Chai pe Charcha

 

Subhashis: Sankalpa! Got this now:

Sankalpa: I am holding my breath. Make a light liquor and try it on its own. Then drink the stronger milk variety (I discourage it), only after you get a feel for it. Keep it sealed in an airtight jar, I will get it from you if you don't like it. I am very excited.

Subhashis: First cup was a disaster (thanks to the excitement). The water got boiled. But the woody taste was distinct. Second cup was nice. Switched off just before it could boil. Taste was better.

Sankalpa: You can boil it if you want to drink with milk.  When the lock-down gets over, think of buying something like this.

Subhashis: No milk and sugar for me

Sid: He may become a tea-totaller but I bet he can't be a teetotaller.

Sankalpa: Subhasis has a fondness for the good things in life. That I think we can agree on.

Siddhu: This fascination for tea of a particular bagaan (garden/estate in Bengali) I saw in the Durgapur Bongs. I never saw tea shops like those elsewhere except in WB. They would have tins and well-sealed tins of tea lined up all over the walls and floor. Every Bong was partial to his own bagaan and had his unique mix of dust, leaf, granules which the shopkeeper had no problem understanding. There could be 5 combinations of bagaans and leaf type in a 200gm order and the shopkeeper would happily comply. Customers actually lined up for tea like they line up for booze now.

Sandeep: Anyone remembers Ruby Dust? There is another important criteria: 1st flush: spring harvest and 2nd flush: autumn harvest; the former being much better. Age too matters a lot – a good first flush will lose 50% of its value by the time the autumn harvest is ready, that is six months. 

    Trivia: The Brits took a lot of tea pickers from Orissa to Upper Assam, the language spoken in that region is called Bagania and has a lot of Oriya words.

    This variety is Orange Pekoe, Lopchu is the garden. One can have Orange Pekoe variety from different gardens/ bagaans. It is a popular variety. Not variety but grade; that’s the highest grade and dust is the lowest.

Sid: Mukharuchi style.

Siddhu: Exactly. More sophisticated version

Sandeep: There was this bengali guy named Kesto between Pen Hospital and Swosti Hotel who used to sell mixed tea loose tea

Sankalpa: Arun Tea Co.

Biswaranjan: My father used to get tea from there. Later on, it operated from the Swosti building. Finally, he retired and went back to his native place

Sankalpa: Yes, my father was very sad when he went. He was the only person in Bhubaneswar who could make a good blend.

Sandeep: Yes, he last operated from Swosti hotel building. I had my office in Master Canteen, knew him personally, a lovable chap. He didn't go away, one fine day he dropped from the face of the earth (disappeared). His wife tried to run the shop but couldn't manage, she had to close shop.

Minakshi: I remember. 'Was in front of our home.

Sipra: There was one in Bapuji Nagar too. In the first gali. A little bigger than a paana shop. Stacked with tins wall to wall. Dash Tea, I think. Sad that these are not there anymore.

Sid: There was one in Tulsipur, Cuttack, where the signboard said - Cha in Odia followed by T in English, repeated over and over. Gave the impression of ChaaT. But disappointingly, stocking tea.

********

It is interesting how the simplest of things, like a cup of tea, can trigger a lengthy conversation. This time the conversation was on tea. Some facts, some trivia, and some memories!

Disclaimer: A conversation transferred from the class' WhatsApp group. There was some conversation in between that I took the liberty of removing because it wasn't relevant. 

Quarantine Quisine

 As the world started shutting down, locking itself indoors, more and more people began to explore the possibilities and extent of their capabilities. Some of my friends took it upon themselves to shell out a variety of delicacies - some with little or no help from spouses, children or other family members; some who extended little or no help to their spouses or children. And, I got to get a look at some of these mouth-watering dishes. Inspired, I cooked and baked some too. The fears, both known and unknown, of the pandemic still hover over our heads. The initial excitement and fervor of sharing food tales seemed to have simmered down. I saved some of the pictures and thought of sharing it here - who knows, this may inspire many more of us to get creative in the kitchen. 

So in no particular order, 

Tridib's Chhena poda

Rajesh Srivastava's Dahi Puri and Pani Puri 

Minakshi's Puran Poli

Sankalpa's Kachodi and Alu Bhaji

Subhashis Fish Chops

Sid Padhi's Fried Jackfruit

Biswajita's Stuffed Mushroom

Sandeep's Shrimp Omelette

Sipra's fish curry

Tridib's Laddu (I forget which kind)

Subhashis' Keema Pao

Rajesh Srivastava's Bread Pizza 

Sid Padhi's Veg Koftas

Minakshi's Vegetarian Shepherd's Pie

Sandeep' Fish and Chips

Sankalpa's Gupchup

Subhashis' Cakes

Tridib's Pav Bhaji

Sid Padhi's Sandwich (what kind??)

