reflections
a sleepless night, parents and squirrels, an adventure in Calcutta, trees growing on things, yes we can, little reads and, as always, pictures.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for being here.
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The below story is an expansion of the notes I wrote as soon as I returned from an outing on December 1.
December 1, turned into a story
I woke up at 8:40. Last night was a sleepless affair. First, I couldn’t fall asleep. As usual, I was thinking in bed, thinking about life in general and the movie I had been watching yesterday (Deep Water).
I hated the characters. Why was the wife sleeping with every other man, and why was the husband tolerating his partner’s erratic and irresponsible behavior? She never cooked, cleaned, drove, did chores, earned, or did anything other than drink. What was the equation supposed to be? Why was there so much anguish, bitterness, betrayal, miscommunication, hurt, and harshness when they had everything: a big house, tonnes of money, a beautiful funny child? Good that the husband decided to get rid of the guys. (How he does it is a spoiler alert, though I don’t recommend the movie.)
I didn’t appreciate him getting rid of the men because he was jealous. But because there was no other way he could stop his wife from going out with these men, or to bring her back from this world she kept disappearing into. She wasn’t happy, per se.
Don’t think about the movie. You know, we always talk about not thinking of the things we have seen and not living in that world. What’s that rustling sound? Is it coming from our house? No. Probably a rat or cat is having a go at the garbage downstairs.
More things rustled downstairs. I thought of disconnecting the fairy lights that we put on the balcony railing before Diwali, connecting the switch to the only switchboard in our bedroom, forcing us to keep the balcony door open at least enough to let the wire go out at all times. But I didn’t get up.
Perhaps at 1 am, I woke up to go to the toilet. I slip my feet into the only pair of bathroom slippers that we have and which were on my bed side. They are generally on the side of my partner, Sagar, but he is visiting his parents in North India, and I have the whole bed and the slippers to myself. Back in bed, an irritating mosquito found me. He kept buzzing in my ear for hours. Meanwhile, I turned and twisted. I told myself, don’t think negative, think positive. I went to the toilet, maybe, three times.
The balcony with our bedroom, which is also a drying area, faces our street and is right above the apartment gate. I went to the balcony and looked down through the iron railing to see if the gate was locked. In Calcutta, and only in Calcutta, I have found the apartment gates to be locked at night from the inside by 10:30 or 11 pm. They are locked by the caretaker, mostly, and sometimes by the residents if there isn’t a caretaker. The staircase of the apartment is locked too.
We have been told that Calcutta was once very unsafe. Perhaps that’s why all balconies, windows, and air conditioners have iron railings outside, to protect them. Though the city might not be unsafe now, the locking of the gates is a practice that’s still followed. Amongst the eleven different stays I have had in Calcutta (true story), only one building was unlocked at night. It was an Airbnb with two residential areas, and no caretaker on site.
So, as I was saying, I looked at the gate below through the railings, staring hard to notice a lock of any kind. I didn’t know what it might look like, and I wanted to be sure. The apartment owner (who is a friend of a friend and doesn’t live on the premises) had told us the gate is locked at 11 pm by the caretaker. I have never seen the gate locked. I had my eyes fixed on the gate, anxious that if anyone else on the street, maybe in the building across, was up and watching me, the person would surely think that I had some hidden agenda behind my stay here and I was a threat. Perhaps I was a thief noticing the patterns around the street, only to form a dangerous plan. I looked around. All windows and gates were shut; only a few building lights were on.
I am sure everyone thinks the caretaker locks the gate. He never does. Good! I don’t want to have to ring him up every time I am late. But what if he does it sometime?
In this house, I have never been out after nine pm. Nevertheless, I have felt locked in, knowing that if I wanted to be out late or go on a walk at dawn, I might not be able to. And I don’t like that.
Maybe I will sleep better without the noise from downstairs. I, finally, unplugged the fairy lights, hanging the extra wire on an iron nail on the balcony. I latched the balcony door. I also switched on the fan, hoping to scare the mosquito away. More buzzing, more thinking, more going to the toilet, and no sleep. Feeling a bit cold in the two cotton white sheets I have been using as a duvet, I turned off the fan. The fan would have given me a cold by the morning!
