Where is my home?

I was discussing with my friend if adapting to the country you live in is bad. Why should it be?

If you are enamored with a place so much that you will accept poor quality of living just to be in it, then you are making a mistake in my humble opinion. But you can be successful in any part of the world. Boundaries are man-made constraints. Even race is a social construct, a weak proxy for genetic diversity.

Then where is my home? Who are my people?
Home is where you feel welcomed and valued. Sometimes, it can be thousands of miles away from the place you were born in. And my people are those who cheer for me, who motivate me to do better, who help me evolve. My home is right here, in my present.

Why are we friends?

Some of my friends replied:

Soma Basak
Because I like you

Shweta Yadav
Because you are a girl with imagination! And you use that to be creative! That's attractive!

Chandrima Roy
We were classmates and got along well back then and it good to stay connected now too though through FB.  Given a chance, I would definitely meet u.

Tanuka Bhattacharjee
We met for the first time in Dibyendu Sir's house, and we jelled along right from the first meeting. I found you, Jaya and Bijaya to be very simple, jovial and friendly...And gradually started counting all three you among my friends.

Priyanka Mehta
We became FB friends as we all do as a half remembered acquaintances.
We became actual friends as we liked the same things, felt strongly about certain topics and overall loved what the other was excited about.

And then I like your soul, who you are as a person and you're someone I definitely want to have in my life. There's always a flow of beautiful energy full of affection.

Of course, I love your food, makeup, and selfies

Suryatapa Chakravarty
A story a day, that's how it started, ages ago

Saikat Bose
One spring evening, as you ran a high temperature, you decided to venture out in the chill, to witness two wandering souls slowly walking towards each other... As you rolled up your eyes in despair watching the slo-mo action... You decided to kill the guy walking from the other end...   the reason that the guy is still alive and is typing this... shows the souls of dragons are still alive. That's how the dragon souls met.

Sonia Dey
Because you are one of my best critic and that badass personality I am in love with!

Swati Kar
Because u r an independent lady, were a nice senior to me and I love reading ur food blog.

Sejuti Sengupta
Only because we could get drunk on JP Licks's Kahlua ice cream

Raikishori Ganguly
Years ago you showed me two fingers & asked me how many fingers I saw.... You taught me to reflect & nudged me to think beyond the obvious but we were friends long ago... It feels like we were born friends!

Soumyajit Dutta Roy
Let's just say I was a misogynist pig back then (when i was 14 / 15) ..and Raikishori Ganguly and you helped me change that view...

Paramita Paul
Bcoz u r a well wisher and not my enemy

Sudeshna Ghosh
Because you are you!

If I am ever feeling sad, I will always come back to this post to remember how my friends found me. 

A visit to Chihuly Garden and Glass, Seattle

In the heart of the Emerald City, Seattle, there is a glass art exhibition showcasing the life's work of Dale Chihuly. Born in the Pacific Northwest, Chihuly began experimenting with glass blowing in 1969 and later traveled to Venice to work at the Venini factory on the island of Murano. The world famous Murano glassmakers still lead the world in the art of glassblowing.

I first saw a glass museum on our way to Niagra Falls with my friends on a 4th July weekend, way back in 2008. Then, SG and I received two gorgeous Murano glass centerpieces in 2010, as a wedding gift from an Italian family friend. I have left it for safekeeping with my mother-in-law until we find a nice spot to house them.

In 1976,  Chihuly had a head-on car accident in which he flew through the windshield, got severe cuts in the face and got blinded in the left eye leading to his loss of depth perception. Then in 1979, in a bodysurfing accident, he dislocated his right shoulder. Chihuly relinquished his gaffer position and let others work on his designs. He started to communicate his vision by drawing forms which became an important part of his self-expression. In an interview in 2006, he said,'Once I stepped back, I liked the view.'

Glass Forest

Organic forms created by letting glass down from a ladder

Mille Fiori (a thousand flowers)

Inspired by Chihuly's mother's garden

Mille Fiori, in Italian, also refers to a type of honey gathered from several flowers

Growing up in Tacoma, Washington, Chihuly often beachcombed and found Japanese fishing net floats along the beaches of Puget Sound. The Ikebana and Float Boats were inspired by this childhood experience.  In the mid-1990s, he was in Finland when he threw his glass forms into the local river near the glass factory there.

One day, Dale woke up and said that he wanted to hang glass chandeliers in his favorite city, Venice. He had seen a chandelier in Barcelona in a low lying ceiling. It inspired him to make the chandelier series.

Similar to a floppy bowl I made in BAGI, these art pieces are clouds of bright color

A reflection of the Seattle Space Needle on a glass ball in the garden

Humans of Silicon Valley: JP

Have you ever stopped to think that beyond the visible spectrum of our universe, lie millions and millions of other galaxies, more vibrant and warm than the one we live in? Maybe there is an alien life more intelligent than ours. However, as Calvin (Bill Watterson) would say: The surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that it has never tried to contact us. But what if through a magical portal you could reach another life like yours but equally different?

