Swaying to the tune of Bihu...

It all started over an otherwise ordinary Sunday. Over generous cups of tea, savories, and sweets, erupted a familiar happy commotion. And once we were fed enough to be seated in one place and not scatter around, the agendas of the meeting were laboriously addressed, thoroughly discussed, and dutifully highlighted. Interspersed with shrieks, yawns, and other kind of protests from the younger members of the group from time to time. But we remained largely unfazed by any of those distractions, and carried forward with the discussions before returning to our lives that waited for us the next morning. 

Two months away from this day, was fast approaching the Assamese festival of Bihu, that heralds the first day of the Assamese calendar. The first day of ‘Bohag,’ as we know it. ‘Pohila Bohag’ as Deta would say enunciating each syllable, separating it from the Bengali, ‘Poila Boishak.’ The mere word rushes a stream of emotion through my veins. So many fond memories of this day lived in the Assam we have left behind. And wonder if we would ever find our way back to it again. 

Over that first meeting to discuss the Bihu event, something unprecedented had happened. While the discussions steered towards who would be doing the ‘Bihu dance’, with the previous dancers being occupied, my tongue had uncharacteristically slipped, and uttered, ‘I don’t mind joining, if I have company.’ And I found myself retracting almost instantly, as always, adding, ‘I might not have the right clothes though.’ And wished that no one listened to anything I had said in the heat of excitement. And I can easily wiggle out of it in time. But if only impulsive tongue got a second chance! 

Next thing I knew was, I have been added to a group over WhatsApp, named - Bihu 2018. And that was it. The slippery slope I had set foot on, led me to Orlando one fine morning, navigating a travel time of almost 2 hours, to do what...you guessed it...mark the beginning of Bihu dance rehearsals! The lady who opened her home and heart for the session, also managed to fix a lunch worthy of a feast that day. And our hunger, induced by the sways and gyrations of the first few rounds of dance, was quelled enormously. It also pumped us for another few rounds. And to my utter surprise, I was actually enjoying it. And all my initial inhibition was slowly making room for some confidence. It must be the company, it actually is always the company, that can make or mar moments like these. And I had three fine ladies to share these memories with. Cracking one joke at a time. Sorting one step at a time. 

Although this was pre-meditated, yet I consider ourselves lucky to have a fabulous Bihu dancer to show us the way to what seemed like a very intimidating road ahead of us. She had promptly shared her dance video over WhatsApp so that we came prepared on the first day. The sign of a great teacher lies in simplifying things for her students. And far from making things appear daunting, she broke it down to us like taking a toddler though a maze of new words. That must have added the extra boost that our moves dearly needed. And in our head, we were ready to fly! 

This is only the girls’ part of the story though. The men had their own sessions going on over other premises. A ‘Husori’ must first set the mood for Bihu, and serenade the ‘nasonis’ to join them in the celebrations. So the boys had gone on with their part of the rehearsals, well ahead of us. Despite  failing to turn up on time, and sometimes to turn up at all, their spirits however, were always high. 

The second round of rehearsal was when the men and the women came face-to-face. Not exactly for a face-off, but to merge steps wherever they presented a possibility. And our very abled choreographer made sure we tamed the brisk steps, till our ankles ached, our legs gave up, and our heads felt nauseous. But this was crucial, this last leg of the song that we were struggling with. For it is always the last beat of 'dhol' and 'pepa', ending in a thundering climax, that decides the success of a Bihu performance. So there was no question of slacking, but to keep pace with a stead-fast determination, with our master’s words echoing, ‘faster..faster..’ in the air. And faster it got, with each round of practice. Or, that is the goal we are dancing towards. The other goal is to not create a stampede in the process. 

Come Sunday we head to yet another venue, for yet another round of rehearsal. Which might just be the final one before the main event. And come to think of it, if we can pull this off in rehearsal worth of three days, it will be an accomplishment in my tiny book of achievements. 

I have never danced Bihu before this on a stage. Atleast not as far back as I can remember. Thought it might be useful to divulge this crucial piece of information right at this moment. But at the same time, I can almost never hold myself back to the sound of its beat, when I am in a safe enough zone. So here’s to the first of firsts then, to friendships forged over unusual terrains, and to life, that holds surprises in each turn. 

That reminds me, we must turn really fast in the second last line, you hear me, ma girls? 

Diya wali Diwali

Diwali always gets the better of me. Particularly this year, after having spent last Diwali holed up in a hotel room. When we had barely made the transition from Buffalo to Tampa. And I remember spending a wistful evening scrolling through numerous Diwali pictures, and how my heart had ached and longed for a 'home' to light diyas in. And here we are,  almost a year later...  