Not sure what finally sent the mosquito away, but he was gone, after 2:30 perhaps. I shifted the 5:30 and 6 am alarms on my phone by half an hour each. Maybe I will still be able to go to the Botanical Gardens, but let’s see when I wake up. The Botanical Gardens are more than an hour away from my place, and I have promised myself that I will leave for them no later than 7 am to get the most out of my visit. No, 7:30 wouldn’t work.
The alarm rang duly in the morning. I was slightly conscious at 6:30, going to the toilet ten minutes later. I was just able to put the garbage out our door before I got in bed again. I will get up soon, but first some rest.
I woke up at 8:40. Of course, I wasn’t energetic. I wasn’t happy. My head was heavy. I went to the toilet. I really need a chai. I don’t feel like working out today at all. Argh! I thought about how Sagar will message in the morning, wishing me a good morning, a message pumped up with his usual “Go get them champ” kind of thing. I found myself feeling resentful of the message.
Why can’t he say, Look what a beautiful day it is and how the birds are chirping? How am I supposed to go get them every day? Who are they? And why does a good morning mean we have to go get them? Why can’t we just be, slowly plodding along on our way?
I felt pressured to start the day. After a few minutes, I got out of bed and changed into workout clothes. Yoga would be the answer to everything. I got onto YouTube to find a suitable video of the yoga teacher I always practice with. Of course, Instagram notifications distracted me, and when I went to the feed, a workout post of someone I barely know (but who is reading my book) running every day or doing strength training tightened my stomach. Look how much she is doing, I ain’t doing that much. This distraction was not needed. I felt bad, but also knew that the social media algorithms were at work again, and that it was good for her, but my life was my life.
The yoga session was supposed to be easy and relaxing, but I couldn’t concentrate and was distracted thinking of things I had to do. Or how it would be when Sagar returned from his parents’ home a couple of days later. He had been gone for three weeks that Monday, and it had been a constant discussion between us that his laptop and phone usage had been a serious problem, now for many years. The habit has affected our lives so much that a lot of resentment and anguish have set in. When he left we were both already having a hard time, and he had gone with the thought that we would take some time to get back together. I was scared.
Would we be kind to each other? Would all the love and patience and fun we are planning on the video calls to give to each other materialize? At the end of the video, the yoga teacher asked us to think about how the practice had affected us. I didn’t feel relaxed. I hadn’t been able to focus and let go.
I did the dishes. There were many, and it took me more time than I thought. Usually, Sagar does the dishes, but now I have been doing them, and I find that I like the activity as I did before. I also cleaned the kitchen slab, craving some hot tea. A quick cold shower (we don’t have a geyser in our temporary accommodation) and then I was in the kitchen to make tea. I also made parathas filled with carrom seeds to eat with the leftover vegetable preparation of cauliflower and potatoes. I made the vegetable the day before yesterday. At lunch yesterday, I had overeaten the preparation, trying to finish it, and hadn’t felt good after. I took a small portion. When Sagar is here things don’t take this long to finish. It would have gone in two meals at most.
I sat down on my desk and enjoyed my breakfast that I felt I had earned well. I started replying to emails and messages. Work began. As always, instead of quickly replying to a reader on Instagram, I found myself scrolling the feed too. Sometimes so much so that I forgot why I picked up the phone in the first place. Of course, I read an article posted on Twitter instead of just sharing a read I liked. And so on. I still felt I was on top of things as I had made a priority list the previous night, and these lists always help.
I called my father to ask if he had received my renewed credit card from HDFC Bank.
“No, nothing from HDFC.” He answered thoughtfully, remembering that he had my debit card from Kotak delivered a few weeks ago. (I want to let HDFC come to him too, and then I will request him to send me both. My parents’ address is my address for everything.)
I am focused on just the card information while my father goes on to talk about other things, his voice slow and calm, as it is mostly in the afternoons, after the morning chores but before lunch. He said that he had cooked fresh red seasonal carrots with milk and sugar, and should he send some for me too? Looking at a squirrel scurrying up the guava tree, he said, “Maybe a squirrel can bring it to you?”
“But Papa squirrel will eat it all herself! We have to find something that doesn’t eat it.” I am smiling contentedly at this banter.
“Yeah you are right. Maybe you can come and have it.”
