Treasurable Memories from Tasmania

  

It was almost time to book the cab. The last few moments before leaving home were crucial. If we had forgotten to pack something essential, this was the time to grab it and cram it into our overstuffed bags. Within our minds, we ran through the list of things we needed for our trip and recalled whether we had taken them. Once satisfied, we booked the cab, slung our bags and waited outside our apartment. 

      

The Uber cab driver seemed clueless about the route to Central Station, one of the most prominent spots in Sydney. We wouldn't have reached the station on time, had Subha, my husband not followed the directions in Google Map. After reaching the station, we didn't have to wait long for the train. We were hungry by the time we boarded the train and settled in our seats. So, we waited eagerly for the pantry to open. Once it did, we were happy to find it had the option of an Indian meal. Comprising of rice, dal with boiled beans and butter chicken with a brownish gravy, it was surprisingly tasty. After dinner Phutphuti shut her eyes and tried to sleep. Subha and me got glasses of rose wine from the pantry. We watched the dark silhouettes of shops and establishments sweep by outside the window while sipping on the wine, resting our feet on the foot rest which could be raised. However, none of us could slip into a deep slumber. The chairs, which could be slanted back by the press of a lever, were no match for a bed. The sleeper coaches had already been full when our booking was made. Although we couldn't sleep, we felt rejuvenated reclining in our chairs and imagining the wonderful experiences awaiting us the next day. Finally, we saw the sky lighten and the darkness dissolve into the colours of the rising sun; the dark masses looming over the railway track gaining their distinctiveness. The train was running one hour late. It was a matter of concern as there was only a two hour and fifteen minutes gap between it's scheduled arrival time in Melbourne and the cut-off time for boarding the ship at Geelong port. It would take more than an hour to travel from Melbourne to Geelong. Now, with the train running late, the gap had shrunk and we were apprehensive that if the train delayed further, we would miss the ship.

On reaching Melbourne, we rushed to the Taxi stand - Subha had checked the directions beforehand to avoid any delay. It was a tense ride to the Geelong port since the watch was fast ticking towards the cutoff time for boarding. On reaching the port, we saw the ship Spirit of Tasmania at once. It was huge and white, with many levels. It had parking space for those travelling to Tasmania with their cars. The area around the ship was barricaded and we craned our necks looking for the entrance for passengers like us - those without cars. On spotting a sort of a gate, we asked the cab driver to stop, paid and hurried towards it as fast as our heavy luggage would permit. It was only when we had come close to the gate that we saw the words "Only for Staff' written on it. In a panic, we turned around and saw that our cab was still waiting for us. We shouted through the gate, asking the two men inside about the way to the gate for passengers. One of them explained and we rushed to the cab as fast as we could and jumped inside. On reaching the correct entrance, we got down again and after walking a few more meters, we finally arrived at the check in point. Our hearts filled with gratitude for the cab driver who had waited for us when we got down for the first time instead of driving away to get more passengers. If we had to walk all the way from the Staff gate to the passengers' entrance, we might have missed the cut-off time. 

     

We had never sailed on a ship before. Boarding the ship was like alighting on a cloud - an experience that had only been in my dreams so long. We took the lift and found our way to the cabin. It was a tiny room with two narrow bunker beds facing each other. There was just enough gap between them to walk up to the window. The room had an attached washroom with the basic facilities. We sensed movement beneath our feet and understood that our ship had departed from the port. We looked out of the window, soothing our eyes in the blue expanse of water which seemed to rinse our sight off all the coarseness it had been subjected to through the years. The chicken sandwiches we had wolfed down in the train left no trace like a handful of grains sunk in the Pacific ocean surrounding us. After keeping our luggage and freshening ourselves, we took the lift to the ship's restaurant. Before indulging our taste buds, we wanted to feel the caress of the sea breeze. So, we nipped to the deck and were instantly smacked by the chilly winds. Shivering, we hurried into the refuge of our jackets and zipped them up to our chin. It was the first time we were having to put on warm clothes since mid November. White, feathery sprays trailed the ship and the land we had set out from diminished into a crease. The breeze enhanced our appetite and we walked away from the deck to step inside the restaurant.



