The American Bengali

The Choices We Make At The Expense of Love

2012-04-13T12:58:00.003-04:00

We left parents behind when we came to this country. Some 18 to 20 years back our parents were working and full of vigor. They came for regular visits and we had a home to visit in India, to warm welcome and love. The parents generation has aged now. They may do things on their own, but for some we depend on siblings or relatives to act as caregivers. And some parents simply refuse to make the 22 hour plane journey to the States.

Increasingly we hear of friends boarding flights to India, to take care of aging parents and then returning once the parents are out of the medical facilities. Often on reaching the States, they get news that a parent who came out of a hospital ultimately did not make it.

I know my parents. They would not have made any choice over me. Parents will rarely ask us to return, as they value our happiness above all. So why have we made a choice to live in a distant land when the people who love us the most, desperately need us?

I am not just speaking about others.

Mr Ray's Country Home

2012-04-12T21:08:00.000-04:00

At some point in life and according to priority, Bengalis have this desire to own a home in Kolkata or surrounding areas.

Mr Ray did not own a sprawling ancestral home in India. Of humble origin and from the rural part of Bengal, he was proud to have made a modest living in the US. And in the nineties he bought two acres of land in a picturesque village in Bengal for a negligible sum of dollars. He built a house on it - his pride and joy.

The construction of the house was completed by 2005. It dwarfed the landscape of a semi wooded area next to a red dirt lane, flanked by green paddy fields of the shared crop holders. The winding dirt lane went on for a few miles before merging with the village main street. From his balcony Mr. Ray could see the occasional hand pulled carriage or rickshaw kicking up red dust, and also the sandy pebbled beach of a river that meandered along the village. The village boys playing truant from school gathered by the river on sweaty afternoons, and jumping into the water from high ledges seemed to be a favorite dare. The occasional cart drawn by cows crossed the river on the shallow side. Mr. Ray would puff away on his cigar till the evening bells echoed from a distant temple, and the villagers came in small groups to take a dip before the prayers.

Mrs. Ray, originally from Kolkata was unable to figure out the intensity of her husband's attachment to their country estate. She however was not inclined towards the rural, preferring the city of her youth.

The red tiled two storied house nestled in an extensive garden, surrounded by mango, guava, coconut, and jackfruit trees. The pond was stocked with fish, and Mr. Ray visualized bringing home a fresh catch every morning. He loved the way his wife cooked the fish in mustard gravy, and was at a loss to understand his son's preference for spaghetti and meatballs. After the struggle of making it in the US, it was time to relax and have tea under the shade of the mango tree! He had a little wooden table and two little benches placed in the shade.

Last month Mr. Ray was diagnosed with a terminal illness and since then has been thinking of relocating to India. But his children want him here since leaving their jobs for months and moving to India is simply not an option. For his part, Mr. Ray loves being a part of their lives, the scamp of a grandson practically lives with him.

With time not on his side, Mr. Ray has been unable to decide on a course of action. Should he return or just stay in this country which has been his home for long, but always craving the feel of a place he sees even in dreams?

One more year

2012-04-12T14:29:00.000-04:00

Appreciation comes easier these days. Over the years I have realized that when others do things for you they are putting in effort and doing stuff which they had the choice of not doing. At nature's level too, it could have been cloudy and gloomy, but its a picture perfect day with a sunny blue sky. One more year of birthday and I am overwhelmed with the affection and beauty around me.

Have taken the day off. Nope, there is nothing on my agenda. Just to play with my son and the dogs, chat with the girls and maybe read a book. Lounging in PJs and tee I run a hand through my long silky hair. Tad narcissistic but it's a feel good moment. There is nothing like the rare serious lazing. I refuse to doll up. All of which remind me of my dorm days.

Started my morning with a spicy wheat cracker and three cups of tea - literally, now snacking on a cheese-stick and coffee. Things are in place, and I know I can cope with the few pieces that are not. Writing makes me happy, specially with the three year old sitting on my lap and munching animal crackers. Birthdays are fun at my own pace.

