O Nissar, Where Are You?

Has it ever happened to you?

Have you ever faced a situation where you were forced by circumstances to do something which was detestable to say the least? And you had to keep on doing the same, inspite of your protestations, inspite of your severe dislike for the task. And you had to do it week after week, month after month, year after year. And yet, strangely enough, as time passed the task became more bearable, and inspite of yourself, you find yourself actually liking the job! Though, you would rather give an arm and a leg, than admit as much!

Well.....it has happened to me.

It happened to me at the tender age of 5 or maybe it was 6. My father decided that I was old enough to accompany him to the local market, for the weekly purchase of vegetables and fish (Bengali family, right?).  This ritual would happen every Sunday, which according to him would help me learn an important element of household work, and also build my character!

 Now, for kids growing up in the pre-cable TV era, Sunday morning was the most looked forward to time in the entire week, for TV viewing. And my favourite was “The Famous Five” which used to start at 9 a.m. and of course, as fate would have it, I used to miss the serial every time. Boy, did I hate my dad for ‘conspiring’ to make me miss my favourite serial. And no amount of tantrums, pleading, cajoling would move my father, or convince him to my point of view- that it was more important that I watch “The Famous Five” than go to the market!

And for anyone who has not had the misfortune to visit any fish market in Calcutta, to parody the iphone ad.... if you haven’t seen a Calcutta fish market, well....you haven’t seen a fish market!

No one has ever accused our markets to be clean, dry hygienic places and add to that a dash of monsoon, and you have a health hazard! Now, I have nothing against the rain or rainy season, but, call me un-romantic if you will, but getting wet wet wet with 2 heavy bags in two hands and an umbrella wedged between your neck and shoulder in a place where “mud is all around”....well, it’s not my recipe for a perfect start to Sunday morning!

Then there was the daily haggling over the price, for everything ranging from fish to figs!! A typical session would go like this:

Dad: How much for the rohu?

Fish-Seller: Babu, Rs.35 per kilo

Dad:  Thats extortion, max I will pay is Rs.30...

Fish-Seller: Babu that does not even cover my cost... Just for you, i will sell at no profit...Rs.33 only!

Dad: Rs.32 and not a paise more

And so on and so forth.....till a mid point was reached and the sale closed....

And of course, the sights and sounds and overbearing smells of a local market may put most people off food for weeks. But, after years of exposure, one kinda gets used to it, and it would not be too much to say, it even grows onto you.

And if you are in a place teeming with people, you get to meet with people (by that I mean the vendors) who, on the face of it, are quite run-of-the-mill, but prod a little, and their character leaves an indelible mark on you.

Take, Mr. A. He sells onions, potatoes, ginger and garlic. He used to work in a mill, which closed down. This forced him to become a vegetable vendor. It was a herculean struggle for him, to make the mental & physical adjustment to adapt in a totally different work environment. But, he persevered. Month after month. Year after year. I cannot imagine the quantum of mental toughness Mr. A would have needed to wake up every morning and go to the market to open the shop.. But, all through this struggle, he remained focussed in giving a proper education to his son, who presently is an ASM in a MNC pharma company. Every year he visits his son in Indore, and I am happy to say, he travels by air nowadays. He still sits in the shop, and my guess is, enjoys it too!

Or the elderly Mr. B. He migrated to Calcutta from Bangladesh in the early seventies, penniless and homeless. He settled down with his family of 6 in one of the slums for migrants. He bought the shop in the late seventies, with whatever savings he could manage. Every day, he would start from his home at 3:30 a.m. to go to the wholesale market and from there to his shop. If I recall correctly, he has 5 sons. While the father probably never had formal schooling in his life, 2 of his sons are engineers with good jobs. His sons built a 3 storied house, in which the entire family stays today. I learnt a thing or 2 about quality consciousness from Mr. B. Many a Sunday, he would not set shop, for the simple reason, that he did not get the best quality fish from the wholesale market. No wonder, he would always run out of all his stock within couple of hours of setting shop...Mr. B sold off his shop couple of years back, as he was too old to carry on....

