Hey You !

A friend's post on shifting cities and changing home was food for thought for me. Home for me has always been Kolkata. But being a "fauji wife" meant I was always on the move with my household in trunks (torongo,I heard it after ages) and memories in my head and the increasing number of the photo albums in our kitty. Home was transferable , temporary and transient. I have no complaints , cos it was fun - this feeling of settling in making a home out of a lived-in house giving it my own touch - there was something exciting in that gypsy life - till Bhaskar gave up his job and we came back to Kolkata. The problem with Kolkata was that I never had a "house" of my own - dividing my time between my parent's and my in laws house I realized I do not belong anywhere. I still had my room at Mainak - my drawer full of nostalgia, a room with a view - that  overlooked the eastern horizon of the city in the mornings and I could count the stars at night, yet it wasn'

This will surprise many - The song has been playing in my head ever since Stanley played it early morning for my temple run. In his broken English he told me the story has a strong Bengal connection. Bhaskar keeps telling me I can buy a 2 BHK here and settle down with my love for all things south and the elephants ...... .Morning breaking over the back waters , drizzle and the greenery was a perfect combo as the music lilted a combo of bangla and malayalam :) Soul connection .........

I am back in rain-washed Kochi, amid the greenery and the cheeping squirrels in the morning  and the crickets at night. Putting my foot up and enjoying the solitude of having the space all by myself is a luxury that I take with mixed feelings. I enjoy my me -time and also realize that each time I go back there may be lesser people waiting at home.... Yet I wanted to travel, leave the place that is so full of memories that pulls me back to a vortex of pain in my heart.  Rains in Kochi has made it lush - However, the met dept in it's usual panache declared that the monsoon has dried up this year , and just to show that no one can predict nature - it rained the night and the day.  I sat with my cup of coffee in the veranda enjoying the early morning- all grey with the splash of the puddles and splish- splashes as a group of school children deliberately jumped in and out to splatter the mud - their colorful umbrellas and peals of laughter brightening up the grey morning. Mornin

We live in moments ,in time and space - and then there is a lifetime crafted out of these moments. I watched a little girl riding with her father with a twist in my heart - how did I grow up and grow old? And where are those moments when Baba used to drop me to school ? Today's water-logging reminded me of those days when Gokhale Road would resemble a rivulet and we had rainy days and Baba would take me to his office. It was quite embarrassing for me when all his colleagues would come and ask me the same question and there would be a ritualistic trip to the boss's chamber and some more polite to-dos. But I liked Baba's office - the long corridors, the ac which was a luxury in those days. Moments of joy and sudden elation and the little girl travelling with her father won't even know how precious these moments are till she is grown up and grown old..... Baba's regret was that  I never picked up driving - and he said, he should have taught me how to drive in my &q