New York Mega Million Jackpot

2012-03-30T23:53:00.001-04:00

The Bengalis in NY must have bought lotto tickets today! The mega million jackpot is some 640 million. I have seen people staring up for divine inspiration or uttering the numbers in a trancelike state - whatever helps. Has any Bengali ever won the lotto? Dunno. Will find out at 11:00 tonight and you can bet that I will stay awake. Someone in our house has bought $15 worth of tickets. The numbers were chosen with care, a birthdate, the house number - all rather significant. Naturally, there is a good chance of us winning!!

We Bengalis joke about the lotto but never tell each other if we have bought tickets. It's considered a sign of weakness or worse still associated with being a loser. You could almost say that free money is not good money.

There is this friend who suddenly came into some money, and his good fortune has been associated with the lotto. He however vehemently denies it all, and attributes all to his dynamic way of doing business.

We have decided to retire if we win the lotto. No blogging either. The children can leave school, since education will not be necessary to make a living. Will leave something to the dogs also, a la Helmsley.

Just checked the numbers. We have not won :(

The small town girl

2012-03-22T19:14:00.001-04:00

The tulips and hyacinths are out in my garden. Hot pink and purple. The colorful pansies in shades of yellow and crimson, border the flower bed and bloom in the delicate urns. They never fail to bring a smile when I return home from work.

But I still crave the jasmines and gardenias which grew with such abundance in a small town in India, where I spent my childhood. The memory of balmy firefly evenings and the heady scent of flowers has stayed with me for long, and become this one fragrance, that a sudden whiff of something instantly makes unknown surroundings familiar. Just for a second.

Migrated 17 years ago, but the small town girl has not left me. This is my home now, has been for a while. I miss my family in India, the groovy food and the shopping. Memories have replaced the small town as my home.

Sunlight Sunlight

2012-03-05T09:19:00.001-05:00

......... And..... it's a crisp sunny day in New York. I shuffled out of the dark curtained bedroom, and was pleasantly surprised to see sunlight seeping in through the skylights and illuminating the pastel colored walls. Sure, it's cold outside, but sunlight does wonders for my spirit.

You see, the memories of growing up in India, having that cup of chai or coffee in our sunlit balcony is always with me. My mom loved to keep things pretty, and the balcony or verandah as we call it in India, was full of potted plants, with a flourishing money plant twined all over the side wall. Maa loved taking care of the plants and trimmed them once a month. When we go back for a visit now, I look forward to the laid back sunny mornings sipping tea on the balcony and reliving the past with our kids.

On a sunny day like this, I can run a hundred errands, listen to the music a little louder in the car, and walk into the office with a huge grin. On a sunny day like this I skip the gym and go for long walks with our little boy and the pups. I love coming home with the daylight still there.

On a sunny day like this you can achieve what you desire. At least try to:)Feel good dear readers, I send you a steaming cup of chai and sunshine from New york.

The sun worshippers did have a point!

2012-03-04T00:37:00.001-05:00

Our first born turned 16 this year. Although we had a few choices in names, we had not come up with one befitting a princess. As a result our last name was taped to my bed in the maternity wing, and was used in all references to the baby. On being asked to provide a first name before leaving the hospital, in order to apply for a birth certificate and a social security card, we pondered over the initial choices and came up with a beautiful and traditional bengali name of 9 characters. It had profound meaning, and like all first time parents, we knew our daughter would be simply amazing, true to her name.

We were ready with the name of our second child - another traditional and pretty one of 7 characters when she came into this world. The name was once again loaded with meaning, and we were sure it would reflect her personality.

First borns are usually simple and straight, and our child proudly used her name at school. With each year she cringed a little at her name, but nevertheless would not accept any shorter or westernized version.

Most middle children have minds of their own, and on her first day in Kindergarten, my daughter asked the teacher to address her by a shorter version we use at home. The teacher sent me a note. I was disappointed but agreed to the "arrangement".

Finally for our youngest we came up with a name of 4 characters. He would be living in the U.S. after all, and a shorter name would be easy on the local tongue.

Yes, we are much wiser and less traditional now. The world is after all going global.

From Jyotirmoy to Jeter (Part 2 of "From Prakash To Peter")

2012-03-01T15:00:00.000-05:00

We visited Mr. & Mrs. Nandy yesterday. My husband calls them Nondi. They live in a gated community, and before we reached the guard I gently tutored my husband to tell the security that we were visiting Nandy, Nandy that rhymes with Brandy or Sandy. But by the time we reached the gates, Nondi and Nandy were kind of mixed up in my husband’s mind, and when the guard asked for a name he said:

Nondi

Guard: Excuse me sir....what?

