Books Books And Books


For RDP Friday : Books I have been given

In our community a book is supposed to be the bestest gift. On birthdays, festive occasions, celebrations, reunions with friends and family and even marriages books are gifted. Before I could figure who Santa was a book with a bright cover would be found mysteriously shoved under my pillow.  That’s how I was introduced to Shakespeare’s Tragedies and Comedies – abridged versions translated in Bengali. In school we exchanged the latest reads with each other in class. 

Since my father had a job which entailed touring  remote areas he always carried a book or bought one at the railway station. On his return, he would either pass it on to us or we’d sneak it out of his suitcase. I remember one such book was Easy To Kill by Agatha Christie. He was a big Christie fan. I believe, both me and my sister have inherited our obsession for Christie from him.

In my teens my elder sister played a big role in moulding my choice of  readings. She was a voracious reader and still is. She borrowed books extensively from local libraries. The books she found interesting and suitable (we have a difference of seven years) were handed down to me. However, she was a very fast reader while I was very slow. Often I couldn’t finish and it would be time to return the book. Since, late return meant payment of a fine I had to frequently give up books half read.

What I liked more was the discussion that ensued after reading a book. After finishing a book the family would gather round to talk about the best part of the story, the characters, the humour and even the poignancy which left us heavy hearted.

My paternal aunt (father’s sister), like my sister, was also a book lover. She was also the storyteller of the family. Whenever my father visited her in Kolkata he would carry back a gift from her – a new book!!

As life took over, receiving books as gifts became a rarity. My sister still brought books from her school library. But I was too taken up with a demanding job and reading took a back seat. The last few years in a department where as a routine I had to read volumes pushed personal reading to the backburner.

Yet there are two occasions which come to mind. I was once invited to talk about haiku to little kids who were students of drama skills. We had a lot of fun. The children were new to the genre but ended up writing their own versions of haiku. At the end of the session their mentor, who had invited me, offered me remuneration in the form of cash for my time and participation. Since I was working at that time I considered accepting money as unethical. So I declined. Had she substituted it with books I might not have been able to say no.

On another occasion, my haiku mentor had asked me and two of my co-haikists to helm a discourse on haiku arranged by a renowned NGO named Katha. It was a learning experience as I had two erudite scholars with me who were more knowledgeable on the subject than I was. The session ended with the organisers honouring us with souvenirs and yes, books. I was overjoyed. After a long, long time I was receiving a gift of books.

However, I was amused to note that both the books were English translations of famous authors – one Bengali the other Hindi – two languages in which I could read, write and speak fluently. 😆😆

Now that I have time to get back to my hobbies I give books to myself – books I never had time to read before or books which I can read over and over again.

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Inventing Myself


The most important invention in your lifetime is…

Obviously, the prompt implies scientific inventions – gizmos and gadgets. But what about self-invention ?

At the fag end of my life I have come to inventing myself – that I have OCD, am socially awkward with strangers (given to panic attacks), am sub-zero when it comes to public speaking (I go blank) and driving is a skill I am simply not genetically attuned to.

I guess my fetish for cleanliness (runs in the family) has graduated into compulsive obsessions. Whether it has completely chucked me out of ‘order’ I have yet to figure.

Considering I once contemplated making the stage my career, the total lack of confidence facing the public comes as utter relief – thank God that never happened!! What a massacre it would have been !!!

Driving with a wandering mind? It’s always the light pole that dashed in my way. I was strictly going by the rule book, you see. 😄😄

Fear of strangers ? Well I had an inkling of that early in life. It has just increased in propensity with passage of time.

Nowadays “reinventing” oneself has become quite a fad. But my theory is just the opposite. Why should I?

Isn’t it enough that I know myself now fully well and don’t have to make any excuses for it. That I have accepted myself without any regrets. And again thank God the groundbreaking invention happened in my last inning when I don’t have to prove anything to anybody?

So, I rest happy with my flawed persona absolutely precluding the possibility of any coercive (sorry corrective) measures to put things straight.

And yep! Before revolving out of orbit I consider this as the most important invention having the solemnest impact on me.

Never mind if it’s taken a lifetime.

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Health Is Wealth Indeed!!


In today’s fast driven life health has become a primary concern, irrespective of age group. As we all know,  health is now a comprehensive term encompassing  not only what we eat and the physical activity we undertake but also how we lead our lives and even how we think and react to our surrounds and people. In other words,  our eating habits, exercise schedule, lifestyle and patterns of thoughts and emotions.

At my age, I know it’s important to eat healthy, do exercise in moderation, take walks regularly keeping in mind the climatic conditions, have a disciplined routine, keep a tab on blood pressure, sugar and other body parameters and think positive and be happy, grateful and content.

But out of all these, at least in my case, I have seen that the diet I follow has the greatest impact not only on my body but also on my mental state. It took some time for me to grasp that eating healthy and health food is not the same. Through advertisements and other marketing gimmicks, Companies producing food supplements , make us believe that what they are selling is the best for our health and if we are not consuming them we are depriving our bodies of their benefits.

