tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62129673358575939602024-02-21T16:58:40.206+05:30Sudatta MukherjeeUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger80125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-82124463132717645582022-10-04T11:15:00.004+05:302022-10-04T12:29:35.180+05:30Jasprit Bumrah's back injury - Understanding biomechanics<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQjRJKdjP3Kh1cOnpCnrlB-esDawDueVz1KmUCVmCuyjuQYVtXQUGrizW-7gcP7bUEp0NpzgY4GFKj1ompKTmycVSJ5rtHwIIrbD8K0tyb6Vd5UWApJK7s5QfCR8LGr74KDyJmtcwhHcvGG944maw790YVhVarqaeojsLQ9RwXW_DxmpQepiq7LuY/s1024/c5ohCa0u.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Picture by Sanjit Misra" border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="846" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQjRJKdjP3Kh1cOnpCnrlB-esDawDueVz1KmUCVmCuyjuQYVtXQUGrizW-7gcP7bUEp0NpzgY4GFKj1ompKTmycVSJ5rtHwIIrbD8K0tyb6Vd5UWApJK7s5QfCR8LGr74KDyJmtcwhHcvGG944maw790YVhVarqaeojsLQ9RwXW_DxmpQepiq7LuY/s16000/c5ohCa0u.jpg" title="Picture by Sanjit Misra" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Sanjit Misra @sanjitmisra</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Indian cricket team’s star pacer Jasprit Bumrah has been ruled out of the upcoming men’s Twenty20 World Cup in Australia. Bumrah, who was earlier ruled out of the ongoing series against South Africa with a back injury, was under assessment at the National Cricket Academy (NCA) in Bengaluru. On Saturday, the Indian coach, Rahul Dravid, said that he depends on experts at NCA to update him about Bumrah’s recovery and progress and if the pacer has any chance of making the T20 World Cup squad.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Utpal Nadiger, a co-founder of the Cricket Revolution, is a biomechanics specialist. He has played cricket at various levels and represented Karnataka in under-16 and under-19. Utpal has also played first division in Bangalore. A fast bowler himself, Utpal has faced back and other injuries, which come with bowling continuously at a certain pace and strength. Currently, Utpal works with fast bowlers, helping them with strength and conditioning, and preparing with the correct actions while bowling faster and accurately. He is based out of London.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Every BCCI release or every report that I have seen says back injury. They are not harping on the stress fracture. He had a stress fracture in 2019 which kept him out for a while. I am not entirely sure if this is a stress fracture. If it is, and if there is confirmation, which I have not seen in words. I have got multiple articles, even official releases, and there is nowhere it mentions stress fracture. It only says back injury,” Utpal clarifies.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">According to Utpal, what Bumrah likely has is an overuse injury. However, when asked about Bumrah's unique bowling style, and how it affects the bowler in biomechanical terms, Utpal says the injury isn’t a result of anything in isolation.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Bumrah has a very unique action. He does not have much of a long run-up, and actually puts a lot of force on his lumbar spine when he releases the ball because that is where he generates most of his pace. It makes it much harder for bowlers like Bumrah to come back continuously and deliver in a format like Test cricket consistently.”</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Biomechanics is the maths and science behind movement. With the use of biomechanics, one can learn how to prevent injuries and optimise performances. There are two components of biomechanics — kinematics and kinetics. Kinetics involves force, and kinematics is movement.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Performance and injury are the primary two key factors on why biomechanics is being used in cricket today. Firstly, how can a player get better and faster, and how can they do as much as possible and optimise performance. Secondly, how to avoid injury — for example, how a player can avoid fracturing his lumbar spine, how they can reduce the chance of stress fracture, prevent hamstring injury, etc.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">He adds, “Again, this kind of injury, it will not show up all of a sudden. It has been around like six to eight months. Injury due to over usage is something that comes up and shows really late and you cannot do much about it. Stress fractures are annoying because you have to rest.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“It is not like zero or one, right? I don't think that it is a case of this or that. It cannot be one particular thing. It is kind of both. All bowlers today suffer from overload. Even Mohammed Shami, Siraj and others suffer from the high load.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“However, injuries can be amplified when your action is in a manner that puts more load on susceptible areas. That is the problem with bowlers like Bumrah and Joffra Archer because they have unique action which reduces their threshold of load that they need to take rest. Or they need to take a break. Their breaking point is also much lower than other bowlers because of the uniqueness of their action.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Utpal narrates an incident during India’s tour of England in 2021. “I was at Trent Bridge and listening to Sky Cricket commentary, and Michael Holding was comparing Mohammed Shami and Bumrah. He mentioned how Shami runs in almost twice as Bumrah runs but then the pace is almost the same. Bumrah hops, skips, jumps and releases it; Shami runs in at almost 70 per cent of his sprint speed, and the pace is still the same. Holding talks about the biomechanics research substantiated by the fact that Bumrah’s arm is hyperextended, and that is why he can afford to do that.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Honestly, it is difficult for most bowlers to correct it immediately because they would have bowled millions of balls in the same action. It is tough to correct it at that age compared to correcting the action when you are 12-18. It is easy for you to grasp and implement biomechanics-wise in your teens. For example, teaching someone to squat at the age of 12 and someone at the age of 33; it is harder for the latter. It is because of how human beings are designed. And that is an issue that bowlers like Pandya, Bumrah and Archer will face. But there needs to be a trade-off. That is where load management comes into play,” Utpal adds.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">As of today, Utpal states, “It could be because they don't run in fast enough, which is why the momentum generated puts a lot of pressure on the back, heel and front foot contact. It could also be just an extra point. The other point could be the fact that between games when they bowl, their recovery isn’t good enough. That amplifies as well because your fatigue and threshold are much lower.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">So, how do bowlers like Bumrah handle load management? “Research papers in Loughborough University and other places study biomechanics. Some suggestions are that bowlers should not bowl more than 39 hours a week, etc. But like a blanket threshold and advice like that, without considering the practicalities cannot be done. This is where coaches will tell researchers that it is not possible because the player is playing Test cricket and he has to bowl 45 overs in the game maybe.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">In cricket, biomechanics is mainly used in injury prevention or correcting a player’s action (without changing their natural action). Utpal shares the example of Cameron Green, who had to correct his action to prevent himself from further injuries. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“He had many stress fractures. With the help of the team at Cricket Australia, using the inputs from a biomechanics consultant, he was able to correct his action. As a result, he learnt how to bowl quick and prevent further injuries. Another example is Pat Cummins. He was out of the team for almost six years, and with the help of a biomechanist and slight tweaking of his action, he was able to correct himself.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">In India, however, the demand and need for biomechanics are not as high as in England or Australia. Utpal believes the reason behind this is, “For a team like England, they need someone like Stuart Board to continue playing for a few more years because they do not have the abundant availability of bowlers like India. That is why in India, you won’t see people visit the lab for biomechanics profiling the way I have seen it happen in England.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Biomechanics is a significant part of rehabilitation. Even for a physio to conduct their role better, they need to understand biomechanics. A rehabilitation process includes or is substantiated by biomechanics research and study. Physios today are well versed in sports biomechanics. Most sports medicine courses have the basics of biomechanics covered. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“It is essentially the skill coach, the strength and conditioning coach and the physio working together using the data provided by the biomechanist in the preparedness side of things which helps the player not only prevent injuries but optimise performance.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The late England cricketer Frank Tyson was one of the earliest pioneers of biomechanics in cricket. “Typhoon Tyson” had spent quite some time with the National Cricket Academy (NCA) in the early 2000s. Tyson and John Harmer introduced biomechanics and the basics of science to the coaching staff at NCA during their stay. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Biomechanics may have come a long way since the days of Tyson, but the inclusion in everyday cricket hasn’t been at a progressive rate compared to that of countries like England and Australia. Also, biomechanics is mainly used for prevention, and injury has mostly helped bowlers in preparing. No readily available data states that biomechanics has been implemented to help fielders and wicketkeepers. There are data that sports analysts use to study fielders and wicketkeepers, but the involvement of biomechanics in it is almost negligible.</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-79975287098752325922021-07-16T19:33:00.001+05:302021-07-16T19:33:13.901+05:30Old and new<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 19.5px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Long back, a senior colleague of mine told me how airports are where one can come across many stories. You keep your eyes and ears open to witness the many lives of the human beings around you, and one gets to imagine the lives they have lived and the stories that they are going to live. You don't know them but their faces tell you so many stories. During these many airport terminal visits, I have come across many faces and the many stories they say. Some of them you can hear loudly; overheard conversations, silent whispers. Then, there are the faces that tell you the untold stories — the ones you are left imagining.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">It was just another terminal stop. Just another trip back home. I saw him from afar. He looked familiar. The last time I had seen his face, it was almost twelve years ago. His face was that of a young man, and he had no worries of the world. Now, after years, I saw a man who had faced the many struggles of life.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">At first, I pretended to not have recognised him in the pool of crowd. But the layover was long, and there was no way I would be able to avoid him. I didn't want to avoid him. I was curious about him. I saw him seated alone, near the big glass facades, looking out, his gaze somewhere lost in a distant thought. I wanted to know his story more than anything. I had followed his life for a bit, but I lost interest like everything else. He wasn't the most critical part of my life back then. He is still not, but somehow, I am drawn towards him even after years. He reminds me of all the men I met after him and how I compared each of them with him.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I went and sat next to him. For a long time, he didn't notice me. When he turned to face me, he smiled. I saw a face withered by time. There was a subtle comfort in his eyes when he recognised me, but in seconds I witnessed a melancholy. I didn't know the reasons for it, but I knew he was thinking about the time we were together and everything that followed. We had drifted, but we were still connected by some unknown force.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He greeted me with the same amusement that he used to when we started dating. I remember his smile; it said more than the words he spoke. We were madly in love, or at least I thought. Our ambitions were different. He wanted a wife, a kid and a family. I wanted a successful career with lots of travelling and the joy and entertainment that came with it. The entertainment that gets curtailed by being in a domestic relationship. I believed that my successful career and a domestic life couldn't co-exist happily.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Thus, despite being madly in love, we slowly fell apart. Even when in the metro he struggled to accept my betrayal while I aggressively told him that it was over between us, he tried to convince me. He begged. He told me over and over again that we were meant to be together.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">But at that moment, at the airport terminal, I wondered if I had indeed left him alone. If it was the separation that had driven him to this madness of having a domestic life. The urge to prove himself right. Was he too immature to understand what marriage meant?<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He told me that he had heard I got married. He told me that he was surprised. I told him even I was. The last time we spoke, some three years after breaking up with him, he said to me on the call, "You finally got what you wanted. You are living the life of your dreams." It was true. I was. I travelled from cities to cities, wrote about people's many lives, met more people, and heard their stories. While his life started falling apart, one piece at a time.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I told him how I met my husband. We met at a friend's party. He was an accomplished war photographer. He wasn't from the subcontinent. His pictures had made it to respected international magazines. I kept meeting him to hear his stories, and he kept meeting me to tell more. Somewhere we lost the sense of time and the world around us, and we succumbed to our families' pressures. He is an honest man, my husband, I tell him. I tell him that my husband had asked once if I have ever been in love.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Love. The word comes to my lips, unchartered and nonchalantly. The moment I utter it, I notice the fondness in his eyes. He listens to me earnestly, but deep inside me, I can feel his grief. I shouldn't talk about my happiness while he is suffering. He tells me that it has been a long time. But should I? I still keep on telling him all that I can.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">There's another couple of hours before both our flights are to depart. We decide to head towards the bar. Seated close to us are a young couple. We look at them and laugh. Young love. We remember the day he had taken me to watch a Bollywood movie. I had agreed to watch it only because he wanted to. However, at the end of the day, it was me who had enjoyed his company more. I had told him now how I could relate to the onscreen couple with us.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Us. I say the words, and I am taken aback. It takes me a while to adjust to the memories; that, once upon a time I was with this man. He has just turned 35, but the face looks years older. He has a stubble around his cheek. He says it makes him look professional. I want to tell it makes him look more mature than the young boy I knew. I don't tell him that. But he knows. He knew me more than I did, and even now, he understood me.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He tells me that he read about my marriage in the newspaper. A small write-up with a picture was printed. 'Award-winning writer marries war photographer'. I remember the picture in our local newspaper. It was a photo shared by my sister on her Instagram page. I didn't understand why people were so keen to know about our lives. He told me, "Because there's no one like you."<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'There's no one like me'. The words hang around my mind for a moment. Was there really no one like me for him? His words left me in a state of delusion. I want to ask, but I am scared. Will it stir up hurt emotions? Can he be broken further?<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The young couple near us had broken into an argument. Both of us silently hear them argue. The guy wants to buy a motorbike. The girl wants him to buy a luxury car. I ask him why we never fought about anything as such. He tells me that our city had trams and buses. It had history wrapped around us, transporting us to a world that we could never live, and yet through those moments, we created our own stories.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Why was this man an engineer and not a poet?<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I remember reading about his life. I remember friends calling up to tell me how his wife had committed suicide. The shock and horror had left our friends in terror. They weren't sure if he was to be left alone to grieve or be surrounded by loved ones. I was more interested in knowing his wife's story. I wanted to know what drove her to this madness. Would I have done the same if I was his wife? I remember telling my husband about my thoughts. My husband had closed his eyes and pictured me jumping from the roof of our apartment building. My husband thinks through images and pictures. He had simply replied, "You are too proud and selfish to do something like that. If you are unhappy, you will simply leave." I had fought with him. I told him I wasn't selfish. He tried to defend his own words. But my husband's words had left me angry. We had argued for a while. He didn't disturb me for days. He left me alone with my thoughts and words. At the end of the week, I had stepped out of my study with two short stories about feminism. They were printed in the magazine over the next few weeks. My husband was the one who had selected the one which should be published first. At a party, he had proudly said that he had inspired me to write these stories. Grudgingly I had accepted. But more than that, I had made peace with him because he understood me. The man before me at the airport understood me even more, even before I met my husband, but I never made peace with him.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I ask him if he ever felt cheated by my behaviour towards the end of our relationship. He told me that for months and years, he lived in grief and sadness. He went on vacations and trips with his friends. He tried to hate me but couldn't. Later, he sought peace in the words of God.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Religion. It was a great divide between us. We worshipped different gods. He had a God. I had myself. We never argued about religion. We never discussed religion. We thought by avoiding the subject, we would save ourselves from years of misery. I guess we were wrong. My husband and I often talk about the many religions he knew. My husband speaks about the many gods he has met and the ones that have saved him from near-death experiences. He wears a locket of Saint Christopher. Very early during our courting days, he had gifted me a locket of Mother Mary. I accepted it, but I didn't know what to do with it. He knew I was an atheist, and the only gods I knew were the writers and the poets and the artists I followed. But still, he gifted me. Months later, he told me that he had gifted me the locket to observe my reaction. I had asked him what he thought about me. He had said, "You would never hurt somebody else's belief, even if you didn't agree with them."<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I wondered if my ex and I had discussed religion, had we been together then? Would his gods be happy and have mercy upon our relationship back then? If I truly would never hurt somebody's else belief like my husband says, would my ex's God bless us back then? If a God was watching over us now, what he would think? I try not to think much, but my thoughts had caught up with him. He watched me as my mind travelled in between my thoughts. He didn't ask what I was thinking but I knew that he was trying to understand me. He always did, and even then, he was doing it. Yet, I didn't feel uncomfortable. I felt at peace.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">We had gone on a trip once. I had returned home and told my mother about the things we did. In the end, my mother had asked me what I had planned for my future. When I had told her where I saw myself in five years, she had asked, "Does he know?" I never bothered to know whether he knew me and wanted to know. I had taken for granted his presence and his acceptance. I thought he would accept whatever I threw at him. I almost saw him like a dog waiting for a bone to be thrown towards him. Nearly thirteen years later, these thoughts embarrassed me. It reminded me of my husband's words. I was selfish then. Am I still selfish now?<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">It was almost time for his flight. He stood up, and I extended my right hand to greet his. I stood waiting but he never extended his hand. Instead, I saw his body approach mine and embrace me in a hug. I couldn't reciprocate. I didn't know how to. But slowly, I succumbed to him and I didn't want to leave him. This time it was me who was begging him not to go. I didn't tell him anything. We stood there, wrapped in our arms, lost in the moment. I wondered whether this was the way he felt all those years ago in the metro.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I stayed back as he collected his belongings and left. We promised to act like adults and stay in touch. He never shared his number or email address. And I had stopped using Facebook many years back. We were not going to be in touch, but we pretended to be.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Eight hours later when I landed in London, the cold, gloomy summer welcomed me with open arms. I was glad to leave behind the heat and dry weather of my past. I saw my husband wave from afar. He had a stubble around his cheek. I frowned. I knew it reminded him of his travel days. He had stopped travelling for the sake of our lives. 'We were a couple of domestic cows now', that is what he had said after our marriage. It didn't bother me. I was happy as long as he never stepped near my work station and I gave him his space. This space included me allowing him to grow this stubble, which would turn into a thick beard in weeks.<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He asked me how my trip was, about my family and what all I witnessed at the airport. He is always interested in my stories. I told him that I met my ex. He laughed. He had heard about his stories from me. Now, seated in the passenger seat of my husband's car, I spoke about my past. He curiously asked me questions about our brief encounter. When we reached the front of our building, I asked him if he still believed I would jump off our apartment building roof and leave everything behind. If he ever saw me becoming an unhappy and sad wife. I saw him close his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he said, "I don't think so. We don't have access to the roof. It is impossible for you to reach."</span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-80009908958896170412021-05-11T11:26:00.001+05:302021-05-11T11:26:29.493+05:30I fasted for 36 hours and this is what I learned<p>Over the past twelve months, I have done 16 to 18 hours of fasting regularly. Today, I completed 36 hours of fasting. At first, the thought of doing something like that felt terribly challenging and weird. It was challenging because I couldn't fathom going one day without food; I felt my body couldn't take it, and I will lose the will and eat more. It felt weird because from where I come from, the culture and ethnicity, we are a bunch of food-loving people, almost to the point where food sometimes become an obsession, however, mostly in a good way. Food is something that binds our community and culture. </p><p><br /></p><p>I knew that 36 hours wouldn't be that difficult because I know too many people who have fasted for over 36 hours, and some regularly do 36-hour fasting (once a week, nobody will recommend more than that, and one shouldn't). However, the uncertainty of whether I will be able to succeed was deeper. It also taught me something about myself - that until and unless one tries something, you will never know whether you will succeed or not.</p><p><br /></p><p>Nevertheless, I did it, and I might add that I have passed with flying colours. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCzR_bNO9OMC6uYVNbgrquIrrY_CshLlrjLOPK3OeCg-qY1xSvSHmzQuvziWAo7TvOT2OD_DlES0WsrJTnJ1lj1_mBtUeQZ8iNz-GRauw7kMAKzqSufUoWS9OMy5m_Q9tbTFAN2eOwqw/s2048/IMG_3490.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCzR_bNO9OMC6uYVNbgrquIrrY_CshLlrjLOPK3OeCg-qY1xSvSHmzQuvziWAo7TvOT2OD_DlES0WsrJTnJ1lj1_mBtUeQZ8iNz-GRauw7kMAKzqSufUoWS9OMy5m_Q9tbTFAN2eOwqw/w300-h400/IMG_3490.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cortado I made for myself.<br />Will I make a good Barista?</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /><br /></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>Why I did it?</b></p><p>It came off as part of a challenge. Where I stay right now, the place has gone into a 14-day lockdown. To keep ourselves busy, one of my trainers came up with the <a href="https://www.instagram.com/stories/highlights/18223874734041417/" target="_blank">14-day challenge</a>. The challenge is simple (and as I write, we are currently on Day 2 of the challenge; if you want to start now, you can join us from wherever you are). The challenge is simple:</p><p><br /></p><p>1. Sleep by 10p.m. </p><p>2. Wake up before or after sunrise.</p><p>3. Don't eat anything post-dinner and before 9:30a.m.</p><p>4. Six days out of a week, do a minimum of 30 minutes of physical exercise.</p><p>5. One day of fasting.</p><p><br /></p><p>I have done most of the things earlier, and thus, I readily accepted. The only thing I have never done was one day of fasting. </p><p><br /></p><p>Ideally, I thought it would be 24-hour fasting. But the 24 hours cut-off time clashed with my bedtime, and if I don't eat at least 2-3 hours before hitting the bed, I tend to have an uncomfortable sleep. Sleep is the most important part of my life. Thus, I decided that I would wake up the next day, and breakfast would be my first meal. Also, one point of the challenge was not eating before 9:30a.m. So, I decided to extend and make it to 36 hours. </p><p>On Sunday, around 10p.m., I finished my dinner, and on Tuesday, 10a.m., I had my next meal. Yes, it involved a lot of planning.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6haYuKyhyphenhyphenCf5YdFfpOEUmTNyYn-dh6Ri0dw7AFOEHJOesm9DV3mpod4g81nGN6tgYmtZlsNekAq7EUus7DX6X3cbL_Tgb5J2Kv-ksHYkbw0vuwWHEUUWzkqhTKQQxII4EDIXBT2IyBqU/s1686/IMG_3517.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1686" data-original-width="1125" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6haYuKyhyphenhyphenCf5YdFfpOEUmTNyYn-dh6Ri0dw7AFOEHJOesm9DV3mpod4g81nGN6tgYmtZlsNekAq7EUus7DX6X3cbL_Tgb5J2Kv-ksHYkbw0vuwWHEUUWzkqhTKQQxII4EDIXBT2IyBqU/w268-h400/IMG_3517.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My average fasting hours over the last few days</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><b>How did I manage?</b></p><p>The key for me was to keep myself hydrated. I consume a minimum of 3-litre of water daily. Most importantly, I drink when I am thirsty and have made it a point to not go eccentric and time my water intake. Anything that we do should be natural and not mechanical. At first, when I started drinking 3 litres daily, I was conscious of how much water I was drinking, but slowly, it became a natural process, just like brushing my teeth. During the 36-hour fast, I hydrated myself with plenty of water, especially when I felt hungry. </p><p><br /></p><p>I also drank three cups of black coffee and two cups of cortado (homemade) with toned milk. I don't take sugar. </p><p><br /></p><p>Kamesh, my trainer, suggested that in case I felt hungry, I should drink fresh juices. Just to be on the safer side, I asked my friend to get me a watermelon. It now rests peacefully in the storage, but I promise that I will consume it soon. Another friend of mine suggested that I have salt in my water if I felt dizzy or weak. By salt, he meant one which contained sodium, potassium and magnesium, like electrolyte powder.</p><p><br /></p><p>I read somewhere that meditation and rest help fasting. Resting doesn't mean going to sleep but more like keeping your mind at rest, being still and at peace. Also, resting can mean a 20-minute power nap. I took a 20-minute power nap, went for a 20-minute walk, did 28-minute of yoga (stretching mostly) and around 15 minutes of meditation. While I did all these, my mind was occupied with these activities, which weren't strenuous and supported my wellness. I recommend incorporating meditation, stretching (any kind, pilates or yoga or simple stretches like a baby), power naps and being still into one's life. These are small tools of happiness and living a stress-free life. I practice them regularly and have been doing so for over a year now. You will be amazed at the kind of light-heartedness these activities bring to your life.</p><p><br /></p><p>Doing all these and learning from the elders in our house who fasted due to religious ceremonies, I managed the fasting quite well. I must say it was an eye-opener.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Conclusion</b></p><p>To be honest, it felt crazy in the beginning. Like I have mentioned before, I have fasted for 16 hours a day, almost for months altogether. I still do it regularly. But fasting for 36 hours or even 24 hours is something that most of my family members, kin, friends, etc. will find it ridiculous and won’t be very supportive. When I told my mother about my fasting, she told me that I shouldn't sleep on an empty stomach, and that is the way. However, that wasn’t the point of doing it. I have never done anything to please or entertain others. Well, sometimes I may do certain things, but mostly I do what I feel like. The 36-hour fasting was more like a mental battle than a physical one. It has been already established that we eat more than our body needs. We eat as if we are going to run out of food, and as a result, we hurt our system by over-feeding it. </p><p><br /></p><p>The fasting for 36 hours was more to understand me and my body. The first 16 hours was difficult. It actually surprised me that I was struggling when it was something I regularly did. I read somewhere that after 20-22 hours, our body gets used to the situation. I think it is more to do with our minds. What happened was as I was nearing the 18-hour mark, a part of my mind kept telling me that I won't be able to succeed and I will need fruits juices. However, another part of my mind kept on pushing me and encouraging me. It was funny - observing two parts of my mind arguing, but that is how it is.</p><p><br /></p><p>The power nap helped calm my thoughts. As I woke up rested, I felt more at peace. The walk, meditation and stretching helped further. Soon, I reached almost a nirvana-like state (stillness). As I completed 24 hours and headed to sleep, my body wasn't crying or cursing me for denying it any food or nutrients. It was quiet, acknowledging the challenge. </p><p><br /></p><p>This morning when I woke up, I felt lighter, awake and aware. I don't know how and why. It is something that the scientists will probably be able to answer, and I look forward to hearing from others about their opinions and views.</p><p><br /></p><p>When I finally broke the fast, I didn't rush to eat. I paused, chewed well, took time and didn't rush with the food. I also didn't eat a lot. I took my regular portion of food. I decided to eat simple stuff - bread and a bit of potato curry. My body doesn't feel any different than before like I have lost so much weight that I have become a Robinson Crusoe. Rather it feels normal and as if I never fasted. </p><p><br /></p><p><b>P.S. Note</b></p><p>I do not recommend that you should fast for 36 hours. If you do plan to do it, please consult with your trainer or dietician or doctor. Fasting is not recommended for everyone. Besides, I am not a doctor or trained professional to suggest it. This is more about my experience. If you plan to fast for longer hours, please do a 14 or 15 or 16-hour fasting before trying 36 hours or more. Again, I am not a trained professional, and you should consult with your doctor before experiencing it.