ‘puja special’ trains! The traffic control board has those important meetings to come up with strategic methods for controlling the passionate crowd those puja days.

Now if we are talking about festivals, can we leave out food? Therefore, families plan what special dishes they are going to cook. The best restaurants in the cities are noted down in the list ‘to visit’ during these five days. The restaurants get busy putting together the puja special menu. Traditional recipes are on the magazines. In some neighborhood, the lunches are planned in the community hall for these days. The people in charge of arranging the food seem to have the most important job among all.

Outside Bengal, and even outside India, wherever there are a few Bengali families, together they plan and try to organize the puja in their own way. They get busy with the preparations. The idol must be arranged to be shipped from some interior village of Bengal. A nice cultural program is planned and rehearsed. The lunch menu consists of typical Bengali delicacies. All in an effort to get a flavor of their roots, a flavor of the festive hometown away from home.

What about me? Well, here there are not any puja or celebration. However, I cannot spend these festive days pretending them to be just any other day. So I plan to wear new clothes, and dress up. I plan to cook special dinner each evening, a dinner with desserts. I plan to check the websites putting up detailed pictures of the celebrations in my Kolkata. I simply plan to make everything special in their little ways.

Everyone is just busy planning before the puja…

After all these preparations, planning, excitements, anticipations, expectations, the puja came. Those happy, crazy, glittery, grand, extreme five days of festivity. Then suddenly it is over. The five days pass by more quickly than one can even imagine. The eager plans quickly transform into happy memories of past. We had so much fun and created such beautiful memories. However, there is nothing to look forward to, to plan for, and to feel crazy about. We wait and wait and wait for it so eagerly, and then it comes and goes in a blink. And we do feel sad. We feel sad to go back to the routine again. Sometimes maybe waiting is so much more exciting..

Well..

Asche bochor abar hobe

Next year it will happen again..

Soon we will be busy planning for that. Someone rightly said, we Bengalis live from one puja to another.

The train and me

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Sun, 09 Oct 2011 20:09:00 +0000

Kuuu... Jhik jhik.. Jhik jhik.. The whistle blows. The train slowly departs from the platform. I am by the window. My face, pressed against the window rod, looks back to the busy Howrah station. I look down at the rail lines, how the train is changing tracks. I try to follow one until it gets lost in another. Slowly the train picks up speed. One after another, it is passing the electricity poles by the rail line. A dimly lit small station comes. By the time, I could read the name, the train hurries by it. I now look inside the train, the people around. Wow! I am riding a train after so long. I am going to a new place for holiday. How exciting is that!! With the rhythm of the moving train, my thoughts get lost in the vanishing horizon outside the window.

This used to be the picture every time I boarded the train as a little girl and headed towards a new holiday destination. And after all these years, the picture is still the same. Today also, I am similarly excited to board a train. My face remains glued to the window as the scenery outside changes. Therefore, with an occasion or without, I am always happy to be on the train. As I was on the steam train (museum train for tourism) all excited, happy and smiling some days ago. The wind messed my hair and I smelled the smoke, and along with came back all my little train memories..

The recent steam train ride

After getting to know about the destination, the next question during our childhood vacation planning used to be about the train. How long would the train journey last? Were we going to spend the night in the train? Train train. A vacation was not complete without it. And a train ride was not complete without a overnight journey!

The olden times of sleeper class journey. Dad would try to get two tickets with the window seats, and two with the middle berths. Both were must. Brother and I would spend the day by the window sides. For sleeping at night, we occupied the middle berths. I do not know what amusement we found in sleeping on the middle berth. And dad had to make us a temporary fence with some nylon ropes joining the bars holding the berth. A measure to prevent us from falling during our sleepy wander! Another attraction to us was inflating the air pillows. I would inflate two, and brother would get two. We would inflate a bit, and then while we tried to catch our breath, it would deflate again!

My face used to be fixed by the window. The wind would play with my hair. The eyes will turn a bit watery in the constant wind. Ma would say, during her childhood she also used to do the same. Then it used to be coal engine. From coal to electric, the technologies have changed. Nevertheless, the picture by the window side managed to remain constant. A curious face, looking out to the unknown world.

Outside, the frames of picture change one after another. Green villages of Bengal. Little ponds, the dark shade of trees, paddy fields, a little hut. Soon wheat fields replace the paddy in my picture frame. Leaving that behind, the landscape becomes drier. Empty fields, grazing cattle. In Bengal the huts are thatched with dried hay. In other places, dried date leaves thatched the hut. Look, isn’t the shape of these huts a bit different than the ones in Bengal. The tiles are also roundish instead of squarish. Oh, and there, is that a date plant dad? What crop is this in the field? The train then goes by a little town. On the other side of the level crossing, cars, cycles, vans, scooters are waiting for the train to pass. Then there are again just fields dotted with villages. A group of little boys runs along the train on the narrow mud path. Their bare feet are trying to be faster than the train; their faces are glowing with innocent glee. The railroad makes a bend. With my head almost out of the window, I try to count the number of train cars. Lost in thoughts, I idly read the milepost number. And then suddenly.. Jham Jham Jham Jham.. The train crosses the bridge with the loud metallic sound.

The train stops at a big junction station. So many trains. Announcements in different language. Everything looks so busy! The hawkers walking by our window with all those yummy fast foods makes my mouth water. Bhaiya, give me one serving of the fries. Can a train ride be complete without buying these fast foods through the window? Dad gets down with our water bottles. There my brother starts getting nervous, will dad manage to board the train before it leaves! Those were the days when mineral water bottles were not available everywhere. In each big station, around a single drinking water tap would gather a big crowd trying to refill their bottles.

