What's in a name?

Ever so recently, someone asked me why Sajani was called Sajani Mrinalini Dutta. Such a strange query....of course from a strange person who had no idea how 'strangely' this family operates, behaves, its ever so strange origins and even more strange customs and odd mindset.

In our family...both my maternal and my paternal... there are no simple Aruns and Malatis and Gopals. Nearly all of us have cumbersome double-barreled names. Jugal Kishore, Naba Kishore, Upendra Kishore, Birendra Kishore, Rai Kishore, Mrinalini, Subhasini. Sarojini, Labanyaprabha, Hironnyaprabha, Rajatabha, Kshirodhewar, Bireshwar, Amareshwar, Arunshwar, Sabyasachi, Sambuddha, Nirad Baran, Chittatosh, Samantyak, Ahindra Nath, Dhurjoti Prasad, Phani Bhusan.

Then there are Ananda Kishore, Aditya Kishore, Ahutagni, Shantam Kashish, Sajani Mrinalini,

Anirban Ranjan, Ashidhara, Nandini Mrinalini, Malini, Aparajit, Ayan Ranjan (not too sure about Ayan's name being Ranjan too).

There has been Udhhav Prasad, Shyama Prasad, Kirtideep and Pragyadeep. Even the littlest ones (generation 5? may be 6...) have names like Baidurjya, Taramoni (aged 7 months), Labanyaprabha (once again), Arup Prattay and Dhrub Pranay, Aalok Priyo and Rajbir Dev.

Nothing too great really, except that Sumit, Aloka, Debashish etc does not seem to appeal to us.

.......what money can't buy.

Somebody I know phoned to say she was stuck for money. A fair amount of money. I offered to help. Not the entire amount, but a part. Pat came the reply a) I wouldn't dream of taking from you. b) This meager amount will not do.

What poor taste. Not a complete being, he/she who cannot take a hand reaching out.

Bad .....Bad......Bad.

Home and I

I love my home. I love it when my family is around me and with me. And I love it when I am all alone. The past few months have taught me to embrace solitude. The peace around me. Being able to think, being able to read, to exercise creaky finger muscles over the keyboard. The silence of the night is beautiful, broken only by the rustle of a page turning. And by Skippy's soft purring.

I long for my family to return, but until then I'm in love with the solitude. It is something to look forward to throughout the day. The moment I walk in through the door, all the vibes soaked up during my day at my workplace dissipate, and I am at peace again, with my thoughts clear in my head. My animals, my music and my books await me.

My workplace is undemocratic and stressful. My home in the house by the graveyard is peaceful.

Travel ???????

I am too old to travel much. Some amount of travel, yes .... but not much. Yet there are places I'd like to visit, places I'd like to go to...... after all I might die anyday.

1. First on the list is Times Square. At Midnight. It's a strange thing, I have never been to the USA.

2. Oh for the purple heather of Greece. It's really a deep purple, merges with the far-off horizon and smells heavenly.

3. London. ......... one word is enough.

4. I want to visit Paris and revisit Paris. Alone. With no one. In the summer. In the rain. Late at night. Walking over the bridges.

5. Haridwar. A trip that Opu and Bhutu and I had planned years back and never materialized.

6. Scotland. And also Cornwall. Once again alone. To meet my friend, the sea.

7. The Garwhal Himalayas, the Kumaon area, Himachal. I dream of this area. The peace. The solitude. The hills are always lovely. If ever I have pots and pots of money, I will retire and live in the hills and build a sanctuary for all my old students. For whoever needs the quietitude and the solace. And of course my company.

8. Lots of other places. In the hills. With the wind on my face. The sound of the sea. The red dust. Long drives on never ending highways.

Forget it. It's not going to happen.

Apong

Someone sent me a forward about the variety of food to be found in India. Very interesting......very colourful. And wonder of wonders, there was Apong from Arunachal.

This was indeed odd, because all other food in the forward was food .... as in edible food. Apong was the only liquor, the only drink.

I have to write about my experience with Apong. I am the hoochie here.

In 2004, during a short break from AVS we went to Tawang, Arunachal.

Arunachal is a beautiful State. Lush and green. And so quiet and serene.

On the second day we went to Siang district. In a ramshackle army reject

Willy's jeep (from 1942) driven by an aged Arunachali reeking of liquor.

The road to Siang was steep and winding. Through the rattling windscreen of the

jeep only the bright blue sky could be seen. The angle of elevation was surely more than

60 degrees. At Siang we saw Apong being made.

Apong is a rice beer of a kind. The sticky (unhusked) rice is dried and then smoked. From what

I understood , the smoking is an integral part. This is done on large open-air chullahs.

Then comes fermenting...... a long process of about three months. In large wooden

kegs. Finally its distilled. However the distillation is a rather incomplete process, because

the final product has to be drunk through a long narrow bamboo pipe (a straw, if you

like), with three slits at the bottom. Very similar to the chung pipes of Sikkim or Darjeeling.

Apong is like water to the local population. Everybody drinks it. It smells. It is peculiarly opaque

and frothy. AND IT IS POTENT.......to say the least.

Our driver had a refill. I had a few sips. My travelling companions were strait-laced

people. Unadventurous to the nth degree . Shantam was already green at the gills with travel sickness.

