......of what use is a pencil?

Dear Readers..........who read my blog .... and who think I'm a little off in the head.

On reading this please do believe that I am not really any more eccentric than I normally am. It's just that my differently-abled mind 'sees' a lot more.

I came back from work this afternoon to find that Chico had once again (for the umpteenth time) pulled down some pencils. Now, in our house pencils are held in high esteem. They are all over the house. Mostly soft leaded pencils. I keep my pencils on my desk, on my bed, on the bedside table, all over the drawing room. The cats have free access to pencils for an occasional chew or to play 'chase and roll' with them. Not one of us mind. Cats will play with pencils. And we are all so used to picking up pencils on coming home.

Today Chico and Iago had got hold of my graphite pencil and it was lying on the drawing room floor. I was getting myself to give me 5 minutes to keep my bag, have a glass of water, and then go pencil-picking. At the back of my mind was the precious graphite pencil. I walked back into the drawing room to see Rampyari's baby (Rampyari is a a squirrel) holding the bright blue Steadtler pencil between his paws and the little squirrel was scribbling away on a piece of brownpaper (also on the floor....thanks to Chico? Iago?). The baby squirrel was intently looking at his work of art on the brown paper and Chico was sitting on the divan watching the squirrel with total amusement.

Now, I do not have a camera. However, I will hold this picture in my mind for a long time to come. A squirrel attempting to write/draw with a pencil....... a cat watching the whole procedure. It is a priceless shot.

Please do believe ...... this writing is NOT a work of fiction. This sort of madness can only happen in the old house by the grave yard.

I do believe in Magic.

Reading Corner

I wonder if 'reading corner' is an apt term. Moreover I am not at all sure if every body has a reading corner or even reads as such. Notwithstanding these rather odd factors, I still maintain that every one who reads has a reading corner.

My current reading corner is my bed (my side of the bed). I love to read in bed, and the old and weary mattress was a worn out 'hole' or depression which is ever so comfortable. It's custom made so to say...... conforming to my bulk. My bed has a wide open window behind the headboard and a table lamp on the bedside table. I can read anytime, with adequate light. I love my 'hole in the bed' and I enjoy what I read lying on the bed. What is really strange is that I am not the only one who likes the 'hole'. I am told Bossie used to see me out of the door, see me out on the road..through the window and promptly plonk himself down in my 'hole' with a deep sigh. He, I am told, wouldn't budge for a long long time. Shantam shared my 'hole' and actually had the nerve to consider it his 'hole'. He tried to oust me out all the time. This is inspite of him having other reading corners all over the house. Adarsh, when here from University completely took over my 'hole in the bed'. He almost has to be pushed out when I want to sleep. Of course most other times I reign supreme. After all it's my 'hole in the bed'.

Another favourite reading corner I remember is the small balcony at the LC Road house. I used to sit there in the sun / rain / hail or whatever and read my story book. Sajani too used to bring her book, Toro his bone, Shantam his Lego and we co-habited in that small space.. If I remember rightly, there was a street lamp which shed just enough light to read by.

Another reading corner which probably does not exist any more is the Children's Library at the National Library, Calcutta. My mother used to go to the Library to research, and I would be left to fend for myself in the ground floor/basement section where existed an excellent library in a brightly lit room full of the morning sunshine. They had window seats with red and pink roses on the cushions. I loved those window seats and the book selection there. I wonder if anyone knows what happened to the books and the Children's Library at the NL, Calcutta. Another window seat seat memory is the Library at L.C., Darjeeling. Another well lit room with window seats. I had my own window and therefore my own reading corner. There would be hell to pay if any one tried to occupy my corner !!! I did most of my 'growing up' there, as all problems of life had to be solved while I read my book.

There was a time Mother taught at the University on College Street. It was quite possible that the staff at home would stage a walk-out if I was left in their care for any length of time. Ma had to take me along. She parked me at Dasgupta and Co. on College Street and I had the most wonderful time in the gallery like structure upstairs amongst the dusty books. Arabinda (the present owner) joined me sometimes, and I still go delving for forgotten books in this shop. Arabinda swears that at one time I knew how to / where to locate a book, better than his staff.

AD Road had so many reading corners. My favourite was the steps leading to the terrace and the landing there which also had a small table. The staircase was west facing and it was sheer pleasure to read and eat the oranges provided by my aunt. At AD Road once again there was Dada's room with a small ledge at the window. The window was tall and very airy. I used to read there when Dada permitted me to enter his room. It was not often, but I treasure those few times I could sit there and read. Incidentally Dada walked up and down the room to 'read' or study or whatever he was trying to do. This paichari, I found totally unnerving and would beat a hasty retreat the moment Dada started being restless. Dada had the same habit of walking up and down with a book at his JNU quarters. Equally unnerving I'm afraid. I wonder what he does now.