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-11282139466188775112021-02-23T12:18:00.002+05:302021-02-23T12:21:51.079+05:30Bengal's Food History - Part 1<p>For centuries, Bengali cuisine has been synonymous with fish and rice. Bengalis are the third largest ethnic group in the world after the Han Chinese and Arabs, a fact which still startle a lot of Bengalis. When people talk about Bengal, they usually mention the British colonial rule, the Howrah Bridge, the Durga Puja, Rabindranath Tagore and many such stereotyped notions. However, there is more to Bengal.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJO-8BquCpQTK1jy5WBkC5EX5k0kpVCzEe9trG0LKh7xJE56EH7T6Td9F_6C7Beucs71h2dRUml7FNLDKIG5yt_zpb2EXZxHV7goeUXbszmzZebETlJlDM1RNo1gDZ1lW2MDov15s2SUE/s1920/Brown+Classic+History+Education+Presentation.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJO-8BquCpQTK1jy5WBkC5EX5k0kpVCzEe9trG0LKh7xJE56EH7T6Td9F_6C7Beucs71h2dRUml7FNLDKIG5yt_zpb2EXZxHV7goeUXbszmzZebETlJlDM1RNo1gDZ1lW2MDov15s2SUE/s16000/Brown+Classic+History+Education+Presentation.png" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Once upon a time, Bengal was a vast region. In the <i>Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier</i>, 1204-1760, Bengal in prehistorical times has been described as such — “Physically, the Bengal delta is a flat, low-lying floodplain in the shape of a great horseshoe, its open part facing the Bay of Bengal to the south. Surrounding its rim to the west, north, and east are disconnected hill systems, out of which flow some of the largest rivers in southern Asia — the Ganges, the Brahmaputra, and the Meghna. Wending their way slowly over the delta’s flat midsection, these rivers and their tributaries deposit immense loads of sand and soil, which over millennia have gradually built up the delta’s land area, pushing its southern edge ever deeper into the bay. In historical times, the rivers have been natural arteries of communication and transportation, and they have defined Bengal’s physical and ancient cultural subregions — Varendra, the Bhagirathi-Hooghly basin, Vanga, Samatata, and Harikela.”</p><p><br /></p><p>Because of such an abundance of rivers flowing through the region, the people living in the delta never had to look elsewhere or travel in search of food. Moreover, the region enjoyed four seasons. There isn’t enough documentation of the food and cuisine of the region prior to the 12th century, and much before the conquest of the land by foreigners. However, whatever materials are available, the historical Bengal delta was vastly an agrarian one. </p><p><br /></p><p>One has to look at history, dating back to the early Indo-Aryan times, to understand the influence of culture and religion on Bengal and its food culture.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>The Indo-Aryan Movement</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p>There are archaeological evidences that rice-cultivating communities inhabited modern-day Burdwan District in West Bengal, India in second millennium B.C. People in the region practised shifting cultivation, burning patches of forest and prepared the soil with hoes. Excavated sites have concluded that the people seeded dry rice and small millets by broadcast or with dibbling sticks and harvested crops. Stone blades were found at the excavated sites. Permanent field agriculture came much later.</p><p><br /></p><p>According to historical references, the people of the region or some of it were Proto-Munda. Munda is a family of language spoken by around 10 million people in modern-day regions of India and Bangladesh. There are suggestions of Proto-Munda speakers as early as 1500 B.C. and there are evidences of grain cultivation — rice, different types of millers and minimum three types of legumes. </p><p><br /></p><p>In the book “Proto-Munda Cultural Vocabulary: Evidence for Early Agriculture,” in Austroasiatic Studies, ed. Philip N. Jenner, Laurence C. Thompson, and Stanley Starosta, pt. 2 (Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii, 1976), 1324, the authors write that Munda terms for uncooked, husked rice (Oryza sativa). </p><p><br /></p><p>Events took place somewhere around 6th and 5th centuries B.C. which changed the Bengal region’s cultural history on the west of the delta — “in the middle Gangetic Plain, where the practice of shifting cultivation gradually gave way to settled farming, first on unbunded permanent fields and later on bunded, irrigated fields.”</p><p><br /></p><p>It is likely that prior to the changes, rice cultivation was managed by singular families. However, it soon shifted to “wet rice production on permanent fields”. The region was thick with marshes and forests due to ample annual rainfall. To establish permanent rice fields and similar arrangements for grains, these places needed to be cleared of the marshes and forests. Archaeologicalplo sources have found iron axes and plowshares from 500 B.C. (earlier stone axes were used). These tasks required massive labour and animal support. Irrigation technology was introduced. Thus, agriculture became a communal activity.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztch3sDUqOw8iFk4vABQxQiprHzQl400pbmgDYCvfUjI77V7kD7V_2Co4pzPh8ZCYz8FjPDx3NgQdvlYx7H6oofZxgbdg6oPRqjRONj8JMr6W1HiYm7Mb1xs5sJsG28vHR3PL9Javd7g/s756/Screenshot+2021-02-23+at+12.08.14.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="647" data-original-width="756" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztch3sDUqOw8iFk4vABQxQiprHzQl400pbmgDYCvfUjI77V7kD7V_2Co4pzPh8ZCYz8FjPDx3NgQdvlYx7H6oofZxgbdg6oPRqjRONj8JMr6W1HiYm7Mb1xs5sJsG28vHR3PL9Javd7g/s16000/Screenshot+2021-02-23+at+12.08.14.png" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Picture is from Purba Bardhaman Zilla Parishad website</span></div><p><br /></p><p>The region saw massive growth and increased agricultural activity and production. The hard-alluvial soil of the river plains supported the community. An advanced rice cultivation technique also was noticed in the middle Gangetic region around 500 B.C.. Transplanting rice seedings gave way to primitive techniques. Rice was the main grain for these communities and it still remains.</p><p><br /></p><p>Indo-Aryan migration into Bengal perhaps is of greater importance than the advent of the Europeans. From 12th century B.C. onwards, there was a gradual shift of Indo-Aryan migration from the western part of the Indian subcontinent towards the Bengal Delta region. Around 10th to 8th centuries B.C. there was a migration from Punjab and Haryana regions towards modern-day Uttar Pradesh and around 7th to 6th centuries B.C. towards the eastern part of U.P. and northern Bihar. </p><p><br /></p><p>Indo-Aryans started settling along with the non-Aryans in the various regions of the Gangetic plain and pushing further across the Bengal delta. These migrations led to dramatic and magnanimous cultural exchange. The descendants of wheat and barley cultivators from regions of Punjab were now cultivating wet rice. They further joined hands with local non-Aryans in expanding the regions rice cultivation — removing marshes and forests for agriculture. The previously areas of Videha (northern Bihar) were now ready for agriculture; and for the local non-Aryans, they also got acclimatized with various Indo-Aryan methods and food. </p><p><br /></p><p><b>Mauryan Empire</b></p><p>Political territories and smaller kingdoms cropped up. These led to wars between newly formed kingdoms and ultimately the birth of the Mauryan Empire. The birth of the Mauryan empire brought about significant and important improvements in Bengal. The main political city of Mauryas was Magadha which was west of modern-day Bengal. These led to further advancement in the region. It was during these times that the first urban civilization in the Bengal region has been noted. </p><p><br /></p><p>“Pundra or Pundranagara — a city named after the powerful non-Aryan people inhabiting the delta’s northwestern quadrant, Varendra, became the capital of the Mauryas’ easternmost province.”</p><p><br /></p><p>There is a limestone tablet that dates to the 3rd century B.C. It is an imperial order for the governor of the region to distribute food to the local people who were affected by famine (possibly due to the Kalinga Wars). </p><p><br /></p><p>The Bengal Delta witnessed a series of events since the migration of Indo-Aryans and the birth of numerous smaller kingdoms along with the Mauryan Empire. It was also during these centuries, the region experienced Buddhism (from 3rd century B.C. to mainly 7th or 8th century A.D.). Compared to the hierarchical society of the Indo-Aryans, a much more egalitarian and ethic-based philosophies of Buddhism helped itself spread far and wide — much farther into the east. Buddhism was adopted as the imperial religion and due to its important status in the courts, it expanded beyond the Indian subcontinent.</p><p><br /></p><p>However, as Buddhism expanded, it started fading in Eastern India — where it was born. It was the Brahmins of the Indo-Aryan race whom the inhabitants of the land felt more closer to. This was further strengthened by the fact that the Indo-Aryans had earlier brought about technological advancement in agricultural growth. </p><p><br /></p><p>Rice was and still remains the staple food of the region. Ghee with steaming hot rice was a common delicacy. According to tales of <i>Chandsawdagar</i>, the legendary trader, the people ate different kinds of vegetables like pumpkins, bitter gourd, lotus roots, stems of plants, jackfruits among many — food mainly native to the region. Due to strict Hindu beliefs, cow’s meat was prohibited. Moreover, the prohibition of taking life and consuming cow’s meat came from the cross-pollination of Indo-Aryan culture and from the ethics of Buddhism. Although consuming chicken and mutton or goat and fish spread among the Brahmins and upper caste who came to live among the delta. Fish was widely available and was a rich source of protein. Famous Bengali food historian Chitrita Banerji wrote that fish is “a symbol of prosperity and fertility and touches many aspects of ceremonial and ritual life in Bengal.”</p><p><br /></p><p>Food offerings to God and deities were part of the culture. It was widely believed that offering food which wasn’t native to the region and indigenous was unacceptable and immoral. </p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihtM6FcIQo93HeCBF__0y00kyjQ08RB1q01ebNzXEhHo5hyphenhyphenR5cRf48-lzXb8nMWWdF6voDW9gZWN1_vDOGwLTfH7Oe7aBtdon0rT75teo34gCECECpdt7hwLvF1lHoIKr2xsee6Mb81gg/s621/Eq8h9rvXcAIGjhc.jpeg"><img alt="The Durga Puja spread at Chhatu Babu Latu Babu. Photo is by Ashok Nath Dey of Hindustan Times." border="0" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="621" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihtM6FcIQo93HeCBF__0y00kyjQ08RB1q01ebNzXEhHo5hyphenhyphenR5cRf48-lzXb8nMWWdF6voDW9gZWN1_vDOGwLTfH7Oe7aBtdon0rT75teo34gCECECpdt7hwLvF1lHoIKr2xsee6Mb81gg/s16000/Eq8h9rvXcAIGjhc.jpeg" title="The Durga Puja spread at Chhatu Babu Latu Babu. Photo is by Ashok Nath Dey of Hindustan Times." /></a></div><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span face="-apple-system, system-ui, Segoe UI, Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #0f1419; font-size: x-small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The Durga Puja spread at Chhatu Babu Latu Babu. Photo is by Ashok Nath Dey of Hindustan Times.</span></span>
</div><div style="color: #0f1419; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div></span><p>As the Mauryan empire started declining following the reign of Ashoka, foreign kings saw this as an opportunity to conquer the rich and vast land of the Indian subcontinent. The Bengal delta had shrunk due to divisions of the vast land over the centuries. Since the Indo-Aryan migration, several kingdoms had been formed and the fall of the Mauryan empire was a perfect opportunity for the invaders. While the Indo-Greek kingdoms spread across the west and north of the Indian subcontinent, Bengal witnessed the Pala and Chandra dynasties among others to rule over the land. </p><p><br /></p><p>Despite all these, the economy flourished further in Bengal. In 851, an Arab geographer <i>Ibn Khurdadhbih </i>talked about rich cotton textiles being produced in the Pala region. He described its beauty as unparalleled. Such produces attracted traders from various parts of the Indian subcontinent — from as far as the Middle East and Persia. </p><p><br /></p><p>Traders from the Indo-Greek kingdoms and Arab and Persia converged upon the land. The traders brought spices and herbs with them. Some texts record the local people of Bengal consuming tamarind. The word tamarind comes from the Arabic — <i><b>thamari-i-hind</b></i> — which means fruit of India. </p><p><br /></p><p>Although Garlic has been discovered in the clay pots of the Indus Valley Civilization, there isn’t any reference of the herb in local Bengal dishes around that time. Even onion does not find its place in the local dishes of the region. Plus, onion was prohibited by Brahmins in food. It is likely that somewhere around the 2nd century B.C. and 3rd century A.D. onion came to India and eventually to Bengal.</p><p><br /></p><p>Around 956 A.D. Arab geographer, <i>Mas‘udi </i>records Muslims living in Bengal. They came from Samatata in the southeast of the delta which was ruled by Chandra, another Bengali Buddhist dynasty. </p><p><br /></p><p>The Chandras empire attracted many traders and visitors because they controlled the seaport. Also, compared to the Pala’s cowrie shells being used for commercial transactions, the Chandras used silver coinage. Over the centuries, the region saw an influx of Arab and Persian cultures with the local Indo-Aryan and Buddhist society before the Turks and Mughals came to rule over the land and brought over a massive culinary change.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>The advent of the Mughals</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p>The Indo-Aryan migration helped the region’s agricultural advancement and transformation. It also taught the natives how to consume food and in which and what order. Since the Indo-Aryan movement, food became the central reason for natives following and adopting a newer way of life. Food and the way of life till the 12th century had been structured by the Indo-Aryan movement. </p><p><br /></p><p>Sacrifice as an offering to the gods had almost disappeared when emperor Ashoka adopted Buddhism. Violent and selfish sacrifices were replaced by donations and gifts to the gods. However, the Vijaya Sena of the Sena dynasty — whose origin lies in the South Indian state of Karnataka — believed in sacrificial offerings. </p><p><br /></p><p>Although animal sacrifices had decreased during the Mauryan empire, during the Sena reign, it made a considerable return to the culture. Animal sacrifices are very much common even in modern-day Bengal. In 2019, around 1200 goats were sacrificed in North Dinajpur temples as offerings to Goddess Kali. These meats are then consumed by the devotees. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvepE3U_nvhwyoUfrQe3KfM5aPLl7VFgTBv-6KbHG9jgR-pDciyrOgseWez4WK_pcrww9PpoV9IBDlLgEz_u2eYNDlh1kwFcrR7W4kfBqM5mVEZRvpA7DWwaJi0u1yaYbFyFmdN-DHF4w/s700/animal-sacrafice-india-catch-live-m.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="437" data-original-width="700" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvepE3U_nvhwyoUfrQe3KfM5aPLl7VFgTBv-6KbHG9jgR-pDciyrOgseWez4WK_pcrww9PpoV9IBDlLgEz_u2eYNDlh1kwFcrR7W4kfBqM5mVEZRvpA7DWwaJi0u1yaYbFyFmdN-DHF4w/s320/animal-sacrafice-india-catch-live-m.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Historical evidence indicates that there was a clear difference in the culture and way of living on the western and north-western regions of Bengal to its eastern delta. The Northwestern and western regions were much more influenced by the Indo-Aryan way of living. While the eastern part remained less influenced by the reformed Indo-Aryan culture and the growing influence of Vedic Hinduism. </p><p><br /></p><p>Although there are references of people of Arab and Persian ethnicity being present in the region around 7th century A.D. and 8th century A.D., they were mostly traders travelling to the region because of cotton and textiles and in no way whatsoever influenced the culinary change. </p><p><br /></p><p>Ethnic Turks by origin, the Ghaznavids (962–1186) revived much of the Persian language and culture in Khurasan. The rulers adopted the Persian language for public purposes, and even court etiquette and one could see Persian aesthetic promoted in art, calligraphy, architecture, and handicrafts. </p><p><br /></p><p>The Ghaznavids were the first who carried Perso-Islamic civilization to India. A decade after they established their rule in Delhi, in 1204, Muhammad Bakhtiyar’s cavalry captured the western Sena city of Nadiya. Till the Bengal Sultanate was formed in 1342, the region enjoyed the pre-Muslim Persian culture — monarchy and statecraft, dependence on slaves for domestic, military and political services and a monetized and commercial economy. An already flourishing region, despite the continuous battles for supremacy over the region, extended Bengal’s growth.</p><p><br /></p><p>The influence of the Persian culture is found in the Bengal Sultanate. However, one could also find many foreign cultures slowly mixing with the locals. It was mainly due to the concept of bringing in slaves from Central Asia or other parts of North India for military purposes. </p><p><br /></p><p>It was during the Bengal Sultanate years that ‘<i><b>Betel Nuts</b></i>’ are seen to be offered to guests. The influx of ‘imported military slaves’ existed in the Bengal region till Akbar conquered. Even before the British and colonial rulers imported slaves, it was the Muslim rulers who brought over Abyssinians for military purposes.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkxKwOg3vJgsL02M6UYhpobM5EJeq7_KcPgtPEkvggaoGqkqaPYjM9atPRwXIJuA5tGyobSAfYO9FrP4k5GHV8chsjvXtzOrHTjD15mtIfKvNuspc3zUIkVzwMhWI3BdnZ6dcp6txWdCs/s800/20aaec4f6532c978db2014a3b72cfd6f.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkxKwOg3vJgsL02M6UYhpobM5EJeq7_KcPgtPEkvggaoGqkqaPYjM9atPRwXIJuA5tGyobSAfYO9FrP4k5GHV8chsjvXtzOrHTjD15mtIfKvNuspc3zUIkVzwMhWI3BdnZ6dcp6txWdCs/s16000/20aaec4f6532c978db2014a3b72cfd6f.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">A 16th-century Portuguese illustration of "People of the Kingdom of Bengal"</div></span><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Till Akbar’s Mughal reign started, under the rule of the Bengal Sultanate, the region underwent a massive transformation. Islam was adopted by many and had become the imperial rule replacing Buddhism.</p><p><br /></p><p>Even though the Persian influx had already happened in Bengal, it wasn’t until the Mughal reign that the foreign culture was adopted by local Hindus and Muslims. It came much with the fact that the Mughals saw the natives of the place as inferior and shabby. Feeling alienated, the Mughals decided to change the culture of the land.</p><p><br /></p><p>Before the Mughals came to Bengal, the region had majorly remained isolated from the rest of India. One of the 12 provinces, Bengal was now administered by imperial Mughal soldiers. However, the new rulers didn’t feel attached to Bengal and its culture. </p><p><br /></p><p>The advent of the Mughals increased the manufacturing of goods for the imperial courts in North India. The conquerors also exploited the delta’s forests, moving further eastwards and inwards. It totally changed the landscape of the region. </p><p><br /></p><p>Bengal was always a temporary abode for imperial soldiers, officers, merchants and others who visited the region. There were more immigrants than locals. Moreover, there was much discord among the imperial officers. The officers found a great difference in terms of the culture of North India and the isolated Bengal region. </p><p><br /></p><p>For example, the region’s staple diet was rice and fish. However, most of the imperial officials were wheat and meat-eating people. The delta’s diet of fish and rice disagreed with many immigrants who were brought up on wheat and meat, basic to the diet in North India. </p><p><br /></p><p>Richard Eaton, in <i>The Rise of Islam and Bengal Frontier,</i> writes, “Written in 1786, the Riyāẓal-Salāṭīn faithfully reflects the ashrāf perspective regarding Bengali culture, and reads almost like a colonial British manual on how to survive “amongst the natives”: And the food of the natives of that kingdom, from the high to the low, are fish, rice, mustard oil and curd and fruits and sweetmeats. They also eat plenty of red chilly and salt. In some parts of this country, salt is scarce. The natives of this country are of shabby tastes, shabby habits and shabby modes of dress. They do not eat breads of wheat and barley at all. Meat of goats and fowls and clarified butter do not agree with their system.”</p><p><br /></p><p>“Mughal officers also associated Bengalis with fishermen, whom they openly despised. Around 1620 two imperial commanders, aiming to belittle the martial accomplishments of one of their colleagues, taunted the latter with the words: ‘Which of the rebels have you defeated except a band of fishermen who raised a stockade at Ghalwapara?’ In reply, the other observed that even the Mughals’ most formidable adversaries in Bengal, ‘Isa Khan and Musa Khan, had been fishermen. ‘Where shall I find a Dawud son of Sulayman Karrani to fight with, in order to please you?’ he asked rhetorically, and with some annoyance, adding that it was his duty as a Mughal officer to subdue all imperial enemies in Bengal, ‘whether they are Machwas [fishermen] or Mughals or Afghans.’ In this view the only truly worthy opponents of the Mughal army were state rebels or Afghans like the Karranis; Bengalis, stereotyped as fishermen, were categorized as less worthy adversaries.”</p><p><br /></p><p><i>Did you know it was Akbar who invented the modern Bengali calendar?</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p>East of the Bengal delta under the Mughal era flourished in agricultural productivity compared to the west. This was majorly due to the change in the Bengal’s river system. </p><p><br /></p><p>The rich silt of the major rivers made wet rice cultivation possible. Prehistorically, the entire delta was once under the ocean. Ganga met the sea in the modern-day region of Murshidabad District. The Brahmaputra met the sea in the modern-day Rangpur District. </p><p><br /></p><p>East Bengal gained agricultural growth which wasn’t available in the western part of the delta. The changes are also seen in the Mughal government’s <i>khāliṣa</i> of the land revenue <i>jama</i>. </p><p><br /></p><p>British explorer and merchant Ralph Fitch is commented stating, “Great store of Cotton doth goeth from hence, and much Rice, wherewith they serve all India, Ceilon, Pegu, Malacca, Sumatra, and many other places.”</p><p><br /></p><p>Even French navigator François Pyrard, who lived in Chittagong during the spring of 1607, wrote, “There is such a quantity of rice, that, besides supplying the whole country, it is exported to all parts of India, as well to Goa and Malabar, as to Sumatra, the Moluccas, and all the islands of Sunda, to all of which lands Bengal is a very nursing mother, who supplies them and their entire subsistence and food. Thus, one sees arrive there [i.e., Chittagong] every day an infinite number of vessels from all parts of India for these provisions.”</p><p><br /></p><p>Richard Eaton notes in <i>The Rise of Islam and The Bengal Frontier</i>, “The main factors contributing to the emergence of new peasant communities in eastern Bengal—colonization, incorporation, and natural population growth—were all related to the shift of the active portion of the delta from the west to the east. First, this shift stimulated colonization of the active delta by migrants coming from the relatively less fertile upper delta or West Bengal, or even from North India and beyond. Second, as this happened, indigenous communities of fishermen and shifting cultivators became incorporated into sedentary communities that focused on the charisma and the organizational abilities of Muslim pioneers. And third, the shift of the delta’s active portion to the south and east contributed to natural population growth, since the initiation or intensification of wet rice cultivation in this region dramatically increased local food supplies. Although East Bengal’s growing fertility was too gradual to be noticed by contemporary observers, it is nonetheless witnessed in revenue demand statistics for the late sixteenth and mid-17th centuries, as well as in popular traditions that celebrated the leadership and labors of forest pioneers. The growth of a Muslim peasant society, such a striking development in the post-sixteenth-century eastern delta, thus appears to have been related to larger ecological and demographic forces.”</p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>Birth of Anglo-Indian cuisine</b></p><p><br /></p><p>By the time the East India Company took over Bengal and much of India, the delta had considerably decreased in size, moving eastward due to the ecological changes in the river system. Much before the colonization of Bengal by the British, the influence of Europeans was noticeable. Influence of French, Portuguese, Dutch and other western European culture was present. Bengal flourished due to trade and as such locals adjusted to the habits which satisfied the westerners.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkspmUUvqza6G2Vey0FErHs8O4ehXOj3mI6SLRpdmLiEJ431p7krG8YVMMNmRfqev9-_HZqioEVLHDH1uIUrrwyFju08-tj7SKi0wXGJuk8PWpqbLC0aoCocBYoIBsny4SBaINYpbnY0/s494/Er_5zG6W8AMm333.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="290" data-original-width="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkspmUUvqza6G2Vey0FErHs8O4ehXOj3mI6SLRpdmLiEJ431p7krG8YVMMNmRfqev9-_HZqioEVLHDH1uIUrrwyFju08-tj7SKi0wXGJuk8PWpqbLC0aoCocBYoIBsny4SBaINYpbnY0/s16000/Er_5zG6W8AMm333.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Confectionaries, desserts, influence of the service à la russe style of French (food served in courses rather than all at once), the influence of local ingredients to create European dishes heralded.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>However, it was the colonial rule of the Britishers which witnessed crucial culinary changes similar to that of the Indo-Aryan invasion. Long away from home, the Britishers had to adapt and adjust to local ingredients and produces. Thus, was born the Anglo-Indian cuisine which very much grew out of the erstwhile capital of British India, Calcutta. </p><p><br /></p><p>Since then, Bengal’s food map can be divided into three main regions — Chittagong, Dhaka and Calcutta.</p><p><br /></p><p>Not to be forgotten is the influence of Odia cooks in Bengal. Influential Bengali families preferred cooks from Orissa for big events and ceremonies. Slowly, the subtle changes came into Bengali cooking by the Odia ‘<i>Thakurs</i>’. However, most of it is still contested by researchers.</p><p><br /></p><p>The Chinese settlement in Calcutta during the 18th century brought about a new wave of dishes and spices which not only impacted Bengal’s food lovers in abundance but the rest of India.</p><p><br /></p><p>The modern-day Bengal region doesn’t justify the vast land once it was. One has to look at it historically — the many foreign invasions, division of the region over centuries, and ecological changes — which have altered and contributed to the food habits of the region. Whether it is parts of the modern-day Bihar or West Bengal or Bangladesh or parts of the North East, it is still majorly a rice-eating population. However, much has changed. Its culinary habits are much different from the rest of India. One has to travel through the whole of West Bengal and much of East India to wholesomely enjoy the many different dishes and recipes of Bengalis and notice the differences in different regions. What one enjoys in Northern Bengal is much different from what one can enjoy in Calcutta or Dhaka.</p><p><br /></p><p>From the next part, we will look into the famous Bengali ingredients and spices and their origins and influences.</p><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-21309827482968427832020-11-17T13:24:00.005+05:302020-11-17T13:30:25.092+05:30A loss of heritage and memories<p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">On November 16, 2020, I lost my father’s sister, my <i>Pishi</i>. She was not just my <i>Pishi</i>. She was also my maternal grandmother’s sister-in-law. My father had three sisters. The youngest passed away many years ago. She was loved by all. I was barely 10 when she passed away. I don’t have many memories of her. The eldest sister passed away in East Bengal. I had only come to know about her earlier this year when I had been released from the hospital following surgery. I was sitting at my brother's house in Calcutta. My cousin had come over to see me. She told me about an aunt I had not known about for the past three decades. She was many years older than my father. My father doesn’t have many memories of her and never spoke of her. My father is a man of few words.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span>As such, this </span><i>Pishi</i><span> was the only aunt I knew from my father’s family.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">She was a very good cook. It’s not that I remember much of her cooking. I have heard stories of her cooking from my father. She was born in <i>Opar Bangla</i>. She got married and moved to Calcutta. She took care of my father and her brothers. My father’s mother died when he wasn't even a teenager. She was the mother that my father remembers, figuratively.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">She was close to my <i>Duma</i> (my mother’s mother). My <i>Duma</i> was the only child. Her father passed away long before independence. She spent most of her childhood living with relatives — her uncles and their families. And one such family was my <i>Pishi</i>’s. My <i>Pishi</i> loved my <i>Duma</i> and so did my <i>Duma</i>.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">It was weird growing up hearing my <i>Duma</i> call my Pishi as ‘<i>Boudi</i>’ (it means sister-in-law in Bengali). I remember calling my cousins as <i>Mama</i> and <i>Masi</i> for a very long time until I was corrected. It was very complicated but she was always my <i>Pishi</i>. She was never my mother's aunt or my <i>Duma</i>’s <i>Boudi</i>.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">When my father came to India from East Pakistan (Yes, it was still called East Pakistan), her house was where he lived. He was 13-14 years old. My <i>Pishi</i> and <i>Pishemoshai</i> supported and took care of my father and his family (a huge band of brothers and my paternal grandfather), till one by one the boys turned men. My father was 16 when he was drafted as an apprentice working for MoD. </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">My <i>Pishi</i> and <i>Pishemoshai</i> would still keep an eye on him.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">She also loved my mother. My <i>Pishi</i> and <i>Pishemoshai</i> are the ones who arranged my parents’ marriage. That itself is another long story. After marriage, my mother would find herself surrounded by many of her in-laws who found pleasure in poking fun at a new bride. My <i>Pishi</i> never did.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I don’t have vast and numerous memories of her but these are the memories I have. These are the stories I grew up hearing. I last met her at a cousin’s wedding. She always had her band of sisters and sister-in-laws around her. She fondly remembered enjoying my brother’s wedding. She had stayed over at our place. She was very happy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">She lived a long and probably a happy life — I will never get to know whether she did. I will never get to hear stories of <i>Opar Bangla</i> anymore from her or enjoy her food. And this doesn’t make me sad. It makes me hold on to the memories even more tightly. These memories that I have of my <i>Pishi</i> and a bygone distant past that we seem to neglect.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Through my Pishi and her stories, we have lived a past that once existed. They are stories for my generation and the truth that they had lived. One by one, the storytellers are withering away. Two years back, we lost Duma on the auspicious day of Vijaya Dashami. On November 16, 2020, a few days after Kali Puja/Diwali, we lost<i> Pishi.</i></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">And slowly but surely, we will lose the heritage they are leaving behind and what will remain are just memories of yesteryears in long and forgotten tales.</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-45004266898910810302020-03-15T18:27:00.001+05:302020-03-15T18:29:14.150+05:30Schooled by co-passengers on why I shouldn't be Single<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Believe it or not, being single can be exasperating. More often than not, others (who are obviously not single) confuse it with being independent or confident or even being self-sufficient. Unfortunately, not all are the same. And sometimes, being single comes with its own set of downs and negatives — finding yourself alone in a room full of couples, ending up with a complete stranger on a wedding table because he was the only person in the list of invitees who were single and then moments when you needed someone to punch or talk to or just sit on the couch and watch telly. Being single isn't always cool, couples, it is a choice one makes or one grows up being content with.<br />
