MIL..a different version

Eleven years is a long time, some would say a life time. Yet when I close my eyes and look back upon the brick backs and the creases that fall, it seems to zip past in a flurry of here there s and nowhere s of emotions, twists and turns. As a dainty bride when I took my first nervous steps into my, to be home, I was greeted by a somewhat smiling somewhat nervous face of my Mother- in- law for the first time. In true Bengali tradition, she had not been to her son’s marriage and this was the first time she was a part of the brouhaha that surrounded the home coming of a bride. Amongst nervous steps and smiles that slowly changed to steady and confident ones we covered a dual journey that was somewhat formal and somewhat caged. Yet amidst it all, a happy presence prevailed. When the daughter-in-law cooked, she sang a song to entertain. When the Kolkata heat pervaded the kitchen she quietly placed a wet towel nearby. In flip flop ways, and now sauntering now gurgling manner we managed a precautious balance.

The death of a close one always affects us severely and so it did to her, on the death of her husband, as the sudden realisation of what loneliness was dawned on her. In true Indian tradition she separated her vegetarian kitchen from ours and her already God inclined persona turned into that of a shuttle between the Puja room and her own limited corridors. Amidst the hustle and bustle of our daily life, in cities now here and now there, she staunchly refused to let go of her home. But all of a sudden in a sudden departure or perhaps the whims of age, she gracefully descended on us as we made home of Chettiand country. The busy schedules and hustle and bustle continued here too, but as each of us went about our work, a quiet presence made its way into each of our lives in such soft footed manner as was unprecedented.

When I forgot breakfast, she was the fruit seller, when as a couple we wanted private space, she was baby sitter, when arguments ensued in our home she was the balm, when we came back home tired, she was the smile. For my child returned from home she was the adorable grandma, for a tired me, she was my cup of tea, for a tired husband, she was the hand that ruffles the hair. A generation and more apart, this white, creased and frail image of dignity taught me a lesson everyday in love, the love of giving and not expecting. Today she left us, to go to another home that of another son, another visage and another life for a month or two and she shall perhaps spread her light there too.

As I browsed through her room, among little packets of spices, fragrances, bits of clothing, small spoons, the neatly folded bed, God and her Godliness, I sat in silence and watched how the little things of life matter so less and yet so much. In cooking, collecting, buying, yet leaving behind it all, she spread a fragrance far more potent than the headiest of perfumes. It’s the presence that matters after all, I guess. In a house that is suddenly full of loneliness more and less of the ‘US’, I miss the absence of someone I call MA.

© 2010 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury

Strong winds of Timelessness

All the commandments, engraved in my soul
Lost to an eternity that is time
Strong winds of timelessness I call them,
Circumstances and life I name them
Books and poems, like a mother cat, licked the kitten of my thoughts to shape
And left me at the altar called life,
A sacrosant creatureDevoid of a presence, God & shame
Barbed wires at times, criss crossed across a strech in life
French windows at others in carriage with the winds
No traditions, nor the name of the lord looming large
A smile here, a tear there and life assumes sanctity devine...
I've streched my emotions spread across people become milestones,
Over thoughts that meander loud as a typewriter's click
My private voice stashed away for an eternity now seeks to roam out loud-
My worries doze, in the pensive froze
When the bubbles in the glass of life arose
Forgive this briefness of mine, in attention as in love
For my glass of life brimeth over in the juices of discovery called LIFE!
Maitreyee Chowdhury (24-11-2009)