There were no complementary meals. However, the prices were reasonable. The delicious food items were arranged in trays that were laid out in the manner of a buffet. But there was a difference. Unlike buffets, we did not have to pay for all the items. We were charged only for the ones we had taken on our plate. We piled our plates with hash browns, croissants and bacon. It was an altogether different experience crunching on the delicacies while letting our eyes swim across the waters of the ocean and imagining its calm blue surface roofing a world populated by a mind boggling variety of fishes and other aquatic creatures.

                               

Back in the cabin, I sprawled on the bed and read books, my leisure perfected by the comforting motion of the ship. I had brought two books -  Anima, a collection of poems by my friend Nabina Das and Kinnarer Bhayankar, a collection of four Bengali science fiction-horror novellas by Ronen Ghosh. Phutphuti spread out her drawing book, took out her pencils and crayons from her bag and drew pictures. Drawn by the mesmerizing ocean, we left our cabin again and wandered across the deck, climbing up and down the many levels of the ship. At lunch, we chomped on chicken lollipops, savored fried squids and long, finely-cut chips along with sips of white wine. There were mouthwatering deserts, too, in the form of soft velvety pastries and a thick brown chocolaty drink.   

      

      

     

It was 8 PM when the ship anchored at Davenport, Tasmania. Subha had booked a self-driven car. Before getting into the car, we took a last glance at the Spirit of Tasmania, which stood majestically, adorned with lights, against the darkening waters of the ocean. It was just a five minutes drive to the lodge. We had been informed there would be no staff at the lodge as it was Christmas Eve. The lodge consisted of a series of cottages. The key would be kept below the mat. We had asked for a few chicken sandwiches to be kept for dinner. The room was spic and span. There was a double bed, a single bed, a table, a chair and a cupboard. The sandwiches awaited us on the table. Inside the cupboard, there were plates, bowls, cutlery, cloth napkins and sachets of tea and coffee. We had bought a medium sized pizza from the ship guessing the sandwiches wouldn't be enough to douse our hunger. There was also an electric kettle. It was relaxing to have a hot cup of coffee after the long and eventful journey. We soon fell asleep.



The next day, before Nirjhorini woke up, we needed to arrange the gifts from 'Santa'. I fished out a safety pin from my purse. Subha used it to pin her socks to the curtain. The gifts were Toffees, stickers, a coloring book, a picture book and a card. We needed something to scribble Santa's message but were not carrying a pen. Though the hotel didn't have any staff on Christmas Day, we were aware there were other guests in other cottages. Subha knocked on the door of the cottage next to ours and to our delight, the guests not only lent us a pen, but also gifted a couple of candies. While the Toffees, candies and stickers could be tucked inside the sock, the two books and card had to be kept below it. After waking up and brushing her teeth, Nirjhorini hurried to the curtains and reached for the socks. We unfastened the safety pin and she buried her fingers into the socks, pulling out the candies, Toffees and stickers and smiling widely. Then her eyes fell on the coloring book and the picture book and her smile got wider. We put her presents in our luggage and got ready for out trip to Hobert.

      

We got into the rented car again and Subha started driving. The road was, as smooth as ever, making way for us like an inviting silk carpet. On either side, green fields gazed up at the clear blue sky spotted with a few cottony clouds here and there. Trees of medium height flanked cozy cottages with sloping roofs. As we entered the city of Hobert, we came across a magnificent lake, where different shades of blue had mingled to form a splendid palette for the eyes. The green bank was pocketed by tiny blue pools of water - same color as the lake. Overlooking the lake were the hills, with swathes of greenery and clusters of buildings. 

     

      

      

I was awed by the size and the grandeur of the hotel Subha had booked for our stay at Hobert. It seemed we had arrived at a huge palace, all decked up for Christmas. We took the lift to our room on the eighteenth floor and on entering it, we stood wonderstruck, just staring out of the glass wall facing the sea. We spent the evening, soaking in the beauty of the scene outside, the sights, the colours, the shades brimming in the cask of our senses. The water was striated with ripples, specked with yachts, and surrounded on three sides by the sloping land where trees and houses shared space harmoniously. We watched the sky and water change from blue to purple and orange. In Sydney, the sun sets at 8:30 PM in December. Here, at 9:40 PM, it descended on the horizon - a blazing semicircle - dappling the sky and the waters with orange and they glowed like the flames of fire till darkness drew everything under its thick veil.