(a poke in the ribs from me, and a whisper..."as in Brandy")

Husband: Oh yes.... Nandy.

And we sailed in smoothly through the gates.

By the way, our friend Jyotirmoy has reinvented himself as Jeter.

(Note: Article is is Part 2 of http://nina-theamericanbengali.blogspot.com/2008/09/from-prakash-to-peter.html )

From Prakash To Peter

2012-03-01T14:00:00.000-05:00

I have rather liked my name all these years. Mom tells me that it has a melodious ring to it. But the melody seems to have been lost in the US. I mean if the Americans can pronounce Famke, Kardashian, Joaquin, is my name that tough?

Well to make things easier for others & to blend in, I shortened my name from Nilanjana to Nila, but people started calling me “Nile-aa”. After failing my second driving test I was informed, “Nile-aa you did not make it”. Very gently I tried to correct the pronunciation, and once again to make life easy for others, I changed my name to Nina.

My husband said that this was a lack of self esteem, and he set the bar in being unfazed by people addressing him as: Manjo Paulino, Manho Ball, and mails being sent to Mango Ball. A friend of his, Arijit Chattopadhyay, has for years survived the ordeal of people calling him Arihit Hihi. I'm sure he too has given pain to many by refusing to shorten his name, and these days he only speaks to those cold callers who can pronounce his name.

But on the other side of the spectrum, there are cases where our dear friend Prakash became Peter, Shyamal turned into Sam, Aniruddha to Rudy, Shayantini to Tina and Nilabjo to Neil. Peter credits his success in the US to the prompt change of name. No wonder then, Archhismaan Chakraborty recently became Professor Archie to his students.

I wish I had my husband’s confidence, but I am truly happy with Nina.

So to the Ritwicks I say - go ahead, "Rick" is all yours to use; and to Madhuchhanda, hey Ann is a cute name. But to those confident few who insist on being addressed by their given names, the Abhimanyu-s and the Anindya-s, I sure am proud of you; at least you are easier on the tongue than our brethren from the Southern part of India: Harihara Murali Nemani Pattabhiramaiya....... and folks that is the name of just one person.

All hail to the Bengali names and cheers to the strength of those who wear them in the US!

2012-02-15T23:56:00.000-05:00

It's freezing outside, for me at least. Winter in this part of the world has started giving me the blues(although this year it was pretty mild), increasingly so. How I miss those scalding summers of youth.

The best part of the day is brewing the pot of tea in our warm and cozy kitchen in the evening. Mix of the Darjeeling blend and English Breakfast. The day's work being done, I can now enjoy the company of the kids and the pups. My daughters tease me about the way I hug the teacup, the warmth seeping through my palms, as we speak of a hundred things.

Today I shared with them "Those were the days" by Mary Hopkin, and they loved the song.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ulI-T0YxAw
Miss you college and school days:(

Trivial Reminiscences: Grandma Beauty & the SUV

2012-01-20T23:40:00.000-05:00

Grandma Beauty was not really what one would call a traditional beauty, but her name has stuck with her even in her hallowed eighty-fourth year. The fairest of seven siblings, she happens to be the youngest of my mother’s four aunts and two uncles. My grandma was Bina, and then came Bela, Chini (sugar), Choto (or the youngster), Kutti (the little one) and Beauty. Why the brothers were called by their formal names of Shyamal and Amal has always been a mystery to me.

Born in an affluent family when the British ruled India, she married a handsome officer in the merchant navy in her late teens and moved into a rented three-storied house in an upscale neighborhood in Kolkata. She shared her home with Grandma Choto and her husband, Choto living on the third floor while Grandma Beauty had her household spread on the first and second floors. Both couples were very much in love, and though they did not have any children, grandma Beauty had enough nieces and nephews to keep her busy. However what she enjoyed was keeping track of all the happenings in her family and extended family, and narrating them with a relish. Each piece of news was chosen with care and bestowed on carefully selected recipients, some of whom referred to her as a nasty gossip.

