Okay

During my first year in college, I once overheard my classmates D and S (both females) discussing among themselves the merits and demerits of the other girls in the class. "What about N?" asked S. "Too showy" said D. "And R?" "She thinks she is pretty, and she is quite snooty about it" "How's Anwesha?" asked S. I held my breadth. "She's okay" said D. I must confess, I was disappointed. I thought D would display some more charity. That she would say Anwesha was nice, charming, friendly, polite and all the good words in her vocabulary. Years later, in a world dominated by back stabbing, criticisms and malice, I know how much it takes for a woman to call another woman "okay". Those words mean mean the world to me now. Thank God, I am OKAY!!!

Frozen watermelons on a hot Sunday afternoon.aah heaven!

Its grand pa's birthday today, though he is not very sure if it is on the 6th of May or 6th of April. He confessed this after we slogged it out on a hot morning, churning out lau chingri, pabda maacher jhol and paayesh. Atleast I thought it was a shade better than gran ma who has no idea which month she was born - she vaguely remembers spring - but it could even be summer. Grand Pa has his post graduation certificates and hences knows his age - grand ma does not even know that - in essence she epitomises Bryan Adam's eternal song : 18 till I die!

Kiss Ko Konnect Karu?

I hate it when a daily soap or a game show that you watch regularly comes to an end. No matter how detestable it is, you get used to viewing a certain program at a certain time of the day. When it goes off air, you are faced with a sudden void. It’s been two weeks now since KBC is no longer aired, and we are at a dilemma. Pre KBC, we used to fight for the remote over 'Kasam Se' or 'Hare Kaach Ki churiya' and all those nameless soaps - we hated each and every serial, but we loved the certainty of getting to see it at 9pm every day of the week. When KBC started and Dad insisted that refreshing our general knowledge was far more important than acquainting ourselves with the modus operandi of the scheming sister-in-law, we sulked, but we capitulated. Suddenly, 9pm was about Shah Rukh Khan and his silly antics. We loved it at times, sometimes, we yawned and looked at the watch wishing that sixty minutes would take only five to get past us and at times, we bit our nails, hoping that the hooter would ring and the contestant would get a reprieve.

But all that is history now and we are lost in a maze of ninety channels and more, wondering how best to spend our sixty minutes. I suggested watching news channels, but gruesome news about war and violence does not go well with paltry dal and roti. We certainly need something that is unreal enough to help us digest dinner. Its 9:20 pm and unlike the golden days of yore, the TV is switched off. I am busy blogging, Ma is finishing her novel, Baba is reading his newspaper and if we had a pet cat, it would have curled up and gone to sleep by now. We are probably the perfect picture of domestic peace, but I sense a restlessness that will remain until our hunt for the ideal 9pm time pass reaches an amicable conclusion.