On a misty cloudy morning

It didn’t start as one of those days like I missed u. It was rather a plain and simple one where I knew I had to wake up, brush my teeth, grab a cup of Darjeeling tea, put on my t-shirt n jeans n leave. That was precisely what I did, and then when I walked out of my apartment to the bus stop, I realised it was quite cold and damp and drizzling. That... made me come back and grab a jacket....and an umbrella. And, I wondered how you were. I don’t know why I thought that, but well, I thought that. Looked at my dead watch.....and wondered how nice it felt to be woken at 7 in the morning....

Okay I missed the bus.

The air was damp and cold and it was drizzling. Like the water droplets were everywhere. No, I mean yes, they were droplets, not drops. And they kept flying in all directions at every gust. As I walked to my lab from the bus terminus at school, I guess I was still thinking of you. Or may be anything else that I can’t remember right now.... and didn’t notice the trees in front. So the moment I lifted my face up (I usually walk staring at my shoes) all of a sudden this huge crowd of trees beside the Red river loomed up from behind the mist. It was such a wonderful sight. Like, the very familiar grove of maple, pine and spruce were standing in front of me all new. Draped around this spray of water which blended beautifully into the morning mist, the huge conifers looked just breathtaking! I wanted to show this to you, but I didn’t have my camera, also, I doubt if I would be able to capture it the way it was.... Let’s assume I could, but then I wouldn’t be able to carry the fragrance of the mist and the damp soil and the wilderness along with the jpeg file! The desire was so great that I almost had to work my heads off today to keep the thoughts at bay. It was 6 and awfully dark, so I decided to come back home, I had worked more than many other days.....evading my silly and “hopelessly romantic” thoughts. But that’s being very 'me'.

Aelite thekey on..e..k durey



Sitting miles away from my heart, the very essence of being “alive” seems to get lost somewhere in the waves of the Atlantic when the dhaak beats emerge from a hi-fi BOSE audio system!! Those are the times when I hear a young little girl yelling inside this mature mind – Ma, Shashthii toh shuru hoye gyalo, dhaaki r or chhele koi? Of course before my mom could answer, the dhaaki would appear from nowhere at the dusk of Shashthi and that...would mark Bodhon.

Pujo was that time of the year when I could wear 2 sets of new clothes every day for five days, and stay out late as long as it took me to get totally tired. Baba chhara pujo vaabtei partam na... For, it was Baba, who would quietly slip in the house keys into my pocket when I said : Ekkhuni bari aschhi, aaj raat jagbona, promise. My innately skilled hands would later stealthily open the door at five in the morning, walk silently as a cat— afraid to wake Ma up– and pretend to be fast asleep, only to be awoken at seven for Pushpanjali!!
Yes, no matter how hectic, those were the best days of my life.

Durga Pujo meant rehearsals, rehearsals, and more rehearsals. It was a challenge to be in the songs, the dances, the dramas, and at times to be at side stage and hang on to the ropes of the curtain. I remember rising to fame amidst kakus and kakimas with a nazrulgeeti when I was only nine years. The childish me, beamed every time someone said: Pompom...kii shundor gaan korli!

Busy setting experiments for my research inside the 16-degree-maintained laboratory here in Winnipeg, I have completely lost track of the date and time. Dates are interpreted in my brain as—weekdays, weekends, and deadlines. Whereas, time has significance as in: to cook or not to cook?? So I very confidently said a “No” when some guy in my lab enquired whether we (Indians) had any upcoming festival or not, since he was fasting for Ramadan with Eid due on the 20th. Living in a digital world as I do, with orkut, facebook and chat boxes as companions, I noticed a series of pictures on somebody’s album the same night. It was entitled: “Kumortuli” It suddenly struck me then..... !!! Eii... Pujo!!


Afterall, no one calls me Pompom here. It’s always Shalini (more of a Sha-leee-ni). Durga Pujo..... Pompom(di)..... Aelite...flat 232 ..... all of them together, make me. Individually, they make little sense!