A nephew’s success was narrated with pride to another who was not so fortunate, or a niece’s mansion was described in detail to someone who lived in a tiny rented apartment. A distant relative’s academic achievement was endured by a college dropout and her parents. But the same grandson after a nasty divorce had to patiently listen to the accounts of other happy marriages.

Perhaps she never had any intention of hurting anyone, and some of us still give her the benefit of doubt. This curiosity about other people and their affairs came naturally to her. As children, we loved to visit her stately home for it was filled with curios and period pieces which grandpa had collected from different parts of the world during his employment with the merchant navy. We would gently touch a porcelain doll, or gaze in wonder at a carousal, oblivious to the fact that our parents were eager to leave. She smiled animatedly while telling my dad about a cousin whose husband had bought an expensive car. This scored a sore point with my dad as he took a joyous pride in his used (second hand) fiat, and he found it hard to forgive grandma Beauty for years to come. Our visits to her house lessened, with my mother dropping by on rare occasions to check on her welfare.

A decade back grandma Beauty lost her husband of sixty years, and my mother who has always been attached to her aunts, resumed her visits. Financially, grandma Beauty and Grandma Choto were not doing too well, and my mom and some of the cousins chipped in to help their aunts. The landlord had sold the house the sisters lived in and the new owners were threatening to evict them.

But grandma Beauty was unfazed by the turn of events, and maybe, to fill the void created by the passing away of her husband, seemed even more interested in our lives. And somehow this kept our extended family connected! Being concerned with our own affairs is a malaise of the modern world. Where her gossip had been intolerable in the eighties and nineties, in the current decade her home was the place for hot gossip. She enjoyed the company of her visitors and welcomed all with steaming cups of tea; for a bad knee forced her to spend most of her days indoors.

Few months back, my parents decided to take grandma Beauty and grandma Choto to a nearby temple. By then dad had sold off his used car and had rented a nice air-conditioned SUV for the trip. When they arrived at grandma Beauty’s house in the morning, the sisters were all ready and waiting. Maa gently settled grandma Beauty and grandma Choto in the car, tucking them in with shawls. Grandma beauty asked dad if the car was air-conditioned and with a tiny smile he replied that it was. She turned to her sister and remarked that the air felt cool and nice.

Somehow she did not say much after that. She ate the offerings at the temple with relish, asked for seconds, appreciating the calm serenity of the surroundings. Throughout the ride back she gazed at her familiar Kolkata, perhaps mulling on the unfamiliarity of it all.

.....And that day onwards, dad has been a clear winner among all the relatives:)

The New London

2010-09-28T18:00:00.005-04:00

An email from my husband's inbox, dated Sept 28th 2010:

Hi R,

Kolkata is bracing for Durga Puja. In Delhi the shit and snakes have been cleared and now everything looks fine for the Commonwealth Games. We Indians are the world's best "manage masters".

Mamta-di is in Darjeeling, promising to turn it into Switzerland of India. Since Kolkata will be London and Darjeeling soon to be Switzerland, we Indians will have no need to go abroad. Just take the train, and if the tracks are not blown up by Maoists, you will make it to the vacation hotspots. She is flagging off a new train every week.

Cheers!

A. Mukh.

(Also shared in my Facebook Notes)

Lets have some raunak shaunak/ Lets have some party time

2010-05-28T12:13:00.012-04:00

The Bengalis are all for addas and parties - at least our group is. Fridays, saturdays, sometimes sundays. Often pot-luck, or if someone hosts, even better. No cooking for the day. A heavy brunch latish morning, some in-between snack, some unashamed starvation till we arrive at the scene of the party.

We do have our low key comfy gatherings but dancing happens often. The kids leave us to the gyrations and hang out with their groups. Some of them are a tiny bit embarrassed by the mix of indian+western+salsa moves of the adults. But what the heck -

"Lets have some raunak shaunak
Lets have some party now
Lets have some rolla rappa
Lets have some dhol dhamaka
Lets call the dholi now
Lets have some addi tappa......

...... yeh life ki gist
[ And we twist we twist
We twist, we twist.....]

We'll be singing dancing hot romancing
Masti all the time
Any season need no reason
For some place n feeling fine
Here's the party everybody
Move your body
Shake shake......"

But what about meditating on your KARMA in solitude during weekends....or just getting a hang of your inner yang/ yin...

