Amor! Some call her Roma! Day three.

Sean dragged me out of bed at an ungodly hour of 7 am, made me gulp down my coffee and croissant and pushed me out of the door to go stand in line at the Vatican Museum while he went to work. I arrived at Musei Vaticani at 8:30 in the morning and stood in line in a very foul mood. It takes me a while to wake up and I can’t stand any chirpiness in the morning. Anyway, the museum opened at 9:00 am. I stood in line listening to the cacophony of traffic and various world languages, suddenly feeling very included in the huge mass of humanity and not so grumpy anymore. A guide from Kerala (India) tried to play the India card to get employed as my guide. It didn’t work since I like to do my own touring with a book in hand. I felt very inadequate to truly appreciate the beauty of the objects displayed there. So I won’t even attempt to go into explanations. Here are some pictures instead.

A gorgeous mural, despite a blonde Mary and little, blonde Jesus.

A very well-preserved mummy of the henna haired woman.

Sculpture of Lacoon, found on the Esquitine in Rome in 1506. Created sculptors Agesandros, Athanodoros and Polydoros of Rhodes.

I did pay my homage to the Sistine chapel but I had to contain the memory of it in my head and in my heart since photography was prohibited. Upon entering the museum I followed the signs to Sistine Chapel and arrived there first to avoid the crowd. I found a place to sit and wonder for a while. What I really wanted to do was lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling all day. There are so many stories up there, mere half an hour is simply not enough. In the chapel, there was a low hum of conversation in different languages. When people got a bit too exuberant in their emotions at the sight of the masterpiece, the custodians of the chapel raised their voices ‘Silence please’! The people quieted down, and the custodians resumed their loud conversation amongst themselves in Italian. I smiled at the paradox! They also lazily turned around, once in a while, to warn people against taking pictures. The people who were clicking pretended not to hear, took the picture anyway, and then, when reprimanded again, said, ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t hear you!’ The prohibition of photography wasn’t implemented strictly, I must say. Yet, I didn’t take any pictures. That conscience, I tell you!!! Anyway, read this little piece of information which made Michelangelo very real for me – ‘When Julius II abandoned his project for a funerary sculpture, Michelangelo returned unhappily to Florence. In 1508, he was recalled to Rome by the pope, who asked him to paint the Twelve Apostles on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. He had barely started, when he realised the work was going badly. The pope then gave him a free hand and instead of the blue star-spangled vault, he created a masterpiece filled with powerful movement. Julius II came regularly to ask Michelangelo when he would finish. From atop the scaffolding came the regular reply “when I can.” ‘

After being completely overwhelmed by the enormity of the museum, saturated by the grandeur of the Sistine Chapel, the statues, frescoes and painting by the masters of all times, I came out of the museum groggy eyed, somewhat disoriented and bone weary. The four hours I spent there had transported me to the world of Egyptian pharaohs, Roman Emperors, Christ and his disciples, popes and cardinals; so the sounds and sights of the traffic, beggars, hawkers, tour guides right outside the museum was a rude awakening to my world, the real world, and the long hike back to my hotel.

My camera bag and pocket-book were seriously getting heavier with each step I took, so I decided to pay a visit to my favorite woman The Pieta at the Basilica of St. Peter’s. I wanted to sit in the Basilica and surround myself with more objects of splendor and beauty before I trudged back to the hotel. Unfortunately, the pope was giving a Papal audience to the faithful at the courtyard, and the line to see ‘the papa’ was serpentine. Instead, I sat on one of the marble benches in Via Concilliazone and stared at the Basilica longingly. Rested my weary legs, at the same time, and again, listened to different languages all around me.

After a lunch of panini with mozzarella cheese and prosciutto, I took a well deserved Italian siesta for a couple of hours. Around six in the evening, I got my funky spring coat on to go back to the Trevi fountain for pictures and then go further to see the Spanish steps. The Piazza de Spagna is always vibrant and lively! Different languages, lot of laughter, lot of smoking, lot of loving and lot of panting as people climbed the steps to go to the top. Since my community work during the vacation had been pouncing on couples, mother/daughter, families etc, to ask if they wanted me to take any pictures of them so they all could be in it, I took quite a few pictures of happy strangers (with their own camera, of course)! Almost all families graciously (sometimes giddily) accepted my offer with profuse words of thanks. However, one family of four refused me with a pretty smile thinking I was one of those annoying professional photographers, who pester people to take their pictures. I don’t blame them, with my own camera around my neck and camera bag on my side, I looked the part. Language could have been an issue too.

