Sultry Mornings

Those of you who know me know that I try to be regular about my morning walks.
For new friends, here's the link to Random Mornings, which I wrote some years ago: http://dipalitaneja.blogspot.com/2008/05/from-morning-walker-who-is-temporarily.html

And now,
Even the early mornings are hot and humid,
the city reeling with the heat
and power failures
and a monsoon turned Godot,
eternally waited for.

And yet,
Something drives me,
to do this for me
just for me
and indirectly, of course,
for those I love.
But mostly for me-
the hour I spend on the road
each morning
Sweat springing from every pore
within the first ten minutes
Each dab and pat
with the little towel I carry
a futile gesture.

It is still a sacred time, and a special time, and a precious time
When my body revels in motion
even in the aches and pains
which are frequent companions
And I try and push and keep pushing the limits
of what I can endure.

I also have now
my wonderful virtual companions,
The sisterhood of the sweatpants,
(see comment no.11)
egging me on-
and the tired and aching muscles respond.
Another five minutes, another round,
And then, when you think that
dragging your carcass back home
is the only sane option,
there's enough of a breeze
to charge you up
for yet another round.....

It's amazing how relative things are:
In winter, leaving the snug warmth
of my bed is difficult,
and in summer it's leaving
the coolness of the bedroom.
Same body, same bed!

The morning still remains
magical, with Mr and Mrs Kite
nesting on the gulmohar tree
their mellifluous cries
belying their predatory nature.

The white bougainvillea
pours over a high wall
a frothy bridal bouquet
And I remember
the neem in Noida
with a bridal veil
of magenta bougainvillea
caressing it.


The walkers seem to display
their sweat stained clothes with pride,
a testimony to their endurance.
Many regulars are missing,
citing the heat.
But once it rains,
perforce, we have to stay home
umbrellas less than useless in a storm,
waterlogged roads drenching our shoes
regular walks postponed indefinitely

So I'll push on each morning,
pushing/punishing my body,
hoping that it'll rain, yet glad that it doesn't.
The fruit seller at the end of our lane
where I stop on the final leg and pick up,
mostly, two bananas, some sweet limes
the occasional papaya,
(We have a 'running' account)
He's usually there by a quarter past five,
part of the morning territory,
a witness to the exertions
with which I start my day.

From there home is just a stone's throw away
an achievable goal
with fresh dry clothes
and a glass of water with a lemon
squeezed into it
and the blessed fan.
Such great relief
needs to be earned!

From Mandira

Thank you Mandira for thinking that I am a lovely blogger and giving me this award. I quote her awarding me this: " for the intangible something that makes your posts sound so warm."

There are so many amazing people out there, and it is amazing how a chance comment gets you hopping across the blogosphere and making wonderful discoveries. Some lovely bloggers I've found recently and not so recently include the wonderful Mom Gone Mad, Nino's Mom, Word Junkie, Unmana and ra. It's strange how these people whom I hadn't heard of a while ago are now an essential part of my life. Such is the power of their keyboards.

A warm and wonderful travel writer I'd love you to read blogs at Footloose. I'm not offereing her an award as she is a professional journalist, and may wonder at these bloggy thingummies, but do go and read her stuff anyway.

The SRE and the dressing table

We live in a semi-furnished flat, which means that besides our own furniture, we use some stuff that belongs to the landlord. What I'm using as a dressing table is actually a slender desk with two drawers, with a large mirror perched on top of it. Our computer has a large monitor, which occupies most of the computer table top. So, very often, important documents that need our attention or papers that need to be filed sit on top of the dressing table until they are dealt with. There is , however, a bookshelf in between the computer table and the dressing table. They are not conjoined, they are separate entities, even though they are of the same height. A host of ballpoint pens and sharpened pencils sit in a mug on the computer table, since the SRE is very fond of Sudoku, and I used to enjoy doing crossword puzzles before the blog world took over large chunks of my leisure time.

When my kids were young, the dressing table was a totally dysfunctional entity, since toddlers and make-up have an incredibly strong attraction towards each other. A moment's carelessness could spell a squashed or broken lipstick. It was years before I could even dream of keeping cosmetics on the dressing table. Those days are long gone, so I can now keep whatever little make up I use on the dressing table. At least, I thought that I could..........

