Meet the seasonal maniac

Since childhood I have picked up many side-hobbies. And one fact has always been constant till now. Every hobby had its rise and fall as per the wish of the ever swinging mood of the entertainment-loving-cells of my brain. My every pass-time favourite reaches it's period of crescendo in my life which would have me obsessively hooked to it, making me behave like a buffoonish maniac. But the span of these crest and trough filled trend of manias have always been very short because soon I switch to some other element of interest, letting the previous one fall from its cresendo and so it goes on.

It all started with my love for kitchen-sets when I feigned the boss of my imaginary house-hold, cooking pebbles and sand in my mini wok, stirring mud-water in tiny cups and whispering sweet nothings to my doll-kids.Any interference of my mother or anyone would irk me like hell and I threw tantrums all over the house for not letting me play what I called 'kitchen-kitchen'

'Kitchen-kitchen' obsession was soon overtaken by my penchant for sketching and painting. And the penchant again transformed to another staunch obsession.From oil pastels of varying shades to painting brushes of all sizes to fabric colors in tubes and bottles would be strewn all over the floor and I'd lie amongst them, my hands and face patched with assorted colours that could convince any lay man that my parents were blessed with a sensational painter-child.

Then books entered my life and fortunately or unfortunately they are still into my life and my head and my mind and actually everything. But the contents of interest kept varying with my age. First were the fairy-tale stories where every princess had a charming prince to rescue her from her troubles followed by the animated hero,Tin-tin's detective stories where he dauntingly solved all mysteries.Soon, I became an avid reader of Agatha Christies', so much that I used to hide the novels within my course books and read them in order to escape from my parents' glaring stares. Then, as my senses matured, I developed as a reader( I believe). And I got into absorbing the life-altering-philosophies of the so called great philosophers and authors and started spending the whole day, squeezed under my quilt, devouring these books(not literally though) , oblivious of anything and everything going around me.

Even today, if I see a kid dressing her doll and feeding it with imaginary eatables, my childhood love springs out and I happily become a member of some-one else's 'kitchen-kitchen' world.Same holds good with my hobby of sketching. Though the intensity has reduced, but i still manage to portray a scenic beauty,if it appeases my senses, onto my canvas. But my attachment with books seems to grow more and more.Reading something and then contemplating over it brings an unaparallel satisfaction which challenges my perception-skills and broadens my imaginative boundaries.

Unlike my other favourites, my wont for reading refrains from sliding down the crest and it is just scaling up the ladder every day. If an obsession like this can alter one's existence so positively, then I dont mind being addressed as a maniac.

Nostalgia overwhelms

Just one month is left for that much awaited trip to india.Though this time it would be a short one,comprising of only two weeks but it's the same usual 'butterflies in the stomach' type excitement I am going through which occurs before my every visit to India.

This is the time when nostalgia engulfs me completely.The heart pines for those serene streets of Jamshedpur,that vibrant school life,the fun-filled evenings with Rolly( a bosom friend),the summer train journeys to nani ghar and dadi ghar, my scooty rides,the fleeting crushes,aimless strolls in the Bistupur market and so many more things that space would fall short.'why the hell I came here'is the frequently asked question to my conscience whenever i think about those eighteen years spent in india and immediately it bounces back with the reply-'you wouldn't have felt that life's importance otherwise'.

How true!I remember those rainy evenings when maa would cook the mouth-watering pakodas (fritters in hindi) and then shout from the window to summon the neighbourhood aunties for a 'pakoda plus chai' imbued gossipy evening.Here it rains too and maa also never forgets to make her signature pakodas but for reasons unknown, we never get the same taste unlike earlier.Perhaps, the pakoda's taste sprang out from the lively chit-chats of the aunties,the smell of the wet earth from the garden,the pitter-patter sound of the rain drops,the water clogged gallis, none of which are available here.Here aunties are in surplus but not the ones who you find knitting from a big ball of urn or wringing water from a wet cloth in their verandahs or hollering about their mother-in -laws.Send a party invitation via mail or a formal phone call will also suffice and there they would turn up -attired in the latest brands,flaunting the glossiest lipstick and getting down from a mercedes or a limousine. Now, frankly speaking, my mother will prefer to sit alone in the balcony with her cup of tea pondering about her Mrs sharma, Mrs Sinha et al than feeling completely out of place among these stylish peers.

