Homecoming Symphony

These days I wake to the quiet embrace of unusual winter mornings in Kolkata. For the first time in years, the city is likely to bid a warm send-off to 2023 with the missing chill only slated to emerge with Janus’ grand return in 4 days from now. Despite the absence of north westerly winds, I find myself immersed in the symphony of homecoming. The air, still crisp and shrouded in fog, carries whispers of nostalgia that weave through the familiar streets I miss when I am away, and grumble about when I return.

At dawn, the first rays of the sun stream through mum’s white lace curtains, casting a patterned glow upon the familiar corners of our home. My father, a silhouette against the early light, rolls back the large brown sliding glass windows of our living room and tends to his Bougainvillea with a devotion that mirrors the roots he’s planted in soil. The kettle whistles, and the clinking of cutlery signals his initiation of the morning tea ritual—the first of many cups he’ll enjoy throughout the day. Maa’s movements begin to echo in the kitchen, accompanied by the faint backdrop of the Facebook reels they’re watching and the familiar acoustics of a city stretching and stirring back to life. These sounds reach me, nestled in bed in that dreamy half-awake, half-asleep state, as I absorb the soothing symphony of home.

I have a feeling that the sounds of maa’s kitchen are more intentional than coincidental. They serve as the day’s starting gun, akin to a flag unfurling at the beginning of a race—a subtle cue for my brother and me to rise and begin our day. Initially disregarded, the race master’s voice suddenly reverberates through the air, and in seconds, sleep dissipates as our feet hasten to kickstart morning chores and rituals. Maa’s hands move with a rhythm born out of years of practice. The clang of utensils, sizzling egg whites or spices in hot oil – each sound tells a story of comfort, of meals shared and traditions upheld. The aroma of masalas surrendering their scents and flavors, expertly tossed and blended by the hands of Maa (and occasionally Papa) delicately matching powders and pastes, will always bring me back to the warmth of home.

Papa’s Spotify plays an old Christmas hymn by The Imperials , a tune that has accompanied countless December mornings in the three homes we have all shared. Its nostalgic notes form a backdrop to the familiar sounds of a neighborhood in slow motion. Children’s voices, the calls of street vendors, and the intermittent honking of passing vehicles compose a cacophony of life that is uniquely Kolkata.

As I wash the breakfast dishes, the rhythmic flow of water turns into a kind of meditation. The clinking of plates and the running water create a calming melody that echoes the essence of home life. The wooden floor boards beneath my feet, cool to the touch, ground me in a reality that transcends borders and reminds me of the warmth of belonging. In the distance, the neighborhood church bells chime, and the syncopated chaos of another winter morning fills the air. In these quiet moments of housework and everyday life, Kolkata becomes more than a city; it is a living, breathing memoir of familial ties and the richness of relationships. I am reminded that for me the heart of Kolkata is not in her famous landmarks or culinary delights but in the everyday, the mundane, and my favorite – the satisfaction that comes from an ordinary day at home.

Rainy Day Daydream

Morning did not arrive with the usual chirping of birds, the whistle of the garbage collector or someone in the neighborhood blowing their conch shell. The rain has been relentless and has muted every other sound since late last evening. After days of looking skywards and asking, ‘when will it rain?’, the rain Gods have responded generously with the downpour now even settling into a bit of a rhythm.

My mind goes back to last evening when I spent nearly four hours sitting outdoors listening to the sheets on rain washing over our complex, the acrylic panels that cover the windows of neighboring homes and the leafy overgrown foliage that falls lazily over our compound wall. At peace and reading my Joel Rosenberg novel to nature’s background score could be what ‘bliss’ feels like, I think to myself.

Engrossed by the characters I have been reading about, a strange realization punctuates my thoughts – I think we are the stories we tell ourselves; a little bit of fact, a whole lot of fiction to feel good and even a bit of fantasy to escape from reality. We see ourselves like characters don’t we, ever trying to fine tune the plot, the narration, the reality. I’ve seen some villains and monsters in my life, leaders, and visionaries too and a few jesters here and there. They’re all the protagonist in their own tales. I am too, in mine.

Do seasons have an unsettling impact on you, year after year? It’s not always the disturbing kind of effect, rather some inexplicable transition in the overall mood and essence of living. It might not happen to everyone, but I’d like to believe that seasons and climates stir and muddle a lot of emotions in me as evidenced by this very stream of consciousness reflection.

We are already more than halfway through 2021 and I have experienced two seasons – the extreme summer of the Emirates and the monsoon in Calcutta. I’d love to spend the autumn somewhere in Europe and the winter in the UK with endless opportunities to admire nature’s beauty.