© 2009 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury

Living on while moving on

living on while moving on

Its strange how a city quietly but surely envelops you. When I descended in Kolkata from the hills of Assam, in December of 1998, I was all set to hate the city even without knowing it! For all i knew it was alien land, that took me away from the cat like languor of Assam. As smoke curled around me & dreams crushed into a swirl called RUSH hour, I learned my first lesson..MULTITASK. From the contours of the lahe lahe desh & everything mushy mush, Kolkata taught me to be confident, to speak to give back a word or two when it was necessary. China town & Biryani from ‘Zeeshan’ not withstanding I still did not find an anchor in the city. It seemed to just whirl by, no one to stop, show me the way or take a hand & brief along.. and then happened a few friends. Very eye opening incidents there; I understood why I wasn't really accepting the city or it me. I did not find its roots, did not see it from the perspective the grand dame wanted me to see it. My friends from Kolkata introduced me to the love of Rabindranath all over again to a girl who had wandered way beyond..and more. To see what Rabindranath is, one has to see the songs in the people's lives, to see it in their smiles, their absolute rapture in him & there he stands in all his glory much like the lady wrapped around Victoria Memorial. Draped in white as I met my friends at one such do, one asked me, do you know that the Lady within & atop Victoria resembles a lady in white on a misty morning or a rain drenched afternoon.... I wondered wow! poetic.. the tale of Phuchkas , of trams rambling by, of Jug Surya and his 'Calcutta remembered' on a lazy afternoon, of Park street nose in the airs.. of being seen in Flury's, of Nahom's lemon tarts & so much more.. i was introduced to a 'Calcutta' truly forgotten & one I had never seen.

Today I resent the word BONG, I think it does no justice to what the proud Bengali is all about. In a matter of time I left the city, I was beginning to know & probably like. I landed in Chennai & all over again prepared myself to hate with equal passion, equal zeal. Nothing had prepared me for the problems of simple communication staying within the same country. Talking to the maids was playing dumb sheraz, my English was limited to 'Going’, 'Coming', 'you saying' and many more such ABCD's. Gosh how was I to stay here, I wondered and then my ever catty curiousness surfaced again. I started making friends. In a swish apartment with the crème de la cream of Chennai I found to my surprise a set of people culturally bestowed, very intelligent & friendly to the boot! Oh boy I said this is fun.. An ex Spaniard Tamilian (figure that out!) lady of 60 is my inspiration.. she teaches, does yoga, walks faster than most men, dances salsa, makes sand castles & jogs keeping her Vodka in mind.. I was floored. She urged me go take a walk & a walk I did take. Being a mall hater, I avoided them like plague; I took to the little trodden routes of a place steeped in tradition & austerity called Mylapore. Full of Brahmins worshipping & curious glances at a 'ME' playing tourist with a cuppa chai in hand, I managed to make friends of toothless grins & tilaked Brahmins. I knew not what they said when they talked in Tamil I though it was polite of me to reply in 'Bangla'..English flowed faster that way & so did Hindi to my surprise :) Dotted with little temples & little flower sellers, Mylapore is a traditional delight. From Coffee being poured out to you & slurping it loudly ( not sipping mind u) its Indian ness at its lovable best! Marina beach & its myriad sights has become second home, grannies playing with youngsters, lovers coochie-cooing, joggers like me & the surf at my nimble toes, the sea & its mightiness is but awesome. Pretty & pouting in the afternoons, flirty & sexy in the evenings, dangerous & siren like wanting to drown you at nights.. one can just stare & stare at the sea. A few cultural evenings here and there, a delightful potpourri of enthusiasts & discussions galore Chennai seems to have come alive to me & I to it.

Man is a delightful social animal after all, the more he/she mixes the more they like, the more they resent the less they figure. A lesson well learnt that place or man, looked & known the good way both can be endearing.

© 2009 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury

Lost in Hatred

Hate what I have become,
Pompous & over confident, scrupulous to many ..kind but to some
In tears but some, memories flow in floodwaters
In Hurt some, in love some & then in hearts some as in pain I but remain
Hapiness of too many never brings joy to one, I guess
In pleasing an eternity of a confluence i lost on some that mattered
Streaks in the hurt, jammed, stuffed & silenced
Words but them all & feelings some
When hurt pours it holds barriers seldom
Like Lava from within makes ashes of the feelings most
While I in pondourous amaze watch the embers lighting, fuelling and burning the home that was!
Hurt is all I can be...
Yet the faith remains, that the lord within will sustain
And hope from the breast ring in
That all after all is not lost
And life in splendidness shall indeed again begin.