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However, finding yourself on the flight, sitting in the middle seat and then flying further with then towards your final destination and being schooled about why one should be NOT single, can be quite a long ending journey of self-doubt and questioning.<br />
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Such was the case recently. Coronavirus aside (I am not being sarcastic or insensitive to the situation currently we are facing globally), being single is probably the biggest problem faced in the world today, according to my fellow travelers. Last year, an article on how the number of singles are rising and people are declining marriages have probably left many married people worried. For example, 4.3 percent of the population worldwide is single. The number might look small but if you calculate it against the population of the world, that's quite a lot. However, all that didn't matter for my co-passengers. So they decided to spend almost close to seven hours, explaining how it is important to be with someone. Here are the top five reasons why I or any single person shouldn't be single.<br />
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<b>You don't have to worry about bills, alone. </b><br />
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While that is really not something I would put on the top reasons why I (sometimes) dislike being alone, I totally agree on that point. As a child growing up in quite a privileged household, worrying about loans, debts or bills wasn't something I ever have to face. We, as kids, we're taught to respect our finances and financial situations, but worrying about bills was for the elders. Unfortunately, when you are growing up, the only things that you worry about is achieving your dreams and ambitions. Finances and bills are the least of our worries. And, suddenly you find yourself sitting on your dining table, going through numerous bills — rent, electricity, water, phone, mobile, broadband, etc. And you spend the last week before the final date paying off every penny that you had saved probably for a mani-pedi (it can be something else for you) and you are scared to look at your bank balance.<br />
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Here's the things — having someone around does not mean that you two get to share your finances in maintaining the house or paying off the bills, but sometimes, it is about sharing the emotions and feelings, which according to my co-passengers is something our generation has completely forgotten.<br />
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I completely agree. I quite often find myself calling my mother and telling her about the bills I had to pay or the money that I might be taking out of the savings account. Sometimes, I even talk to my cat about the amount of money I spent behind broadband connections. It is weird, but talking about it to someone feels good.<br />
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<b>You are always discovering something new — whether it is food or movie choices.</b><br />
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Well, I have to be honest, I wasn't expecting this as a reason why one shouldn't be single. But, it was one of the most exciting and unimaginable reasons I have come across. But here it goes. When you are alone or single, you can live just by eating whatever is available around you. (I strongly don't do that anymore, but that is completely true). "You eat cereals for dinner and instant noodles for breakfast. Most days you don't eat breakfast and you find yourself eating a sandwich for lunch. And vegetables are your worst enemy and the food delivery guy is your best friend."<br />
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However, if you have someone around you can experiment about foods. And while you are doing that, you discover that your partner likes quiche, maybe just like you. Well, it doesn't sound really interesting but, let me give you an example of movies — your partner likes watching action movies (such a cliche, isn't it), but then you don't want to watch Die Hard every day. You want to watch something light-hearted, something warm, something romantic. And as you are browsing through the list of movies available on Prime or Netflix or Hulu or whatever, you come to know — your partner is a big fan of Bridesmaids movie. Seriously! From Die Hard to Bridesmaids, I guess you never saw that coming? But, throughout your time together, you tend to discover or find something new about each other always. Unless you live a very secretive life or you are a blabbermouth.<br />
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<b>There is always someone to look after the kids or even pets.</b><br />
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This was a point made with a lot of hesitation. However, examples were given and the reason was wholeheartedly accepted. Whether you are married or not, whether you have a pet or a kid or not, there are days and times when you want to go out and spend time with your friends. Not only, but there are also times when you have to leave town for work. So where do you leave your kid or pet or even a house which has plants or etc.? Your partner can compromise and look after the kid or the pet or even the plant as you spend time with your friends or when you are out-of-town busy with work.<br />
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But what then what happens when both of you have to go out? Even though I am a bit unsure about the reasoning, but, I will leave it to you.<br />
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"When you and your partner are out of town, you can ask your mother or father to look after the kids? If you think grandparents don't like babysitting your children, you are wrong. They love spending time around their grandchildren. You just have to let them be. Stop worrying, request politely and go away. And if they are not around, you can always ask your siblings and even if they are not around, ask your friend. But that will be too much. When there are two people, you will always find someone or the other to look after the things that matter. Alone, being single, you come across independent and fully capable of taking care of everything around you, but that isn't true. And someone else wouldn't understand that."<br />
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Even though I might disagree with some of the points, I guess there is some truth in the reason.<br />
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<b>Treating your partner as a punching bag.</b><br />
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"If you had a bad day at work, and you can't shout at anyone because it is impolite or you don't want to come across as someone angry, you can always come home and shout at your partner. I don't think he will take it nicely but, when you have vented it all out, he will surely understand."<br />
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A study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology a few years ago did mention that if you are keeping things to yourself from your significant others or anyone if you are keeping secrets, the weight of it can not only be damaging but can kill you. Although, I do not promote turning your partner into a punching bag, sometimes having someone around to talk to, can do wonders. Especially, when you do not want to disturb your friends or even the closest family member with your worries. I totally agree with this point.<br />
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You can live your life fighting with just one person, someone who wouldn't mind.<br />
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<b>Taking turns for doing things.</b><br />
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"Whether it is picking up groceries, or cleaning the house or even cooking, you can always share it with someone, and if you don't want to do that on that particular day, you can ask your partner to do it and maybe return the favor later."<br />
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It is nice to have someone with whom you can share your chores, especially if you are living all by yourself in a house that needs constant maintaining. However, when I was told most the reasons, my reply was, "We can also have a roommate or flatmate and share the chores." The reply was, "Well, you can, but your significant other wouldn't complain or mind doing it. Whereas, whenever you are tired or you don't want to clean the bathroom, you can't go running to your flatmate to do it for you, can you?"<br />
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Probably, yes.<br />
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There were many more reasons. And, honestly, most of it can be shared with a nice understanding roommate or flatmate too. However, I stopped living alone and decided on "no more flatmate" after a very distressful encounter. I love being on my own, having the place to myself, on my own terms. Although, I totally agree with some of the points shared by my lovely yet overtly nosy co-passengers, living alone or being single is different from being with someone or sharing your personal space with someone. Although I am not closed to the idea, having spent many years being on my own, you get used to the comfort of being alone or living life as a single person.<br />
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Yes, there are moments, when you want to talk to someone and I wish someone could do my chores and when I want to throw a punch around, but there are other ways of tackling such situations. Especially, when you do not have to compromise or adjust or fight over what to watch or what to eat. But, that is just me. Being with someone can be wonderful, but it is surely not the same as being single or alone or being free or independent or whatever label you would like to put next to it. Everyone has a reason for being how they are and everybody has there moments.<br />
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<b>P.S.</b> Stay safe folks, work from home, listen to music and spend time with your dear ones, doing things that you love. <b>Here's my <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2zsP45F6SCbortY4hpOZlx" target="_blank">Spotify Playlist</a></b> and if you want to recommend any songs, please do share!<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-50676063066869162162019-12-12T15:17:00.000+05:302019-12-12T15:41:32.692+05:30Chennai's Fika is really 'pheeka'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There is a popular saying, "don't judge a book by its cover." Probably I should have remembered that when I decided that rather than cooking my precious Katla fish which I had brought with me back from Calcutta, I decided to visit Fika restaurant in Chennai's cosmopolitan neighbourhood of Adyar.<br />
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I had come across the restaurant by accident back in October. Next to Hot Breads in Gandhi Nagar of Adyar, the appearance of the place, lit by warm lights and surrounded by trees that have inhabited the place more than I lived on the planet, I wanted to visit the place the moment I saw it. You can say it was something like "love at first sight". However, appearances can be deceiving.<br />
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Before I go ahead with my experience of the place, let me tell you something about myself. I wouldn't call myself a foodie and yet I am one of those people who love my food. When I travel, I scout for restaurants or diners or cafes to visit and then historical or monumental places. If that makes me a foodie, then probably I am. Also, on a side note, I am a Bengali. If that matters.<br />
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So, about Fika. After coming across the place by accident in October, I didn't have an opportunity to visit the place. Work, travel, following a disciplined schedule, barred me from visiting the place. Besides, I had dined outside too often the previous year.<br />
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Then by another accident, I came across someone who happens to work there. You know the feeling when you want to visit a place but you just need a push, meeting this person was the PUSH. So, I came back home, called up my friend, and told him that we HAVE to visit Fika.<br />
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I am not going to write about the decor because I really didn't get an opportunity to explore the place. But, if you are someone who likes to dine in a spacious place, then probably you can visit. Also, the reason I am mentioning the decor up ahead is due to the factor that place garnered much attention because of its decor and appearances. Even <a href="https://www.architecturaldigest.in/content/fika-rustic-chic-meets-make-believe/#s-cust0" target="_blank">Architectural Digest did a feature on them</a>.<br />
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On arrival, we headed towards the entry where you are greeted by pastries. However, the host was missing. Having a host is important, especially in such a big place (apparently it is spread over 10,000 square-feet). There was a worker going about his work adjacent to where we were looking out for the host, but he didn't come ahead and asked us if we needed anything while we stared helplessly around for the host. Rather than waiting for the host, I decided to go ahead and proceed towards the restaurant which is in the middle of the house.<br />
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We waited over there and looked around to be noticed by at least someone and be directed to a table, but nobody came. At this point, my friend decided to leave because it was quite an unwelcoming experience. Why?<br />
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Imagine yourself standing in the middle of a huge room, where people are dining and chit-chatting, and you are looking kind-of-lost and wondering what to do. You want to be helped but nobody comes to your aide.<br />
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That was us.<br />
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At this point, I had to approach one of the waiters and ask for a table and the host. The host suddenly appeared and the first thing he did was apologize.<br />
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We were seated near the pizza station and a waiter handed us the menu and this is what we ordered:<br />
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1. Spiced Pumpkin Soup<br />
2. Mozzarella Buratta<br />
3. Spaghetti Beef Bolognese<br />
4. Carbonara Classica<br />
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Let me first tell you about the food and then I will speak about the other experiences.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ckfsTFduWD-l4IPGyd3QKjVpLqPAVWRHyMkKsp_wX5URl-eqSp0XmbQ4gGy0e9ReHQY5-kiiQnUp8Vi-9n1sNqreoLJb7R_kdgvPgeEiBGwAcWurQT8cNnT_TBrq2C_p139e79bcc4M/s1600/IMG_3792.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ckfsTFduWD-l4IPGyd3QKjVpLqPAVWRHyMkKsp_wX5URl-eqSp0XmbQ4gGy0e9ReHQY5-kiiQnUp8Vi-9n1sNqreoLJb7R_kdgvPgeEiBGwAcWurQT8cNnT_TBrq2C_p139e79bcc4M/s320/IMG_3792.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>
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Spiced Pumpkin Soup: The soup looked just the way it should look like but it tasted different in different parts of the bowl. Because of the presence of feta cheese in the middle of the bowl, it tasted tangy. The presence of pepper (in some parts of the soup) made it sharp and hot. And, the soup was sweet. It wasn't heartwarming.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;">My friend's bowl was chipped on the sides</span></td></tr>
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Mozzarella Buratta: For me, I like my mozzarella to be left uncut as I would like to cut it before I devour it. Especially because of the juice that comes out when you cut it. Leaving that aside, the cheese tasted old and hard. The dish tasted bland (really fika). But, the bread on the plate was good. It was soft and well baked (I don't know whether they baked it or not). And the dish could use some more olive oil.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS9DH6Jg29k_gspMDHF-s5xzg30mlboOZqn25LuuDc4vWOYQ72-eBMCrJFDskxcjbwTrwS9EWzgIxGp0L85TYrvV5tZDzhXDURtUo1Dg9YwiiWEYwcWgweC-Ty31pgKgRPQaFh8ZLLuAc/s1600/IMG_3798.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS9DH6Jg29k_gspMDHF-s5xzg30mlboOZqn25LuuDc4vWOYQ72-eBMCrJFDskxcjbwTrwS9EWzgIxGp0L85TYrvV5tZDzhXDURtUo1Dg9YwiiWEYwcWgweC-Ty31pgKgRPQaFh8ZLLuAc/s320/IMG_3798.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>
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Spaghetti Beef Bolognese & Carbonara Classica: In my opinion, if you want to know whether the kitchen is good or not, ask for pasta. The simplest thing and yet the thing that most kitchens mess up. My usual choice of pasta is usually arrabiata and I am very particular about my pasta. So much so I have stopped eating pasta outside the home.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you see the beef chunks?</td></tr>
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First, with the Beef Bolognese. The beef wasn't minced. It tasted like beef curry and spaghetti was placed on top of the curry and presented to you. The amount of pepper was high. The sauce was overflowing. Every time I took a bite of the plate, I had to clean my mouth with the tissue. By the end of my main course, I had finished the pasta and still the beef curry (I prefer to call it that was left).<br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">I had joked to my friend that one could eat the beef curry with roti or rice if you remove the pasta. Guess what? With the leftover beef curry (which I asked them to parcel), I ate it with rice the next day and it tasted MUCH BETTER.</span></div>
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Rather than calling it continental, they could have just called it a fusion of continental and Indian cuisine.<br />
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Now, the carbonara classica. While the beef bolognese sauce was overflowing, the carbonara was dry. It felt like you were just eating pasta and as a result, it tasted different in different parts of the bowl.<br />
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While we ordered the main course, we had specifically asked for the pasta dishes to be less salty or no salt at all. Both the dishes were super salty.<br />
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We did mention that both the dishes were salty and the wait staff gave an explanation about the carbonara sauce is like that. I guess what he wanted to mean is the salt comes out of the bacon. However, when I took a bite of a bacon piece, it tasted of mashed egg york and wasn't salty at all.<br />
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To cleanse off the salt and sauce of our palate, I decided to order Tiramisu, while my friend ordered a single shot Espresso.<br />
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I am not really a dessert lover. I hardly eat sweets (yes, despite being a Bengali). I usually like less-sweet sweets as in the ones which are depended on flavour and not sugar.<br />
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I am sure most of you know what a Tiramisu looks and tastes like (not the ones that you buy at cafe coffee day). I really don't know what I ate. It felt like I ate chocolate chips first and then a thin wafer and lots of cheese and some coffee liquor which left me an after taste of alcohol.<br />
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But, the funniest part was the coffee. I hoard coffee beans. I am not joking. In the last two years, I have collected coffee beans from all across the world — Brazil, Costa Rica, Australia, East Timor and even from a small shop in Brooklyn and a place called Paris, Texas. My favourite is coffee beans from Market Lane coffee in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. But, that is another story.<br />
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Just for curiousity I asked where are the coffee beans from and I got a reply that, "They are imported, some 4000 rupees for 1 kg, I don't know where are the from, but I will ask."<br />
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While I finished my confused Tiramisu, my friend waited for his single-shot espresso. I finished, asked for the bill and he hadn't got his coffee still. The coffee came much later the bill was given to us. And it tasted so bad that I can still cry remembering about it. Espresso, if you ask an Italian Barrista, is usually a blend of natural and dark roast coffee beans in a ratio of either 70:30 or 80:20. But, this one tastes like 100% dark roast. It wasn't bitter, it made me almost puke.<br />
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<b>Etceteras</b><br />
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The restaurant had a soft launch in August and already I saw bulbs which weren't working.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeb0gYHSgpcYBZJjDkZE8JGbdZBCbeWcRGeaLYnDP8FRECfWAMGrUNlM9C2XCWFuxIeKKc3__AB04IzPNn9hNecY_IXHfedy2XGPlFfgkHldCJfDIAKLZhnCnUqzFg2xSMNkfAMSb6nz8/s1600/IMG_3795.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeb0gYHSgpcYBZJjDkZE8JGbdZBCbeWcRGeaLYnDP8FRECfWAMGrUNlM9C2XCWFuxIeKKc3__AB04IzPNn9hNecY_IXHfedy2XGPlFfgkHldCJfDIAKLZhnCnUqzFg2xSMNkfAMSb6nz8/s320/IMG_3795.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am staring at this</td></tr>
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The decor was nice around the area where we were dining but you can't place a table next to the pizza station counter like they had.<br />
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There isn't a variety of dishes available and the ones that are there, are poorly made. They are neither continental or Indian. Probably they should call themselves a fusion restaurant.<br />
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The staff is not well trained. Grooming is so important in this industry. Today companies realise that they need employees that make their company look good. So, the brand and how they really represent themselves is more important today than making your manager look good. This essentially means each and every worker matters — how they behave, how they talk, reciprocate and how well they are groomed.<br />
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The staff over there are not attentive. Service is super slow. It is quite understandable when you have such a big place to run. However, it has been only four months, and the place needs good leadership and workers to meet its standard.<br />
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You can impress people to come to your place by the decor and appearance but you are going push away customers if your food isn't good and they don't meet the rate that you have attached with it.<br />
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In short, it stands up to its name if you consider the name to be a Hindi word and not Swedish. It was really 'pheeka'.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com013, 2nd Main Rd, Gandhi Nagar, Adyar, Chennai, Tamil Nadu 600020, India13.0073579 80.256212-12.5146766 38.947618000000006 38.5293924 121.564806tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-75084875769808184082018-11-13T15:20:00.000+05:302018-11-13T15:20:07.964+05:30Disappointing experience with Sri Lankan Airlines<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have flown 37 flights so far this year and traveled to Singapore at least four to five times.<br />
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Usually, when I travel to Singapore, I prefer the Air India flight around 11 in the morning from Chennai. So by the time I wake up, I have had a good sleep and am ready for the four-hour flight from my usual port of travel — Chennai. And by the time I reach Singapore, I have the evening to roam, relax and sleep in time for an exciting few days. And the return flight from Singapore is around 9 in the morning. Which means by the time I am back in India, I have the whole day to re-energize myself for the coming days.<br />
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However, this time, while traveling to Singapore for the <a href="https://mroasia.aviationweek.com/as18/Public/Enter.aspx" target="_blank">Commerical Aviation MRO Asia Pacific conference</a>, it was decided that Sri Lankan Airlines will be the carrier.<br />
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I have had the most wonderful and memorable travel by Sri Lankan back in 2016 June. Wonderful crew, good food, and comfortable aircraft seats. However, this time, it was nothing short of a nightmare.<br />
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My colleague and I took the Sri Lankan Airlines flight from Chennai to Singapore via Colombo (we flew UL 124 and then UL 306). Time for departure and arrival in Singapore suited us.<br />
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Let me first give a brief of the flight from Chennai to Colombo. I understand that the flight time between the two international cities is about 60 minutes or so, and as a result, the airline has decided to move to the narrow body Airbus A320. This particular aircraft had its first flight on December 2, 2004. And for the first next six and a half years, China Southern used it. Somewhere around April 2011, it was inducted by Sri Lankan Airlines.<br />
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The armrest of the aircraft on the seats where we were seated was broken. The seats were so uncomfortable that it gave us a neck pain.<br />
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But that wasn't the tipping point. It was when the food — a thick bread with minimal veg fillings was provided as a meal. There was no tea or coffee. A flight from Hanover, Germany to Paris, France takes about the same time. The meal provided early in the morning usually is a Croissant and a cup of coffee of tea. I don't think anyone minds that? A coffee or tea goes a long way, isn't it?<br />
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The crew, thankfully, was amazing in the flight. And to our amazement (and good luck), it was the same crew which flew us to Singapore, albeit in a different aircraft.<br />
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The crew, having already been acquainted, was very much happy (and so were we) to see us too.<br />
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The aircraft to Singapore was in a much better condition. However, here's the thing — for an international overnight flight, it was an A320-200. And, the food quality was bad. My colleague took one bite of the salad and threw it out. I really don't remember what food was served, but it was not at all impressionable. Even for the alcohol served was only one glass (considering that it was a night flight). Isn't it an open bar and one is supposed to inquire about a refill?<br />
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Anyway, we reached Singapore and thought that we will forget about our mild disappointing experiences — however, my colleague developed a bad tummy post the flight (he got a fever and the bad tummy irritated him for the next 2-3 days).<br />
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We had completely forgotten about our experience ahead of the flight back. However, the bitter experience, this time, started at the Changi Airport itself.<br />
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Have you seen how the ground crew calls for passengers — seat and class-wise during boarding procedure? Here's the thing — the Sri Lankan Airlines crew at Changi were most unpleasant.<br />
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First, they called for Business Class passengers and then families traveling with children. That was fine. But, then they called for passengers seating from row 20 to 30 and when we approached the boarding gate, we were directed to the whole lot (including more Business class travelers, and all other seats).<br />
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1. You don't make an announcement for passengers seated 20 to 30 and then ask them to join everyone.<br />
2. Where is the standard operating procedure then?<br />
3. Why make announcements at all?<br />
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When it was pointed out to one of the gentlemen from the ground crew, he just simply said, "Please join this line."<br />
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A haphazard boarding can cause delay in the aircraft being ready for departure.<br />
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Inside the aircraft, the crew were directing passengers to help themselves in loading their luggage and instructing them to the front of the aircraft to find spaces by themselves. Aren't the crew suppose to help the passengers? Luckily for us, we had only small backpacks. But, for many, it was suitcases (I still wonder how air carriers allow passengers to carry suitcases as carry-on).<br />
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Let's not forget, when the aircraft was finally ready, there were compartments which were not properly shut because straps of luggage were peeping out.<br />
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The aircraft for UL 309 was once again an A320, but a brand new one with a Leap engine. Glossy and shinning aircraft.<br />
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Food was much better than previous experiences. But, the seating experience was once again sad. I was seated on the window seat and there was a box, possibly the electrical support for the IFE system, in the already narrow and small seating configuration. And that wasn't enough!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVfi-vYzs8KvXmIX2-SdLL_Kg1ZRr8MRGFMMfSreL6GxZ31pjQg4G06bBIPfARARkTRqLMtPOeJjGrcLfSxfYfRaU87woL2-Jt8ylT23NN2_E6-gP3PnZJQuWYbbpQFpxYCXXinyXWJw/s1600/UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_99a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVfi-vYzs8KvXmIX2-SdLL_Kg1ZRr8MRGFMMfSreL6GxZ31pjQg4G06bBIPfARARkTRqLMtPOeJjGrcLfSxfYfRaU87woL2-Jt8ylT23NN2_E6-gP3PnZJQuWYbbpQFpxYCXXinyXWJw/s400/UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_99a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Whoever designed the seat pitch had forgotten about tray tables. Whenever the person seating in front of me pushed the seat back, if the tray table was open, it was obstructing and hurting my lap. Even if the seat was upright, I had to use it half open. Pictures will say the full story.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfqSXptBmdOPTZPeseg6lNF8Ep8-XFz6k_RFnbjSVt4_3mAc6l8qyNwxrSvaHjqtR8ruG9H-_6raL5IwRHiBk-s8vw64OGwPhGU96_EtEQAPkJKP0q5A3af2Sx5VrbJFA4WtkI1kz1Kr0/s1600/UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_997.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfqSXptBmdOPTZPeseg6lNF8Ep8-XFz6k_RFnbjSVt4_3mAc6l8qyNwxrSvaHjqtR8ruG9H-_6raL5IwRHiBk-s8vw64OGwPhGU96_EtEQAPkJKP0q5A3af2Sx5VrbJFA4WtkI1kz1Kr0/s400/UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_997.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So the tray table is supposed to be hurting my lap?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhDX6JCa5gjHXwt_vZDGgRJBsTk8uaEd4GLktsLiMopeXI-xlOC8TAJ3QekhsGibJ5XzYYJmXfCKN3LdXbjAqZxsm6lXVGv2qbh3wugujocng81SDJcJcWJubaeGVr21abC859m-PK7Q/s1600/UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhDX6JCa5gjHXwt_vZDGgRJBsTk8uaEd4GLktsLiMopeXI-xlOC8TAJ3QekhsGibJ5XzYYJmXfCKN3LdXbjAqZxsm6lXVGv2qbh3wugujocng81SDJcJcWJubaeGVr21abC859m-PK7Q/s400/UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_996.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTFlpGuBt6a_lopA2UUTyo8yl6GpiRVzNRp6oVwTqc1uP7qWyMKJ7IcUsUHhgLEPysuJCnvx_gsKuZGrThWdItuBWPrUrB4_raqBoDCO8H3E0YzdgHlfOh3S8KnGaCIjp1p7NVlOdzZnE/s1600/UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_995.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTFlpGuBt6a_lopA2UUTyo8yl6GpiRVzNRp6oVwTqc1uP7qWyMKJ7IcUsUHhgLEPysuJCnvx_gsKuZGrThWdItuBWPrUrB4_raqBoDCO8H3E0YzdgHlfOh3S8KnGaCIjp1p7NVlOdzZnE/s400/UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_995.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So if the person ahead of pushed the seat back, then the view of the tablet would be pointing towards my tummy. How is one supposed to watch the tablet then?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTpo51YqDpvygY6ruoJ_K0LPaelt9Ny4L7zbw_xypijdPA03WXvtjKj85GNYUiICBt8d5_63g0CQDxgjBnSe74r6t9B1m_Oisug_gsTw_3tOxuPcgAE4EFOZb1b-f5Tmoeq42RVJukoI0/s1600/UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_998.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTpo51YqDpvygY6ruoJ_K0LPaelt9Ny4L7zbw_xypijdPA03WXvtjKj85GNYUiICBt8d5_63g0CQDxgjBnSe74r6t9B1m_Oisug_gsTw_3tOxuPcgAE4EFOZb1b-f5Tmoeq42RVJukoI0/s400/UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_998.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even with the seat upright, I had to use the tray table half-open to use it.</td></tr>
