The Last Day

My Little NewPinch has posted a poem The Last Day on her blog.
Since this blog has been running arid for a few days, why don't you go visit her?

Friends are For Ever

She came, she stayed, she conquered. And she messed up all my plans of the vacations to be used for some technical reading, some exam-paper marking, some stay-at-home new year bash (if ever there is one) and some time for myself. She toppled my apple cart and I was left counting my apples on the floor. The night Roop and Pavan came, we sat till 3 a.m. I was not sure how Mahesh would like my blogger-pals, but he was so friendly with Pavan that all my doubts about my decision of asking Roop over vanished in a second. We had a late dinner. Mom was around. I tucked the kids into bed by 11 pm - way too late than their 9 pm curfew. The reason was that my daughter was absolutely crazy about her school mate who she has a weird similarity to in many things. They have the same school house, same tastes, same teachers, and even the same poem that they prepared. Once the initial niceties were exchanged, me and Roop became our nasty selves that we are on chat. Oh I forgot to add, we have christened ourselves as the two Mrs Chat-ter-jees (she junior, I senior) with due apologies to all my Bangla pals. Many friends think we are cousins, or long lost friends. We believe we are some strangely connected pair of buddies born about 8 years apart. Mahesh and Pavan said we resemble closely too. Told you, it is weird.

Me and Roop did a flash fight with our cameras, her pro Canon and my ghareeb Sony Cybershot, I even listened to Pavan talk about why he thinks there is no God. Mahesh was totally impressed at the way P was making up his case of no God. I and Mahesh are Phools who believe in God, if you remember, so it was kinda different for us. To cut it short, that night, till 3 am, we kept sitting in the biting cold in the dining room exchanging rare gyan about religion, society, curd, villages etc. Only the next day, unfortunately, the newspapers didn’t carry this news.

Next day, a late start, not much shopping. Again a 3 am good night, but that day she slept till 2 pm while Pavan went to some area near by, just for a cold stroll. I kept pestering him with a grandmotherly advice, “Give me a buzz once you feel you cant find your way back home.” Kept the phone handy in my pocket and kept cleaning up the house while Her Majesty slept. I went, pulled up the razai and told her, "Oye, You are not here to sleep." She said, "Mampi, please please, please." "Oww baby," and then I just tucked the razai neatly and moved out quietly. Why am I taken in so easily?

Then she wanted to go shopping again. Hell, what's with her dollars! And she wanted to go meet her relatives (29th December) and they came back on the 31st. A foggy day, and we were going 60 km away for the new year celebration. Kids, mom, Roopavan, Manmahesh, all had great fun. Crazy new year eve. And I and Mahesh are the kinds who would rather sit at home and have fun rather than go out and suffer the falling fog. But we went, danced while the Haveli people said they don’t want anyone to dance. How stupid can they get? But I guess that is the only way they can control the booze-crazy Punjabis on the night when they see beautiful dancers on stage and get drunk anyway without the booze. However, the people just lost patience once they saw Roop dancing at the end of the standing crowd and falling in the process. Ogling her, many others tried to match her zeal and fell too, and we laughed. Kassam sey, I saw people falling . The best part was Pavan's Jatt Punjabi act. Wished each other happy new year with unusual glee. We went there as domestic animals, we came back as party animals. The party got over by oo:30 hrs and we were seen off rudely by the Haveli people. Okay, not as rudely as the lurkers behind might have been. But we came when the others were still around. Mahesh loves to say, "Mela bharya chaddi’da hai." ( Leave the gathering when it is full) Drove back in blinding fog, all the while chattering away to glory at the back seat while Pavan’s words from the front seat got lost somewhere in his worry about the fog.

He flew the next day to Chennai and she went off and on to see her relatives, keeping me on toes. Mampi I am going, Mampi I am coming, Mampi my boutique wali will give my suit that day, Mampi this, Mampi that. Then I tempted her to come attend a wedding. I will spare you the torture of other details. But will love to mention that she straigtened my hair out for a more hep look and I put kajal in my eyes and Mahesh commented, "Tu fer la leya kala kala?" ( did u put that black stuff in your eyes again?) I frowned and scowled and then went to wedding.While I went to the jago with my friend whose brother was getting married, Roop and Avneet (Mahesh’s cousin who is crazy about dancing) made themselves comfortable by starting the dance and already setting the dance floor on fire by the time we came back after yelling and dancing in the streets as a huge spoilt group. And I too danced like there was no Rakhi Sawant. Even found a boyfriend there (so what if he is 5 yr old, he actually loved to see me dance). Again slept at 3 am. I really wonder why the night was day when this crazy girl was around. Talked about some serious stuff, some funny stuff, some teasing, some parenting etc etc etc. And then she went away on 5th noon. That’s why Mampi couldn’t blog saala.

