• The Bengali Aunty Nightie: A Garment, A Lifestyle

    There are many unsolved mysteries in the universe. What existed before the Big Bang? Where do missing Tupperware lids go? Where is that second pair of sock perpetually disappearing to? And perhaps most importantly…at what exact point does a Bengali woman permanently transition into a nightie wearing aunty or a Maashima/Kakima for those who would prefer the Bangla terminology. 

    Scientists don’t know. Historians refuse to comment. Sociologists are afraid of retaliation from their mothers. But one thing is clear: the Bengali aunty nightie is not clothing. It is an essential fabric (pun absolutely intended) of our identity. Whether one wears it or not. 

    Every Bengali girl grows up watching it happen; the great transformation. One day, your mother is wearing crisp taant aka handloom saris, usually sleeveless blouses and the requisite matching bindis. Then suddenly — usually after marriage, childbirth, or one particularly traumatic summer power cut — she disappears into the soft floral rabbit hole of the nightie ecosystem. And she never fully returns.

    At first it is “just for comfort at home.” And then the growth is exponential…inside the building, then downstairs, then to the local dokaan (small stores). Absolutely essential steps in this evolution are receiving the gas cylinder, supervising the  fish purchases with stringent authority and discussing the summer heat with the neighbors from the balcony. Eventually, the nightie achieves the status of becoming a State of Being. 

    For those who might feel this blog post is full of exaggerations or snark, let me assure you that is not the case at all. In fact, quite like Maslow’s Theory, there’s a near-pyramidal structure to the Bengali Nightie. The nighties are not all the same. Here they are in chronological order:

    Level 1: The Daily Combat Nightie

    Faded flowers. Slight turmeric stain. Pocket containing spare change et al. One rubber band or a safety pin depending upon what rocks your boat. This garment is strained by the emotional burden of the daily decisions of meal planning and cooking for  the entire family. This nightie is battle weary and still has enough juice to power up two such aunties.

    Level 2: The “Lok Ashbe” Nightie a.k.a Suitable for ‘Proper ‘visitors and not just vendors

    This nightie has usually been purchased from a store with a roof and walls and not just the sidewalk hawker at Gariahat. It is cleaner, not as see-through and most often has a slight lace near the sleeves. The lace and piping are essential since it sets it apart from the hoi polloi of the run of the mill nighties and gives it a slightly more elevated status. It is primarily reserved for engaging with the white collar junta. 

    Level 3: The Pujo Morning Nightie

    Usually donned post bath, this nightie comes with wet hair, flaky patches of Nycil or Pond’s Dreamflower talc on the neck and chin and needs to keep up with the energy of the hausfrau who is on a mission to get *her* day started. Till now it’s all been must-dos and for the sake of the familia but now, it’s her time to take it easy while she takes care of business.

    Let’s move onto the aesthetics now. Or the lack thereof because no one really knows who designs these nighties. Much like the elves who made the shoes for the shoemaker in the dead of the night, there seem to be textile masterminds who have a fetish for giant pansies, roses or floral prints which look like optical illusions and a veritable geometric confusion of colors which don’t hurt the eyes but do make one wonder at the surplus of mustard and lavender and a red which inevitably fades after 3 washes.  Does it look like a giant sofa cover from days gone by, certainly! But will it outlive said sofa for 3 generations and still be around to tell the tale? You better believe it!

    There’s a design genius in it as well. You could be stick-thin, pleasantly plump or defy categorization of dimensions and the nightie seller will sell you the free-size nightie which apparently transcends all body types, seasons, social class and occasionally laws of physics.

    Bengali women have been practising repurposing and reusing the nightie for aeons; much before sustainability became an internet buzzword. A nightie will be worn to the point of threadbareness but the nightie wearer will only discard it once she determines which particular chore that nightie can be transitioned to- drying dishes, wiping glass tables and windows or as a duster for the delicate home items where a heavy hand and coarse duster just won’t do. So you can keep your microfiber cloths because nothing will be as effective as a hand-me-down nightie that has been cut up into pieces and lovingly kept aside to be used in times of household requirements and emergencies.