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<br />For four hours, the unpleasant and uncomfortable experience guided me to Colombo. And for the final flight back.<br />
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By that time, we were so tired and mind and body irritated, we didn't care much about how the final flight and aircraft was. All we wanted was to reach our destination and back to our beds for a deep rest.<br />
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I have to say — the Indigo Airlines uses the same aircraft, however, the seating experience is far better than Sri Lankan. Even Air India's services feel much better than Sri Lankan. I never thought I will say that.<br />
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I strongly believe that if narrow body aircraft are being used by air carriers for international travels, they should at least consider the comfort factor. Also, the quality of food. For the money spent, I do not think, this experience justifies the past experience I have had with Sri Lankan in 2016. However, that was a long time back (even if it was two years back) and a lot has changed in these two years everywhere, in the whole industry itself.<br />
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But, will I travel Sri Lankan Airlines any soon? Probably not.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-91660549396784355412018-10-28T18:18:00.000+05:302018-10-30T14:54:21.627+05:30The potential of Engine MRO in India<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The Indian aviation industry is on a path of unprecedented growth. The numbers are majestic and the market is ballooning. Geographically located at the intersection of Asia and Europe and the Americas, India's future is concrete and undeniable.<br />
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Till a few years back, the government concentrated on expansion of road and railway to soothe the growth in transportation. However, with Indian airline carriers upping their competition with affordable pricing and efficient connectivities across the country, the government was made to realize that the cornerstone for a successful and efficient transportation system lay in the growth of the aviation industry.<br />
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Such a marvelous growth, however, means the need for efficient infrastructure and support system.<br />
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A delayed realization about the potential of the aviation industry in India has also resulted in the hindered growth.<br />
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By 2021, the number of commercial aircraft is projected to reach 1000 in India.<br />
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The aircraft, which is the heart and soul of the aviation industry, needs a routine maintenance. For a healthy aviation industry to prosper in India, the country needs world-class MRO facilities.<br />
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The need for MRO in India was made conscious of in 2015. The increase in commercial fleet population, passengers, traffic growth, various other factors have resulted in the federal government to understand the need to recognize MRO as one of the crucial focal points in the aviation industry.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjym_bkIXE2KckX5orXUIVcf2lig2pC-fW5lQPJkHLWw69Sd1in94l8iqckko4V3U_GLlsSGNca4GgfoZJHdGmeCd6hcdtyaf2S7Xi2bxBlZGHLAsxvsl4Ioh4cVBM-lY_YE88R_bCjkGs/s1600/Aircraft-Engine-MRO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="768" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjym_bkIXE2KckX5orXUIVcf2lig2pC-fW5lQPJkHLWw69Sd1in94l8iqckko4V3U_GLlsSGNca4GgfoZJHdGmeCd6hcdtyaf2S7Xi2bxBlZGHLAsxvsl4Ioh4cVBM-lY_YE88R_bCjkGs/s640/Aircraft-Engine-MRO.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Until recently, Air India Engineering Services Limited (AIESL) was the only MRO facility in India for both structural and engine maintenance.<br />
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Earlier in 2018, AAR announced a joint venture with Indamer for an airframe MRO facility in Mihan SEZ in Nagpur. Many more partnerships have been announced.<br />
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The ‘Powerplant’ of an aircraft is the Engine. Currently, worldwide, there are approximately 25,000 active commercial aircraft flying and the number will increase to around 50,000 by 2037. In this, Asia-Pacific will see the maximum growth with a new fleet population near to 20,000. If there are approximately 25,000 aircraft, the number of large commercial engines present today are approximately around 70,000.<br />
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India is about to become the third-largest civil aviation market by 2021 and the largest by 2030. However, the dearth of MRO facilities paints a gloomy picture.<br />
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<b>Hurdles</b><br />
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Major companies understand the potentials of the Indian market, however, cultural difference, complexities of doing business, and many more reasons have kept the large entities away from the country.<br />
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Availability of space near major airports and the cost of such land, which is predominantly owned by the Airport Authority of India (AAI), is a cause of major concern. This makes the process of making a State-of-the-Art MRO facility next to impossible.<br />
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The other major hurdle faced today is the access to capital. Interest and lending rates are way high compared to international markets. Long gestation periods make it unviable to borrow money and invest. Also, insistence on 1.5 times the value of borrowing by way of a collateral security, makes the entire project not feasible.<br />
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Federal taxes, which are now being relooked, make India not so competitive compared to other South Asian nations.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXxisKMnzRq7QET2WC0fT25SkiAZgksulzuu8t0J1DDuGiaBouamVrgm9TVo5b075NLaISfeBmDDSY9dAV9x1Vf7e-3EGJILHnN7uSanJujQoc3Dri2ocxcsz1G7b9wDLacwqX6TbCZA/s1600/Air-India.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXxisKMnzRq7QET2WC0fT25SkiAZgksulzuu8t0J1DDuGiaBouamVrgm9TVo5b075NLaISfeBmDDSY9dAV9x1Vf7e-3EGJILHnN7uSanJujQoc3Dri2ocxcsz1G7b9wDLacwqX6TbCZA/s640/Air-India.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>The Potential</b><br />
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India is blessed with an abundant talent pool. Moreover, the veteran community provides a rich pool of talents that can be leveraged. Their learning needs to be recognized and refreshed towards commercial aviation.<br />
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The <a href="https://madc.maharashtra.gov.in/index.php/information/aboutsez" target="_blank">Mihan SEZ</a> in Nagpur was the first step. Considering the span of India, creating a hub is the logical step. For such an environment to be created, the support and encouragement of large multinational MRO companies are needed.<br />
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India already has the likes of Lufthansa, Boeing, Airbus, Safran, etc. present in the country in aerospace. A delayed realization by the federal government about the importance of MRO in India should not hamper the interest of international MRO companies.<br />
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By way of partnerships or joint ventures with Indian companies, a successful and healthy future of MRO in India can be ensured.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgilx9VsHuiuuCDHwA1XdZlnFlkUPjg7HSeQVFdABQZs6wxPG5VZwgy1KOSXcvgblA2pw4t3Jm7oAokw09s9PM0CdBqIS1MXBtnU7oMkBC8_XsReXYadwRzs-uesl8JaelSuGfHBoqS9MA/s1600/SEZ-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="898" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgilx9VsHuiuuCDHwA1XdZlnFlkUPjg7HSeQVFdABQZs6wxPG5VZwgy1KOSXcvgblA2pw4t3Jm7oAokw09s9PM0CdBqIS1MXBtnU7oMkBC8_XsReXYadwRzs-uesl8JaelSuGfHBoqS9MA/s640/SEZ-1.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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To create State-of-the-Art MRO facilities like SR Technics, Delta Tech Ops, AFI KLM Engg. & Maintenance, support from the Government — both State and Federal level — is required. Unnecessary rules and regulations need to be abolished.<br />
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To replicate world-class MRO facilities, India needs a healthy regulatory environment, wherein, the central aviation nodal authority acts as an administrator and not the enforcer.<br />
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To start off, a component maintenance facility catering to different engine types need to be set-up. Lufthansa Technik in Bangalore caters to component services for airframe and not engines.<br />
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For this to happen, the state governments need to identify lands near the airports for the building of required facilities.<br />
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Industrial policies need to be streamlined — such as regulatory approval for building infrastructure. State incentives, as offered to other industries like automotive and IT, need to be structured for aviation as well.<br />
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<b>Airline carriers in India</b> need to look at air operations holistically. Most of the engines are owned by lessors and lessors dictate where their engines have to maintained. With the Indian carriers bowing down to the contracts as provided by the lessors, and not negotiating to their best benefits, this has also created a vacuum for engine supply for maintenance within the country.<br />
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A successful running of component maintenance facility can lead to getting certified for overhauling as well.<br />
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With the paucity in engine maintenance facilities across the world and overseas facilities running full, creating facilities in India makes optimal sense. Competitive labor costs, geographically well-located, increase in fleet population and federal government's focus on regional airline connectivity (UDAAN scheme), engine shops will have ample business and the aviation industry in India and Asia will also grow.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-30118602993059151272018-09-26T16:22:00.000+05:302018-09-26T16:23:12.105+05:30Congress' role in Rafale controversy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Indian republic is seven months away from its 17<sup>th </sup>General Election that will decide which party or alliance gets to form the Government. Thus, it is hardly surprising to see parties busy spending time proving which one is less corrupt. The two parties at the centre of it are – Indian National Congress (INC), the opposition, and the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), the incumbent.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The 2014 General Election presented an enormous power shift, with the United Progressive Alliance (UPA) being removed from power by the people after 10 years. For some it came as a surprise, however, the popularity of Narendra Modi, the ambassador and face of BJP at that time, proved to be quite a triumph despite his alleged involvement in communal riots of Gujarat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Congress under the new and young leadership of Rahul Gandhi has made sure that in the final years of BJP’s reign, Modi and co. had to appear multiple times in front of the headline-hungry media to prove its innocence in a certain defence deal — which may have been India’s biggest procurement for Air Force in the last decade — the Rafale fighters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQPJy3Rk2SYcEqcV9Rq62UaBton6s-9jMrkxEr2TQNeAvI1086hFTPqJkjH65PFSJ5BzTkvoMf7cbj5hbPvDoUMeWM6SrGj6sLUu-3CxDtaTbmiKZJpNqzQJo3A_d6edTxh9kgvF0QD8/s1600/Dassault_Rafale_%252835310906891%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="640" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQPJy3Rk2SYcEqcV9Rq62UaBton6s-9jMrkxEr2TQNeAvI1086hFTPqJkjH65PFSJ5BzTkvoMf7cbj5hbPvDoUMeWM6SrGj6sLUu-3CxDtaTbmiKZJpNqzQJo3A_d6edTxh9kgvF0QD8/s400/Dassault_Rafale_%252835310906891%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">History of Rafale’s procurement<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In 2001, during former Prime Minister Atal Behari Vajpayee’s regime, the Indian Air Force promulgated adding more Mirage 2000s to its inventory. However, the manufacturer, French company Dassault Systems, informed the then government that they had upgraded their Mirages from the Hindustan Aeronautics Limited’s (HAL) license production model. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At this juncture, Ministry of Defence (MoD) announced that it would need to <span lang="EN-GB">release a tender for newer aircraft to be inducted. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Thus in 2001, </span>RFI were issued globally for the acquisition of 126 fighter aircraft. It took almost six-seven years for the MoD to release the RFP, which was handed over to six companies in 2007. The six companies had time till March 2008 to submit their proposals. <span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">After testing and evaluations of extreme rigorous nature that extended from 2009 to 2011, the MoD announced that the Rafale had met with its Air Staff Requirements, post negotiations in 2012.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">A deal was chalked out for Dassault to partner with HAL, wherein the French company would deliver the initial 18 in flying condition and the Indian company would license produce 70 percent of the aircraft with the transfer of technology.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">However, there was an issue of accountability — Who will be responsible for the quality of the product manufactured by HAL. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">HAL and MoD declared that it would not take responsibility for the project under management. Dassault also flatly refused to take any responsibility for HAL production series of aircraft.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As India’s fleet strength reduced, with MiGs being grounded and phased out, Mirage 2000s stressed, the need for adding fighter aircraft became an operational imperative.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thus, after months of further talks and negotiations with the new government at helm post-2014 General Election, the CEO of Dassault, Eric Trappier said that he hopes a new contract would be signed by March 2015.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Although it took another year for the two parties to come to agreement, the BJP government announced the decision to buy 36 Rafale with a full suite of electronic warfare equipment including AESA radar in September 2016.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">A whole lot of narrative had changed from 2012 to 2018. The removal of HAL as an offset partner and rise in costs — the Modi government has been plundered with malfeasance in acquisition after acquisitions by the Congress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">First issue: Cost of 36 Rafale Aircraft<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The price quoted for 36 aircraft vis a vis the 2012 selection, which will start being delivered in 2019, is a fly away condition with all system integration being done — waiting to be inducted directly into the squadron.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In 2007, the initial quoted cost of 126 aircraft — just the barebone — was 12 billion USD. In 2012, the cost had ballooned to 18 billion USD.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, in 2016 end, the cost for 36 aircraft with missiles, spares and other electronic suite was 7.8 billion euros which would be roughly around 9.2 billion USD.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This would mean the cost of one aircraft in 2012 was 80.95 million and in 2018, the cost of the aircraft, with weaponry, is roughly around 242 million.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">What would have the reason?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It is essential to understand that these 36 aircraft, which will start being delivered from next year, will be ready for induction into the squadron post-delivery. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">These aircraft will come with missiles and weaponry which were not part of the 2012 negotiation. The 2012 cost was just of the barebone aircraft. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">During the earlier negotiations and talks, 70 percent of the aircraft fleet would have been produced in India. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In comparison, these aircraft are being produced in France where labour is significantly costly. If France’s employment salary rate is compared to India, it stands at 1:7 ratio. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Not only that, it is important to understand the economies of scale. The cost for producing components and parts for 36 aircraft significantly gets increased as compared to 126. There would have been a proportionate saving in costs if there was an increase in level of production. However, that is not the case here. As the number decreased from 126 to 36, the cost had increased as such.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Second issue: Reliance Defence<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In 2012-13, Dassault was presented a three-way contract by the Indian government. The contract stated that Dassault would sign one contract with the Indian government for delivery of 18 aircraft and another contract with HAL for transfer of technology and production of 108 aircraft with the responsibilities of both the parties being stated in it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">However, Dassault was concerned with the arrangement, especially stating that the French company would be held responsible for delays by HAL in the contract. Dassault went to the MoD’s Contract Negotiation Committee (CNC) and requested that they be allowed to manufacture through its joint venture with Reliance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Rafale would ideally like to build its entire fighter in the Dassault-Reliance JV, with HAL’s role being reduced to a token screwdriver turn. But the MoD cannot accept that, since the Request for Proposals (RFP) mandates that the Rafale will be assembled in HAL. Negotiations are now about the maximum role permissible for the Dassault-Reliance JV,” an official was quoted by a <span class="MsoHyperlink" style="color: #0563c1; text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://www.business-standard.com/article/economy-policy/rafale-deal-likely-by-mid-2013-113020701260_1.html" style="color: purple;">Business Standard report from 2013</a></span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCMipUMdnPj-3fNqzf3luUSFQpiBRGM3JYbNOPywVbwda_t7deCjw13sp71FYcqfIf0Y_iwRTFvK1zbnmplSissr4A8UAQiaJxgKq9yL0Ak2Xuhq7KjT3Fjyu5KVgso3CwPjEB1TJyZU/s1600/l2013072648330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCMipUMdnPj-3fNqzf3luUSFQpiBRGM3JYbNOPywVbwda_t7deCjw13sp71FYcqfIf0Y_iwRTFvK1zbnmplSissr4A8UAQiaJxgKq9yL0Ak2Xuhq7KjT3Fjyu5KVgso3CwPjEB1TJyZU/s320/l2013072648330.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When the then Defence Minister, A. K. Antony was asked about the same, his reply was that the government will follow terms and conditions of the RFP which was “non-negotiable”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The then Air Chief Marshal N. A. K. Browne had said, “The OEM has been given the full right to select any production partner that he wishes to have in India or abroad. We have no issues; if he has to supply certain kits, he can get it manufactured in Bangalore… or from Reliance or from anybody else. We have no issues, or we have no say in that matter. That’s a business relationship between Dassault and Reliance.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“(But) the licenced manufacture part, it is very clear in the RFP that it has to be done by HAL. Whatever else he (Dassault) gets manufactured here, there, wherever… the Indian government and the IAF have no issues there. As long as those kits and everything else are supplied and given to HAL at the instance of the OEM, for the licenced manufacture.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In July 2013, Dassault CEO, Trappier, had expressed to The Hindu about the uncertainty of the Rafale deal. It was also during this time that Trappier had announced that Dassault Aviation would sign a joint venture with Mukesh Ambani’s Reliance Industries Limited (RIL) in India.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Hindu report quotes Trappier, “Right from the beginning we have had a partner called Reliance that will be engaged in producing a certain number of components for the Rafale — this will be in the private sector. Secondly, our only partner for the manufacture of the Rafale in India is HAL. There has never been any doubt on this subject and we are working actively with HAL on the one hand and Reliance in a joint venture on the other. As far as responsibility goes, we will be responsible for the Rafale just as Thales will be for the radars. But at this stage I would not like to comment further on this issue.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Every organisation starts somewhere. The question, however, is whether they can deliver or not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the case of HAL, heads don’t roll and there is no accountability. Whereas in Reliance, program and project management will be closely monitored by the MoD and IAF personnel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In a case of a private entity, under contract negotiation, the group can be sued or taken to court by the government. Whereas, HAL cannot be sued as it is run by the government.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The only thing that has changed about Dassault’s joint venture relationship with Reliance from 2012 to 2017 is the shift from one Ambani brother’s company to other. What was earlier to happen with Mukesh Ambani, it is now taking shape with Anil Ambani’s company. Whether or not the Indian government at any point had any role in the decision making of Reliance as an offset partner should be looked back with Dassault’s interest in Reliance since 2012.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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One of the reasons why Mukesh Ambani had backed out of the joint venture is because he wasn't ready to go through the hectic process of procurement and approvals that an aerospace and defence company has to go through. </div>
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Moreover, it is not unnatural for companies to form few days or weeks or a month before a joint venture comes to play. Many times, a company or a special purpose vehicle is formed specifically for a certain joint venture deal. </div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If the question of joint venture has to take place, India has already seen joint ventures mature between private partners — Tata and Lockheed Martin, Adani and SAAB, Mahindra Defence and Boeing. Reliance’s partnership with Dassault is just another in the long list of joint ventures with Indian private entities by foreign companies as part of their offset policies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Moreover, the role of Reliance Defence is completely different to what HAL’s role was earlier mentioned. Reliance would not be manufacturing the aircraft. Its role mainly involves support for the 36 aircraft.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Question of HAL’s capability<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">HAL’s production rate has been abysmal for indigenously designed and developed product, namely the LCA. Vendor and supplier development has not matched with the product delivery rate desired by IAF and MoD.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">HAL’s biggest achievement is licensed production. When it comes to ownership of a program and delivering on time, HAL has always faltered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Moreover, the Indian government had to invest a large amount in the operational and capital expenses had HAL come into play. One has to also realise that the jigs and fixtures required for Rafale cannot be used for other aircraft. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Antagonising an ally<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Having spent more than a decade of a country and a company’s effort, causing collateral damage to the Indian Air Force, India were at a risk of losing a staunch ally in France. The decades of trust where India depends on France not just in air force but in navy and commercial aviation, the deal not seeing the light of the day would have be jeopardised Indo-French relations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">BJP government killing MMRCA tender<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Probably what the Congress should be focusing their debate and argument on is the fact that the initial requirement was for 126 aircraft. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">India has an effective strength of 31 combat squadrons. India’s authorised required squadron strength is 42 which the country has never achieved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The induction of 36 Rafale will counter the shortfalls faced by the Indian Air Force, however, the country will be still short from the authorised figure of 42.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Killing the MMRCA tender in April 2015, the process of acquiring more combat aircraft has got delayed by at least two-three years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Even though the BJP government issued a tender for 110 fighter aircraft around April 2018 and six companies — which had earlier bid for the MMRCA — have shown interest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">A sign of concern by major aerospace companies over India’s fickle mindset is a proof when the Defence Secretary had to assure global companies during DefExpo 2018 that the process for procurement of 110 fighter jets would not meet the same fate as the failed MMRCA initiative.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Was it really necessary for the government to scrap the tender at that point and delay the IAF’s requirement by years more?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Congress and A. Antony's failure </b></span></div>
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Where Congress has failed, Modi and BJP has achieved. IAF's strength is at the weakest in the current scenario and when the talks started back in 2012, the then government should have been able to find a middle path and finalise on the deal. However, a "non-negotiable" attitude did not help either the air force or the Congress — which were already under the radar for 2G scam.</div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">It shouldn't come as a shock to the Indian people that Congress is trying to swing few votes ahead of the 2019 elections. Before Karnataka election, one might remember the case of Rahul Gandhi's jet facing a technical problem and the leader <a href="https://kaypius.com/2018/09/02/making-sense-of-vtavh-incident/" target="_blank">blowing the incident out of proportion</a>. </span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Congress' current antics are no different.</span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Rahul Gandhi-led party has minimal chances of coming on the winning side during the 2019 General Election if it continues to drag on a debate which is a failure of its own government of UPA II. It is UPA’s hubris that led to the inability of their government to close the Rafale deal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If the Congress wants the BJP’s personal share of seats to decrease from that of 2014, the party’s strategy and focus have to shift from the current Rafale controversy to issues such as our lacklusture GDP growth, demonetisation, increase in dollar rate and fuel prices, violence in the name of religion and caste and the centres inability to support states during natural calamities — Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Assam, Arunachal Pradesh, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-16207957532957386702018-09-19T22:26:00.000+05:302018-09-19T22:29:03.502+05:30Food — The way to someone's heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Did you manage to make to someone's heart through their stomach?<br />
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I am no cook neither do I have the qualities to become one ever. However, like many, I share the love for a good food. And probably it is one of the reasons why I will never be able to lose the extra pounds that I have gained over the years. To live is to eat a sumptuous meal. And the sumptuous meal consists of love, love, and love. And the love increases multifold when you share it with others.<br />
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But, then why am I writing about food? Well, blame it on my cousin. We are separated by a year and nine months. She lives miles across the world, seven seas away and if there's one thing we share the most — it is the love of food. Maybe it is in our blood, after all, we are Bongs and you cannot deprive a Bengali of a good meal.<br />
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So what is food to us? To me? To you?<br />
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Well, let's talk about tonight's dinner then. Chili Chicken or Chicken Chili — however, you would like to call it.<br />
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It is a favourite for us Indians, a favourite Chinese dish. But, funnily, it is not even Chinese. It is Indo-Chinese. The origin lies in India.<br />
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And just like Butter Chicken, I have never been able to come across the perfect Chili Chicken.<br />
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It is also one of my favourite dishes because there's a lot of nostalgia attached to it. My father learned it from one of his colleagues and introduced it to our kitchen. And it has been my favourite ever since then.<br />
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Food, you see, is not just a fuel to your body. It is like music, a book, a painting, a movie... something that connects one to another. It is sometimes not about cooking or the meal but the joy of sharing it, seating together at a dinner table, talking about the day, and enjoying a simple meal.<br />
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It doesn't have to a certain kind of food to make it to someone's heart, but maybe the emotions and feelings attached to it.<br />
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I didn't even know that a meat is cooked brown properly if it is totally dry. I just knew what I want to make and eat and I wanted to share it with someone who would appreciate and love.<br />
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Isn't food all about that after all?<br />