And speaking about those water-clogged gallis, I seriously feel like thanking our municipal department for turning a deaf ear to all our curses and complaints for the immense joy ,I used to feel splashing and jumping in watery roads, is sheer unparallel.Then, there were those mind-boggling street side food-stalls. No Five star or any elite hotel can compete with the golgappas and the bhel puris. Actually, the missing-hygene factor is their trump card. The gushing vehicular smoke combined with the golgappa walla's perspiration becomes the inevitable ingredient for that special tangy taste(did i hear a 'yuck!'?).And here,hygene is the only ingredient stuffed into the pani-puris for chemically treated gloves knead the stuffing mixture instead of the bare palms of the golgappa walla and for five or six bland morsels we end up paying triple the amount.And the ambience we are treated with are - cozy sofas,a soothing music and a pleasant waitress- compared to the loitering stray dogs and cows,the littered trash at some corner and the incessant noise of the passer-bys.

How come i didn't mention about the incredible train journeys during the vacations yet? I must admit that the massive Howrah Railway station, buzzing with non-stop chaos, is an amazing thing. The howling crowd can drive you insane. If u are not an expert in jostling and nudging then be prepared to miss your train.From there we used to board a local train to reach our village and it was mostly over-crowded with villagers and semi-town inhabitants.I and my sister were the spoilt rich kids among them, munching and grabbing on every item the hawkers would lure us with their fascinating selling tactics. Our favourites were the jaggery-infused-nuts(gur-badam) and jhaal-muri(spiced puffed-rice, a speciality of Bengal).

Coming back to my town-Jamshedpur, I am reminded of my scooty rides around the town.An evening scooty ride with Rolly around the outskirts of the city meant exchanging side-long glances with the guys on the bikes passing by.First,I would accelerate a little then he would
speed up.I would try to overtake and he would purposefully slow down.Then some cheesy remarks from the male side would be replied by fluttering of eye-lashes from our side.These encounters always ended with our rides and every evening a new story would evolve.

So,if you are lucky enough to still remain a RI, then instead of asking a NRI about his/her life abroad, do fill his yearning soul with ur desi experiences.And believe me,that person will heartily thank you when back to exile.

It's not just three colours

I was watching this movie 'Gadar' few days back and there was this scene where Sunny Deol flaunts the Indian flag swaying it speedily while walking through a rebellious crowd in pakistan, grappling to seize back his pakistani wife, but not willing to compromise with his identity of being an Indian at any cost.

I tell u, there is something very mysterious about that tricoloured flag. Like any other scene of the movie,I should have absorbed it without being personally perturbed. But something happened, i tell u, seriously something happened after watching that flag being waved among a crowd that denied to respect the values it claimed to carry. It seemed like some strange but a very strong force gushed into my body piercing my conscience. It kept dominating the whole of me thereafter.

I know very well that a national flag inspires patriotism. It inspires the soldier on a battlefield to fight till death, it challenges and dares a player to play for his nation , drives him on the olympic torch flames but how does it inspire an inactive- brained, good for nothing, almost-a-burden -on- the- family, twenty something girl who has always been googling on every single thing including patriotism just to appear intelligent in conversations?


I believe, I am one of that young crowd which delivers speech on corruption , unemployment, national integration and similar issues only on group discussions held by MBA institutions and at job interviews but hardly worries if these issues are seriously nibbling the national economy or whatever into pieces. But again, I am one of that very same young crowd whose heart beats aloud when it sees the Indian flag proudly swaying high up in the air in front of the Indian Embassy in an alien country.

I honestly admit that I dont possess the capability to comprehend this stark irony of detachment and attachment with my national identity but what I could decipher is that a national flag is not just a symbol of a nation's geogriphical and political existence but much more to that. It makes you realise that whether you are a common civilian or a political head of ur nation, when it waves in the free air, your conscience is bound to be morally affected.