Subhashis' Sushi

Minakshi's Healthy Thali

Sipra's Fish Tacos

Subhashis' Bread Tales

Rajesh Srivastava's Aloo Sandwich

Sankalpa's Oven Fries

Subhashis' Kachodi and Aloo Tarkari

Sipra's cakes: Walnut Mocha and Almond Chocolate

Tridib's Rabidi

Subhashis' Chocolates and Cookies

Disclaimer: I have to add one. When I started compiling these pictures, I believed in the honesty of my friends. At least one has "confessed" 😉 that they do not hold exclusive credits for all the food pictures they shared. Apparently, the only credit they could possibly lay claim on was the lip-smacking part. 

The comment section is open to all those who want to extend credit where it is due.

 

Design Credits: Subhashis Panda

Story credits: Rajesh Srivastava 

On oaths and solemn affirmations

Sankalpa Basu

I would have spent this afternoon differently if it weren’t for the Sadguru. He had just touched my life through a WhatsApp forward. He has brought light, understanding in many lives, and filled others with awakenings and realisations. He has made spiritualism popular among the smart phone generation and is the English retort to the liberal wayward. If religion is the opium of the masses, then he may be the good doctor prescribing fentanyl. Of course, you might argue that a WhatApp forward is just that, someone sending a couple of minutes of highly edited video to convey a message, which would need to compete with another 67 messages in grabbing attention. How could it even hope to summarise Hinduisms take on Secularism or Sadguru’s interpretation of this delicate affair? I don’t argue with that. I probably just got a nudge to get me thinking about what oaths mean to me.  

I have taken many walks on the quayside of the Tyne.  It is not a long way from my home. On Saturdays there is a curious open-air market where you can buy anything from the local Northumberland sausages to the exotic Jamaican chilli sauces. When I first came to Newcastle there used to be many shops selling cheap woollen gloves, toys, LP records, second-hand books and other things that gave the place a bazar kind of feel. But these shops over the years have given place to more genteel shops selling Ceylonese woodcarvings or Thai incense holders.  Four bridges, all of them full of character, beauty, and history, cross Tyne here. There are many pubs and restaurants on the quayside where you might have some quality refreshments before heading back home. The beautiful Sage Theatre stands on the other side of the river; on this side there is a rather ugly Court Building.

I had first gone into this building many years ago, not as an accused as some of you might be hoping but as a professional witness. I will tell you, for those who don’t have the experience; it is not very nice being cross-examined by a barrister. These fellows seem to have a knack of making you feel nervous and guilty and as they always know more about the case than you do they ask you terrible trick questions and make you look like an idiot. I was therefore sitting there in the waiting room cheerlessly looking out at the Tyne, it was a grey afternoon, and the river seemed to bear with fortitude the annoying, non-stop rain. The judge seemed to be taking his time and I was already tense when I was herded into the courtroom. It wasn’t old-fashioned and oak-lined but it tried to be as impressive it could be in a modern steel and glass way.

I found myself standing in the witness stand - it was a rather empty room, just a couple of known faces, whose lives could change as a result of my evidence, a couple of solicitors whom I half knew, and two of the wigged gentlemen. A very unsmiling court clerk approached me and asked what I would like to take oath on. I asked him what choices did I have. Immediately I knew I had asked a silly question as he wasn’t supposed to hand out a menu. The clerk turned out to be more patient than I had expected him to be and told me that he had a Bible and a Quran. I said I was happy with either as I considered all religions sacred and all Gods the same. I also explained that since I was a Hindu I would prefer to have a Gita, if he happened to have one. The clerk took a note of that and told that since he didn’t have one I would have to take a solemn declaration that I will stick to the truth.

I have since then thought about it many times. Would I lie more readily if I took an oath on the Bible or the Quran? And why should I need to take an oath anyway? After all a man/woman should be expected to tell the truth all the time, whether in the presence of the Lord or in the presence of the Lordship. And if I had to choose, then what would be the one thing I would least like to defile with my lies. When I was young, I knew a girl who had the habit of asking me to take an oath on her. There are few Odia sentences more beautiful than ‘mo rana’. It is about innocent trust. I could never lie to her after she said ‘mo rana’ although I knew nothing was going to turn out differently if I did lie. Later I have seen people take oath on their children and parents and on Gods and Goddesses. They do that because they hold these things sacred and dear.

I suppose the clerk wouldn’t have allowed me to stand in a British court and take an oath on Lord Jagannath, neither could I say that I am taking an oath on my mother’s life and whatever I say will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

The Sadguru said in UK and USA the top dogs have to take an oath on the religious book of the state before they took the office the PM or the president. But we in misguided India have to take an oath on our constitution.  Just imagine the misery of the oppressed Hindu, who has to show his allegiance to the constitution, against his will and conviction. What a load of rubbish!

