My aunty underwent the DnC procedure at the begining of May.It was uneventful and she didnt even feel it at any time.After a nights stay at the hospital,where her daughter Indrani stayed with her,she came home not much worse for wear.The intention of the DnC was to confirm the stage 3 cancer found in her MRI report,and also the quality and likely prognosis.Earlier the doctor had given her about a year to live.It was a tense and stressful time and Im afraid I blew my top more than once.Indrani got a tongue lashing from me which she deserved and her younger daughter in USA Nandini got some too.The 3 days waiting for the biopsy report was bad.Finally last week the report was collected and amazingly it revealed she was cancer free!!!!!! No malignancy.I broke down when I read the report.I wonder why I love this old woman so much.Perhaps she is the last link I have with my childhood,but more because she was so much a part of my life growing up.
There was of course a frantic change of plans by her daughters and she has been whisked off to Calcutta to stay in her old flat again.She didnt want to go but her daughters have this strange conviction that she must stay in Calcutta.Im not in agreement.I have told her that if shes not comfortable there to just come back here.She lost a lot of weight here and consequently was able to move around .Her blood pressure is down and she feels better.I wouldnt want her sliding back again just to please her daughters.I suspect theres some resentment involved too.They want to do the right thing even if it kills her.I wont allow that.I have told her to tell all concerned to go to hell and just come back.More later.......
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Storyteller
After a few years being coddled by Catholic Irish nuns in Ranchi,I was thrown like a lamb in the rough and tumble of public school life at Bishops in Poona at the age of 12.I still remember my first day there.I arrived in new white uniform and maroon striped tie with my aunty Karuna in a autorickshaw.I had never seen so many raucous boys before,being used to a gentler kinder environment of silent, pink nuns , pretty girls in uniform and flowers, where boys were tolerated at best. The few that studied in Loretos were a tightly knit well behaved band.
So here I was and the first guy I met was a thin,weedy Sindhi chap called Lacchu Vasandani, a cross between the artful dodger and Reggie,who briefed me about the class and teachers and what was expected.During the day I met some of the characters who would have an impact on me over the next few years.Desmond Tomlinson was a large, friendly good looking guy with light eyes and a Kirk Douglas dimple on his chin.He was facinating because he had these endless stories of cowboys and Indians which we listened to with rapt attention during the 10 minute stretch break and after lunch.The stories were so good especially because of 2 reasons.First because Desmond would intersperse his tales with the appropriate action sounds such as gunshots,horses hooves,arrows flying through the air and the crack of the bullwhip..kapowww,zippp,ktchakkkk,pinggg and so on.The second reason was that Desmond assured us that he was actually on close talking terms with cowpokes like Tom Mix,Roy (Rogers) and Lash Larue,apart from the stars that played Cochise and Geronimo.And he enslaved us by saying that maybe,just maybe he would introduce us to them on their next visit to Poona and actually let us ride one of the cow ponys.One of the most stunning revelations he made was that Lash(Larue) on his last visit had actually placed a silver dollar on Desmonds tongue and from a distance of 30 feet had flicked it off with his trusty bullwhip with a sound like gunshot.He was a master storyteller whose descriptions of Shanes fast draw , the Colt 45 and the Bowie knife would leave us asking for more.Im sure if he had been trained,Desmond would have turned out to be a master novelist.The fact is that he left school about a year after I joined, and migrated to the UK with his sister and mother.We never heard from him again,and the last anyone saw of him was as an usher in a cinema theater in London.Maybe that was the job he really wanted.