The piazza Spagna around the Spanish steps are surrounded by ritzy stores – Dior, Dolce & Gabanna, Prada, Guess. I walked around window shopping. As I crossed an alleyway, I peeked in only to spot a gorgeous, majestic looking church with a decorated marble facade. Churches are like magnets for me, I feel a compulsive need to look into the most obscure church that one can find in Italy. But fortunately, I am yet to find an obscure, ordinary, plain-looking church in Rome. I am sure there are some, just not in my eye.

I digressed from my chalked out path and walked towards the white marble facade of the chiesa. I have already mentioned earlier that I am terrible at reading maps and even worse at directions. So when I go to a place I remember landmarks. Hansel and Gretel used rocks to find their way back to their mean parents’ house, I use Burger King, the mask store, the clock store, the gelataria to get back to where I came from.

So when I digressed from my path, I was apprehensive that I might get lost. But I looked at one end of the street and discovered to my joy the Victor Emanuele II building, standing white and tall in all its glory in the setting sunlight. I had that ‘once was lost, now I am found’ kind of feeling since my hotel was very near that building. Bolstered by my new-found confidence, I did a lot of window shopping on Via del Corsa which is probably comparable to the Fifth Avenue in New York City.

From Via del Corsa, I took the narrow alleyway towards Piazza Novona in search of a little pizzeria for dinner. Bought a pizza amatriciana (yes, more bacon) and headed towards the Pantheon to eat my dinner on the steps of the fountain at Piazza Della Rotonda. My interest was really the gelato store at one end of the piazza. I tried the cassatta flavor today, so far, that was my favorite.

The fountain at Piazza della Rotonda, where I ate my dinner.

Since I was walking at least one hundred miles (well, it felt that way with my heavy bags) each day, I made an executive decision to eat a different kind of gelato each day during my stay in Rome, and also try a different type of pizza. I ended up getting the particular kind which had the fattiest bacon on it. Anyway, I took my gelato and walked on to the crowded Piazza Novona to do some people watching and to look at the really good art work of the local artists.

Very content after my cassatta flavored gelato, I decided to call it a day and headed back to the hotel when it happened again – I spotted the gorgeous Chiesa del Jesu, the Church of Jesus. And it beckoned me to go in. Inside, I saw a flurry of activities, a bunch of college kids in tux and black dresses where doing vocal drills to get ready for a choir singing. These were the same kids who sat next to Sean and I on the plane as we flew into Rome. They were Chamber singers from Virginia Tech who had come to sing in three different cities in Italy! Their band master came over to me to say hello. I assured him I wasn’t really stalking him or following him around, since I had bumped into him at the Vatican museum as well. With a promise to come back to see them perform, I rushed back to the hotel to write in my journal and also to write a note to my husband where I would be. Poor Sean was in a meeting all day, which was to culminate in a working dinner. I didn’t want him to come back to the hotel and find his wife missing. When the show ended at 10 pm, and I turned around to leave, I saw my husband coming in to walk me back!

The Chamber singers from Virginia Tech performing at Chiesa del Jesu.

Another very full day came to an end and I loved every minute of it. I didn’t realize I could completely check out from my real life, I could completely let go. But I did it. I didn’t have my cell phone, my computer or my iPad. I was totally untraceable and unreachable. I was not connected to the internet and did not have the desire to be connected either. All I wanted to do was to connect with the vibrant, modern and ancient vibes of the beautiful city of Rome. I truly disconnected to connect with my spouse, myself and my surroundings. I was experiencing, thinking and ‘looking’. I felt I hadn’t done that for a while. Maybe, because it was only for a few days, I was so content being away from it all. Sean commented he had not seen me so carefree for a long time.

One of my friends had suggested I see the Basilica of San Clemente. The plan for day four is to go see this very ancient church and check out the original chains that bound St. Peters in San Pietro in Vincoli.

Amor! Some call her Roma! Day two.

The plan was to get up at the crack of dawn and see Roma in the early morning light. But when do things happen as planned? We slept in till 8:15 am and woke up when the sun was already shining brightly over the tiled roof tops and the innumerable domes and spires in the city.

After a breakfast of croissants, coffee, yogurt and cereal we walked towards the Roman Forum. Sean only had a few hours to explore with me before he had to go to his meeting, so we decided to visit the Capitolini. A stepped up ramp, the Cordonata, leads to a magnificent square designed by Michaelangelo, and to the oldest public museum in
the world, the Musei Capitolini. The Tabularium, which occupied the space between the temple of Jupiter on one side of the Capitolini Hill and the steps which led up past the Carcer to the Arx on the other, unfurls a stupendous view of the Roman Forum.