     

The next morning, we trotted to the hotel dining area to enjoy the complementary breakfast. There were well-fried sausages, slices of bacon, scrumptious hash browns and fresh fruits as well. After the meal, we strolled in the compound overlooking the sea, skirted around the trees and shrubs, musing over their similarities or dissimilarities with the ones in India. We halted near the fountains to observe the white sprays and lazed about in the lawn till it was time to leave the hotel. Ensuring that we were not leaving behind any part of our belongings in the hotel room, we got into the car again. This time we set out for the Hobert airport from where we had to take the flight back to Sydney. We stopped twice on our way - the first time at Mt. Wellington, the second time at a Malaysian restaurant to have lunch.

      

     

As we approached Mt Wellington, the road got jammed with traffic just like it happens in India. Mt. Wellington was the highest point in the area in and around Hobert. There were steps to climb up and down the slopes. The place with teeming with tourists. We took the steps to arrive at the vantage point and gazed down. Blue ribbon like water bodies snaked through the land. Strips of land jutted into the water. The house making up the city of Hobert looked like white shingles on the sea shore, interspersed with drapes of dark green vegetation. Beyond all these, grey-blue ranges lay like folds of kerchief, the furthest one blending with the sky.

We drove to Hobert airport in the haze of our dream holiday, under the magical cloudless sky, through the smooth rainbow like bends of the flawless roads, past quaint cottages of fairytale charm and the sunshine gold tipped foliage. We handed over the rented car at a designed parking area before entering the airport and in another three hours comprising of the checking, waiting and flying time, we saw the city of Sydney glittering below us, its brightly illuminated high-rises like jewels lined up along the dark waves of the ocean.

     

Latest Visit to Chirakuti Ashram: A Weekend of Bliss

It was almost lunch time when we reached Chirakuti Ashram. Stainless steel plates were lined up along the floor. We dropped our belongings, washed our hands and found a place to sit behind the row of plates. Prayers were chanted in unison once everyone was seated. One of the girls who lived and studied at the ashram served the food. Vegetables grown at the ashram found their way to our plates. We could dispose off the left-outs at a designed spot in the premises for the ducks to feed. After lunch, I wandered about in the premises, observing the variety of plants that grew here and identifying the ones that have been added to the swaying mass of greenery since I came here the last time.

 A little before dusk, we trotted to the village market to buy chicken and vegetables. The vendors sat cross-legged on the earth, their wares arranged on the cloths spread out before them. We walked to our familiar telebhaja stall. The oven was nothing but a hole in the ground. Inside the kadai, fries sizzled in the oil. The baskets placed upon the counter were heaped with these crispy fries. These were made of some leaves that had been dipped in a batter of besan. Among the other things that caught my interest were ear-rings and bangles that shone among all the other wares displayed on the cloths a few feet away from me.

 By the time we left the market, the sun had sunk behind the trees, tinting the sky with orange. Soon the trees were hooded with darkness; the empty paddy fields by the roadside hid under a black veil. Back in the ashram, we sipped tea and got ready for the evening prayers. 

       

A temple dedicated to Sri Ramkrishna, Ma Sarada and Swami Vivekananda had been erected recently in the ashram compound. Swapan Maharaja, the founder of the ashram commenced the prayers by singing a hymn. Besides the children who lived at the ashram, some other villagers also attended the prayers. The hymn was followed by other hymns. I was happy to find my daughter, who was very naughty by nature, sitting quietly and playing a cymbal to the rhythm of the songs.

   

      

      

This was November and we had celebrated Kali Puja just a few weeks back, when we had set aside some fireworks for the ashram children. After the prayers it was time to take them out of their boxes. Soon, fountains of light erupted in the garden and red and green smoke draped the upper branches of the shrubs. As the crackle of the sparklers and other fireworks came to an end, mats were unrolled on the floor of the corridor in front of Maharaja's room. The children sat down with their textbooks, exercise copies and stationary. Centuries of social apathy and discrimination had condemned them to darkness. We tried to assist them to understand and learn the lessons taught at school. It is not easy to chip away an inter-generational scourge, but the efforts made by Swapan Maharaja and other noble people show that dedication and perseverance are bound to bring positive results. After studies, everyone was treated to a meal of rice, vegetables and delicious chicken curry from the chicken we brought from the market that evening. 