But, my favourite was Md. Nissar, or Nissar Kaku (uncle), as I would call him.  Like thousands other, he had migrated from some small town in Bihar to Calcutta, in search of a living. He did not have his own shop in the market, and was one of the many illegal vendors setting up shop on the footpath outside the market, selling fruits. Of course, he was a favourite with the shoppers, because of his cheerful demeanour and for the fact that he never compromised on quality. And I was his favourite. If it was diwali round the corner, he would actually buy fireworks and crackers for me...If for some reason, I went to the market alone, and was struggling with the load of the bags, he would help carry them across the road, and help me get onto the bus.

He had 2 sons, and not wanting a life similar to his, he put them in a reputed convent school, which was beyond his means. But, the tragedy of it all was, his sons were not interested in studies. They would bunk classes and spend all their time playing. This would make Nissar very upset, and he would express his helplessness at not being able make his sons understand the importance of education. I wish I could say that Nissar’s struggle had a happy result. I wish I could say that Nissar’s economic and social condition improved. I cannot. I don’t remember the year, when the police temporarily intensified their action against illegal roadside vendors. And, just like that, one fine day, Nissar stopped coming to the market. Maybe, he did not pay the local policeman enough bribe to allow him to stay put. Maybe, he found a better location in another market. Maybe, he just decided to call it quits, and went back to his native town. I never found out...

But, then again, is that not true for life in general also. You meet people, for 2 weeks or 2 months or maybe 2 decades, you grow close to them, enjoy their company and feel this would continue forever. But, with time they move their own different way, as destiny deems right. But, they leave their mark, which time cannot rub away completely.....

Now, has that never happened to you?



photo source: http://indiatoday.intoday.in/

Déjà Vu

Oh, don’t worry I am sure I am going to fail.....the exams are 2 days away....and I don’t remember ANYTHING! ....thank god, I won’t need to show my face to those people again....

Alter Ego??? No no I have not read that topic yet....now the conversation turned technical...oh well yes I have checked the definition of leadership......rest all...I guess they are co-workers....oh god....you have studied so much....I am sure I wont remember anything.....at least you used to take notes in class....I have not done anything.......you have memorised definitions of all 16 types!!! I cannot even remember the names of the types of behaviours!!!

Journal? What journal? Oh god...i have not written the journal down too....god only knows what’s gonna happen.....

And thus continued the conversation......

Just another teenager on the phone talking to his/her friend on the phone on the night before the exam? Probably such conversations take place across the world every time an exam is round the corner .

But, what made this conversation unique was the fact that it was between two ladies in their fifties and sixties!!!

Ok...I hate to admit it...but one half of the conversation was contributed by none other than Know-all’s Mom!

Taking into consideration the fact that my mom will never see sixty in this life again, you can imagine my amusement! It was as if the years of agony over school and college exams were floating in front of my eyes!

Déjà vu indeed.

To enlighten the readers, Know-All's mom, after her retirement had started taking some courses in training. This was the day before her exam in her institute.

The fact that, I had very reliable sources telling me that she was one of the best students in her class, and the fact that her teachers thought very highly of her analytical and presentation skills, did not matter....

After all, it was exam time!

So, is it really such a terror? Why is it that the very thought of any form of evaluation or examination strikes terror in the heart of most people...whether six or sixty-two!

I still remember the effect my tenth standard exams had on my family. As any Indian will confirm, for every literate and educated (I consider the two words to convey different meanings) Indian, the tenth standard exams are the first big ticket examination of her or his life. Partly because, it’s the first exam, in which the question papers are set by people who are not your school’s teachers, whom you know personally. Moreover, the people in charge of the education board in their sadistic wisdom decided to make it even more terrifying by having external centres for the exams. This meant, all students had to travel to another school for the first time in their life. At least, for my friends it was the first time.

And to add the proverbial twist in the tale, we had the cricket world cup bang in the middle of my tenth exams. And to add insult to injury, India kept on doing well in the tournament, and they set up the mother of all battles against Pakistan in Bangalore for a place in the semi finals. Of course, we had the science exam they day after. And of course, all our discussions were on formulating strategies to be able to watch the day-night match. The exams were the last of our worries!

I still remember, Mrs. Kutty, our English teacher, telling us, “Don’t worry, and watch the match. You will do well in your exams.”

I could not resist replying, “I agree madam. After all, even if we fail in the science exam, we will get another chance to take test, but there will be no second chance to watch the match”. This was in an era when Tata Sky and TV recordings were still 15 years away...