I do not remember my Father or Sanjoy reading in bed. Baba I will always remember had his desk/writing table to work and a black leather arm chair with a standard lamp next to it to read by. It has never ever varied. Even today, when he can not sit up for too long, he sits on the bed.....lamp and tea and books and radio and cat and all. Minimum movements. Sanjoy has his own reading chair....another black leather chair and he sits there for his 'read' (like Baba) with his books, cigarettes, ash-tray, dog/cat and whatever. His chair too incidentally has a marked 'hole'. Sanjoy hates being disturbed when he reads.

The Goethalls Library at SXC has always been my refuge for serious academic reading and writing. For whatever reason I have a small desk by a tall window. An old fashioned desk with a lift up lid. For years I have sat at that desk and read and thought and reflected and cogitated. I have written and typed (on a laptop) without anybody ever bothering me. In an Institute of 7000 strong pupils, it is a wonder that the Library maintains absolute peace. It is a sanctuary of sorts.

Sheldon House had so many reading corners that I cannot stop to finish the list. The huge balcony, my cubby-hole study (on a pile of stored mattresses), on the pomello tree, on the swings, the staircase, Raju's little verandah. Actually let these remain secret. The less said the better.

Our old and dilapidated house by the grave yard has reading corners too. Sajani for years sat on a large tin trunk and read her book. She now sits on the floor by the window to read in the warm sunlight. Shantam managed to squeeze himself in a corner of the ever-so-narrow balcony to read his Ivanhoe or struggle through Bindur Chhele (and shed copious tears). Of course I was never to notice all this as it was his private corner. Maybe the house was/is too small to offer all its inmates a private corner to read. That is why maybe we sometimes have to take turns. After Shantam grew taller, he could not fit into that small corner of the balcony. He changed base and took over the wooden window seat in the children's room. He stretched himself out there with his toy cars, music, cat/dog, discman and sketch book and would not answer if called. We had given up getting him to come out of his room if he did not wish to. Adarsh has earned himself a rather large 'hole' in the drawing room divan, and also shares the arm chair 'hole' with Chico, and my 'hole in the bed' with me. There are other reading corners....not so exclusively owned ..... which we all share.

There has been other reading corners which I have excluded here..... the DSE Library steps, particularly at night, pavements and curb-sides in many places and many cities. (Shantam was caught reading by street light down our lane ). There has been exclusive corners for all of us in the Schools and Universities we have studied. Some we disclose. Some are secret. The house at Keyatala Road had a cement tank which was perhaps my first ever reading corner. I had a cloth bag full of books which I used to take there to read .... away from my baby sister. Sajani can read anywhere, including Calcutta public buses. Shantam always read with his sketch pads .... I never did get to figure out why he needed to sketch while reading.

It may seem strange but Skippy reads on Sajani's desk, under a table lamp. She obviously reads whatever Sajani reads. Daku had a reading corner ..... the IIT Maths. He used it as a pillow as long as the children were studying. After they went to bed, he slept on my bed. Boss squeezed himself under Sajani's desk and Bagha always studied with Shantam. Chico watches racy action movies on the laptop every evening (thanks to Adarsh and Shantam) curled up his his favourite chair while Iago chews the days newspaper under the bed.

Does not everyone have a reading corner?

Music & Ma

My earliest memory of a song is a snatch of a rhyme ' ghugu soi, shoilya koi......' This was being sung to me by my mother who was rocking me in her lap and I so clearly remember she was wearing something orange, and I remember Ma laughing and the sun on her face. I have absolutely no idea how old I was then.....may be a few months, maybe a year old. It's a photo frame in audio and video memory.

Ma has always been there in my music. Ma perhaps was not a hugely famous singer, but in our family we held her singing in high esteem. She always sang for me ...joy, anger, disappointment, love, all had special songs.

Once when I was about 3 years old and not getting sleep ( I have always been an insomniac of sort), Ma took me to the small garden of the Keyatala house, showed me the moon and sang

' chander hasi bandh bhengechhe uchhle pore aalo....'. I can still recall her voice, and whenever I am even slightly upset, this song in my mother's voice can calm me down. She has sung this song several times for me, whenever I wanted her to sing it. Calcutta, Patna, Darjeeling...over trunk call lines too.

