#muchadoabouteveryrhing

[thatbonggirlblog-blog]

I speak fluent Bongyalam!

Born and brought up in a purebred Bengali family, life was pretty much as it was expected to be. Extremely educated and cultured parents with extremely high expectations from their kids in terms of examination scores as well as cultural activities. Fish is good for the brain and eyes, so we were told…Fish curry and rice flows through our veins. You just HAVE to have a thing for music…HAVE TO.. it’s not a choice, it is like the compulsory subjects in school… For other kids it goes maths, science, history, English, hindi etc… Bengali parents add MUSIC to it. You either know how to sing or you know how to play a musical instrument in addition to the immense knowledge in music that you MUST have. You have to perform at Durga Pujo pandals and all the family gatherings and YOU have to be the best (even if it is not a competition and you won’t get rewarded for it). Mind you ALL the parents come with the same mentality at such gatherings. It’s tough..it really is… You have a room full of strict fathers and strong-willed/pushy mothers finding mistakes in you performance. They know it all, they really do.

My father is a Government official which gave us as a family the opportunity to stay outside West Bengal. So far I have lived in Kolkata, Lucknow, Sikkim (for a bit), Mumbai and Pune. Staying in government campus accommodations, gave me an opportunity to interact with people from a vast variety of cultures and different walks of life. We practically celebrate every Indian festival and love the food that comes with each of them… Aaah food… obviously just like the kids in the family, Bengali food is also believed to be the best. We find it beneath our dignity to even get into the argument of which is the best biriyani in India…It is the Bengali one.. period. Nevertheless, as appreciators of culture, we love all food that comes from anywhere in the world and we are all food critics..

With all this Bongism flowing through my veins I eventually tied the knot with a Malayali man. Yeah…1st in my family performing this rebellious act. It all started on a nice September evening when me and my spouse, then boyfriend decided to break the news to our parents. Me in Mumbai and he was in Kerala. How did it go you ask? Well this was the part where I started discovering that we Bengalis are not all that unique after all :P. Both the fathers had exactly three questions for their rebellious kid:

1. What is his/her educational qualification? – Ans – She is an MBA Finance / He is an MBA HR

2. What is his/her family background? – Ans – Her mother is into training and consulting, was a teacher, father is a government employee and one younger sister who is studying / His mother is a housewife now, was working sometime back, father was a government employee – retired a few months back, sister is married and is a school teacher.

3. Is he/she a Hindu / Muslim / Christian? – Ans – She is a Hindu Bengali / He is a Hindu Malayali.

The Government Banker fathers took it in their hands and within four months, our parents got us married and happily gave us their blessings. And thus started my journey of finding my way through a new family..which is also now… My family.

See now that’s the thing… Malayalis are not all that different! What did we just talk about? Things that matter to them are the exact things that matter to us…namely: Fish curry-rice, education, music and most importantly communist nature! My husband is trained in Carnatic music, sister-in-law is a trained Bharatnatyam dancer. My sister is an amazing painter and I am a keyboard player along with decent singing and dancing skills. So you see art and culture are equally important in both bongs and mallus. My father-in-law is the Malayali incarnation of my own father. Strict, straightforward, had breath-taking anger management issues which have subsided with age (with occasional flares of-course), extremely disciplined and highly educated. My mother-in-law immediately becomes my mother’s equivalent because they are married to these men...STILL married. The only challenge I faced so far are basically the high ego both these cultures have for themselves. It becomes hard to deal with a group of people who also find it beneath their dignity to even get into the argument of which is the best biriyani in India…It is the Malabar one.. period ;). My husband and I appreciate the similarities in each other’s cultures but still believe we (individually as a bong / mallu) are the best. Apart from that it is basically just:

- Sweet water fish vs. sea fish – as long as it is fish, we all love it.

- Bengali classical music vs. Carnatic music – as long as it is music, we all love it.

- Durga Puja vs. Onam – as long as we are all dressed up to celebrate and having good food, we all love it.

- Poila Boishakh vs. Vishu – DUH! They are celebrated on the same date! So who cares!

- Football = love, don’t care who vs who.