Of course, Jadeja took Waqar to the cleaners by hitting 40 runs in 22 balls, and India had a great win. For the record, I did pass my exam the next day and did not do too badly.

Then there were the side-acts which made this blog possible. I remember reaching the examination centre and finding my friends huddled together and going through last minute notes. However, one of my friends, Hrushikesh seemed unusually quiet and glum. On some probing, out came the truth. He had got the schedule mixed up, and come to take the science exam, prepared for the mathematics exam!  Of course, he came out with flying colours in the exam in spite of the mix-up.

The twelfth standard exams were much more serious for me. I was specifically petrified of physics and could not stop fretting before the practical exams. Finally, my friend, Sudip snapped,”Will you please stop this nonsense. Now, you are freaking ME out!”

Getting that from the best student in physics was no mean achievement!

Of course, i did not stop my antics there. During the viva the teacher asked, “Is LED a diode? “

“Huh?? LED? Ummmm..let me see...I guess....”

The teacher snapped, “What’s the full form of LED?”                              

“I know that. It’s...ummm....light emitting diode”

“So, is it a diode?”

“Yes yes...it’s a diode”

Looking back, I laugh at my antics...but believe me, in the hall, I was sweating...and not just because of the humidity.

Let’s fast forward to the present generation. Take the example of my next door neighbours. Their son is in the 9^th standard. Often I meet the son at the apartment gate on my way to office while he waits for his car pool alone.

But, couple of days back I find that both his parents are waiting with him at the gate to see him off. Why? Because his exams had started...

Getting back to my mom’s exam. The day of the exam came and I was of course having the critical task of driving her down to the centre, and ensure that she reached ON TIME. And I know better than to mess up my mom’s schedule!

All through the drive, she kept glued to her notes, and kept flipping the pages, and kept repeating periodically...”I cannot remember anything. I will surely fail.” I could not help but thinking that she was behaving just like any other college going student before an exam. But, another part was admiring the fact that she was facing an exam after probably more than 4 decades!

But, that brings me to the question which is today a BIG debating point. Do these high pressure exams make sense? Do they really prepare today’s kids for tomorrow’s battles? Or is it that the fatigue of exams takes a severe psychological toll, from which many can never recover?

I don’t really have answers. But, let me give some food for thought.

Every professional will agree that that every time you enter a review meet with your boss; it is nothing short of an exam. And in this exam, the answers are not always very easy to find or provide. And in many cases, the right answers may not be provided!

Or, as any one working in a bank will agree, every time there is an audit, it’s nothing short of an exam paper on integral calculus, mistakenly given to a student of Arts!

So, it’s a scenario which is far more challenging and pressure cooker like, than any school-leaving or college exam. And similar situations may occur in your personal life too, with your wife, your kids and your parents.

Maybe the years of examinations day in and day out are meant to prepare us better, to face the daily examination called LIFE.

The Night Time Ride in a Yellow Cab

This blog is for all those brave hearts who have experienced hailing and if lucky travelling in a cab on the streets of Calcutta.

For someone who frequently travels by cabs, I always have a feeling similar to the one I used to have in school when awaiting my results of Hindi (the only subject in which I have the distinction of failing once, in my life). Or, as Forrest Gump would have said if he ever had the misfortune to travel by a cab in Calcutta, it’s like a box of chocolates…you never know what you are gonna get!

And as majority of Calcuttans would agree, more often than not, the box turns out to be empty.

You see, in Calcutta, the tables are well and truly turned the other way.

Let’s visualize an interaction to initiate a cab ride in a Utopian world.

Person wants to travel to a certain place. He hails an empty cab. Cab stops.  Person hops on. States destination. Cab starts rolling down the road….happy ending!!!

Now let’s shift gears to Calcutta…

Scenario 1:

Lady hails Cab. Cab slows down but does not really stop. Cab driver looks askance at the lady with eyebrows raised one-eighth of an inch, which would make Jeeves the butler so proud!!

Lady (with a pleading look on her face): Jaaben? (Will you take a fare?)

Cabbie: Kahaan Jaana hain? (Where do you want to go?)

Lady: I want to go to Esplanade.

Cabbie: No, I don’t want to go north. I am travelling down south.

And with that, the cab picks up speed leaves the lady in distress in a haze of black smoke.

Scenario 2:

Know-All hails cab. Cab stops.

Cab Driver: Where do you want to go?