Diwali is also the time when my bigger, sharper, lenses come out of hybernation, and capture the essence of this beautiful festival - the sparkle, the glimmer, and the glow - casting a quiet spell on me.

Hence, this time, I will let the camera do the talking...

The usual me...not

Ever so often, I disappear. I vanish, without a trace. And allow this space to collect the virtual cobwebs. And with the same brazen abruptness, I make a sudden appearance, and catch you in the middle of something. And feign a casual air about the long and awkward silence I often subject this place to. I act like all this is normal – this coming and going. But I return, because I am assured that these erratic visits have become a part of a ritual now. An unspoken bond that you and I have formed. An understanding - that doesn’t demand any explaining. An assurance - that thrives on the knowledge that, ‘life’ comes in the way, and focus, like other things, gets pushed away. So with that score settled, here is another attempt to keep the words flowing...to keep the story going.

I remember last time I left you with me gushing over a movie that I had immensely liked. That was roughly two months ago. I must have enjoyed it so much that I saw to it that the word spreads steadily around. Particularly because the movie had not made it to the tier one cities in India. And that information had killed me. And I passed on the ‘link’ (horror!) to the film like I was getting paid for it. And I remember I chuckled with satisfaction when friends left notes saying that they had watched the film based on my review, and had really liked it. And then I seem to have forgotten all about it, and drifted to other things, and abandoned this space yet another time with a callousness that comes so naturally to me. And even if I take solace in knowing that this sporadic blogging is a common trait with our brood, I do feel obliged to do some explaining.

So what kept me busy all this while you ask? I really wish I had an answer as impressive as my vanishing acts, but alas! I would have to disappoint you, and say that, my life continues to be as sedated as the last time you checked on me. Expect that, I went out quite a bit (strictly by my standards), stuffed my face with all kind of food, met with new people, got invited for dinners, made dinner plans, some guests visited, retail therapy ruled the roost, read some great books that I had picked at a dream book-sale, some of my potted plants survived the summer, some couldn’t withstand the severe spread of a powdery fungus that took the life out of my chilies and tomatoes. And my heart bled and wept while giving them a funeral when I finally let them go. I took part in festivals I had never been part of before, and then, I even wrote a little, scribbled rather, every now and then. Wrote full-fledged book reviews.  Now that was progress in my book. Because it turned out to be lot different from reviewing manuscripts as an Editor at some point in my life. And demanded lot more patience than writing a quick Goodreads review which I had done ample times. And I took to Twitter to share them because I needed closure (and validation).  But was too chicken to share it on this platform. But what I hadn’t expected was to stumble upon an amazing world of bloggers over Twitter, that gave me access to a thriving world of creative writers. Witnessing this tribe encourage each other with writing prompts and story ideas was inspiring to say the least. This seemed to have done wonders for me, it kept me focused and got me into a reading and writing cycle. Occasional frustration with writing was natural, particularly when there were huge lapses between the first and the last chapter of a book I was reading, thanks to duty-calls. But I was just grateful for my days falling into a routine where I was more productive than usual. More importantly, I could shut out nursery rhymes on loop, and keep hazardous cups of imaginary tea from my girl’s pantry at bay. It was like I was growing wings, and was about to fly!

Everything looked bright and sunny till the month of August made its grand entry. And as you know it, August translates to Birthdays, and Birthdays mean August in my life. Hence without saying much, you understand that the pattern I had fallen into started to fizzle out even before I could fully embrace it, and got replaced with ‘chaos’ and ‘planning’ (of all kinds) for the daughter’s second birthday, that was leading up to be the friends’ reunion party too. The celebration went on for two weeks. The holiday weekend following the birthday weekend made room for a longish party. And goes without saying, there was not a single dull moment to kick my feet up on a chair, and recap the events in my head that whizzed by like snapshots. Towards the end of the second weekend, when the last guests were saying their goodbyes, entered an unexpected guest from the backyard door - Hurricane Irma. ‘Hurricane August’ was not enough apparently. And in a matter of a day, leaving everything behind as they were (scattered), we fled for our lives as evacuation warnings started to buzz in the state of Florida, and drove across three states in search of a safe haven. And when things had normalized, we got back to base, and heaved a sigh of relief to find that the house was in one piece. And the next day my brother and sis-in-law dropped by on their way back from a vacay. And we realized the holiday mood got extended by two more days. So you get that saying my hands were full last few days would be a gross understatement. And you do realize that I am bursting at my seams with stories that you wouldn’t hear the end of. But for now, this will have to do. In between the madness, I made two trips to the movie theatre too. A big bold event in my motherhood calendar. Both turned out to be mediocre movies, but that was hardly my concern. This was baby girl’s first ever theatre visit, and I was on my seat’s edge to run out lest she showed her true colors, and brought the roof down. But to her credit, she was most well-behaved, except singing ‘good-morning’ to her heart’s fill close to midnight, and glaring at the screen only when it would break into a song. I could go on and on, there’s so much to pour out, but I want you to come back for more. Till the next post then, adios amigos.