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So, tonight's dinner is dedicated to my sister, who lives 13, 386 kms away. I hope I have made it to your heart. And as for the recipe, I shall share soon. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-23944821690227131652018-08-22T12:22:00.000+05:302018-08-22T12:34:25.794+05:30Full Health Checkup - Have you got it done?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Have you ever wondered why most of us don’t go for a full master health checkup once in three or five years unless pushed by someone?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Recently, pushed by multiple people, I decided to go for a one. Even though it was not mandatory, it is needed because someone of the scariest things happens to us when we are not paying attention to our body — both the mental and physical self.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, I ended up in one of the city’s most famous hospital, with connections to cricket (albeit that information hardly matters). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If I thought the 12 hours fasting was a struggle for me, I didn’t know what I was about to face the next morning, would be testing my tolerance level more than hunger pangs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The biggest problem today is the lack of education and information about why one should get a full health checkup. Times have changed. The world has changed and we have corrupted the fresh air and fruits of nature with pollution of every kind. Moreover, the kind of lifestyle we live today is highly prone to diseases. Blame it on the climate change or our personal ignorance of the importance of a healthy living.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And with that, we have forgotten the need to educate ourselves about the essentials of checkup and what kind is needed when — a thought that needs to be incorporated in our daily lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Plus, the monotonous and robotic response to patient’s needs and thoughts is abhorrent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzYeZyovyjBevuZLHLJEffak7_ypZAHCompTBDqUU0kAKCyIAnLShPu08KreOK9OETdDnmbH75spd6fFYW-Dm8pT2aBJjDkavD-mEsvOP2cqMsNm8ByGXBg-D2HI6aDdLb6LUyeodBIw/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2018-08-20+at+08.01.03.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1045" data-original-width="876" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzYeZyovyjBevuZLHLJEffak7_ypZAHCompTBDqUU0kAKCyIAnLShPu08KreOK9OETdDnmbH75spd6fFYW-Dm8pT2aBJjDkavD-mEsvOP2cqMsNm8ByGXBg-D2HI6aDdLb6LUyeodBIw/s320/WhatsApp+Image+2018-08-20+at+08.01.03.jpeg" width="268" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I landed up at the checkup counter five minutes before time and I was impressed by the prompt response of the lady at the reception. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The steps were as such — Fasting for blood sugar, chest x-ray, ultrasonography, breakfast, physical examination by a doctor, ECG, gynecology consult, blood collection for postprandial and eye checkup. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Till collection of blood and chest x-ray, everything went smooth. And then one's patience is pushed to the level of irritation and frustration. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I admit it was my ignorance that I didn’t educate myself about the tests which I was about to undergo. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For example, the need of having a full bladder for a USG was unknown. However, what stopped the lady at the counter to educate the people coming for a checkup? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The moment a person seeking query about full health checkup arrives, before anything else, the person at the reception should sit with him or her and make the person understand the different tests. Rather, our system and upbringing have taught us to concentrate and focus on the price tag attached to it. It is about the different packages and schemes rather than the different tests and the need of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The problem may also be that the person who is supposed to educate and inform the people or patient arriving for a checkup is also unsure and semi-informed about the tests. For the person it is about giving the leaflet, pointing the price and mentioning if it is women-centric or not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhudUdWqxwyexKy89DI4p9vt-qDxdMbDV6_GXhien_5cUmc0f6WNtAiuO0j6eYNRwmjOHpIMw6qUdo_RKvSWTa3MtGly0e_6tng38k34FcvUYb6AzGynNKYhLO4UHNwQFr19iFkx0QRkpU/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2018-08-20+at+10.17.05.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1213" data-original-width="531" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhudUdWqxwyexKy89DI4p9vt-qDxdMbDV6_GXhien_5cUmc0f6WNtAiuO0j6eYNRwmjOHpIMw6qUdo_RKvSWTa3MtGly0e_6tng38k34FcvUYb6AzGynNKYhLO4UHNwQFr19iFkx0QRkpU/s320/WhatsApp+Image+2018-08-20+at+10.17.05.jpeg" width="140" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In between consultation with doctors, ECG, and completing the other tests — making sure each and every column of the sheet provided to me by the receptionist was filled with Time In and Out and doctor’s comments, I filled my bladder with breakfast and litres and litres of water. Despite that, the doctor at the USG room declared - “Bladder empty”. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, a 30-minute walk around the hospital after three tryouts at the USG, the bladder showed a sign of hope. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then the wait for gynae consultation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here’s what I found out — The discussion about our reproductive system is still a taboo. We rather not discuss and talk and educate ourselves about the complexities of our body but hide behind the age-old thoughts. The hesitancy of “should we talk about the big S word and the Vs and Ps” is astonishing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">These are doctors, who know the numbers and stats of how the rate of serious diseases have increased over the years, and yet they find it difficult to discuss with their patients. And then the decision of certain tests are not necessary only because of either “you are too young” or “you are unmarried” is quite laughable. If that very patient comes back two months later with the very complications that the doctor had ruled out because he or she is too young to have it, will these lifesavers turn back the clock? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We often confuse the words prevention and precaution. To prevent we need to take precaution. But for our society, blame it on the culture or ignorance and naivety, precaution and prevention arise only when there is a moment of risk involved. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Modern science has given us powers that our primitive shelves and ancestors were devoid of. Rather than utilizing them and sharing the information, we have tended to guard them as bedroom secrets </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">behind stereotypes cultural stigma. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One can only hope that time will be the teacher for all these.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So now you know why people don’t go for full health checkups?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">P.S. Only because of this checkup, I came to know that I have thyroid.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-86121531060936267552018-07-04T20:25:00.002+05:302018-07-05T18:54:16.524+05:30Afterglow<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">We drink all night and then in the wee hours of the morning, I watch him wake up, get dressed and leave. I am too sleepy (or maybe too drunk to react). I just wave and signal him to return soon. He was going to, by midnight. And then we would drink again, chit-chat and forget about reality.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I have slept enough, but I struggle to get up. I roll on the bed. Someone’s at the door. The bell keeps ringing. I let a sigh of disbelief and irritation. Must be the maid. I get off the bed, and there she is waiting to sweep the immovable dirt off my house, the floors, and the vessels. But I never feel clean. Even after she is done with her work, I have to clean them. It is a habit and a necessity. It is therapeutic. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I look at the clock. It is 10. I am happy, yet sad. I have slept an hour extra today. I am late for the list of work which I have been meaning to complete. I don’t want to feel guilty. Yet, I am a little dissatisfied. This is my story, my everyday story. No office, yet the pile of work keeps increasing—go to the bank, get the address changed, book the gas, clean the wardrobe, finish the writing, eat healthy, cook healthy and wait, for the day to end. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I want to go back to sleep, and then I see five missed calls, 17 unread messages, and three e-mails. Wired, I feel. I sit down with the cell-phone in my hand. I want to organise the device, but I have pending matters. Missed calls from the DTH guy—he wants me to believe that he has a better offer for me, fictional stories in the form of series and movies, grown immature adults arguing, songs of lovers and fighters—all to help me escape the reality. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">One missed call from my mother, and one unknown. I am curious. I ignore. I have two emails from the editor—he wants the </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">jewellery </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">piece by tonight and the interview by the weekend. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I am disappointed. I cannot find the difference between working full-time and being a freelancer. At least, when I worked full-time, I had a social life. Now, I have only him and our small apartment. I am not unhappy. This is what I wanted always, didn’t I?</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I sit with the jewellery piece. It takes thirty minutes of my morning. I have to book the gas. We have been eating out a lot, it is unhealthy, I remember telling him. He has no problem with it. Sometimes eating out is not unhealthy. It is relaxing. I wonder. I look at my face in the mirror. The dark circles make me feel old. I am old, at least I feel old, too old. I struggle with the IVRS. I call the local agency, nobody answers. I try booking online. I wonder why he cannot do it. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">He is busy, earning. I am busy, I am busy, whining. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I somehow manage to book it. I was good at it, once. Now, I feel lost and confused.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I walk to the kitchen, make myself a sandwich. I don’t need the gas for that. I call my mother. She wants to know whether I am listening to her. She does not want to know how I am. I am with him. I am happy, according to her. I wonder, am I?</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I have to visit the bank. I am too lazy. I leave him a message that I will tomorrow, after all, I am at home always. He is okay with it. He is always fine with everything. Even if I break a glass. I am really lucky to have him, I feel. I think. I should be. Am I?</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I decide to complete the interview which was left ignored. I start feeling sleepy. It is one in the afternoon. I can sleep for a couple of hours, wake up and finish. He won’t be here before night. I slip into the bed, I roll up and then I am transported, away from the reality.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I wake up suddenly. My sister needs me. I know why. She always needs me when she cannot tolerate the battle of being in love. I sit and wonder what it is like to be in love. I was, once, now I don’t want to remember. It makes me ‘me’.</span><span class="MsoCommentReference"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 8pt;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I call her back. She disconnects. I am not angry. This is how she is. She will call back when she needs me. I want to sleep more. I cannot. I feel the talons of the interview piece around my neck. I feel the pressure of being choked by deadline. There is time. There is never time. Do it now. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I make myself tea. I sit to transcribe. One hour into it and I feel fatigue. I Google for exercises to fight fatigue. The videos look more like adult videos. Makes me wonder, should I, for once pleasure myself. I search for X-rated materials. All websites blocked. I feel like a teenage kid, desperate. I let go. I shut the laptop and walk towards the bookshelf. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">It is full of dirt. I try to remember when I had cleaned it last. I don’t. He does. He spends his weekends cleaning the house. He likes it. Both of us suffer from dust allergy but I have just learnt to live with it. Everything has to be perfect for us. For him in real, for me, in my mind. Yet, here we are. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I haven’t showered. Last night, he cooked while I showered, read and then drank. I need alcohol, every night. I miss smoking. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I miss smoking. I look at all these people and I am constantly reminded that this was yet another relationship I gave up. Yes, my relationship with cigarettes was one of telltale. I miss it. I do try it, but mostly when I am drunk and then I am guilty and then I want to move on as fast as possible. That is my relationship with a cigarette.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I wait for divine intervention. Nothing happens. I stare at the wall, waiting for it to speak.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">The marks on the walls denote that I have staring at them too long to observe the uneven work of the craftsman who was paid to do this one job properly. Ironically, it reminds me of my incapability to hold anything still and lose control and what comes as the final product is an uneven yet satisfying work of art.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">Art…</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">Art reminds me of him. I want to go and meet him. But, I am not sure. I still have time before he returns. He returns at midnight. I have seven hours. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I rush. I shower. I take out my black dress. I put kohl. Red lipstick. I hurry. I don’t know why. But, here I am. All dressed. I search for my phone and my tablet. It is too early, I tell myself. But, this is when he visits the gallery.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I was never really an art insect. My evenings were restricted to theatre, music and books. We used to visit the gallery to meet after a painful day at the office. I would sneak in between my shifts and then return to the sound of middle-aged men and women arguing over ethics and journalism. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">As I used to wait for him, in the gallery’s cafeteria, I saw the other him. Every day, sharp at seven. He would have his writing pad, a 20th-century Nokia phone, and would walk around the gallery until he settled himself at a table and sip coffee—Americano, regular, with two sugar cubes. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">Initially I ignored. Later, as time progressed, I became more and more inquisitive about who he is, about his story. I told him once about him. He found it funny, but never disapproved. And then our friendship turned into a relationship. I think it is platonic. It still is.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">And here I am, in the car. Driving towards the gallery. I am not sure whether he will be there. I stopped visiting the place long back, when our families felt we should move ahead. We were happy being us. We did not mind. Sometimes I wonder why I had never objected.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I am almost there and then I suddenly brake. What am I doing? Why am I so desperate? He will be back by midnight. That is my life now. I should not be thinking about another man. And, then, I see him, through the glass door. He has grown a stubble. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">Someone is knocking on my window. It is the valet. He is asking me something. Yes, I am here to visit the gallery. I walk out. I collect my belongings and hand over the keys of my car and I might have given my heart. The valet drives away with my car. I feel nauseous. I want to run away. I cannot decide. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">Inside, he is waiting for me. At home, I am waiting for him. I am split between my conscious and my uncontrollable urge to finally walk up to him and ask. I walk inside.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I keep my eyes down and walk straight to the cafeteria. I feel I am overdressed for the occasion, but you never know what might happen. The waiter appears. He is happy to see me again. He knows me, everyone here knows me. I am familiar with this place. Once I was known. They want to know where I have been, what I have been doing. I happily answer, but my eyes wander away. It is searching for him. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">The waiter is gone, leaving me alone. I feel stupid to have come here. It is not right. What kind of person does this? I pick up the tablet and start reading from where I left last night. A few minutes later the waiter is back with the tea. It reminds me of the good old days, but were they good or was it another fantasy of my life? A dream, a tale, an unknown, incomplete chapter?</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I decide I will finish the tea and return home. This is a bad idea. I am too cowardly to walk up to him and talk. I see him. He is there, as always. He has grown older. He has his writing pad, his fountain pen, the geeky glasses, a canvas sling bag and the new addition—the stubble. I watch him walk around, and then he disappears around the corner and again appears from the right. He is tall, lanky, crew cut—he always wears a sweater, I don’t know why. Maybe he is not fond of the AC. Neither am I. Something similar, I wonder. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">Time is running. I am collecting my belongings. It does not feel right, so I decide to leave. There is someone waiting at the edge of the table. I fiddle with my wallet. I am looking for cash. I cannot let them wait long. As I turn, it is him. I freeze.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I cannot move. I suffocate. I let go off my wallet and suddenly I am coughing. He signals for water. The waiter comes running with a glass. He gives it to me. I snatch it from his hand and I gulp. Another. And then another. I feel full. I cannot move. He is sitting next to me. He is asking me something. I am staring straight right at him. His eyes. They aren’t brown or black. They aren’t blue. What is the colour? He has big lips. They are not totally red. I bite my lips. He is saying something. I do not react. I feel dizzy. I am about to faint. I whisper. My voice is stuck.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">He puts his right hand on my shoulder. It sends chills up my body. I want to pull him towards me, hug him and kiss him. I want to do all sorts of things. But, I stare. I am still staring. My lips move, but nothing comes out.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">There is a crowd around us. I wonder how long we have been sitting like this. And then he signals everyone to leave. He must be really important. Everyone obeys. We sit like that for more. And then I stare at my wrist. The watch. The time. He should be here in four hours. I should rush. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">But, he is still staring at me and I do not want to leave. I want to talk. I cannot talk. I feel frustrated. He is patient. He is still looking at me. I suddenly blurt out, “stop.”</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">He leans closer. He cannot hear me. I am whispering. He asks me to relax. I relax. His right hand is on my left leg now. I feel wet. I feel ashamed. I look straight into his eyes and tell him that I want to go home. I do not feel well. He acknowledges. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">The valet brings my car. I get up and walk. I cannot move. He holds my hand. He starts walking. I follow him. We are standing in front of my car. It is time to bid goodbye.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">He tells me that he will drive me to my home. I am worried. What if he sees him? But, I nod. Because I want him, I want to know him. The night is young. Midnight is far. He points me to sit. I, like a child, obey.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">He is asking me something. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 14pt; padding: 0in;"> He is asking me my address. I don’t want to tell him. What if he visits every day? </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">When I want to ignore, I act French, as if I do not understand what the opposite person is telling me. I am being her, trying to ignore everything, by being her. The older me.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I finally give him my address. I have spoken to him. He has heard my voice. I feel relieved. He starts the car and I feel sad. The end is near.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">We drive in silence. We are waiting in the traffic. It takes an hour to reach my home in the traffic. Without, ten minutes. He tells me that. I know that. I want to tell him, I know. I cannot.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I look at him. He looks back. I cannot control. And then I do something stupid.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I am out of the car. I am running. I am running in my heels. I stumble. People are staring at me. He is running too. Then I cannot run anymore. I fall. He thinks I am mad. And I faint. I am exhausted. I let him carry me. He is carrying me. People are staring, I do not care.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">We are somewhere. When I open my eyes, I am lying down on a couch. I toss. I realise it is not my home. I get up with a jerk. The books lying on the coffee table in front of me fall. He comes running. He has changed. He is in his pyjamas. They make him look older. He looks matured. He has a tattoo on his right arm. He comes close to me and sits. He runs his hand through my hair. I feel like kissing him. I don’t.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I let him comfort me. I lean against him. My eyes wander around the little room. It feels cosy and warm and then I see the time. He will be back in two hours. How long I have been sleeping?</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I let go. I stand up. I cannot stand. My head feels heavy. He tells me that I fell while running and hit my head. I can feel the pain. It hurts. I tell him that I need to go. I tell him that he will be waiting for me. And then I look at him and I want to ask him all the questions I always wanted to ask. He nods at me. He tells me that he will drop me, only if I agree to not to jump off the car and start running. I tell him I won’t. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I tell him I suffer from anxiety. He says he understands. I lie. That is not true. I don’t suffer from anxiety. I do, only when he is around.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">We are once again inside my car. He is driving. I ask him how he will return. He says he will get a cab. I want to keep talking. He has a heavy voice but a melodious one, too, one for the radio. I realize his house is not far away from mine. But, do I want to come back? </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I look for my phone. He is driving. My hand touches his. I feel wet. I am ashamed once more. We are driving through a dark lane. I don’t know this place. I ask him. He says it is safe. It is faster and shorter. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">In that dark lane, while he drives my car, I stare at him. He knows I am. He asks me what I do these days. I tell him I don’t do anything. He remembers me visiting the gallery with a man. Silence follows. I don’t reply. I tell him later. I married that man. I am disappointed with myself. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">We are almost there. I ask him to stop a hundred meters from my house. He asks why. I tell him, I need a cigarette. He obliges. I walk out. The shopkeeper is about the shut the shop. He sees me. Smiles and hands over the regular. Same brand. Same quantity. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I walk back to the car and tell him that I can drive myself now and he should get a cab before it is too late. He says he does not mind. I insist. He agrees. I am disappointed. I don’t want him to see him here. It will be hard to explain. I don’t want to lose him. Not now, maybe never. At the same time, I don’t want to see him go. I am confused. He calls for a cab.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">He bids goodbye and offers his hand. I reciprocate. I don’t leave his hand. He looks at me. He looks around. He comes close and then whispers in my ears that he will see me again, soon. I can smell him. He smells good. Our lips are close, very close. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">He is gone. And I am standing there. I feel lonely for many years. I let a tear roll on my cheek. I drive back.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I am smoking by the balcony. I see him get off the cab. I stub the cigarette and walk towards the door. He comes in. He is surprised to see me dressed. He does not ask where I have been. I tell him I was smoking. He hugs me tight. I can feel his broad chest and muscles around me. I sink into him. I kiss him tight. He is taken aback. I never do this, but he is happy. He kisses back. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">We stand there, kissing. And then he picks me up and puts me on the couch. He goes back and collects his bag. He opens it and takes out a wine bottle. He has got my favourite wine. Once again. And my favourite brand of cigarettes. He walks up to the vinyl and plays our favourite numbers. He pours the wine into the glasses. I see him. He sees me seeing him. He comes back, sits next to me. Offers me the glass. Tears start rolling from my eyes. He comforts me but does not ask why I am crying. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">When I have stopped, he tells me about his day. He wants to ask what I have been up to and why I am dressed. I can sense it in his voice. He does not ask. He knows I would tell him. I will tell him everything, one day.</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I tell him that I went to the gallery. I tell him I was bored and I felt like visiting the place. He is surprised but happy. He likes the gallery and likes the idea of me visiting it. I tell him then that I felt sick and that I wanted to smoke. I don’t tell him anything more. He wants to know, but he does not ask. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">We sit there listening to Miles Davis for hours, drinking wine. I am tipsy. I am still wearing my dress. The lipstick clings. He looks at me, lovingly. He picks me up in his arms. I hear Miles Davis play Blue in Green behind. He walks through the corridor, I am still in his arms. He puts me down on the bed. I can still hear Miles Davis doing the magic that he does with his trumpet. He is about to leave me there. I grab his hand. He looks back. I am very tipsy. He leans closer. His head near mine. I kiss him. He kisses back. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;">I tell him, I was missing him and that’s why I went to the gallery. He looks at me, stares right into my fuddled eyes. He kisses on my forehead. </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IN" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">He believes me. And he does not.</span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-15281380255748413812018-05-27T15:26:00.001+05:302018-05-28T12:25:35.340+05:30Six Years Ago — Part I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“So, where do you want to start from, today?” a patient Dr. Rebecca Thomas asked. After almost six months, it was coming to an end. I felt like a free bird, even though, every time I visited Rebecca, I felt a lot lighter than from the time I arrived. For me, I preferred meeting Rebecca rather than going to the gym and losing few kilos. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“So, you are going to tell me the last part of the story?” Rebecca asked once again. I could feel her getting impatient suddenly. “I am going to meet Rahul after six months, I am very happy,” I replied, as that is all I could think of that moment. “Yes, yes, you are meeting Raul. So, how are you feeling?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For six months now, I have been meeting Rebecca, and all we did was she asked and I replied. Never once, she went beyond her professional accoutre and spoke about anything that didn’t have a place in her 500 sq. ft. office.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Feeling a little lost and probably observing the room properly for the first time, I answered, “I am excited, though, a little lost. Honestly, there is a fear in me about how Rahul will react. It has been six months.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Even though it was part of her job profile to listen all that the patient had to say, I could sense that she had had enough of me. She wanted these long unending meetings to end. I was curious and finally, I asked her, after much hesitation, “Will you miss me? You do not have to answer that if you do not want to but just asking.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She smiled and got up from her chair. She moved towards the left side of the room, where all her cutlery stood victorious. She removed the teapot and poured some tea into two cups, she handed over one to me and she took the other. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Honestly, I am not supposed to have any feelings for my patients and neither am I supposed to share anything with them. That is why people come to me, with their stories and hoping that I will be able to help them. But many a time, I am lost myself too. Sometimes, I feel like an agony aunt. You, although, is a different story. One, because you are sweet young girl or a woman, whatever title you like to use and secondly, you somewhat remind me of my sister. Lost, creative, impulsive and heroic. Yes, I am going to miss you but not because of you not coming here and telling me all those stories but for the fact that I will receive a little less money,” she completed and we broke into laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Now, before it gets too late, let’s get started. You are going to take the whole day or else and you need to meet Raul too!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Uhmm, yaa,” I felt a little uneasy every time she called Rahul as Raul and my mind would end up watching a Spanish footballer by that name dancing on the Madrid ground.</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"> </span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Six Months Ago<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Social services officer Ms. Wilma Roberts stared at me from the opposite seat, as we sat at the hospital lounge waiting for the doctors to let me know how Rahul was doing. Even though the cuts on my head, hand were yet to be taken care of, I sat there staring at the floor and all I could think of is how my one year and three-month-old baby boy was doing. ‘I was reckless, but I was not a bad mother.’ That is what I wanted to tell Wilma. I looked up and I could see her staring at me, my gaze went back to the floor of the hospital. A few hours later, unknown of the time and situation around me, a doctor came and asked for me. I quickly got up and went towards him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Seeing me in a state of shock and distress, he called for a nurse and asked her to stitch my wounds. Then he pointed her to bring me to the room where Rahul was shifted, while I had to wait for hours to know what was wrong with him. As the nurse sat down with me to stitch my wounds, the doctor spoke to Wilma, who had been following me like a hawk. I could smell alcohol, which was coming from own body. I have been drinking non-stop for three days and then the impossible happened. I could not recollect what went wrong or what happened and how we ended up here. All I remember was, carrying Rahul and rushing into the emergency ward of the hospital.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A few minutes later, when the nurse was done with me, the doctor came ahead and spoke to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Ms. Rawat, I hope you have already met Ms. Wilma Roberts. She is from the social services. She and I would like to know what exactly happened.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I looked at them, unable to understand the situation and worried whether they will be taking my son away from me. “Do not take him away from me, he is all I have.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At that point, Wilma butted in and said, “Do you have any family staying over here?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I have my friends here and my parents are flying over from India. They will be here in a day. Will you guys take him away from me?