Know-All: South City Mall

Driver: No, there will be a huge traffic jam near the mall. I don’t want to go there.

Know-All: Ok, where do you want to go?

Driver: I am going towards Esplanade. If you want to go any place on that way, get in.

Know-all: Ok, drop me at the PAS Road crossing

Moral of the story: Life is full of small compromises! J

This is something which every Calcuttan has come to accept and live with. Of course, it’s very difficult if not down right impossible, to keep the Calcuttan down for long. So, you have the occasional memorable interactions, which ends up as a anecdote to add spice to many an evening adda.

Take for instance, my friend Yummraj who has this rebellious spirit which refuses to be cowered by the burly cab drivers and their tank like cabs. He simply refuses to state his destination before boarding the cab.  Of course, as a result, he usually has to hail not less than half a dozen cabs before he gets a cab driver who takes mercy and agrees to take fare without asking for the destination.

And then there was the rare occasion, when the cabbie was taken off-guard.

Yummraj to Cabbie: Wanna go?

Cabbie: Kidher Jaana hai?

Yummraj: Chand pe jaane ka soch raha tha! Aap chaloge? (I was thinking of going to the moon! Will you go?)

The cabbie had certainly not expected such a reply and broke into laughter: Chand pe?? Thik hai…chaliye…le chalte hain (The moon?? Sure thing. Hop on. I am game. )

Or take the case of my friend Mr. Sen, who in his day-time job goes around as a professor of history. But, come sun down, he puts on his mask and goes around bashing and beating irreverent cab drivers to pulp.

Ok, the last part was an exaggeration. But, believe it or not, he once boarded a cab, and stated his destination. The cab driver, not knowing whom he was dealing with, actually refused!

Mr. Sen, instead of getting out of the cab, quietly took out a book from his bag and started reading. The cab driver tried everything from pleading, cajoling to threatening, but to no avail. Mr. Sen kept on reading.

After some fifteen long minutes, the driver understanding the futility of his attempts pleaded, “Dada, ektu beshi kichu diye deben. Ami apnake nie jachchi.”(Sir, please pay me some extra tip, I will take you to your destination). And so, the cab driver lived to tell his tale to his grand children!

On another occasion, I have personally seen Mr. Sen get out and walk away in the middle of a busy road from a cab in fury, because the driver wanted to take a longer route to the destination. Nothing unusual there. But, Mr. Sen did not even bother to pay the fare, even though half the distance to the destination had already been covered. Even that’s not surprising, for people who know Mr. Sen and his fury. The surprising part to me was that the cab driver did not even attempt to ask for the fare.

Of course, it’s been 10 years since I experienced the event, and I make sure to tease Mr. Sen about the incident at every get together. Of course it helps, that god has been generous in providing nearly 4 stones of additional weight to Mr. Sen than what god gave Know-All! J

I learnt my lesson that day….size always matters! J

So, you will appreciate my concern when I left one of our showrooms near Jodhpur Park (an up market locality in South Calcutta) last Tuesday at around 11:00 p.m. I had to travel to my residence in one of the suburban areas of South Calcutta, a place made famous by a certain cricketer named Sourav Ganguly, who happens to reside there.

Now, it is a locality notorious for its traffic snarls and normally getting a cab in daytime to the place is nothing short of a miracle!

So, with some nervousness, I hailed a cab. And he did not disappoint. He refused point blank. After couple more refusals, I decided to cross the road and started walking towards the major junction of Jadavpur Thana, hoping to get better results.

As I was crossing the road, I noticed a cab standing by. I approached it, half expecting another refusal. The driver was an old man, in his sixties.

Muttering my prayers, I asked: “Chalenge?” (Will you go?)

The Driver, to my surprise actually smiled and said: “Sahab, chalne ki liye to baithe hain. Zaroor chalenge. Baithiye. (I am here to take people around. Of course, I will go! Please get in.)”

With mouth gaping in surprise, I opened the door and hopped on. And when I stated my destination, there was no sign of any displeasure, nor did he ask for any extra tip, a common practice, if you are travelling late at night.

I could not keep myself from blurting out: “It’s really such a nice surprise to find someone who agreed to take a fare without asking for the destination.”

The driver replied, “ Saheb, I ply the cab only at night time. How can I afford to refuse anyone?”

Know-All: You mean, you work all night long?