As I type this, my dog sniffs at my ankles, he’s letting me know his water bowl needs to be refilled and that reality doesn’t care about my daydreams. I may never have that European autumn experience or Christmas on a snow lined Oxford Street, but luxuriating in just the though of it was a perfect start to my day.

Monsoon Musings

“All can hear, but only the sensitive can understand the song of the rain”, according to poet Kahlil Gibran. However, you don’t need a very sensitive mind to enjoy a monsoon holiday in Kolkata. A little love for rains, even a slight passion for wondering, an eye for beauty, a camera for photography and a few greedy taste buds will do wonders during your Kolkata monsoon. 

But the monsoons have been elusive again, I am told. ‘Not like in previous years’, Pa tells me as he sips his tea and stares out at the charcoal cloud-cover that has just settled over Urbana. These days, dark skies and swollen clouds bring relief that is only short-lived. The earth around us seems parched and people look like they have had enough of the extended sultry summer.

But ever so suddenly the air does become still, and the trees go silent. If you listen closely, you can hear laughter from the neighbor’s terrace where children are playing with wild abandon.

A bicycle bell sounds in the street below, reminding me of the Red Hero I had as a child. Then the wind returns, bringing with it the smell of wet soil and the sound of distant church bells as Parishioners make their way for evening mass.

As I linger and watch, a pair of crows swoop down to take shelter in the lower branches of a nearby supari tree where they suddenly become shadows. And then… finally… drops of evening rain descend like a wispy lace curtain.

Everything is damp, everything is cool again and windows are flung open as an entire community reaches out to receive the elusive monsoon rain.

Legacy

Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present and future.

Gail Lumet Buckley

• 

  Marie Amelia Atkins (Age 17)

For the last few days, I’ve been staring at this photograph of my grandma from her wedding day. I wonder if she had any idea how simple, yet profoundly impactful her 82 years would be. I remember her stoking my early love of travel by telling me she was the first in our family to fly on an airplane, travelling from Burma to Bengal, where she met and married her husband at the age of 17!

The short answer is that I can’t quantify her life because her legacy is a living, breathing thing. It resides in her children, grandchildren, and even friends in modest places whom she considered family. Her legacy is alive in the things that we say, and the mannerisms with which we say them, and the glimmers of her physical appearance reflected on all our faces.

There are so many things that grandma taught me directly, and even more things that she has passed on to me indirectly by teaching Pa (who in turn taught me). Grandma at 17 was beautiful, grandma at 82 was picture of life lived bravely, faithfully and resolutely.

Reflecting on this picture of grandma I’m reminded that family is the greatest gift I have received, because from it, I’ve got values that bleed into everything I do. That to me is my grandma’s greatest legacy. Ten years after she left us, life goes on without her, but not a day passes without her far reaching impact touching someone else through us all.

The Last Sunrise

The last sunrise of 2020 was lighting up the sky when I awoke this morning. Outside my window, is a blue sky – clear blue with not a wisp of a cloud. The sun is shining bright and a gentle breeze is blowing as the day begins to warm. It is going to be a lovely day here in Dubai. One of many I have been enjoying this winter.

As the sunrays bounce off the glass panes of skyscrapers and surrounding buildings, they paint my neighborhood in shades of orange, blush and rose gold – an ideal fusion of a true and daily paradise. Ironically, this year has been anything but that.

The streets were empty this year, painted by a deafening silence amidst the uncertainty. The rules of human interactions were altered, thanks to the virus, and words like social distancing, self-quarantine and sanitize have imposed and embedded themselves in our vocabulary.

If you are feeling a little bit weary at the end of this very, very, long year, you are not alone. Chances are, as you look back on the last twelve months, you feel a bag of mixed emotions about it. Gratitude you made it through. Sadness for those who did not. Relief that it is nearly over. 

Undoubtedly 2021 will hold new challenges for us all. This is not bad. It is life. Yet like those we have faced before, what matters most is not the problems themselves, but how well we respond to them and how we apply their lessons to grow and thrive. I cannot say for sure that 2021 will be a better year, but I am cautiously optimistic that in a year from now, we’ll be able to look back and say that 2021 was an improvement on 2020. The improvement may not be enormous, but it will be noticeable, measurable steps forward for people around the world, and for us as individuals – if we try.

There is one more sunset to go this year, it will paint our world in charcoal, black and grey, but the Sun will rise tomorrow, hope will dawn, and life will go on.

I pray you have a safe and healthy 2021, Happy New Year.

“In the dead of a long, black night it is hard to imagine a sunrise on the horizon extending its vibrant and warming rays, but that is how you hold out hope. Have faith that the morning you dream of will eventually come.” ― Richelle E. Goodrich, Motivations for Every Day of the Year.