For a while sundays have been just family time for us, and movies with the kids on fridays, and some family tennis and hiking on sunday mornings. But come saturday nights and we start missing the friends and some ......

.....raunak shaunak....some party time...

The week comes in full circle:)

FUNERAL PARLOR OR HOME - SAGA OF THE "BODY"

2010-01-10T18:44:00.000-05:00

Our friend's mother is visiting him from his hometown in a progressive village in India. She radiates a natural affection for others that I have seen in my parents and grandparents while growing up, and reminds me of the bygone simple ways of life.

In one of our parties, a group had gathered around a table talking to this lady. The conversation ranged from local Indian politics to how she was enjoying her stay, and if she wanted to move to the States permanently. To which the lady replied in her lilting accent, that she would love to move in with her eldest son sometime in the future, and ultimately be blessed with the good fortune of passing away at his home, surrounded by grandchildren, specially the eldest grandson, and friendly neighbors. (Dying at a son's home is still a privilage in India, and the mortal remains are first brought home before being taken to the funeral home for cremation.)

Her audience of elderly ladies had the option of keeping quiet, agreeing with her, or moving on to some other discussion. But all at once, they started whispering about how the "body" is not brought home in the States. And there was a detailed description of the "body" being left and treated at the funeral parlor.

When will we learn that sometimes silence is golden?

SAINT KV & SAINT CHARU - THE NEW MISSIONARIES

2009-12-18T09:14:00.000-05:00

Scenario: Indian meeting Indian.

Nina: Hi I am Nina - nice to meet you. This is my husband R.

Great, so you studied in Saint Patricks, I am from your sister school Loreto Convent.

R: Hey ... And I am from Saint KV.

My husband is from a public school in Delhi - Kendriya Vidyalay (KV) - actually a great chain of schools managed by the central government. Lately however he has started referring to his school as Saint KV! Missionary complex?

Was speaking to a Xavarian friend the other day (studied from Saint Xaviers, Calcutta), and he too had a story. During his college days in India, the boys from Saint Xaviers were attending a fest in a state sponsored college. On being approached by a group of boys, the Xavarians introduced themselves. And immediately, the group that had approached them said that they were from Saint Charu - Charuchandra College, Calcutta!

The gaping fish and baby goat

2009-10-30T10:58:00.002-04:00

On our visit to India last summer, word got around that Mia likes fish and Anna prefers chicken and goat curry. And, every home they visited, aunts, uncles, grandmas, great grandmas..... they were lovingly served with their favorites. In a few days though Mia and Anna were ready to become true vegans.

An aunt might have been the reason.

She had prepared several courses of fish for Mia, and even saved for her the prized fish head - a bit on the gigantic side. As Mia sat at the table and looked at the gaping head swimming in gravy with eyes in a glazed stare, she had a hard time keeping her snacks in. And then Aunt N sat next to Mia and gave her a hug. She said that the curry was delicious as the fish was taking in great gulps of air in the basket when uncle had it all chopped up. The blood was clean and red. Tear drops rolled down the face of my 9 year old who was and still is in love with the little mermaid and her flounder friend.

The same story was repeated at my uncle's home, this time with the goat and Anna. Apparently the goat was a baby, all soft and tender (perhaps trotting daintily on green pastures - why they skip this part I will never know) and Anna did not touch any kind of meat in India for the rest of her stay.

When The Panda Of Lord Jagannath Came Calling

2009-09-10T23:14:00.004-04:00

The Panda of Lord Jaggannath met us at the Mayfair Resort the day we arrived in Puri. He was dressed in white Kurta Pajama (pants and tunic), presented us with a calling card, a gentleman and a true professional.

The next morning he was waiting for us at the reception of the Mayfair Resort at 8:00 a.m. sharp. Unfortunately we were late as some members of the family were enjoying the delicious complimentary breakfast served on the airy terrace overlooking the sea; being on a fast I was embarrassed by this display of the stretchable time but Bulu Panda brushed aside my apologies. And as we waited in the reception for the rest of my family, he narrated the following story.

