I see people keeping, rather owning pets, but not taking care of them which makes me very angry.
Be responsible. Your pets are like your family members. Don’t treat them as furniture pieces or merely as status symbols. Love them. Care for them. Attend to their needs. They depend on you.
Recently I bought a shirt on Amazon. In fact, having lost a lot of weight last year and now regaining again I was not sure of my current size. However, the top fits me but being used to wearing loose fittings, the right size feels tight. But I decided to keep it as a benchmark for losing more weight so that I am comfortable in it. Howzzzat!! 😂😂
***
Gotta radio. Yeah, you heard me right. As I play it I am transported to my childhood. At the fag end of life, the only excitement is in recreating the past.
***
To cope with the recent LPG crisis got an Induction Cooking System with a compatible Prestige Pressure Cooker for self and Didi. Made aaloo-chholiya , boiled channa and green papaya curry. All successfully cooked and eaten but the taste seems different. Call it psychological.
Didi is efficiently utilising her Air Fryer. Two nights back it was saboo dana tikki to commemorate Nav Ratri. The night next it was hara bhara or green kebaab. And then the cherry on the top – came the taco. All were extremely well made. I have given her the title of Kebaab Queen of the family, following her culinary achievements.
***
Though I blog through the Jetpack App, at times I visit the site on my laptop to screen the comments on spam. Lately, got such sweet , flowery messages of appreciation – location unknown. Deleted them right away. But I guess I am becoming famous. That’s another way of looking at AI intrusion.
***
I see a decrease in the number of my subscribers. I wonder what they were expecting from my posts. Anyway, those stay are my niche readers. A heartfelt thank you and God bless to all of them.
***
However, my daily stats are dwindling. And it’s in red. That means I need to engage more. But with all the other priorities – house work, readings, exercises, walks, family time and other leisure activities – I can only carve out this much time for WP.
That said, I think am not reading as many posts of my co-bloggers as I should. So I guess off and on I am going to play truant…stop posting and read more. Though, my intent and effort will be to do both.
***
My garden does not have many flowering plants. It’s hard to maintain them. I have more green foliage. This and yesterday morning I caught on camera the fresh greens coming up on old branches. They look so shiny and velvety. Have a look.
The name of the village is Bishnupur, Bankura district, West Bengal. Jaggyaseni, a student of Criminal Psychology, has come to spend a few days with her grandmother, Girija Bala Sanyal. She also intends to attend her friend, Amrapali Singha Roy’s wedding. Amrapali hails from an influential political family.
In Bengali weddings, Shubho Drishti, is an important and most entertaining custom wherein the bride and groom see each other’s face for the first time. Till then the bride covers her face with two betel leaves held by both hands. Shubho Drishti also precedes the next crucial step of Maala Badol that is the exchange of garlands by bride and groom. The brothers or friends of the bride carry her on a peedee, a very low plank-like wooden stool, to the groom who waits under the Chhandna tola (a makeshift decorated shelter) for the first sighting. The bride sitting on the stool is rotated round the groom a few times before the garlands are exchanged amidst a lot of fun and teasing.
Imagine the shock and surprise of the family and other attendees when Amrapali topples over from the stool held high during the ritual and falls flat on the ground. Is it an accident? Is Amrapali too exhausted as she has to fast throughout the day of marriage as per tradition ? Is she unconscious? No… She is dead!!!!
The local police arrive to take the body for the postmortem. The family resists. But a firm voice from the crowd insists that an autopsy is required in this case – it’s Girija Bala’s calm and composed instruction!! The family gives in before the village elder. The finding of the report says Amrapali has been poisoned.
Soon thereafter, a series of murders, all cases of locally unavailable poison-ing, take place one after the other, shattering the peace of the laid back village. Six in total but according to Girija it’s seven. She cannot discount Harimati’s cut throat and a blood stained note of warning stuck to her collar. Yes, Hari or Harimati is Girija’s pet cat – the mother of the grieving siblings – Bella and Fonte named after Girija’s favourite singer – Harry Belafonte!!!!
Bishnupur, in fact the entire Bankura district, being dominated by Vaishnav culture and tradition (Krishna devotion), it is not surprising that symbols of Lord Krishna are found beside all the dead bodies indicating some kind of divine retribution.
Thus, pair up the unlikely duo – a sexagenarian grandmother leading a quiet and lonely life in her ancestral home and her London returned, very young and fresh granddaughter – to nab the coldblooded serial killer – a task, as Girija surmises, is beyond the calibre of the confused and harassed local PS In-charge Brihaspati who alleges her of unnecessarily trying to be the indigenous Ms Marple.