We took the the elevator up to the Dalla Terrazza Delle Quadrighe for a panoramic view of the tiled roof tops of the entire city of Rome on one side and the whole Roman forum on the other. The confluence of modern and ancient. I had worn a skirt up top on the terrace on a very windy morning. To prevent several Marilyn Monroe moments, I had to relinquish the camera to my esposo while I tightly held on to my billowing skirt. These are some pictures he took.

From the top of the world the tiled roofs of Rome. The Dome of the St. Peter’s can be seen.

Bird’s eye view of Foro Romano – The Roman Forum.

Sean, very unwillingly, left for work while I started walking towards my destination – the Colosseum. But this is Rome, one can’t purposefully walk towards one landmark, but simply has to make detours to do justice to the other gorgeous buldings, palazzos, chiesas (churches) strewn all across the city. I stopped to tour the Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele II. This huge monument by Guiseppe Sacconi was begun in 1885 and inaugurated in 1911. It honors King Victor Emanuele II who achieved unification of Italy in 1870 with Rome as the capital city. The dazzling white marble building is a sharp contrast to the warm tones of the city and looks jarring next to the ruins of the Roman forum. Although, this building is ridiculed as the Wedding Cake and Typewriter, I thought it was impressive if seen just by itself.

I walked with the crowds towards the Colosseum, smiling at the Bengali words I heard from the Bangladeshi hawkers selling their ware, the lost tourists scratching their heads while looking at the map, the excited voices and laughter of Italian teenagers, the grumpy parents trying to control the screaming toddlers because it was way past their naptime, the aggressive Italian drivers zooming past me and braking suddenly to let a clueless tourist cross the street. Most importantly, I was smiling at the blue sky and the bright, golden sun shining on my face.

When I arrived at the Colosseum, my smile disappeared. The line to get tickets was a mile long. The tour operators were luring people to skip the line and join their tour group at a steep price. I decided against waiting in line and wasting half my day, so took some outside shots of the Colosseum and went to Via Sacra (the Sacred road) flanked by pillars from the Roman era to look at the ruins of the Forum.

The ancient pillars flanking the Via Sacra, the sacred road.

Next to the Colosseum is the Arch of Constantine, built in 315 by the Senate and the Roman people three years after Constantine’s victory over his enemy Maxentius.

I walked by the Colosseum to say my goodbye as I headed back, only to find the line had shrunk. I promptly placed myself behind some Italian men and starting chatting up an American couple from upstate New York, on their first trip to Rome.

Much has been already written about gladiatorial fights, animals, prisoners of war being killed, Christian devouts being martyred. I won’t get into those. I found some interesting information on the spectator’s past time. Supposedly, the time spent by the spectators was animated and lively. The audience engaged in wide variety of occupations, gaming and betting. Games were played directly on the amphitheater steps where they created tabulae lusoriae, carving them into the stone (game boards or checker boards). The counters were made from varied matereials (bone, glass paste, pebbles, pottery). The rules of the games are not well known but tabulae lusoriae is even found on the road across the Colosseum, the Via Labicana.

The entertainment always wasn’t innocent. There was betting involved which was banned in general and only allowed on certain days like the Saturnalia, the birthday of Saturn. Saturnalia was later replaced by the festivities of Christmas. Then, as now, gifts and food were exchanged and games of chance like Bingo, were made lawful for the day.

It has also been known that players hid from officials on the steps of the amphitheater, a large number of knuckle bones were discovered on the steps of the Colosseum. There were also pictorial depictions of brawls and lovely epigraphic fund of insults. The love of the games was very common. There was no distinction of class or sex, uniting both common people and the nobility, men and women. I liked this part.

The seating was interesting and of course, predictable. The series of stepped seating areas, the cavea, highlighted the distinctions between the classes of the Roman society, in progression – from low to high – of five sections, starting with the privileged seats on the podium next to the arena, up to the wooden steps inside the colonnaded portico occupied by the plebians.

I cannot mention Colosseum without talking a little bit of blood and gore. The blood of the gladiators was sponged up and fed a thriving business. It was believed drinking human blood cured epilepsy and of course, the blood of the martyrs had healing properties.

Imagine the gladiators rushing out through these tunnels, the animals, the prisoners.