I had the good fortune of meeting JP recently. A 40-year-old French-American with a little twinkle in his eyes. He lives in Bay Area with his husband and two kittens-Princess and Alien. He plays the harpsichord, loves Baroque music, and works in the software industry. He dropped out of high school when he was 17, taught himself to code in BASIC, Pascal, x86 assembly,  c, and c++. One of the reasons he moved from France was that it was easier to get a job in the US without a formal degree. But even in the liberal bosom of Silicon Valley, there are some impediments to overcome, for example, in companies where you need higher education to become a direct hire and enter the tier system of designation and salaries.

When I told him that I love my job because I have all the creative freedom I need, he lamented that the software industry is not what it used to be and engineers are having less and less to do with the creative process while the managers make the decisions about what needs to be done and how. He wants to change fields but he has already invested so many years in IT security, and it is not always that easy. He will probably have to take a pay cut too.

Though he was born in the US, he grew up in a village in France with a population of about 5000. He biked to school through the woods. His father was a Particle Physicist who worked for the government.

I asked him, ' Don't you feel suffocated in this jungle of concrete?'

‘I don't live in this jungle,’ he said with a sheepish smile.

'Of course, I forget, you live in the hills!' I laughed.

Then he shared an interesting anecdote about how his next-door neighbor had to dig his own well because the Santa Clara County line ends just at his place. He talked about the renovations he made to his place recently and advised me against investing in properties in Florida and putting too many eggs in one basket. ‘There are several cost disadvantages to investing in different locations too,' he explained.

He married in 2013 after the US Supreme Court (in a 5-4 decision in the United States v. Windsor) declared that part of the federal Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) which defined marriage solely as a legal union between a man and a woman was unconstitutional.

He told me how he fought with the DMV in 2008 to get his vanity plate 'HIV POZ'. When he first applied, his request was rejected. At that time, the story caught the attention of some local news agencies. 'My three minutes of fame,' he joked. A DMV spokesperson had said that a team of personnel reviews vanity plates and determines whether submissions are inappropriate or offensive, from degrading sexual terms to negative references.

JP said, 'I don’t think it’s something you need to hide from or be ashamed of. I wanted to break the stigma associated with it. HIV negative means that the test conducted did not show the presence of HIV virus or any kind of antibodies. However, receiving a single negative test result is not confirmation that the individual does not currently have HIV, as tests have various window periods and need to be repeated for confirmation over time depending on one's sexual history.

All types of HIV tests have a window period, which varies from 1 to 12 weeks. 3% of HIV infections still show up negative on the most common screening test, the antibody test, after 12 weeks. This means even if you go get tested today, a negative result doesn't prove you are actually currently negative. It means you were negative as of 1 to 12 weeks ago with 97% confidence. The test can only confirm if you are currently positive, but cannot conclusively prove if you are currently negative.'

He sent me links to his blog, the treatments available, and advice for sexually active gay men.

‘How do you people react to the vanity plate on the streets?’, I asked.

Most people react positively, he said. ‘Some throw high fives on the freeway, a lot of people take pictures that I can see in my mirror. Many pedestrians on the street take pics too, but there are also assholes who cut me off for no reason.’ Then he shared a thread on an online forum which had an excerpt from a news article featuring his case and  some comments like:

‘And, of course, he drive's a Prius. Not only do we have to fear being run off the road by a Prius now we have to fear HIV POZ Priuses as well!’ 

‘Hope he is never in an accident that requires on scene medical assistance.’ 

‘Way to set yourself up for a hate crime, bro. There's being open, and then there's painting a target on yourself.’ 

‘If your car gets rear-ended by the aids Prius, is it gay too now?’

I don't think it bothers him anymore. He lives a very private life and keeps to himself. And tries to educate people who are willing to listen.

(With permission)

Kinship

I think of her often. A petite woman in her forties, with bright vermillion on her forehead. I knew she was a Bengali from the shankha and pola she was wearing. Along with her husband and three daughters aged 16, 12, and 6, she had migrated from Bangladesh to NCR for better prospects. I heard her say once that her husband's brothers had cheated him off their paternal property.

She looked like she had seen better days. But in a new country and with language barriers, she wasn't left with many options. She didn't speak any Hindi, and she needed the money to help raise her kids. Someone from her neighborhood cleaned my house every day. She asked me if she needed someone to cook for her. I ate most of my meals outside or at the office canteen, and didn't need any more domestic help, but she looked like she could use some help, at least, until she found some footing. Reluctantly, I asked her to start the next day.

What she lacked in culinary skills, she made up in enthusiasm. She made sure that she came early at the break of dawn and cooked whatever she could before I went to work. Once I was late, and she insisted I don't skip breakfast. I asked her to feed me while I got dressed, She started to weep.

I asked her what was the matter, and she said: আমারে ঘিন্না করে না ? (Don't I disgust you?)

The question took me by surprise. Why would I be disgusted? She was tidier than some of my co-workers. Her saree might not have been expensive, but it was always clean. If anything, I feared that she might think I am a spoilt brat, too lazy to grab a bite before I started the day.

