A Calendar Too Crowded: Book Review

Fiction / Short Stories (INR 295)

The title is cryptic. Does the book talk about busy lives in the city? But then it has the picture of a poignant woman. Is this then a tale of a multi-tasking modern lady? The answer to the riddle comes when you flip through the pages. What Sagarika Chakraborty has got together for her readers is a stunning compilation, scattered across the year. “A Calendar Too Crowded” tells stories of women we know, have heard of, or possibly, are. These are stories that continue to happen in various households around the globe, irrespective of the special “days” allotted to check them.

Sagarika’s women do not have names, do not often have faces. But they are fleshed out in vivid detail. In “Finding a Mother…”, there is a woman – married and pregnant – observing a modern-day mother before visiting an abortion clinic. She finds it odd that the school-boy needs to have tuitions in primary school and forget all about his mother when his friends arrive. In another household, in stark contrast, there is a woman who cannot be a mother. At the helm of things, a successful middle-ager enjoys a cruise trip with her daughter – born “artificially” – and enjoys the good life of luxury and strawberries. But Chakraborty doesn’t leave it at that. In the course of the story, we are made to wonder – doesn’t the woman crave the presence of a man, a husband, a lover? Are the newfangled norms of social and financial independence over-hyped when they cannot answer the need for err, passion? Hear, hear.

The questions are plenty. Sample some. How can anyone comfort the little girl who wakes up one day to a bloody bed and is henceforth supposed to behave like a lady? (Behind those Whispers – too brand-friendly a name?) When will society truly come to accept that a lifetime of isolation and whites may not be what will please either a widow or her dead husband? (Witch without a Broomstick) The style in which they are asked is impressive. It does get a tad bit overdone when many of the stories reiterate their questions over and over again, in the same words. But Sagarika makes up for glitches by keeping her stories succinct, crisp and for the most part, enjoyable.

Given the sensitive theme, the reading sometimes tends to be heavy. Even sad. But then, it is all very real and presented without any frills or fancy. Emotional relief (and a smile) comes by way of two stories: The Homecoming and Knowledge Beyond Printed Letters. Anyhow, considering this is the author’s first work, her ability to get under the skin of so many varied women – an “escort”, a rape/domestic violence victim, a hot-shot professional – alike, is commendable.

All in all, A Calendar Too Crowded is a very well-researched and relevant literary work. Though the voice is strongly feminist and the theme is one that almost rules out pleasure reading, this is one book that encourages thought. Especially so in a time when every second page of the newspaper tells of crime and every second person in society enjoys being a gossip-monger.

Rating: 

This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!

Time for some tagging!

Few things allure me as much as a good old award. My eyes shine and my ears wag. Even if it is a blogging tag that some noble soul dropped at my door. I love those noble souls. So coming to the point, I am setting about on a little tagging business. Some acknowledgment, some tagging of my own and a glorious amount of gloating.

To set the mood, I will start with the gloating.

Saddi Delhi gets the “Liebster Blog Award”

Zee, thank you very much for this really cute award. Though you did not hand out the adorable badge (that goes with the award) to me, I have stolen it from your blog anyway. An award coming from the fantastic writer that you are is twice the gloating.

Saddi Delhi gets three “Versatile Blogger Award(s)”, a “Candle Lighter Award” and “Christmas Blogger Award”

Usha di, I always maintain that you should start mentoring people on a professional basis. Right from the days I used to post poems on our little poetry community to the current blogging scene, you ensure I get my occasional smile. Wait, make that beaming smile.

Deeps and Bikram have also given me the “Versatile Blogger Award”. Again, a pleasure to get this award from them, given that their opinionated and well-fleshed out posts are ones I am hooked to reading.

~

The responsibilities that most of these awards entail include nominating bloggers who, in my opinion, deserve their round of Filmfare speeches. And oh, a peculiar clause of sharing 7 things about myself. So, allowing myself a little cheating now and again, here goes:

7 Deboshree facts:

1. I have been known to eat wafers for breakfast. I drink it down with orange juice and tell the world I eat a healthy diet. I love it if and when the weighing scale agrees with me.

2. I am one of the sadists who enjoy 2012 theories. It’s a task persuading R to concur and give in to let’s-get-married ideas.