When the idol of Lord Jagannath was commissioned by the monarch of Puri, the solitary artisan selected for the task, requested that no one be allowed to enter his workshop in the temple till the project was completed. But the king and his wife, with typical human impatience forced open the door wherein the artisan vanished into thin air and the idol of Lord Jagannath was left incomplete. Moral: haste makes waste, let the family eat in peace.

On our way to the 11th century temple, we asked Bulu Panda to accompany us on the rented three wheeler (it's called auto-rickshaw or just auto in India), but with a humble smile he pointed at his motorcycle. I have nothing against motorcycles but somewhere in my backward mind I failed to associate a man of god zooming on a motorbike. And along the way I saw other Pandas wearing Dhotis flying by on their "mobikes". Now, if you think about it, actually an easy and practical way of commuting to work. Cheers for Harley Davidson and it's lesser known brothers and sisters!

On one of my earlier visits to the temple as a child, my uncle had refused to pay for the services of a Panda, and was cursed with "tokay jomay libay"/ "the god of death will claim you". His answer was: "Tokay-o libay ekdin, charibay naa"/ "the god of death will also claim you one day, no reprieve". However, Bulu Panda being a notch modern than some of the other Pandas, gave us a memorable tour of the temple, explaining the history, architectural details and some of the modern aspects. Incidentally the Sun-God of Konarak is now housed in the Jagannath temple, and where the other deities are all barefoot, the Sun-God dorns a pair of high boots.

Now, if you ever visit Puri for the sake of Lord Jagannath, or maybe the architectural stuff , or even for the pristine beaches; and if you need the services of a Panda, do call Bulu Panda for a comprehensive tour of the temple. His number is on the scanned image of the calling card.

But even inside the awe inspiring temple only sheer agility will help you dodge the sticks that some of the other pandas crack on your head (blessing??? - I am not sure why). And my 9 year old was thrilled to see the scores of monkeys, some even cradling babies hanging from the high ledges of the temple.

Jai Baba Jagannath!

An American Bengali's car ride in Kolkata ..... Returning after 14 yrs to the country of my birth

2009-07-24T15:10:00.008-04:00

Friends had predicted that India would come as a shock …. after a gap of 14 years. However things were more or less the same, except for the frequent traffic jams, more malls and access to all things foreign, sushi, and loads of flyover/ over-bridges.

In Kolkata, the cars or taxis lacked side mirrors or had them folded…like out of sight. Actually nobody needed them as our driver patiently explained, when I opened up a folded side mirror. In the absence of lanes, and in the presence of these super expert drivers, side mirrors were obsolete items, delicate appendages that were sure to crack if another vehicle squeezed by.

After numerous roller-coaster rides, I have now developed a healthy respect for all Kolkata drivers. No amount of squirming in my seat or a heightened pulse helped me as our car went through a single road without lanes but accommodating six vehicles in a row. Our driver took us through bumpy shortcuts where I prayed to mighty heaven for a second chance at life; and my heart tried to leap out on a sharp “U” turn in a one-way road, an amazing effort to bypass traffic, and expertly dodging all speeding vehicles hurtling towards us.

“Praise Him with ringing cymbals, praise him with crashing cymbals, let every living creature praise the Lord”.

And He did indeed preserve me, as He preserved the young man on a bicycle, and that scraggy dog trotting by the road side, and the tiny child on a motorcycle, without a helmet, clutching on to his daddy's shirt.

Realization and fact - all Kolkata drivers can drive anywhere in the world and driving in Manhattan is a piece of cake for them. Moreover they could even help James Bond maneuver his mind-blowing escapades in a four wheeler.

Admiration apart, the thing that cheers me up after each car ride is the sondesh (Bengali sweet delicacy - yessir I have this sweet tooth!) and a glass of chilled water with which Maa greets me. In the U.S., I let myself in with a key, tired after endless driving and the back and forth stuff, grab a glass of water and get on with the chores. Here, Maa’s smile brings a smile in return, and literally the floodgates of my smile-chest open. So what if the ride has aspects of a roller-coaster? Hurray for our drivers, the lost side mirrors and the Bengali sondesh. I sure am enjoying the summery monsoon here in Kolkata. Love the way the cars swoosh through the knee high waters.