Where are you going? The question comes from the opposite seat, and begins a chatty conversation with the co-passenger. In between all these, the lunch is served from the pantry car. I do not know how we used to find that food so tasty! After growing up, I would never even try it. Surprisingly, then the food in those aluminum foils and boxes was one tasty exciting thing. Those almost watery lentils, chicken pieces in oil and spices, almost cold rice or paratha. I loved the fish sandwiches we used to pack from home for the first night if our train was departing in the evening. And I remember how getting food every hour drove us crazy while we were travelling with Rajdhani Express (a semi-luxury train), even though it was so tasty. With the food there used to be a lot of toffees, chocolates, and lozenges. I remember the Parle Mango Bite and Orange lozenges. Strangely, I do not like them anymore. Either they are not any more the same, or I have grown up..

I remember the first ride on First class train compartment. A closed-door four seated arrangement. Uff, I can never forget the excitement and apprehension before the ride. I was so surprised when we got the bedding during our first AC compartment journey. Our sleeper class journeys slowly turned into travelling in AC cars. The calls of the hawkers, the buying fast food through the windows stayed on the other side of the glass windows. Boring but comfortable. However, buying the comfort could change only that much of the whole picture, the rest remained same. Only, instead of the iron rods, my cheeks now touched the glass as I looked out of the window.

I remember the numerous and never-ending journey between Pune-Kolkata during the college days. For the first time a bit of sadness mingled with the joy ride on train. For the first time I was travelling with train alone. Ah, I used to be so exhausted after the 34 hours journey. Those whole night chats with Beenish. Our topics ranged from books, college gossips, philosophy, serious things, and back to boys. Or I would just finish the new book in hand in those two days. As the train would cross the Kolaghat Bridge, I would say, ‘okay, one more hour’. Train brought the joy of returning home after a busy semester.

Now a days, I mostly travel by air. From the steam trains my parents rode, to Sleeper class of my childhood days, to AC, and now flights; the world has changed. Nevertheless, train still evokes the same excitement wrapped in curiosity, the same as Apu-Durga^*. I have grown beyond the days when before the school bell we all friends used to play ‘train-train’ in a line. Nevertheless, as the train runs towards a new direction, my thoughts get lost in the myriad of dreams. That is why I am so excited to go on this museum steam train ride. That is why I am eager to join Blaž for any train ride. A train ride just to ride the train. That is why I just go to see the Howrah station when I visit home. To me train still means vacations, so much fun, a new place, new landscapes, crowded stations, loud announcements, hawkers, the green fields spreading outside the window, a book in my hand, a sudden music that I start humming, the metallic clanks of changing lines, me by the window, and the whistle blows..

Kuuuuu….

*Apu and Durga are characters from one of my favorite books, ‘Pather Panchali’ by Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhayay. The part in the book describing their innocent curiosity, excitement and longing to see the train for the first time, according to me, is the most romantic and true narration of the wonder that trains bring to a child. To me.

The sound-words used in describing the train are those typically used in Bengali language.

My school bag

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 19:25:00 +0000

Do you remember the first bag you carried to school?

I was coming to work today. With school that just started at beginning of September, there are many excited first graders around in the morning. All holding their prized possession, their school bag, wearing the reflective collar were eager to go to school. I watch them every day. However, today, I just noticed this girl with her pink Disney princess bag, and went back to my first school days. Well, actually the first school bag.

In India, children start school 2-3 years before the first grade. The pre-school or nursery school. Though similar to a kindergarten in concept, it is somewhat different. In all these 12 years of school, plus 3 years of pre-school, I possessed many bags in all fancy colors and shapes. However, I really do not remember them. I do not even remember the first day to school. It is a very fuzzy memory overlapped with memories that I suspect are from later days. However, I remember in all details, the simple bag I was carrying the first day to my school. And the water bottle that hung around my neck.

It was the simplest bag I ever had. A little rectangular bag in the strangest shade of grey-brown. I cannot even describe the color. It was not exactly grey. If one imagines grey with a splash of brown thrown in, maybe one would get the color. The borders were in black. There were two black buckles strapping the open flap to the bag. On the flap, on a small black tag was written ‘Duck Back’ in cursive white. The bag’s rectangular shape would stick a bit out of the narrow frame of my body. Inside there were three pockets. The long big one was for my books and exercise books. The other part stitched in the middle formed two smaller pockets. The right one was for my lunch box. The left carried my pencil box and the hardbound school notebook. I remember how I found the plastic buckles interesting. It appeared such a smart mechanism to the three year old me. I liked fastening my bag often.

I remember how my books used to be arranged inside my bag. Bigger ones at the back and the smaller ones in the front. The small exercise books would be made into two neat equal piles and put in front of the books, side by side. I remember one particular incident. I wished some change in the arrangement of the contents of my bag. However, I could not figure out a very distinct variation. Only decided to carry my lunch box and notebook together in the right pocket. However, by the time my teacher asked for the notebook (it was used by teacher to write notes to parents etc), I had forgotten all about it. I told her I had forgotten to bring it. My surprise knew no bound when it appeared from the right pocket along with my lunch box during the lunch break!! Oh, silly me, I had just kept it in the right pocket!

My water bottle was another prized possession of mine. It was transparent, with brown belt, and cap with the nozzle. However, the cap covering the nozzle was not just a cap, but a mini box! No one in my class had a water bottle like that, and I was so proud of it. Ma would often times put something little in that box. A candy, some fruit, some sweet. A little treat in the little box!

I like carrying a backpack. Often I find it very practical and useful. My present one is an indigo blue with black. I am planning to replace it soon. And I am sure, I will not remember this current one for long after I stop using it. But, I know, I will always remember my first bag. I was proud of my bag. Of myself. I can close my eyes and see the color, the brand, the make, everything. I do not know if I have a picture of the bag. Maybe someday I should check my first day school pictures. But I do have the picture in my mind. And there it will forever stay. My bag and the delight of a three year old.