3. My fingers get frostbitten every winter. I have no clue why considering I have lived most of my life so far in Delhi and it doesn’t get all that cold. No gloves, creams or heat pads seem to give me respite. Was I an Antartican in a previous birth? – wonders Mom.

4. In a recent post, Tanishka expressed her dislike of love stories. On my part, I love listening to them! I am game for a best practices sharing session with an old girl friend from school, one who just got married or a roomie who’s facing family feud over the matter. All ears.

5. I am dying to book a certain travel ticket. Train or plane or whatever. I am just dying to do it!

6. I haven’t read a book from cover to cover since The Best of Quest. I am still stuck in the middle of Golden Gate and another called Brand Bollywood. My reading time has been seriously impacted by all that is presently going on in life.

7. Overcast mornings give me a splitting headache. More often than not. But I love it when it rains at night and I can hear the raindrops.

The 7 Awardees:

1. WriterzBlock/Pal blogs from WriterzBlock
She writes on subjects as diverse as night and day. They are all done up vibrantly, in shades of humour and insight. Some fantastic reading.

2. Nimue blogs from Pages from my mind
Lady N: Poetic Delight
Her poems: Vivid, soulful and crisp

3. Scribby blogs from This and That
I have only one word for her writing: Entertaining! Now that may sound like I have recently watched rushes of The Dirty Picture (they have actors calling the film “entertainment” everywhere I look), but trust me on this. This blogger really knows how to get her point across and brilliantly at that.

4. Kartikay blogs from Callous Caffeinated Conversations
Like the name, the blog is caffeinated too. In the absorbing, riveting way. And no, it certainly ain’t callous.

5. Bhavia blogs from Je Suis Blogging
She has one hell of an eventful life. Laced with falls and bruises. This place captures all the madness in a total fun style. Joyride!

6. Novroz blogs from Kame and Kroten Blog
Animal lover that Novroz is, her blog is a delight for all of her kind. Her two pet darlings – beautiful turtles – host it themselves. So the next time you need a fact straightened, you can hear it from the turtle’s mouth!

7. Sudha blogs from My Favourite Things
She clicks stunning pictures, writes equally stunning travelogues and even does in-depth book reviews. This blog may claim to be about her favourite things, but she may need to rethink that one.

By the by, there are umpteen other blogs I wanted to write about. But with several constraints – the need to help with lunch no small one – I zeroed down on the above on a first come, first serve basis.

Life in its choicest elements

Source: squidoo.com

The bus was ugly. Full of grime, dust and vegetables. Set against the dusty backdrop of Sector 62, Noida, it looked even uglier. But I had no choice other than getting aboard. With darkness setting in fast, I needed to rush home. It was only after I was seated in a Ladies seat, thoughtfully left vacant for the ladies, that I realized how tired I was. The four hours of commuting in a DTC bus, day after day, was taking its toll.

“I have no idea why you need to work for such measly pay. Wait, why do you need to work there at all?” said amma, my elderly neighbour, one evening. “I thought you are an engineer.”

I nodded and smiled and asked if her cold was better. Really, I was getting good at this evading business. The year was 2009. There was no point in explaining to amma that the Indian economy wasn’t exactly bursting with jobs. Further, it was madness to attempt an explanation of my love for writing. The whole thing was a scenario that made me numb.

I was working with a content management firm. We had to prepare write-ups for websites. Write-ups which would convince people to buy ABC’s credit cards and XYZ’s home loans. Some employees wrote for showbiz, some for restaurants. But under the euphemistic pretext that “I could handle even the drab stuff well…”, I was limited to finance. To hell with the creative-business tag that had initially made me go for the interview, I was now stuck in a rut. Moreover, the rut paid peanuts.

On weekends, I would exhaust job-hunt websites. I would scourge the internet for opportunities that would allow me to write for a living. The remaining time I would spend waiting for interview results to come and for the postman to finally send me my campus-job’s joining letter. On weekdays, I would plug my ears with music. My cell phone would be forever stacked with melodies I loved. Oblivious to the crowd that accompanied me on the bus ride to Noida, I would listen away to glory, telling myself that this was just a phase. The cell phone – with its cheerful Nokia battery – would always agree.

*

“I cannot guarantee anything Saab.” the cab driver declared, his arms up in the air. “It is a risk you are taking.”