“CHEERS DADA”

P.S. But please do not underestimate the Delhi drivers. On a jammed road, as we patiently waited in our car, I saw some smart autos speeding by on the sidewalk, followed by equally smart motorbikes. Say, how come this idea did not strike you .... putting the sidewalk to good use?:)

Comfort In Overseas Communication

2009-06-10T23:53:00.006-04:00

Mom, Nick walked today.......his first steps,... Mia did good at school...... Anna has grown an inch.....Mom, I feel lousy.....tired of doing things on my own, he works such long hours....Hey Dad, howz the movie?..... I loved it...yes, yes, I am keeping up the exercise routine..... Mom, "R" took me out for a surprise lunch today...

And always there's that voice on the other side of the telephone, soothing....encouraging...sharing my sorrows and joys, asking me if I had breakfast...celebrating our little triumphs....

The caring voices .... thousands of miles away, but a part of my daily life here in the States. The voices will always be there - right? I cannot imagine a routine without them.

American Born Confused Desi? - Never!

2009-01-09T09:53:00.006-05:00

Most Bengalis like other first generation immigrant families live in a cocoon. From time to time we emerge from the fuzz to interact with friends and people from other cultures .... and then re-enter the familiar cocoon. A vacation in India, some travelling, then back to the states and our cocoon..…it is as if we have always lived here….. with the very same people.

It’s a world within a world. Friendship, politics, little hurts, make-ups, celebrating holidays and milestones, elaborate Bengali meals when the families meet…..all within the cocoon….carrying on a lifestyle that originated in our homes in India. Just for the first generation Bengalis though, the second generation usually makes the outside world their primary home.

Some folks in India, refer to our kids as American-born-confused-desi (desi: ethnic..Indian from India!). But I have yet to observe any confusion whatever in the second generation about their identity. These amazingly resilient kids know exactly who they are. And they are not suspended somewhere in the middle of two clashing cultures as commonly perceived back home. Instead, they have assimilated both ways of life into one hell of a smoothie, the best of both worlds!

International Twist To Thanksgiving

2008-11-26T00:22:00.010-05:00

We start the Thanksgiving dinner around 3:30-ish. There’s the sweet corn, mashed potato and gravy, yam, corn bread and cranberry sauce, the poor turkey with legs tied and cooked to perfection taking the center place (proud even in death), the stuffing and etc. It's impossible to sit down to dinner around the table because there are so many of us. Each year the number grows, as we include more families in our group. And for most of us, in the absence of relatives, who are in India, Thanksgiving dinner is shared with the friends we have made here, and each family brings in a dish.

Our friend circle has its own eccentricities. Before the turkey is carved, all the kids in the room are asked what they are thankful for, and their answers videotaped. The older kids are bashful, and the shy little ones just crawl under the table. The ritual is repeated every year, and then the adults say what they are thankful for. The answers range from the mundane to the witty to the bawdy or the sincere, and then the feast starts.

Once we are done, the table is cleared and ….. we start getting ready for a typical Bengali dinner. Much later though, around ten! In the mean time we will feast on snacks, lounge, watch a movie, enjoy adda....so on. (http://nina-theamericanbengali.blogspot.com/2008/09/adda-meals-and-leftovers.html )

How do we eat so much? I don’t really know, ……. the cheerful warmth indoors while it’s freezing outside…..the feeling of relaxation that comes with the end of the year…...guess it’s just the season! We have survived and done good in a foreign land, loved and made it our home.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all! Truly thankful for all my friends and of course my readers.

I Am Busy & You Are Not! I Work & You do Not!....Yes I am Hot!

2008-11-26T00:08:00.008-05:00

Sipping coke in a quiet corner (I had managed to find this charming window-sill) of a raging party room (don’t get me wrong, I’m a party girl, but lately have been going through a phase of blues) I was ambushed by this lady..... She came and squeezed her well endowed posterior on my window sill, announced her name, popped a celery stick in her mouth and asked if I work…out of the blue. I had never spoken to her before, nor seen her till she forcefully entered the periphery of my vision, and blinking a couple of times as if to wish her away, I sighed and replied that I did.

That was it. She had found a common bond of "career" and proceeded to enthrall me with her musings. Qualifications, career, hour to hour activity.....And I realized how easy it was to nod off in a roomful of people.