I wanted to write about meeting NM in Delhi. Came to delhi on the 20th December and absolutely didn’t know how to reach her house. Was on phone for a considerable time to seek her blessings, errrrr guidance and reached easily. She was ready with her betu who is an amazing chap. I asked him, "How do you open that door outside, it is so tight. " He said “aise” and gave it a rough shove with his bum. Now I could surely do better than him and he was visibly pleased at this student who was a fast learner with better endowed push stuff. I cannot help but mention that NM is an amazing cook. She loves to feed you and that too in no time. she had her stuff ready and fed us a typical rajasthani lunch, which I absolutely adored. How Do We Know ( I know this doesn’t sound like a person; but I wont want to reveal her name in case she doesn’t want to) drove all the way from Gurgaon in the bad weather to meet me, and brought her little one with her who is such a cute hunk that he kept checking me out now and then, but then lost interest (guess he saw Mahesh with me) and gave up pursuit. Then his mommy and NM allotted him and Anirudh another room and he lost me, poor chap. HDWK, her son Ishaan, and Anirudh stood together, posing with a bicycle. And all looked age-mates. She is such a cute presence. I must mention the zeal with which she came. She doesn’t normally travel with her son in Delhi smog but she threw all caution to wind and came to see me. I am flattered, honored and really grateful that she could do that. Both the bloggers have given great accounts of our meeting. I am late, but blame that on Roop please.

Jasdeep came to visit me at my home while Roopavan were still here. So it was kind of a bonus for us all. He writes beautiful poems and also introduces us to new and old poetry in Punjabi. A simple soul he is. He told me that he had expected a fashionista welcoming him and here I was, a complete desi. But he was kind to mention he was not disappointed. Still I had my revenge at his modest comments. Wicked wicked me, I kept him hungry for 2 hours before I served the breakfast at 11 which was to be served at 9. Why? Simply because the host and the rest of the guests were not ready to face, umm, meet him yet. On that cold morning, the paranthas and chai never went cold, because there was this heated discussion on I don’t know what. Seriously, Pavan and Jasdeep got into argument on something communistic. I tried to quieten them by buttering them and by persuading them to take a lot of dahi. That proves that I am the quintessential granny?

2008 has been a great year in terms of blog–mates coming together. I met Pinku, Parry in Summer, rather met them twice, and look forward to meeting them again soon. Then there is Sumanto who is really a reluctant blogger, but blogger he sure is now. It’s different that I know him for 13 years more as a buddy than as a blogger. Mithe is very much around all the time, meeting me in the corridors of my college, but I acknowledge her talent as blogger first and foremost. I met Amarjit Uncle who writes brilliant Haikus in Punjabi. Then the year wound up with meeting Jasdeep, the great Roop Rai swayam and with pati. With so much of inspiration flowing around, I suspect Mahesh will soon come up with a blog of his own.

Coming back to where I had started from, I just about finished my deadlines of lecture preparation, marking exam papers (why are the kids made to sit for exams at all, I fail to understand; and then why does the cruel University want those papers marked at all??) clearing the backlog of reading of blogs, and catching up with sleep.

Phew, the junior Mrs Chatterjee flies out tomorrow.

(I loved being missed while I was away. Every single message left a grin on my face. Hell, I was more popular on Roop's blog than on my own. Thanks Roop, see this is why I wuv you.)

Akhiyan/Eyes

It was a couple of days ago that Parry Singh (incidently, I have two blogger friends sharing this name) left a comment on one of my poems and expressed his wish to 'make it into a song.' I had just smiled it away thinking that my poems or whatever they are, are not lyrical enough to be sung. I keep my Punjabi poems away from this blog because not all the friends visiting this blog understand the Gurmukhi script.

Nonetheless, he took the trouble to email me the musical version of my words two days ago. I was wonderstruck. My poem perhaps is not very great, but his gesture took my heart away. That you thought of giving music to a Punjabi writing means a lot, Parry. I request all my friends to go to his post and listen to this and to leave comments there. It is not very lengthy. Even if the words are in Punjabi, you would definitely enjoy his music. You can read the text of the poem here.

And Jab We Met

That weekend we were to meet Pinku and Parry. They were breaking their journey in Chandigarh on my request on their way to Delhi from KairiGhat. We were to pick them up from Tribune Chowk. How will we identify each other? I wore a sharp yellow kameez salwar and told Pinku on the phone that when you look around, the prettiest female will be Mampi. Hehehe.