The next day, we helped the children with their studies in the morning before having our breakfast of puffed rice and ghoogni. The ashram children plucked oranges from a tree in the premises and took them to the pond. Subhadip (my husband) and our daughter accompanied them. They sat beside the water body, peeled and salted the fruits, and ate them. Then the ashram kids scrubbed themselves with a soap, bathed and frolicked in the water, swimming, floating and immersing themselves in its cool depths.

                                              

 Before leaving for home, we took a stroll around the lush green ashram once more and had a wonderful time climbing a tree - an activity I can attempt only when I am at the ashram. The most delightful thing about this activity was that the ashram children were now my teachers.

     

     The activities of the ashram are listed in my 1st post about it:- http://theserpentacursedrhyme.blogspot.com/2018/11/a-trip-to-belpahari.html    

A Visit to Santragachi Jheel: The Winter Home of Migratory Birds

             

We tumbled out of the cozy cocoon of our blankets and enveloped ourselves in jackets and shawls to set out for the 40 min long trip to Santragachi by car. The sky was flecked with dark clouds and we were afraid that the rain might pour, creating a silver curtain between us and the eagerly-anticipated view. Being imprisoned at home most of the times by Covid and work pressure, it was a pleasure to breeze through the streets of Kolkata on the early Sunday morning and cross the Second Hoogly bridge, with the mist wrapped river mingling into the sky.

After quite a bit of laboring, Subha, my husband found a place to park the car. We walked up to the Santragachi Railway Station, crossed the over-bridge and trooped to the Toto stand. The Toto would take us around the lake, halting wherever we wanted. Carpeted with water hyacinth, the water revealed itself only in patches that reflected the cloudy sky. I read in an article that the birds roosted in the weeds and they had shunned the lake the year the hyacinths had been cleared out in a miscalculated step to attract them. 

My gaze raked the dense bunches of hyacinths, hoping to catch the flutter of wings. Finally, it chanced upon the birds frolicking in the clear water that gleamed through a rip in the green cover. Other bird-watchers informed us they were Brown Whistling Ducks. I looked up at the sky and saw a flock of these brown birds flapping across the clouds before swooping down to the lake to join the others. Challenging the dominance of the ducks, some crane, too, glided down from tree-tops. Securing their feet firmly in the shallow part of the lake, they dipped their long necks, their white feathers a contrast to the brown birds' plumage. From another spot, we saw more Brown Whistling Ducks, not swimming in the water, but hidden among the weeds, their brown bodies camouflaged by the dark gap between hyacinths.

There are many other species of birds which congregate at this lake every winter to escape the harsh weather of their homelands. According to the articles I have read on this lake, there are birds which come all the way from China and Russia, when their usual habitats lay buried under layers of snow. The foreign guests eluded our gaze this time, but maybe we would meet some other day.     

Once the Toto had circumscribed the entire lake, it was time to bid goodbye to the winter abode of birds, with memory of this Sunday morning fluttering in my mind, to fly off at times with seeds of other thoughts. 

Revelations: A short fiction

 

Pooja’s fingers throbbed. A sharp sensation of pain traced her spine and spread across her lower back, crushing the muscles. She took a deep breath. All that I need to do now is reply to the mail.  She told herself, hastily typing a couple of sentences. She attached the test results to prove the module complied with the requirements. Then her finger flew to the Shut-down button. However, before she could click it, a message popped in the square chat window. It was from her supervisor. She groaned. In her weary eyes, the icons on her desktop seemed to be swimming. It was 9:30 PM already.

            “I hope you have informed Farhan about the procedures followed in our project. He must be aware of them when I assign him some work at 9:00 AM tomorrow,” it said.

Pooja had saved the new team member’s number in the morning, but with so many deliverables and meetings, she had not got a chance to call him. She reached for her mobile phone and selected his number, vaguely noticing he had changed his Display Pic. In the morning it depicted a snow-clad mountain peak. Now it showed a colourful wall-hanging. She clicked on the number, half hoping he would not pick up the phone. She would tell her boss that she could not reach him, unplug the machine and settle down to have her dinner. When the phone went on ringing, she was certain her wish would be fulfilled. Her forefinger hovered over the red ‘stop’ icon and just as it was about to land on it, a voice wafted from the other end. Oh No!

“Hello.”

 “Hi Farhan. I’m Pooja. Gauri asked me to tell you about the existing procedures,” she said, trying her best to sound pleasant.