From past experience when I was a mere (!!!) homemaker, I knew what her next line would be. Sure enough, very soon in came the “how busy I am” routine. Good lord, if you are busy - that's awesome. What do you think – the world is not busy? We are all suspended in a limbo? Of course you are busy chewing that piece of celery, and on a mission to bore me....going to work at eight....coming back from work at eight, cooking, stress, going to work at eight.......coming back from work at eight, cooking……Thank god I have this special knack of inner concentration.....

"Newspaper taxis appear on the shore,
Waiting to take you away.
Climb in the back with your head in the clouds,
And you're gone."

I’m lucky to be off from work on Fridays, and a couple of friends when they call on Friday, start with “were you sleeping?”.........at 12:00??? “Yeah I was, till the jingle of your call woke me up with a tingle”. Why would you assume so? Don’t I have work? Did I just press a switch and have babies, press a remote to have the food spread itself on the table, another switch and the kids grew up by themselves?

How I love the straight forwardness of the Americans. They are proud if they work and proud if they stay at home to take care of their kids. Till date I have not come across an American friend who bored me with talks of being busy!!!! It’s a part of life after all. Imagine sitting on your couch and staring into nothingness for days.

Some work for need, some for passion, some to crib and some can just afford to stay at home and spend time to do the stuff they love.

Romance of the Chai Shack

2008-11-09T22:53:00.008-05:00

The original chai shop: A shack kind of structure with benches or ropey beds (khatiya) generously scattered under trees, where you can lounge with steaming cups of chai, samosas and other fried snacks. Often next to an expressway or anywhere (yep anywhere), you sip your chai and vaguely stare at nothing in particular, enjoying the ambiance as the traffic whizzes by or people stroll around you. An extreme rustic version of our rest areas. (I am not speaking about the modern or elitist tea places.)

Most rustic elements in the States have a delicate beauty. A restaurant in the mountains of Utah had glass windows facing the pasture where wild bison roamed. Fancy salad was served as you gazed out. Nothing like the harsh details of our shacky chai shops back home.

But then, why do I still remember the flavor of the chai? Chai, which no tea house over here is capable of brewing. The Leaves have been boiled since early morning in an iron kettle, giving the tea a strong bitter taste. Instant cure for headaches. The milk is generous, there is no option to mix your own cream, and the tea is served in small clay containers. Cups of chai, friends, and we were sure that the college days would last forever.

You are hooked on the chai when you remember the exact flavor and then the memories come pouring in. As I smile into my tea-cup, my daughter says, "sorry mom, no offense, but who would hang out in such a dump?" A twinge of sadness.... how can she possibly know the value of those cups of chai...

P.S. The picture is of an actual tea shack ("Kalor Dokan") taken by a journalist friend, Soumik Mukherjee. A popular spot to hang out.

Have been humming since morning "should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind......."

Yogurt-Rice And Fish-stew For The Bengali Pups

2008-11-03T19:21:00.005-05:00

Our dogs came into the household, each at two months of age, and since then have built up their appreciation of Bengali food. Baked fish…..a light fish stew with tomatoes (no onions or garlic though)…the one I cook when my kids are recovering from any kind of ailment…… woof .…..leafy veggies like spinach and poi….. chick peas with a drop of olive oil….. a little bit of rice on Sundays….. roti for the rest of the week. They also love oven roasted cauliflower, chicken and potatoes.

Timmy Too and Lucy Lou delicately start sniffing the air when I cook….aroma therapy???? Definitely. Our future stars of Ratatouille, sorry Doggatouille!

Of American, European and Chinese parentage, our dogs have adapted to our Bengali lifestyle with a natural doggie zeal. A friend of mine even gives occasional chanachur (light spicy corn-flakes mix) treat to her dog. Once a week our dogs eat yogurt and rice to cleanse their systems. The yogurt and rice was recommended by a Bengali gastroenterologist of New York. Trust me, it works.

My vet shudders when I talk to him about their diet.

“Nina…it’s just not done in the U.S.”

Mrs. Banerjee’s dog Rosogolla has lived hale and hearty for the last twenty years… on a healthy dose of Bengali Karmic diet. Need more proof???????

2008-10-16T21:19:00.002-04:00

Shubho Bijoya!
(PS: For my non-Bengali readers....Traditional Bengali Greeting exchanged after Durga Puja.)