Srabanti Chatterjee (38) as Girija Bala (in her sixties) shines. A shout out to the village cop Brihaspati underplayed by Rahul Arunoday Banerjee.
Thakumar Jhuli or Grandmother’s Satchel on Hoichoi is a coming of age investigative journey of an unusual pair – a disciplined , dignified, quietly strong baby boomer and an impatient and quick to jump to conclusions GenZ.
Incidentally, Thakumar Jhuli is also the name of the book of folk lores and fairytales which all Bengali kids are brought up on. But this thakuma (granny)has only whodunnits and howdunnits popping out of her jhuli (satchel).
Considering this is just the maiden Season be ready for more to come.
Postscript: This post is a kind of teaser for Hoichoi Series fans – Rajendraji and Aparna.
Trivia : Could not resist incorporating the link of HB’s famous Jamaican Fairwell, amusingly tweaked to Jamai Ka Fairwell – a tongue-in-cheek humour the Series is replete with.
No! No! I don’t mean those unutterable, unprintable obscenities and profanities people use in a state of extreme disgust, disdain, agony and exasperation. I mean those colloquial expressions whose etymological roots are ambiguous and socio cultural usages very diverse.
Once a driver was reversing his car talking on mobile. He stopped inches from the rickshaw I was in. Dhakkan, meaning a lid, befittingly describes the man exhibiting total lack of grey cells, common or civic sense. More intensely, it simply alludes to someone with an empty top storey or non functional cerebral receptors.
My younger nephew, during his college days, was quite taken up with the word chamanjhinga – not locatable in any Hindi dictionary. At first I thought it was his personal coinage but subsequently I have found that it actually refers to one of the iconic characters from the Hindi cult comedy movie Herapheri. How appositely the word describes people with the knack of repetitively committing enormous blunders – an almost pathological gravitation towards unparalleled idiocy.
An adjective which was frequently used amongst my office colleagues was chepu which must have been culled out of the verb chipakna meaning getting glued or pasted. A chepu is that incorrigible leech who latches on to you invariably in spite of your every attempt to get rid of him/her.
Saala is the word for wife’s brother – a very delicate relation – in whose good books the groom has to be for unabated marital bliss. Similarly, Saali is the sister of the wife – a frolicsome relationship – a perennial tease who has to be often pampered as a proven crucial medium for all kinds of communication engineering to ensure conjugal harmony. Regrettably both the words are also used derogatorily to demean or contempt someone. However, the word saala is also frequently used in friendly banters amongst boys.
Gadhera with a forceful stress on the ‘r’ is actually used to imply someone with asenine qualities. Personally, I feel those dumb (no pun intended) creatures are very humble and hard working who labour without any expectations. Gadha is the Hindi word for ass or donkey. It also means an utterly foolish person. Gadhera refers to the owner who is presumed to be as nincompoop as the beast of burden is. Incidentally, Gadhera is also a local term for a small natural water channel , stream or rivulet in Uttarakhand, one of the Northern States of India.
A very common slang is ullu ka pattha which literally means son of an owl – a subject of eternal mockery and scorn. It is commonly believed in this part that the owlish trait to keep awake at night and sleep during daytime is reflective of cognitive deficiency. Its exact corresponding slang in English will be sonofabitch. But the context and connotation of the former differs hugely from the latter. Ullu ka pattha refers to one given to unmitigated buffoonery, epitome of inexcusable incompetence, perpetuation of imbecility of the highest order beyond the point of redemption. It is again contrarily an address of affection too amongst male buddies.
I have heard elders say that to learn a language or to understand the ethos of a milieu, it is very important to know not only the history and heritage but also the colloquialism. Since, I am in the northern part of the subcontinent which is primarily a Hindi (speaking) belt, I have considered only those words and phrases which are commonly heard and used.
Fascination with the moon is endemic with all poets and word weavers, me included. The magic of the moon irresistibly casts its spell as the night takes over the firmament. In spite of being 384,400 kilometers (238,855 miles) away from the Earth, the moon’s bewitching magic remains constant, if not ever increasing. It is said that the moon is inching away from the earth by 4 cm a year. Yet the poets gravitate towards it like bees to blossoms.
When we were kids, grandmother used to tell us the story of that old lady who has been sitting on the moon for epochs and sewing endlessly on her rickety spinning wheel. You see that faint black smear on its gleaming face. Scientists say it’s the shadow of the craters but the story tellers say that it’s a blot on her beatific countenance. It’s an old saying “even the moon has a blemish on its face”.