I had diphtheria when I was about 4, and my sister was just a baby. My mother probably had a hard time with her job, the baby and me. More to the point, I had to be kept absolutely isolated, so that my baby sister did not catch the disease. Baba did a lot of the nursing and though Father was besura at his best, he used to carry me and sing ..'Ogo Ma tomay dekhe dekhe ankhi na bhore" (Bengalis nearly always call their daughters Ma, and to Baba I have always been "Ma"). Baba and this song is inseparable. As we grew up it was Baba who instilled his deep love for classical music in us. It was Baba who calmed my temper with a soft Beethoven, and it was he who dried my tears with Tchaikovsky. However, Baba rarely sang. Snatches yes, but never the way Ma sang to us and particularly to me and for me. I don't remember if I was a difficult child, but today I realise that Ma (who brought up, me, her first born on B. Spock) knew right from the beginning that the only thing that worked with me..... in illness, asthma, tantrums, sheer cussedness ... was her singing. She sang to me all the time. Even when I was far away, she would sing over a scratchy phone line and I alone know the joy and peace that her singing brought to me. When I would be very naughty she often sang '.....chotto naditi, pate anka chhobiti' In my mind, I can still hear her sing it. Her soft crooning voice taking away my wickedness. 'Kajla didi koi' was another song Ma would sing to me. This was when I would be unhappy. I would lie awake and be quiet and late into the night, Ma would sing me to sleep with this.

Ma sang everything. Rhymes, Vera Lynn,Cliff Richard, old IPTA songs, Beatles, Dean Martin, old WW II songs, Rabindra Sangeet, Bangla Adhunik, Burmese folk songs (I still remember the words....more or less correctly.... had a Burmese student of mine to listen to my terrible rendering of these songs). I loved her "na go, eije dhula". No one, repeat no one, ever sang it as well as she did. Even till last year she could and would sing to me. Sometimes over the phone....4pm sharp was her regular phone call time. In more recent years she would just sing to herself, and the few times I would visit her, I would sit quietly and listen.

She sang to her grandchildren too. I do not know if they remember, but all of them stopped crying when she sang to the baby who was wanting attention. In later years they would go to her to get tunes clarified, lyrics corrected......even from Goa and Gujarat.

There was a period (I think before my graduation Exams) when I would study late. And then go off to sleep on the drawing room divan. Ma, who always woke up early, would go about her work in the kitchen, humming softly. After a while she would bring her old Royal Albert tea cup and a brown tea pot, sit on the veranda (near the divan), and sing ever so softly. A short 5 to 10 minutes perhaps and two quick cups of tea, and her beautiful songs. She never learnt that I would be awake, at least I never told her, but the joy of sleeping on that old divan was Ma's early morning singing.

I can listen to music in my head. This may sound eccentric, but I really can. At times when there is no record player, or CD player, or Ma or Shantam or Sajani, I can listen to the music I want in my head.

I wish Ma could sing again.

ps. More about my custom made music in a later post.

Anath Bandhu Ghosh

Yesterday...... a hot and sunny and bright afternoon, I was on Rash Behari Avenue. I was thirsty and my water bottle was empty. I could see no Coke shop nearby, and (because of medical reasons) I am not allowed to walk too far nor too much.

However there was a sweet-meat shop. A small 'para' affair, but they had an Aquaguard. With great hesitation I asked the old man at the counter if I could fill my bottle.

"Abashya" he said. He even filled my water bottle himself. And in a small sal pata bowl gave me two sandesh. I protested. I only wanted a drink of water!!! The old man wouldn't hear of it. They never serve water stand-alone. There has to be a mishti with it. My best attempt at the game of persuasion was a total failure. I had both the sandesh. Very fresh and soft lebu-sandesh. Delicious.

I was bowled over. The fact that such niceties did exist was really long forgotten.

I will not disclose the shops name. The owner... the old man who served me with such grace and much love ...... is called Anath Bandhu Ghosh.

Two old structures........

A feature article in today's Telegraph by Saumitra Das on the Mackinnon Mackenzie building on 16, Strand Road brought back a whole host of memories.... ghosts of memories.

The Mackinnon Mackenzie building was a grand building to say the least. My Dad took me there once to show me an atrium. It must be admitted that my education has been always a little weird. In London, I had seen an atrium (I think at Selfridge's) and I wanted to know how it was built. Dad took me to Mackinnon Mackenzie building. And WOW!....wasn't it a grand atrium. The sun shining through sparkling glass panes gave the lobby a silver light. And yet it was a cool and hushed atmosphere.Dark emerald green carpets, broad staircase, and the atrium. Oh, the atrium.I was perhaps around 8 at that time, and I was filled with wonder. Dad also gave me lunch there. I don't remember much of the lunch, except that there were several courses, and quite neverending. When we came out, at the end of the day, I remember the building stood golden in the 4pm sun shining across the river. Dad said it was made of red sandstone, the setting sun lent the golden hue.

Next time I visited the grand old building on 16, Strand Road was to visit Bhubu Dada ( Pradip Mohanty) who worked there. He was the guy I would turn to for Slazenger Tennis balls, he took me to my first Test Match at Edens, he took me to Olympia to have the famous pepper steak. He took me to his office to have lunch. The same atrium with a silver sheen, the same lunch room with its old world grandeur, perhaps there was no great change in the menu either....not since I last had lunch there with my Dad. I harboured a secret wish that some day I would work here.