- Uttam Kumar vs. Mohanlal – woah woah woah…let’s just not get into that for now..even that thought is off limits, let alone the discussion. Also its “Uttam Da” and “Lal Ettan” please forgive me :( !

So, moving forward that leaves us with … brace yourself… LANGUAGE!! Got to accept, Malayalam is the tougher language. My husband understood Bengali from our dating days itself while I joined a three months crash course in spoken Malayalam to make sure I understand what my in-laws are saying to each other! Especially if it’s about me! Anyway, God bless my teacher and bless my in-laws too. Although I understand Malayalam my in-laws always speak to me in Hindi or English. The benefit in Kerala as a state is the literacy rate…practically everybody knows English or at least understands it. So how it works with me on the Kochi streets is, I speak grammatically incorrect English so that the people understand me while the people are sweet enough to speak grammatically incorrect Malayalam so that I understand them…It’s hilarious but it works! Such has been my journey so far. There wasn’t much drama as you would usually expect in a cross-cultural marriage but I must say we are all individually…trust me… VERY dramatic! That’s all folks..until next time!

[thatbonggirlblog-blog]

Switzerland, the big Plus! - Part 1

Sleep deprived, shaking legs, sweaty palms and a racing heartbeat. This is how I was when I waited with baited breath in queue to get off the airplane and step into….breathe… Switzerland! As an Indian girl (..ok woman..whatever) who is a die-hard Bollywood movies fan and has permanent SRK frenzy, landing in Switzerland was a dream of the highest regard. There is a little YRF / Dharma productions drama-queen that lives within me who is based out of this country permanently. I was finally here…not as an actress but as an employee of a bank who had come over to work. But.. I was finally here :).

I had landed in Zurich on an early winter morning in the month of February. After I landed, I spent the first few hours like any other Indian outside of India. Anxious, confused and dealing with tremendous trust issues in terms of things like… luggage safety, cost of a new sim-card, connectivity / conveyance, etc. Yes, that is how we Indians are brought up. We are taught not to trust anybody or anything ever and be skeptical all the time because you WILL get cheated. It is not easy to get over so many years of training and practical experience (was almost about to reveal my age..naaaah!). Anyway, I was supposed to go straight to the office from the airport. Got changed into formal clothing at the airport, got sorted in terms of gathering maps from the helpdesk and a working mobile connection. Got mesmerized by the fact that there were underground trains to take you from one terminal to the other within the airport. Yeah yeah.. I am being a baby but let’s face it, It was my first time in Europe and experiencing all this personally is very different from just reading about developed countries. So far I had spent 2 hours in Zurich and apart from the train inside the airport, everything seemed pretty vanilla. I walk out of the airport to the arrivals area (freeeezing cold!!) and I see a limousine waiting to pick me up…Yes, a limousine… Nothing was vanilla anymore…Welcome to Zurich baby!

Ride to the workplace was fun as the well-dressed and handsome chauffer was being a bit of a tour guide. He showed me a few major spots which were a must visit during my stay there, asked me about India and told me how he was planning to holiday in India. I proudly gave him insights about my homeland while he gave me about his. As planned, I reached the office on time. I spent most of the day fighting hunger at odd timings and getting all my official accesses in place to be able to start working properly from the next day onwards. My colleagues showed me around the office, introduced me to the people around and helped me with information on how to get around the city. All this new information and all I was thinking was….how will I survive with only toilet paper and no water??? YES!! It is a major concern!! Another Indian habit..and this is one of those habits which I can vouch for and confidently say that it is definitely the better, cleaner and healthier option. Moving on, I left work early that day and checked into my service apartment which was just 10 minutes from the office. This was my home for the five weeks I spent there. Another system that took me by surprise was that there was no helpdesk or front desk at the service apartment. You have a numeric code to enter the building which is also the key to your room and that’s it. So basically you have to figure out your way around with the help of the welcome e-mail and a brochure in your room. Went up to my apartment, took a shower, informed my family that I was fine and then slept like a baby for 2 hours.