Dad looked at Mom, then at me. ‘Risk’ didn’t go down well with the weather that evening in Pune. There was an ominous hint of thunder in the air; the winds were conjoining into a storm. My interview at one of Pune’s software firms had been the penultimate one scheduled that day. And instead of sympathising with us for getting late for the return flight, Pune was getting ready for a full-throttled rainstorm.

Contrary to expected behaviour, I was buoyant. The interview had gone well or so I thought. I clicked a really cute picture of Ganpati Bappa, sitting snugly in one of the roadside mandirs. I clicked another of the overcast sky. The picture came out tinted in purple.

“Do put that camera back, will you?” said Mom, already worked up. “You can click plenty of pictures at the airport if we are stranded.”

“But Pune has a defence airport. No pictures.”

Mom stared. Ah, if looks could kill.

Now Pune and Mumbai are connected with one of the most beautiful highways you will ever find. It was this fact (coupled with err, costing issues) that made us book a Mumbai-Delhi flight. Once in the cab and speeding, I got ample opportunity to appreciate natural beauty. The roads were soft and smooth, the hills in the distance inviting. Raindrops continued to pitter patter against the cab windows. Every now and then, there was a flash of lightning.

I was glad my camera had advanced night-time features. I carry it with me everywhere I go and this being an out-of-town trip, it was one of the first items that had gone in the rucksack.

“Are you planning to click your interviewer? As an attempt to flatter him say?” Nani had chided.

That of course, didn’t actually happen. But the darling came to good use in capturing Mom and Dad’s panicked expressions, the yellow cat marks on the rain-drenched roads and the racing odometer.

“Never have I seen such rain.” Dad shook his head from the front seat. “And never have I been on such an adventure ride.”

Mom and I nodded, ducking as the cab bumped over a hidden speed breaker.

The next thing I knew, the camera clicked a signboard that said “Pune Airport”.

*

“I fail to understand what planet you come from.” My roomie was in one of her wild moods, trying her best to persuade me for a trip to Lonavala.

I did not say the feeling was mutual. “Why do you say that?” I asked instead.

“How on earth can someone report to work after staying up an entire night? I cannot get myself off bed before 11!”

Now, my roomie was a peculiar creature. She had aunts and uncles bathing in diamonds and they still filed for divorces. Oh well. My reason for reporting to work was different. For one, I had little option. And for another, I did not want an option.

My workplace in Pune was all I could have asked for. And more. No, it did not allow me to write for a living. I had to write lines of code and live up to my “computer engineer” tag. But while I managed to do that satisfactorily, I did not have to give up on my cherished dreams. Pune gave me miracles wrapped up in more. Muse for my very first blog and some readers who would actually read what I churn out. Satisfaction that my under graduate studies hadn’t gone in vain. Hope that someday I too would have a book launch. And a dreamer who would never fail to tell me how warm the sun is, how blue the sky.

Every evening after work, I would stuff my pen drive with impressions from the day. Projects I needed to relook at back home, pictures of the office cafeteria and colleagues, ideas for “Of Paneer, Pulao and Pune”. I would sort them into neat folders and password protect all I needed to hide from my dear pen drive-sharing roomie.

Till date, the pen drive proudly boasts of a star-iconed folder. It is called Miracles.

*

The wonders of life can never cease. While our brains remain the most often used memory collectors, there are gadgets that offer more reliable storage. Better music and better pictures at that. Zapping at Zapstore.com, an online gadget store, could be just what the doctor ordered!

*~* This entry is a part of BlogAdda contests in association with Zapstore.com

Chinkara Massacre. Indifference that kills.

 Truth No More: “This place treats its animals better.”

This is something I have heard being said in various circles, for quite some time now. People claim that stray cats and dogs are fed by shopkeepers and house makers. The bandwallas treat their horses well. The elephants in Kalindi Kunj get enough to eat. But few bother to feed a homeless tramp who shrinks into corners to keep the cold away. Even fewer give the traffic-signal beggars a glance for they are just that – beggars – and apparently averse to working for a living. Better be a homeless animal than a homeless human in Delhi, they say. But this impression that I was under has gone for a toss with the news of the chinkara massacre. Two stray dogs got into their cage in the Delhi Zoo recently and bit them to their deaths. Four chinkaras. One male, two females and a calf. All dead.