So here I was and the first guy I met was a thin,weedy Sindhi chap called Lacchu Vasandani, a cross between the artful dodger and Reggie,who briefed me about the class and teachers and what was expected.During the day I met some of the characters who would have an impact on me over the next few years.Desmond Tomlinson was a large, friendly good looking guy with light eyes and a Kirk Douglas dimple on his chin.He was facinating because he had these endless stories of cowboys and Indians which we listened to with rapt attention during the 10 minute stretch break and after lunch.The stories were so good especially because of 2 reasons.First because Desmond would intersperse his tales with the appropriate action sounds such as gunshots,horses hooves,arrows flying through the air and the crack of the bullwhip..kapowww,zippp,ktchakkkk,pinggg and so on.The second reason was that Desmond assured us that he was actually on close talking terms with cowpokes like Tom Mix,Roy (Rogers) and Lash Larue,apart from the stars that played Cochise and Geronimo.And he enslaved us by saying that maybe,just maybe he would introduce us to them on their next visit to Poona and actually let us ride one of the cow ponys.One of the most stunning revelations he made was that Lash(Larue) on his last visit had actually placed a silver dollar on Desmonds tongue and from a distance of 30 feet had flicked it off with his trusty bullwhip with a sound like gunshot.He was a master storyteller whose descriptions of Shanes fast draw , the Colt 45 and the Bowie knife would leave us asking for more.Im sure if he had been trained,Desmond would have turned out to be a master novelist.The fact is that he left school about a year after I joined, and migrated to the UK with his sister and mother.We never heard from him again,and the last anyone saw of him was as an usher in a cinema theater in London.Maybe that was the job he really wanted.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Summer blues
Sorry havent blogged for a while.Maybe its the unnatural summer heat and humidity for this time of the year or maybe Ive just felt dull and stupid.The heat has been awful with humidity hitting 90% on some days.Went and bought a new airconditioner for the living room,even though I know Ill soon get humongous power bills soon.My mind has not been at rest ever since my Aunty Karuna underwent an MRI two weeks ago.The doctors prognosis isnt too good and I feel very tense and fearful for the future.Her daughter is arriving on Sunday from the USA,and I cant help but feel a tad resentful that they(she and her sister) didnt get her checked up a bit sooner during one of their visits to Kolkata.I really dont know how this is going to be handled.Meantime Moti continues to be as exasperating as ever with his know it all comments and doing things his own way.The good news is that both his cataract operations were successful and now he can actually see.Thats a reward for all the trouble taken getting him to and fro from hospital and putting eye drops.Talking about eyes I got myself a new set of spectacles and reading glasses.The old ones were really bad and needed to be discarded.Moreover they hurt my nose.
My favorite Alphonso mangoes this season are non existent and for the first time I still havent tasted the fruit so late into April.A bad crop means no arrivals of the fruit in the market and the little being sold are at astronomical prices.I have bought a few dozen,but they have been ripening for the last 5 days.Im wondering whether Ive been ripped off .
My favorite Alphonso mangoes this season are non existent and for the first time I still havent tasted the fruit so late into April.A bad crop means no arrivals of the fruit in the market and the little being sold are at astronomical prices.I have bought a few dozen,but they have been ripening for the last 5 days.Im wondering whether Ive been ripped off .
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Jamboree
Well elections are round the corner and somehow I just cant get enthused,notwithstanding Jago Re ads.Every time I read about the machinations of the political leaders or see their venal faces on the TV,I get a what I call the Titanic feeling...sinking.I feel a sense of hopelessness when I see corrupt regional leaders using every method to get that extra seat and vie for the PMs position.Every action is designed to prepetuate their own rule or of their progeny.Every decision is taken more often than not for personal enrichment.What was done furtively under cover of night before is now proudly displayed at mass rallies with gold crowns and garlands of currency.The fact that 125 of our MPs from a total of 543 have criminal cases filed against them is indicative of the muscle power of the goons and lumpen in the elections.Its shameful that the huge amounts being spent to woo voters includes not only underhand inducements but the use of public money to hand out freebies like TV sets,cellphones,clothes etc.In short the mantra is get into the chair by hook or by crook,all will be taken care of.The fact that the politicos refuse to take strict action against criminals and corruption belies their pious pronouncements that these are really abberations and the class as such is sincere and honest.I wonder where else in the world a criminal can stand for elections while behind bars,or represent the people with the background of a Mafia Don.
Of course its said the elections are free and open for all and everyone is welcome to try.There is the small matter of money..one would need 5-10 crores (1-2 million$) to even be noticed in the election process.And without protection ,try and get elected in UP or Bihar.So its pretty much an old boys club literally, with 70 and 80 year olds ruling the roost with their extended family filling in the supporting positions.
Finally with as many parties as there are permutations and combinations with the alphabets,how can democracy be healthy and in good shape? theres the BJD and JDS and BSP and SP.What about the DMK and the AIDMK.Dont forget the TMC and maybe the TDP.The TC is tying up with the C but not with the BJP.That leaves the NCP out but includes the JMM.And this is just the tip One needs a computer program to track the different permutations and combinations.Witness the CPI,followed by the CPIM,and that followed by the CPIML.For crying out loud!!!!
Will Ivote???? I dont know yet.
Of course its said the elections are free and open for all and everyone is welcome to try.There is the small matter of money..one would need 5-10 crores (1-2 million$) to even be noticed in the election process.And without protection ,try and get elected in UP or Bihar.So its pretty much an old boys club literally, with 70 and 80 year olds ruling the roost with their extended family filling in the supporting positions.