I guess it’s her blemished beauty that beguiles more. The imperfection makes her the perfect muse for romantic imagination. She is the confidante of broken hearts. She listens intently to the rants of unrequited love. She has tears but she hides them behind a glowing visage. And for the deprived it’s the symbol of that piece of round bread or roti that an empty stomach salivates for.
In celebration of this fatal attraction here’s a bunch of moon haiku highlighting how the ubiquitous moon is ever present in thoughts and cadence, rhymes and rhythms, verses and musings :
Not too hot not too cold. A clear blue sky with white shiny clouds pinned on it.
Unfortunately, this type of weather does not stay here for too long. Only in Spring (February – March) and Autumn (September – October). However, seasons have their own idiosyncrasies like this year the unseasonal rains have brought back the cold in spring. Oh! That brings me to Luisa’s invite for a Spring acrostic-
🌼🌼🌱🌼🌼
Sudden , swift
Palette of vibrant colours
Resonates with the melodies…cuckoo’s calls
Inspired by the soothing warmth
Nestling alongwith a mild chill…. and a sky
Gossiping with the flaky clouds
🌼🌼🌱🌼🌼
🌼🌼🌱🌼🌼
Prancing , scampering , dancing
Rippling with a grace so
Intoxicating… bewitching
Maiden in a swirly vibrance of
Astounding colours
Visually stunning.. the gardens…boulevards
Echoing the evergreen songs of
Rejuvenation…renewal …growth
Ascendance of SPRING …the enchantress !!
🌼🌼🌱🌼🌼
Having said that, during my stay in Bangalore, which has a mild climate throughout the year, I found it unsuitable for my constitution which proves what we dream of may not actually be beneficial for us.
Nonetheless, I’d like to imagine myself living in an igloo in Alaska. Or in an oasis in the midst of the burning African desert. Or it can be Thar as well closer home – rich with heritage monuments and unforgettable history of romances, warfares, invasions, lost love, devotion and blood curdling revenge!! What about with the Penguins in Antarctica? In the Himalayas with the Yetis? In the deep inaccessible forests with the human hater tribes or the formidable ravines of the dacoit infested Chambal?
But my favourite is the sea side not only because the weather there is mild but also because I can spend endless hours in the beach counting waves provided the beach is not overcrowded or ill-maintained. So many ifs and buts, huh?
I guess mountains are equally majestic – silent, brooding , meditative. I remember while visiting the Dadhikar Fort, near Alwar, Rajasthan, standing on the terrace, we could hear a group of ladies singing on the other mountain facing the Fort. They were going in a row to the temple for some evening ritual. Too far from where we were, we could only hear their song reverberating in the mountainous pathway but not see them. It was ethereal! Goosebumps!!
Have you been to Kalimpong? It is the perfect setting for murder mysteries and spooky stuff. Foggy, rainy, overcast sky, slippery paths winding through hills, cottages with glass windows requiring constant defogging to look out. And it’s cheese, momos, thukpa and tea !! The hilly district has been the backdrop of many cinematic narratives!! Of course the thrilling, suspenseful ones!!!
Contentment is packaged with acceptance and vice versa. Acceptance of what we have. And value it for its inherent worth. Post that imagination overdrive, down on earth, I love the eccentric and extreme weather of where I am now. The variant and ever changing canvas of the sky from season to season. The sudden unexpected U-turns of the moody weather defying the proclamations of the Met Department. Spring wedding rain. Rain giving way to scorching and then humid summers. Autumn sparing us with a short respite. And then that bone chilling winter with its cold waves, hail showers and biting winds.
All that varying , contrasting palette colours my sky. And that whimsical sky is mine, all said and done.
The sky now…
Postscript : The cuckoo is calling out so sweetly even on this gloomy day of drizzles and downpours.
Neelabho Bagchi is an illustrator. He is greatly inspired by another senior illustrator who works under the pen name Abadhut Chaki. When Neelabho’s friend, Poritosh, tells him that he has seen Abadhut Chaki’s residential house in Madhupur, which is viewable from the Shimulpur Halt Station on the way, Neelabho too wants to visit the place once to know his role model a little more.
Poritosh tells him that Abadhut Chaki’s house is unoccupied and no one stays there any longer. Strangely, the railway station of Madhupur (Shimulpur Halt Station) has a weird nickname – Suicide Halt – because many have committed suicide on its railway lines including the great Abadhut Chaki.
Neelabho makes up his mind to go to Madhupur. His choice of career has been influenced, rather shaped, by the sketches of Abadhut Chaki. Perhaps there are still a few of his art works preserved in his home which nobody has seen yet. He wants to curate an album of Chaki’s illustrations as a tribute to his mentor.