The beautiful building burnt down in 1998 (or was it '97?). It broke my heart. In the same period a few other structures got demolished.....does anybody at all remember Lord Inchcape's house on Camac Street?????? The old Fairy House on Southern Avenue, near the Anderson Swimming Club???? Anyway I do remember taking Shantam (and later Adi) to see the warehouses on the Strand, and on one such trip Shantam and I went inside the Mackinnon Mackenzie building. The atrium was broken, all the plaster was missing. There was virtually a vegetation growth in the lobby and on the roof because of the sunlight coming in through the large gap where the atrium and the ceiling used to be. A few labourers were in residence, and they were cooking their lunch on the marble floor, and a huge bath tub was being used to store water. This was too disheartening. I came way. Shantam wandered about a bit. Drew a few sketches and we came away.

Another building which was mentioned in today Telegraph was the Great Eastern Hotel. Another grand structure which has been completely demolished from the inside. Only the facade remains today, and I understand a 'renovated' new hotel is on the cards. I have been to Great Eatern many times. With my parents for dinner, to meet cricket stars.....with Bhubudada to the bar, with Baba .... once again to the bar on the last day the bar was open to the public. The Great Eastern closed down soon after.

In 2005 or may be 2006 in the dead of summer Shantam and I had gone to Rita's office on Waterloo Street and there was a big crowd outside. Great Eastern was auctioning off their furniture and such things. We went in. The lobby, the dining rooms, the kitchens, the rooms upstairs were full of the 'sharks' looking for a 'deal'...ready to buy the napery, the linen, the drapery, the cutlery, the crockery, the furniture..... everything. Horrible sharp eyed guys with the single minded idea of a business deal in mind, on a sad day when the great hotel was closing its doors. I wandered around aimlessly. I was carrying very little money, and anyway everything was going in lots. What would I do with 50 grey carpets of 6x4 size??? With great difficulty and after much haggling I 'purchased' a teaspoon with the GEH embossed logo from a dealer. It cost me 50 bucks, and I was cursing myself for not carrying much money.

Incidentally, I still have the teaspoon.

Then I realised Shantam was missing, and Shantam did have the habit of doing a disappearing act if and when he got edgy. I came down the main staircase and called on his cellphone. He didn't take the call. I realised some one was playing the piano in the main hall, and there was a crowd around the piano. The music sounded ethereal in the great and empty hall and I stopped by to listen. The music sounded familiar... all too familiar, till from the height (I was on the staircase) I realised the pianist was Shantam. It was his pale blue T shirt clad back. It was his music. It was Bach he was playing !!!!! I stood and listened a long, long while. The frail thin figure on the piano was so very inconsequential when compared to the music.The music filled the hall and we all stood and listened. After a while I went down to the piano. Shantam stopped playing immediately (which is rare) and said something like "You're done? Let's go". We came out of Great Eastern Hotel , out of the spell of music, out of the old fashioned plaster casts, out of the musty air.... bang on to to real world of the wall of heat, the noise of the traffic, the sea of people on Old Court House Street. Later, at night I told Shantam how the closing of the hotel was softened a bit...to me... because of the music. He answered with a deep"Hmmm."

I am somehow glad that the Great Eastern Hotel closure was not too bad for me. On the last Bar day, Dad took me there. On the last auction day, I took Shantam there. Both times there was music

French Teachers

On a flight recently I met a lady called Mrs. Sudha Rangaswamy. She is a Tamilian who teaches French at an International School in Mumbai. Sudha is a South Indian and her accent reveals so. Furtheremore, she teaches French, and when she holds a conversation in French, I can assure you it is difficult to follow. The French roll their 'r' s and so do Tamilians. The combination is deadly to say the least.

Mother Claude taught us French. An Irish nun. The Irish too have a peculiar way with their 'r's. "Jassus, child. For all love in Irrrreland, can ye not swally a cup o'tay without spilling? Arrrrgh, you tyke, go wash yourrrrrself". This still rings in my ears. After 40 years. Notwithstanding the Irish 'r's plus the French 'r's all rrrrolled into one, we all learned French verrrry well. And we all loved Mother Claude the best.

There was Mother Padua who taught Music. Paddy was all Irrrish and knew no French. THANKFULLY. Paddy sang all the Irish and the Celtic songs. Her "When Irrrish Eyes Are Smiling" was carried over to the next generation. Sajani sang it. Paddy was a darling. ( I'll put up another post later on Sajani singing 'Irish Eyes' )

There is Nivedita Bhattacharya, who thankfully speaks normal French, normal English and normal Bengali.

Merci a Dieu. Je ne sais pas tout autre enseignant Francais !!!!!!

For you

Deep in the ocean, there lies a wave for you.........