I nodded and said, yeah probably. I still couldn’t get back to my things because my father said, “Just speak to your mother also for a minute.” It is never a minute with my mother, but my heart wasn’t in my work, I was bored, and our relationship struggle has left me strained and in need of love. My mother talked about her sickness, how she couldn’t sleep the previous night without her sleep medicine, and we discussed how we both can never sleep immediately, and how mosquitoes always buzz in one’s ears.
“Use the goodnight mosquito machine.”
“I don’t have it. There aren’t any mosquitoes these days.”
“Yeah, one or the other comes.”
“I will buy one,” I tell her. Though I have told Sagar to bring one. Our car, Scooby, with all our stuff in it, is parked at his parents’ home. And he is bringing us some of our essentials we didn’t carry in our backpacks while leaving Scooby in North India earlier in June this year.
I told my mother what I ate, and she told me she will spice up the urad lentil from the day before for my father, and she would eat leftover tahri. Tahri is a classic North Indian rice dish made with peas, tomato, onion, ginger, potato, and cauliflower. It’s a winter preparation, full of fresh winter vegetables, and both my mother and I love it. That’s also one of the first dishes I made when Sagar left, eating the same pot for two days, licking my fingers.
There was some news for me! The loquat tree in my parents’ garden that has been shooting higher into the sky every time I go home and hasn’t borne fruit was blooming, my parents told me. Delicate white small flowers, my mother said. “When we can hardly see them from the balcony, how will your father take a picture?” She replied when I asked her to tell Father to send me one. We discussed the flower, the tree, relishing the comfort of our usual style of conversation.
“I want to go out I am bored.” I told her.
“Go, go have fun. Sometimes you don’t feel like working. I can’t go anywhere anymore. You roam around on my behalf too. And eat on my behalf too.” She says in a good spirit, not in a resentful one.
Now I had to go out.
I did some more work, checked the book sales, seeing that two copies were ordered from the Amazon links on my website (this is a great thing, so thank you, readers), and after half a cup of tea, I got up from my desk. I changed, put on lipstick (after months), picked up money and wallet and water and tissues, put on shoes, and locking the door behind me, I was out.
First, I thought of going to the Mahatma Gandhi Road metro station and seeing from there. But on the way to the metro by bus, I decided to go to Esplanade; the river Ganga appeared close to it on the map. I will go to the ghats, the shores of the river. I stood in the metro all the way, admiring my reflection in the glass windows of the metro. My collared parrot green t-shirt shone above my red pants. I had put on a white shirt with red pineapples on it. I was happy to see myself, which is often the case. I wondered when my exercises would make me stronger and leaner. I observed the passengers. Most were scrolling on their phones, watching videos on Facebook or Instagram, some were listening to audio messages on WhatsApp, a few were sleeping with earphones plugged into their ear, probably listening to music, and the people standing by were looking at the people on seats.
Esplanade is a central, financial area of the city and flaunts historic buildings of National, State, and Colonial importance. But I had seen much around there before, and I put the directions to the Eden Garden public park. Eden Gardens is the cricket stadium, but there’s a public park attached to it. My friend had mentioned it once. I wanted to see it.
I passed the stadium, with its big lights. The giant building was pasted with giant posters of our famous cricketers. Ganguly (a local of Calcutta), Sachin, and Kohli were all there. I took a picture to remember years later that once I passed the Eden Gardens. I have only seen one live cricket match, and that was in Bangalore in 2010.
The whole Esplanade area is full of big wide roads, though small narrow streets web around, too. For now, I was on a big road with pavements. Google suggested a right cut. There was none. Instead, a closed gate stood where the turn was supposed to be. Maybe they have blocked the entry from there? I crossed the road and walked next to the Eden Gardens campus, which was from the outside as thickly wooded as a forest. A bearded man stood by the iron mesh fencing the stadium, looking inside. I couldn’t tell what he was staring at. Feeling like I was walking next to a forest, I breathed in the cool breeze.
The Eden Gardens Public Park, which cost twenty rupees as an entry ticket and for which I was called out by the guard because I just walked in without stopping, was beautiful. There were a lot of benches, and couples were making out on most of them. The gardener was working away at his plants slowly. A huge, towering palm tree made me strain my neck.
There were lakes everywhere. When I leaned against a railing, I saw fish frolicking in the lakes, many dirty with garbage. The surfaces of the lakes were covered in floating weeds. It didn’t look like hyacinth; the leaves were smaller. Lilies and white lotuses, white lotuses, were abloom everywhere. Some were half open, others full, and many were sleeping.