Source: hindu.com

The dogs were wild. But were the zookeepers wild as well? How on earth did the beasts enter the cage and stay long enough to murder? “We are yet to get CCTV surveillance.” the zoo says. This, in a time when even the house across the street has a camera installed at its entry gate. There is some crap being said about defaulted payment which halted the camera installation process midway. And all this while the matter is doing its rounds in court while the animals live unprotected in their cages.

Some say the dogs got in through a back gate. With the people who deliver goods at night. And at night-time of course, the security personnel deserve a good nap. “The chinkaras died in shock. They are a vulnerable species.” goes the lame excuse. Yes, right. It is the fault of the innocent animals that they didn’t have more courage and better weapons to fight the dogs off. In no way is the zoo responsible for overlooking gaps in the boundary and cracks in the cages. It is only now that the zoo officials wake up after four innocent chinkaras – currently one of the most endangered species – are dead.

What angers me beyond any limits is the attitude some people have. “Animals are meant to be preyed upon. They would have died sooner in a zoo.” How would these people feel if they were to be kept captive some place and murdered one night by gangsters? Oh the gangsters would smile and say: “You would die one day anyway. You may have died sooner in the tsunami your city just had.” No, it isn’t absurd. It is the fault of the inflated platform that some people keep themselves upon. They judge everyone else peering from there. Animals look tiny to them but they forget that they too can topple over with the next gust of wind.

Source: delhizoo.wordpress.com

There is talk of getting some more gazelles from another zoo. I can only hope that the new inmates are better protected. As is, they probably detest their life. Being put up on display for people to get entertained and evading the sticks that spoilt kids of spoilt parents throw. “Kids, you know.” the giggly parents whine. By the by, how do these people expect their kids to learn any civil courtesy when they go around throwing their dirty linen – literally – all over the place?

Zoos are an old-fashioned concept. They don’t convince me. All very well about taking your child to a picnic there but they leave me with a claustrophobic feeling. How would it feel if specimens of various types of humans were picked up and put in cages so their species could be inter-bred and others could be charged a ticket price for visiting? If at all zoos have to function, they should at the very least ensure their animals are safe. And alive the next morning!

I have a bad, if darkly funny feeling, that this massacre of sorts will be avenged. Every time I will look into the playful eyes of antelopes on television and watch them frolic about near a jungle pond, I will get the same feeling. If I were not so furious, I would be anxious.

This has to be the most expensive flour you can ever buy…

* notice up on a wall in one of South Delhi’s Xerox shops.

And now that I notice, this doesn’t have dealer details! Oops. My apologies to anyone who was getting all bucked up about ‘parchice-ing’ some.

How some Delhi-ites I know celebrated a rainy New Year…

Source: http://www.clker.com

Age Group: Upto 5

* We were dragged to Manali for a snowfall vacation. We shivered all the way there little knowing that we’d be packed into a pahaadi quilt while the parents went out to romance.

* Sat atop a table in KFC. Asked for a red and white balloon and howled when we split the tomato ketchup all over the tray.

* Slept. With Teddy Bear by the side and gentle little snores every now and then.

Age Group: 6-12

* Watched television. We were very glad that most of our regular shows aired as usual and New Year specials were kept to a minimum. Why Papa even sat glued to Crime Patrol. Now they had a New Year special. What better way can there be to bring in the New Year than watch people brandish knives and guns?

* Read comics. Quietly by the window with a packet of wafers in hand while the rain fell softly…

* Did a lot of *hullah gullah. The cousins were home and they, like everyone else, were monkeys in a previous birth. So we basically lived up to the reputation of our ancestors.

Age Group: Teenagers

* Went out with dance school friends. Did salsa on the streets and samba in the movie theatre that aired Don2.

* Went out shopping. We got a lot of fancy stuff that will look great in showcases and trunks. Well that’s where they are going to be considering they won’t be of use/fancy a few days later.

* Clicked a lot of pictures. Of me in various outfits. I am targeting 110+ tomorrow. FB likes in case you were wondering (dimwit)!

Age Group: 20-35

* Went for lunch with the parents. Had a voucher or so to redeem and felt good to spend some, if rather disturbed, time with Ma and Pa.