The cows in a parade

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 19:15:00 +0000

For two years, I wished to go to this event. Finally, last Sunday I went. When I came to know about the event in 2009, I decided to go the next year. However, last year we were all set to go, but the weather was not on our side. First, it was postponed by a week due to heavy rain. Then, as there was no improvement in weather after a week, the Sunday event was finally cancelled. The forecast this year was also not good. Rain was predicted for the afternoon. However, we decided to pay no attention to it. The event was not cancelled. ‘We will go and see what happens, if weather turns too ugly, we will simply return’. This is what we thought, and set out in the morning. And what a day we had!!

I am talking about the ‘Kravji Bal’ or the ‘Cow ball’. It is one unique and maybe one of the lesser-known country festivals in Slovenia. By the beautiful and pristine Bohinj lake with the lofty Julian Alps looking over, Slovenia welcomes its cows back into the valley after a summer of grazing high up in the pastures of the Alps. Local farmers proudly decorate their fattened cows with wreaths and bells and walk them in a parade. Later the healthiest and best-looking cows are awarded. The herd keepers walk proudly by their herds, back in the valley after a summer-long hard work. Dairy families dress up in traditional dresses. There is folk song and dance. Fresh homemade chesses, butter, yogurt are for tasting and buying. There are also small stands with honey, wicker baskets, sheep wool, woodenwares, and many other local traditional handicrafts. For eating, there is the usual sausage, sour cabbage, porridge etc. Everyone merry and gay!

In the morning, I woke up excitedly with the thoughts of finally going to the festival. After a quick breakfast, we started towards Bohinj. The weather though cloudy and hazy, was not very bad. And we were keeping our fingers crossed. Though Bohinj is one of my favorite places, I was visiting it after long time. I had forgotten the roads, and enjoyed driving by the Sava river, in the valley. Soon there in front of us was Bohijn lake in all its pristine beauty. On a clear sunny day, its still water mirrors the majestic beauty of the overlooking mountains. However, this time it was not meant to be so. There were already a few drops of rain..

We parked the car. I could already hear the lively folk music from the festival ground, and could barely keep my patience to reach there. The sky in the meantime was dark with clouds. As we were walking, there started a heavy downpour. The person on stage commented that it was high time for some rain, as past weeks had been very very dry. Within me, my heart sank. I knew if it continues raining like that, we would just have to return.

Before going in the ground, we decided to walk by the stalls on the road. There were all sorts of things. Wooden work, wind wheels in traditional shapes of bee, roster etc, wicker baskets, woolens and so on.

Everyone at the shops was busy protecting their merchandise from the rain. People were taking shelter under the plastic roofs of the shops. At one end, there is this big demonstration and advertisement area for wood machines. One was demonstrating the making of sawdust from logs. People gathered around there. Even grandmas! Their lives in farms have made them interested in these kinds of machines. And as we were watching it for fun, the rain slowly stopped. The wind pushed away the clouds, and the sky cleared for a bit.

The folk music was so catchy; we slowly headed towards the festive ground. In the center, there were wooden tables and benches for sitting down to have some lunch, drink, or for simply chatting. Surrounding the sitting area were different stalls for handcrafted traditional objects. Wicker basket, woolen from sheep wool, laces, crochet works, cloth dolls, little trinkets, wooden souvenirs etc. There was a stall where they were making nets and meshes from horsehair. There were stalls selling Slovene honey in all different flavors. And of course there were several stalls selling homemade dairy products! We tasted the samples of yummy cheeses. There were different spreads made of young cheese and spices. Then there were fresh cottage cheese, sour milk, milk, yogurt and so on… All fresh, celebrating the authentic flavors. We decided on the cheeses we would like to buy before going.

On one side, there was a stage for the music and dance performances. And in between the conductor was keeping us entertained. The merry sound of the accordion enlivened the whole place. And with its rhythm men and women dressed in folk dresses tapped their feet. Men made the cherry ‘ya-ho’ sounds, and the women in white apron swayed their long colorful skirts in style. All around it was celebration with sounds and colors of olden Slovenia. People danced in organized performances. People danced just because it was fun to do so. There were children from elementary and high schools performing. There were professional groups. And just any other person of any age. Some dressed up in traditional dresses. Some were just in some bright colors. People were drinking beer. Children were running around. It was so vibrant all around me.

The dairy families

The cows were about to come at 1 o’clock. And I couldn’t wait for them. In the meantime, we decided to visit the horses and cows in the fenced area.

Aww, do not they have the most gentle and calming eyes? There was a brown horse getting ready to give rides to children. As the owner was tending to its shoes, it had put his face on his back, rubbing its face against the owner, licking him. Then the horse looked out at its audience. Sniffing a bit, it would bring its head closer for a gentle patting. The cute animal was just trying to be so friendly as it was getting my attention and pampering. There were two little brown calves and a brown bull in one fence. The bull tried to put up a serious face, looking all smart in its headgear. With an air of pride, it ignored all the visitors. The calves were just enjoying the attention, pampering, and food (pears) they were getting.

They were already starting to put the temporary fence for the cow parade. We headed towards having lunch. Sausage, sour cabbage with cracklings. We found a seat, but could hardly pay attention to the food. The minute it was getting closer to 1 o’clock, the more impatient I was getting. I simply wished to get a place by the fence and wait for the parade. Soon we were there in place. And a bit past 1 o’clock, the parade started.

First came two little girls dressed in cow costumes. And then came the cows. Each group at a time, along with the owner family, the herd keeper. All were dressed in traditional costumes. Herd keepers dressed in their traditional working style, check shirts, long boots, the hat and carrying the basket-like-thing on their back. They carried with them all the supplies that would be required for their mountain months. There were explanations about the things required by a herd keeper, a short description about his life up there in the mountains with his cows. Women and little girls were dressed in bright colors carrying baskets with dairy products. There was a huge cheese block drawn on a cart. And then there were the cows!