And that was when I saw them. My mouth opened, and my eyes widened. I was amazed.
More to continue in the next letter. I am breaking the long letter into two parts, as I have done before, too. Hope you have enjoyed so far and that you will be looking forward to the next one, which I will try to send this coming Sunday.
The second half of the story is even more intriguing. There is a rare bird, the wild relishes of an abandoned park, and maybe a stalker. Stay tuned!
This is half the story of a simple day in a nomadic writer’s life in India. What’s your story?
My 1st book, a travel memoir, Journeys Beyond and Within… is out in all bookstores in India and on Amazon globally. I’d love for you to read the book and tell me what I did right, or wrong. Journeys is not only a travel memoir, it’s a true account of me making my own path despite all the odds.
Here’s the 59-sec book trailer:
All Amazon links are here, or search for the title on your Amazon.
Here are some links,
Amazon India — Amazon USA — Amazon UK
Amazon Germany — Amazon Australia — Amazon Canada
These two independent bookshops ship the book pan-India and internationally:
Pune’s Pagdandi book shop and cafe and The Midland store in Delhi
I’m sending signed copies within India and outside through our beloved post offices. Reply to this letter to order yours :)
Pssst: There’s a special gift story too. Email me your order details to claim it :)
Or, read a Chapter first. Claim your completely free first chapter here.
For this week’s letter,
Some of my past writing,
quotes I love,
things to read,
and
things to watch.
Grocery Markets in Siliguri–Picking Tomatoes and Turnips
Everywhere I go, I pocket carry bags and step out into the chaos that are vegetable street fairs in India. Here’s one of the best grocery markets in Siliguri, West Bengal.
Read to know why I pick my own fruits and vegetables.
Grab the story now. Or Pocket it for the week.
Slowly Visiting the Places to See in Mysore City, Karnataka
My Mysore Travel Guide: visiting places to see in Mysore city, exploring its history and nature, and eating dosas. It has most things you need to know about Mysuru, India.
Find the narrative now. Or Pocket it for later.
Quotes I Love
“Cheshire Cat, can you tell where I ought to go from here?” asked Alice. “That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the Cat. “I don’t much care where...,” said Alice. “Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.
Alice in Wonderland
Remember to be positive. To say, “Yes, we can,” “Yes, you can,” and “Yes, I can.” Regardless of the chaos. It’s eighty percent in the saying, believing, and thinking. Action follows.
Yours Truly
What I’ve Been Reading
I’ve been reading short stories, books, articles, and so much more. I can’t possibly list all what I have read in the past weeks so I’m putting down the things I found most relevant and worthwhile.
Going to Iowa by Christine Fugate — A sensible, and hair-raising, piece on sharing and being strangers.
My Mother’s Bath Time Story by Yuko Iida Frost — A beautiful story about families, their warmth and hazy boundaries, memories, and a bond between a mother and a daughter.
Ghostcard by Ann de Forest — A tale of all things unfinished, but perhaps they are not unfinished, they were supposed to be that way, maybe.
Someone got too drunk one morning and drove their truck into the side of my car by Charles Michael Pawluk— No No No. Don’t drink and drive.
I have still not finished My Dateless Diary by R K Narayan and The Moving Shadow: Electrifying Bengali Pulp Fiction.
What I’ve Been Watching/Listening
that’s worth mentioning
Catch and Release: A good watch on how life can be so unplanned, can hit us hard, but then we can pick up and recover too. A funny movie, in parts.
Happy Go Lucky, a movie by Mike Leigh — At the beginning, the movie was driving me crazy, but you will know why I watched it in the next letter. It is a great film. I highly recommend it.
And for all adventure lovers!
Sorry no photos today as there are many above, and any longer, this letter will grow into a book.
Oh, just one.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy your Sunday outdoors.
As I said above, you can read a complimentary chapter of my travel memoir, Journeys Beyond and Within…, here.
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Let me know what you think about this letter. Press reply.
Yours,
Priyanka
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Ghostcard was fantastic! Thanks. Also loved one line in your piece - "one of these days I will buy a coconut" 🤣🤣
Great job and thank you so much for making your content accessible to everybody. I've loved watching how you've grown and really enjoy seeing these places through your eyes(Ps., you can find me @themontessorimilestones, @revella_notvanella)