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Can I have the number of your friends? I need to talk to them.” I didn’t argue and gave the number of Meena and her husband. Having known Meena for eight years now, I knew that she will be able to handle the situation the way I would want her to. Wilma took the number and went away. Doctor Paul Wood, from the neuro and Doctor Owen from the pediatric stood there for a while discussing among themselves and then looked at me. I could not wait any longer and asked, “How is my kid?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dr. Owen looked at me and said, “He is fine. He is young and small, so hopefully, he will be fine and take less time than adults to heal. I am more worried about you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why did it take so long for the surgery?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At this point, Dr. Paul spoke. “Well, we were done with the surgery long back. He just had a minor block, which we were able to remove. Ms. Rawat, were you drunk when you were driving? Even though Wilma will be asking you all these questions, we should know too, as your son’s doctor.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I could not speak, I wanted to cry out loud, I wanted Meena, I wanted to meet my kid. “I was not drunk. I was drinking the previous night and next morning when I woke up, I decided to take Rahul and drop him off at my friend’s place. They take excellent care of him, while I am at work. I was going to meet my ex-husband. I guess, while I was driving, I fell tired and banged the car against a tree. Rahul was sleeping when I carried him in the car. He was in child safety seat and after the collision, I looked at him, he was still sleeping but I guess he had hit the sides or something. I tried to wake him up, but he didn’t. So, I decided to bring him here. He will be okay, right?” I was getting impatient. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes, he will be okay. Nothing serious. Just a block. It is clear. He will be under observation for few days and then we can release him. But I would prefer Wilma to take the decision whether you can take him with you. Given the situation and the law, the social services will be very tough. As he was born here, he is ideally an US citizen.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I felt lost. I wanted to grab Rahul and run away, where no Wilma, no Dr. Owen or Dr. Paul would disturb us or separate us. But all I did was wait for Wilma to return. I felt a sudden pain, my back started disturbing, my stomach wasn’t making it any easy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Few minutes later, Wilma returned, still talking to someone. She kept the phone and looked at me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I am going to ask few questions, Ms. Rawat. By that time, your friend Meena and her husband will be here.” By the time she could complete the sentence, I butted. “Will you take him away from me?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She replied, “That is not for me to decide. The court will take the decision. I know it is difficult that I want to know exactly what happened.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I told her exactly what I told the doctors. She heard me patiently. When I was finished, she turned back and asked for a nurse. “I will be asking the nurse to take few tests. We will see few things and then get back to you. Till then, I suggest you stay here and please do as we ask you to.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What about my son?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You can see your son. But, when he is awake, you cannot meet him, till I get an order that you can. Uhmm, before you ask any more questions, let us just wait for your friends to reach.” She left the nurse with me and went.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hours went by, as the nurse took my blood samples, urine, etc. She asked me to lie down on a bed and asked me to wait for her to return. In the meantime, I could see Wilma seated at one place; I could see Meena and Rajneesh arrive and then Wilma walk towards them; I could see them talk. The nurse came back and gave me few injections and told me that it will help me sleep. I couldn’t understand one bit about what was going on. All I knew, that this is not how I had imagined my life to be. And somewhere, thinking about all this, I fell asleep.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I woke up, I saw Meena sitting near me. She was holding my hand. I tried to get up — hold her and cry — but I felt heavy and chained to the bed. She came near my ears and whispered, “Babes, just relax, everything is fine. You need to rest. There is a muscle tear on your back and you need to rest. It will take some time for you to heal.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What about Rahul?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The long wait for the judgment was killing me. I wanted to hold my child.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Rahul is fine, he is awake. Rajneesh is with him. I am more worried about you. What have you done to yourself? Do you deserve all this? You of all the people? I will not say that you have disappointed us, but this is not how we thought you will handle the situation. You could have at least thought about your son!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Meena was angry but she could not stop being considerate. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Meena and I go back a long way. Same neighbourhood, same school, same college, same university, same office (initially). We were soul sisters. If never told by our parents, no one realised that we were actually not real sisters. However, a lot had changed, after my life decided to take a 180-degree swing. She stood there, for hours, sat beside me, held my hands, as I could do nothing more than crying. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rajneesh came back to say that Rahul was fine and that my parents had reached town. I wanted them to disappear, I did not want them to see me in this position. I booked their flight tickets, asked them to come over. I wanted to fix things and now everything was haywire. Rajneesh told us that he would go and pick them up from the airport, as I was supposed to go. They called him up after they could not reach me or Meena. I asked Rajneesh not to bring them here and if he could let them stay with him for few days. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Naina, I do not know about Meena, but you are like a sister to me. You do not have to request or beg. They are my parents too. So, yes, they will stay with me, till you are better.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I could not argue. I nodded as Rajneesh left. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As soon as Rajneesh left, Wilma returned. She had a cold face, one that didn’t give me a good feeling. She came near my legs, stood opposite to me and looked straight in to my eyes. I knew, this was it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I spoke to the higher authorities and to the judge. I also spoke to your friend and her husband and got to know the whole story and passed that information to the judge too. However, a decision had to be taken. Keeping in mind, your situation right now, the court has decided to hand over your son’s custody to your friend Meena and Rajneesh, temporarily. In the meantime, you have to undergo, rehabilitation, and once the doctors feel that you are good enough to have the custody of your son, he will return to you. Till then, you need to work on yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I remained speechless. “Any question?” I could not speak. Rahul was the only thing left in my life, and he was gone. Meena held my hand, “Naina, are you alright? Are you okay?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I could not speak. Tears started rolling out of my eyes. My child was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At one point, I was happy with the fact that Meena and Rajneesh would be taking care of him, but I was angry with them. I thought they would have told something against me that would have made Wilma decide that Rahul should be with them. I took away my hand from Meena. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“So what now? Rahul stays with Meena?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You will be assigned a counselor, whom you have to meet regularly. You need to get yourself alcohol-free. The Social Services will get back to you, once you are out of the hospital. For now, get your back fixed. We will be looking at you, regularly.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“And what about Rahul?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Rahul will be with your friend. You cannot meet him or even see him. If you do anything of that sort, you will be jeopardizing your own chances of being with your son again. Till the time, the social services think that you are ready to be with your son again, he will stay with Meena and Rajneesh.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I could only say, “Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wilma left a few minutes later. I felt angry, hurt, weak and destructive. Meena came near me, after speaking to Wilma and held my hands.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Well, that is what I guess you wanted. As you guys do not have a child of your own, why not take Naina’s?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Meena shouted, “Just shut up! Look at yourself. What the hell do you think of yourself? You are messed up badly and rather than Rahul ending up at foster care, he will be with us. Can you be happy about that at least? Whatever that has happened with you today, it is because of you. So, stop blaming others. Either fix it, or just disappear. I love you Naina, we love you, but we cannot tolerate to see you destroy yourself like this. Especially Rahul with you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I remained quiet, as I stared at the opposite walls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I am going to see Rahul now, Rajneesh will be here any minute. So, think about how you want to fix your life or you want to kill yourself and let go of all the love you have, of all the people you care about you.” With that, she left the room.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And my mind went six years back to the time when I met him.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>To be continued...</i></span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-58605111787664774902018-04-24T23:24:00.002+05:302020-11-19T13:58:14.053+05:30The Grecian Urn<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="graf graf--p graf--startsWithDoubleQuote graf-after--h3" id="266c" name="266c" style="--baseline-multiplier: 0.17; --x-height-multiplier: 0.375; caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.843); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.843); letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 1.58; margin-top: 10px; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.4em;">
<p style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">
“Bold Lover, never, never, canst thou kiss,<br /></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;<br /></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,<br /></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!” — Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats.</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0px;"><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Nana had just stepped out of the cottage when he saw Bhim Singh enter through the gates. Bhim Singh had crossed the first row of roses that had started flowering the previous night, when Nana shouted, "Oye Bhim! By the time you start working, the roses will have died like Mumtaz. This is not Taj Mahal you are building!"</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Bhim Singh muttered under his breath, turned around and started walking towards Bahadur's cottage. Bimla, hearing Nana, walked out of the house to the verandah where the old man was now seated and reading the newspaper.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Bimla placed the cup of tea on the table in front of Nana. "Kya baba, you shout at him every morning. You are old, and so is he. If he waters the plant after having tea, will it hurt the roses?"</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Before Nana could say anything, Bimla had started walking towards Bhim Singh. He was setting his 29-year-old watering pot and complaining about the old man to a sleepy Bahadur. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Life was slow at this small cottage of Prof. Col. Chatterjee. In another five days, the four members of this 18th-century house at Samsing will complete 30 years of having resided here. Yet, years had rolled on like unfazed river meandering towards an ocean of tranquillity. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Prof. Col. Chatterjee, or Nana as he was known to the locals, took voluntary retirement from the army after the death of his wife. Following her demise, he moved to Darjeeling and taught English till his retirement at the same school where he had met his wife during their school days.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">During his final years at Mount Hermon, he and his only daughter, Tiara, would spend their summer vacations at Nana's friend's place in Pelling. On one such occasion, their dusty old ambassador had stopped moving in front of this old neglected house in Samsing. Without thinking twice, Nana had decided to buy the property and live there for the rest of his life. Tiara never understood the whimsies of his old man, but she too fell in love with the place. Or rather, felt a sense of having a home after many years. A day after his retirement, he along with Bimla moved to Samsing.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Bimla lived with the Chatterjee's since Nana's wife fell sick. Tiara was 11 when Mrs. Chatterjee passed away. Since then it has been Bimla who has taken care of the two children in the house — one who grew up at the blink of the eye and one who refuses to grow up.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">On Sunday, Tiara and her eight-year-old daughter arrived at the cottage to celebrate the special occasion. Guinea spent most of the evening with her Nana and stayed awake even after Nana fell asleep on the porch.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Guinea had proudly told her mother, "Nana can't stay awake. Nana is a child. Guinea is a grown-up." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Bimla returned to the verandah after consoling Bhim Singh. Like every other day, she rested herself on the steps of the patio, sipping her tea. It was early December, but the mornings were unusually hotter than previous years, claimed Nana. Bimla nodded casually as Tiara walked out of the house. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Nana agitatedly said, "Tiara wear a sweater! It is so cold! You will fall sick." Bimla looked at Nana disapprovingly. After all, just a few seconds earlier, Nana felt it was hotter than previous years. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Bimla got up, removed her shawl and wrapped it around Tiara. Tiara reciprocated by wrapping her arms around Bimla. It was so natural but appeared unusual to the wandering eyes. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">For most locals, Bimla's relationship with Tiara was a mystery. It was a mother-daughter relationship, but in the eyes of the local, Bimla was a servant and Tiara the lady of the house. For the Chatterjee's, it hardly mattered. Even to Tiara, it never occurred why the people of the small town were obsessed with the internal affairs of the Chatterjee house. Far more exciting tales floated around the town every now and then — stories of a young man, of lonely maidens and disunited celebrity couples — thronging the little centre from time to time, escaping the chaos of urban lives. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Bimla hugged Tiara and disappeared inside to get tea when Bhim Singh approached Nana's offspring and handed her a bunch of red roses. Nana stomped towards Bhim Singh, his hands on his hips with his nimble elbows out to the sides and said, "Oye! Where did you get these? Plucked!" </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Bhim Singh, irked by his most beloved comrade, shot back at Nana, "Babuji, deduct money from my salary if you want!" And with that, he turned and went away grousing about the old man and his antics. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"Papa be nice to him. He has been here with you for 30 years now. You know how hard it is to find good people these days?" Tiara compassionately looked at both Bhim Singh and Nana. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Nana walked away grumpily. Tiara continued, "Besides, why do you call him Bhim Singh? And Bahadur? It is not their names." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">It was but a mystery on why Nana called him Bhim Singh. Bhim Singh's real name was Madhav. He used to work at the army but lost his job when he was wrongly accused by a senior of stealing food. When Nana heard, he immediately made a few phone calls and asked Madhav to work for him in Darjeeling. Madhav couldn't refuse. He didn't have any family. He had a brother whose wife didn't want an unpaid family member in the house. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Upon arriving in Darjeeling a week after the call, Madhav became Nana's Man Friday. He drove the car, paid the bills, bought groceries, cleaned the house and did all odd jobs which Bimla would ask him to do. But, when the family moved to Samsing, Madhav's role changed. It was mainly due to Bahadur. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Bahadur's real name was Sihir. Sihir's family had been taking care of the cottage since it was built. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">The first resident of the cottage was an English merchant. He was shunted out of the village when he was found to have taken advantage of a local girl at the tea estate he managed. The management of the tea company in Calcutta didn't want a repercussion and quickly restationed him elsewhere. Then an Armenian family lived there. But after a few years, the family moved to Calcutta, and the cottage was left unattended. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Sihir was in his teens when Nana's vehicle had stopped in front of the house that day. And since Nana shifted here, Sihir, or Bahadur as he would go on to call him, have been the caretaker of the house and of Nana.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Sihir particularly adored Tiara. And even if he never liked Nana's tantrums, it was only because of Tiara that he would stay on and protect this old cottage which hardly mattered for his wandering soul.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">The clock at the drawing-room turned eight and Guinea came running out of the house towards her Nana. She was still in her sleepwear. It was something she picked up from her mother. There was no Bimla to protect the child from the December chill this time. But the young heart knows no boundaries. She quickly wrapped herself around Nana and started speaking nonchalantly, "Nana I want roses, I want the pink ones. Nana, I want coffee, not tea. Nana, will you take me to the market? I want the telescope. The new one, the portable one. Papa said it is too costly. But will you give me? Celestron 70Az!" </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Questions poured out of the innocent soul, which was yet to be stirred by the entanglements of adulthood. And for Nana, it was the only soul in the whole planet that he felt helpless about. He loved Tiara, he adored Tiara but losing his wife early had distanced him from Tiara. While Bimla took care of Tiara, Nana poured himself into teaching. Even after school hours, he would teach the local children who couldn't afford school education. And he continued it all these years. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">But here was his own blood. Untethered to the moralities and principles of relationships, unknown to the complexities of being a human in this age. Guinea went about her demands. Nana heard her patiently. When Guinea was done, Nana called Bhim Singh. "</span><em style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Ek Gulab ka guldasta leke ao</em><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> (Bring a bouquet of roses)," was his demand.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Bhim Singh looked confused. But even he knew that there's nothing but Guinea who could alter the man's soul. Bhim Singh promptly appeared with a bouquet of red roses. But Guinea wasn't happy. "This isn't pink," she sighed. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"Guinea! Be grateful. Don't be so demanding," Tiara got up from her lazed down pose and walked towards her only daughter. Before Guinea could protest, Tiara had picked her up. "Let's get ready and then you can ask whatever you want from Nana. But before that, hot bath and breakfast. Okay?"</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Guinea thought of protesting. If there was anything she disliked the most in this world, then it was a bath in December in Samsing. But the idea of spending the rest of the day with her Nana and with Tiara not watching over her like a hawk appeared as a truce. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Moments passed by like any other day for Nana. Tea, newspaper, usual brawls with Bhim Singh, pushing the lazy Bahadur around, and being forced to go to the market by a demanding Bimla. However, with Tiara and Guinea in the house, a break from the normalcy was acceptable by all — Bimla, Bhim Singh, Bahadur and Nana himself.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">The clock rolled on to half-past eight when the Lord of the cottage noticed a little boy walking towards the house. Nana left a huge sigh. He had totally forgotten. Minsk, the 10-year-old son of the local vegetable vendor, was on time for his English lessons.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">It was a year back when Nana was in the market trying to get his hand on the best quality squash, Joao requested Nana if he could teach his son English. Over the next 30 minutes, a deal was struck — Joao would provide vegetables at half price to Nana, and in return, Nana will teach Minsk. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Seeing a happy and spirited Minsk walk in, Nana remembered that he had forgotten entirely to ask Joao to not send his son for at least a week. But, he couldn't ask Minsk to return. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Minsk approached the verandah where Nana was seated and cheerfully said, "Good morning Professor Colonel Rustom Chatterjee. How are you this morning?" </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">As Nana greeted the young lad, Guinea stormed on to the scene. "Nana!" she exhaled. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Upon seeing an unknown face, Guinea tiptoed slowly towards her Nana and held her old man's right arm tightly. Suddenly there was a calmness in the air which had been replaced by the jovial appeals of an eight-year-old since the previous evening.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Minsk stood at the steps. He couldn't move. He wondered around. His eyes met Guinea's and then Nana's. He had almost taken off his backpack when Guinea appeared on the scene. But now, he clutched it hard, feeling unsure about his presence. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A 72-year-old Nana for the first time in his life felt a little destitute, uncertain about how he would unite the two children. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Nana pulled Guinea and said, "Guinea meet Minsk. I teach him literature." He then looked compassionately at Minsk and said, "Minsk, this is my granddaughter, Guinea." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Minsk jumped from his chair and exclaimed, "Guinea like the coin?" Then suddenly he stopped and looked inside and said, "Granddaughter like Bimla's Tiara's daughter?" </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Nana smiled and nodded. The innocent soul harmonised mysteriously with the old heart.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A confident Minsk, not fearing recoil from Guinea, walked towards her and extended his right hand. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Guinea looked suspiciously at the right hand but then with a sudden force moved her right hand towards Minsk. As soon as their hands met, the young souls busted out laughing.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A silent Nana observed this little moment with pleasure. The old heart has seen it all but watching his favourite student, and his only grandchild warm up to each other, lit up his exhausted soul.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"There there, enough. Guinea go pull a chair. Minsk what have you got today?" Nana asked Minsk. The 10-year-old had now pulled out an old rustic diary from his backpack. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"Papa had gone to old Mr. Kapoor's house yesterday to clear their things. The house has been sold. I found this there. It has things written in English.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">It was an old personal diary but once opening it, Nana found poems from bygone era written in it with black ink. There were two pages whose top right corners were folded. Nana turned to the first one, and before he could say anything, Minsk approached him and said, "No no, the second fold. I want you to teach me this." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">As Nana turned to the second folded page instructed by the young child, the name John Keats appeared came into view.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"Minsk, I cannot teach you this. It is for grown-ups," said Nana.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">An embarrassed Minsk, who didn't like being regarded as a child, said, "But I am 10-year-old, and I found the book, and I like the painting. So you teach me."</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">He continued, "You are supposed to teach me English. This is good English. So teach." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Minsk didn't care much about how the other townsmen treated Nana. He was respected, but people were scared of him. But, this 10-year-old adored him and never regarded him as any different than his own grandfather. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Guinea had now joined his new friend and told Nana, "I also want to learn!" </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Minsk, impressed by Guinea, walked towards the girl and held her right hand and smiled. Guinea smiled back and giggled. Both of them settled near Nana's feet, all ready in their youthfulness to hear about the lyrical poem by a romantic poet — who suffered from a haemorrhaged lung, died young, whose news of the death reached his lover months later. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Nana sighed. He didn't know how to explain a poem of such intensity. He looked at the urn's hand-drawn picture in the diary; someone who probably had his or her own share of bereavement to have written and drawn this urn.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">He read quietly, "Thou still unravish'd bride of Quietness,/Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,/Sylvan historian, who canst thus express/A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:/What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape/Of deities or mortals, or of both,/In Tempe or the dales of Arcady/What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?/What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?/What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?" </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Nana looked at the two children. He finally broke his silence. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"Once upon a time, there was a boy. He liked a young girl. The boy's name was Quietness. This girl was the daughter of Silence and Slow Time."</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Minsk started laughing. "Who would name their children Silence and Slow Time?" Guinea, impressed by the questions posed by Minks, also laughed.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Nana smiled. He continued, "There was this man, much like me. He was an observer of time. He could tell stories much better than anyone. One day this man found the boy and a girl playing with an urn."</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Guinea stood up and asked, "What is an urn, Nana?" </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"It is like a flower vase. This special flower vase had drawings all over it." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Nana showed the drawn urn in the diary. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">He continued, "The man took the urn. There were pictures of men, women, etc. While observing the drawings, he wondered what it could mean." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">He then read again, quietly, to himself, "Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard/Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;/Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,/Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:/Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave/Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare/Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,/Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;/She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,/For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!"</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"There is a musician. He plays sweet tunes. The man who observes all these says that the musician is a wonderful artist and wonders that if the music which this musician is playing is so beautiful, then how beautiful will be the ones he is yet to play?" </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Minsk and Guinea drew closer to each other as they heard Nana speak. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"The young boy in the poem likes this young girl. But, he can never tell her that he likes her."</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Guinea stood up and protested, "Why!" </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Minsk, who appeared to have sulked having heard Nana narrate the young boy's plight, lightened up when Guinea questioned. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Nana said, "Guinea, it is just a story. Now sit down and let me finish." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Without protesting any further, Guinea withdrew. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"When the man in the poem saw that the boy cannot express his liking for the little girl," Nana moving his right hand towards Guinea, indicating her not to protest any further, "the man asked the boy not to be sad for he will forever like her and his love will forever remain." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Minsk smiled and looked at Guinea. Guinea clapped. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed/Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;/And, happy melodist, unwearied,/For ever piping songs for ever new;/More happy love! more happy, happy love!/For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,/For ever panting, and for ever young;/All breathing human passion far above,/That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,/A burning forehead, and a parching tongue." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"In this story, in the poem, trees never shed their leaves, it is always spring, the boy and the girl are always in love, everything is happy and never sad." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Guinea asked, "Can't they say how the leaves of the trees never fall? You can then tell Bhim Singh how the roses will never fade." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"Ah! For the young, innocent heart," thought Nana. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"Who are these coming to the sacrifice?/To what green altar, O mysterious priest,/Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,/And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?/What little town by river or sea shore,/Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,/Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?/And, little town, thy streets for evermore/Will silent be; and not a soul to tell/Why thou art desolate, can e'er return." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"The poem speaks of a holy day. There is this priest who was walking towards a temple to pray and sacrifice an animal for the gods. Many people have come from nearby villages to celebrate."</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Minsk looked at Guinea and said, "Ah! It is like Pashupati puja!" Guinea appeared fascinated. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede/Of marble men and maidens overwrought,/With forest branches and the trodden weed;/Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought/As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!/When old age shall this generation waste,/Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe/Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st/"Beauty is truth, truth beauty, — that is all/Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."" </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Nana looks at the two children. He somberly said, "The vase is ancient. It has passed on to the man and the boy and the girl, and soon they will pass it on to their future generations. Everything will change, but the vase will never be destroyed. It is a beautiful object, and it will be cherished forever throughout the generations, even when the man, the boy, and the girl are not there anymore." </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">With that, Nana shut the diary. Minsk looked sad. Guinea looked puzzled. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"This is a bad story. I do not like it," Minsk said petulantly. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Exactly then Bimla walked out with a plate of paranthas and handed over to the two kids, who were dejected with the ending of the story.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"Minsk, Guinea, take the plate and give it to Bahadur and Bhim Singh and then come inside. Babu, I have arranged the table, we should eat now."</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Before Bimla completed her sentence, Minsk had grabbed Guinea's hand and ran towards Bahadur's cottage with the plate. Both of them giggling on their way. Nana looked at them tenderly and remembered, "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:/Its loveliness increases; it will never/Pass into nothingness."</span></span></p></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-50498171980711907692015-06-17T13:49:00.001+05:302015-06-17T14:07:19.952+05:30My ordeal with Uber India<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://www.awesomeweirdness.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/uber1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.awesomeweirdness.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/uber1.png" height="176" width="320" /></a></div>