    So all the naysayers and nose-in-air couture-loving people…invest in the nightie. It’s an investment in yourself. And for the best deals, look up your neighborhood Bengali aunty who will make sure you look like a floral explosion while you lounge in soft cottony comfort for the next 20 years. 

    Nuff said.

  • Almost two months ago my father suffered a traumatic brain injury (TBI). It was touch and go for quite a while but he always managed to stop himself from crossing the border into a much more difficult space; for him and for us. And now he’s back home.

    Part of his rehabilitation is listening to music. While it is done to create a more congenial and less of a hospital-like environment at home, the ways it helps is manifold. In TBIs, being able to process different auditory stimuli and respond to it helps improve neuroplasticity while improving mood and enhancing cognitive processes.

    Now I don’t know the science behind it barring what the books and internet tell me but this morning when my father was listening to his curated playlist of old Bollywood songs, he positively perked up while listening to the songs from the movie Padosan. And when Ek Chatur Naar played, he was tapping his fingers and toes and seemed to come out of the funk that often surrounds him these days.

    And to me that’s nothing short of magic. He is possibly getting caught up with the beats, the melody or even the nostalgia the songs evoke but that’s helping him navigate an unimagineably difficult time and one which is filled up quite a bit of uncertainties. With brain injuries the toughest thing to do is wait and watch for things to play out and unfortunately that is the only way forward; with or without the help of medicines.

    So while we wait for those glorious days of recovery to happen, we will groove along with Kishore Kumar, Mehmood and Manna Dey and let their ability to heal work its magic on all of us.

  • …

    I was and am stuck for a title for this post. That hardly ever happens. And when it does happen in other aspects of my life, it usually pertains to Red.

    He of the stoic countenance and endless source of hidden snark; delivered with such a matter-of-fact tone that one will rarely doubt the veracity of the words.

    To get to the heart of what happened, a bit of a back story is needed. Of late, we have embraced greenness in our lives and are trying very hard to keep our plants alive. We don’t pride ourselves as plant killers per se, but pretty much only the sturdiest of the sturdy seem to survive in our homestead. The color of the thumb is less green and edging towards yellow.

    So, Red has taken over the charge of keeping the green ones alive while I keep him and TO alive; an apt division of labor if there ever was one. And he chose to plant two creepers together in the same pot. They were growing well and not too rapidly so we could gauge their growth before separating them if need be.

    I chose to separate them when I couldn’t unentangle them and had the creeper with the thicker, sturdier vine moved to another pot in another location. All with the blessings of our gardener who excels in nodding his head whenever I ask him something mainly because he and I don’t have a single language we’re both fluent in with each other. Anyhoo, he didn’t shake his head when I asked him to separate the two plants and it seemed to be working for a bit, till it didn’t.

    We moved the thicker fellow back towards the original place once the leaves no longer looked as bright but kept it separate from the earlier neighbor, who still is thriving *knocks wood*, but the leaves have now drooped further and the vine seems discolored.

    Now comes the zinger- this morning Red was having his coffee in his office and when I went and observed that the plant looked like it wasn’t going to survive. Pat came the reply, “That’s because you’re like Trump.” This had the efffect of making me stand there silently and doing my best goldfish impression -gormless and opening and closing mouth silently. Red continued: “You had to be like ICE and separate anything that doesn’t look like it belongs!“

    And there you have it ladies and gentleman, I am not only the MAGA girl (yeah this is another story) but I am also Trump’s storm trooper aka ICE aka killer-separator of plants and all-around bad guy.

    TGIF!

  • I didn’t know how much power words have over us. How they can define us and our lives at various stages.

    As an expectant mother and a new one my world was mainly ruled by these words: ‘heartburn‘, ‘Braxton Hicks‘, insomnia‘, ‘burps‘, ‘poops’, ‘nasal aspirators’, ‘diaper genie‘, ‘Feberizing‘, ‘self-soothing’, ‘toilet training‘, ‘weaning‘ and the legion that went with those.

    Now, as a middle-aged woman, my world is ruled by these words ‘hot-flashes’, ‘pigmentation‘, ‘mood changes’, ‘hyaluronic acid’, ‘niacinamide‘ and its ilk.

