Month: November 2016

Story Club #5: Train Travels

Welcome to another round of the Story Club. As announced earlier, Geetashree is hosting this month’s story. Her choice of story is “The Night Train at Deoli” by Ruskin Bond. If you haven’t read it yet, it’s not too late. Read it here and join the discussion.

I am very excited about this month’s story club for two reasons. Firstly, it is a story penned by an Indian author, Ruskin Bond. For sometime now, I have been on the look out for a suitable Indian story for the Story Club and have been dithering over a couple but couldn’t quite make up my mind. So when Geeta suggested it, I jumped at it. However, finding a free link was tricky and Geeta was kind enough to change the story.

Just a few words about the author – Ruskin Bond who turned 82 this year, is of British descent and is known as the Indian William Wordsworth. Ruskin Bond showed a flair and passion for writing at a very early age and wrote his first short story at 16 years. After his schooling in India, he went to London where he wrote his first novel – Room on the Roof, which won him the prestigious John Llewellyn Rhys Prize. He also wrote a sequel to it – Vagrants in the Valley. Subsequently, yielding to the call of the Himalayas he returned to India and shuttled between Delhi and Dehradun – crafting a writing career spanning over 40 years during which he has penned hundreds of short stories and over two dozen books for children, including ghost stories. He has been awarded the Sahitya Akademi Award, Padma Shri and Padma Bhushan awards some of the highest civilian awards of the country. His stories and books have been made into popular award winning movies in India.

The other reason for my interest is that the story (like many of Ruskin Bond’s stories) is based in and around Dehradun – my hometown. But I must confess, this factor ends up being more of a distraction for I am so busy trying to identify familiar places and locales that I often miss the essence of the story – weird right?

Well perhaps, but true.

And it happened with this one too – The night train at Deoli.

Deoli – was there really such a place? Or was this a fictitious place? I wondered and mused as I frantically scrabbled through the memories of the myriad train journeys I have made between Delhi and Dehradun. Nope – no sign of any Deoli, and certainly not before the train rushes headlong into the jungles – that’s Raiwala junction (where it stops for two minutes).

Oh well perhaps it is a fictitious place. Or perhaps it’s been abandoned since then. But then I couldn’t be sure could I? Oh darn it! I wish I could take that train journey right now…

Anyway, did you read the story? An evocative story that tugs at the heartstrings, isn’t it? I could easily identify with it and the small town train stations are exactly like Ruskin Bond described – in fact it reminded me sharply of the train station shown in the Hindi movie Jab We Met.

In the story, the line that touched me most was when the girl says, “I don’t have to go anywhere.” It somehow seemed to represent the state of women in general. They wait and hope, hiding, nurturing and hoarding dreams, tsunamis, and volcanoes within themselves while going about their daily chores. Other people pass by, perhaps with a backward glance, curious and wondering, yet hesitant to reach out. The ‘incomplete’ story and the suspense regarding the fate of the girl who caught the fancy of a young boy is bound to leave the reader with a sense of restlessness and a feeling of something not quite right, sort of a haunting. Ever since I read the story, tiny train stations from my childhood ‘flash upon that inward eye.’ 🙂

Here are a few of my favorite quotes of Ruskin Bond:

Of course, some people want literature to be difficult and there are writers who like to make their readers toil and sweat. They hope to be taken more seriously that way. I have always tried to achieve a prose that is easy and conversational. And those who think this is simple should try it for themselves.

I never break my journey at Deoli but i pass through as often as I can.

Book readers are special people, and they will always turn to books as the ultimate pleasure. Those who do not read are the unfortunate ones. There’s nothing wrong with them; but they are missing out on one of life’s compensations and rewards. A great book is a friend that never lets you down. You can return to it again and again and the joy first derived from it will still be there.

“Hinduism comes closest to being a nature religion. Rivers, rocks, trees, plants, animals, and birds all play their part, both in mythology and everyday worship.”

Normally writers do not talk much,because they are saving their conversations for the readers of their book – those invisible listeners with whom we wish to strike a sympathetic chord.