Soon, she picked a few words in Hindi, enough to have a functional conversation. That got her more work. But she always found time for me. I often got late at work, so I gave her a spare key to my house. She was trustworthy. The only thing she ever misplaced was my passport before my TOEFL exams. I had to reschedule. Otherwise, she had been most helpful during my last few months in India.

During my long hours of Full Length Test (FLT) practice, she slinked in and out of the house, reminding her daughters who sometimes accompanied her: দিদি পড়াশুনা করে, ডিসটার্ব করবা না।  (Didi is studying. Don't disturb.)

I was practicing to sit for 4 hours more than anything else. GMAT, like any other professional exam, was an endurance test.

One day, she told me,' দিদি আমি একটা বাড়িতে কাজ করি। অনেক গুলা  ছেলে এক সঙ্গে থাকে। এর মধ্যে একজন  কইসে আমার বড় মেয়েরে বিয়া করব। ওরে সিনেমা দেখাইতে চায়।  (Didi, I work in a house where a lot of young guys live together. One of them said that he wants to marry my eldest. He even wants to take her out to the movies.)

I stopped breathing for a second. What if a scoundrel was trying to exploit these good people? Then I admonished myself. Maybe someone had good intentions. Her eldest daughter was exceptionally beautiful.  Maybe someone had fallen in love with her. I expressed my pleasure and smiled benignly. Hoping to God that her dreams came true.

A few weeks later, I came home to see her daughter sitting in the dark. I switched on the lights and asked where her mother was. She said that her mother was running a fever, and so she was doing the rounds instead. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying.

I asked her what happened, but she kept crying on. I held her to my bosom. I think I knew why.

Briddhasya taruni bharja (বৃদ্ধস্য তরুণী ভার্যা)

Yesterday, a 50-year old Tunisian man drove our cab from San Francisco airport to home. Among other things, he told us that he married a 28-year old girl in his native country in May. I congratulated him a bit too soon. He lamented how ungrateful the new generation is. He sends $1,000 each month to his new bride (which is almost 2000 in Tunisian Dinar, more than a PhD earns in his home country), but she never thanks him. If he sends her an iPhone 3, she asks for an iPhone 6. Last time, she wanted a $250 jeans from True Religion. Her extravagance has led him to have second thoughts about bringing her to the US. He opined: 'Now she spends $1000 a month. Who knows, once she is here, she might end up expending $10,000. I bought her a $10,000 Renault. Next thing I know- she might want a Ferrari!'

The first thought that came to my mind was- does she know that he is just a cab driver and not a Bay Area billionaire? The demands seemed excessive for a 28-year old. You'd expect more maturity. Then I considered what could be the possible incentive for a young girl to marry someone almost twice her age when it is not love. She probably expected to be taken care of like a queen. What followed was rude awakening. I have seen separations that stem from unfulfilled financial expectations. It is especially sad when it happens in a love marriage where you ought to know what to expect. Nothing should come as a complete surprise.

Even a generation ago, some parents obsessed over an NRI groom, with no particular concern for a background check. Whether he is an alcoholic, a gambler, a womanizer, or plain old wife-beater- who could tell? We had a joke in the family that a suitable groom for some parents is an 'onion cutter' in America. But parents ought to make more informed decisions in today's connected world.

My father told me a story that was published in The New York Times some years ago. For fourteen years, a man worked hard to save enough to bring his four sons from Ghana to the US. When he became a US citizen, officials suggested that he took a DNA test to establish the relationship with the boys. But results showed that only the eldest of the four boys was his biological son. Now besides struggling to accept that his wife had been unfaithful and the children he loved as his own aren't his, and he might have to give up on the dream he had been working on for years- he had the added onus to prove that the boys are of his deceased wife. He didn't  want to abandon the kids that weren't his. My father wondered if our friendly Tunisian cabbie might suffer the same fate. I hope not.

Dr. Kalam

Dr. Kalam was the chief guest of Tripura University convocation in 2001. Boro pishi (my eldest paternal aunt) had completed her Ph.D in Zoology. My paternal grandfather had passed away in January that year. Though we missed Grandpa on the occasion, I was elated to accompany her when the degree was conferred. It felt like an honor. We met some of her colleagues-professors of the university- one of whom exclaimed upon the similarities in our facial features. It runs in the family; we laughed.

But most of all, I remember seeing Dr. Kalam in person before he became the 11th President of India in 2002. What a humble man! You want to touch the sleeve of his coat just to know what greatness feels like. Not all politicians or leaders can command respect and admiration so effortlessly. What makes a man great? I am still trying to figure.

Boro pishi wanted me to get a doctorate when I grew up. I thought so too. Even after my MBA, I wanted to be a Doctor in Business Administration. But other things happened. I don't know if I will get a doctorate, but we share respect for a man. An educated but self-effacing man, who worked as a scientist in DRDO and ISRO. But most importantly - someone who was a genuine human being.

How are you?

When I first came to US, and the employees at the local supermarket  (Shaw's) checkout asked me, 'Hey! How are you?', I thought they meant it. I was lonely during my first semester in Boston, didn't have many friends and even the practiced greetings at a business transaction made me feel grateful for the chance at human interaction. Hence, I always replied with a smile, said I am fine (no matter how dog-tired) and asked how the other person was.