Almost every day there is one article or the other in newspapers and magazines on exotic fruits, vegetables, seeds and nuts proclaiming them to be health mandates or better sources of nutrients than what we are usually partaking in our everyday meals.

My personal experience tells me that the gut works on its own memory – what it has been fed all along and what it is used to digesting. Experimenting with food does not always produce desirable results. If our gut is not used to these items it may not be able to extract the best out of them. As a result, we may develop allergic reactions or simply end up with an upset stomach.

We have to simply monitor that our daily intake has sufficient amounts of fibre, protein, the requisite amount of fat and carbs (on the lower side) and liquids. The spice and oil level should be controlled. And voila! We have our healthy khana ready.

It may sound rather funny but I have seen whenever I stick to a vegetarian diet low on spices and oil I have a heartening feel – a sense of well being. This reaction may be purely psychological. The fact remains that I am a non-vegetarian. Medically I am required to have fish, egg and chicken. And after sticking to a prolonged course of vegetarian meals I do get a biological urge to have non-veg.

However, since I have got into the habit of often excluding non-veg from my diet I have developed an intolerance towards the raw smell of fish and meat. As a result, I avoid going to meat and fish shops and usually order over the phone or online. Also post preparation the kitchen needs a thorough cleaning too.

My peevishness has made me depend on veg proteins like soya (beans), paneer, and whole pulses more. To make things exciting I try out new recipes and also create my own. Recently I have been trying my hand at soya kebabs. My idea of cooking is tasty but easy preparations in less time. If the process is unavoidably long I do it in phases.

Like in the case of soya kebab which requires three to four steps – (i) pressure cooking the overnight soaked dal with soya granules and all the masalas, (ii) grinding them into a preferably coarse paste, (iii) drying the water content in the paste on slow fire (iv) rolling into shape when in room temperature (and freezing them, if required, for later use) and (v) frying them in a non-stick pan brushed with oil.

Lo! Your chatpataa soya kebab is ready!!

I am sure you all must be knowing better ways of making kebabs. But this is the way I cook. So far they have turned out well though I am still refining the process. In case you’d like to share some tips I am eager to know.

Looking forward to your value addition.

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Deadly Revenge


This is in response to Esther’s Weekly Word Prompt.

This week’s prompt is : Flying

Deadly Revenge

(I do have a feathery friend, (well, that’s what I presume), who visits my window regularly, peers at me, pokes around, gives its piece of mind and then flies off. At times I do have this feeling that (s)he is trying to have a conversation with me though we both don’t understand each other’s language. Or at least I don’t.

It also occurs to me at times that as a species we can be quite an irritant to our other co-inhabitants whom we do not take seriously at all. What happens if we become the cause of them flying off the handle?

In the conversational open verse I have tried to use the prompt suggestively and not directly on an experimental basis. Hope it will be acceptable.)

Those who are unfamiliar with Mrs. Crow, she is my neighbourhood busybody, who makes it a point to visit me off and on with her broken pencil and dogeared notebook and a tattered tote bag bursting with agonizing advice. I have versified my conversations with her on my Poetry Blog out of sheer frustration born out of my inability to give apt retorts to her frequent jibes and snides towards human species at large.

Here is the latest…

https://mindspeak-vanderloost.blogspot.com/2026/01/unsolicited.html?m=1

And then….a long break…without intimation

But a few days ago

Mrs. Crow

Is back

After a long self-imposed hiatus

With her penetrating gaze

And corvine sneers

“Oh dear!” She sighs with exaggeration,

“I hear you have put on public domain

My revolutionary ideas on ideal living

Without my explicit permission!!”

“Well!” “Before I could manage a suitable reply

“I was thinking of patenting them,” She sounded morose

“I am sorry!” I could hardly disguise my honest consternation,

“I did not know…”

She was anything but pacifiable,

“Have you humans ever been loyal to anyone?”

“I agree it was a mistake…” I started

“Mistake? It’s BETRAYAL…unpardonable!!!!

Have I told anyone how you snore like a

blasted …….” (unprintable comparison)

“That’s rude…” I spat with annoyance

She looked smug, “That’s just to make you realise how it hurt…

Tit for tat…learnt from your despicable tribe”

“Then go away if you hate us so much…” I cried.

“No…not that easily my friend.” She jeered

“I am yet to teach you a few more things.

Don’t ‘sorry me’ ever again…”

“I can’t promise,” I said with relish.

She flapped her wings,

“Then I can’t promise either…”

With that she was off leaving me wondering

What’s next in the offing.

***

A week later I found a dead rat supine on my balcony. The day next a greasy kitchen napkin neatly stretched on the clothesline.  A few days back it was a crinkled piece of chapaati wrap. Yesterday a crooked fork was artistically thrust into the kitchen sponge bar kept out to dry. Kaalu and Chhinnu complained that their Pedigree was falling short these days.