Christmas 2020

If you’re feeling anything like I am, there seems to be a cloud hanging over Christmas 2020, doesn’t it? How strange to have awoken on Christmas Day for the first time in 36 years without any feeling of anticipation or to my Pa, playing carols as we make our way through breakfast and our annual gift exchange. It was always going to be a strange Christmas anyway, but it does feel weird being in a totally different place (in space and mind) than usual.

2020 and the #Pandemic we are all living through has been scary, tough and life-changing in so many ways. Here’s hoping that everyone can still find the courage, hope and inspiration to make the day meaningful despite the challenges.

I teamed up with Jonathan my childhood friend (Check out his page) and my younger brother, to remind whoever is reading this, to ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ just like Judy Garland wanted us to. No matter the circumstances, He, Emmanuel – is with us, and that is worth celebrating today, and every other day through the year.

What does happiness look like?

Though it may come in different forms for different people, most human beings are in pursuit of the same thing: happiness. I try to recollect the moments I have felt truly happy, when there was no doubt in mind that, what I was experiencing was indeed a happy moment – everything that happy is meant to feel like.

I close my eyes and I can see myself sitting in my living room, the soft glow from Christmas tree lights filling the room. My parents are going about their chores humming softly in the background to an Anne Murray Holiday number we have been listening to for as far back as I can remember. My brother is somewhere strumming his guitar, while our dog is curled up on an extra shaggy IKEA carpet, we hauled back on one of our trips home.

My mind wanders, I am now running my fingers along the spines of ancient books at the Shakespeare and Co. in Paris. I am in awe of the place, guilty for having stepped over Rumi’s poetry and yet so glad that I did, because upstairs is even more magical than the rooms below. My friend who lives in Paris, shows me around, here’s a sofa that Edith Piaf sat on while she was in the shop, there’s Sylvia Whitman’s two Persian cats lounging in a gleam of sunlight on the stairs of the fire escape, as a poster of ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof’ sways above them, dancing ironically in a whimsy July breeze. I feel like I am in something of a literary utopia, where the outside world vanishes and generations of writers—Allen Ginsberg, Gandhi, Henry Miller, Anaïs Nin among others who have found a Paris home, take centerstage.

Sometimes when I am driving to or from work and I catch a glimpse of the sun lighting up the sky, or going to bed behind the horizon, it fills my soul with a sense of ….I really don’t know what to call the emotion….or mix of emotions that I experience when that happens. I am just grateful for the moment. I am just so thankful. I wish I had a personal photographer, someone who would follow me everywhere, taking candid snapshots at poignant moments for me to look back on and think about – to see what happiness looks like on me.

I wonder if the experiences I have or the ones I seek out contribute to how happy I feel. I wonder if all of that were to e stripped away, what would I tap into for a refill?

*takes a ten minute break to find a strip of beef jerky and pour a glass of Coke*

It struck me while writing this post that perhaps I have been looking for the wrong signs, perhaps happiness can’t be found in the tangible indications. I realize that the the things I write about, are indeed the ways I know that I am happy.

• I have harmonious relationships with family and friends. Not too many, but by no means insufficient.
• I live in the moment, I drink life greedily and allow it’s flavors to tantalize my senses. I am fully awake to my experiences and will re-live them over and over.
• I live with integrity, and yet, I don’t take life too seriously at all.
• I love my work, but I am not afraid of change, of challenge, of being wrong.
• I love all the places I have been, where I am now and even where life will take me next.

My deadpan expressions might sometimes betray me. I live in my thoughts, argue with the voices in my head and choose to hibernate with a book and soft yellow bedroom lighting when everyone else wants me to be part of the crowd.

Happy people I realize, are not the ones who are seemingly immune from life’s hardships. They go through rough waters like everyone else does. However, happy people know when to reach out and ask for help. They know when they see grey clouds rolling in that they will get through the bad weather. And if they don’t, happy people know when to recognize they’re sinking and ask for a helping hand.

Like most people, I periodically check in on my wellbeing.

Am I happy? Do I like my life? What, if anything, would I change? Here is what I reminded myself of this evening.

Happiness does not look like rainbows, flowers, and sunshine always. Happiness is not about having a Louis Armstrong track playing on a loop like the soundtrack to my existence. True happiness is in my control and no one person or thing should ever determine whether I am truly happy. And with that idea, comes lightness across the rest of my life.

Happiness comes in waves. It’ll come looking for you again, let it find you.

Finding Peace

We can never obtain peace with the outer world until we make peace with ourselves – Dalai Lama

Friday morning was foggy. The air seemed ominous as I made my way around the Reram community, enjoying birdsong, the absence of people and basically just appreciating the deeper sort of beauty in the bleak.

On that lazy stroll, I came across a leaf dangling from a branch above the cobbled walking trail. As light tried to break through the fog, my eyes fixated on the suspended foliage that seemed to be hanging by an invisible thread crafted by an equally invisible spider. With just the right angle of light I saw the glistening strand of silk draped from tree to tree. The architect insect was not in sight, thankfully.