* Talked on the phone with a best friend. Crossed a mental finger that prayed for a fulfilling year ahead.

* Partied! Went to a record number of them and made sure we could model in one of those don’t drink and drive advertisements.

Age Group: 36-60

* Spent time listening to good music. It helped convince us that “good music” isn’t an oxymoron like today’s movies make it sound.

* Went out with the spouse to inhale some seasonal festivities. Reminisced about the times that were and talked about the times to come.

* Squabbled. Doesn’t make sense to start a year without exercising that easy-to-ignite temper that we have.

Age Group: Senior Citizens

* Sat on a quilt with another quilt on top. Felt nice and cozy and we kept the rain away.

* Talked with the cats. We also got them special chicken delights for a feast. It made for some great watching as the dearies wiped them off the plate in no time.

* Philosophized. About what the world is coming to. Raindrops and their pitter patter made for a wonderful backdrop to it all.

So, how did you celebrate this rainy New Year?

*a Hindi word meaning “chaos”

“I will leave a happy soul…”: In Conversation With 2011

(New Year Special #3)

For starters, 2011 is very unlike the mental image you probably have of him. He doesn’t wear spectacles but has an artist-like beard that keeps dripping into the cup of black coffee on the table. Though it was difficult to get him sit down to an interview, Saddi Delhi managed to bring the reclusive darling to the mike. In this exclusive interview, 2011 speaks about the year that was, his misgivings and musings and also shares thoughts on his impending goodbye from the wall-calendar. Here are snippets of the interview, quoted verbatim:

Q. Thank you for finally relenting to this conversation.

A. (grins) You are pretty persuasive that way. But no honestly, it was hard for me to squeeze in time for PR what with the year-end parties I have to get ready for.

Q. Anything special we can look forward to?

A. Of course. Like you know, I may not have a successor to the throne. 366 or so days later, this planet may be devoid of people. I am doing my best to make the end, or the beginning of the end, memorable. I have made it rain in Chennai for instance. People are staying back in their houses and getting to spend quality time with loved ones. Just the other day I got some people to get stranded in Andaman. Though that didn’t work out too well…

Q. What went wrong?

A. I saw these press reports that said the people weren’t taking it positively. They were apparently flustered and wanted to get out of the situation somehow… (sighs) People I tell you. You would think a rain shower of sorts on an island would be appreciated this holiday season.

Q. You sound put down. Are you sure this isn’t an attention seeking strategy now that people have started putting up 2012 calendars everywhere?

A. You amuse me. I am very happy with the way I have been celebrated all through. Now that New Year parties are kicking off, it feels like a lifetime achievement. There are certain things I am not too pleased about albeit… but I do not think 2012 will alter that stance much.

Q. Could we elaborate on that a bit?

A. See we lost out on so many good people. Where will we now find a man as handsome as Dev Saab? As melodious as Jagjit Ji? Oh there have been innumerable losses and listing them down only makes my heart go heavy. But trust me when I say there was little I had to do with it. I am sure that no year can ever take away from the wonder these people have evoked…It is just sad that I had to be the one to bear the brunt.

Q. That means you refuse to accept any of your misdeeds. Or you are saying there weren’t any on your part?

A. Of course there were. I feel sorry about one hundred and twenty things I have done. I have been silent through heartbreaks, house-breaks and breaches of trust. I have seen fires go untended, earthquakes have their kill. But then it is important to understand that natural disaster is something we can do little about. Except perhaps take those climate control people a bit more seriously. But these manmade catastrophes that you people cause, why should I shoulder responsibility for something so outrageous?

Q. Err…lets come to familial ties. And those with friends? Aren’t you upset about leaving them all behind?

A. We all come with an expiry date. Very soon those bottles of lotion and capsules you bought in January will have to go into the bin. On my part, I will leave a happy soul. My family and friends are all too willing to follow me to the closet…March was especially pleased. Said something about taking the Pune-departure a little too badly. All of us are hoping that grievances and unfinished tasks will reach their conclusion in good time. If only the closet is dusted once in a while, we don’t mind at all.