    I would rather take that entire lot and lock it away in a box and instead be surrounded by words like ‘dark chocolate mousse‘, ‘Hugh Jackman‘, ‘Prosecco’, ‘Riesling‘, ‘Moscato‘, ‘Jonathan Bailey‘, ‘regular Baileys‘, ‘spa day‘ and the multitude that go along with them. If only…

  • Ratio in Absurdo

    Ratio in Absurdo

    I’m no Latin scholar but I can wield the search engines pretty effectively and know exactly which keywords I want. And what I wanted was something that meant, ” The absurd makes sense“, and Google delivered with Ratio in Absurdo viz the ‘reason in the absurd’.

    Art by Jesus Hernandez

    Why this sudden foray into the absurd? Well, the absurd is so much more than just nonsense and things that are silly et al. While on one hand it takes on a derogatory slant and stands for something or someone being irrational or “bad”, on the other hand it also means a conflict between human beings- the universe and the way things are.

    I prefer the silly version of absurd when the philosophical version comes into play viz the conflict rears its head. The silliness could be indulging in the most inane things- songs, movies, people and activities. And therein lies the beauty of the absurd…it doesn’t have to mean anything at all.

    Art by Bruno Pontiroli

    Throughout the week we are governed by and also govern over others via the to-dos. Lists which aren’t a straitjacket but demand a pretty high level of adherence simply because it makes life easier and without them there might be a kind of disorder which would be hard to manage. Add kids to the mix and having well-laid expectations of what is to be done and what shouldn’t be; helps them in learning what works for them and what doesn’t.

    Art by Piotr Szczur

    But every now and then, it just makes sense to indulge in the absurd. This is why mindless songs are such hits and the most confounding concepts for movies still have takers amongst people considered smart (looks around guiltily).

    If you can’t think of anything else to be after a prolonged period of doing things by the book, go on…be absurd. Can you think of anything else that might be more liberating?

  • The Magic Of the Indian Autos

    It suddenly occured to me, after I took three autos in the course of the same day, that Indian autos are quite like the Knight Bus from the Harry Potter stories.

    And while I am yet to meet a Stan Shunpike, the magic I think, is in the ways Indian autos manage to wriggle in and out of the narrowest of spaces, defying the laws of physics and make their way to their destination. You might leave your stomach behind on one of those rides but the magic is undeniable.

    Add to that, their choice of ads, slogans on the back of the auto is often an experience in itself. Ranging from hilarious typos to the utterly profound; they add to the vibe of the auto as much as the person driving it.

    Imagine a scenario where there’s a sea of red…red from rear lights of the cars, the brake lights are on as well, the red traffic light is slowly making its way to green and you are stuck behind this honking, beeping, cursing behemoth aka a traffic jam.

    In the midst of it all, an autorickshaw appears like an avenging angel or bat out of hell; take your pick. With one wheel in the air, and another 2 half on the sidewalk and half off it, the auto driver makes his way in the midst of the madding crowd. That the crowd doesn’t part before him like the Red Sea is immaterial. He will make his way through the crowd one way or another!

    While he’s powering through, he’s listening to music loudly on speakers which are scratchy, also booking future passengers simultaneously. And in order to ensure he doesn’t break all of the traffic rules; sticking his leg out to signal a turn.

    Almost every instance of road rage I’ve had has been courtesy a tussle with an autowallah. Either I’ve been sitting in the auto and telling him that I have parents I need to get home to or a husband and child who need me so he should slow the f*** down! I’ve also been know to argue with them if they’ve cut me off, nearly nicked my car or just behaved like a giant moron by putting on their turn signal and going the complete opposite way instead.

    Half the “bad” words TO has in his vocabulary is due to his mother’s interaction with the autos and their mahouts. But such is life when you tangle with the magical autos that rule the Indian roads. Because like them or not, we can’t seem to do without them one bit!

  • Friday the 13th

    Friday the 13th

    Today is Friday the 13th. When I was in school, we would try not to step on cracks, avoid all sorts of things which might bring us bad luck and a few of us would always try to get in a horror movie. And what could be better than the namesake of the day aka Friday the 13th!!