From the Colosseum, I walked back to the hotel without getting lost even once. I mention this simply because I don’t have a very good sense of direction and will never win any prizes as a map reader. Oh, and I always get lost! So when I saw the street of my hotel – it was a proud moment. A small pizzeria near my hotel was extremely crowded, thronged mainly by Italians, so I figured the pizza must be pretty authentic. Ordered a salami pizza and dealt with sweet Italian flirting by the pizzeria owner. If you want your pizza on the go, they cut the pizza up in two halves, make them into a sandwich and wrap them up for you. I took mine to the Area Sacra Di Largo Argentina (Sacred Area of Largo Argentina). This houses the remains of four temples, and is well known as well because it was used as the Senate and it was here that Julius Caeser was assassinated on March 15th, 44 BC. Now the ruins house stray cats.

The remains of a temple in Area Sacra Di Largo Argentia

Following the ‘when in Rome, act like Roman’ rule, went back to the hotel for a short siesta, and did some writing and editing pictures. Then headed out to the famous Piazza Novona for some music, artwork and people watching. It is always a lively place with musicians serenading the diners in the upscale restaurants surrounding the piazza, local artists selling their artwork, entertainers trying to entertain tourists with their acts. I sat there for a while just watching beautifully dressed men and women relaxing with drinks, dinner and cigarette. There is the beautiful Chiesa di S Agnese in Agone at one side of Piazza Novona. I went in. The architecture and frescoes were astounding but photography wasn’t allowed in there. There were some folks clicking away, but my rule follower self quickly put my camera in the camera bag to resist temptation. I sat in one of the pews instead and looked around. The common motif was suffering, agony and martyrdom in the mortal world while angels and cherubs waited with olive branches and garlands to welcome the suffering men and women to the eternal world. The ceiling was so exquisitely painted with vibrant blues and gold, I did feel a twinge of disappointment at not being able to capture it in my camera.

After a delicious dinner of crottchetta de pollo (dumpling made of rice, cheese and chicken – deep fried, of course) and this

The fluffiest strawberry cheesecake I have ever had.

I came back to the hotel to find Sean waiting for me. He succeeded in making me feel guilty about eating dinner without him, while he rushed back from work to have dinner with me, so I went out, again, to get him something to eat. We walked all the way to the Trevi fountain, bought a delicious biscuit flavored gelato (my second dessert for the night) and sat by the steps of the Trevi fountain marveling at the illuminated statue of the Ocean, which rides in a chariot drawn by two sea horses and two Tritons. I read ‘Tradition claims one coin (cast backward over the left shoulder) ensures a return to Rome, two bring love and three as wedding in the Eternal City.’ Whoever is cleaning out the fountain is making a fortune, methinks. But one is also alerted that this area is notorious for pickpockets as well.

I will end this long blog with a realization and a wonderful experience. First the realization. I realized that after a very long time, I was actually the master of my own schedule for seven whole days. I wasn’t accountable for anybody or anything. I was free of sport schedules, homework schedule, dinner, baths, disciplining et all. The whole day luxuriously stretched ahead of me to do whatever I pleased with it. This was a rare opportunity indeed and I planned to make the most of it. I was free…for seven days.

The beautiful experience was at Chiesa Santa Maria Maddalena, a church dedicated to Mary Magdalene. I left the bustling Della Rotonda in front of the Pantheon to explore the church of Maria Maddalena. I am attracted to the churches in Rome for their architecture, the ambiance, the sculptures, the ceilings and the frescoes and mosaics. This church, too, did not disappoint. It was ornate, beautiful, serene. But a mass was being celebrated. After overcoming my initial irritation at the wrong timing, I decided to sit at the last pew to wait for the mass to end. My legs were weary and my camera bag seemed to be getting heavier by the minute.

The sweet, calm voice of the priest and the musical notes of Latin did magic to my senses. The sound, completely incomprehensible, unbelievably sweet, washed over me, soothed my tired body and mind. I felt overwhelmed at my good fortune – sitting in Rome, in a beautiful church, listening to mass in Latin. I am not religious but the solemnity of the rituals of the communion moved me. There were no more than ten people in the church listening to mass yet the beauty of their faith was fascinating. The scene was surreal. I left when the mass ended, content, truly happy and without any pictures. I will go back.

Plan for day three is to pay homage to the Sistine Chapel at the Musei Vaticani. Hope the line isn’t too long.

AMOR! Some call her ROMA! Day one.

DAY 1

Rome….ephemeral, enigmatic, modern, ancient. Longfellow wrote: “Tis the centre to which all gravitates. One finds no rest elsewhere than here. There may be other cities that please us for a while, but Rome alone completely satisfies. It becomes to all a second native land by predilection, and not by accident of birth alone.” That sentiment holds true for me as well. Rome is like Janus, the two-faced ancient god of new beginnings and transitions, who looks forward while peering back. The main streets bustle with traffic and dazzle with Gucci, Prada, Dolce & Gabbanas, yet the quiet narrow alleyways wind between warm, brick tones of houses to small piazzas, or to staircases descending to bubbling fountains.

Sean and I were headed to Rome for a week. My mother’s day/birthday gift from my husband. I left my electronic devices at home including the cell phone. Packed a notebook and lots of pens to take notes, write down streams of consciousness in the old-fashioned way.

As we started our descent to Rome after an almost nine-hour flight, I chanced to look out of the window to get a glimpse of this – the snow and cloud encrusted top of the Alps. I have rarely known such happiness at a sight.

After we disembarked the plane and cleared customs, I went looking for a ladies room along with some other women, only to discover that most of the restrooms in that particular terminal were blocked AT THE SAME TIME for cleaning. Some ladies tried to explain to the janitor in English why that may seem unreasonable to many. The janitor tried to explain to the ladies with a nonchalant shrug that he really didn’t care. One disgruntled female voice said ‘Welcome to Italy!’ We stood in a long line in front of one bathroom for the disabled to take care of our business while sharing commiserating smiles and shrugs with each other. I came back to the luggage area to find that Sean’s bag was missing along with a few others’. My joy at being in Rome started deflating a bit. Amidst utter confusion, we were told one of the conveyor belts was malfunctioning, more bags are on their way. Finally, Sean’s bag danced its way to us. All was good with the world again.

Our sweet cab driver did not speak a word of English. Sean tried his Spanish and fake Italian to give directions. It worked. We arrived at our Hotel Arenula on Via Arenula. I couldn’t be happier with its location, my favorite Pantheon was a mere seven minute walk!

After a refreshing shower and a two-hour nap, we were ready to take on Rome. I was so excited and awed at the same time to be in Rome after 10 long years I started suffering from my country mouse syndrome – stepping off curbs in the face of on coming traffic to click pictures, bumping into people and saying ‘scuzi’ a hundred times. Sean tells me he had to clutch my shirt twice to pull me out of the road while I was busy taking pictures but I don’t believe him for a minute! Before reaching the Pantheon we stopped for a bit of lunch at a small pizzeria. I had a hot dog (sorry) and Sean ordered a pizza with fresh tomato, basil and mozzarella. We shared a spinach dumpling, whose Italian name I completely forget.

Next stop was the Pantheon, which is now called Chiesa S Maria Ad Martyres. Originally, the Pantheon was a temple built by Agrippa in 27 B.C dedicated to all gods. Byzantine empire donated it to Pope Boniface IV around 608 Ad.

The mighty bronze door leads into a circular interior, which could contain 43m (142 ft) globe inside it.

The circular opening at the top of the dome.

For me, personally, the tomb of Raphael was meaningful. It is composed of a beautiful antique sarcophagus. He died in 1520 at age 37. Found an interesting information about the inscription written on the upper edge by Cardinal Pietro Bembo, poet and humanist (1470 – 1547). Supposedly, Alexander Pope translated the inscription without acknowledging the Cardinal for another epitaph.

“Living, great nature feared
he might outvie
Her works; and dying fears
herself to die.”

Piazza della Rotonda, surrounding the Pantheon is a vibrant place with restaurants, pizzerias, snack bars and gelato places. And a great place to people watch, if one is so inclined. The fountain in the center was designed in 1578 by Giacomo Della Porta and in 1711 Pope Clement XI stacked an obelisk on top which came from the temple of Isis.

Pantheon was my choice, I gave Sean the option to choose our next destination. He chose St. Peter’s Basilica. It is a long walk from the Pantheon but we were up for it. On our way, we stopped by to peer into the gorgeous Chiesa Luigi Dei Francessa. The beauty of the frescoes on the ceiling and the sculptures were completely overwhelming.

Back on our way to Basilica, we caught a glimpse of the Castel Sant’ Angelo and the Bridge of the Angels.

The Basilica, a humbling experience as always. Spent a few moments standing in front of The Pieta taking in the beauty and serenity in Mary’s face, holding her dead son in her lap.

The main alter at St. Peter’s with the sunlight streaming in.

We needed to get back to meet Sean’s colleagues for dinner at Trastevere so we did a quick, unsatisfactory tour of the Basilica and ran out. I didn’t mind since I had already planned a trip to the Basilica on my own one of the days during our stay. We rushed out but not before getting a snap of my favorite

The day ended with a lovely dinner of pasta with bacon and cream with some lovely people. Came back to the hotel to jot down notes, edit pictures and went to bed happy thinking of the six more days of exploring Rome that lay ahead of me.

The plan for Day 2 was to go to the Roman Forum, Colosseum, Church of San Clemente and Pantheon again.

Chasing the sun in Kolkata.

Sunrise in kolkata 2 — Crows late for their morning conference.

Sky….and my favorite bare tree, now budding.

A moment of silence

I opened my front door to let the children in the other evening when I felt a pinkish golden light wash over me. In fact, the whole world had taken on a hue of reddish gold. A bare, winter landscape had become a scene that a painter would give anything to paint. The trees had lost their natural splendor, yet their silhouette against the backdrop of the radiant, amber sky, made the scene surreal. Seeing my silent, upturned face, both the children turned around. The three of us stood there, at our front door, in complete silence for a few minutes. Then Ryan said in a hushed whisper, ‘Mom, take a picture!’ The moment of awe that I shared with my two children will be etched in my mind forever, even after they have flown from the nest. I am thankful to the universe for this glimpse of beauty that we shared that evening. The picture of the sunset is beautiful indeed, but the picture that I have in my mind’s eye, of two little faces mesmerized, humbled by the inexplicable beauty of the world that they are going to inherit one day, is invaluabe. That is my treasure.

Illuminating the world one last time before the day is done.

What I saw through the view finder

The overused caption. A boy and his dog. I felt the love.

Heart warming. A solitary man, walking down a lonely path. Lending a splash of colors to the bare landscape.

Didn't have to go far for this. Found this in my backyard.

A ‘Daffodils’ moment, in my case a bare tree.

Had a total Wordsworthian moment as I went to my backyard today, to do something very mundane, like letting the dog in. Wordsworth was awestruck seeing

A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

In my case it was an ordinary tree, that too, leafless. A very familiar tree, standing like a sentry, in my own backyard made me stop and look at it for a few minutes. The beauty of the silent, serenity around me was fascinating. The sunset with glorious colors splashed all over the sky, and the leafless tree standing still at the edge of the yard. I
don’t know what made me stop because I seem to have ceased noticing these splendid gifts that nature has given us in abundance. I felt a sincere joy in being alive and fortunate enough to witness the sunset. Life, right now, seems like a marathon of schedules, plans, deadlines, activities. Passions have taken a back seat for a while, gone way down the totem pole. When I try to read at the end of the day, my eyes read the words yet my mind fast forwards to the next chore on my list. What happened to those days of reading with utter abandonment? Now, my constant refrain to my family is “let’s go, we are going to be late!” Can’t be late, life will go by us! I complain to whoever will listen, my children have no sense of urgency! Ryan and Sahana live in a world of their own where they control the time or timelessness. In my heart, however, I am wistful, envious. The sight of Ryan throwing his football up in the air or picking dandelions in the yard, seeing Sahana absorbed in her book, oblivious to the busy world around her, make me ponder. Where did those days go by? For me?

This tree, bereft of all its leaves, looked so regal and beautiful in the setting sun. I have read, analyzed, written papers on Wordsworth’s “Daffodils” more times than I care to count, but I think I finally understood the poet’s feelings, for the first time! Unlike him, my mind’s eye is not so sensitive and I will probably not recollect this beautiful scene in “vacant or in pensive mood”. Moreover, how often do I have “bliss of solitude” anyway? So I captured it in my camera to at least look at it again and share it with you all. Happy also that I could still stop to look at a bare tree at the backdrop of this splendid sunset. Not all is lost! This phase of my life is full, and hectic, yes. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. It would be great to have more time to look around me and see the wild flowers blooming, the sun setting in all its splendor between the trees in my backyard, the bird’s nest high up in the leafless tree silhouetted against the clear, blue sky. But one day, when my little ones don’t need me any more, this tree, the flowers and the spectacular sunset will still be there for me to look and rejoice. As long as I can still spot them and stop in my tracks to exclaim “Oh look! It is so beautiful!”, I need not despair.

Love thy neighbor

People often ask me if I have family here in the US. All these days I have been saying I have a cousin in D.C, but other than her, nada! But lately, I have changed my answer. I say, my adopted sister lives just down the street, just 3 houses down!