So, I was the only one who tried Apong at Paia, Siang.

The advantage was all mine. On the return journey, the driver drove recklessly. My

companions were severely sick. I, who is nearly always travel sick remained unaffected

by the 60 degree angle of declination.

Not too bad......my encounter with Apong. Wouldn't recommend the moonshine to anybody,

though. And can't vouch for the cleanliness factor either.

Thank you, Sajani.

When the children were growing up we had two pianos in our house. One was an English upright made by Holden. This was really ancient, but had a very sweet tonal quality. Later we had a Rachals. This was a studio piano. Very classy, and the children, and Bossie, and Daku and Skippy all enjoyed the music. From scales to exam pieces to modern rock. After so many years, I am really happy my children learnt music.

Later, they grew up and left for college. They left home, and I missed their music. They learnt to sing for me, play for me over the phone. Flute, guitar, mouth organ would be played often. Piano ..... sometimes. Shantam would play at Furtado's, Bombay and I'd listen on the phone. For a good half an hour or so. Mostly Bach. Some his own compositions.He would play at the Church, I'd listen on the phone. We all liked it. Birthdays, Teachers Days, Mothers Days ..... the last few years my children have sung to me over the mobile phone. Sajani would often sing the hymn "Fear not, for I am with you". The Loreto Chorus was also a favourite. Shantam without fail would sing 'Words', anytime I wanted it. On Good Friday, he would sing 'Old Rugged Cross'.... because it was Easter,but also in memory of Toro. I loved his version of 'Old Rugged Cross', on the Church piano, in his deepest voice. On 19th January every year there would be 'Amazing Grace' with the guitar and his super-rich voice.

The last year or so, I listen to music with great trepidation.It actually pains me. I missed the phone-call songs. I missed the Furtado's piano, and my child playing B.Joel's 'Lullabye'. I missed the guitar strumming random tunes to which I had to give my 'expert comment'.I missed Sajani singing the Loreto Chorus. If nothing else, the School Song gave us both great strength to face any adversity. Why do I use the past tense .... I still miss this custom-made, call-for-it music.

Today was an exception. Sajani was at Godwin's (C.P.,New Delhi), and she phoned me to hear her play. I have not heard her play the piano for years. Not in the last five years. She has been away from home. Shantam and I lived each others lives through our music.All the time. Songs, piano, homesickness, joys, flute, guitar, anger, trials, mouthorgan..... the piano, and most certainly Bach. Sajani and I share a different kind of music. Today she played Fur Elise, snatches of 'Pianoman', a bit of 'Amazing Grace' , and the hymn 'Make me a Channel of your Peace', and a bit of 'La Bamba'. This ten minute musical medley filled my heart. Made an otherwise bad day come bright and joyful.

I cannot express my joy, my happiness. I can only thank Sajani.

Sajani, you made my day.

Villainous Vegetables

I am essentially a vegetarian, and I like most vegetables. I like fruits better, but will eat (or at least make an attempt) any vegetable. However I draw the line at karela or even the uchhe (a la Bengal). I think they are of the same genre. With its thick warty skin the karela is ugly and somehow reminds me of a frog. The uchhe is no better, Both are bitter and though I don't like the bitter taste, I can have the bengali titar daal, but I absolutely hate the karela. In any form. I like shukto. Only when I prepare it....... with the minimum input of uchhe or karela.Unfortunately the karela features everyday in our family ..... dinner or lunch. Even the children eat karela.

The next on my list of most hated veggies is the pumpkin (kumro in Bengali). It's squishy and sweet and slightly fibrous. Yucky ! Thankfully my family does not like it either. The Assamese call it ranga lau and add almost equal proportion of bhut jalokies to make a fiery curry. This curry is eaten with rice. Pumpkins ...... I do not eat.

The other vegetable on the 'no no' list is the tinda. This is a squidgy gelatinous stuff which is very popular in North India. I cannot have tinda in any form. My mejdimaashi (when she was in New Delhi) tried all kinds of tinda preparations on me. All of them failed to seduce me. She used to stuff tindas with a fish paste and bake them with a cheese topping. Called it by some fancy Spanish name. End of the day, they were still tindas. The only time this very favourite maashi of mine rebuked me was when I stoically refused this fish-cheese camouflaged tinda. She said I was 'too strong headed' !!!!

Otherwise, I maintain a very catholic taste where food is concerned. I am not really 'strong-headed'..... not where food is concerned.

Once when I was refusing to eat karela at the lunch table, my parents mentioned that we should be catholic regarding food habits. I was perhaps five years old at that time and did not know the meaning of the word 'catholic'. Dad explained the meaning. Adding that we are likely to be eating communal food most of our lives ..... at School, in College, in our canteen when we started working, and also in prison/jailkhana, should we ever took to stealing and our profession took us there!! My sister and I listened in wonder.

I tried the same line with my children. This time with the kumro being the bone of content. I wanted to pull the 'catholic' and the 'jailkhana' line on them. They retorted at once "Oh, but we are Catholics. We go to Catholic Schools. We go to Church. Perhaps you should tell Baba. He works in a non-Catholic office. Baba, eat the kumro !!!!"

Folks, today there is karela AND kumro for lunch !!!!