Sure enough, she located me across the crossing with the prettiness factor being the biggest hint. There she was, in a white kurta and jeans, with a bag slung over her shoulder; and with her was Parry, in a cool kurta and jeans himself, sweating profusely and with more luggage. Brave couple! Welcome to Punjab. Pinku has a sweet voice like that of a bird. Parry has a million dollar smile. Mahesh was waiting near the car to say hi to them. A perfect Bong Couple meeting a Perfect (errrrr???) Punjabi Couple-thanks to the blogworld. Jai was upset at having to squeeze himself in because he wanted me to go back to my seat in the front which I had given to Parry. Me and Pinku sat on either side of the back seat. Jai thought he was being squeezed in too tightly in his usually comfortable seat. He also took a great exception to our constant chatter. Rasan giggled at his remarks and told Pinku not to mind what he said. They both talked about other things. P and P had been in the bus for a couple of hours . And I knew they would be hungry. So, first things first, we went to eat at Aroma’s and had great fun catching up with each other’s lives. Not even once did we have those awkward moments you have while meeting someone for the first time. Six people - four cuisines- Rasan talking nonstop. (I have never seen her so animated with someone she is meeting for the first time) Usually Mahesh also takes time but he too was soon friends with Parry. He later commented that Parry is a cool guy.

We planned to go to the Chattbir Zoo but ParryAnka were short on time, so we decided in favour of the lake. It was a hot, sunny day that we had to brave. But we were all excited. Basically the aim was not sightseeing; it was to talk our hearts out. Jai constantly acted the spoil sport. He is one hell of a possessive guy. I often joke to Mahesh that he is stealing you away from me. Usually it is the husband who complains that the children are stealing the wife (in mother) away from him. Hopeless, that’s what I am. Hehehe. The lake, the heat, the crowd and then we started to walk away from the crowd. Talking about our lives, our jobs– we walked on. And boy, I was in for a surprise. On the foot of a lampshade was written a sentence in Punjabi. Parry stopped on the way. Read that sentence aloud. I was left gaping at him. “What? You can actually READ Gurmukhi?” I mean it is understandable for someone in India to understand Punjabi, but for a Bengali to read Gurmukhi, it’s amazing, it’s stupendous, it’s actually impressive Yaar! Pinku had earlier told me that Parry had lived in Punjab as a child owing to his father’s transferable job, but it was splendid to see him remember the script. He told me that he had worked on it consciously. How many people do that?

More talk, more dekho around, and suddenly a young man about 23-24 yrs old came. Said, “Excuse me, Ma’am.” I thought it was some student from the past. He said, “You look wonderful.” I was stupefied. What is this? He read my mind and immediately let the cat out of the bag lest he should be slapped, or in extreme circumstances, the lady be flattered enough to jump into the lake. Pointing at his friends he said, “Well, I had been dared by that group of mine to go tell the lady in the yellow that she looks good.” I said, “Well, you actually made my day, thank you.” And we all laughed. The talk freak that I am, I told Parry-Pinku that it has happened once before with me.

I was in M.A. II and we had been invited as guests to the welcome party of the MBA I semester by some friends in that department. The whole of the big University auditorium was full. The MBA deptt’s party used to be one to be enjoyed. The invitation was rare and much coveted. Obviously, we were really honored to be there. A set of giggling, unassuming type of girls, that’s what we were. Freshers of the new batch were being invited to the stage and asked to do weird things. There was this guy Abhishek, not Abhishek Bacchhan yaar. This one was a short, thin childlike boy who was told to give a flower to the prettiest girl in the hall. There was a stunned silence in the Audi. Now who would he go to? Jiske pas bhi jayega, maar khayega. And can you believe it? He came straight to me. Arrey, lambi lambi nahi chorh rahi hoon. Sach mein aya. I was flattered, scared, embarrassed. I was nowhere close to what the MBA people would call pretty. Well, nobody in their right senses would go give the flower to a plump girl in a 6-metre kameez salwar with full sleeves, spectacles on the nose, a thoroughly studious look and absolutely no experience in receiving flowers. The game required him to bring the girl back to stage and gift her a pen. Now that part was okay, I needed a pen anyways. I went with him to the stage, and courageously brought back the pen. I was not exactly on cloud nine, but flattered I definitely was. Because that was the first and the last flower I ever got from a guy. After the function, he came to me and said, “I hope you didn’t mind. Well you seemed safest to give that flower. You see, I knew who you were. My dad is Principal in ….. College, and he knows your mom (Mom was then Principal in another college in the same university). So I thought I would go give you the flower, and later apologize. I hope you dint mind ”

Mind? Were you kidding, Abhishek?

Coming back to Pinku, Chandigarh and Parry (poor dears, they got to hear this story then and there), our meeting was soon going to come to an end. Parry was expecting his dynamic friend P whom he had told that he was in the city. I tried to threaten him with dire consequences because I had planned something else. But then I had to abandon my Punjabi ways because “the friend” had a more towering personality than me and Mahesh put together. As soon as she came, I accepted my defeat and let them go. With a heavy heart of course. Because I had planned some more hours in their company, but then friends are friends, and friends need to be with friends even if the friends are with other friends. Sob!Sob!

The meeting with this blogger couple is definitely the beginning of a bond that is beyond regions, beyond languages, beyond limiting factors that divide people.

Amen!

Pinku's post on this meeting is really wonderful. Parry has taken these pictures and they both together have proven how powerful people's backs can be !!