© 2009 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury

In thy Madness My lord

Let me be mad in the things that I am,
Let me be MAD!
Let me be mad in the music that is the Lord
And things that strike a chord-
When madness is but sanity
And things too simple, yet deep
Let me be MAD O Lord
For then I am bold....
To live a life of cowards, let me not be told
Save me from the serinity
And let the madness unfold.
If kindness and hapiness of MINE be mad,
Then let me be mad once more-
For a life without depth and passion are assylum bound
And in such madness Lord
Let me not be bound!
To touch the hearts, to visit a soul, of things mundane and free
Let me be MAD in all my songs
That speak of thy eternity...
If keeping quiet, were sanity as PEOPLE sayest
Let me not be sane,
I'll just be MAD and love loud instead!

© 2009 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury

In madness I belong

In times of creativity, bounding on relativity,
My mind hovers over the infinite-
In the inferno that boils within,
sometimes placating, sometimes bizarre,

What is it about the search?

Is craziness this, is love this,
and then I think again...
In serenity I want madness, In tranquility I find no peace
A face that eludes the soul,
A smile not brazen enough-
What is this madness that I seek
Of demons and angels that co- exist?

When Passion makes its flights of fancy,
And encompasses the zeal to see the naked-
The 'MOULD' then turns a mere fancy for things that lie within,
The spoken word of love and peace juggle in vain-

A pair of eyes with their questions, try my heart strings again.
A gesture, a word at times don't suffice
For love that burns within-

A madness in the soul I seek,
Not tepid words herein-
'I love u' s and 'Muaah's are just so passe...
Where's the feeling I say
If love were to life
As life were to love
Then let the madness begin.

In the dance of the Lord, that mourned his wife and tore to bits herself,
Of falling parts and embers deep-
Places of worship they become
Aye that's the madness that love begets, and a passion that is FELT!
For madness and worship are words that bring
Sense to sanity and insanity within....

Thus in the madness thou shalt find,
An inferno raging 'PEACE'
And then shall they the 'eyes' tell of the story within.

Of a love and life that of madness only sing
And a peace therein that flows, now tepid, silent and unassuming......

© 2009 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury

The 'Bai' syndrome, a compulsive disorder?

The 'bai' syndrome a compulsive disorder?

There's something common amongst all of us so called hi flier women. Amidst the balance sheets, nail biting, tooth clenching, catty meaos & droolls galore, we all face what I call the 'Bai' syndrome! An elusive breed an exclusive lot they are our Kam wali bais as we know them to be. But no 'ghar ki mulis here'.. lemme point that out, nor 'dal barabar'..oh they are a swish set. Come to think of it they are so integral to our lives, that I wonder what we would do without them. Just about yesterday..the kitchen was a mess, the house a friendly scatter, work beckoned me, yet the mind was ellusive after all it was 2 minutes past 10! The official come time gone which had passed away... what was i to do amidst this nail biting loss of concentration. Tried some songs & then decided to plunge headlong into a bit here and a bit there salvaging my home so that i might find some semblance of sanity. Amidst the turmoil & Rashid Khan's baritone, suddenly a merry chime.. my feet rushed to the door, a happy smile, wide eyes....the Bai was here at last! My welcoming smile fell on a moustace, a lappy & tired eyes as I heard myself exclaim You! The pensive oh! was welcome enough for a hubby returned home post his 3 day tour & was i happy...nah, he wasn't the Bai you see. Composure regained, smile intact, i welcomed him back of course, but the lovers eyes saught the bai..had she really taken a gallop? A trifle late but full of importance she marched in while I was nail biting yet again, should I be composed & strict & show her , HER place you know.. but then i relented it's ok yaar she's just 30 mins late( 30 mins late! its half an hour but shhhh.... in Bai dom thats quite chalable I guess)
For all us exclusive breed of women, of finishing schools and univs that rock, nothing prepared us for one of life's exclusive anxieties 'The Bai syndrome'. A recent trip to my sisters home once again I witnessed the same. Polished, careerist, feminist little birdie she couldn't find freedom from the bai syndrome too. Mornings pre teas were.." has the Bai come?" and after she left it was inspection and ladies club time.."last time i had one she was punctual but too smart", mom pitched in her chime..."I am so tired of their one minute guest appearances!" And then again ladies it Bai time, come evening the same exclusive lot, we wear our smiles & welcome her home, all woes forgotten, just so happy to see her intact, whole & commable!
To such exclusive GIRL power.. Here's to Baidom!

© 2009 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury