Today, I write about events which happened about two weeks back. At that time, I was looking for suitable accomodation in Basel, and I was quite sure about what kind of apartment I would like to have. I wanted a one-room apartment with a decent sized kitchen and proper bathroom, with the shower and toilet together (and not separated, and of course not, with the shower in the kitchen, as in some Swiss houses). Most importantly, I wanted the internet. I had lately come to depend a lot on contact with the outside world and had come to hate the cocooned existence of a room sealed against it.
It seemed a little difficult to get something like that, coupled with the fact that I am still not sure about the duration of my stay in Basel.
I was expressing my views to a friend, who was sympathetically (God knows why!!!, for sure it was not like countries were at war) listening to me. I happened to mention that I was taking the help of some online real estate companies and so far, nothing had turned up according to my liking. She said, "You really cannot have everything. You have to compromise something."
I heard that and then our conversation turned to other matters, more interesting and more fun.
After a few days, I found an apartment with all I needed and with a balcony as a bonus. The last week I spent in adjusting, decorating and furnishing my new habitat. And, frankly, it is the first thing in my life that I can mould and dress according to my heart. Its a new feeling and I know it will pass soon, but at the moment, it gives me a peace I didn't know before. I might have to quit soon with a heavy penalty to pay, courtesy the unsurety of my current job. But, I refuse to think of that now.
Life, as usual, is rolling over everyone, and it sure is rolling over me. Ups and downs, more downs than ups........shitty things taking toll on everyday life......it is the same for everyone as for me.......but hopefully, I have learnt something. I have no idea if anyone at all reads my blog, or if my writing can reach anyone, for me it is important to share this piece of realization to a non-existant reader. That there should be no compromises, no beginning which begins with a compromise can reach a desirable end!!! You either desire all or none!!! If reality doesn't give you all, you decorate your life around it to suit your need, but the essential desire should not contain a compromise!!!! Compromise to me is a sad word, a bad word.......a word that cannot justify a man's ability to furnish and decorate life around the eventual reality which in the end cannot be avoided.........
Friday, June 12, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Memories of a warm day
I write today about the experience I had a few months ago when I was a resident at Utrecht, the Netherlands. I was still relatively new to my habitat and was always looking around for an Indian face or a friendly European one to talk for a few minutes to alleviate the incomparable loneliness all foreigners must feel in an alien land. I guess I was still attached to the apron strings of our huge family back in India and was smarting from the realization that life for my family in India could well continue without me.
It was a Saturday, and I had nothing particular to do. My flat-mates were students who had long departed to their respective laboratories and I was left with the day on my hands.
By noon, I found myself in the Saturday fresh vegetables market. I loved to eat 100 grams of 'Kibbling' (a special type of fish, eaten as a snack), and I had just started started to eat when I saw this beautiful floral printed skirt hanging in one of the van-turned shops. I walked over and was looking at the array of floral prints hung in one window, when I noticed a man standing right behind me. He said " Yeh to bees ka hai"("This costs 20 euros). "Excuse me, "I said, my ears not accustomed to hearing Hindi so directly. "Maine kaha, yeh bees ka hai;"the man repeated ("I said this costs 20 euros").
"Oh, good, but where are you from?", I found myself asking. The dialect sounded Punjabi and the man quite looked his part, tall, broad-shouldered, moustached and whiskered. "Amritsar, and you?, he queried. " I am from Calcutta.", I said, relieved to speak a few words in Hindi with this stranger.
"I want to take two of these but I need a lower price,"I said, the age-old habit of bargaining getting the better of me.
"We can talk about that, but first you select," he said, taking down at least six skirts from the hangars.
"Are you a student here?", he asked as I was looking at the skirts, my Kibbling forgotten on the desk of the van.
" No, I am a scientist,"I said.
"What is that? You work here?"
I smiled. To most Indians, either you are a student or you work for companies. It does not surprise me to explain to most people that you can even earn your livelihood through academic research.
"Yes, I kind-of work here", I said, finally selecting two skirts, one blue and the other red. "Are there many Indians here?"
"Yes, madam, many many Indians here," he said, taking down another rack with blouses on it. "I have been living here for the past fifteen years. My wife, she comes from Delhi. My son is now in Amsterdam with Kiger Securities", he said.
I smiled, noting the paternal pride and the readiness to exhibit to the world that their progeny was the best. Parents!!!! Is there ever any difference?
"I have a daughter too, but she is not well,"he said, his face suddenly becoming sad and long. then he made the universal sign of mentally retarded.
" Oh, I am sorry", I said, feeling really sorry for a dad unable to feel proud of his second creation.
I started fingering the blouses, they were soft and smooth. I felt compelled to pick a white one with pink frills around the neck.
" I will take these three things. How much?"
"So, it is 20 +20+15=55 euros, for you I give for 45," he said, smiling and extending his hand for a shake.
"No, I take all these three for 30 euros, or I don't take anything."
"Oh, madam, I am giving you special rate, I cannot go any lower."
I shook my head. "Okay, then 35 euros, you give,"he said. I again said "30 euros".
"Only for you madam, you don't tell anyone here, for you 30 euros", he whispered, smiling and once again extending his hand.
This time I shook his hand, noting with amusement his smile of appreciation at the display of true bargaining, Indian style.
" You have time Madam? I close shop and then you come to my house for a cup of tea with my wife? My house, not far, just 15 minutes by van."he implored.
I found myself unable to refuse such an impromptu invitation.
After about half an hour, I was sitting in the passenger seat of the van and the shop-keeper, Vishal Singh (as I now knew) was driving.
"So Madam, you like Holland?"
"No,"I answered truthfully. This country was still alien, with its cosmopolitan atmosphere, it still was unable to emote to me. Somehow, I felt, that somewhere the core of this country was not as uninhibited as was expressed on the surface. It was like living in a house where you could eat with the inhabitants but not talk to them.
"No, "I repeated, "I miss India a lot. I miss my Mum, my Dad, my granny, everyone."
"You, not married Madam?"
" No, not yet," I said.
" Do you see there?," he said, pointing at a road and then turning into it. "The third one is my house," he said with proprietary pride.
I peered outside as the van stopped in front of a typical brick-layered house. Houses in Holland looked all the same, same style, same exterior finish,same brick-layered walls.
I got out and Vishal Singh went to park his van. I walked upto the house and waited at the door. The door showed the customary lemon and chilli hanging infront as in most Indian dwellings to ward off the evil eye.
Vishal Singh returned and opened the door with his key. He led me to the narrow spiral stairway, again typical to Holland, where an unseasoned person may have to crawl up.
"Alka, we have a guest,"he yelled to his wife as we ascended.
We entered the living room where a life-size portrait of Guru Nanak occupied centre-stage. Vishal Singh set me into one huge sofa which kind off swallowed and I waited there till he returned with his wife.
She turned out to be a petite woman with neat long hair tied back in a plait, and small, almost child-like hands.
"Namaste, ji,"she said folding her hands. I got up and did the same.
"Vishal Singh ji brought me here for a cup of tea. I was buying some dresses at his stall in the market."
" Haan ji, welcome to our home, you from Punjab?"
"No, no, Calcutta,"I smiled.
"Oh, Bengali!"she said happily,"My neighbour here is a Bengali. She cooks very good mustard fish."
" You sit here Madam, I make nice tea for you,"she said, walking out of the room.
I again got engulfed by the sofa and was looking around the shelves in the room, on which stood many framed pictures of the the married Singhs in monochrome, the son at various stages and the daughter as a toddler. I noticed that the daughter bore unmistakable likeness to Vishal Singh, the same benevolent and smiling expression. She looked impish in the photograph and in the cute baby dress, she looked like a clown.
" That, my chair,"shrieked a voice in Hindi.
I jumped out of my skin. I saw a dark girl, about fifteen years old, with oiled and plaited hair standing in front of me in a salwar kameez.
I got up and let her sit in. She walked up, threw me a disgusted glance and settled herself in the big sofa.
Her mother came running. "Sorry Madam, she is not well. Please sit on the other chair. Her name is Rajni. Rajni, say hello to Aunty."
Rajni kept looking at the ceiling, ignoring me.
"Madam, she doesn't know English. Only Hindi. You wait Madam, I bring you tea."She disappeared again.
I kept standing. I didn't know what to say to the girl. She had the typical self absorbed look of a mentally retarded child, yet she was eyeing me from now and then when she thought I was not looking.
" So your name is Rajni?,"I said, settling myself right in front of her to get her attention.
She nodded. " My name is Chitra", I said, pointing to myself.
"Will you play ball with me?" she asked me abruptly. I nodded.
I expected some plastic balls. But she got out a game on a woodden board where you were supposed to use some stick to orient small coloured balls into pre-appointed holes.
Alka brought two cups of tea and said "My husband went out for an hour. He asked you to say, he will drop you home when he returns."
"Okay, thanks," I said, accepting the tea and settling down on a small stool to start the board game.
Within a while Rajni and I were engrossed in the game. I only noticed the time when I saw alka re-entering the room to switch on the lights and sit down with some needlework.
"Hey, thats kantha stitch, "I exclaimed when I saw her embroidery. "that is from Bengal".
"Yes, yes, my neighbour taught me. Do you want to try a bit."
"Sure, " I said, Rajni was beginning to get a little bored and was taking out her drawing articles from the drawer below a table.
Alka and I were making neat little flowers and hems in the light blue cloth and around two hours flew by.
"I think I will go now," I said getting up.
"No-no, my husband will drop you, you stay here, no problem".
"Its getting late, I have to go."
"No-no, I make some small dinner for you, you take with you when you go."She got up and before I could say anything, she disappeared in the kitchen.
I followed her, hovering around to help her in anyway I could, aware of encroaching so much on people who a few minutes ago were strangers to me.
She kept a constant chatter, talking about her children, enquiring about my childhood, telling me about her family back in India and then returning to the topic of her children.
I could not help wondering about the ability of the Indian woman to drown herself in the rearing of her children and maintaining a household, long after the children have grown past children and the house has stopped requiring polishing every alternate day.
I was quite fascinated by the elaborate kitchen this lady had organized. Starting from the back- dated mixer and crusher to the rolling pin, everything typical to an Indian kitchen was before my eyes and I felt almost at home, looking at the lady stirring dal in a pressure cooker.
"Madam, you come here whenever you feel lonely. My husband and I like Indian people to come. You can talk to Rajni, she needs company sometimes."
"I will, for sure if you make such lovely dal for me each time," I grinned, inhaling the aroma of home made Ghee.
Alka packed some sabji, dal and rice in a box and handed it to me saying, "for your dinner".
"My name is Chitra, please don't call me Madam anymore,"I said.
"You from upper caste, no? I cannot call you by name", she shrugged.
I laughed. " I am simply Indian and younger than you, its right that you address me by my fist name." She smiled and reached over to hug me. My, my, quite a mix of Indian and European culture!!!
Rajni walked into the room, holding a piece of paper.
"For you,"she handed it to me, staring at my face.
I looked at a sketch of a rose and a close resemblance to my face.
I was amazed at the girl's talent.
"You, like?"she asked
"Its great, you are so talented. Thank you," I said, tears prickling my eyes. No one had sketched my face before and I was touched.
"My daughter is very artistic,"said Alka, "she draws all the time. If she sketches you, it means she likes you. Its just God which makes her life so unfortunate."She turned away and started cleaning the burners.
Rajni kept smiling at me, and on an impulse, she reached over to me and kissed me on my cheek and then ran into the living room.
This was the last straw. I was completely floored by the warmth of the family and their willingness to make me feel as one of their own.
I was unable to say anything anymore.
After a while, Vishal Singh returned and I went out while he brought out his van. I looked up to see Alka and Rajni waving to me from the living room window. Vishal Singh came up to stand next to me. "See, my wife and daughter, they like you."
"You have a great family, thank you so much for a great afternoon."
I looked from the man to the wife and their daughter, all smiling at a person, who probably would never be able to be as warm as they had been to me.
I waved back. I got into the van, all the time, looking at the window.
I don't know if they would ever remember me, but I would never forget them.
It was a Saturday, and I had nothing particular to do. My flat-mates were students who had long departed to their respective laboratories and I was left with the day on my hands.
By noon, I found myself in the Saturday fresh vegetables market. I loved to eat 100 grams of 'Kibbling' (a special type of fish, eaten as a snack), and I had just started started to eat when I saw this beautiful floral printed skirt hanging in one of the van-turned shops. I walked over and was looking at the array of floral prints hung in one window, when I noticed a man standing right behind me. He said " Yeh to bees ka hai"("This costs 20 euros). "Excuse me, "I said, my ears not accustomed to hearing Hindi so directly. "Maine kaha, yeh bees ka hai;"the man repeated ("I said this costs 20 euros").
"Oh, good, but where are you from?", I found myself asking. The dialect sounded Punjabi and the man quite looked his part, tall, broad-shouldered, moustached and whiskered. "Amritsar, and you?, he queried. " I am from Calcutta.", I said, relieved to speak a few words in Hindi with this stranger.
"I want to take two of these but I need a lower price,"I said, the age-old habit of bargaining getting the better of me.
"We can talk about that, but first you select," he said, taking down at least six skirts from the hangars.
"Are you a student here?", he asked as I was looking at the skirts, my Kibbling forgotten on the desk of the van.
" No, I am a scientist,"I said.
"What is that? You work here?"
I smiled. To most Indians, either you are a student or you work for companies. It does not surprise me to explain to most people that you can even earn your livelihood through academic research.
"Yes, I kind-of work here", I said, finally selecting two skirts, one blue and the other red. "Are there many Indians here?"
"Yes, madam, many many Indians here," he said, taking down another rack with blouses on it. "I have been living here for the past fifteen years. My wife, she comes from Delhi. My son is now in Amsterdam with Kiger Securities", he said.
I smiled, noting the paternal pride and the readiness to exhibit to the world that their progeny was the best. Parents!!!! Is there ever any difference?
"I have a daughter too, but she is not well,"he said, his face suddenly becoming sad and long. then he made the universal sign of mentally retarded.
" Oh, I am sorry", I said, feeling really sorry for a dad unable to feel proud of his second creation.
I started fingering the blouses, they were soft and smooth. I felt compelled to pick a white one with pink frills around the neck.
" I will take these three things. How much?"
"So, it is 20 +20+15=55 euros, for you I give for 45," he said, smiling and extending his hand for a shake.
"No, I take all these three for 30 euros, or I don't take anything."
"Oh, madam, I am giving you special rate, I cannot go any lower."
I shook my head. "Okay, then 35 euros, you give,"he said. I again said "30 euros".
"Only for you madam, you don't tell anyone here, for you 30 euros", he whispered, smiling and once again extending his hand.
This time I shook his hand, noting with amusement his smile of appreciation at the display of true bargaining, Indian style.
" You have time Madam? I close shop and then you come to my house for a cup of tea with my wife? My house, not far, just 15 minutes by van."he implored.
I found myself unable to refuse such an impromptu invitation.
After about half an hour, I was sitting in the passenger seat of the van and the shop-keeper, Vishal Singh (as I now knew) was driving.
"So Madam, you like Holland?"
"No,"I answered truthfully. This country was still alien, with its cosmopolitan atmosphere, it still was unable to emote to me. Somehow, I felt, that somewhere the core of this country was not as uninhibited as was expressed on the surface. It was like living in a house where you could eat with the inhabitants but not talk to them.
"No, "I repeated, "I miss India a lot. I miss my Mum, my Dad, my granny, everyone."
"You, not married Madam?"
" No, not yet," I said.
" Do you see there?," he said, pointing at a road and then turning into it. "The third one is my house," he said with proprietary pride.
I peered outside as the van stopped in front of a typical brick-layered house. Houses in Holland looked all the same, same style, same exterior finish,same brick-layered walls.
I got out and Vishal Singh went to park his van. I walked upto the house and waited at the door. The door showed the customary lemon and chilli hanging infront as in most Indian dwellings to ward off the evil eye.
Vishal Singh returned and opened the door with his key. He led me to the narrow spiral stairway, again typical to Holland, where an unseasoned person may have to crawl up.
"Alka, we have a guest,"he yelled to his wife as we ascended.
We entered the living room where a life-size portrait of Guru Nanak occupied centre-stage. Vishal Singh set me into one huge sofa which kind off swallowed and I waited there till he returned with his wife.
She turned out to be a petite woman with neat long hair tied back in a plait, and small, almost child-like hands.
"Namaste, ji,"she said folding her hands. I got up and did the same.
"Vishal Singh ji brought me here for a cup of tea. I was buying some dresses at his stall in the market."
" Haan ji, welcome to our home, you from Punjab?"
"No, no, Calcutta,"I smiled.
"Oh, Bengali!"she said happily,"My neighbour here is a Bengali. She cooks very good mustard fish."
" You sit here Madam, I make nice tea for you,"she said, walking out of the room.
I again got engulfed by the sofa and was looking around the shelves in the room, on which stood many framed pictures of the the married Singhs in monochrome, the son at various stages and the daughter as a toddler. I noticed that the daughter bore unmistakable likeness to Vishal Singh, the same benevolent and smiling expression. She looked impish in the photograph and in the cute baby dress, she looked like a clown.
" That, my chair,"shrieked a voice in Hindi.