I do see certain advantages in following the Holy Man’s advice. Wouldn’t it be nicer if they listened to him and made the prime ministers take a vow on the religious book of their choice? At least then they wouldn’t be embarrassing the constitution when they broke their promises.

I feel the constitution, although it is an imperfect document, made by men and changeable by amendments is the holiest of holy books in the world. It is the birth cry of a nation; the rallying cries for all India’s soldiers, revolutionaries and patriots. For all its frailties it is the only armour we have in the battle against saboteurs of our democracy. It is as innocent as ‘mo rana’ and as dear as one’s mother. I am glad the Sadguru made me think of all these.

Power of Love

Geeta Tripathi

Sometimes a small incident in life has a deep impact on us and makes us look within. I was a witness to such an act or I would rather say to the power of love. Few years back, the day after Om's death. I found lot of sparrows in front of his Puja room on our rooftop terrace. It was late afternoon, around 3 o'clock and the whole terrace was full of sparrows. They didn't fly away by seeing me. I was so close to them... yet they didn't move a bit. They were not chirping, very unusual for these noisy birds. I offered them biscuit crumbs but not a single one touched those. They stayed up to ten minutes or so or may be more. I lost count of time. Must have happened on the day of Om's death, too. I was not there to see on that day. This continued for more than a week and reminded me of Khuswant Singh's 'The Portrait of a Lady'.

Out on the Roadside at Noon, Doing Nothing

Sid Padhi

No one but myself. Hardly any movement around and nobody is interested in me. I'm parked under a shady tree attaining Bodhisattva. It's exactly noon now. I have myself a half-hour window, without disturbance.

Reeta is visiting a relative-patient (a far off relative who's a patient) and I opted out of the morbid scenario.

I'm not inconvenienced. Not at all. I'm slouched against my car under the benign shade of a grown jackfruit. It stands staidly in an unruly garden dominated by flowering tagara shrubs. Nice green foliage.

There are clouds in the sky and the hot sun is obliging by going under clouds every once in a while. And driving those clouds is a cool breeze.

The car moves under me. I haven't put in gears. I haven't put it in hand-brakes. It has come under the influence of Newton. I put a brake to the matter.

To my left, a JCB machine is busy removing waste. Life seems back to normal. I am not wearing a mask.

To my right is my exit. I have to turn 180° to achieve that. It takes me to pick up Reeta.

My alibi: Mr Tridib Tripathi, Sahid Nagar, away from home at that time.

My window is closing. Hope you enjoyed.

Slice of Life, COVID Times - #001

Sid Padhi

Sorry, didn't call back.

Mom's fridge developed a fever in the lower compartment, yesterday.  I had made a provisional diagnosis of ice in the windpipes and left it off the electric supply to self repair. But, she put it back on and the problem persisted.

Post lunch, we had a masked technician from Reeta's hospital (he has a pass) to have a look. That's why I forgot to call back.

Story continues:

Guy starts pulling apart the innards and I can see he's on the wrong track. He talks about replacing this and that. I say, ice-chamber works, chiller tray downward doesn't - isn't it a case of ice in the 'windpipes'?

He says, "maybe". I suggest pouring in some hot water and he disagrees. Says it could fry the electronics. Made sense to me.

Since there was nothing else he could do, I pack him off with two hundred bucks. He's happy to vamoose; but the fridge remains, status quo.

Then I apply some Dhenkanalia buddhi. If it's about de-congesting the pipes of ice how about hot air?

Got myself a hair dryer. Half an hour of blowing hot air into the vents; and the machine is now a cool dude, right down to the vegetable tray at the bottom.

Proper diagnosis is important, improvisation helps.

COVID Thoughts

Dr. Sid Padhi

:-)  Workplace becomes War-Zone and Home becomes Safe Haven. But, the cliched Mian-Biwi- nok- jhok jokes have strangely gone underground. Sudden bon'homie'? Did COVID do the trick? Or, was it just an overrated, overdone concept?

:-)  "Man is a Social Animal". A past concept that we studied, sometimes for marks in exams. Forget the gender bias, we will never be the same again. Not for a long, long time. And by then, we would be used to the New Rules of Society. As for those who challenge me, they will reinvent the meaning of "Social" to fit their argument.

:,-)  Accept it as a first from me. COVID is now a Verb. "Stay away. You may Covid me" or.. "He was Covided during transit" or.. "All rescuees from China were isolated to keep them from Coviding others"

:-D  Driving is now so much relaxing. The roads have suddenly become broader and the car seems slow at 60kmph. And there are checkposts where you are ushered through with the power of the stethoscope and a 'cross' on the windshield that has nothing to do with religion.

:-P.  Some, hitherto chronic patients of cough, cold and 'yesnophilia' have miraculously recovered from their perpetual symptoms. They are all responsibly housebound and apparently doing well. No news is good news.

,:-|    Summer is here. People are feeling the Corona Heat, though. And, for once, people aren't complaining. In fact, some hope for a bad summer to tide them over this crisis. Quite a change in perception, one would say.