Then I saw them do it to other customers and felt jealous. I wasn't a special case. They asked it out of habit. Some of the customers did not even respond. However, I had my favorites at the checkout, like Rosie, whose aisle would be the one I preferred to check out from even if it meant waiting in a longer queue. When I  didn't see her for some days, I got worried. After a few weeks, she was back and I enquired about her well being. She said that she had been ill. She looked tired and her usual cheerfulness was missing. On my next visit, I bought her some flowers, chocolates and a thank-you card. She was pleasantly surprised and thanked me profusely. The store manager saw what happened and told the others about it. The other employers smiled at me as I walked away. I wondered if she would miss me if one fine day I did not show up anymore. 

A few days later, I fell sick and I kept to my room. When I finally recovered, I went out to get some salmon at the same store. The guy at the seafood counter remembered me: 'Haven't seen you in a while, were you away?', he asked.

My takeaway:

1. Not everybody who asks you 'How are you' wants to know.

2. If you want to do something impulsive for someone, do it. Show your affection.

3. Someone will always miss you. 

Ajju Dadu

I came across him on Facebook group  and the liking was instant. He is one of those people I sent a friend request to with the intent to know him better. Ajju dadu (dadu= grandpa in Bengali), as we lovingly call him,  is a fascinating person. He was born in Rangoon, Burma in 1933. After Rangoon was bombed, his family fled to Calcutta as refugees by boat, reaching in 1942.

Dui purush

When he was 11, he acted in Dui Purush (1945) and shared the screen with one of the most veneered actors of Bengali cinema- Chhabi Biswas. Fortunately, I found a copy on YouTube and played the movie for him when we had him over for lunch in October 2013. Sixty-eight years later, he still remembered how beautiful Chandrabati Devi was.

The wars

'During WWII, a lot of GIs on the Burma front got sick with tropical diseases. There was a U.S. Army hospital, close to my home in Calcutta. One evening, I was returning from a swim at the Dhakuria Lake (now Rabindra Sarobar) when I saw a lonely GI sitting by the water. I went up, spoke to him, and invited him for dinner. My mother was delighted. She had three sons in the Air Force (two had died in the war). Soon, our home became a center for lonely, young GIs. I was into pen-pals at that time and one of the GIs I connected with was from Lewiston, ME. We corresponded for several years.

In 1955, I was in Delhi. My pen-friend’s father sent me a letter letting me know that he and his wife would be visiting Delhi and they wished to meet me at their hotel. I did so and found out that he was an economist and was in India on a State department assignment. I told them that I wished to come to the U.S. and they suggested I sent them my resume.  I did so and I received a certificate sponsoring me to come to U.S. It was signed by Dr. Charles F. Phillips, President, Bates College, Lewiston, ME.

I went to the U.S. Consulate in Calcutta and the Vice Consul, a huge, affable African- American man, told me that the Indian quota was full as, until 1956, Indians could not become citizens, due to the Asian Exclusion Act.  Therefore, all the Indians in the U.S. were lined up to get their green cards. I was literally on my way out at the door when the official said, “If you were born in India, you'd have to wait six years”. I told him that I was born in Burma. He said, “That quota is open”.  I got my Green Card in a week.

I spent a semester at Bates College, Lewiston ME and then volunteered for the draft.  I served two years in Georgia and North Carolina, in the then segregated South.'

His first love

'I went to Northwestern to study journalism. I worked part-time waiting at tables at the Mather Home for retired women.  One of my fellow workers and students was a young woman. We were the most unlikely couple but we became friends soon.  Karen was my first love.  We celebrated our birthdays together, her twentieth and my twenty-sixth, on July 2, 1959, as she was born on July 1 and I was born on July 3.  Our parting was bitter.  She went on to become a famous Hollywood film actress.

Three years ago, I had a dream that Karen was sick and dying and I had gone to visit her. I dismissed the dream. In July of 2013, I googled her name and found to my horror that she was dying of cancer, was broke and was soliciting donation on “Go Fund Me”. I sent some money and also wrote a message to her private site. She replied with her personal email and included her phone number. It was a warm and loving message and she asked me to call her. I did not do so, to my eternal regret, for complicated reasons. She died early in August 2013.'

I came down with a back-ache and went to an acupuncturist, who asked me if I had been under stress. I told her about Karen. She had seen her movies and knew one of Karen’s close friends, who lived in New York. The next time I went to see Abigail, the acupuncturist, I took an album of photos of Karen that I had taken in July 1959, also one of me taken by Karen.  She asked me if I had considered sending them to her family and I said I did not know her family.  By the time my treatment was over, she called Karen’s friend in NY who called her husband, who said he would be delighted to have the pictures.  I sent the pictures to Stephen, a movie producer.  He called me and thanked me warmly. He said that Karen had mentioned me often and that I was mentioned in her memoirs, that she completed the night before she died.  Stephen had been married to Karen for 24 years. He was 23 years her junior.  Karen was 74 when she died.