Driver: Yes Babu. I start my day, or night, at around 8 in the evening. I keep driving till about 5 or 6 in the morning. The owner of the car rents it to another driver for the morning period.

Know-All: Don’t you get tired? Working at night? And is it really financially worth the effort?

Driver: Well, it is tough, and I am not getting any younger. I am already 61. But, then again, I have a large family to feed. I have five sons and one daughter.  I have managed to marry off only one of my sons, and the daughter.  Financially, some days are good and I manage to earn even four hundred rupees (around 8 dollars). But, on other days, I am not even able to earn enough to pay the car’s rent. 3 of my sons have started earning. So, they discourage me from driving the cab. But, then again, I drive 3-4 days in a week. And, I believe one should keep working as long as the body permits. Keeps the mind alert.

By this time, we had reached my residence and it was time to get off. The fare was an exact 100 rupees. Even though he did not ask for it, I paid a tip of twenty bucks. He thanked me graciously.

As I went inside to the warmth of my home, the Taxi Driver drove off in search of another fare.

Story of An Ordinary Indian Doctor- Dr. Nasser

Being a salesman has its rewards. The one which I treasure the most is perhaps the opportunity it provides to meet with people from varied walks of life during my visits to the various retail showrooms in Calcutta. Everyday, I keep meeting artists who want a smart looking phone, professors from USA holidaying in India, doctors in search of a high speed internet connection, army men enquiring if they can use the phone in Kashmir, rickshaw pullers wanting a low tariff recharge, foreigners asking for directions to the Victoria memorial, bus drivers wondering why their phone is not ringing, employees of foreign embassies requesting for service engineers who can speak proper English...the list goes on...and on...

I met Dr. Nasser, during one such visit to one of our showrooms. He wanted an internet connection for his laptop. We chatted while the transaction was being completed. I came to know that he worked in a well known city hospital. The conversation ended there.

Next time we met was few months later. It was in the same showroom where we had met the first time. He had come to pay his monthly phone bill.

We started chatting about the weather, literally, and before we knew it, he was telling me about his life...

Nasser is the youngest of 2 brothers and 2 sisters. A Kashmiri Muslim by birth, he grew up in the beautiful city of Srinagar. His father was a civil servant in the state government and mother a housewife. His elder brother is a Chartered Accountant. When he wanted to pursue medicine as a profession, his father was against the idea. He wanted his son to become a civil servant. But, sons seldom listen to their fathers, and Nasser completed his MBBS from Government Medical College, Srinagar. He followed this up with a master’s degree in Lucknow, before landing up in Calcutta to pursue his super-specialty course from a well known hospital.

Probably, there is not much to write about Nasser, which is unique enough. But, then again, I found his thoughts reflecting that of many young people including yours truly.

He still wonders whether he took the right decision to stay back in India. One would say, it’s the right decision to stay put give back to your country. But, consider this. Of the 8 friends in his batch who completed their MBBS, 6 went abroad and decided to settle down in the US. This made Nasser wonder if he was doing something stupid, considering majority of his peers were following a different path.

“I know, I will be earning a lot less than what I could have, if I had shifted to the US. But, then again, some of my teachers who inspired me have done just that. They are not just good, but great doctors and are world renowned. But, they have resisted the temptation, and decided to give back to society despite the various challenges”, says Nasser.

“I know, I may be a small fry in the larger scheme of things, but I am confident I can definitely make a difference, howsoever miniscule. Which is why, after completion of my studies, I want to go back to Kashmir, and practice there. I feel, I can make a bigger difference there considering the lack of facilities in the state.”

I asked in return, “Don’t you think that the environment abroad is more conducive to pursue your practice? Will it not provide a much better learning environment? Which in turn, will help you become a much better doctor?”

Nasser replied,” You see, the foreign hospitals definitely have far better facilities and they do provide much better work environment. But, the Indian system teaches you to become street smart, in a way which no first world country can. There is a very good reason for this.  Let’s assume you have high fever with certain x, y and z symptoms. In an US hospital, usually the doctor will have a set of tests conducted which will give very accurate results, and assist in good diagnosis and subsequent treatment. This is the way they are trained. But, in India, our teachers have taught us to approach it in a different way. For the same patient described before, our teachers would ask us, out of these 5 tests, which do you think is the most appropriate for a patient with x, y and z symptoms? ”

According to Nasser, there is a very good reason for this approach. In the west, most of the developed nations are welfare states. Hence, medical expenses are in majority of cases taken care of, by the state. So, conducting plethora of tests to get to the root of the problem is not a cause for concern, for the patient. But, in India, in most cases, the patient’s family would need to shell out the money for all the tests. In most cases, that would be a big burden on the pocket. So, the doctor has to go for the most effective and least expensive path. For an Indian doctor, learning to be street smart, is not just smart, but a matter of life or death.