“Hi Pooja. Thanks for calling.  I’m very much interested to know about them.”

“Before starting, I need to know a bit about your previous experience.”

“Well, I have been in this organization for ten years. My last project was Blue Waters. It wrapped up last week,” he informed.

Glued to the chair where she had been sitting since the morning with only a few visits to the washroom and a fifteen minutes break for lunch, she explained the methodologies he needed to be aware of. Hunger threatened to rip off her intestines when he requested her to repeat the description of one of the processes.

“With ten years of experience, how come you have no idea about it?” she snapped, her endurance having reached a breaking point.

The very next moment, she was petrified. What would happen if he complained to Gauri about her rudeness?

“I had worked in a different domain. But yeah, I realize it’s a bit late. We can resume this discussion tomorrow,” he replied. He paused but spoke again, “By the way, I understood all the other processes. Thanks a lot for explaining them to me in such detail.” Sensing some warmth in his voice, Pooja felt assured that he would not complain. Perhaps, he could guess the extent of her exhaustion.

 Pooja’s mother, who woke up at the crack of dawn to perform her puja rituals, had eaten her dinner and gone to sleep. Her father had dined too: he had been advised to take his medicines with a full stomach by 9:30 PM.

Pooja soaked her rice with a thick grainy dal and encircled it with the round slices of fried potato, a spicy red cauliflower curry and a dark green chutney made of crushed coriander and pudina. She minced towards the microwave with the plate when the phone rang. She felt an urge to ignore it, but then changed her mind and picked it up. She had promised herself she would try to make this work. At least, she would make an attempt.

“Had your dinner?” Piyush asked.

“No. Just managed to log off from the system,” she replied.

“You know the pulao my mother had cooked was so…so…delicious,” he said, smacking his lips.  “Can you make peas pulao?”

“Hmm,” she said in a non-committal way. So, you want to marry me so that I can cook for you? Pooja wondered, but didn’t say.

The mention of pulao had enhanced her hunger. It was now pummelling her from within. Yet, Pooja lowered the plate on the kitchen platform, waiting for the conversation to end so she could enjoy her dinner in peace.

“You told me yesterday that you had a boyfriend. I hope you won’t mind if I ask you why you broke up.”

I told you about him because the world is a small place and I didn’t want you to find it from others. Again, she didn’t utter a word.

She recalled lying on the bed with Aneesh, sweat glistening on their skin while the ceiling fan whirled at full speed, its aging blades slicing through the hot air of mid-April. Other than the bed, his room had a cushioned chair and a plywood table. She imagined adding two more pieces of furniture – her dressing table with its sticker marks from her childhood and a book shelf with sliding glass panels. His favourite magazines would brush against her beloved books someday.

“I’ll miss you badly,” he said, as she sat up and fumbled for the string of her salwar.

“I’ll miss you too,” she said, stroking his coarse cheeks with the back of her hand. “Now, I better get dressed. Your parents might be back any moment,” she murmured.

Knotting the string of her salwar, she picked up her crumpled bright orange kameez.

“I’ll call you every night,” he promised. “That will be the only thing to look forward to in my lonely life in Mumbai.” She thought she heard him sigh.

But he never called. Days turned to months. In a panic, Pooja rushed to his father’s office.

“Beti, I really liked you. But he thinks this relationship will not work for him. It’s his choice. I can’t do anything about it.”

Then sessions with Ms Chitra V began.

“You loved him. You trusted him. It’s just that he wasn’t worthy of your feelings. How would you know? People pretend to be nice when they want something. And now you know what he wanted,” the therapist explained.

“Pooja, are you listening?” Piyush inquired.

“Our mentalities didn’t match,” she hastily replied, still trembling in horror. As if the pain she had been through was waiting to engulf her again. She pressed her eyes shut and then flapped them open, wishing she could blank out those memory in this way.

“I hope you don’t think like that about me,” he chuckled.

“Is he making fun of me?” she wondered, finally shoving the plate inside the microwave in impatience.

“You also had a girlfriend. Why did you split?” she asked, hitting the switch to warm the food.

“We belonged to different castes. So, our parents objected. She called it off.”

She watched the plate spin, bathed in the red light of the whirring microwave. The noise prevented her from hearing his last four words.

Caste? No wonder he wants an arranged marriage.