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First of all, this is not a grudge that I hold against any service. However, mere dissatisfaction with the services and hoping that they will read this and do something about it. If they don't, not my loss. I will find another service and losing one customer among millions would not hurt them. Nonetheless, the post will remain and will go ahead in future as a review and the service will be termed bad.<br />
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Somewhere in May, 2015, I installed the Uber app on my mobile as I needed a trusted fleet taxi service to travel from my office to the domestic airport in Mumbai at 3 AM in the night, or early morning. Due to some PayTM issue, I was unable to use the service and took alternative services.<br />
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I traveled to another city and used their services. Upon my return to Mumbai, I suggested the service to my cousin and referred my code to her. However, what I did not notice was that Uber was giving me credits in Yen. I was careless. Fault accepted.<br />
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Next morning, my cousin booked for an Uber service from Santacruz West and final destination was Vashi. However, we did not know that Uber did not believe in traveling from Santacruz West to Vashi by taking a detour. Rather than taking two separate taxis, we had planned to use the same taxi to Lower Parel and then from there I would take the car to Vashi.<br />
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The driver informed us that it was not possible because those are two different routes, which means two different trips. So what we did is we traveled to Lower Parel, where I dropped her and booked the same taxi to Vashi. Two trips in the same taxi, which could have been one.<br />
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I was ready to adjust. But, the problem of Yen was yet to be figured out by me. Obviously, it would have taken some time, as I am not staring at my Uber app 24x7. When I notified the Uber, they told me this.<br />
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #2b2e2f; font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', Tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
<i>Hi Sudatta,</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #2b2e2f; font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', Tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
<i>Thanks for reaching out! You can update your account information both in the app and by signing in at <a href="https://riders.uber.com/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">uber.com</a></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #2b2e2f; font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', Tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
<i>To update through the app:</i></div>
<ol style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin: 10px 0px 15px 30px; padding-left: 15px;" type="1">
<li style="font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 10px 0px;"><i>Open the account menu by clicking the icon of a person in the top left corner of the app</i></li>
<li style="font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 10px 0px;"><i>Select <strong>Profile</strong></i></li>
<li style="font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 10px 0px;"><i>Here you can change the email, phone number, name, or password associated with your account</i></li>
</ol>
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<i><img alt="Profile" class="CToWUd a6T" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEhjxoVYvdgo59lz02_DgbnxlF3rP2F6xS9meiVf08HgSe7BJJ7z4EI9dF_FnAq6HBVRIqcSqaP_ntx8RFnLO5XTDfAb2He-_KuHTXtvwaPmmKKKBBiNWt6d4ooapn5HmmwW31ARhjPETtKVtgOD7czdWbHwUfBTDMjx9xU7IzM=s0-d-e1-ft" style="cursor: pointer; max-width: 100%; outline: 0px;" tabindex="0" /></i></div>
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<div aria-label="Download attachment " class="T-I J-J5-Ji aQv T-I-ax7 L3 a5q" data-tooltip-class="a1V" data-tooltip="Download" id=":q6" role="button" style="-webkit-box-shadow: none; background: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.6); border-radius: 3px; border: 1px solid rgb(115, 115, 115); box-shadow: none; color: #444444; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; font-size: 11px; font-weight: bold; height: 24px; line-height: 23px; margin-left: 8px; margin-right: 0px; min-width: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; text-align: center; white-space: nowrap; width: 30px;" tabindex="0">
<i></i><br />
<div class="aSK J-J5-Ji aYr" style="background: url(https://ssl.gstatic.com/mail/sprites/newattachmentcards-1203a0f412c82bdc576da4b309729e7f.png) -219px -129px no-repeat; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; height: 21px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 21px;">
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #2b2e2f; font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', Tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
<i>To update through the Uber website:</i></div>
<ol style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin: 10px 0px 15px 30px; padding-left: 15px;" type="1">
<li style="font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 10px 0px;"><i>Navigate to our <a href="https://riders.uber.com/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">website</a> and sign in</i></li>
<li style="font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 10px 0px;"><i>Click on the <strong>Profile</strong> tab</i></li>
<li style="font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 10px 0px;"><i>Here you can change the name, email, password, country, zip code, language, or phone number associated with your account.</i></li>
</ol>
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<i>Let me know if you have any questions or check out the <a href="https://help.uber.com/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">FAQ</a>.</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #2b2e2f; font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', Tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">I told them that my profile was up-to-date. I have this problem, OCD, you can say. I tend to update and fill up details before using the service. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">To which they replied.</span></div>
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<i>Hi Sudatta,</i></div>
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<i>Thanks for your response. Sorry to hear about what happened. Happy to make this right for you.</i></div>
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<i>Kindly use a desktop pc or reinstall Uber App on your mobile phone.</i></div>
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<i>Please let me know if there is anything else I can assist you with.</i></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">I replied.</span></div>
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<i>My profile is very much updated and filled with details which in very simple portrays that I am from Mumbai, India.</i></div>
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<i>This is a problem from your end.</i></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">They wrote back, after I ranted on Twitter. </span></div>
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<i>Hi Sudatta,</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #2b2e2f; font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', Tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
<i>This is ______, from the Uber Mumbai Team.</i></div>
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<i>Thanks for writing in and apologies for all the inconvenience.</i></div>
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<i>This anomaly generally occurs, if by chance a rider's location changes on the registration page. However, no need to worry, I have gone ahead and made the necessary changes. Moreover, I will not be able to change the credits that you earned in Yen to INR, because currency regulation laws disallow it.</i></div>
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<i>However, since you have shared your referral code, I have gone ahead and added a promo code to your account. This will entitle you to a free ride worth Rs 300 and will automatically apply to your next ride.</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #2b2e2f; font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', Tahoma, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
<i>I hope this addresses your concern. Please feel free to reach out if you have any other questions or concerns. I'll be happy to address them.</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
My problem - This is really frustrating. Neither have I changed the location in settings. Due to a mistake in Uber's system, I have to face this problem. The problem is not in getting a promo or free rides but such a fault in Uber's system. Moreover, the regulations do not allow one to change currencies. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
I am not the only one to face such problems. I know someone who was handed over credits in US dollars and was expected to fly to USA, to use those. Uber expects me to travel to Japan to use 2,000 Yen. </div>
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It is high time that Uber takes their multiple problems, seriously. They are facing lot of issues in the capital and there was some problem in the commercial capital also, recently. I love using their services. However, these problems have really frustrated me. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
1. Uber needs to change their trip-related issues. They are supposed to be my 'Private Driver'. If I want to travel from X to Y via Z route, they should accept it. Either it is Uber's problem or the driver was making a fool out of me.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
2. The problem of crediting money in different currencies is a very old issue. Either Uber does it intentionally or there is something wrong with their mobile app. Fix the bug. Please.</div>
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However, Uber has done something really nice. There is a transport strike called by auto rickshaws and <i>kali-peeli </i>taxi services in Mumbai. Uber, in return, did this. Here you go —</div>
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<tr><td align="center" style="font-family: Clan, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 28px; line-height: 34px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">#keepmumbaimoving</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue Light', 'Helvetica Regular', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;">Getting around Mumbai tomorrow will be tough, but we at Uber are committed to a reliable ride.</span></div>
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We've worked with our partner drivers to ensure that Mumbai's citizens can get around the city seamlessly when choices are limited, especially with the onset of the monsoons. </div>
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<span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-Light, Helvetica Neue Light, Helvetica Regular, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"> So, on Wednesday, June 17th, from 00:00 hours until midnight, dynamic pricing will be disabled to ensure that you can get to where you need to be. However, no dynamic pricing means that the availability of cars will be affected, due to the increased demand. You may have to try a few times to get a ride successfully. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-Light, Helvetica Neue Light, Helvetica Regular, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;">We know it is going to be tough out there. Our </span><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;">partner </span> <span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;">drivers are enthusiastic in their support of our efforts to make sure that Mumbaikars keep moving.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-Light, Helvetica Neue Light, Helvetica Regular, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><br /> Uber On.</span></span></div>
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Also, there have been an issue on their part of not being able to charge me for a ride. They are yet to get in touch with me to solve the issue. I am reaching out, publicly.<br />
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<i><div class="grid__item one-half palm-one-whole soft-half--ends" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #404040; display: inline-block; font-family: ff-clan-web-pro; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.9999389648438px; padding-bottom: 7px !important; padding-left: 14px; padding-top: 7px !important; vertical-align: top; width: 395px;">
<div class="flexbox" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: table; width: 381px;">
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<div class="color--negative" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: rgb(246, 36, 25) !important;">
We were unable to charge Paytm •••• payt</div>
<div class="milli" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.84615rem; line-height: 1.90909;">
Please correct the billing for <a href="https://riders.uber.com/trips/dbf59dcd-519f-4eca-bcfa-d70bd8951807" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #1fbad6; text-decoration: none;">your trip</a> on Request time unknown</div>
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<div class="grid__item one-half palm-one-whole soft-half--ends" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #404040; display: inline-block; font-family: ff-clan-web-pro; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.9999389648438px; padding-bottom: 7px !important; padding-left: 14px; padding-top: 7px !important; vertical-align: top; width: 395px;">
<div class="flexbox arrears__existing-card" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: table; width: 381px;">
<div class="flexbox__item" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: table-cell; vertical-align: middle;">
Charge <span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;">-₹ 502</span> to</div>
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<div class="select2-container form-field--full" id="s2id_autogen1" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 186px; zoom: 1;">
<a class="select2-choice" href="https://draft.blogger.com/null" style="-webkit-user-select: none; background-clip: padding-box; background-image: linear-gradient(to top, rgb(238, 238, 238) 0px, rgb(255, 255, 255) 50%); border-radius: 4px; border: 1px solid rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; display: block; height: 26px; line-height: 26px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px 0px 0px 8px; position: relative; white-space: nowrap;" tabindex="-1"><span class="select2-chosen" id="select2-chosen-2" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: block; float: none; margin-right: 26px; overflow: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis; width: auto;">Personal Paytm payt</span><span class="select2-arrow" role="presentation" style="background: linear-gradient(to top, rgb(204, 204, 204) 0px, rgb(238, 238, 238) 60%) rgb(204, 204, 204); border-left-color: rgb(170, 170, 170); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-radius: 0px 4px 4px 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 24px; position: absolute; right: 0px; top: 0px; width: 18px;"><span role="presentation" style="background: url(https://riders.uber.com/stylesheets/select2.png) 0px 1px no-repeat; box-sizing: border-box; display: block; font-weight: 700; height: 24px; width: 17px;"></span></span></a><label class="select2-offscreen" for="s2id_autogen2" style="border: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; clip: rect(0px 0px 0px 0px) !important; cursor: pointer; display: block; font-size: 12px; font-weight: 700; height: 1px !important; left: 0px !important; margin: 0px !important; outline: 0px !important; overflow: hidden !important; padding: 0px !important; position: absolute !important; top: 0px !important; width: 1px !important;"></label><input aria-haspopup="true" aria-labelledby="select2-chosen-2" class="select2-focusser select2-offscreen" id="s2id_autogen2" role="button" style="border-style: initial !important; border-width: 0px !important; clip: rect(0px 0px 0px 0px) !important; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13px; height: 1px !important; left: 0px !important; margin: 0px !important; outline: 0px !important; overflow: hidden !important; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important; position: absolute !important; top: 0px !important; width: 1px !important;" type="text" /></div>
<select class="form-field--full select2-offscreen" data-disable-search="data-disable-search" data-enhanced-select="data-enhanced-select" name="payment_profile_uuid" style="border: 0px !important; clip: rect(0px 0px 0px 0px) !important; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13px; height: 1px !important; left: 0px !important; margin: 0px !important; outline: 0px !important; overflow: hidden !important; padding: 0px !important; position: absolute !important; top: 0px !important; width: 1px;" tabindex="-1" title=""><option style="box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer;" value="f991a6cf-7f97-4ba7-8552-45e4e950dc87">Personal Paytm payt</option><option style="box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer;" value="">Add a new card</option></select></div>
<div class="flexbox__item flexbox__item--collapse" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: table-cell; vertical-align: middle; width: 1px;">
<button class="btn btn--dark" style="background: rgb(64, 64, 64); border-radius: 3px; border: 1px solid rgb(64, 64, 64); color: white; cursor: pointer; font-family: ff-clan-web-pro; font-size: 0.92308rem; line-height: 2.1; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 1em; vertical-align: middle; white-space: nowrap;" type="submit">Charge</button></div>
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However, this won't stop me from using their services as these are minor issues. Yet, I want these small problems to be solved along with the big ones. Will they?<br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: x-large;">Hopefully, Uber will solve these issues. *Peace*.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-59849563659096206442015-05-11T15:14:00.000+05:302015-05-11T15:33:27.595+05:30Open Letter: Dear western media, we need to talk<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-GB">Somewhere in August 2014, Huffington Post and Times Internet announced their tie up to launch the Indian version of the website. Earlier that year, Atlantic Media launched their Quartz India. In February 2015, Mashable made headlines when they revealed their intentions to launch Mashable India. Everyone was happy as western media made their intentions clear about entering the growing news business in India. Buzzfeed was not far behind as they also launched their India version. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">What happened next? All of them barring Mashable launched their Indian versions. Everyone was happy with the Indianised versions of opinion pieces, lists and news. While Huffington Post hired some well-known faces from the online world to run their business, Quartz did all that without much media attention. Buzzfeed, on the other hand, got one of their New York office to run their website. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">So far, so good. But then, why I am writing this letter?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">While I, and many young journalists like me, appreciate the move to open the Indian versions of your award-winning and notable websites, I really wonder how much you will earn. Journalism in the West is significantly different to the journalism in this country. It is more a business here, unlike in the West, where it is about reporting and being the first to break and inform the public about what is happening in the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I understand your intention to make your presence felt, to earn those extra bucks, to become global brands in the true sense of the word. However, I have a request and suggestion, which may brighten the future of journalism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">There was a time when publications exchanged employees from one city to another to teach and enlighten them on how the different city bureaus worked differently. Remember the international student exchange programme? Why did that start, in the first place?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">When multinational deals are made, the chief management usually travel around the world to see how different newsrooms work. This is something I could never fathom. More than the management, should it not be the employees who need to travel to different bureaus to see how journalism is different across the world?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Why? While the editors take final calls on editorial decisions, it is finally the writers and reporters that help complete the final product. Understanding how different newsrooms work teaches employees more, and in return, helps editors also in making the work more comprehensible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">It is not only that. Sending employees on foreign trips that include fun and work will also make them feel more wanted. Am I making sense?</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">So it is time that the sub-editor, reporter and even the designer get the flight ticket to other branches and get to learn how journalism works in USA. The management can, of course, keep making those business trips. One less would not hurt them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-1570664864075206342015-03-13T12:08:00.004+05:302015-03-13T12:16:25.418+05:30You are not alone! This is how you can handle depression!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I must confess, I have a big problem out of many problems that fill up my small clustered cupboard. I get upset when I am not able to achieve a goal that I have set for myself. I try to get my mind off the failure by watching a movie and usually it turns out to be a sad selection. The upset further increases and turns to frustration.<br />
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<b><a href="http://ovshake.blogspot.in/p/how-to-handle-depression.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Guide - How to handle depression?</span></a></b><br />
<b><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></b> <b><a href="http://sudattamukherjee.blogspot.in/2015/01/understanding-you-depression.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Understanding You: Depression</span></a></b><br />
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Five years back falling asleep was as easy as reading a book to me. If I wanted I could sleep over any worry and any sadness. Sleeping was my one and only medicine to all problems. However, now even that seems to be a big problem.<br />
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This is what depression does to you. You try to sleep but you can't. Your mind crowded with thoughts of you unable to achieve the goals that you have set for yourself. You twist and turn in your bed till tears start rolling down yours cheeks. You remember everything from your childhood. All that you miss, all the people you spent the major time of your childhood with, the things you told them, the way you separated from them. It all comes back to you. Your mind starts stimulating the thoughts and increases the uncomfortableness. It is uneasy. By the time you fall asleep it is time to get up and waking up can be really painful.<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://ovshake.blogspot.in/p/how-to-handle-depression.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Guide - How to handle depression?</span></a></b><br />
<b><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></b> <b><a href="http://sudattamukherjee.blogspot.in/2015/01/understanding-you-depression.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Understanding You: Depression</span></a></b><br />
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You wake with a drowsy feeling. Your head aches. You get ready, have too much of caffeine and the time and adversities at the office increase your disgust for life.<br />
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You try to motivate yourself by going through random self-motivating posts. You share them with the whole world. You send out affirmations because that is what '<i>The Secret</i>' tells you. However, life is still the same.<br />
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You have failed and you are failing and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Death seems to the only way or succumbing to the suffering.<br />
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You are not alone. Look around you. You are reading this. You alone do not suffer this unpleasant disease that you refuse to accept is a part of your life now. Forget what the society feels and says. Think about yourself. You need to get over it.<br />
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Dear friend, if you need help, or anyone you know needs help, we are just a call away.<br />
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Here is how you can change your life. Here are the remedies. Embrace it. Share it. Do not shy away.<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://ovshake.blogspot.in/p/how-to-handle-depression.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Guide - How to handle depression?</span></a></b><br />
<b><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></b> <b><a href="http://sudattamukherjee.blogspot.in/2015/01/understanding-you-depression.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Understanding You: Depression</span></a></b></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-40852172339901609852015-01-19T23:37:00.004+05:302015-01-20T11:48:45.813+05:30Understanding You: Depression<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Depression - /dɪˈprɛʃ(ə)n/ - feelings of severe despondency and dejection. "self-doubt creeps in and that swiftly turns to depression". a long and severe recession in an economy or market. "the depression in the housing market"</i><br />
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Imagine yourself, sitting on a chair, in an empty house. Your mind is full of thoughts, starting from wanting to become someone great to destroying your life, because you believe you won't be able to achieve or attain that state of prominence.<br />
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Imagine yourself in a crowded room. You are in an animated mood. You are conversing with people. People are intrigued by you, you entertain them, they love you. But, inside you, you are not sure, you do not believe anything you say.<br />
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Whatever, you have been doing at this point of time, till this very moment, you judge everything. You wonder whether life itself is true. Going to sleep is a problem for you, waking up is worse.<br />
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You don't want to share this with anyone, not even the man who loves you, not even the family that dotes on you. You are scared that they will be scared and they would want to take care of you. However, you want to be alone, you are unsure whether they will understand you, in this struggle.<br />
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You thrive for love, longing, peace, stability. But, you don't believe that it is worth that pain, it is worth that wait, or time, or energy.<br />
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You take double the time to write one sentence; you take triple the time to satisfy yourself by sentence, you have just written. Next morning, you regret that yesterday ever happened.<br />
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You are suffering, and you want to be cured. But, you are too ashamed or too unconfident that people will understand. Your whole life has been about running away from the truth, escaping from the very meaning and purpose of your life.<br />
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Impulse rules you; rationalism irritates you. You hallucinate; you soliloquize.<br />
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You stare, you think about what you are trying to think. There is an emptiness inside your heart and stomach, it is being filled up by oblivion. You close your eyes, you want to sleep, but you can't. Your mind is stimulating thoughts, too fast for you to put in a pensive and analyse it later.<br />
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It is morning, you need to get up. Three cups of tea, seven cups of coffee. Caffeine is your best friend. At night, alcohol is your husband. And, scag is your extra-marital affair.<br />
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You are not surviving. You are a living death. And then, pop. It's over.<br />
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You have woken up from the dream. Was it psychosis?</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-64242279012444952312015-01-17T20:32:00.002+05:302015-01-17T20:40:05.617+05:30Happy Married Life, My Friend<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
7:49 PM, January 17, 2015. I am sitting on the one of the wrought-iron chairs that we have at our rented apartment in the City of Dreams. There is a pillow and blanket lying on the sofa, the Television set is running on mute. A Vicks lozenge's wrapper is lying on the floor. The centre table have two used tea mugs, one chocolate biscuits packet, open, half-filled. And, a water bottle, half-closed.<br />
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For the last two hours, I have been sitting on this place, wondering what to do. I do not like spending the whole day at home. I hate holidays. It suffocates me, idles my brain. An idle brain is devil's workshop. I am very sleepy. Probably, over-slept.<br />
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I try to write, but cannot. My brain is not working. I think of drying the clothes that are lying in the washing machine, but I am too lazy to. I think of going out, but I check my bank account summary. I am ashamed. All I can do, is sit and hope for this night to pass quickly.<br />
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I look at my laptop; I have been working whole morning. I don't feel like touching it anymore.<br />