B-)  Evenings are now reminiscent of childhood - cool breeze and more birds than humans returning to their nests.

:-\    Discussion on social media is almost impossible to follow. There is so much - material and immaterial - that the only way of making sense of it all is to execute a summary delete. End of discussion, and better to stay off them on Whatsapp!

}:‑)  Doctors were being bashed up all over the country for being inhuman until a month back. They were scoundrels and scallywags after the patients blood, life and money, so we were told. Not anymore. Now they are heroes, saints and demi-gods. Every dog has its day.

:-P  Nose-pickers are an extinct lot. Nit-pickers are no longer public. Rag-pickers are occasional. Even the Opposition has not found much to pick on.

:-P  Policemen are into experimental mode and having the time of their life. From bum-bashing loiterers to bum-swishing to music in public, they are the upholders of the discipline that we otherwise lack. They are the 'anti-socials' who ensure social distancing. They are the real Socialists.

Vacuum

Sipra Pati

Across the room my eyes go

A vacuum it sums up

Wordless, yet voluminous

Bodies thronging

Isolated isotopes

A wandering minstrel they sight

Cacophony ensues

The vacuum widens

I will my vacuum self

To let go

Of the strings tethering me to myself

Of the strings that keep me away

Every time I opine

Every time I protest

Everything I question

Every time I discern

My strings anchor to myself

My strings, strained, stressed and weary they may be

They will let me buckle not

I am me, they remind me

The vacuum is not within

Movie Endings: Die Another Day

At the tail end of  Feb 14 around 9pm-ish,  which also happened to be Valentine's day 2020,  I was having a craving for a movie as I had adequately met or maybe exceeded the male passing grades that the day demanded :) …so I flicked around on Amazon Prime and came upon a curiously titled 'Satyameva Jayate' with a release date in August 2018; I don't watch Bolly movies often, so many pass by without a second glance but this one looked OK and not dated too much - a year and a half.  After dancing my remote around a few more movies I decided that none of the other ones quite piqued my interest and so settled on the aforementioned movie, as I like the lead actor.  

My intention here is not to dwell much on the gist of the movie, except that it had only a slender and barely perceptible nexus to the significance of the day at hand.  To give context to those who might have also missed out on this motion picture,  it suffices to say that in between the usual Bolly melodramatic scenes it does a decent job of showing a vigilante who goes after corrupt and predatory cops and usually finishes them off in an incandescent fashion to save them on cremation costs.  That too only after bashing them to pulp to exact some retribution for the reprehensible acts they committed -- so I guess it saves the family both cremation costs and the abhorrent fees of a plastic surgeon to bring them back to normal from vaguely looking like the Phantom of the Opera or other scary Halloween characters, once the punitive measures had been taken. The lot he picks on are hardly worthy of empathy; the heartless jerk cops who use their uniform to skim money by preying on the weak and the poor;  and some even abusing and assaulting women.  The lead character has an extra bonus thrown in for the head detective in charge of outing him: he is also trying to play a Sunday newspaper back-page word game by picking the scumbags whose first initial match those of the letters of the incantation 'Satyameva Jayate' that was adopted by a fledgling nation in 1947 as its imprimatur 'truth alone is victorious' or a close resemblance to that. The one little gem that only Bollywood could have dreamed about:  the older brother of the protagonist (played by John Abraham) is the IPS cop given the unenviable task to bring him to justice (Manoj Bajpayee). All this is moot if you have seen the movie, so let's get on with the point, although I will have to describe the final scene as briefly as I can as it has everything to do with why I wrote this piece in the first place. 

 In the final scene, the vigilante is shot in the back by his older brother cop in a tear jerking moment. The older bro does it with great trepidation and moral dilemma as the delectable villain who was being taken down in the final scene is a pastel faced scoundrel who years earlier had framed their dad (also a cop) as being corrupt by planting drugs and money in his house.  This led to the honest cop's utter humiliation and he took his own life which scarred both brothers but in different ways; the younger believed in his father and the older one felt tainted; usual Bolly script lego building blocks!!   This villain was also the older brother's reporting IPS officer but his dark and perfidious deeds were only exposed in the final scene, which predictably caused a on-the-spot change of heart towards his dad for the elder bro. In any case even after our hero is shot in the back, he manages to burn alive the IPS officer who had caused the devastation to their family; because the preparatory marinating of the villain had already been done by virtue of a gallon of kerosene being doused upon him and all that remained was flicking a lighted match towards him, which our hero managed even after taking a bullet. For both of us watching, the movie did do a good job of holding our interest.. and now comes the real crux. 