I particularly liked this nugget:

Summing up his last essay in The Lamp Is Lit, Ruskin writes: ‘And there are many brave and good Indian writers, who work in their own language — be it Bengali or Oriya or Telugu or Marathi or fifteen to twenty others — and plough their lonely furrow without benefit of agent or media blitz or Booker prize. Some of them may despair. But even so, they work on in despair. Their rewards may be small, their readers few, but it is enough to keep them from turning off the light. For they know that the pen, in honest and gifted hands, is mightier than the grave.’ Ruskin then goes on to write: ‘And these are my parting words to you, dear Reader: May you have the wisdom to be simple, and the humour to be happy.’

That’s enough from me for the story and over to Geetashree’s blog for her fabulous analysis and reviews on the story of the month – Night Train at Deoli.

 

 

Thanks for reading. If anyone wishes to join the Story Club (including this one) most welcome. Just post a review and link back to this post. Or you could host the next month’s Story Club

You can read the other Story Club posts (and rules) here. Please free to discuss, comment and suggest.

 

Meaty Matters

It’s Friday Food time at Priorhouse and the topic for this month is meat. This is a rather tricky item (and a contentious topic) in India.

Hinduism believes that our nature and behavior is influenced by the kind of food we consume and food is divided into three types. Tamasic, that which dulls the senses (meat, alcohol etc). Rajasic, that which excites the senses (caffeinated drinks, onion, garlic, spicy, oily food etc) and Sattvic that which leads to clarity of mind and improved health. This includes, water, cereal grains, legumes, vegetables, fruits, nuts, milk and honey etc. Hence, many Indians, particularly Hindus, consume only Sattvic food, i.e. they are pure vegetarians.

However, due to diversification and intermingling (and even health reasons) a subsection of these vegetarians, may consume eggs or even meat. But that is very occasional and is not cooked (or brought) at home. Furthermore, these ‘meat-eaters’ have a lot of restrictions imposed – no meat on certain days of the week (notably Tuesday) and during religious festivals, which occur at frequent intervals over the year and sometimes for days on end. Things become even more complicated in joint families, family get-togethers in the setting of cross-cultural weddings and growing diverse food preferences along with dietary restrictions due to heart disease and/or diabetes.

Planning a menu in such a scenario is enough to give one palpitations and sleepless nights!

Yet there are other communities who cannot conceive of a meal without their daily dose of meat. Bengalis, for instance, are (meat) foodies and are notorious for not following ‘no meat’ policy even during festivals. In fact, fish consumption is considered auspicious and even mandatory during certain festivals. Yet again, there are diverse rules and customs within the Bengali community as well – take my family and my in-laws for instance, but I digress.

Coming back to the topic, on this background, I wanted to share a story about my brother – a pure non-vegetarian 😀

When he was a little boy (and I wasn’t born), Dad took up a job near the holy town of Rishikesh, where meat consumption isn’t allowed (and neither is it available anywhere nearby). Much to my brother’s disgust and anguish. He complained loud and long to Ma and nagged her no end as his craving for meat sky-rocketed. She tried to distract him, coax him but he was like a dog with a bone (or without one 😀 ).

Frazzled and provoked, Ma finally snapped. “Fine! Eat my meat.”

There was silence whilst he considered the proposition.

He could see only one problem. “But Ma, who will cook it?”

Not only Bengalis, but even Keralites are fond of their (!) meat and fish. To avoid being similarly targeted, my friend Mymind – the warden of a boys hostel 😉 had a plan to cook chicken for lunch today. I saw my chance and jumped in – I asked for a photo.

Poor girl was under double pressure – cook and click. Troubles don’t come in singles or doubles – their society gas supply was shut down for maintenance.

Yet she managed!  Hmm – perhaps she put it on her head 😡 😅

Take a deep breath and feast your eyes 🙂

chicken-curry
Kerala style chicken curry courtesy Mymind – thank you!

Looks yummylicious doesn’t it? Oh well I am off to eat a pure vegetarian utilitarian lunch whilst picturing this dish 😀

How about you dear readers? What’s your favorite food or even better, a favorite food story? Or did I overlook something, or was factually incorrect, or do you feel under-represented? Feel free to vent and rant – the interaction on the jackfruit has left me hungry for more!