Recalling the experience later in the day made me also think about how many of us seem to be ‘hanging by a thread’ while navigating this strange year of viruses, political freak shows, financial uncertainties, civil unrest, the list goes on, doesn’t it? For some, hanging on to this new normal is a full-time task while others carry-on without too much difficulty.

Regardless of one’s situation in life, all of us are affected by this period of uncertainty. It’s been almost two years since I have seen my dad or travelled back home, it has been a whole year since I have seen mum or travelled on an airplane to distant lands that call me by name. But I know these are still small struggles when compared to the things others are experiencing. I suppose we could take solace in the fact that blessings delayed, are not blessings denied. However, on some days, this truth doesn’t bring much comfort.

What should provide some consolation is knowing that these gray days will pass, as they always do. Waiting is difficult but peace can be sought in many places and in many ways. I find mine through faith in an Omniscient and Omnipotent power, trough worship music when I am alone in my office at 7:00 am. I find peace in long video calls with family and in the pages of the latest book I am reading, in those dependable Bible verses from mum each morning or the silliest things my brother forwards to me. This morning I was filled with a sense of gratitude as I drove into a lemon drop sunrise that painted the city in a dazzling hue. I find my peace in the little things, It’s not so hard, if you try.

I hope you find your peace too.

Morning Meditation

As I stepped into the morning I was greeted by a foggy glow behind the trees that made me smile at the little reward for getting up early. My real reward, though, is the quiet. The time alone. Time to think. Time to write.

For the past thirteen years, my weekend routines have been all about enjoying *my time*. Even this morning I sat beside the lake (and at a safe distance from the frolicking fowl) to enjoy the solitude and write.

Writing slows me down to really notice my world and focus in on a small details of my life. This morning I wrote about a stray memory of a camping trip, I wrote about friendship, about who I am and who I used to be.

This dedicated time for reflection grounds me. Early mornings wake me up and give me the space to reflect. So I write. I take a deep breath and allow the morning to fill my lungs and my spirit.

In time, I sense more morning enthusiasts walking through the fog like ghostly shadows – but to me, that’s all they are – shadows. All of the lake, the swaying palms and the invisible singers chirping above me, are mine alone and for me to enjoy, at least for the next thirty minutes.

29.10.2020

This morning I woke up to grainy fog hanging over the deserted streets of my neighborhood. The usual morning traffic frenzy was replaced by a delectable lull. Behind closed windows and curtains drawn tightly together to keep the light out, people are still asleep, oblivious to the Muezzin’s voice, as the last notes from his call to prayer reverberate on a gentle October breeze. Hazy sunlight streams into my apartment and onto a money plant I have been neglecting all week. I fill the glass bowl with water and return it to its shelf in a cooler, darker part of the room.

As I sit down with a cup of ginger tea and my laptop I realize that I haven’t written in a while and decide to take a moment to acknowledge the good that has happened in what has been a devastating year for most. As my fingers hack away at the keyboard, I am conscious that I am typing this from a position of extreme gratitude.

From the outside, it looks like big things happen swiftly, quietly, almost without fanfare. Within me, the difference feels loud and sometimes deafening. The tectonic plates of my inner universe have shifted, and I find it almost surreal. I still wake up some days thinking, How? What? When?

My Kitchen calendar is still stuck on July, and yet the days fly by in a flurry of Zoom and TEAMS calls, planning, brainstorming, and discussing things. It has been manic, fulfilling, stressful some times but I have no complaints, except that I rarely finish my coffee warm these days.

The other day, I remembered that I had not paid for my electricity and water bills in two months. Then I stopped to muse at how at a point, the thought of this — paying bills and rent, working, and supporting myself in a foreign country — all these seemed like milestones. These are hilariously mundane things that no one in their right mind would consider ‘milestones’ — but they were for me; so I stopped to simultaneously appreciate and laugh at myself.

This time last year, I was in a different city, a completely different frame of mind, planning a visit to Singapore and waiting for mum to come visit me in the Emirates. I had a plan for what 2020 would be like and absolutely no idea (like most of us) that the world, our world, my world – was going to change.

*takes a break to brew another cup of tea*

I rarely have a leisurely morning all to myself and though I woke up with ambitious plans, I can feel sleep calling. The soothing ginger tea is doing what it is meant to and so I give in – to a deliberately vocal yawn and to the sandman.

2020 has been a rollercoaster and there are obviously many more uncertainties and challenges ahead. But for now, I stop, breathe, and take in the moment. I wonder where life will take me next year but today, I am cautiously optimistic, cautiously joyous, and very, very, thankful. To infinity, and beyond – but first, a few more hours of sleep.