Once the lead got shot in the back by his bro, my wife and I felt a little rummy that such a folk hero who was part Robin Hood, part Incredible Hulk, and part Cupid and who had dispensed such gratifying frontier justice wouldn't survive in the end.  He would not get united with his love interest who also happened to be the kiddo of the dirty IPS officer. So instead of watching the bitter end I paused the TV set four minutes from the end while the mournful soliloquy of the older brother holding his sibling in his arms was still in midstream.  I didn't want to see the inevitable finale as I am a little bit of a softy when it comes to seeing the hero bite the dust. Just as we were lamenting the ending, my wife mentioned that I should take the help of Google to decide whether we should see the last four minutes. That was a brilliant idea. Maybe he survived!!  So I hurriedly fished out my phone and typed in the magic search words. I was crestfallen as the first search result said Veer Rathod  (John Abraham's character) dies in the climax. Not a happy ending to Valentine's day. But then… wait a minute. As my eyes glanced over the other search results, I spied a 'Satyameva Jayate 2'!!!!!  WHOA.. Wait a minute.  Does a box office hit and dollar signs breathe life into a sequel? … and inject some bonhomie into the two of us????

 My emotions perked up as a few more clicks proved that indeed a movie sequel has the wherewithal to revive a character who had taken a bullet in his back from his own brother!!!  . True to form, Satyameva Jayate 2 had a release date of Gandhi Jayanti Oct 2, 2020; apparently the director has divined that people can duly honor the Father of the Nation by watching a flick where the main character beats the brains out of a select few from the miasma of corrupt bureaucrats and then wraps up a job well done with a gratuitous cremation. This lead to a volte-face of our mood into one bordering elation and some keen speculation as to how the Director/Screenwriter would resurrect John Abraham's character literally on the verge of taking his last breath (at least when we suspended our viewing) at the beginning of SJ 2…various possibilities entered our suddenly rejuvenated and adrenaline filled brains, and we decided to skip the last portion because we know he convalesces from this little ordeal of the bullet in his back!! All's well that ends well.  Maybe we all have to wait till October 2020 to find out the Director has in store for us, but HAPPY ENDING thanks to Google!!  

South America - up close

Minakshi Krishnan

When my scheduled winter trip to India had to be put off due to a sharp rise in airfare, it did feel like a downer.

Always looking for warm-enough places to visit, I grabbed the opportunity for a summer vacation of sorts: in South America. The sun-drenched city of Buenos Aires with its chic restaurants, vibrant nightlife, emerald waterfronts with swaying wild grass (@ Tigre) and ultra-friendly Spanish-speaking folks also lived up to its reputation of being one of the safest of cosmopolitan cities. While it seemed to get exceedingly difficult to find a place that sold the “Sube” card  for the Subte, we did enjoy a bunch of free rides, allowed in through the turnstiles by friendly passengers and transit authorities.

Walking for hours on the neatly cobbled sidewalks was indeed very pleasant, even long past midnight, what with restaurants teeming with revelers and sports enthusiasts! Radha with his love for stories of family connections, did spike our intrigue enough to want to lookup Eva Peron’s crypt amidst hordes of others at the Recoleta. 

The mere sight of Puerto Iguazu from our Aerolineas flight appeared to be a great culmination to a fabulous trip to Argentina. Iguazu on the cusp of the 2 biggest of  countries in S America – Argentina and Brazil, replete with its dense undergrowth, singing birds and friendly coatis of the Amazon rainforest, gave an overwhelming sense of home, just like my Aima’s village. The resort had adequate resources, all fine-tuned to provide comfort in the midst of nature.  Our driver was fluent in English and Spanish and she did all that was necessary for us to cross the border onto Brazil to see the full expanse of the falls from that country. Each of these falls is indeed uniquely and breathtakingly beautiful and the country has taken ample measures to preserve the natural landscape while also providing relief to weary hikers in the form of benches at look-outs and fresh coconut water at the highest points. The glistening waters, the numerous rainbows left an indelible impression in my mind. 

Returning back to base, we ventured out at nightfall, walking a few kms to “Hito Tres Fronteras”, witnessing the glorious reflection of lights from 2 adjoining countries, Paraguay and Brazil on the intervening waterbody. The night was interesting too with sound of wildlife and then breakfast with its generous servings of tropical fruits (including mangoes) and fresh juices was indeed a traveler’s delight. The Iguazu Cataratas, hundreds of them on the Argentinian side as well, were each a sight to behold. 

Chile, a long and thin country nestled between the Western slopes of the Andes and the vastness of the Pacific, was the final destination for us. Just one visit to my office on the 19^th floor in the busy Santiago downtown of Providencia would have served well for me to tick off this bucket-list item - I had been longing to feel the atmosphere close-up, since 2011. Modern, hip spaces but with a touch of nostalgia and community! Evenings in this part I was told, would be teeming with professionals enjoying their happy hours with famed Chilean wines et al.