I started to figure out my apartment only after I woke up. Induction cooking, artificial heating system, garbage disposal, dishwasher…and of course.. the “toilet paper only” scenario. Went down to the basement and took a look at machines in the laundry area…didn’t understand shit. Met two Indians on my way back up..asked them for help. Turned out that they didn’t understand shit either. They had already been there for a week and they didn’t know how to use it…! They did not take any effort beyond a point to figure it out either. Classic and extreme example of the trust issues we have been brought up with.. don’t trust anyone or anything. Wash and dry your clothes manually if you have to in this cold weather… but don’t trust the unknown machine or the unknown people who could help you with the machine *facepalm*. Came back to my apartment, packed myself up with my jacket, cap, muffler, socks and boots. Got out in search of a departmental store to fill my little apartment with all that I needed. It was a dull and cold evening with barely any people around.. but in my little brain…It was my first evening in Switzerland!! I was a small party all by myself. I found myself clicking pictures of everything right from roads to tram to building to shops and of course…SNOW! Ohh how I loved all the snow..people around me didn’t look half as happy as me. I was running around trying to catch snowflakes…yeah..and smiling at what I caught..and clicking pictures of it. Actually, now that I am describing the scene..it does sound pretty foolish. Nevertheless, just when I thought nothing could kill my excitement, I came face-to-face with the prices for groceries and other household items I needed. OUCH! That hurt…Not that you all wouldn’t know but just to stress on it a little more…Switzerland is freakkin expensive!! After a tiring session of mental mathematics at the store where I kept on multiplying the display price with the exchange rate, I came up with a rule and swore by it for my stint there. The rule was as follows.. If you do not know the tables of the number (price) on display then I DEFINITELY cannot afford it..therefore don’t buy it. For Example: let’s say the price displayed on a pack of chicken sausages said 3 CHF (Swiss Francs). Keeping the CHF to INR rate at an average of 70 bucks, it will cost me 3*7 = 21 = 210 bucks. Cool! Go ahead and buy! Now..if the display said something like a 17 CHF for some other product…Ohh no no no…. Although my father and teachers kept on forcing and scolding me to memorize the tables up to 30.. I never did because I just couldn’t. Plus after a point it was just being adamant and I wouldn’t. Turns out it worked pretty well in terms of my budgeting for the trip. If you land up using the calculator of your phone, you just don’t buy it..PERIOD. After all this, I finally reached the billing counter. The billing counter is basically a self-checkout at most of the stores there. Again, something that I did for the first time..I checked myself out of a store! Like I proudly behaved like a cashier..beeping all the stuff I picked..putting it into a bag..paying and then moved out. Although I had spent like a month’s grocery budget in INR terms and got stuff that I could only use for a week, I walked out with a big smile J. I played cashier today! #CheapThrills

Reached the apartment and cooked myself a decent dinner. Now with a happy tummy I decided to give the laundry room a second try. With a lot of patience, perseverance and prayers I finally managed to operate the front load washing machine. Now the challenge was…How to use the dryer. Turns out there was another machine, more like a heater…where I need to put the clothes in after they are washed. This is mainly because the role of the sun in Switzerland is basically limited to being a light-bulb. It’s just a light..no heating capacity..at least in the winter. So your clothes need to be put through this other machine to dry them well. There were absolutely no instructions on that machine n looked like a mini fridge on the exterior. When you open it, it looked like a front load washing machine from the inside with shining metal on the walls. I then started racking my brains over the visual made on the 6 buttons which I interpreted as the following:

Full Sun, Half Sun (Sunrise / Sunset), Little wet, Extremely wet, woolens (really confident), Hanging shirt (umm..whatt?)

My little brain was running like crazy. The reference to the “Sun” I interpreted as more heating or light heating. Why would they make those droplets? It cannot possibly signify that I want my clothes wet..was it asking me if my clothes are really wet or slightly wet? If so…then my interpretation of Sun would be wrong! Like then the “sun” buttons are asking me if my clothes are already dry..?whaatt?? Moving on..really confident about the woolens sign that it will be used to dry woolens..but what’s with the shirt? Like should I use that option if I have only shirts? If so..where do the pants / dresses / lingerie go? Gosh…!! After all this algorithmic brain racking I just went ahead and pushed the “sunrise / sunset” sign. The timer said 66 minutes and started off… I was like…”ok.. If you are confident you can dry all that up with half the amount of sunlight then so be it!” Went back to my room…binge watched Netflix for an hour and came back to the laundry room. Tadaaa!! Squeaky clean, fresh, warm and dry clothes!! Mission accomplished…I had just crossed my first little hurdle on this foreign land. I gloated over my achievement while I prepared for the next day and went to sleep. My first day in Zurich had come to an end and the most memorable journey of my life had just begun.