This write-up is going to be about her. You know how you come across a certain person, who touches your life in a special way and makes you a better human? She is one of those people. She loves Jesus in her life, she is a true believer because she tries to lead her life as Jesus intended for us to live. I respect her faith immensely because she lives by it.

Now, I am not an emotional kind of gal, but I know I will tear up from time to time while writing this blog. Wait, while I go get my tissue box! I met her while we both were waiting with our daughters at the bus stop, on the first day of kindergarten. We had just moved into our neighborhood – from India! Yes, huge move. We had no friends, no family nearby and no aquaintances. I was pregnant with my second child, and very sick. She came up to me and introduced herself. Her fourth child, nine months old at that time, on her hips. Next time I
saw her, she was standing by my front door with cookies in her hand to welcome me to the neighborhood. We were very close in age, and the girls were in kindergarten, so we saw each other from time to time. Since we had moved from India with only 7 bags, we had no furniture, no tv, Sahana had no toys, only a few books. It is not a surprise, Sahana preferred to spend time at Ms. Wendy’s house than her own. Towards the end of the pregnancy, my body had had enough of the torture. It decided to rebel! Late at night, (always late at night), my body said “Are you planning to go to bed tonight? Un uhn! Not so fast, your blood pressure is spiking, get yourself admitted in the hospital!’ I generally pleaded to Sean ‘I will lie quietly and not move! The pressure will come down. Please, it’s going to be ok, let’s not go to the hospital!’ Since I had a history of erratic blood pressure spikes, the doctor had mentioned the dreaded word ‘preeclampsia’! My poor husband, worried he was going to end up with two kids and a dead mother, completely disregarded my plaintive voice and called Wendy around 11 at night for help. Little Sahana, fast asleep in her room, couldn’t go to the hospital. Wendy had four kids of her own, yet her response was ‘Coming right up, you guys get ready!’ This happened 3 times! Finally my ob/gyn said enough is enough, I had started to resemble the Michellin man, and that was her cue to get the baby out. Get admitted, pronto! But one little problem, where do we keep our six year old daughter? My mother-in-law had her ticket to fly down and hold the fort while I went to the hospital, but that was not for two days still. Who do we turn to? You guessed it. Sahana stayed the night at Ms. Wendy’s house while I went to climb Mt. Everest, ummmmm….gave birth to the little guy. I don’t know what we would have done if she wasn’t our neighbor.

She bailed me out on several occasions, when I had to run to Sahana’s school, when my father had to be taken to the hospital and I had nowhere to keep the kids. She was there for me on numerous occassions, I can’t possibly write down every one of them, but she knows I am thankful for every one of them.

I do want to mention this one story, when I, yet again, felt her love! I take my dog out for a walk every morning around the neighborhood. I go by Wendy’s house, we generally exchange pleasantries. One morning, she was there by her door, I yelled good morning, waved and continued on my walk. All of a sudden, I heard thunder and the sky broke open! Sage and I were caught in a heavy rain. We tried to take shelter under a tree, but the effort was completely futile. So I spoke sternly to my scaredy dog. “Dog” I said, “We are not going to melt in the rain, lets just keep walking!” Under protest, with his tail behind his legs, my dog followed! After a few minutes, I saw the headlights of a car coming my way. It was my friend coming to rescue me from the rain. To see if I needed a ride back!!! She saw the rain, she knew I was out walking and would get drenched! She came looking for me. She had to get her 5 month old infant and her 3 year old toddler in her car, in that torrential downpour. She did it, though!

She is the kind of person who does things which I would LIKE to do, but don’t do it because of the inconvenience. Things like opening her home to neighbors so the community can be more close-knit. She cooks casseroles to send to homeless shelters, she cooks dinner to take to bereaved families and others in need. She offers her house to young women who are struggling to get their footing. She takes the initiative to open a community book club so we can meet and discuss books.

It is not mere lip service when I say I am a better person for knowing her. She is truly my hero. And at this festive time, I would like her to know how much I care for her and appreciate having her in my life. Wendy Gladstone, you rock!

Heart and soul of my city.

I have to confess something before I go any further. I have been told (read accused) that I have Bong love pouring out of my pores. For my non-Indian readers, Bong is an endearing name for Bengalis, people who come from the state of West Bengal in India. So the incidents that I will write here, although truly heart warming, are also being written by a die hard Bong, who tries to see everything concerning Kolkata, in a very favorable light.