A couple of days ago I discover my brand new eyeliner pen lying near the fruit basket in the dining room. Its tip was squashed. The guilty party was obviously the SRE. No one else uses/touches our dressing table.

Since the eyeliner pen stays in the bowl of lipsticks (next to the candles), it does indicate, to my logical mind at least, that this particular pen is a cosmetic, not a writing instrument. I really wonder what the SRE was thinking about when he picked it up. The poor man has no answer. I just hope that he isn't going to morph into a toddler.......

After the storm

So many beautiful trees were uprooted, several lost their branches- Kolkata's urban landscape is badly scarred with tumbled trees and broken cables. Many huts and shanties have been damaged/destroyed in a few short hours.

Lives were lost, and Mother Nature, once again, reminded us that she is more powerful than mere humanity.

My internet connection is, of course, out of commission, and I have limited laptop access. I will get back as soon as I can. Thanks for all the messages inquiring about our welfare.

Stay safe, everyone.

The Man with the New Spectacles!

That's my Dad! He got his new spectacles today, and read a few pages of a book after several months. The eye surgeon was very pleased with the outcome of the surgery. As was the optometrist, who checked out his vision this Monday. With glasses, he said, Dad will have 6/6 vision in his left eye, which is what most youngsters have! (The right eye will not be tackled until this winter, on the surgeon's advice.)

The big issue here was Dad's lack of mobility. There are wheelchairs in the hospital, and attendants, but there are several examination stations where the patient is required to be where a wheelchair can't reach. My trusty driver was a gem. He'd pick Dad up and seat him wherever required, several times on each visit. Thank you and God bless you, Arun.

According to the eye surgeon, cataract surgery has been performed since ancient times. Our very own Susruta is supposed to have performed a version of this operation centuries ago.
In case you're interested, you can check out this brief history of cataract surgery.
It seems quite gory, so I'm glad to be living in an era of more sophisticated surgical techniques!

The eye drops will continue till early next month, but the hospital visits are over.

Thank you all for your abundant good wishes. I know that they really helped.

Linchuphalinchuphalinchuphaaaaaal!

That strange tongue twisting sound has been reverberating in our neighbourhood for the past several mornings. At first I thought it was "lintuparintuparintupaaaal", utter gobbledygook to my ears, but on repeated, closer hearings, it became clearer.
There was a strange melody to it. Ever since it first registered, I'd be wondering what it was. One morning, determined to solve this annoying mystery, I went into my balcony trying to figure out what on earth the vendor was selling. The voice was heard, close by, but there was no sign of anyone with any worldly goods to dispose of. I went into my parents' balcony, following the sound. The kadamb tree was blocking my view, but I did see the vendor uttering this strange cry.
He looked up, seeing me as a potential customer, but I looked away, not having the language skills to deal with him and his mysterious product. There was still no sign of what he was actually selling. He'd probably put it down on the ground, out of my line of vision.
I wandered back into the house, trying to tidy up, with the mysterious 'linchuphalinchu' echoing in my brain. "Phal"(fruit) registered- the question was, which particular fruit?
I went out into the balcony to hang up my towel.
And spotted the man on his way out of our lane with a basket of lychees on his head!

Apparently it isn't "linchu", but "lichu" in Bangla!
( I asked a Bengali friend on my walk the next morning).

Mystery solved!

A Strange Gender Bias!

One of my neighbours also goes for walks in the morning on the same road as I do. She has some form of music device with her, and wears headphones in her ears. Nothing unusual about that at all. Many people walk with their ipods. This lady also happens to sing along with the music, both loudly and tunelessly. Although it is not a treat to hear her, I do love the utter unselfconsciousness with which she walks and sings, so totally bindaas. One of my companions objects to her terrible singing. As one whose great desire to sing to an admiring audience has been thoroughly squashed by her cheeky kids, I beg to differ. Even the tuneless have the right to sing. Women also have the right to sing, hum and whistle if they so desire. How often, though, in India at least, do you get to see a woman hum or sing on the road? Even a silent, prim and proper female gets more than enough unwarranted male attention. And yet we never look twice at a man singing out loud as he cycles past, or whistles while he walks along. This may sound very trivial, yet it is part of the larger battle, of women's right to freely occupy public spaces.

To be able to walk onthe road with a spring in your step and a song in your heart, and to let the song emerge if it wants to. That is a joyful freedom indeed!