To be contd…

[thatbonggirlblog-blog]

Tail Tales - part 2

Bitten off shoes…Bitten off cable wires…Torn curtains and foot mats…Sliced and torn newspapers and magazines… Yes, Snoopy was growing up. This little guy was a menace, especially for my parents. To me he was my playmate..my brother. He would follow me wherever I went, he knew my schedule, he was extremely possessive about me and he was also my protector. He could get angry on anybody in the family for whatever it is that pissed him off..but with me it was different. Whatever I did, it never pissed him off ! I remember when he was like 3 months old, one day I was busy playing with him by the porch of our house while Mom was cooking in the kitchen. I started calling out for my Mom..I was giggling and calling out for my Mom. Like any mother, my Mom came running at her child’s call..only to see me holding Snoopy by his little tail upside-down! That little fella was coolly hanging in there while I said “Look Maa, look how I have held Snoopy”. My mother had a minor heart-attack that day I believe. She stormed at me asking me to put him down. I let Snoopy go and he hopped right back onto my lap. Mom yelled me trying to explain how I should never do that again…and how his tail is not a rope by which I can hang him, it’s a part of his body. She went on about how I would feel if she held me by one foot of mine and hung me upside down. While I carefully listened to all of that, Snoopy kept on barking at my Mom because she was scolding me. Mom gave him a piece of her mind too! She resumed cooking and we resumed playing…That night Snoopy peed and pooped all over the kitchen floor. Aaahhh that smart-ass revengeful little Dog. Imagine a 3-4 month old pup knowing what will totally piss my Mom off!! And so it began..The “Man to Priced Possession” mapping. This guy was all set to take on the world with this tool of his and he was going to pee, poop and chew his way through anything and everything.

Mom = Kitchen

Dad = Electronic items / Music system / any kind of wires

Grandma = In house temple!

Grandpa = Newspapers and his favorite cane chair set

Me = Awaaahhh..nothing…nothing at all.. he loved me with all his heart and soul…Okay once he peed on my study table. However, I am pretty sure he did that because Grandpa used the table more than I did and he did scold Snoopy for something a day or two before this happened.

Anytime Snoopy got scolded, we would discover any of the above items being peed on, pooped on or chewed and destroyed. The funny thing was, he never forgot! Let’s say Mom locks up the kitchen because she knows he is going to do the dirty dancing in there. Snoopy would wait for days to be able to get his revenge. One fine day you just enter the kitchen and slip on his pee – revenge done. If you scold him for that…then you get another one soon. All this was hilarious to me..but in hindsight, I now see what my family went through with this little fur-ball that I inflicted on our family. Snoopy was extremely intelligent, lightning fast and had absolutely no estimation about his body size and capacities. We moved to Lucknow when Snoopy was approximately a year old. The Lucknow phase of my life would always be the best. Mom taught in the same school that I studied, Dad’s office was inside the campus where we stayed, Grandma and Grandpa were around most of the time except a few trips to Kolkata and I always had Snoopy by my side. Our house in Lucknow was a beautiful bunglow and how bunglows work is that there are more than one or two entrances to the house. We had a main door with the door-bell. Other side there were french windows to our private little garden. The garden had a small gate to the campus lawn outside. We also had another door to the backyard and the garage. The number of times that Snoopy has fled through these multiple gates is just beyond the numbers known to the human race. Anybody sitting inside the house, hears a gate / door open and close…the first thing one needs to do is start looking for Snoopy because he has definitely escaped. Our campus had guards and guard-booths at multiple turns and points. We would receive running commentary and updates from all the guards as to where they saw Snoopy last while we would be running around to find him. We had this chase at least twice a month and we stayed in Lucknow for 8years…do the math…No, it did not reduce as he aged. It was his favorite game and Grandpa was his biggest target. My dear and cute Grandpa would slowly open the door..stick himself to the door while going out..and then slowly close it. Thinking he managed to make an exit without Snoopy escaping. He would turn around and see Snoopy sitting near his feet..outside the door. That fellow would actually sit back and wait for my Grandpa to be done with his process and show him that despite all the efforts, he had escaped. The moment Grandpa saw him and yelled his name…the chase began… God knows how he pulled this off every single time!