Having said that, we can now move on. I was going to Kolkata, the city where I was born, after 3 long years. I had left India with one child, was going back with two. My daughter was 6 and son was fifteen months. Although my heart was singing ‘I am coming home, coming home/Tell the world I am coming home’, I was busy making sure the baby didn’t scream bloody murder and the girl didn’t constantly kick the seat of the unfortunate fellow sitting in front of her. After eternity, I felt a sudden lurch in my tummy, it was a wonderful feeling really, because it meant we had begun our descent. Between crooning to the baby and reading the twenty third book to the daughter, I managed to glimpse outside the window. And my heart filled with an inexplicable emotion of joy, longing, love. The sweet,little houses down below, the lush green pastures, the silvery, serpentine roads, the tiny little bodies of water, the palm and the banana trees all were calling out to me. I didn’t live in Kolkata since I was 26, but no matter! Kolkata was the witness to my coming of age, my childhood, my youth, my falling in love! No matter where I live or how far I go, coming to Kolkata is
always ‘homecoming’!

I was almost getting teary eyed with emotion when the baby started shaking his head and screaming. Ears were popping and that can be pretty uncomfortable for anybody, especially little guys. So romanticising Kolkata went out of the window, I got busy settling Ryan. Finally, the airplane parked, the ladder or whatever they do to get us down, was in place. The immigration was a piece of cake since I had filled out all the forms, without a single mistake! I really am amazing! Baggage collection was a different ball game altogether! There were literally thousands (I may be exaggeraing a bit) of people, completely oblivious of any personal space, was jostling each other, shoving and elbowing to get close the the carousel where the luggage was coming. I, like a mad woman, parked the carriage with the baby, spoke sternly to my six year old to stay right next to the carriage and joined the fun. But in vain, I was pushed away. I could have gotten into the spirit of the game and jumped right in but I had to keep an eye on my children, since I live in constant fear that somebody will take them. My husband calls me a helicopter mom, but that’s a different story!

When I was just about ready to cry in frustration, and ready to let out some choice expletives against my ill-mannered fellow Bongs, a man came to me and asked me for my luggage tags. He had the identification hanging around his neck, an official porter. Now, if you have grown up in India, you are taught at a very early age to watch out for con men, along with your ABC’s and 123’s. Never, ever let people make a fool out of you were my parents’ mantra when I was growing up. So the first thing I said to this man was ‘I have no Indian money, can’t pay you!’ He gruffly said this to me ‘Didi, I have been watching you for a while, trying to get your luggage while managing your children. You don’t have to pay me, just give me your luggage tags!’ Totally humiliated, I handed him the tags. Not only did he gather my luggage but pushed it for me while I pushed Ryan’s carriage till I met my parents waiting for me at the lounge. Without a word he turned to leave! I asked him to wait, got money from my dad and gave him. He did say it wasn’t necessary, but he took it.

My father and I went to the same university. He got his degree in Engineering and I got mine in English. I had to get my transcripts from the university so I went to the office. My dad came with me. I was a woman in the wrong side of 30, yet the clerks in the head office of the university made me feel like an unsure teenager, in a matter of minutes. Most of them were drinking tea, reading the newspaper or just chatting about Tendulkar’s century. One or, maybe two, were writing in a very important looking ledger. The lady who I had to talk to dismissed me quickly ‘Come back in 15 days, these things take time!’ she turned to her colleague to talk about the new pattern she was knitting. I got my cue, get the heck out!

Seething in anger, I followed my dad to a canteen to get him a cup of tea. ‘No wonder West Bengal is going nowhere, the work culture is terrible, no wait, the work culture doesn’t exist!’ I vented to my dad while he looked around him with a pleasant smile on his face. I knew I had lost him, he had gone back to his university days and I was going to have to listen to some fond memories. I didn’t mind, though, it was sweet. Its kind of fun that we went to the same school. He had his memories, I had mine! We entered the canteen which he frequented – a lot, as a young student. He ordered his tea and because the manager wasn’t busy, started telling him how he and his friends used to come to that canteen all the time. They spent some glorious days in that very place. The young manager was very sweet, asking him which year and all that. When his tea came and dad reached for his wallet, the young man stopped him saying ‘Oh no, don’t pay for it, it’s on the house. You have spent such good times here, its for all those memories!’

Me? I was melting, melting. Kolkata was working its magic on me again! I was very close to even forgiving the knitting lady, who should have been working on my transcripts. Very, very close.