Enjoy your Sunday lunch and look forward to your meaty (or otherwise) stories!

The Super Model

model

Raw and wounded, yet her grace and poise are unstirred. The show must go on right?

For Becca’s Sunday Trees – 262

CWW: Signs on the Way

Sign.jpg

Just in case someone didn’t get the message the first time, or the second time 😀 Though I am a bit curious about the upward journey 😀

Enough of gazing at the signs, let’s head to Mawlynnong – one of the cleanest villages in Asia.

2013-03-30-11-45-05

The waste basket is cool isn’t it?

2013-03-30-11-45-21

pathVillage.jpg

Looks a bit deserted doesnt it? Let’s brighten it up a bit.

Smile.jpg

He still hasn’t learned how to fake a smile – isn’t he cute?

Hope you liked the village tour. By the way, this is the same village which is famous for its unique growing root bridges. If you missed that post, click here

Thanks for visiting and have a grand weekend.

For Cee’s Which Way Photo Challenge

COB #46: Look! No Hands

It was a steep uphill climb at Singhagad Fort, Pune, India, which is believed to be built two thousand years ago. Unsure of my trekking capabilities and reluctant to test the chivalry of the other members of the gang ;), I desisted from proceeding too high up. I sat down one quarter of the way to enjoy the view.

Here’s a man trudging up the steep slope carrying packaged water for the thirsty tourists.

Broken stairs.jpg

Not an uncommon sight to see people carrying baggage on their heads so nothing to really write home about. Plus he’s holding his booty with a hand – pshaw that’s for wimps 😉

I looked around and sure enough

Walk.JPG

Look – no hands! Amazing isnt it? I am willing to bet she didn’t need hands to hold her baggage while going up either – what do you think?

For more odd ball photos, visit Cee’s page. I almost tagged it to Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge -Magic but then I found something else for that challenge 😉 Click here if you want to see magic happening 😀

Thanks for visiting!

Save

The Magic of Life

Isn’t life the most magical of all things? Don’t you wonder how a very few basic atoms (carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen, phosphorus and sulfur) can create life in it’s myriad and varied forms?

Moreover, it never fails to amaze (and inspire) me when I witness life thriving in the most unexpected of places.

Concrete.jpg

“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” Leonard Cohen.

life

“Listen to the mustn’ts, child. Listen to the don’ts. Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me… Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.” ― Shel Silverstein

For the Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge – Magic

Go on have a magical weekend, week, month, year, decade, century… 🙂

The Garbage Guy

Those were the days of chaos, especially mornings. There was breakfast to be made, lunch to be packed, milk to be boiled, toddler to be taken care of and get myself ready for college – before the water supply bid adieu for the day.

As you can imagine, it was a mad dash from the moment I woke up (mostly late – after having slept fitfully because the little one had strong beliefs and strident opinions – nights were meant for play and not sleep).

So there I was, groggy, stumbling around the kitchen trying to brew tea and boil some milk on a rickety kerosene stove (yes – those days!), all the while trying to soothe the cranky warm bundle nestling on my shoulder when there was a knock on the kitchen door.

“Oh no!” I grumbled. Here was the dreaded interruption to my carefully choreographed routine which took me from the kitchen to the bedroom via the hallway (with intermittent pirouettes through the washroom to fill buckets).

It was the ‘trash guy’ who came everyday to collect the day’s trash for less than a rupee a day. And to make his deal more attractive – he offered to wash the trashcan as well.

Okay fine!

Except it wasn’t – 25 rupees a month to throw trash? I could do that myself and earn myself a few bucks in the process. But then I hardly had time to breathe, he needed the job, we were generating employment, keeping the food chain moving – okay fine.

So he began by adding his two bit to the morning bedlam. Unfailing in attendance, he had the uncanny habit of rapping on the door just as the pandemonium had peaked – and invariably trigger a panic attack. I was late! There goes my bus! Again!

All my frustration and irritation would come to the fore as I opened the door, keeping a tight grip on the now alert and frisky toddler – aha the door was open! The world awaits me! Let’s go out and run he would jerk, squiggle and wriggle adding strength and volume to his exhortations as only he could.