So cute and endearing they were. Some had little bells by the ears. Some had their horns decorated with pine greens. Pine greens and flowers made wreaths around the head for some. They walked in lines. They ran a bit, confused. They stopped to approach the people standing by the sides. They pushed each other for fun. They mooed loudly. Made their bells ring. It was the most adorable, charming and funny parade I have ever seen. And the show stopper was of course the youngest one. It was only a 22 hours old calf. Named Sobotko (Saturday). Warm brown color, with a white tail, it had the silliest face ever. It looked in wonder and amazement. Walked in its wobbly style by the mother. And then, it stopped posing for photographs!

The star of the show - Sobotko

The cows were led to their respective group fences where they would be judged. The crowd was gathered by the fences. And of course the largest crowd puller was the new born Sobotko. It was in its fence with two females. Sobotko was inquisitive, trying to approach the people gathered a bit, but never too confident to come very close. Then it would rub by its mother, and drink her milk. Enjoy the attention of the crowd again. Every time a cow mooed, Sobotko mooed back in a silly voice. It was like a game to him. And he was visibly amazed. I moved around, looking at other cows. I loved most the young ones, most inquisitive and playful they were. By the time, I returned to the fence where Sobotko was, he was cuddled up on the hay, and peacefully resting. A cow from the adjacent fence was licking his head.

Now it was time to go home. We decided not to stay until the end, a few more hours. Therefore, it was time for shopping before leaving. We bought two varieties of cheeses. Unfortunately, the last liter of milk was bought just before us, and I could not get the fresh creamy cow milk. It did make me a bit sad.

Pleasantly tired, we started walking towards the car. I always love to be a part of any festival. Whatever the reason is, people are always so happy. And before you know, you are also one among the many smiling faces. I was a happy girl. Enjoying by tranquility of Bohinj would have to wait for another day. This time it was just to enjoy the warm cherry colorful mood of a country festival and go home with the sound of music, laughter, and of course the ‘moo-s’, echoing around me.

Lazy Saturday

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 22:31:00 +0000

I like all the hustle bustle. I like all the activities. And this is what it was like for the past several weeks, months. Something or the other was always on cards. Therefore, when I woke up last Saturday to the lazy morning, I just realized that it was exactly what I was wishing for quite a while. A lazy Saturday.

I think when I finally checked the time it was 9:30, or maybe 10. I do not remember. I was awake for quite some time, but did not at all bother to check the time. And when I did, it was just to enjoy the pleasure of the clock testifying that I was actually late. My hand searched for the magazine. I did not even trouble myself with lifting my head from the pillow. Inside the cozy warm wrap of the blanket, I started reading a short story. Some casual story in some casual magazine. My toes moved in the rhythm as it always does when I am in a relaxed mood not thinking about anything.

I was still in the bed long after finishing the story, just closing eyes and listening to the sounds of activities outside. “Okay, maybe now I can get up, and brush, and take a shower”. All refreshed, I slowly went down to see what was up there. It was the same lazy picture also there downstairs. As I looked out, it was soaked in the vibrant summer sun. Flowers were smiling bright. Bees were busy collecting honey. It was too late for breakfast and I was not hungry in particular. I fiddled with a few roasted peanuts. Peeked inside the fridge. I walked around the house. The pumpkin in the garden was getting bigger each day. However, I think, for the moment the pumpkin flowers were alluring me more. I wished to have them crispy fried. I decided to sit for a while outside.

Soon however, I decided to go upstairs. “Maybe I will call my grandma”. Instead, I got busy with emails, youtube videos etc as soon as I switched on the computer. There were good reviews of a recently released Bengali movie. Surprisingly it was already available online. I put it for downloading. “Oh no, it is so slow!!”. I was just feeling like having some chips. Blaž came in the room. Before, he was busy cleaning the car. Now, he would like to put the bed linens for washing. After a long time he got a free weekend and just wished to do what all had to be done. Good boy! On the other hand, I wandered around in the virtual world. I did not feel like doing anything. Not even what was required to be done. “Tomorrow”. Then again, I got absorbed in the supplementary pages of the Bengali newspaper online.

It was late afternoon in India. I wondered what dida was doing, and called my grandma. As age has made all her days like my lazy Saturday, my calls always bring a smile to her face. The story about one of her silly childhood prank made me smile.

After the lunch, I was sitting on the couch with a bowl of ice cream. What can be a better image of a lazy noon? Then we decided to go and visit our urhek-s (yellow-bellied toad) in some nearby water. “Are they there this year too”? It is always the ‘right time’ for me when it comes to frog watching. Spending the noon idly sounds good. Spending the noon spotting and gazing at frogs sounds even better!

There is a small abandoned quarry nearby. During its functional days, there used to be a small decorative pool, which has now turned almost into ruins. During one of our walks, we noticed yellow-bellied toads (urh in Slovene), great newts, and other water creatures in the little water of the pool. Last year we saw the tiniest possible baby urhs in it. Hence was our trip to the pool. The pool this time had much more water from the past days of rain. Thick algae and weeds covered it. “Will we be able to spot any”? We carefully began scrutinizing the pool.

There, there is one. Just floating in the water. And another one, floating grabbing a weed. The third one had only its eyes peeking. The fourth one was a small one by the edge. I spotted one between some submerged rocks. Then another one. Six we saw in total! Sometimes they felt our presence as we approached close and hid in the water, the hind legs propelling away the water quickly. Sometimes they were oblivious of our advance. We touched the webbed foot of one gently. It simply ignored the touch. Blaž even touched one’s nose, and quickly it hid. The yellow-bellied toads are the silliest ones possible. And we played on them our silly trick. We grabbed a grass weed and put it very close to one of the toad’s mouth. Then gently I swayed the weed. For a second it waited in attention. The next instant, it tried to grab it in mouth. Opening its mouth in quick succession, the toad even tried to use its front leg to grab the ‘insect’. After a while, we found three of them resting in a line!