But I can’t complain. I had to opt for this arranged marriage stuff too. She carried the steaming plate to the table while Piyush began to talk about his recent trip to an aunt’s house in Bhopal.

 

As she curled around her pillow after the meal, her mind escaped through the balcony, flew past the buildings and sailed along the bare streets to her locked-up office complex.

She was sitting at a table alone, having her lunch and looking out of the window. The lake reflected a bright, cloudless sky. The returning fisherman oared his boat towards the green strip fringing the water body. Cormorants dipped their necks in the shimmery water and cranes flocked in a hyacinth swamped stretch. A clinking noise drew her attention back to her surroundings. One of those tiffin boxes with multiple containers was placed on the table, a polite distance away from her stainless-steel plate. A man, wearing a white shirt and a pair of grey trousers, drew a chair and settled down. Pooja slurped the dal remaining in her bowl, vaguely aware of a series of clanking sounds, as the man unclasped the tiffin box and laid down the various container on the table. It was only when he reached for the jug, which stood barely a couple of inches away from her plate that she noticed his face. She pushed it helpfully towards him. He smiled to thank her, and at that moment the world changed for her. He was gorgeous, with his sparkling deep brown eyes, fine eyebrows and dimples. There might be other good-looking men in her office, but none had churned her emotions with the strength of a flash-flood. She had only a rolled-up papad left on her plate. So, she munched it as slowly as possible, stealing glances at him whenever she sensed she wouldn’t be caught.

Since then, whenever she would visit the canteen for lunch, her gaze would comb the furniture and scrap the walls. And when it finally fell on him, her senses would be overpowered by a gushing heady feeling, which morphed her mindscape into a garden full of plants crowned by the brightest of blossoms. Stabs of jealousy would rip apart her heart whenever she spotted him talking to any female colleague. “Men’s looks don’t matter,” she had been told umpteenth number of times. If women’s looks matter, why not men’s? She wondered. Can the process of falling in love be expected to follow any theory?

“In which project do you work?” she practiced saying in front of the mirror day and night, while fiddling with a strand of her wavy hair and curving her lips into a most alluring smile – at least she tried to make it most alluring. But before she could muster the courage to initiate a conversation with him, the lockdown happened, bulldozing her hopes.

*

Pooja opened the cupboard to keep her washed and dried nightie in its place, behind an old pair of shorts. For a moment, she let her fingers skim across the clothes draping the hangers. Tucked between two cotton tops was her maroon, full-sleeved shirt. She recalled how elegant she used to look in it. In the online meetings, it was the norm to switch off the video and keep only the audio on. “How I miss dressing up for work...” she muttered, slamming the door of the cupboard.

            She walked to her desk and switched on her office computer. As it took time to load, she flicked through the new messages. One of them was from Farhan.

“Hey, I loved your WhatsApp status. I feed dogs too,” he said.

“So happy to know there’s another dog lover in the team.,” she jotted down the words and dragged in a smiley. Checking his status, she found that he had posted about a recently read book.

Over the next couple of months, they discussed books and dogs other than their project deliverable.

                                                                      *

It was a Friday night. She need not wake up early the next day. After dinner, she rummaged through her shelves, wondering which book to pick up and read. With office work snatching away all her time, nine out of the ten books she bought before the lockdown had remained unread.

“Have you heard of this book called Flying Arrow?” she was about to type to Farhan when she noticed he had dropped a message an hour back.

“Do you think we ‘ll ever be asked to work from office?”

“Nope,” Pooja replied. “Our company is making one hell of a profit. No expenses on electricity, internet or night transport. No coffee to put in the vending machines. No paper for the printers. No liquid soap for washrooms.”

“It’s a pity,” was his prompt response.

“Why? No hassles of travelling to office,” she typed. She couldn’t reveal how disappointed she was: there would be no opportunity to befriend her crush.

“Please don’t mind but…” There was a pause and then swept in the rest of his reply, “I would really love to meet you in person.”

Pooja blushed, flipping through the pages of the book.

*

 By Sunday noon, she was halfway through Flying Arrow. She picked up her mobile to tell Farhan about the book, when she noticed he had changed his DP. It was the first time he had uploaded his own photo.