This logic of Nasser was further corroborated by another friend of mine; Dr. Sajid. Sajid is a surgeon, who has many patients from the lower strata of the society. He told me the story of Iqbal.

Iqbal is a rickshaw-puller in his mid-forties. He has a wife and 2 kids at home. He visited Dr.Sajid with severe lower back pain. For a proper diagnosis and accurate treatment, an MRI was essential. But, an MRI would cost few thousand rupees. And Sajid’s experience told him, that a surgery was required, to treat the problem. That would cost more money and a period of complete bed rest. But, Iqbal is a daily wage earner and if he stays away from work, his family starves. So, what does the doctor do in such a situation, where the best option is not practical for the patient?

Dr. Sajid advised Iqbal to ride his rickshaw maintaining a certain posture which would minimise the damage. He also advised Iqbal to regularly exercise to strengthen the area.

Was it the best possible treatment? Definitely not. But, for doctors like Nasser and Sajid, it’s all about providing the “best fit” treatment.

And it’s because of doctors like Nasser and Sajid, the Indian medical system manages to carry the burden of over 1 billion people.


Note: Names have been changed to protect privacy

Pujo Kemon Katlo?

One of the Idols of Durga

That’s a question, which is on the lips of all Bengalis meeting any other Bengali speaking person on the face of mother earth, for at least couple of weeks after Bijoya Dashami, the last day of the 5 day long Durga Pujo festival. This after the first statement- Shubho Bijoya, a greeting to any person one meets after the Vijay Dashami.



Durga Pujo, is something which has been written about, photographed, debated about, by innumerable people across the globe. But, none of these can really prepare you for the sheer scale of razzmatazz which plays out in the city of Calcutta during this period. You really have to experience it in person to understand what I am talking about. If you have not done it yet, please book your tickets for next year’s pujo NOW!

Sea of People out on the Streets

But, I don’t want to discuss the glitz and lights of the pujos or even the sea of human beings descending upon the streets of Calcutta, all sporting million dollar smiles and new clothes, in that order. I don’t want to discuss the copious amount of food any average Calcuttan consumes during these four days, nor the fact that one hardly stays at home during this period, or the fact that hundreds of thousands of people roam around the city all night long, without any security concerns whatsoever.

Like any big event, the anticipation of the approach of Durga pujo is much more exciting than the four days of the event itself, which is gone before you can say Ouagadougou! People in Calcutta spend way beyond their capabilities on new clothes and gifts for relatives. Calcuttans staying outside, count the number of days to D-Day (nowadays the countdown is done on the walls of Facebook!), when they descend from all across the globe, to the city of their origin.

But, it’s the AFTER pujo period, which hits you with the intensity of a nuclear aircraft carrier! The day after Vijay Dashami, the streets wear a deserted look, which a stranger to the city might consider to be the result of a curfew. People reporting to work, do so with a hangover of four days of revelry and a heavy heart. And the only topic of discussion- you guessed it right- Pujo Kemon Katlo?

Pujo Kemon Katlo?

Which roughly implies- How did you spend the time during pujo?

I asked this question to many people/friends last week and found varied answers, from people of different strata of society. I am sharing the responses of 5 of my friends.

Pujo Kemon Katlo?

Answer from middle aged Security Guard at my GYM-

Arre Dada, aamader aar pujo te ki aache?

What’s there for us during the pujo? I had to spend the entire pujo at the gym building itself. Since the gym was closed during 4 days of pujo, I could spend the time watching the coverage of various pujos on TV, inside the gym. Of course, my kids want to go out, but then again, what can I do? My job is such that I cannot afford to join the revelries...

Answer from Vegetable vendor at the local market:

I return home from the wholesale market at 1:30 a.m. in the morning after buying all the stuff for the next day’s market. And then, I am back in the market at 6 a.m. Tell me dada, after such a hectic day, where does one get the energy to go pandal hopping? But, still I had to take my kids out, or else they would be having long faces.