    And Friday the 13th isn’t anything without JASON! Aka The boy who lived- somewhat. The-boy- with-a-face-only-a-mother-could-love. Ol-hockey-face and what have you! In world of Screams and Urban Legends, Jason and Michael Myers are the only two super villains who have silently, steadily slashed, hacked and maimed their way through teenagers and pretty much anyone that got in their way.

    Of course Leatherface never said a word either, but the buzz of his chainsaw ensured that the machine often drowned out the screams of the victims.

    Why is Jason such a cult classic for so many? Well, among other things, you can’t help but feel sorry for him. You never feel bad for the likes of Freddy or the Cenobites. But you do feel for Jason. A lake meant to be a cooling and fun respite in the summer, ended up being a watery grave for a boy who was already ostracized for being different.

    But he showed them, didn’t he? Not only did he come back in a full-adult version but he bulked up into the bargain, grabbed himself a machete and started his rampage that started in 1980 and continued well into the early 2000s. Now that’s durability.

    The entire franchise has suffered with the lack of decent actors over the years. The first one famous starred Kevin Bacon but over the years, the other faces who went on to become famous did really hammy roles in the movie and were imminently forgetable. How hard is it to look scared and scream your lungs out? It has also become hokier with the ways Jason kills. It’s almost like his heart is no longer in it and he’s just going through the motions…

    But before I get certified as a blood-thirsty lunatic, let’s take a look at the impact of these movies. They were a in-your- face representation of the times they were set it. They probably scared the crap out of a generation of kids whose parents wanted to send them to summer camps and it has endured over the years to an extent where a hockey mask is almost always identified with Jason Vorhees! Not to mention, it was the first campground-slasher to set the trend for the Sleepaway Camp series and the homage paid by American Horror Story et al.

    However, the cherry on the cake for me will always be Betsy Palmer aka the original killer in the first movie. She is the lynchpin who sets everything off. She is insidious and really is the last person you would think of as the bad guy. It’s her demise that sets off Jason on his unending sprees of murder and mayhem.

    Horror movies aren’t for everyone but this one remains a classic. Enjoy Friday the 13th with a movie that’s guaranteed to make you cringe, jump and wonder just how many gallons of corn syrup did Hollywood go through in creating those bloody special effects back in the day.

  • The Chronicles of a Middle-Aged Woman #1
  • Achievements in Middle Age

    This isn’t a history-related post but one entirely about the onset and eventual acceptance of one’s middle age viz moi!

    I woke up feeling challenged to do atleast one thing that makes a difference in my life; however small. And I wanted to solve a problem; again however small and I did. What is miraculous is I did it before coffee. Anyone who knows me knows the Grumpy-Grizzly-persona I rock before the elixir hits my veins.

    Anyhoo, for a few months now a few of our trolley bags have been acting up. Their locks got changed from the ones we put in after we acquired them. And before the question comes up about why I didn’t just write down the lock codes in the first place; let me preemptively say that there *IS* a twilight zone and it houses all manner of oddities like trolley bag locks which get changed with their bemused owners being none the wiser.

    And while we aren’t toting around any riches, I like my things  to be locked away from the world till I unveil them myself thank you very much!

    Due to the forgetfulness that’s also a near-constant companion these days, each time I return home from a travel, I completely forget to fix the locking mechanism or take it to a shop that can help me change it. Then we inevitably face the challenge of a bag that won’t lock each time I’m packing and about to leave. Ugh

    This time around I kept the bags outside in my line of sight despite my inner OCD person crying for them to be kept away where they belonged. But my other inner Tough-Love person made sure they were an eyesore till I decided enough was enough and did something about it!

    Who knew that housing multiple entities inside oneself could be a diagnosis and also a guiding light!

    The interesting thing about getting older is often two-fold: the stuff you outsource because it’s too insignificant to waste your time on, often ends up being a tiny victory that can brighten your day because you achieved it all by your lonesome. And it also propels you to attack other long-pending projects with a renewed zeal!

    On this Friday morning, I feel like I’ve ticked off some major boxes: figured out and rectified the lock-setting mechanism on often-used luggage, blogged after AGES all while not having touched a drop of caffeine.

    It’s also very likely that I’ll be more productive as the day processes. At this rate, world domination could be achieved by Sunday!

    My mind is cueing up the Rocky theme song as I finally head to make myself a cup of glorious coffee…