The only training that we were ever able to give him was that if he sees his leash in our hand, he would stop running and sit down where he is. The problem with the training is that…he has to bloody SEE the leash! Cunning fellow would hear us calling for him while running behind him with the leash…and not turn back!! Just so he doesn’t have to see the leash. Another issue with that training was, if he saw JUST us…without the leash…even then he wouldn’t stop. It then actually becomes a game of “Catch me if you can”. It was only once that he ever came back home on his own. It was the month of April/May and Lucknow weather had gone up to a scorching 45-48 degrees. It was dry and hot winds blowing everywhere. We didn’t even know that Snoopy had already left home post lunch through some tiny opening. Sometime around three or four in the evening, we heard a scratching sound on our main door. Not knowing what it could be, Mom slowly opened the door. In came a totally dehydrated and panting Snoopy who just dragged himself to his bowl of water…drank all of it and just fell asleep there itself. First, we were shocked…then we were relieved and then of course we were worried if he fell ill. Naughty boy was then patted with some water in his head and given the seat right in front of our humungous desert cooler. As far as I remember, he did not escape during the summer afternoons ever again…evenings of course, were still escapable. Good thing about having him around was we never ever faced a problem with rats or mice or cats. Super Snoopy always to the rescue.

Year 1996, my younger sister came into our lives. She is 8 years younger to me and she was a pre-mature baby delivered at 7.5 months. Understandably, everyone was extremely skeptical about a pre-term new baby in the house. Everybody except Mom and me were too scared to even lift her because she looked so small, weak and fragile. Another person who was all jumpy to take care of her was….yes, Snoopy! Dogs have this sense where they know when there is a new member on the way. They also automatically treat the new member as a part of their pack. Snoopy’s pack had all of us in it and he was extremely excited to have my sister join in. He would jump onto the beds and sofas where my baby sister has been kept, sit close to her and guard her with his life. I understood that and always spoke to him like a little brother saying things like, “she is not to be confused with a chew toy..she is OUR baby sister and we are sitting here to take care of her”. Snoopy heard it… I knew he did..and he understood that well. The problem were all the adults in the house. Except me, everybody else would shoo him off the moment the saw him coming near the baby. I would get yelled at for letting Snoopy stay nearby while I have the baby on my lap. Understandably, everybody was skeptical that the baby might contract any infections or fall ill given her low pre-mature immunity. Snoopy was kept on the leash for more number of hours than usual. His general freedom was compromised plus “cuddle-time” with Mom and me had drastically come down as well. Snoopy construed all of this as my little sister taking over his place. He decided that the little baby who was supposed to be a part of his pack had turned out to be the traitor and turned everyone against him. So it began..as years passed, Snoopy began to dislike my sister’s existence!! That is the time it all came back to me…Why Toffy back in Jabalpur hated me so much. Toffy was my Mom’s pet. And when Mom got married, he became my maternal Grandma’s pet. Since the day Mom had me, Toffy’s “cuddle-time” had reduced. I was the villain in her life. She never forgot me…in fact she always remembered me..that is what made her so angry!