Q. Oh I am sure that will be done. And you will be alive and kicking in the cyber space anyway.

A. Oh yes. The good people who blog. I am thankful to all that has been written about me. Any publicity is good you see. I think you should also go ahead and thank all the wonderful readers this place has got. I remember several occasions when you would be smiling about an encouraging comment or gloating over some statistics. I have given you umpteen blogs to follow all this while and I can see you enjoy every one of them.

Q. Way to go. Now that we are getting personal, why don’t we also talk about what colour towel I use?

A. Okay I don’t know that one.

Q. (shakes head) So anyway 2011, we have now done a feature on you. This is the final part of our three stage New Year Special. Won’t there be goodies you’ll get for Saddi Delhi as a return-gift?

A. You always have my best wishes, Saddi Delhi. I hope that in coming times, there will be good tidings to wake up to. Bridge those distances with loved ones, smile more often and take this place to another city.

Q. Now we are being enigmatic.

(smiling and waving a goodbye) Happy new year darling!

-

2011 left me with an unrest in the throat. There were some more questions I wanted to ask, some more coffee I needed to brew with those thoughts… It has been a year of mixed feelings. Of moments I am scared to lose and goodbyes I never want to repeat…There have been days when the world has seemed beautiful to a fault and afternoons when it was too still for a single bird to venture out.

Now that a fresh year is almost here – wow, that rhymed – I hope it brings basketfuls of surprises and moments in the glorious sun. And when I sit down to unpack the goodies in the basket, I want the largest one to be R. In complete life-size.

Sheesh, I missed out on Saddi Delhi’s very heartfelt greeting for all its wonderful readers and potential readers out there…

A very Happy New Year!

God bless you all.

Ten things that 2011 taught me…

(New Year Special #2)

* Delhi can never be dry-cleaned of leering and peering young men. They will continue to stare at you from all nooks and crannies of the street, auto rickshaws and motorcycles. Always have your cell phone charged and be bright enough to ring up the police when required.

* Never venture out in strappy sandals in the month of August. There will be pits of mud lying in wait exclusively for you. While you are mesmerized by the crystal raindrops that fall, your feet will be down in a marsh, conversing with earthworms.

* Try to cut down on singing in the shower. There is only enough water in Delhi to get you your daily scrubbing. Asking the water to last through a song would be stretching it too far.

* Do not underestimate the power of exercise. People give up coaching classes and job shifts for a much-valued evening in the gym (or a mollycoddle session in the park). Learn to go out walking when you can. Saves up some petrol and diesel expense as well!

* If you are looking for a pet whose world revolves around you, get a nice doggie. Or maybe a horse, elephant or lamb. A cat may fool you with declarations of love only to achieve his purpose of parking himself on the cane chair.

* The next time street entertainment comes to your town, make it a point to attend it. A classic circus camping on the big field outside your house, college kids putting up a play on AIDS awareness, the like. (Street entertainment not to be confused with empty-stomached visits to Ramlila Maidan)

* Click pictures. Lots and lots of them. Must haves: a picture of the plants in your courtyard, the rising sun on a winter morning, birds on the terrace, billboards in your office street, intriguing signboards. Get people to gift you storage space on birthdays and anniversaries. Chances are you will never be bored with going through old clicks. Especially true of a time when you will be relaxing at home, after the rice-feeding ceremony of your grandson is done.

* Learn to be patient on the phone. Learn to write letters and e-mails. You never know when life will throw in your face a nasty little surprise and you have to stay away from all that means the most to you. The written word and shared conversations over the phone will then be your best mates. Make sure though, that the conversations aren’t with customer care people who sugar coat their mouthpieces. Also make sure (note to self) that you make conscious efforts to bridge the geographical barriers as soon as possible.

* People in Delhi have a wall-fixation. Every time they see a wall, several of them get this insurmountable desire to pee. And several others get an urge to park their automobiles right away. Never mind if the wall is plastered with pretty tiles or the gate has a no-parking board. When the urge comes, these people turn illiterate.

* Choose your media exposure cautiously. It is a dangerous world out there…one where bodyguards go on to make box-office history and Chamelis graduate from selling hair-oil to making the world dance to their Hindicized Marathi tunes. If you’re not choosy, you may end up getting thrashed on a Dhobi Ghat or forced to bathe in embarrassing chocolate.

*image from bloggingaboutoracleapplications.org

Year-End Laziness, topped with mustard sauce…meow!