I see Mrs. Crow has declared war and I just have to endure her wrath silently…patiently.

Until she cools down…

And we sign a peace treaty amicably.

Guess I have to take the first step forward.

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Shoemakers’ Gully


This in response to Rochelle’s Weekly Photo Prompt for Friday Fictioneers.

Word Count: 100

The house was narrow, dark and long-ish, one room leading to the other.

Through the back courtyard  the first floor, where the landlord lived, could be easily accessed.

The neighbourhood was called the ‘Shoemakers’ Gully’ for obvious reasons.

“But it’s very safe”, Said Ali Jethu, father’s friend.

The burning  proof of which we got when our house was broken in one night.

One shout and the entire gully was there armed with rods and sticks.

However, the intruder turned out to be the landlord’s daughter’s secret lover and not a thief.

***

91 Words

You can read the other stories here.

Before We Part


Leave a few words

Leave a few songs

Leave an untold tale

Before you are gone

So that

In the madness of spring

Listlessness of noon

In melancholy of dusk

and in silence of the night

I can

Let your heartbeat echo

Let the wind croon

Let the hands of time

Whisper the parable of love

To

The world that whizzes by

An un-listening sky

The blissfully ignorant ‘them‘

Who never bade you goodbye

This poem is hugely inspired by this Tagore song which my paternal aunt used to often sing in memory of my father, her elder brother, after his departure to heavenly abode.

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Inter Galactic Exchange


This is in response to Sadje’s Weekly Photo Prompts on #Whatdoyousee

Traversing a million light years

They landed on the sacred grounds

Of the pagoda fronting the waterfall crystal clear

The monk welcomed with a serene smile

“O Wise Ones! We are honoured to have you amongst us…

Pray tell from where do you hail?”

“We come from afar where the stars burn bright in a spiral haze way beyond your perception…way beyond your gaze…”

“What brings you to our humble abode?”

The monk was curious to know

“We have come to learn the art that you alone cherish as a race…

The secret of surviving humungous destruction and menace…”

The monk’s smile widened,”That O Grace!

Is no secret  no art either…it’s pure nature

We are born to kill and be killed … rule and be ruled…but we do know the technique

To be still amidst frenzy and calm amidst chaos and spectate our own idiocy in utmost detachment…we call it meditation…”

The travellers bowed deep, “That is what we wish to learn please…”

#Wdsy

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Cadence


jasmine breeze

wisps of those

forgotten lyrics

***

                                             foggy windscreen

that old Hindi film song

on the radio

***

brooding noon

all romances are not

happily ever after

***

hazy moon

am I really that

myopic?  

**”

twilit call

                  trails into

a   s  t  r  e  t  c  h   o  f   s  i  l  e  n  c  e

***

All these four micropoems , or haiku if I may call them, are threaded by a common link – an undercurrent of wistfulness – and of course the seasons.

Like Tagore has said, in his innumerable songs, how every season has its cadence and how the entire cosmos has a rhythm to it, so are these haiku, throb with the weightlessness of muted longings.

               

Secrets


The other day my neighborhood busybody gave me a solid nudge in the ribs pointing to a young girl. Lowering her voice she said,”I believe she has many secrets.”

I peered through my specs and asked,”How’d you know?”

Her eyebrows danced. No, she wouldn’t divulge her source. I didn’t delve further but I did toy over the word.

What is a secret? Something very personal, very intimate, not sharable with anybody else. What’s wrong with having secrets? If they are not harmful or involve grossly immoral and inhuman acts or intents.

Do we not all have our little secrets? They may be trivial yet precious to us.  But how do they affect others ? Except being the food for gossip.

Not everyone wants their life to be an open book. For them there are certain pages not worth making public. Mistakes which one has been ashamed of committing. Lessons learnt in shameful ways. Habits which one cannot let go. Infidel thoughts. Hatreds kept hidden. Those little things that can shatter  image, make one uncomfortable in front of others – hard to explain, objects of disdain, complicate matters, put one in bad light and make them an easy prey to manipulations.

Life has this impish way of springing surprises. Secrets can be outcomes of God’s wicked sense of humour – a situation completely beyond human control. If someone doesn’t want to disclose why go prying?  After all, everyone is entitled to that which cannot be taken away from them.

But who is going to make the busybodies understand that they cannot be privy to everything. I tell them over inquisitiveness can be killing. Let the sleeping dogs lie. And lie peacefully.

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Now That…


This is in response to Esther’s Weekly Word Prompt.

This week’s prompt is: Games

***

Now That

Now that there is silence

Do I need words

Do I need birdsongs

Do I need the pause

Now that the games are over

Do I need the pawns

Do I need the noise

Do I need the cons

Now that peace resides

Do I need the chaos

Do I need the twists

Do I need a choice

Now that the path is clear

Do I need a bend

Do I need a fork

Do I need the spin

Now that the tale’s told

Do I need it to end