The Garden

  The silent dew drops fell on the green leaves of the cilantro, the firm skin of red tomatoes looked like the wax-polished. Morning garden was so silent and peaceful like bliss. The tendrils of pumpkin plant hugged the bamboo fence with such affection and assurance that it seemed like a mother holding her new born baby. The sky was clear and blue and looked like a deep ocean, only over the top. 

   She stepped her feet on the green grass and felt a kind of satisfaction and pride. The first bloom on her jasmine plant gave her an unexplained happiness and pleasure .The fresh fragrance of the white jasmine buds and bloomed flower would linger with her through her whole day, in her daily chores. 

 She was born in a far corner village of west Bengal from where she dreamt of the outside world. She read Chaucer and Shakespeare in the dim light of lanterns, sometimes even till the dawn. In her later days, which surrounded by so many concrete buildings and fences, she managed to keep a small patch of green, much against her husband’s choice. Morning till late night, she would be busy with households, children, journals, students, yet she felt a strong urge for this small patch of garden to visit at least once in a day. It was like an oxygen parlor in her work-suffocating life, a place of her complete freedom. 

 (My mother has a strong love for garden. In my memory, she and her garden had been intertwined with each other. )

A weekend

In our school, every alternative Saturday used to be a holiday and I used to eagerly wait for those alternative Saturdays with long weekend. Mostly extra studies or extra coaching classes were scheduled in those weekends, yet I still wanted those days. One more memory of Saturday was my mother. She would come home early from school and spending extra time with her was very precious. Sometimes, some relatives would have dropped by on weekends and there would be lots of fun.
Eventually we started college and weekends lost their charm. And when the pressure of education was thrown on our shoulders, our weekends were heavily occupied by coaching classes. Believe me, I had a biology tuition of 4 hours on Sunday. But life goes on.
In university hostel, weekends were not like weekends any more. Every Monday we had exams and marks used to be added up with the total marks at the end of semester. So, those Monday-exams were important and took out all the life from our weekends. In first year I studied like an obedient but in second year I became rebellious. No grade-fear could stop me from hanging around in Ganeshkhind chowpatty in Sunday evening and eating the oily greasy Chinese Hakka noodle with pumpkin-tomato sauce. Sometimes we used to go and eat in Bengali restaurant Deep. These memories are still so fresh in mind that it did not feel like I am talking about something of 8-9 years old. One more memory in Pune University Hostel was watching one TV program of Hindi film music. My God! There was only one TV in whole girls’ hostel campus. The whole common room used to be overcrowded with girls. Nowadays when every song has been uploaded in YouTube, running for watching some Hindi songs must seemed to be ridiculous now. But those times these were our only entertainment in our hostel life. Another memory of Friday night was watching Hindi Movies in Hostel. All chemistry girls would sit together with running commentary and used to get scolding by senior students. I still miss those days.
Then I reached IISc, and my weekends can be categorized as before and after meeting my future husband. When I was single and alone, I used to get up at least 9:00 am and rushed to mess to eat the last served food in mess. But after getting engaged, I used to get up 11:00 am and after telephoning the boyfriend at least 10 times for pleading to get up, I would go to mess directly 12:30 pm. Thats called life. No breakfast in most of the days. And when baby reached in my life , my life changed so much that I can say no weekend fun in life any more. I know... I know… when he will grow up and read (if) this blog, he may say” Mom, why are you waiting for weekends? You have fun all the weekdays now”. Yes, fun of raising a kid .

Confidence

Today morning was very gloomy and cloudy. Though I got up early but started little late from home. That kiddo will tell so many stories at night and morning it’s very difficult for me to make him get up. Anyway, I had to take a cab for him and dropped him at the day care. After that I was waiting for the bus for more than 15 minutes and scolding MBTA. The wind was chill and started drizzling also. I was feeling very depressive because of this late bus. I was thinking of my hardship because of waiting for bus. Suddenly, something had happened. I saw a lady, cycling putting one baby at the front seat of her cycle and other one (below 1 year) on her chest on baby swing. I Just amazed seeing her confident. I do appreciate her confident but was not it little bit too much for the babies’ safety? I certainly cannot take these risks for Adi. God bless her and help her.

Rainy Day

Today is a rainy day and not a very busy day for me. I could not concentrate my mind on my work. Actually I am in need of a strong motivation or a lot of work pressure to keep myself going today. Monday Morning blue had a strong effect on me during morning rush hour. That time Steve Jobs motivated my mind. One of my friends posted his wonderful talk on his Facebook wall; I just happened to listen that and liked it so much.
So many bubbles of thought surface on our mind but they just fade away. Sometimes we do want to capture them on the piece of paper. Alas, it’s really hard to put all of them on writing. I am not an avid blogger. I write because I love to write or talk. I think when we talk to a friend , these kinds of melancholic blabbering will bore them a lot. But Microsoft office will say nothing to me. So this is an excuse for me for blogging.
For the last few months Boston had huge show showers, blizzards and lots of other things in the name of snow, winter, cold and chill. But when I come back home by daily commute, the frozen Charles River looks so beautiful. Now, the downtown Boston no longer reflects on the evening river water, yet it’s so beautiful. I was born in Kolkata and spent twenty five years of my life there. I loved that city too. Yet this uncanny beauty I never saw there. May be as because, Kolkata never gets frozen. Kolkata will be remained in my heart as a bubbly city, colorful people, in March-April red-yellow flower rush on both sides of the road. People abroad here talk about the poverty and dirtiness of Kolkata. I just want to tell them, ”Have u ever been in Kolkata?” If you ever lived in that city , definitely you would find some different kind of charm in there. Each of these cities has their individual appeal.
See, this is the thing happens when I start writing something, I write something else. Boston and Kolkata get intermingled and ultimately I finished my today.