Answer from young Fish vendor at the same market:

Oh Pujo! I had a great time! You know why???

·         Firstly, because it did not rain at all during the pujos. So, I could really enjoy myself.

·         Secondly, because I had managed to get myself a volunteer’s pass, which allowed me along with 3 of my friends to enter some of the famous pandals, without having to stand in the long queues.

It was hectic. After all, I had to be in the market from early morning till late afternoon, but then again, this is durga pujo. Its once a year, so I don’t mind the extra workload. The fun I had made me forget all my tiredness...

Answer from a Rickshaw-wallah in my para/locality:

Babu, I did not have a good time this pujo?  You ask why?? How can we have a good time, if we can’t make some extra income!! This year the police did not allow us to ply after 4 p.m. during 4 days of pujo. They had made the rule for both auto-rickshaws and rickshaws, but the auto-rickshaw drivers put on a road block and were allowed to ply. No such luck for us. Tell me dada, if you cannot go near the pandals, how can you get passengers??

Na Dada, this year pujo was not good for me...

But, the best response was of course from Biplab, the Head Steward at a famous Calcutta restaurant, known for its wonderful Biryani and other mughlai cuisine. I must add that Biplab is an extremely cheerful, energetic person, who can make your experience even better. Being a frequent customer, we share quite a friendly relation. This was his answer:

Pujo??? That’s for guys like you to celebrate...For me it’s the same routine questions to be asked-Sir, what would you like to order? Biryani? How many plates, sir? Special or regular?

Yesterday, we had customers till 4 a.m. in the morning, and even in the wee hours, they will start ordering all the way from starters and finish with desserts! And today again I was back early morning, after couple of hours of sleep.

You should the antics of some of the customers. One group of people came at 3:30 a.m. and ordered for Biryani. Nothing unusual there. Then they asked if we had any Dal??

I said- Sir, we have Dal Makhani, but are you sure you want dal with Biriyani?

Customer: Sure, sure... we don’t mind. Dal die biryani mekhe kheye nebo!!! We will mix it with the biryani and eat it.

I nearly fainted on hearing that!!!

Let me tell about another customer. Post dinner, finger bowl was placed in from of him. He squeezed a lemon in the water and gulped it down! I gaped in horror. The customer said- Don’t worry, it will help digest the food better!!!

Tell me, after all this; do I need any further entertainment during pujo? My customers provide me enough entertainment.

Shubho Bijoya!

What’s in a Name? Lots!

She is one of the greatest loves of my life....though I am sure I am not the first one to have fallen for her....Many before me and surely many more after me will also fall for her. She is not getting any younger, in fact according to estimates; she is roughly 1000 years old. But, her beauty never fades and her charm lies in the fact that she can adapt according to and with changing times. Yes that’s the beauty of my love, the English language.
But, though my love for her is un-conditional, I cannot say the same about my feelings for her strict mother...the English grammar. The purists and the linguists will disapprove. How can you love the one and ignore the existence of the other, they ask? What would she be, without the character and structured life that Mother grammar gives the daughter? Is it possible at all to truly love the daughter (language) without understanding the mother (grammar)?
True. I agree. But, the fact remains, as far back as I can remember, I always had an uncomfortable relation with Mother Grammar. And every Indian school student will surely remember the bible of Mother Grammar, the ultimate grammar book- Wren & Martin.
I hated it. With all my heart. I still can’t make out head or tail of the book. Don’t get me wrong...the book is very good. But, though always a pretty good student of English, I always used to do pathetically in grammar. Even today, if asked the difference between or to point out an adjective, a verb, an adverb or a preposition in a sentence, I would give a blank face. This never fails to confound most of my friends, who have a common love for the language. In fact, I still remember one of my friends’ (a teacher of English- no less!) admonishment, after discovering my ignorance of these basic tenets of the English language, “Are you for real??? How can you possibly not know all these basic things? And they are so simple to understand! ”
I ran for cover.....
But, there is only one class of words, which I never have problems with- The Proper Noun!
What’s life if you don’t beat around the bush a bit!! And that (finally) brings me to the main topic of my story...the usages and interpretations of the Proper Noun! And as I have discovered to my amusement, horror and personal experience, there is nothing PROPAH about the way people treat the PROPER NOUN... And ever since Mr. Shakespeare declared that a rose by any other name is just as beautiful.... people have gone about like nobody’s business to ensure that his words remain true!
I still remember the words of my favourite English teacher, Mrs. Kutty. You can pronounce proper noun in your own way...or something to that effect. And having got this mantra...I went right ahead and used my license to kill!
It was in the year 1994 or 95. One of my mentors in life-BG, for whom I was doing a summer job of pasting and posting mailers, was keen to introduce me to western music.
He lent me 4 audio cassettes (CDS were still exorbitantly priced and DVDs unheard of). 2 of the albums, I don’t recall. 3rd one was of the group ‘America’. The last was of an American duo, whose songs I found very soothing and was generally bowled over by their music. So, I come back to office all excited and declare, “I LOVED the songs of SEEMON and JAARFUNKEL”.
BG almost fell from his chair, “WHAT? WHAT DID YOU SAY?”
Me (now not so excited): “Wwwhy? The cassette you gave me....of seeeemon and jaarfunkel”
BG (Look of horror still fresh in my mind):”Oh My GOD! It’s Simon & Garfunkel...not whatever you just said right now!!! ”
I think he had a scowl set on his normally pleasant face, for the rest of the afternoon! Incidentally, it was the album “Mother & Child Reunion” which BG had so kindly given to me.
So that was one of my many faux pas with the not-so-proper-NOUN.