(New Year Special #1)

With 2011 ready to be wrapped up in cold storage, only to be accessed via future bookmarks and reminiscence of the past, here is one of my dear lazy cats talking about an average day this December. She has chosen to end this year pictorially, saving up memories of savoury dishes and days spent doing nothing and to top it all, showcasing her queen-sized life on this petty blog of mine. So here goes:

“Wrapping up 2011, *Chowki Style”

D says the year is drawing to a close,
not that I really mind.
As long as I have my routines to keep,
nothing ever seems a grind. 
I admit though, I get late rising…
drat this cruel chill!
The mornings are such a foggy cream,
and the mist ain’t no thrill.

My sleepy bones stretch out in yoga,
a precise quarter past ten.
If a honking car plays spoilsport,
I put out my tongue at them.
Often I wish we picnicked at a farm,
where there’d be fish to surprise!
But fishy-fantasy I keep at bay,
when my soul is deep in exercise.

When ablutions are done, I look around,
the empty balcony is no fun!
So up to the old terrace I climb,
and they’re all there in the sun.
The golden sunshine is warm and cheery,
and lures me into a catnap or two.
Ah! the delight of an after-sleep snooze
for an overworked cat is the thing to do.

The sun is now high, up in the sky,
and those mice in the belly insane.
For a cat like me, who slaves all day,
going without food is a pain!
I smile at the company to get noticed,
but they are in an ignoring mood.
I am not offered lunch or a cushioned chair,
huffed and puffed I sit down to brood.

Then, at long last, D’s Grandmother gets up…
she puts the peapods aside.
Combing her hair and straightening her apron,
she picks the keys beside.
I run around as she climbs down,
and the kitchen doors are unhooked.
I sniff and grin as magic unfolds,
and fish for the family is cooked.

Fireworks go up in the night sky sometimes,
sometimes I see the moon greying.
D tells me I have had too much to eat;
I fall asleep when she’s still saying.
I cannot afford nights on the roof you see,
in cold winds that howl.
For the next morning there’ll be yoga again,
and fresh-water fish served in a bowl.

- “Chowki”
(D’s Brown Cat)

* In case you were wondering, Chowki is short for “Chowkidar” (meaning “guard” in Hindi). D and her family christened me thus because of my innate tendencies of sitting by the door.

Sun-bathed

One of the best parts about my home – I realized the other afternoon – is the sun. We get lots of it and of a rich golden colour, the kind baked especially for chilled, winter bones. The roof is now Dada’s ‘daytime-camp’ and the kitties’ playground. Visiting hours start at 9 in the morning and go on for as long as the sun does his daily rounds. Now, I am not a huge Vitamin D addict, but I have to admit there’s something magical about winter sunshine. And I have been telling everyone about it…

We have two cane chairs up there, acquired ages ago from those people who exchange household things for clothes. Got the chairs cheap we did, in return for an old skirt of mine and a pair of torn shoes. “So there’s really no dearth of sitting space.” I said to Mom sternly one day when she grumbled something about dust and grime. She often complains of pain in the arms and doctors suggest sun-time as the next best thing after exercise. But Mom has an aversion to all things sunny and escapes into a shawl or so every time I ask. Suggestions anyone? Dad has been promising shopping and New Year goodies if only she listens to us. But I have a feeling the whole idea is being counterproductive.

To make things livelier, we even have flowers and birds to while away afternoons. Few things can compare favourably to the delight of lying on a mattress that is drowned in December sunshine, with birds chirping away cheerfully in the background. The little things like the genda ka phool the best. Those have come out huge and violent orange this season, living up to Nani’s green-fingers reputation. Nani does her refreshment-sponsor part well too, for there are always plenty of oranges and guavas in the fruit basket and groundnuts that go best with sunshine sauce.

On afternoons when I can, I spend time on the roof. I look up at the skies which are a newly laundered blue and wonder if hailstorms and snowstorms are impending. But all I am offered in response is warmth. A promise that no matter how cold a wave come over to engulf my world, the present moment is all about cheer. About farm fresh fruits and smiling flowers and homemade *chattais. And then, as if by magic, all things cold and dreary sullenly slip away on tiptoe.

* a Hindi word for cane-mattress