“Hurry! I don’t have time.” I would wail as my eel baby all but slithered from my grasp.

“Namaste Madamji.” He would offer cheerily while emptying the trashcan. “I need to wash this. It’s filthy.”

I would shoot a harried glance at the clock, fighting a losing battle with the now impossibly arched muscular bundle, “Maybe tomorrow. There’s someone in the washroom.”

Phew! I shut the door and get back to my dance routine with renewed frenzy.

It was the same old story –day after day. Except, his pleas to let him clean the bin grew more demanding by the day – but something or the other always took precedence – the baby was shrieking, somebody in the washroom, major water crisis, so on and so forth.

With growing guilt, I would shut the door on his disapproving accusing face.

“What the hell is his problem? He should be happy. Less work for him.” I grumbled to my husband. “And it’s not like I am not going to pay him his full dues. I know the bin needs a wash but I don’t have time for this right now.”

Finally on Sunday he caught me. Feeling expansive, I gave in. He demanded soap and turned on the tap – my heart fell to my shoes. Hold the water dammit!

Heart in mouth, I held my breath as he scrubbed the trashcan to his satisfaction. He turned to me his entire face glowing with pride, joy and triumph and a hint of censure. “Look madam, this is clean. You should let me clean it everyday.”

From illiterate garbage guy, I learnt some of the most important lessons of my life  – to take pride and joy in my work no matter how small or inconsequential it may be in the larger scheme of things. And to make sure I earned my salary.

***

Written for the Daily Post’s prompt Filthy

If you are new here – click for more information About the Blog

Thank you for reading 🙂

Regret

Knee on his throat, the cleaver held high above her head, breasts heaving, her bloodshot eyes bore into the terrified eyes of her husband of 17 years. She blinked, the fury, the power went out of her as if a switch had been flicked off. The cleaver clattered onto the stone floor and she rolled away trembling with the aftermath of her fury. She buried her face in her hands, unable to stand the image of herself, what had she been going to do. Faintly she heard him scramble to safety, sniffling pathetically.

Later, Smriti narrated the scene to her friend, Nidhi.

“It was as if I had been possessed. I don’t know what came over me.”  Smriti said slowly. The memory of those horrific moments jolted her and the clatter of the knife still rang eerily in her ears.

There was a stunned pause before Nidhi rallied enough to speak.

“Never mind,” Nidhi brushed it away, “it happens to the best of us, a moment of madness when we are all but pushed over the edge,” she babbled, “but the best part is that you recovered at the last minute, regained your sanity and all’s well that ends well.

Smriti looked at Nidhi with tormented eyes, “But Nidhi, what if…?”

“No Smriti, you are not to think like that,” Nidhi was firm, “you just said as if you were possessed. It was a one off instance – you know you would never do such a thing again. So stop worrying…

“No, you don’t understand Nidhi,” Smriti whispered through cracked lips, “that is exactly what I am worried about.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am afraid that I will never be possessed again, that I missed my chance at freedom. I am condemned to spend the rest of my life with him.”

***

This week Daily Post’s Discover Challenge is In the Style of i.e. try out someone else’s style. Going through a few of my half finished drafts I came across this story which I have no recollection of writing. I was a bit taken aback and felt it (i.e the bloodthirstiness 😉 ) was rather different from my usual style. What do you think?

For readers of Moonshine, here's Chapter 100 and Calvin and Hobbes

 

Just 4 Fun # 13

Here’s wishing everyone a super week ahead

aging

 Aside – More memoir notes for you Joy  😉 😀

Fond of animals? Don’t miss the Comedy Wildlife Photography awards.

A/N. Over the week, we tend to get a lot of jokes and life philosophies as shares. Some are too good to pass up. Here I share those that appealed to me or tickled my funny bone. Hope you like them too. Please note none of this is stuff is mine – I am just keeping the fun going!

If you too have something worth sharing, do post on your blog and link it here.

Have a great week ahead and don’t forget to have some fun too.

For readers of Silver Streaks - here's the second and final part of Chotti's Day Out