An urh (yellow-bellied toad) floating

The amount of water made it impossible to see other amphibians and insects. I hoped to see a newt. We were however too afraid to overturn the rocks in the pool. After all, we did not wish to accidentally harm one or intrude their natural abode. There was also some strange insect, which we had not seen before. And the only other creature was the European wall lizard making circles on the warm rocks. I rather wished they were not there. Blaž just wished to grab one and even tried!

There are many wild blackberry bushes around. The red berries were ripening into plump black ones. I collected a handful. They were sweet with a hint of tart. Delicious!

Our next stop was a ditch where we mostly see green marsh frogs during our bicycle rides. The marsh weeds and plants were growing lush green. The purple weed flowers created a nice picture on the border of yellow crop and green field. The sky was preparing for an afternoon shower. And far there, it was already raining. Blaž stopped to take a picture. A black kitty was sitting in the field. Two crows. There was an unknown bird on the electric wire making a shrill sound. Two grandmas passed by. They wished me one all smiley and most friendly ‘dober dan’. Unfortunately, there was no frog in the ditch. I am sure they were just hiding a bit.

Soon after we reached home, the rain caught up with us. It was a few minutes of heavy downpour. The sun was then again smiling. I transferred our frog pictures in the computer. The movie was still downloading! After dinner, Blaž’s mama asked if I would join her for a short walk. I was talking all the while like always. As the sky turned dusk colors and we headed homewards, we saw a deer. Ears pointed, it looked at us a few times, and then vanished inside the thicket of corns.

The rest of the evening just went by. Sitting on the couch chatting. Maybe I was watching a bit of TV. The rest I do not remember. Maybe I just drifted away in the world of slumber. Or did I?

Cheesecake Factory

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Fri, 27 May 2011 03:32:00 +0000

I love eating. I like trying different cuisine and great dishes. As long as I have variety and quality, I am happy, and I generally do not eat large portions. Therefore, it was very hilarious when someone was surprised to see me finishing a large entree portion along with the dessert. He was surprised enough to even loudly say so!

Last year in Washington, we had a lovely Saturday exploring the Air and Space museum. We had plans of an early dinner at Cheesecake Factory that afternoon. Therefore, we did not really eat any lunch. The museum interested and intrigued us, and we forgot all about food. There was so much to see! However, at the end of the day, on way back home, we did start feeling hungry and exhausted. And as previously planned, we went to Cheesecake Factory for a heavy lunch-dinner.

I had never had cheesecake before. Hence, it was the reason of the whole plan in the first place. And like always, I found myself pretty excited about trying something new, some delicious dessert.

A waiter led us to our table, a cozy one by the window. Already hungry and tired, we quickly started going through the menu. The cheesecake was supposed to be the focus; therefore, we decided to skip appetizer and simply start with the main course. Blaž and his dad ordered some fried meat and seafood dish; and I decided to take grilled Mahi-Mahi. The portions in USA are quite large than in other countries. So, when our order came, it looked quite a lot. Besides the main protein, our plates were also loaded with mashed potatoes, grilled veggies and so on.. It was almost a bit intimidating. Nevertheless, the plates looked appetizing, and the delicious smell made us even hungrier. Without wasting further time, we just concentrated on our plates. My fish was succulent and flavorful. Though I was daunted initially, the tasty fish and grilled vegetables soon made me feel comfortable. It was a happy lunch with everyone enjoying the food.

Well, half way through the lunch, both Blaž and his dad said they were enough full. I was not. While they were requesting for doggy bags, I finished my plate. I am not sure whether I would have managed to do so if I had ordered something similar like they had. Something thickly coated with crumbs and fried, especially if it is meat, is quite heavy for me. It makes me easily full, and I cannot eat much of it. However, two pieces of fish, and an assortment of vegetables is almost staple for me. It was just with a different flavor. Now which Bengali feels overstuffed eating two pieces of fish, some vegetables, and a bit of potato (treating it as rice)? None! Therefore, being true to the 'food-lovers' tag given to us Bengalis, I finished my plate and was even ready for the dessert. The others had had enough, and could not even imagine of ordering a generous slice of cheesecake at that moment. I however, did order one slice of cheesecake in the classic flavor with fresh strawberry. After all, the whole purpose of going to that restaurant was having cheesecake. I could not possibly leave that out. Especially as I had never tasted it before. The surprise was not my ordering the cheesecake but ordering it for there and not for going. The waiter was visibly surprised and could not hide that. It was so funny to notice his expression.

My cheesecake came adorned with juicy red strawberries and generous dollop of whipped cream, looking all yummylicious. It was so tempting that I could hardly wait. A spoonful of the creamy delicacy made me want more. I loved the subtle play of flavors and the rich creamy texture melting in my mouth. I do have a sweet tooth. And with one spoon, this cheesecake easily made a place in the list of my favorite desserts. Each spoon was an indulgence. The dessert was such a great treat. I would have had another one if I had not just finished a complete entree before. I was just craving for more of that creamy delicacy.

As I was finishing the last few of spoons, the waiter came to ask how everything was. It was delicious, I said. And we asked for the bill. It was my last spoon, when the waiter came with the bill, and the requested doggy bags. I was so pleasantly full and all happy after my food, and specially the dessert. My plate was nicely empty and enjoyed. He could not just contain his surprise. He said, in his whole career of serving at the Cheesecake Factory, he never came across one who finished his large portion of main course and even enjoyed a slice of their delicious namesake. Everyone requests for a doggy bag. He was like ' look such a small looking girl, and yet finished the whole food and dessert'. As he was saying so, I drank my lemonade. He had to comment in a jest, 'well, and the lemonade too, and done'. It was hilarious, the way he said all that. We all were smiling. And I must admit, I was quite a bit embarrassed too. I never ever imagined that my eating would possibly make a story to tell later to friends. It was just grilled fish, not fried, and something light. Something that is staple to me. As I was enjoying the food and had finished it, I never realized it would make such a funny situation. We were all laughing as we left the restaurant. The same girl who need coaxing often times to eat a bit larger portions, made a story with her eating! The waiter must have thought that I eat like monster! I was embarrassed, but it was fun.. I had to tell the story to everyone later, and we had a good laugh.

This weekend, I will be a tourist around the Union Square of San Francisco. There is a Cheesecake Factory just there. Of course, I am going to get a generous portion of the tasty creamy cake. And will have a hearty laugh over it.. Only I will just pack it to go :)

How are you?

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Wed, 25 May 2011 04:32:00 +0000

'Hi, how are you?' They ask and do not even wait for the answer. And sometimes the answer is repetition of the same question!

We are running everyday and trying to fit in this busy world, leaving us with little time to spare. We are too preoccupied with our own lives to care to know what others are doing. Yet, often when I observe how people greet each other, it never fails to surprise me. A few words, a few lines, somehow are capable of revealing a whole lifestyle.

On way from local market in Kolkata, when you meet your neighbor, despite the presence of the very visible shopping bag, you will hear, 'ki dada, bajar theke firchen (Are you returning from the market)?'. A unique a way to say hello. Often times when there is no time, we offer a friendly smile to a familiar face on the roads. Maybe a 'hi' or 'hello' will accompany the smile if one belongs to the younger generation. When there is a minute to spare both stop to ask 'kemon achen (how are you)?' before departing for their respective destinations. In other cases, a smile and nod of head do the work. Then, one never stops to say hello to a stranger, only maybe a quick smile sometimes is shared. Bengalis do not often care about these too polite formalities; we are more chatty and informal people.

You are in the elevator in your office building in Ljubljana. And as you leave on your floor, you go away saying a 'dan' to wish the others a good day ahead. In Slovenia it can be a friendly 'živjo (hi)' or a bit formal 'jutro (morning)'. Even when one is meeting complete strangers in elevators or on a hiking trail, they pass a quick 'dan', shorter version of dober dan (good day). Depending on the person in front, these compliments are friendly, polite, and sometimes just a formality, following etiquettes. Sometimes when people are meeting a familiar face after long time, they take time to start a little conversation with a 'kako si (how are you)?'. These are friendly, sometimes chatty. It is always so nice to hear the warm and enthusiastic hellos in the less formal settings. But when addressed to a stranger, often times it seem more mechanical to me. Yet, one can get a feeling of belonging together in a same place if the response is a friendly one.

'Hello', 'how are you doing?', 'have a nice one'.. You can hear these one-liners all around San Francisco all the time, addressed to friends, acquaintances, just a known face, and complete strangers. While it can lead to a quick short chat among friends, colleagues who are catching up with each other or discussing business, often times I find it not to be so. Specially with acquaintance or stranger, the lines somehow seems to be thrown to the other person in a hurry. Then without waiting for a response, one moves on. And worst is when the response is just the repetition of the same question. In such cases, it seems not like a polite greeting but a hurried formality dumped on another. It is of course nice and polite to wish people one meets around during the day. However, when people are so rushed, this same act of politeness does not look polite anymore.

When we ask 'how are you?’, except for a few exceptions with close friends and family, we are not really interested in the answer. Both the person asking and the one being asked know it. We all do. This question is more a way to start up a conversation than a sincere one. When people are hurrying to keep in pace with this ultra-fast life, they just try to squeeze out a minute to have a quick chat. People ask how the other person is doing. And these hi-hello-how-are-you chats are always pleasant and fun when there is a moment to spare. But then, why bother to ask 'how are you?' when one is not even pretending to be asking? Then one even gets as an answer just the same question asked back with the similar nonchalant tone. Both rushes off with their life, without waiting for any answer at all. Well, the answer never comes, and actually, no one was expecting an answer in the first place! We cannot possibly spare time to engage in a chat with all the familiar faces we meet each day. However, in such cases a smiling nod, a hi, a good day etc show very well the acknowledgment in a polite manner. Asking a question without wanting to hear an answer or answering back with the same question is strange to me! It is even rude to a certain extent instead of being polite. It may not register to us as we go away in haste. No one thinks about the exchange in any negative way. It is just a style of greetings, a lifestyle. But, in a way it makes the fact more evident that how little we care, if at all. Everyone of us.. And that is one sad thing to realize..

Daisies

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Thu, 19 May 2011 04:37:00 +0000

My first English book was the Grimm’s Fairy Tales. A world of princes, princesses, angry witches, cute animals, gingerbread houses, and magnificent palaces it was. I just loved reading the stories and adored the pretty illustrations. And besides all those pictures of handsome princes and pretty dresses and silly animals, there was this one picture that stood apart to me.

It is a picture from the story Little Red Riding Hood. Red Riding Hood on her way to her grandma is passing by the woods. There in a little open of the wood, the green is dotted white with gentle daisies. She stops to pick those up. Her basket is lying there on the grass, unattended. The big bad wolf is there from somewhere far peeking at her. She is sitting there, busy picking daisies. Her hands are already full. But she wishes more. Oblivious of everything she is lost in those gentle beauties.

This particular picture gave rise to a whispering wish in my heart. There was something very simple and innocent in that picture, which the little girl in me longed to experience. And along with many dreams from the fairy land, this wish was kept safe.

I have loved being in nature and amongst flowers from always. It showers me with some calming happiness. And the wild flowers growing for its own happiness always made me smile. I love wild flowers more than those in tended pretty gardens. The wild mountain flowers growing carelessly by the road filled me with such happiness during our summer mountain holidays. Sometimes I plucked a few. Sometimes I just admired their beauty from far. However, among all these wild flowers, the dream still remained untouched. But it was not lost. Someday, just someday, it will surely come true.

I reached Slovenia among all the hues of red autumn, and then witnessed a glorious winter. Then as the snow melted and the first blades of grass peeped out, I could see the footsteps of spring. It was my first spring in Slovenia. Flowers started to wake up from their winter slumber. Everything started to bloom. And also daisies. Lots and lots and lots and lots of daisies...

Daisies were everywhere. By the side of the road, on the green of the pavement, on the endless fields, and in the shade of the wood. Adorning the lovely green meadows, their gentle petals fluttered in the breeze. And how delighted and happy my heart was.

Every morning on way to work, I enjoyed them. Early morning, they were still sleeping, all curled up in a circle. Some had faint pink on the tip of the petals. Those looked like white discs with a pink dot. And as the gentle sun and morning dew touched them, they slowly woke up. They opened up to the warmth of the sun and freshness of morning breeze. The whole day long, they were just be there, smiling to the world, swinging gently, and again stopping to wonder. They said hi to bees and other flowers.

Over the weekends, I went for long walks in the nature. The sun, the green, the colors, and the daisies, it was such a beautiful spring morning. I picked one. I picked another. And.. Then slowly I went into the meadow leaving my road behind. I forgot other things. The only sound was the buzzing of bees. I was just enwrapped in the innocence of the daisies. My hands were full. But I still gently plucked another one. I had touched my dream..

Gentle and pristine were those daisies. And so was that little dream. Such precious little piece of happiness could this simple wish bring with it. I was happy and happy. My heart was fluttering.

I have so many dreams in life. Fulfillment of those makes me happy. Always makes me smile. And among those big big dreams, a little dream like this one, wrapped in fairytale, always remains as one most special. Because, like those daisies, these little dreams are also simple, gentle, and true in its essence. These dreams are the true whispers of my heart.

How much will you pay?

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Thu, 19 May 2011 04:23:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, I was walking around at Hyde Street Pier, enjoying the view and maritime history. The roadsides were busy with vendors, most selling fashion accessories. There were also some painters making portraits and caricatures, along with some scenic views of San Francisco. Watching these street artists always remind me of the painters in Kolkata Book Fair, and recently of the artists in Rome. And, along came the memory of a little incident from Rome that had stirred me to the core.

Rome was a perfect destination for my summer holidays, a city of art and history. Rome presented to me a rich collection of paintings, sculptures, architectures, mythology, religion, culture, and practices. Every day I was just enjoying the glorious Renaissance arts; and was revisiting history in the heart of Roman Empire and Catholic world where all truths and myths became indistinguishable. But this is not about Rome. It is about a small insignificant incident I witnessed there, and which many may have witnessed in other touristy corners of the world. An incident so normal and usual to us, that it rarely leaves any mark.

You go to any famous Piazzas of Rome, there are many artists sitting there and painting, like many other tourists spots. There are many painters giving life to the history on the paper with their colors. Some are students from art colleges. Some enjoy painting as a hobby. However, for most it is a means of livelihood. They are selling those paintings to the tourists. They are painting portraits, caricatures, historic Rome, or some beautiful scenery of nature. And all these paintings too my amateur eyes looked really beautiful. Like always, I was admiring the works of these street painters as I was walking around in the afternoon.

We were on the top of the Spanish steps. Looking onto the lazy touristy city, we were enjoying the Bernini designed Piazza di Spagna with the interesting Fountain of the old boat and the famous steps lit in the afternoon sun. Like in other corners, here also were some artists. I could hear some woman bargaining with the artist somewhere close by. However, this bargaining was only like some background noise, as all my attention was to the famous display of architecture in front of me. Yet, soon, a single statement called all my attention to this bargaining.

Not satisfied with the price, the lady had decided to not buy the painting. As she started walking away, the artist in his last effort to sell, said, “okay madam, how much will you pay?”

'How much will you pay?' 'How much will you pay?' The question instantly struck me somewhere. In one moment, I was on the busy roads of Kolkata. 'O didi, bolun koto deben?' one of the most heard lines on the vendor busy sidewalks of New Market, Gariahat was echoed in a different language there in the streets of Rome. The last effort of one seller to sell a particular commodity. But.. Is a painting same as cushion covers, handbags, and fashion jewelry? A painting by Raphael is priceless, while that by some unknown artist is just a commodity! The words 'commercialization', 'market value' etc have made most creative art forms a commodity in today's practical world or have made it a lost art. Those who could make their name a brand get the price they ask. And for whatever practical reasons, many creators are forced to go through bargaining to sell their creations and earn bread. I am well aware of this reality. Standing there, I was not really questioning it. My heart was lost in some different thoughts.

I have never really learnt painting, but I enjoy doing it. It is something very close to my heart. I know my inexperienced efforts are neither perfect nor something great. But they are priceless to me. I create them with lots of love, respect and leave a piece of my heart in each of those creations. My drawings or any creation is very close to my heart. I am very possessive about them. And somewhere I believe, each one thinks the same about their own creations.

Standing in the city rich with art, I wondered, what did this particular artist think? What did he feel? What do they feel? Are these unknown artists thinking anything when the price of their creations is just limited to the price tag? Or is he not thinking anything at all? Trying to meet the ends in this everyday bargaining, is he then just another seller? Reality is keeping away his thoughts and feelings. Or is it that, everyday somewhere deep down, his creative soul is getting hurt? I do not know... I do not..

Houses in rows

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Thu, 19 May 2011 04:04:00 +0000

I love houses in rows. Standing together, sharing walls, and yet they each have its own character. It is somehow to me a symmetric assortment of differences. Sometimes they look all same with a bit different colors, or bit touches here and there to reveal their individuality. Sometimes they are just all different in every way. In any case, they create some sense of uniformity. There is some element of belonging together in a community attached to it.

I never really saw row houses in India. It is not in the culture. Nowadays, some modern housing complexes have these symmetric looking houses. However, these do not share walls, and are somehow not the same. They do not also have this age associated with them and are simply too modern to be as charming. There are also these big old houses. Once belonging to a single family, now several people own them. A few families live together in complete separate units of these houses. They often color the outside walls of their portions in different colors. To me they are more like strange apartment building arrangements. The antique maze of these old houses has some appeal different from the row houses.

Walking around in Prešeren square, I for the first time saw real row houses by the side of the river Ljubljanica. They are old, and yet looked warm and inviting. Mostly in apartment style, they are not identical and even have a bit differences in heights. Colored in pale pink, green, yellow, cream, and with dark wooden roofs, they make a perfect picture by the riverbank. Some houses have these tiny rooftop balconies or rooms. I always imagine how nice it must be to have a bedroom up there and wake up to the bustling city center on some Saturday morning. The facades have little simple decorations from olden times. The windows are bright with red flowers in spring and summer. This place, the houses, I simply love so much. They have such a charming spell on me that one day I even dream to rent one of those apartments if possible. Often times when I am walking around the old city center, I enjoy and admire these houses. They form a perfect picturesque postcard, holding onto memories from good old ages.

My another very vibrant memory of these row houses are of those around the U-Street region, close to African-American Civil War Memorial in Washington DC. There houses are all painted in very vibrant colors of bright red, yellow, blue, pink, green. It is as if the whole neighborhood is celebrating in some party. Similarly colorful are the roads with bright row houses close to Georgetown University area. They look like wrapped in colorful papers into little presents. This brightness can make one's mood instantly cherry.

If one walks past the famous and busy skyscrapers, and the glitter of Times Square, the New York City neighborhoods present a very different ambiance. With many ethnic communities living in different parts, each has its own style. The common elements are only the row houses and the iron structures. Some areas have this monotone of different shades of cream or concrete colors. Some neighborhoods though painted in monochrome were sporting bright red or similar reddish hues. Some had the row houses painted in different colors. What make them more interesting are the iron structures. I loved the iron fire-escape ways and other iron details on windows or front doors. It looks all very interestingly symmetric. Then you turn the corner and it changes to a different sort of symmetry. But all changed dramatically when we reached the Chinatown. The row houses became more colorful, and with the traditional red gold decorations. It is like a crowded fair, the touristy roads. Lined with busy shops and their banners hanging by the side of the houses, these row houses presented a very festive mood.

In Washington and New York, I was a tourist. The row houses and neighborhoods I observed, therefore, were from a different point of view. I did not have the time to wander around leisurely. Living in San Francisco for 3 months allow me to do so. San Francisco is this city of mixed cultures with many cultural groups making the city colorful. I am staying in the Haight-Ashbury region where the bohemian subculture from during the 'Summer of Love' has left its impressions, making the neighborhood interestingly colorful. The wooden row houses in all shapes and sizes with very elaborate and gaudy facades line the roads. Being a hilly city, the row houses are somewhat elongated in shape. Their multistory structure enhances the impression. The houses are also characterized by a steep flight of stairs leading to the front door. What is interesting is that rather than sharing walls, most houses have the tiniest gap of barely a centimeter between the walls. Each house has a very different architectural design from the other. The colors range covers all hues in the palate. The highly ornate frontal in gold, silver, and white colors make the houses look very antique. One can just stand and admire one house for minutes before moving to the next one.

Row houses for me are somehow a presence of asymmetry in symmetry. Even though standing together, each is somehow a bit different from the other. All the different colors, decorations, sizes standing in a neat row make them interesting. Even when they are looking all same, small things like the window curtains, the little plant on the windowsill, the letterbox, the nameplate on front door etc, are all somehow telling stories of different families. Each somehow is like one individual, characteristic of its owners. I enjoy their colors, the neat postcard look, and the architecture. And then often times I just wonder about the families looking out through the similar windows. For me, each of these houses in rows has a different story to tell.

Y or Z??

noreply@blogger.com (Amrita) — Mon, 09 May 2011 04:07:00 +0000

I am talking about my kezboards. Ooops! Keyboards.

It was the first day of my visiting UCSF. I had to type in my name. And wow, I made spelling mistakes!! Z-s had replaced the y-s of my surname. Confused I looked at the keyboard. Welcome back to QWERTY keyboard. I had typed in like always without much looking at the keyboard, and failed to notice that the Y and Z kezs have interchanged positions. Oh there, it will be 'keys' not 'kezs' in the previous line. If I am not careful, I just continue making several mistypes.

It instantly reminded me of my first days with computer in Slovenia. The keyboards there have QWERTZ layout with additional special characters. The first days at work, I would just search around for a particular character for minutes. I interchanged y and z the thousandth time, and was searching for simple punctuation marks. I would simply forget the existence of the 'Alt Gr' key and try to figure out how to type in the curly braces while writing small scripts! I slowly started to get used to the new layout. But that would bring another problem. I still had my old laptop from India with the y and z in their old positions. New layout at work, old layout at home, it was such a confusion! I would mistype, and look at the keyboard and type again. Writing took like forever.
Anyway, after sometime, I got used to the new layout. I got a new laptop with QWERTZ keyboard. And life was again back to normal with one layout.

When I was visiting India last year, it was a bit funny using the home computer. However, I was not using computers much there, and that was rather amusing instead of being annoying.

But now I am back to square one.

I type z in place of y and y in place of z. And same thing happens when I am on my laptop. Each ';' of my scripts get replaced with a ':'. I do not know where to find the curly and square brackets. A few of the special characters are missing from work keyboard, and hence the keys are spaced differently. I am just slow and searching each character, making mistakes all the time. Often I search for the 'Alt Gr' key to type the '@' but do not find it on my keyboard. And then I forget about its existence and try to type '@' with a 'Shift'. It is a complete mess. I am working and concentrating on writing some commands and scripts, and then I have to shift all my concentration to the search of keys. Back in my room while going with the flow of my thoughts and writing, I again make mistakes. The keyboards are simply driving me crazy. Who will not be annoyed!?

So, if there are some exchanged y and z here, and spelling mistakes, you know who to blame..