             Eager to know how he looked, she maximised the DP. And then her heart stopped beating. She forgot to breathe. He was THE MAN. He was the man she had spotted in the canteen; the one who made her heart race and flooded her mind with dazzling colours. Flushed with happiness, she rushed to the balcony. To regale in the sights and sounds that were now dappled with unbelievable splendour. There was indescribable beauty in the yellow flowers specking the creepers that wreathed the pillars of an adjacent house. There was divine melody in the sparrows’ twitting, in the occasional rustle of leaves, in the tinkle of bells. Turning to her phone, she noticed another message.

“I learnt to cook pulao from Ma. Can’t wait to cook it for you,” whooshed a message from Piyush. Accompanying it was a photo - a mound of slender-grained rice, studded with green peas and sprinkled with a golden yellow masala.

Shooting off a heart shaped emoji, she clutched her head, wondering which one was the sweeter surprise. Which was the bigger revelation? The decision could wait. At this moment, all she could do was yield her mind and body to the warm fuzzy feeling flowing through her veins. The feeling of being loved.

___

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fun among the Foliage: Our Stay at Bawali Farmhouse

The cottages dotting the huge premises of Bawali Farmhouse (near Budge Budge) had poetic names. We were allotted to one named Jagari while our friends Anoma and Ganesh were led to one called Byapti. Climbing up a flight of stairs to reach our moderately sized room, we dropped our luggage and stepped into the airy balcony. It overlooked a sparkling aquamarine swimming pool and the fields and trees outside the compound. A few minutes later, we took a stroll around the pool. My daughter Nirjhorini sprinted along the potted shrubs of pink oleander arranged in a row by the water. Lawn umbrellas dotted the strip of green flanking the pathway running along the pool. We heard the sizzle of noodles from a standalone kitchen nearby. We ordered two plates of Chinese food and once they were ready, we settled under one of the umbrellas to eat. Since Nirjhorini stopped eating after two spoons, we took her to the Bengali restaurant and coaxed her to eat some rice. We were joined by Anoma, Ganesh, Anoma's uncle and aunt. Ganesh was having a harrowing time too, trying to make their two-year-old son Bikarna have his lunch. 

            

             

 

            

I somehow managed to feed Nirjhorini a reasonable quantity of rice, and as I walked to the basin at the back of the restaurant, to rinse my hands, I noticed the pond behind it. The water was entirely covered with a pale green film of algae. The edge facing the restaurant was lined with large baked clay pots. Looking closely, I found each pot was a mini pool, water peering through a garb of lotus leaves. On entering the cottage named Byapti, we became aware of the presence of another pond. It lay just behind the back wall and we could rest our eyes on the water through the windows. The farmhouse also consisted of a shaded nursery. A variety of plants, some laden with tiny fruits and some tipped by bright flowers, grew out of soil packed paper cups. 

       

   

    

The inviting waters of the swimming pool embraced us into a world, untouched by the heat of the sun. Nirjhorini plopped on the steps and flailed her legs to rustle up a steady gush of spray. I picked her up and took her for a ride across the pool in my arms. Similarly, Bikarna, too traversed the waters while clinging to his Mom and Dad. The pool was truly a kid's delight with a cement crocodile glaring at the swimmers. 

    

   

          

The velvety evening rippled with unbridled laughter. Lively conversations flowed, unabated by the munching of an assortment of tasty snacks like French fries, pakoras, crispy baby corn. The bonhomie peaked at the dinning table even as we gorged on delicious tandoori items. A brief visit to the pool side presented me the chance to glimpse it under the sheen of garden lamps. The reflections of pink oleanders blended with the purple lights tinting the waters.

 

Before retiring to bed, I went to the balcony to collect the clothes I had hung on the railing to dry. There was not a single house in sight. The lights around the swimming pool had dimmed. The meadow beyond the compound lay like a palette of dried black paint. Long, skeletal branches of trees poked at the blanket of darkness. Amidst all the revelry, I was quite surprised to feel a sense of chill. At the same time I was overwhelmed by the view; it was so different from one I see from the balcony of my house in a congested locality of Kolkata.

                  

            

The next morning, before leaving the farmhouse, we let our gaze linger over the fresh saplings in the nursery and trace the dense foliage crowning the tall, majestic trees. To our delight, we are asked to take a part of the greenery back home in the form of a potted plant. As we water the plant everyday, we feel the splash of the water in the pool and the rush of joyous memories.