I left Chicago in 1963 and lived 25 years in SF. I got married and my daughter was born in 1967.  I took an early retirement from working as a Unit Supervisor in Child Protective Services for 25 years.  I have had a number of jobs since then: nine years with severely emotionally disturbed adolescents at Lincoln Child Center, two years at the SF VA Medical Center, two years at East Bay Recovery, a year counseling federal parolees, two years at Community Health for Asian American. My last part-time job was with Catholic Charities in Oakland until my program was cut short due to budget problems.  Since then I have been working part-time with family survivors of murder victims. Presently, I work with three Latina families who have been victims of violent crime. I have also worked with a French-speaking Haitian refugee family.'

Swimming with the dolphins
Dadu suggested  that we should try Wild Quest: Swimming with the Dolphins in the Bahamas. He said, 'If you don't pursue them, they'll come to you.' He was on an island named Bimini, where incidentally, most people had Hindu names like Aatma etc. Explaining his love for dolphins, he said:

When I was eight, Rangoon was bombed and we fled to Calcutta, our ancestral city, as refugees. As our boat streamed out of the Irrawaddy River into the Bay of Bengal, a school of dolphins leaped in an arc out of the water. I asked my mother, "What are those?" and she replied, "Those are shushuk (Bengali for dolphin)." "What does it mean?" It means we shall have peace in our lives from now on."

Asha- an interview with Padmanava Sen

Millennials are often cited as the Peter Pan generation who prefer to delay their rite into adulthood, shun responsibility, and feel entitled to privileges they had while growing up- without having to work for it. But  I also know people about my age who commit their energy to several causes like: urban agriculture, sustainability, education etc.

One such person is Padmanava Sen, a batch mate of SG. I met him in California through common friends. This is an interview with him about volunteering in general and his association with an international non-profit called Asha.

1. Tell us something about Asha.
Asha, which means "hope", is dedicated to the support of basic education of underprivileged children in India. Asha for Education is an international non-profit organization and has around 50 chapters in US, nine in India and 5 elsewhere. Asha's primary focus is on education because we at Asha believe that education is the most effective means to solve the problems of poverty, population explosion, and to bring about long-term socioeconomic change. Since its inception in 1991, “Asha for Education” has supported more than 800 educational projects in India disbursing more than $26 Million USD. In 2013 alone, around 170 projects are supported with 13+ crores INR. Asha runs completely on volunteers and around 1000 volunteers across the World make it happen.

2. How did you get associated with it?
I joined Asha Atlanta Chapter in June 2006 after seeing a flyer in university notice board (Georgia Tech). After the first meeting, I was more or less sure I am not leaving Asha anytime soon. The reason that it is 100% volunteer driven, decentralized and non-hierarchical, made the decision very easy. I have moved out from Atlanta in 2010, I am still involved with almost all Atlanta projects (around 6 currently) till date. In 2009, I started my life in Central Projects Team with Cyclone Aila relief and currently coordinate across projects for RTE and other related issues being in India. In last 5 years, I have served 2 years in the board of directors as the Director of projects which gave a lot of exposure given the ~200 project portfolio of Asha.

Asha has not only helped me to stay connected to my country during my stay in USA it has helped me to realize the important things one can do in their spare time in the spirit of volunteerism.


3. What advice do you have for those who want to get involved?
Do not believe that everything will fall in place unless we get directly involved in the implementation of laws, in the education system, in women empowerment, to provide basic necessities to every human being on earth and in the process of giving equal opportunity to every child irrespective of gender, caste, birthplace and birth family.

Do not underestimate your own potential and overestimate the current systems in place to take care of everyone. Stop thinking about doing something and act; find 2-3 hours a week to volunteer for a good cause, a cause that you think is important. While you get involved, put the shoes of the underprivileged and think what is important to them. The definition of requirement should come from their side not from your viewpoint. Get the culture of giving and volunteering in your systems and teach the next generation to the same. Unless we help the unlucky ones, every success is tainted and every moment of happiness is incomplete.

Suggested further reading: His blog post Why volunteer

Oh look!

Teen boy (came running and stopped in front of me): Pretty dress.
Me: Thank you !
Teen (to his father): Look Daddy..
Father: I know.. pretty dress.

And I realized the kid might have been 'special'. Well, at least to him I had something good. Sometimes, I feel these people are much better than the 'sensible' ones who knowingly hurt others to satisfy their egos..

Change

I was having a conversation with my father when I mentioned my impression about a certain person. I knew him years ago, and I always saw him as a loser who stalked me. I opined ,'Even if he becomes Bill Gates, he'll still be that loser for me. I just can't get rid of that image from my mind.'

'People change' he suggested. I agreed,' Of course, they do. I did.  SG did. But I believe that people have certain core values. A dishonest person will always be dishonest. A liar will always be a victim of habit.'

Dad said that only people with low IQ can't change. Criminology theories indicate that criminals seldom change their modus operandi. By critical reasoning, you might have already arrived at what I am going to say- people take up crime only when they have failed at everything else.