Finally with as many parties as there are permutations and combinations with the alphabets,how can democracy be healthy and in good shape? theres the BJD and JDS and BSP and SP.What about the DMK and the AIDMK.Dont forget the TMC and maybe the TDP.The TC is tying up with the C but not with the BJP.That leaves the NCP out but includes the JMM.And this is just the tip One needs a computer program to track the different permutations and combinations.Witness the CPI,followed by the CPIM,and that followed by the CPIML.For crying out loud!!!!
Will Ivote???? I dont know yet.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Gomkay
I once wrote a short story(never published) about my friend Sukhnath Munda,a dark,wiry,cunning tribal from Ranchi who also happened to be the village headman and Im guessing,around 50 years old.I was all of 6 when I met him and over the next 7 years he was probably my best friend.He created magical memories for me which I cherish to this day.Show me a little boy who has someone to show him the best fishing spots in the lakes and pond around where we stayed.The fact that I accidentally caught a duck is another story.Who can boast of a conjuror who within minutes creates a sturdy bow and arrows lethal enough to kill ?What mysteries he would talk about when we went tramping round the rice fields and hills.Im sure he made up many things,especially when we came upon heaps of animal bones left behind by predators or snake skins shed in moulting.But to my childish mind,nothing could be truer.I loved the old guy and I know that he had a very soft corner for me in his flinty heart.He wore thick,rough sandals made from old truck tyres and a white turban on his head with a jaunty tail which gave him the seal of authority.Oh yes he had a snow white moustache on his dark, leathery and noble face.That was briefly,Sukhnath.
Come friday and he could barely contain his excitement.For it was Market Day in town and he could therefore indulge in both his favorite pastimes,cock fighting and drinking Haria,the potent local rice liquor.I was never allowed to go with him by my stern grandmother.Drinking for her was akin to hobnobbing with the devil.Late in the evening I could hear him weaving his way to our house,high as a kite shouting out the name he used to call me..."Heyyyy Gomkay,I won today...Gomkayyyyyyyy" .It meant Little Chief.I would run down the road to meet him and would see the dead cockerel slung across his shoulder, which was his prize from the cockfight.He would have that sweet smell of Haria I remember so well like a happy cloud round him.In the background would be my grandmother shooting bolts of lightening at this dissipated heathen who was out to corrupt her grandson.I didnt care and would often hug him then just to get a good whiff of the Haria.
We left Ranchi after some years and I left a sobbing Sukhnath at the railway station..his face hidden in the tail of his turban.He died a few months before I visited Ranchi again,and walking down the village road in the dusk on that visit I could swear I saw him and heard him calling out .."Gomkay...I won Gomkay.Im so happy Gomkay."On my wall in a place of honour hangs a black and white picture of Sukhnath and me sitting and playing Ludo on an ancient stone table.The deep bond betwen us is obvious and will remain with me for the rest of my life.
Come friday and he could barely contain his excitement.For it was Market Day in town and he could therefore indulge in both his favorite pastimes,cock fighting and drinking Haria,the potent local rice liquor.I was never allowed to go with him by my stern grandmother.Drinking for her was akin to hobnobbing with the devil.Late in the evening I could hear him weaving his way to our house,high as a kite shouting out the name he used to call me..."Heyyyy Gomkay,I won today...Gomkayyyyyyyy" .It meant Little Chief.I would run down the road to meet him and would see the dead cockerel slung across his shoulder, which was his prize from the cockfight.He would have that sweet smell of Haria I remember so well like a happy cloud round him.In the background would be my grandmother shooting bolts of lightening at this dissipated heathen who was out to corrupt her grandson.I didnt care and would often hug him then just to get a good whiff of the Haria.
We left Ranchi after some years and I left a sobbing Sukhnath at the railway station..his face hidden in the tail of his turban.He died a few months before I visited Ranchi again,and walking down the village road in the dusk on that visit I could swear I saw him and heard him calling out .."Gomkay...I won Gomkay.Im so happy Gomkay."On my wall in a place of honour hangs a black and white picture of Sukhnath and me sitting and playing Ludo on an ancient stone table.The deep bond betwen us is obvious and will remain with me for the rest of my life.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Holi
Holi is over thank God.All our festivals have one thing in common,they are all loud,destructive and polluting.I really wonder why.For example,this Holi the children of the society decided (no doubt with their parents assent) to pelt each other with disgusting little plastic bags,rather than use the more traditional pichkaris.The bags are not only dangerous(people have lost their eyes) but create enormous litter.Also the fact that the thin plastic is totally illegal since it blocks drains and kills animals, makes for a really happy Holi for all.Im not sure I understand the psyche of the parents who allow their children to do this..and mind you these are the so called upper crust,intelligentsia of society.As far as sound is concerned,the new mantra is the louder the better.So in the next society they set up humongous speakers of a million watts and dance their hearts away,quite oblivious of the fact that the decibel level is killing,especially for the neighbourhood. Lest i forget,elsewhere trees,including protected mangroves are hacked down to light Holi fires the night before adding to pollution and reduction in our green cover.I wonder what it is in our genes that we tend to be loud,dirty,rude and generally obstreperous.Holi in the north is a nightmare,especially for women.And instead of improving civic sense its getting worse.If asked, people smile indulgently and say we are like that only!!! Oh well,on to the next festival.......