I jumped out of my skin. I saw a dark girl, about fifteen years old, with oiled and plaited hair standing in front of me in a salwar kameez.
I got up and let her sit in. She walked up, threw me a disgusted glance and settled herself in the big sofa.
Her mother came running. "Sorry Madam, she is not well. Please sit on the other chair. Her name is Rajni. Rajni, say hello to Aunty."
Rajni kept looking at the ceiling, ignoring me.
"Madam, she doesn't know English. Only Hindi. You wait Madam, I bring you tea."She disappeared again.
I kept standing. I didn't know what to say to the girl. She had the typical self absorbed look of a mentally retarded child, yet she was eyeing me from now and then when she thought I was not looking.
" So your name is Rajni?,"I said, settling myself right in front of her to get her attention.
She nodded. " My name is Chitra", I said, pointing to myself.
"Will you play ball with me?" she asked me abruptly. I nodded.
I expected some plastic balls. But she got out a game on a woodden board where you were supposed to use some stick to orient small coloured balls into pre-appointed holes.
Alka brought two cups of tea and said "My husband went out for an hour. He asked you to say, he will drop you home when he returns."
"Okay, thanks," I said, accepting the tea and settling down on a small stool to start the board game.
Within a while Rajni and I were engrossed in the game. I only noticed the time when I saw alka re-entering the room to switch on the lights and sit down with some needlework.
"Hey, thats kantha stitch, "I exclaimed when I saw her embroidery. "that is from Bengal".
"Yes, yes, my neighbour taught me. Do you want to try a bit."
"Sure, " I said, Rajni was beginning to get a little bored and was taking out her drawing articles from the drawer below a table.
Alka and I were making neat little flowers and hems in the light blue cloth and around two hours flew by.
"I think I will go now," I said getting up.
"No-no, my husband will drop you, you stay here, no problem".
"Its getting late, I have to go."
"No-no, I make some small dinner for you, you take with you when you go."She got up and before I could say anything, she disappeared in the kitchen.
I followed her, hovering around to help her in anyway I could, aware of encroaching so much on people who a few minutes ago were strangers to me.
She kept a constant chatter, talking about her children, enquiring about my childhood, telling me about her family back in India and then returning to the topic of her children.
I could not help wondering about the ability of the Indian woman to drown herself in the rearing of her children and maintaining a household, long after the children have grown past children and the house has stopped requiring polishing every alternate day.
I was quite fascinated by the elaborate kitchen this lady had organized. Starting from the back- dated mixer and crusher to the rolling pin, everything typical to an Indian kitchen was before my eyes and I felt almost at home, looking at the lady stirring dal in a pressure cooker.
"Madam, you come here whenever you feel lonely. My husband and I like Indian people to come. You can talk to Rajni, she needs company sometimes."
"I will, for sure if you make such lovely dal for me each time," I grinned, inhaling the aroma of home made Ghee.
Alka packed some sabji, dal and rice in a box and handed it to me saying, "for your dinner".
"My name is Chitra, please don't call me Madam anymore,"I said.
"You from upper caste, no? I cannot call you by name", she shrugged.
I laughed. " I am simply Indian and younger than you, its right that you address me by my fist name." She smiled and reached over to hug me. My, my, quite a mix of Indian and European culture!!!
Rajni walked into the room, holding a piece of paper.
"For you,"she handed it to me, staring at my face.
I looked at a sketch of a rose and a close resemblance to my face.
I was amazed at the girl's talent.
"You, like?"she asked
"Its great, you are so talented. Thank you," I said, tears prickling my eyes. No one had sketched my face before and I was touched.
"My daughter is very artistic,"said Alka, "she draws all the time. If she sketches you, it means she likes you. Its just God which makes her life so unfortunate."She turned away and started cleaning the burners.
Rajni kept smiling at me, and on an impulse, she reached over to me and kissed me on my cheek and then ran into the living room.
This was the last straw. I was completely floored by the warmth of the family and their willingness to make me feel as one of their own.
I was unable to say anything anymore.
After a while, Vishal Singh returned and I went out while he brought out his van. I looked up to see Alka and Rajni waving to me from the living room window. Vishal Singh came up to stand next to me. "See, my wife and daughter, they like you."
"You have a great family, thank you so much for a great afternoon."
I looked from the man to the wife and their daughter, all smiling at a person, who probably would never be able to be as warm as they had been to me.
I waved back. I got into the van, all the time, looking at the window.
I don't know if they would ever remember me, but I would never forget them.
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