By the time I made this major discovery, Toffy had passed away back in Jabalpur. Dad was ordered a transfer from Lucknow to Bombay. Ohh the mighty had fallen…We were supposed to move from our lavish duplex bunglow to a 3BHK flat with no balcony (huge by Bombay standards but rat-hole compared to Nawaabon ka sheher). Given the movement, we were concerned about how Snoopy would not be able to cope up with the change. He was used to open spaces and gardens which won’t be available in Bombay. Given that Toffy had passed away in Jabalpur, there was a need for a watchdog there as well. It was then decided that Snoopy would be sent to Jabalpur while we move to Bombay. This added further hatred towards my sister in Snoopy’s mind. Just when things had started to get better and my sister was big enough to be able to be around Snoopy, he was separated from us. It was bad…I was extremely sad and I am sure he was too. I used to hear from my maternal Grandma how he waited for days at the main-door thinking we would come back to get him. Days passed and he realized that we would only come by during vacations. Snoopy had latched on to my Grandma in Jabalpur, she was the new mommy for him. There were brand new stories he was creating in Jabalpur. One such story was where he went on chasing a cat for hours. He was so busy chasing that he didn’t see where he was going and fell into the septic tank. The idiot kept barking at the cat from in there instead of giving out a cry for help…he didn’t even care that he is bloody sitting in a pile of shit!! I can’t even begin to explain how we cleaned him…Yuck!! He just wanted that cat dead…and one day he did kill it (I am not happy about it but just look at the perseverance!). My sister got bitten once or twice while trying to pet him on those vacations (silly girl would go behind him under the Sofa..Duhh! I still don’t blame Snoopy). Check out my sister’s petrified look when asked to pose with Snoopy…Its hilarious!

3 years after Snoopy was moved to Jabalpur, he left us. That was a very very bad phase. More so because my Grandpa had also left us the same year. Snoopy died a very peaceful death. It is said that Dogs have a very painful death but this fellow defeated pain too. He loved having sweets..he had one last Rasgulla, probably suffered a massive cardiac arrest and just slipped away. After he was gone he is still remembered for all his menace, intelligence, courage and the love he had for each one of us. The amount of trouble that dog gave us was nothing compared to the loss that we were feeling once he left us. This is how it is…they give you a lifetime worth memories and they never leave your side until their dying day. Years passed and just like my parents, I promised myself that NO MORE DOGS… It is just too hard to watch them die and you curse yourself to have brought them into your life in the first place. Since the time we moved out of Lucknow, it had been 6-7 years that we were living without a dog at home. My sister had also grown up on all the family dog stories just like me. Also, bitten by Snoopy 2-3 times (I still don’t blame Snoopy..lol!). Time had come that she started fussing about having a pet dog like all of us had at one point. It was a complete no-no from my parents as well as Grandma. I however, being the 8 years elder sister (almost a third parent) felt what she said. The only pet she ever knew, hated her..she needed her own pet. Dad was posted in Sikkim for a while so it was comparatively easier to disobey him (sorry Baba). Mom was convinced with a bit of emotional blackmail, cute puppy videos and promises of us taking full care of the dog. Grandma, was a tough nut. But we knew she is all soft and mushy for pets inside…so we decided to surprise her!!

Mom and I went to the pet shop one February weekend. We did not tell my sister as we wanted to surprise her. Once again we were almost about to give our heart away to a Pomeranian puppy when all those memories of chasing Snoopy came screaming back to us. We wanted a more calm and trainable breed. We also needed no Labradors or Alsatians given the size of Mumbai flats. In came this super lazy, super black, super furry cocker-spaniel. This guy didn’t even make a bloody sales pitch to impress us! There was a Dachshund along with him who was so excited to see us (for no reason at all) that we almost picked it. Somehow my beloved mother had the idea of scratching the cocker-spaniel’s ear (dogs love that). There was an immediate glow on this one’s face. Mom stopped scratching and he immediately raised his paw to pull her arm back to scratch him. He then cuddled into her lap. That’s it..SOLD!! This guy is basically a rag-doll…just needs the food and cuddles. We took him into the cab and on the way home, Mom came up with this amazing analogy of how he was for my sister to play with…She named him… “LUDO”. We reached home, my sister was playing in the park…she saw me with a black pup in my hand. Ran to me, took Ludo from me and gave such a loud shriek that all of Ludo’s laziness was gone. Memories of holding Snoopy for the first time flashed in front of my teary eyes as Ludo vigorously wagged his little tail and licked my sisters face all over…This was my sister’s pet..Ludo. Thus began the adventures of Ludo in our family…

…To be Continued…