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I pick up my cell phone. Browse through my contact list. My eyes narrow down to one of my best friends. She is getting married tomorrow. January 18. I have sent her bunch of flowers. All I wanted to send her, is a note, a poem, a book, I don't know. But, something lyrical. Not flowers. They don't allow you to just send a greetings card. Bad for their business.<br />
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I have known her for eight years now, is it? I am very bad at mathematics. We did not became friends so easily. My first year at college, was, kind of political. It is somewhere at the end of my first year, that we became friends. How? One day I just simply decided to stop sitting where I used to and move to where they used to sit. It was not welcomed, kindly. But, she and her friends, did not raise voice too.<br />
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Rest is history. Tea breaks, tram rides, Some Place Else, Boncharals, etc. Poetry, write-ups, David Daiches, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Tree Trunk, Maroon 5, <b>Jane Eyre</b>.<br />
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However, nothing comes easy. No relationship is supposed to be easy. As our college lives came to an end, our friendship got diminished too.<br />
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Albeit, when you have been friends, have been so close friends, distance pains. We got back, we worked our way back into the relationship.<br />
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It was not easy. We were in different cities, our lives had changed. We were different people. There was <b>a gap of three years</b>, in between us. We remained in touch, may not be as close and good friends, as once we were.<br />
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Few weeks back, she broke the news. She was getting married. I suddenly felt cheated. No, not because she was not marrying me! But, somewhere I knew in my heart, I had moved very far.<br />
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I read my other two friends get excited over her wedding. And, I wonder, where I am in my life.<br />
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Ran away from home, from friends, from love, from the city that taught me to dream.<br />
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She is special. I vividly remember her handwriting, the letters we have exchanged. The Reader's Digest, lying somewhere in my cupboard, back at home.<br />
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I feel like Bunny, from Yeh Jawani Hai Deewani. Best friend is getting married, but I cannot make it. I have been listening to Kabira on the loop. I will sleep my way. Sadly, I cannot just decide to pack my bags like Bunny, and surprise her.<br />
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Minutes before I started writing this, I suddenly remembered, or rather it struck me - Mr. Rochester and Jane never got to be with each other. I guess, it was written in the star.<br />
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Remember? One afternoon, as we waited for SD to arrive and teach us Francis Bacon, you told me, "Why don't write something big, something for the Booker?" I laughed. I still laugh. But, I knew and still know, you never told me or anyone that you did not believe in.<br />
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Thanks, for the best days of my life. I may be different, I may be 2,002 km away from you (Yes, 2,002, I double checked), but you will be a very special friend for me.<br />
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I hope you find happiness, that you always dreamt of. You are the most practical person I have met in my life. I wish, sometimes, the way few things turned out, in our lives, it never happened. But both of us, know that few things happen for the best.<br />
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Always, love you.<br />
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PS - Remember the house, we used to dream of? Four rooms, each to ourselves and vacations? It still can happen. And, you will need a lot of cancer sticks till you are fully done with the ceremonies. Stay, happy.<br />
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<b>Happy Boncharal Wedding!!!</b></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-47812919319914583032015-01-10T14:34:00.000+05:302015-01-10T14:39:17.772+05:30Remembering Abhijit Dasgupta<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's a Saturday and I cannot simply write that it is just another Saturday. For the last three years of my life, there has been no difference between weekends and weekdays. I would get excited if I got a weekend off and would run away to my cousin's place at Juhu to chill out. Chill out meant, spending a quarter of my salary on eating, roaming, and shopping and sleeping throughout Sunday.<br />
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However, this is a life I have chosen, and I had decided to live a life like this one since a very long time. One day in 2001, early morning during breakfast, I just randomly decided to become a journalist. As I didn't have any idea about how to become one, I often looked upon at people who were in the profession and industry.<br />
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Over time, I acquired good social skills — be it virtual or real.<br />
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One random day, while browsing through my social life, I stumbled upon one Abhijit Dasgupta. To my misfortune or luck, I confused him with a former editor of a tabloid. He quickly corrected me and made sure that I did not feel bad or ashamed of my misjudgment. By chance, he invited me over to his office for lunch and I with one of my friend (who acted like my bodyguard) went to meet him.<br />
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We became good friends, and he became a father figure. He would tell me, "Kiddo, stay away from journalism. You will only get hurt. It is not the profession for you." And I would not listen.<br />
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He would call me the Cosmopolitan girl, and all that he could come up with. In the days to come, we would celebrate another close friend's birthday, miles away from the friend. I still remember having <i>chicken bharta </i>and <i>rumali roti</i>.<br />
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I could write and write well. He would tell me, "You write well. But when you write from your heart, you write the best. Stop being a rational writer." And I would ignore.<br />
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Blogging earned me an internship with the same tabloid, with whose editor I confused him.<br />
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I moved to another city and by the time I shifted back, he had shifted to another new city. He was not happy. We would chat and he would say, "Kiddo, when are you going to write my biography? If you don't, I will be very disappointed."<br />
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I would then send him questions, he would answer and then moderate them and send it again.<br />
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At nights, we would be busy in our mutual admiration for music and good liquor. There were days when he along with two other very close friends would be my saviour. However, he never scolded me. He always saw the funny side of a bad situation. He knew how to make people smile, especially me.<br />
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He also knew that I did not like him colouring his hair black or pampering someone too much. But, he never changed that.<br />
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I knew he was hurting but I could not do anything in the end. His death did not leave me broken or shattered. I do not remember crying or asking why. I knew the reasons and I knew that I could had not done anything.<br />
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I kept his phone number in my contact list for few years. I saved his e-mails and chat messages. I would stare at his answers for the book and my mind would be blank. A year later when I met a common friend, I would ask why? She in her own way explained.<br />
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But, I had moved on. Moved on too fast. Was I ashamed of it? No, I wanted to escape the bitter truth of life, that nothing is as sweet as it appears. Years later after his death, I read this post by the common friend and I am taken back to the dreadful day, when I received a call telling me about his death. My first reaction was, "Why was not I the first person to know about his death?" Mean it would sound, but he was very special and I would not share him. He was my Father Teresa, and I would remember him like that.<br />
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I have been told a lot of stories about him, from people in Calcutta, Delhi and Mumbai. I have heard his versions, I have heard everyone's version.<br />
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After four years, I would like to remember only one thing that he had once told someone, "Wherever there is spirit, you will find me."<br />
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Nothing bothers me today, but whenever I am alone, in an empty house, struggling to sleep, I wonder, "Is this how he struggled?" And then, I would shut myself and forget everything. I have to move on, like everyone. I guess that is what he would want too.<br />
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Oh, yes, he promised me that he will take me to Bishop's House, Calcutta some day. I don't want to visit the place ever. I just want to simply remember that he promised. It will always remain special, just like that.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-18567316477861952142014-12-25T19:13:00.000+05:302014-12-25T19:21:35.612+05:30Five Things That Will Happen in 2015<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The year 2014 is almost over, and with it all the things that happened in the past year will be forgotten, as we enter a new dawn, filled with new possibilities.<br />
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Let us see, what are five things that will or can happen in 2015...<br />
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<b>1. YouTube will be the new Television Set</b><br />
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We have already seen how YouTube has dominated the web world in 2014, when it started full-fledgedly live streaming major events around the world. Even if YouTube didn't live stream the Fifa World Cup 2014, don't worry it will the next time. I am already expecting the Oscars being live streamed followed by ICC World Cup 2015, etc.<br />
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YouTube or major live streaming networks across the globe have finally realised the importance of being there 'live' on the internet. People do not have time to sit at home and enjoy a show as much as they could five years back. Blame the busy work life but that is it. We are travelling long routes and it would be awesome if we could catch the live streaming of our favourite team's match on the move.<br />
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So yes, be it mobile or desktop or laptop, or your iPad, YouTube is the new Idiot Box.<br />
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<b>2. Mobile users will slowly start taking over Desktop and Laptop users</b><br />
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Most of us spend 12 hours of our life in the office, in front of our desktops or laptops. After that, if we have to come back home and sit in front of the same machines for important personal work that needs to be attended, then it becomes really irritating.<br />
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Now imagine the cellphone in your palm, with which you can buy stuff, transfer money, book tickets, and even do PowerPoint (even if it hurts your eyes). That is the power of the palm, errr, the cellphone.<br />
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Gone are the days, when you would find people working with their heads inside their laptops, trying to put things together. You have the simple mobile system — be it your iPhone or iPad or a tablet — life has become too easy and comfortable because of these machines.<br />
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They are lite and easy to be carried.<br />
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If you are in website business, you would know how much mobile and tablets already dominate compared to desktops or laptops. For example, if I check my Google Analytics, 63 percent are desktops/laptops users and the rest 37 percent are mobile or tablet users. The 63 percent can be understood because, again, 12 hours of our life is spent in office, where I am guessing people are likely to use a desktop or laptop.<br />
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<b>3. Twitter will become the new News Agency</b><br />
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According to Google, <i>crowdsourcing is the process of obtaining needed services, ideas, or content by soliciting contributions from a large group of people, and especially from an online community, rather than from traditional employees or suppliers.</i><br />
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We are already in an age when journalists keep an eye on Twitter 24x7, like literally, 24x7. Breaking news like Osama bin Laden's death, Boston Marathon attack appeared on Twitter first rather than news channels. Journalists were seen using pictures, videos for their stories from Twitter. That is the power that Twitter holds right now.<br />
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The third season of The Newsroom also shows how the new management of ACN tries to implement the fact that in this digital age, Twitter and social media will rule the news circuit rather than news channels and newspapers.<br />
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What Twitter breaks now, news channels break 30 minutes later and newspapers, a day later.<br />
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<b>4. News aggregation sites and mobile apps will take over individual news websites and apps</b><br />
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All of us have by now got used to Flipboard, Reddit and other news aggregation apps. Why would someone download numerous news channels or magazine apps, when one click can give access to various websites. Rather than going through 10 different sources, readers can click one app and check the news on their favourite and selected topics.<br />
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<b>5. Marketing will be the new Editorial team</b><br />
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Marketing has always played a vital role in the running of the business. And now it will dominate how the way a newsroom work. Reporters will be made to work on the guidelines of marketers, who endlessly try to impress the advertisers and earn more money for the company. Terms like Journalism ethics are no more valid in this fast-paced, competitive world. The year 2014 saw the slow rise of marketing gimmicks; 2015 will be the year when the marketers fully take over the proceedings of the newsroom. Good or bad? Time will say (no hard feelings; that's how businesses run).<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-29901703721631908362014-12-06T21:41:00.000+05:302014-12-06T21:41:49.015+05:30It is time to stand beside our fallen, fellow journalists<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In the first episode of The Newsroom of season three, there is a particular scene when ACN's Mackenzie McHale calls up producer Maggie Jordan in Boston, to confirm whether any arrests have been made in the bombing case.<br />
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Earlier, CNN reported that an arrest was made. However, Maggie stuck to the point that there was no confirmation of arrests being made. Minutes later, CNN retracted the news stating that no arrests were made in the Boston bombing. The ACN newsroom, which was earlier tense about not being able to be the first to break in the report, erupted in joy, as the staff starting applauding.<br />
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At this point, Charlie Skinner, ACN's executive and Director cuts short the party by saying, "Hey, what you doing? Worst moment in this guy's life and you cheering why? Because you think if someone gets in line in back of you it means the line moved? We still blew Genoa. And if there's anyone in the world who should be able to empathize with CNN right now, you would think that it would be the people in this room! Empathy! He got knocked down! We didn't get taller."<br />
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Why am I narrating this story? In the recent past, there have been occasions when journalists, be it digital, print, and electronic, have screwed up. Pictures have gone with wrong captions, sleazy comments have been passed on digital forum by reputed news organisations, so on and so forth. But, let us just think for once - Is it a crime to make mistakes?<br />
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We are human beings, and no matter how much we try to avoid, we will make mistakes in our life. The profession that we are in however demands that we don't. Very early in my career, I was told something by my editor, "Make a mistake, learn from it and don't repeat it." It was all those mistakes we had committed over the years, that made us into the near-perfect-yet-imperfect journalists.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT1u0gq8lrUs0NFG6nY6VtpC3S_DLZDsy9PdWCP86FdVijLrN2CqMbrprlTBlorVRba5LVIPBbzGVLBdW30fa7qTvKVv_iz2-IvXGda3Y742hWfjMa8viLJrsR40RufXT-Mugn39TH-Lk/s1600/standup1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT1u0gq8lrUs0NFG6nY6VtpC3S_DLZDsy9PdWCP86FdVijLrN2CqMbrprlTBlorVRba5LVIPBbzGVLBdW30fa7qTvKVv_iz2-IvXGda3Y742hWfjMa8viLJrsR40RufXT-Mugn39TH-Lk/s1600/standup1.jpeg" height="182" width="320" /></a></div>
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Unfortunately, journalism is one profession in which if you make one mistake, the whole world will be laughing at you. It is not a funny scene. Have you ever imagined how would you feel if you were to stand in the middle of the road, and be laughed at by millions of people? Imagine, you ending up at a party and being mocked at. It is likely that you will end up becoming a recluse and honestly, negative publicity does not help the individual, the company only gains profit. The person who made the mistake has to suffer in the most unthinkable ways.<br />
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As fellow journalists, we at this point, need to support and stand up for those particular individuals, who tend to fall prey to public laughter and entertainment. For example, the Doordarshan anchor who was mocked, laughed, and criticised, recently came in public to say that she feels suicidal.<br />
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<i>"My career has been ruined. I am so distressed I have not eaten in four days. My family approached the cyber crime department so the video was taken off but new people keep uploading it," she had earlier told TOI in an interview. (Text taken from Times of India)</i><br />
<i><br /></i> <i>"Of the smooth two-hour broadcast, only my mistakes have been posted. I have been successfully hosting corporate and entertainment shows since college." (Text taken from Times of India)</i><br />
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Yes, it is true journalism is no-nut-job. It takes "balls" to stand out amidst blasting cannons, loud protestors, crazy fans and report about scenes from ground zero. However, that does not mean they cannot make mistakes.<br />
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Unless, fellow journalists stand beside their colleagues, inspite of which company he or she works for there will be cases such as Gary Webb.<br />
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Again, journalism is no-nut-job, especially with the kind of rivalry (be it Company A vs Company B, or in-house), and pressure of being the first to break a news and pressure of ratings and pageviews.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-30270279252561024492014-09-03T04:38:00.003+05:302014-09-03T04:38:35.585+05:30Five things about Workaholics<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-qsTbIIx4DJgHW-S65ZaYPFBbVbzYpKvjxENe0pjq_WW3hSwFm3WG6sjrO1mMFvW7CwM5O5Vro_OfC4lefRgseFMVcfCHKPclDWNSqjg2iLW4nwAQWPjzNX3HuqF_s9O7TqVT5I4P3o/s1600/workaholic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-qsTbIIx4DJgHW-S65ZaYPFBbVbzYpKvjxENe0pjq_WW3hSwFm3WG6sjrO1mMFvW7CwM5O5Vro_OfC4lefRgseFMVcfCHKPclDWNSqjg2iLW4nwAQWPjzNX3HuqF_s9O7TqVT5I4P3o/s1600/workaholic.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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Over the years, I have been branded as a workaholic, even though I believe I am not. I just live my life differently. However, for the last few days, I have been thinking — what is it that makes workaholics different from non-workaholics. That is when I decided to go ahead and figure it out. I started observing people who were tagged workaholic — from politicians to creative artists. Finally, I came down to five things that I identified about workaholics. Following are the five things you need to know about workaholics, before you brand them one!<br />
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<b>1) For them sleep is a waste of time</b> — Honestly, I have seen a lot of them, who doesn't believe in the '7-8 hours of sleep' funda.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDLXMf26kxlnJylbE71fWljHCSNvYzin_vNz-Np6vPm3QKQnxGoKB9Jh-RUeEv_Bu3pLRdAE5ym9Il_zOA2juM59mmsecyb3mRXaJWHfH1cFNapF5Flpcayw-_tE5zHe3o_Yt5JQwM1FM/s1600/Time_waste.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDLXMf26kxlnJylbE71fWljHCSNvYzin_vNz-Np6vPm3QKQnxGoKB9Jh-RUeEv_Bu3pLRdAE5ym9Il_zOA2juM59mmsecyb3mRXaJWHfH1cFNapF5Flpcayw-_tE5zHe3o_Yt5JQwM1FM/s1600/Time_waste.gif" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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That doesn't mean they do not believe in sleeping. They do sleep but they have their own sweet time for that. They sleep when they are like 'okay coffee is not working and I need to sleep before I faint'. They can sleep anywhere! Sleep is like one of the things that you need to do to survive. It is no pleasure for them.<br />
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<b>2) Work is a way for them to keep their mind from unwanted stuff</b> — They just do not like being burdened with unwanted worldly thinking. They like the space they have created for themselves — their life, their food, their friends, their work and their LIFE. For most of them, work is a way of staying away from thoughts that depress people.<br />
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<b>3) Family and relationships are just not their </b><i><b>cuppa tea </b>— </i>They find family values, principles, decorum too constraining for their dreams and desires. They do not have time for "okay we need to talk about what is happening between us" or "I need to tell you something."<br />
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They like living tension-free, and which means particularly, free from the obligations of a family and relationships. Work, for them, keeps them away from all such stuff. They can screw up their family and social life for work.Yes, they can.<br />
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<b>4) Workaholics love challenges</b><i><b> </b>— </i>Their whole life is about challenges. Challenges are like oxygen for them.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigFlwwyMwMfd-28cU5f8WprKR1ddfmm7jrKTtqsFhBTgbASYi3sP8ofL4e5tu9fSo6GhdKJ5vwPFy3uBDy7d9bCi3TME5Q0E_ZliyhxCjTSLo_-BaEzlv4gwz8fGXU6WXxYhIU9ERfj2Q/s1600/challenge-accepted.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigFlwwyMwMfd-28cU5f8WprKR1ddfmm7jrKTtqsFhBTgbASYi3sP8ofL4e5tu9fSo6GhdKJ5vwPFy3uBDy7d9bCi3TME5Q0E_ZliyhxCjTSLo_-BaEzlv4gwz8fGXU6WXxYhIU9ERfj2Q/s1600/challenge-accepted.gif" /></a></div>
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They literally get excited about challenges, like orgasmic (okay, pun intended). They are very energetic, competitive and result-oriented people. You will never find a workaholic who is happy about 'oh! thank god I have no challenges in my life!'.<br />
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<b>5) Workaholics do KNOW how to have fun at office </b>— They are not hard workers but SMART workers. They will finish their work in time and you will find them having fun with some other colleague and suddenly detaching themselves from the situation to get back to work. They can have by themselves too. They know how to detach from a situation and get back to work on time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTi-kIvyU51wtt1gOwOUzyww8ZFOw6OjVRHk6dNvnDKmuhcV1nm-ljVrLsJTkAlptzO9Kl2dbBC3rDRegA1btttcJEFXhLC3UrMMp0ioko1yNGLUCdnaKay1usoP7KRzDdyD4esSxMqc/s1600/office-work-funny-animation.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTi-kIvyU51wtt1gOwOUzyww8ZFOw6OjVRHk6dNvnDKmuhcV1nm-ljVrLsJTkAlptzO9Kl2dbBC3rDRegA1btttcJEFXhLC3UrMMp0ioko1yNGLUCdnaKay1usoP7KRzDdyD4esSxMqc/s1600/office-work-funny-animation.gif" height="184" width="320" /></a></div>
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They do everything smartly. They mix pleasure with work. After all, office is like home for them!<br />
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On a serious note, workaholics are those who love their work and go an extra mile to do some work. They infuse fun in their work. And, yes, it is very hard to stop them from being workaholics. It is better you give up and accept that you cannot change them.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6212967335857593960.post-9704021735700823692014-08-29T22:57:00.000+05:302014-08-29T22:57:39.253+05:305 tools which every digital journalist should use<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGsYS_FjPAHF4i0N969gphKLRO5G7SHjNm9rEg7qZRTTQ3_mXIB0b4FswZFeQ25QyLEHBtjm3ihrn9R2_ZJJrAobVu6VLgFn9e9AeZwoJfiMxGerRnettR0T6_4tKYqj_ILfx4kOZ7DJI/s1600/digital-journalism-500x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGsYS_FjPAHF4i0N969gphKLRO5G7SHjNm9rEg7qZRTTQ3_mXIB0b4FswZFeQ25QyLEHBtjm3ihrn9R2_ZJJrAobVu6VLgFn9e9AeZwoJfiMxGerRnettR0T6_4tKYqj_ILfx4kOZ7DJI/s1600/digital-journalism-500x300.jpg" height="240" width="400" /></a></div>
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Somewhere in 2011, it was revealed that Digital Media had overtaken Print Media and in the coming years, a lot of newspapers and magazines will vanish from the scene. Around 152 newspaper shutdown in 2011 around the world. Many more will shut if the management, the owners don't decide to move digital.<br />
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There has been a significant rise of the internet users over the years and, as a result, a lot of websites were launched. From serious news portals to fun and entertainment websites. An increase in the office and commuting internet users, saw traditional media change their strategies.<br />
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It has been three years that I have been a part of this digital world and it is a mad mad world. Even though, all you need is a computer to work. However, there are certain DIGITAL tools that journalists should know and must use, if they want to succeed.<br />
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Here are the five tools that each and every Digital Journalist should use —<br />
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<b>1) Google Analytics</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4I22eHoUCBfI1GK9qt2164g-kKBVUgmqJL75__j2cNXq6VT9fWGfmfqwEkTLLRb73WZF3aJW6uqX5DvpGPc8Cp62Uph_IJ2cxB4koHEx-3q7eorsmDq5xdtvntxYBmbBIAG35_3r1bI/s1600/1AudienceOverview.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4I22eHoUCBfI1GK9qt2164g-kKBVUgmqJL75__j2cNXq6VT9fWGfmfqwEkTLLRb73WZF3aJW6uqX5DvpGPc8Cp62Uph_IJ2cxB4koHEx-3q7eorsmDq5xdtvntxYBmbBIAG35_3r1bI/s1600/1AudienceOverview.png" height="184" width="320" /></a></div>
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Each and every website survives on the traffic they make each and every month and Google Analytics is one of the two primary tools which reads the performance of the website. You can read how much traffic, the traffic sources, conversation rates, etc. It is a must! I mean it! You also get to see, how many concurrent users are there on your website.</div>
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<b>2) Tweetdeck/Hootsuite/Social Media clients</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7mbEgIVqdUboUHMdSQmwnUE_tB4GSshYAv58G1pQNJw-d8aeSGrhDKLjWzTPgKKlGmeiLB3YL2VWJlGVKSvHHKqVOP8XseGCa-yP2GCwmrSq8yN94VQgVoh8bOvjPCqeDkIIBL7upUY0/s1600/twitter-TweetDeck.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7mbEgIVqdUboUHMdSQmwnUE_tB4GSshYAv58G1pQNJw-d8aeSGrhDKLjWzTPgKKlGmeiLB3YL2VWJlGVKSvHHKqVOP8XseGCa-yP2GCwmrSq8yN94VQgVoh8bOvjPCqeDkIIBL7upUY0/s1600/twitter-TweetDeck.png" height="188" width="320" /></a></div>
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Do you know how important social media is? Currently, Twitter is probably a journalist's favourite news source. But that's not all, a lot of news break on different social media platforms. There is Facebook, Twitter, Google Plus, LinkedIN, etc. But how will you manage so many social accounts altogether? The pain of shifting between too many tabs is just unbearable. It is best if you have a social media client, like the Tweetdeck, Hootsuite or Seesmic. Best part, you have the client available for not only desktop but mobile too!</div>
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<b>3) Google Trends </b></div>
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The first thing a digital journalist should be taught is — We create content which the user want to read rather than create content what we want the user to read. For that, one has personal blogs. But how to find out what the user wants? What the user is discussing? Well, we have Google Trends for it! Google Trends helps us to understand what are the topics which are trending in the world, in your country, city, region.</div>
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<b>4) Photoshop/Photoscape/Fotor/Pixlr/Image-editing softwares</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4lTqAoB5Uh7LH4jm5CeXK3_yZQYvl45P9XUtD98JWx2RBxi4nsLB8HEJbbRdFetdEVXQVKP2SYONfeBop6QbfQ6BqN6vlM4cHvptQxbWKKZ-C-_J1_41EOIsTFS80BE_rCZrG87upgA/s1600/670px-Use-Selective-Coloring-in-Photoshop-Step-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4lTqAoB5Uh7LH4jm5CeXK3_yZQYvl45P9XUtD98JWx2RBxi4nsLB8HEJbbRdFetdEVXQVKP2SYONfeBop6QbfQ6BqN6vlM4cHvptQxbWKKZ-C-_J1_41EOIsTFS80BE_rCZrG87upgA/s1600/670px-Use-Selective-Coloring-in-Photoshop-Step-2.jpg" height="215" width="320" /></a></div>
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I bet none of the websites can do without a photo-editing software. Just like it is essential to know how to use MS Office, it is a must that digital journalists know the basic Adobe Photoshop. Designed images, infographics, attract a lot of eyeballs. Facebook data analysis shows posts with images/pictures get more likes/comments/Click-throughs than simple text updates.</div>
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<b>5) Caffeine </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeGCya8Ajy3_0kh0W6UOyfRhMWUGQaYJR9W_nLDm0N0uO1v3yUH6iO2Hfmc0AVIDlovFHinz-lhvOzpcTmwymp3zIA79JRi1IotmMGe9OS_RfugPNeZASrbwGCbZFEvEznKSiB4JKYOcU/s1600/Laptop-coffee.jpg_resized_460_.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeGCya8Ajy3_0kh0W6UOyfRhMWUGQaYJR9W_nLDm0N0uO1v3yUH6iO2Hfmc0AVIDlovFHinz-lhvOzpcTmwymp3zIA79JRi1IotmMGe9OS_RfugPNeZASrbwGCbZFEvEznKSiB4JKYOcU/s1600/Laptop-coffee.jpg_resized_460_.jpeg" height="194" width="320" /></a></div>
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Before I started writing this post, I asked one of my colleagues and my deputy-editor about the five essential tools they use each and every day. However, as I inched closer to the No 5, I realised I am missing most vital tool, which journalists need from morning to night to next morning. Caffeine - In the form of Coffee, Tea, soft drinks. When I told this to my Deputy Editor, he got up from his seat and shook his hand with me. Now you realise how important caffeine.</div>
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Honestly, there are many tools, and the preference of tools here in India is a lot different to that in US or Europe. But there are some basic tools, which is universal in all the newsrooms. For digital journos, Google is the lifeline and it's products.</div>
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<b>P.S. I live on Google Analytics, Trends and Twitter. You guys should try to.</b></div>
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