Now, modus operandi  acts as an identifier of the perpetrator because certain features will be unique. Criminals seldom evolve (thank God for that- an intelligence criminal, say like a real-life Professor Moriarty would be a menace to the society. And we all know-we don't need any more twisted minds in this world.)
A cat burglar who jumps the fence, gets in through the window, steals jewels and sells them in the flea market will always do that. Dad says, in his experience, those thieves will never take a stack of cash even if it's lying right there. And if someone has to- they literally sh*t in their pants. I thought of all those videos featuring 'World's dumbest criminals', and realized  it wasn't so rare then.

I also reasoned: I'm not stupid (as far as grades or deadlines go). Then if I want to change something about my life or behavior - should it be impossible? Do I need to sh*t in my pants in fear of it? No.

And I'm not going to feel sorry for myself for the rest of my life for not having tried enough. That is for losers. I may lack a lot of things, but I have never found myself not achieving something I have put my heart to. A sense of personal failure can arise only when I have not tried enough. If I have done my best, there is nothing left to do except wait for certain circumstances to change. If I have not- I have no right to waste time in brooding over things instead of doing something.

Here's to change. And may we all be the change we want in our lives.

The musings of an ex-pat on bereavement

We always think we have enough time. We are wrong.

I lost two very dear people in the short span of two years- my paternal grandma (thakuma) and my maternal aunt (mashi). I envy those people who saw them in their deaths and have some sort of closure, because I still think of them and believe that when I visit home next time I will see them, and they will greet me with the deluge of kisses and hugs and genuine queries after my well-being.

'Home'. It means so different now. It isn't the place I was born in, not even the country. It is a place I always wanted to be in. And living here has its price. But unlike some who choose to regret living away from their families, I choose to make reasons to be where I am. There are beautiful people everywhere in this world. We just have to find them.

I was really sad on Saturday  morning when I received the news of mashi's cerebral stroke. But I had guests coming for dinner. JD and CD's visit was long due. JD brought us black forest (Schwarzwälder) cupcakes. The conversation kept my mind occupied, though I found myself wandering back to my childhood. They praised my cooking lavishly, and I felt they were being kind.

The following day MD arranged a picnic for us. Three families got together at Vasona Lake for a wonderful afternoon together. SG learned Fishing 101 from DR (a more elaborate post on this when we go out for fishing next time). MD and her 5-year old daughter had both hugged me when they saw me - I never felt I needed it more in my life.

I walked with the kid as she rode her bicycle by the lake. I tried to see things from her perspective as she asked about the cottony pulps floating in the air. I explained those were from the water reeds and it was a method of seed dispersal for the plants using the wind as a vector. I saw colorful bugs,  ducks and geese, and people in their sail boats, paddle boats and paddle boarding on surfboards. The cool breeze from the lake and the sunshine on my back felt so nice, I wondered why we didn't do it more often.  We played poker after lunch using two other deck of cards as currency. It was fun.  But I was still very distracted, I folded my cards even when I had a flush and bet heavily because I was curious to find a bluff. There was none.

Back home, I was tired but I still managed to make some vegetable pulao for dinner- like the kind I had taken to the picnic. It was different because I skipped a few ingredients including the ginger and rosewater, but it tasted good. Life is like that- things are never the same- but you find a way.

Today is Bengali New Year, and we invited SG's brother and sis-in-law for dinner. A family get-together will be nice. They have a 2-year old son whom I absolutely adore.

Everytime I lose someone dear, I think of the names they called me endearingly. Memories come flooding back. The little things become so precious. I know in my heart- no one can replicate the feeling I had- the warmth of their hugs, the way they told stories. But life has to go on, and we always have to find someone to love.

A very short story

I saw her for the first time when she interrupted my conversation with my colleague as she called out to him in the elevator, ‘Hello Chirag!’ Chirag avoided looking at her directly and squirmed uncomfortably, nodding half-heartedly. Later, I discovered that she had an interview scheduled with him and he was trying his best to pretend that he didn’t know the candidate personally. Chirag soon realized his mistake of making personal favors when her take-home salary was a lot more than her teammates, but her contribution to the team was less than zero. She not only seemed uninterested in her work, her attitude was morally calamitous to her peers. The complaints mounted, Chirag tore at what was remaining of his hair each day and regretted: ‘I should have never given her the job!’

Now, I am chronically inclined to see the silver lining in everyone, even if I have to tip my toe to the point of falling on my face. I tried to console Chirag saying, ‘Maybe it is just a phase. We should watch her performance over the next quarter.’ But even in my optimistic heart, I knew there was slim chance of her waking up one day and completely transforming her work ethics.

Then she got pregnant. Usually, women take a couple of months off from their jobs for maternity leave. But she was absent for eight months and then we heard that she had a miscarriage. When she got back to office, she came back with a worse mood- picking an argument at the slightest provocation. I think she sensed that Chirag was intending to sack her, so she applied for resignation with a notice period of 3 months. It was her way of getting back at everyone because those 3 months she did nothing but incur a cost to the project. We were relieved when she finally said goodbye.