Fathers' Day....part musing...part blabbering...

Like every other evening, he sprung the door open, and casting a rehearsed smile my way, darted his eyes to meet the kid’s, who was sitting in a wreckage of toys and blocks, lost, squinting at a piece of paper. Surprising her from the back, he grabbed her by her shoulder and tossed her up, her few seconds’ shock broke into irresistible giggles while the pleased father laughed and kissed and broke into childish gibberish. Then suddenly, without moving his eyes from the kid, he said, “Today is Fathers’ Day it seems.”

At this utterance, me, the clueless, hapless wife, marveling at my ill-knowledge, said a hasty sorry (evidently guilty for slacking so bad), and really meant it. If not anything a cake could still have been managed. One of those up-my-alleys lately, now that finally I am close to calling myself a pro-level oven operator. But how did I forget? Actually, how did I not even know? I had no clue! It’s strange how even social media managed to mask it this time. I came across barely a simmering of celebration here and there (that too without any clarity on the date), vis-a-vis the full-blown ones around Mother’s day. Good Lord! Do I even need to remind you of the mad euphoria? Then why do the Fathers’ Day not match up to the same levels of excitement? I could be wrong here, or my social media scurrying could have been particularly abysmal today, but I still think Fathers’ Day celebration is a rather low-key affair, would you agree? Whereas, mothers are celebrated twice (British and American dates), and the opportunist fence sitters like me, who are neither here nor there, or over both, never shy to lap them up both. But then it is not entirely true. Infact, the kid’s dad, to redeem me of my guilt, responding to my sorry, said, “but we didn’t do anything for your day too.” And he was right. But, why didn’t we? As these thoughts lingered and the tea in the kettle next to me bubbled away, I lifted my phone out of habit and while soaking some social media, summoned who else but Google guru(since I was not entirely convinced about the date).....and there! I was right! Fathers’ Day was still a day away! Not being able to decide whether to take the husband up for the false alarm or to thank my luck, we sat down with mugs of tea, and my mind drifted to what could be done on the day...

But not before I tell you why Mothers’ Day was also...well...nothing extraordinary. Especially when every second advertisement that runs across our screens yell about some spread, some wine, and fine dine, staycations and sales and discounts and what have you.....May be because I am permanently fatigued, and distracted, or both, and any form of outing that requires me to bother about my messy bun is well....bothersome. Following which the thought of the whole deal of painstakingly picking a place, then making reservations, and then dress up, then dress the kid and once at the table after finally claiming it, the heaving high chair bearing the weight of a particularly restless toddler, then the scanning through the menu and ordering in as less time as possible, one eye fixed on the kid, after having wiped off the cutleries from her sight, then a spill here, a splatter there, and then a brazen cry.... the list goes on. So Yes. That’s why. That’s exactly why the food invariably gets ordered and delivered at home, and if they do not deliver, we climb in the car, in barely respectable clothes, strapping the kid, off we go and bring Chinese food from dodgy places that tastes just as fabulous, and once home, we ravenously wolf it down in minutes. I like this kind of Mothers’ Day - when I am truly grateful for everything but can so do not celebrating it in a way that makes me feel bad about my destressed hair, by choppy make-up, my ill-fitting dress... One might say but isn’t that the whole point? Of giving yourself the much-deserved pampering and break? I suppose it is, but as far as I go, even that would have to wait for the time being.

Then what do I do for my parents on these occasions you ask? Well, I am hardly the kind who wears her emotions on sleeve. I am taciturn that way, emotionally. Keeping true to the early 90’s kid’s existence on whom importance of such days are...kind of lost, I barely manage to send a shy ‘Happy Mothers’/Fathers’ Day’ message, striking just the right balance between genuine and cheesy. To which they, I would imagine, break into a smile, and push a ‘thank you’, complimenting my terseness, but the emotion never failing to get delivered.  No cakes, no flowers, no hotel and restaurant reservations, I mean there’s no harm, I don’t turn up my nose to it, but minimal is good, comfort is key. And luckily the partner in crime, shares just the equal degree of nonchalance when it comes to such occasions, totally living up to my expectations. So I am guessing it will have to be a Korean to-go tonight then, something highly pleasing to his taste buds, and just a heartfelt thank you may be, not in words, ofcourse not, just in smiles and sighs....