Let’s now fast forward 10 years. I was in the city of Chennai, in my first job. As I soon discovered, my name was pronounceable in so many DIFFERENT AND DIFFERENT ways, which I could never have dreamt of.
Lets take some examples which became commonplace.
Phone Call-Incident 1:
Me: Hello
Voice at other end: Hello, is this Mr. Satyaaaa....nandan
Me (with amusement): Yeah, Sayantan it is....

Phone Call-Incident 2:
Me: Hello
Voice at other end: Hello, is this Mr. Satyaa....narayan
Me (wearily): Actually, it is.... Sayantan...but you can call me anything!
Voice at other end (embarrassed): Sorry sir, hello Mr. Sayantan.....

But, my favourite of all was this guy, who was working in Perot Systems, if I am not wrong. He would call me up on the cell and start,”Hullo Saitan!” And i would reply,”Sir, my parents lovingly named me Sayantan, not Shaitan sir! ” Of course, after a few days, I gave it up as a lost cause.

You see....my name reeks of bong...I mean if there ever was a list of typical Bengali names compiled, I am confident to be on the list i.e. all fellow Sayantans of the world. But, as I found out, I am not alone!
Take for instance, the case of my good friend Penelope. Not Penelope Cruz, but Penelope B.
Someone in office once called her name as “Penalope”. I, the unsolicited guardian of the proper noun, cried out” Maan, Its Pe-ne-lope with stress on the e and no aa in between!”
But, Penelope or Penny as she prefers being called, after many such misadventures is quite used to these, and just tells people, “Just call me Penny” without batting an eyelid. She has, according to her, in her lifetime being called by names as varied as Penalope, Peneelopa, Feni (yup, the famous goan drink!) and the best of all- PenaPole!!! As in South Pole, North Pole and Penapole
I nearly fell on the floor laughing, when I heard the last one!
And this phenomenon is not just restricted to India. As my friend has found out during his trips to continental US and continental Europe.... His name is Somdeb, but as he found out, it can become Som-daab, Somdeo (tending towards Deol!), and last but not the least, after several desperate attempts, one person called him, Somday....as in Monday, Tuesday.....
So, is it really important how you pronounce names or proper nouns? I guess, you cannot really avoid such genuine mistakes, which are bound to happen when the world is shrinking into a smaller and smaller place, where people of different cultures, languages and yes pronunciation meet and interact.
How to deal with such situations? With a sense of humour which will make it easy on both parties. After all, I can assure you, the person making the mistake, is even more embarrassed when he or she realises the faux pas....
Or you can follow the saying “If you can’t beat them, join ‘em!” as is done by another friend of mine Prasanna, or Prakkhanno, as the name should be pronounced. But, people find it too difficult and Prasanna is absolutely cool about it....

Ok. Enough of the proper noun...
It’s late in the night...time to unwind with some vintage” Seeemon & Jaarfunkel”!