Neelabho takes the trip on a weekend. The house, as Poritosh has said, comes to view as he exits the Shimulpur Halt Station. Upon arrival at the gate the precinct looks desolate. But after a lot of hollering, a servant appears – Michhrilal – who has been taking care of the property after Abadhut Chaki’s untimely demise. Neelabho explains why he is there and wants to know if he can see Chaki’s works. To his disappointment Neelabho comes to know that Chaki has destroyed all his works before his death.
As evening is approaching, Neelabho wants to know if there is a hotel nearby where he can spend the night and wander a bit around. Michhrilal generously offers him a room in the house itself but cautions him not to prowl around at night. As Michhrilal leaves for home in the village, two miles away from the backwater town, Neelabho decides to take a walk to the station.
The halt station seems unmanned. No locals or goods trains pass this line. Very few barring one or two Express trains pull up at this station. The entire area bears a deserted look. Not even a menial worker is seen to be around let alone railway employees. Neelabho, in a pensive mood, sits on a bench to pass some time.
As dusk falls and he is about to leave a middle aged bespectacled gentleman happens to stroll in. He pleasantly greets Neelabho and introduces himself as Aniket Chatterjee, a local who used to know Abadhut Chaki. Neelabho tells him why he is there, his disappointment in not finding any of Chaki’s works at his residence and that he is leaving empty handed the next day after spending the night in Chaki’s house.
Aniket tells him that there is still some brilliant work of Chaki remaining in the house. He knows where his sketch book is. Michhrilal, he says, is loyal to Chaki and does not disclose this piece of information to anyone. But Aniket promises to come by at night and show Neelabho the masterpieces which will prove once again what a talented illustrator Chaki is.
Neelabho is grateful for this unexpected turn of event and promises to wait for Aniket however late he may be. Night deepens. Neelabho keeps waiting. Aniket does not arrive. Neelabho is sure Aniket must have forgotten his promise. But no. At about midnight there’s a knock on the door. Aniket has come.
Aniket seems to be well conversant with the whereabouts. He takes Neelabho from room to room showing where Chaki used to sit and illustrate, where he burnt down his sketches and finally to the cupboard wherein the sketch book is kept containing his last works. As Neelabho opens the sketch book which has five of Chaki’s awe inspiring drawings he is stunned to find that each of the artist’s sketch corresponds to the views around the premise which surprisingly pulsates to life page after page.
Aniket tells Neelabho to take a walk with him and open the pages as he reaches the vantage points from where these have been drawn to compare them with the live scenes in order to fully comprehend the extent of the master’s brilliance and talent – the window from where the moon is smiling down on the trees, the short wooden walkway over the narrow stream between the station and the house and finally to the station, no, the railway tracks on which rushes the Express train at night – his ultimate signature of stupefying artistry.
Neelabho follows Aniket hypnotically drawn by the enchanting spell of the scenes so immaculately captured page by page not realising he is moving inch by inch towards his own end….
Aankar Khata or The Sketch Book, a short story by Himadri Kishore Dasgupta, is a spell binding tale of afterlife revenge brought to life by engrossing audio narration on Sunday Suspense on Radio Mirchi.
Bengalis have a fetish for ghost and detective stories. No wonder I choose to go back to these genres again and again. As the caption suggests, Radio Mirchi does an enthralling job of audio adaptations of such stories of master wordsmiths.
A Little About The Author:
Born in 1973, Himadri Kishore Dasgupta emerged as a promising storyteller in 2005. This story has been taken from Sandesh Magazine (2018 publication). Sandesh is a children’s magazine started by Satyajit Ray’s grandfather, Upendra Kishore Roy Chowdhury, and later managed (after his death) by his son Sukumar Roy (Satyajit Ray’s father) and thereafter by his grandson, Satyajit Ray himself.
Trivia:
It is to be noted that this short story probably predates the inception and pervasion of the internet. Abadhut Chaki presumably does not have a public profile or domain. His personal details are little known to his readers and admirers.
Public internet access was officially launched in India on August 15, 1995, by the state-owned Videsh Sanchar Nigam Limited (VSNL). While public access began in 1995, the internet first arrived in India in 1986 through the Educational Research Network (ERNET), which was restricted to academic and research communities. The service was initially launched in Bombay, Delhi, Calcutta, and Madras.
Since 2005, the growth of the broadband sector in the country accelerated but remained below the growth estimates of the government and related agencies due to resource issues in last-mile access, which were predominantly wired-line technologies – (Source: Wikipedia).
All said and done, this is a scoop of Saturday spook to regale you all amidst the mundanity of life.