The sought-after Patagonia and the Atacama weren’t going to be part of our trip and the imprints of protestors’ graffiti and teargas incidents from news circles made sure that my expectations were rock-bottom. I had heard stories of “lard-laced” butter and hard to find vegetarian cuisines. To our pleasant surprise, that was hardly the case. I savored the taste of the fresh mint lemonade every morning. Every dish – from Quinoa burgers, loaded-yet-light veggie pizzas, lasagna, Pad Thai and  traditional Indian food, breads straight off the hearth, guava and cherimoya pastries, pancakes and arepas with “real” ingredients, a kg of cherries (at 50 cents!), all tasted way better in sheer terms of originality and freshness. After having been greeted with welcoming smiles and small-talk from affable localities everywhere around this country, I would love to have another opportunity to be there. 

Dynamic, cosmopolitan and safe, Santiago charmed with versatility. Sounds, flavors, colors of the Chilean culture from their music playing in hotels and taxis, infused a sense of familiarity in every aspect of life. The Sky Costanera (the tallest skyscraper in Latin America), provided a stunning 360 view of the city and the western slopes of the Andes against the descending sun; and boasted of gigantic shopping malls showcasing every possible brand name. Neatly preserved parks, friendly passersby, pets without leash, hawkers selling ice-creams, and local crafts stores selling Pashmina shawls and colorful handbags, everything had close resemblances with my hometown of Bhubaneswar.

Our day trip to the volcanic hot-springs in the arid valleys of the Andes surrounded by active volcanoes, was with our knowledgeable guide Nicole (who had a college degree in linguistics) and a very efficient local driver. We shared our tour vehicle with one happy-go-lucky couple from Los Angeles who taught us a thing or two about being carefree.  First stop was for an elaborate breakfast and coffee at the bed-n-breakfast lounge of an avid traveler and master-chef who also happily recounted stories of her travels through India to me. 

The spluttering mud pools were each naturally heated to their own unique temperature patterns depending on the time of the day. As I had taken my role of being the official photographer of the day seriously, I simply dipped my feet unto one and looked out to the magnificent mountains, all shining with a wide range of minerals. In the far horizon were desert animals (donkeys, mountain goats, Llamas) grazing or looking out for water to quench their thirst on a warm summer day which also reminded of Siddhu's  mention of Coelho and the Alchemist! This trip felt like another heavenly and unmissable experience.

In spite of repeated warnings from my office-folks regarding recent forest fires enroute to Valparaiso, a port town just north of Santiago, we debated back and forth, before finally embarking on a bus trip at noon, taking the upper deck seats in a pretty comfortable "AC-WIFI" Turbus at $5 a seat, so as to not miss the opportunity of a good view of the Andes yet again. Reached the crowded sea-side town and took a taxi to our hotel. Valparaiso was impressive and lived up to its reputation of being a UNESCO Heritage site for Art-preservation.

The evening hours were dedicated to watching big waves come ashore against the rocks, and to photography. I held my breath many a times as the setting sun splashed a kaleidoscope of colors on the waters of the Pacific ocean.  As I looked up to see the Moon and Venus appearing in proximity in my breezy dream-like stroll, the area devoid of any sounds but of the waves, I chanced upon a sea-side memorial with hundreds of teddy bears telling the story of a cute little girl whose family must be frequenting this spot. All I wanted to do now was grab a taxi and head to a more familiarly noisy place. As we retired for the night, the porous walls reminded until the wee hours that the night was still young for Latin Americans.

We decided to trek up and down for most parts of the quaint neighborhood in the early hours of the next morning, stopping to gaze at the many, many pieces of artwork on the walls of this hilly town. As is the norm, Radha took us to yet another cemetery at the end of our walk which provided a beautiful panoramic view of the town as well as our imagination into the lifestyles of the quintessential Spanish and English voyagers and settlers who made Valparaiso their final destination.

Returned to Santiago to spend another glorious afternoon and evening and decided to take it easy before boarding a flight back the following day to Miami. All along, I couldn’t but help think of the closeness of our cultures and our lifestyles, albeit the 2 countries at ~ 17,000 kms are far apart on the globe.  My sub-conscious mind intermittently raced to my friends from school, who may have brought away even more from visiting these countries on account of their geographical relevance with what we learned in our classroom.

Memory shot

Rita Sinha

I remember in our school, there used to be a mehendi tree (in front of music class). I used to pluck mehendi leaves, dump them into my tiffin box and bring them home.

We used to have a South Indian lady helper in our house. She used to grind the mehendi leaves and apply the paste on our (my sisters' and my) hands and obviously on her own hands in the typical design of those days (finger caps and spots).

I think that the flavour, colour, and the typical designs of that mehendi can never be replaced by any other mehendi now.

I miss those days.

I, the other

Sipra Pati

Fear

Frustration 

Exasperation 

Deep inhale... long exhale

my skin

my gender

my religion

my God

my temple

my child

my language

my culture

my race

my state

my nation

my love

my caste

my attire

my community

my work

my school

my beliefs

.... .... ....