A few months later, Chirag pinged me on Gmail chat asking if I remembered her. Bile filled me up from inside and I started complaining about what a headache she had been, and I offered, ‘She must be working for her husband’s firm now- nice and cozy.’ By then I had come to know that her husband was a corporate honcho at a consulting firm.

Chirag kept quiet for a while and then typed out carefully:
‘She died in an accident last week…’

I was taken aback, expecting everything but this. Now I was feeling guilty of having spoken ill of the dead. I wanted to share this with someone but did not know whom to share it with.

Once upon a time...

If I lived in a fairy tale, I would have looked exactly like this.

Disturbia

Last week, I was very upset by the news of Steve Jobs’s death, now confirmed as respiratory arrest owing to complications from pancreatic cancer he was long battling. I had not known him personally or even as an employer, but his 2005 Stanford commencement speech had inspired me at a time when I most needed it, and for that I felt a certain kind of gratitude towards him.

I was also disturbed by the events at a cement factory in Cupertino where a man shot dead three of his colleagues and wounded several others when he opened fire in a staff meeting. He was a single parent with two kids. Someone who had authored a self-help book, reported for local news, and worked at the cement factory for 15 years. After widespread panic and one of Silicon Valley's most massive manhunts, he succumbed to his own shot in the head.

Two very different deaths. But the obsession of a certain segment of media with the gory details of the later event, instead of a healthy discussion on what is a social tragedy, was disturbing. Not as globally known or mourned as the death of a tech pioneer, but indicative of a disease that lurks in the society to spring on good,god-fearing (from interviews) people on a Wednesday morning at 4 am. Why did he lose his temper to such an extreme?

Recently I read somewhere about how poets and artists fear their passing would be 'quite unnoticed'. The Fall of Icarus by Brueghel, and Musee des Beaux Arts by Auden have spoken well of human indifference. The first time I saw the painting, I wondered why the perspective of the painting is such that the fall and the consequent death of Icarus is an insignificant aspect in it. Now, I understand and see the beauty of it.

The Fall of Icarus by Pieter Brueghel the Elder

Raksha Bandhan

Raksha Bandhan or the bond of protection is primarily observed to celebrate the bond between brothers and sisters where the sister ties a rakhi or sacred knot around the wrist of the brother and he vows to protect her through life. The brother could be related by blood or be a muh bolah one. My post is about the later.

There are several historical mentions of the rakhi-bond; as a kid, I read about Krishna-Draupadi, Karnavati, the queen of Chitor and Humayun, the Mughal emperor. There was a time when it meant something. But I have become a cynic over the years.

A psychoanalysis session might yield the following as a causal event of my attitude:

A boy (A) in my class had a crush on a girl(B), everyone knew about it - including the
girl. On Rakhi, the greatest fear of a boy was to get a rakhi from someone for whom he had a romantic predisposition. Many skipped school  on that particular day for the same. However, A was not so fortunate. When classes got over, B got hold of A and tied a rakhi round his wrist. I saw his face. He waited until she turned her back, took it off, threw it in the ground and stomped on it like a maniac, with anger so real that it hurt me even to watch him.

Many girls have resorted to this technique. When a certain undesirable wooer tries to seek affection, the girl waits till rakhi to crush all his dreams. I am a woman but I feel it is foul play. I can understand the fear can be real for some who know the havoc unrequited love can create, but trying to extinguish feelings by spray painting a pseudo-relation? You can't force anyone to love or unlove. This age old ceremony became an arrangement for emotional castration. Worse still, I saw a rakhi brother and sister date- something equivalent to incest- at east in my books.

I am not a syngenesophobic, but I hardly ever call anyone my 'brother' until I really mean it. I have tried calling one of my very old friends,'Dada'( elder brother in Bangla) on several occasions, because I see him that way. But I have noticed he feels offended by it and protests vehemently. I will never know if he dislikes it because of the age connotation or because he thinks it makes him feel like a asexual being. It is the tragedy of a generation that has seen sex appeal being overrated in media and probably thinks sex is the only way to connect.

Whatever the reason- my only supplication is - girls, please don't use a rakhi as a protection from the one you are tying it to- it disrespects the sentiments associated with it. And boys (not men- they know)- don't try too hard to capitalize on your sex appeal- there are a lot of relations worth more than that.

To catch a thief

First year of hostel life had its charm- the first time I was away from home- and the only birthday when my seniors and classmates stood me up against a wall and threw eggs at me to celebrate it. It was a year of discovery- of the beauty of some people and the ugliness in the hearts of some. It was a year that made me realize that everything wasn’t black and white. Sometimes, my heart aches to think of the naiveté with which I viewed the world back then, and the fearlessness I fostered in my heart. I believed I could do anything. I still do… somehow…

I heard rumors from my batchmates about this girl who lived a couple of floors above me in my hostel room. We made jokes about her stealing sanitary napkins- she was so indiscreet in her choice of ‘resource allocation’. I suggested with all the goodness of my young heart- that maybe she was a ’kleptomaniac’, who submitted to impulses and needed clinical help. My argument was refuted by the fact that she often stole money and other valuables. But a tube of half-used apricot scrub? Evidently, when anything went missing – even your favorite red bra- we assumed it was MP. (Hope she has a better career now)

Half of the hostel had begun to boycott her for her stealing habits (many people vouched for it), and the rest avoided her for dressing like an attention whore and grinding seniors on DJ nights. (It was quite scary at that time, and unless you were doing it too- it could be quite a taboo)

Commencement 2010

Day 2

At 7 AM, Dad called me up to make sure I got up, even before my alarm set off. It is good to know that you can always count on some people. I buried my face in the pillow, trying to pull myself up, lying to my body clock about the confusion. A cold shower woke me completely and I dabbed some sunscreen on my face and other exposed areas, worked on my eyes with a liner and spread some light gloss on my lips.