Friday, March 6, 2009
Indian summer
What is it about the summer that makes us break out in a sweat? every one has an opinion ranging from "Thank God its not winter" to "I hate this f-----g heat".For me though summer is a mixed bag.I hate the humidity and the stickiness and would much rather freeze my butt off in New York.But not being able to do that frequently,I look for solace and succor in memories and the small mercies that summer sometimes brings.I remember well the lung busting football games in school during the hot months and drenched in sweat, the feel of a leathery tongue on palate at the end of a game,I would go to Pintos tuck shop and gasp out an entreaty for a bottle of lemonade.This was made by a local company called Frams( Framjees),in thick unattractive bottles.But it was chilled,nay frozen, under thick chunks of ice and had a taste which after a game could be likened to Ambrosia.The harsh,gassy ice cold liquid would be gulped down and every drop would be absorbed immediatly by the bodys thirsting molecules.Inevitably a second bottle would be savoured ...a bit slower though.Oh yes,lest I forget, each bottle cost 25paise!!! For the same price if I was so inclined,I could have a glorious mango ice fruit from Manjis flask.So good in the heat.And in case I was short of funds,I could have a flavoured strawberry ice fruit,which was nothing but finely crushed ice and flavor on a stick at half the price.Those tastes will remain as memories of summer.
For those who have not experienced water shortages,I cannot explain the joy of a copious cold shower in the heat.Victory Hotel was notoriously short of water and all of us tried to squeeze in baths and showers when there was running water which was for only a very short period everyday.Sometimes when I felt grungy and like the Incredible Heap didnt dare raise my arms over my head for too long,there would be a war cry..."Waters come!!!!".it was akin to the cry of the Israelites finding a spring in the desert.Inevitably there would be rush for the bathroom.At such times Sebastian in a magnanimous gesture would invite us to use his bathroom in the ground floor.Oh bliss,oh blessed water of life.The shower would be enjoyed and the grime and heat of yesterday sloughed off.Oh yes I must mention in an aside that Sebastians bathroom had one problem...Annie, his 5 year old daughter who was an inveterate voyeur.The bathroom door had small cracks about 2 feet off the floor,and if one looked closely during the shower,one could spot a beady eye watching in rapt facination.Not the best thing to happen during ones ablutions.A shout would drive her away,but inevitably after a few minutes the watcher would be back.She was an ugly little girl with a round face and in Sams words"cunning eyes".I never figured out her facination for looking at soapy,wet naked men.Maybe the fetish stayed with her into adulthood.But I never let that spoil the pleasure of the shower.Afterwards,feeling so human and fresh it was time to light up a well deserved cigarette.Amazing,the simple pleasures one can enjoy Annie or no Annie.
For those who have not experienced water shortages,I cannot explain the joy of a copious cold shower in the heat.Victory Hotel was notoriously short of water and all of us tried to squeeze in baths and showers when there was running water which was for only a very short period everyday.Sometimes when I felt grungy and like the Incredible Heap didnt dare raise my arms over my head for too long,there would be a war cry..."Waters come!!!!".it was akin to the cry of the Israelites finding a spring in the desert.Inevitably there would be rush for the bathroom.At such times Sebastian in a magnanimous gesture would invite us to use his bathroom in the ground floor.Oh bliss,oh blessed water of life.The shower would be enjoyed and the grime and heat of yesterday sloughed off.Oh yes I must mention in an aside that Sebastians bathroom had one problem...Annie, his 5 year old daughter who was an inveterate voyeur.The bathroom door had small cracks about 2 feet off the floor,and if one looked closely during the shower,one could spot a beady eye watching in rapt facination.Not the best thing to happen during ones ablutions.A shout would drive her away,but inevitably after a few minutes the watcher would be back.She was an ugly little girl with a round face and in Sams words"cunning eyes".I never figured out her facination for looking at soapy,wet naked men.Maybe the fetish stayed with her into adulthood.But I never let that spoil the pleasure of the shower.Afterwards,feeling so human and fresh it was time to light up a well deserved cigarette.Amazing,the simple pleasures one can enjoy Annie or no Annie.
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