It's a traffic jam when you're already late…

Things do go wrong …and boy does that bug you…just when u hope everything will work out …things go woefully wrong…like timing your journey to the last second so that u don’t have to face the dreadful perpetually belching, bowel- movement -discussing Calcutta suburban railway crowd…and the train u take happens to be the most crowded one coz the previous two have been cancelled…

It’s a good advice that u just didn’t take…

U scamper in unsure, scared and extremely vulnerable…but u decide to put up a brave front…u wont be a sitting duck, u tell urself…u will give it back to them, these hardened local train veterans, so as they go about their card playing huddles and vendor harassing sessions, u tentatively try to get a toehold…and then u look around…only to catch a burly man staring at u and then u look away and then again u look up and *gasp* he beckons to u …SEXUAL HARASSMENT u want to scream …but keeping in mind the homophobic nature of the suburbs u try and restrain urself and look away muttering abuses under ur breath…the train comes to a halt and the burly man brushes past u telling u “arre bhai bhalai ka toh zamaana hi nahi raha , seat de rahe they aapko” ( seeing my discomfiture he was offering me his seat as he was anyway disembarking in the next stop) …sigh…

Life has a funny way of sneaking up on youLife has a funny, funny way of helping you outHelping you out…

U reconcile to the idea of being hustled and bustled all through the 2 hour long journey and begin to take some kinda perverse pleasure from bodily contact (who am I kiddin u hate it )…u begin to take notice of the delightful samples of humanity and gleefully mindmark them …a vendor offering a “world famous in India” deal catches ur attention …he is offerin a comb, a set of 10 ballpoint pens and an issue of cosmopolitan for all of 10 bucks …a steal by any standards… as u try and connect his wares and draw up an endearing mental picture of a suburban long tressed Bengali housewife combing her hair while jottin down recipes with a pen from the issue of cosmopolitan …and u wake up from ur reverie to find an almost empty compartment, u blink ur eyes in disbelief and then seat urself in a comfortable corner saying to urself-

It is ironic …
I really do think…

Threptin Dadu…

Sometimes people tend to be associated with things…this holds specially true for people whose idiosyncrasies overtake their persona…
My grandfather meant a lot of things to me …but even today when I close my eyes and think about him I can smell the wonderful scent of cigarettes mixed with brylcreem and Johnson baby lotion…
Of his weird habits which were supplemented with weird things…the capstan cigarette papers that he always used…the blue packet of tobacco that he made me rush to the neighbourhood pan shops for…his aversion to certain spices (garam masala and coconut) which he insisted he was allergic to but my grandma persistently put them in her delightful curries (for she could never compromise on taste) without his knowledge…and surprise of surprises, he never was affected…his packet of threptin biscuits which he believed were the only safe biscuits to eat in this spurious goods infested market (we wud never touch that saw -dust tasting things despite of his repeated cajoling) and of course that grotesque tasting toothpaste called emoform which so much looked like a tube of shaving cream that even today I have my doubts whether my grandpa has been using shaving cream as a tooth paste all his life (that wud explain his yellowing teeth )…his firm belief that all these electronic water purifying gadgets were hogwash and the only way to get pure water was to use the contraption called zero b…

Nirmalendu Bhattacharya, my grandfather was 74 yrs old when he breathed his last breath…I didn’t get to see him alive after I bid him goodbye two years ago…
Come back Dadu, this time I will have the threptin biscuits… I promise…