Conform not. 

I am

but, the other. 

My Friend Monte : A Tribute

My friend Monte Christensen passed away on Oct 25, 2019 after an yearlong unsuccessful struggle with squamous cell cancer at the age of 51. Although for the last few years we didn't meet as often, some relationships are such that it leaves you with positive memories even when you realize that the chapter has ended. This is something I wished to write about him and I want it to be positive, a celebration of his life, not an obituary. Such an amazing person deserves a few words.

 I met Monte on my first job in the Bay Area in the mid-nineties, California where we both worked for the same company which later on became part of Hewlett Packard through an acquisition. He was a gregarious character; boisterous in spots and quintessentially American but yet with an openness and generosity that drew some people towards him, and maybe by the same token pushed some away from him. I was one of those who felt drawn towards him.  He was a smart software developer and later manager who rose to very high professional position in Microsoft; and an even smarter gambler who had mastered the art of beating the casinos in a game called blackjack and also a great poker player as also a connoisseur of certain varieties of alcohol that accompanied his legendary skills in the card-rooms. The roster of mutual friends from those days come flooding to my mind: Steve W, Marc S, Leonard I, Doug, Ranjit and others.  Softball and lunchtime running forged bonds that last a lifetime. Softball events were so much fun those times in the great weather of the Bay Area. Monte was the best raconteur of them all… the way he would recount his experiences would be very captivating… how he won poker games in smoky card-rooms in San Jose and caused a Vietnamese guy to go berserk at having lost a lot of money - was told with a lot of emotive dialogs and hand gestures and giggles that would make the whole anecdote come alive for the members of our usual gang.   

I remember my first introduction with Monte and Marc to the beautiful town of Monterrey a little bit south of the Bay Area.  It was a typical guys' night… the venue was an auditorium that may have been gentrified as such with some creative face-lifting of a warehouse; certainly not swank, but worthy of putting up a boxing event with a ring(or stage where the fighters engage) surrounded by a gallery of seats;  an evening of boxing starts with some undercards (meaning junior and up-and-coming boxers going up against each other and then the final event of the evening is the main 'card' or the match between two reputed fighters that attract big purses, bettors and spectators). Not being too much of an expert of boxing myself,  I forget the boxers' names, mostly Latino fighters who looked the part, with some signature scars and tattoos in abundance.

 I remember the tickets were quite affordable, probably twenty bucks at most for a ringside seat, maybe the fourth or fifth row from the ring. I remember the vivid nature of the spectacle; an uppercut dislodging a mouthguard, a little gore and blood and the back and forth nature of the pugilists going at each other with a lot of spunk and gumption. While us three, beers in hand were taking it all in; not a care in the world, before the responsibilities of taking care of a family, in our twenties and not too much bothered about what came next in our lives. Those are the moments however where indelible impressions are conjured and the bonds that go beyond superficiality get casted with a permanence of friendship, ethos and sentimentality that is not popularly ascribed to the masculine gender. 

One fine day in the mid-nineties news broke that Monte was headed for an exciting new job at Microsoft in the Emerald city of Seattle; Microsoft was the holy grail of software professionals those days and it made the fortunes of many. I remember having mixed feelings; was very proud and happy for him but also knowing I was going to miss him. He wasn't my best friend, but he was the kind of person you felt you could approach were something to come up that you needed him to share and seek some sage advice; he seemed to have a degree of maturity to go along with a swashbuckling attitude towards life.

So I resolved to keep in touch with him even though he was no longer going to be in the Bay Area. The next thing that I remember was my second trip to Seattle; the first one was quite forgettable and happened before I ever knew Monte. The second trip to Seattle was me and Marc S. going up to meet Monte in Seattle and then from there going up to Vancouver Canada. I remember being really pumped up about it. Those days you had to save up for such trips, first job and all. I was still single so fortunately the only thing that came into balance in making the decision was me and myself. 

The second visit in my life to the Pacific Northwest was quite memorable. For a wide-eyed young man both Seattle and Vancouver were quite remarkable… magnificent scenery of white crested Olympic mountains and lush evergreens everywhere. Vancouver was fascinating; I remember we stayed at the Holiday Inn… and went around the downtown and the usual sights like Capilano etc. for the first time. Monte, Marc and I had a great time.

The next time I met Monte, a year and half had passed by and I had met my wife and no longer single. The two bedroom apartment where we lived in Santa Clara was getting cramped… it is funny how when single a room in a two-bedroom flat had sufficed for me as a more than adequate bachelor pad but after you get married the need for space multiplies. So before flying home for my wedding I had done a rather hasty and incredibly messy job of moving all my belongings into a two-bedroom flat in the same complex!  I was looking for greener pastures and I had outgrown the organization that had given me my first job opportunity; albeit grateful, I felt the need to grow professionally. 