I wore a brown, cotton, tube dress and black leggings, but I forgot the shoes. I had to come back for the brown pumps and toss the flip flops just in time to reach the ice rink at 8 AM. I met some graduate students already dressed in robes, but since I had the wrong one, I kept it neatly in the packet. Once I changed the hood from blue (College of Education) to brown (College of Management), I wore it inside the restroom. Every other girl was fussing or was getting fussed about with the cap and gown. I walked into the denoted area and met some former classmates and professors.

I was beginning to feel it in first person already. I was glad I had come over. It was worth it - every bit of it. We greeted each other and queued up behind the flag bearers of CM. The university took care to provide fresh water bottles to the students, and I felt it was very important not to get dehydrated. Last year, I had attended the graduation of a friend and it had rained. I was hoping it wouldn’t during the main ceremony as it took place in the open lawn, by the sea. But it was very warm and the hot sun dried up the insides of us. We kept taking as many pictures as we could.

Chancellor Motley introduced the commencement speaker- Victoria Reggie Kennedy, wife of late Senator Ted Kennedy. She is an attorney and the cofounder and trustee of the Edward M. Kennedy Institute for the United States Senate at UMB. She delivered the principal address to 3,366 graduates at the University of Massachusetts Boston's 42nd commencement ceremony, near the site where the institute will break ground this fall.

The John F Kennedy Presidential Library & Museum is right across the campus. The public wake of Edward Kennedy had taken place from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. on Friday, August 28, 2009 at the library's Smith Center, a maple-paneled room with a striking view of the Boston skyline. I remember watching the live broadcast of the eulogy delivered by President Obama on Saturday at The Basilica of Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Boston's Mission Hill section, while working out at the HP fitness center.

Senator John McCain shared his thoughts on his late colleague. I particularly remember the incident he recalled about two freshmen Senators getting personal over a political debate. The heat of the argument attracted the attention of senior members like Ted and John. ‘ A fight not joined was a fight not enjoyed’ had me in splits. It was enlightening to see politicians gathering at the funeral by putting aside their ideological differences. I recognized Senator John Kerry from Massachusetts, who had delivered the inaugural speech at Commencement 2009, UMB and 'Governator' Arnold Schwarzenegger of California, where I was planning to head soon.

Chancellor Motley acknowledged the contribution of the Kennedys to UMB, and Victoria insisted that the institute was not going to be a shrine to Ted or to the senate, but a seat of learning, a living, breathing, constantly growing and evolving center.

The 2010 John F. Kennedy Award for Academic Excellence recipient, the university’s highest honor for an undergraduate, was Thao Do, a Vietnamese immigrant whose goal is to devote her life to fight against the HIV/AIDS epidemic. The content of her speech drove me to tears as I envisioned her struggle and the scope education offered to many like her. ‘My name can be mispronounced but as people call my name, they have to acknowledge and accept me as who I am’ struck a chord.

Commencement 2010

I was not sure I'd take the walk this year for a number of reasons. But then Shweta lent me some of her enthusiasm and I saw the email for my nomination to the valedictorian speech, albeit past the deadline to apply. I called up the Graduate Studies and emailed the Dean, but to no avail. The student was already selected and they couldn't possibly accommodate two speakers. Later, I discovered that by the time the College of Management sub-ceremony started, every one was so hungry and tired, no one really cared what the student speaker was delivering. Yet, I believe I could have done a better job, and it was the best platform I could have voiced my acknowledgments. However, it is only fair, people who don't know what they want shouldn't get it.

Day 0, Wed, June 2, 2010, San Jose, California

SG came over to drop me to San Jose airport. My land lord was at home, so he couldn't say an elaborate goodbye like he had planned. My flight was at 9 PM PT. We started early to avoid the outgoing traffic from offices. When I picked my boarding pass from the kiosk, it was 7 :15 PM. We had some time to kill before I walked through the check-in counter, so we hung around in front of the queuing space. He wanted a coffee, and I wanted something to munch on. Unfortunately, Terminal A, where my Jet Blue was stationed, did not have any options. We kept hugging and kissing each other. He was sad that he wouldn't be there for the ceremony. Suddenly, I didn't feel like leaving him behind. Oh, how I wished I had decided earlier to travel to Boston ! We could have made our plans. His parents are visiting, I could have RSVPed with some guests. It was cheerless to write '0' guests on the invite. But like I believe, uncertainty shouldn't go unpunished.