Monte was back in town to visit friends and had stopped by his old stomping grounds for lunch;  I had started interviewing for other jobs in the Bay Area and when he asked me what I was doing, I told him that I was looking around. As luck would have it, he had moved up to a manager role and was looking to fill a couple of positions in his team and asked me if I was interested. I decided to take a flier and he was willing to bring me in for an interview. Microsoft really put out the red carpet for me and my wife - very nice hotel, all expenses paid trip and some of the sights and sounds of a great city - we both liked it. Real estate prices were also a great selling point as compared to the Bay Area which was almost out of reach even then.  Microsoft interviews are no picnic and is a grueling day where one person who doesn't like your responses could end your day, and the questions were all problem solving in the field of software or brain teasing puzzles, barring a rare few softballs to put you at ease; after the hard work I had put in and some ability to think on my feet, I was able to land the job and probably a vindication of my friend's faith on me, I put in more than twelve and half good and productive years in the company, including the initial couple where he was my direct manager. 

When he moved to Capitol Hill on the West Side of Lake Washington and in a rather bohemian and charming part of the city known for its block parties, I couldn't see him as often; however we did go to his house for Thanksgiving… we did it at least several years regularly before that too became a hit or miss. During those Thanksgiving parties we would reminisce about the Bay Area years; we didn't make much money during those Bay Area years, but still it was a great life… full of days of great weather, outdoor activities and exciting places to explore, people to meet. Not everything was about him and me, but we knew all the mutual people that we had shared those moments with and so the anecdotes were very relatable for either of us. Those parties were great fun… it is with a bittersweet feeling that I recollect the house since I know my primary connection with it no longer graces this earth, although he is survived by his wife and two boys in school - his wife is also an impeccable human being

 There is a little balcony he had in his Capitol Hill house which has a spectacular view of Lake Washington where he had set up his barbecue grill and he would be grilling all kinds of stuff on it while people were having their drinks and engaging in small talk while the amazing vista from the hilltop sloped down towards the water level of the huge landmark Lake Washington and you could see all the way to the Cascade peaks;  and the crisp November northwest air was interspersed with the happy relaxed banter of friends. 

The last time I saw him was on May 4, 2019.  He and his wife Lori had invited us to their home on Capitol Hill for a party…by that time I had found out he had cancer; that too in February he had sent me an Instant messenger via the FB app and I don't use it much…by some serendipity I had found his message while rummaging quite out of the norm in Messenger and came upon this appalling note from him.  Immediately I responded and expressed the desire to see him, apologizing for not paying attention to Messenger. Even at that late stage this amazing person was throwing a party to watch a boxing event from Las Vegas!  Destiny or karma oftentimes has an uncanny knack of completing a proverbial circle in life… from that day that flits like an evanescent slide show from Monterrey in the recesses of my mind to a house in the Seattle suburb of Capitol Hill, the unlikely thread of Boxing brought me to see my ailing friend for what would be the final rendezvous.  I hadn't seen much of him lately as our lives had drifted apart weighed down by the responsibilities foisted upon us, and also due to other social and geographical factors; but my wife and I always had good feelings for Monte and his wife. He was a good father and husband and their favorite pastime as a family was snowboarding with their two boys.

 In this final opportunity that I had to interact with Monte, he was a shell of himself; a tube of some sort was inserted into his neck and he was wearing a bib… he looked bloated and sickly; gaunt and haggard… the carcinogenic cells were waging a winning war against this lovely and free-spirited man who had lived his life with some verve. His wife had quit her work temporarily for a year to care for him through the vicious cycle of chemotherapies and the slippery slope of cancer.  You could see the strains on the family; although the two boys were oblivious of the fact that the disembodied buzzards were circling their dad waiting for his final capitulation.  Despite the backdrop, it was a incongruously festive air with food and drinks and the boxing card from the MGM in Las Vegas. The boxing under-cards were going on; people were eating and drinking with gusto … Mexican food was catered from a restaurant in Kirkland. One would have to assume the analyzing skills of a Poirot to even detect the undercurrent of a family going through this ordeal, although I felt deep within me the pain of my friend, and hoped against hope for his recovery. The only clue might have been that Monte never spoke and instead used an iPad to type his responses which an app then spoke out in a synthetic voice to the people who asked him questions.

This was May 4, 2019. I couldn't stay for the final fight on the Boxing event.. I did manage to stay the first two or three rounds as the heralded Main event of Canelo Alvarez fighting Daniel Jacobs for the IBF Welterweight championship and Monte was indulging in the simple pleasures he had remaining in his short time left. I wished him the very best towards recovery although I didn't convince myself nor do I think he needed convincing; he just wanted to see his friends for one of the last times;  he had called me over to his house one more time after that when I couldn't attend because I had a family trip planned to Banff and Calgary; such is life. I never got to see him again. Farewell my dear amigo, there won't be another like you!