Day 5 |Trondheim|Pastiche from the Past

After being sleep deprived for a night in Oslo, in Trondheim I more than made up for it. Morpheus and I were cozying up - the only caveat being that Mary was expected at 9 am at our hotel to show us around. However, schools being on holiday etc. the bus schedules were now quite awry, and she called to tell us she'd be in by noon.

B was content to laze for a bit, i think he felt lost without the Hag's company. She was resting in the car, and for a change i had the pleasure of B's company, without her butting in to say " Traffic disruptions in 500 metres".

We sauntered out towards the old quarter, Bakklande, originally homes of the working class, now restored, is a charming mixture of houses and shops. Then walked up towards the Kristiansen Festning, the fort that seems to stand guard over the city. On our way back, while walking downhill towards the old town bridge, we saw a really odd sight. It was almost as though the wind was carrying cyclists uphill, and it appeared that their bicycles had attained a strange metaphysical quality, akin to broomsticks from a quidditch game! Turned out it was in fact an odd contraption - a bicycle lift! Well, it must beat having to cycle uphill!

This was a first, and we saw several people going uphill just for fun! One particularly photo friendly gent insisted on riding his bike at least 5 times, for us to get great pictures! The odd thing was - it was a wednesday morning. Shouldn't people be at work? What work!

We headed back to the hotel, and within minutes M. arrived. At first glance, she appeared frail, and rather weather beaten. She was soon to prove us completely wrong as she raced uphill at the NTNU, well ahead of B & me! We wandered from building to building in search of the "wood chemistry" department, which it seemed, was now merged with the Chemical Sciences Department. In our search for the right building she suddenly stopped and pointed to a spot - and said,"This is where I once dropped your father, while your mother and I continued to the market for some shopping". Some things seemed to be as eternal as the rain!

We finally found the department in question, and met a Lab assistant who remembered B's father from 30 years ago, as one of the few foreign students who spoke Norske.
Oddly enough, his name was Odd! He showed us around the labs, spoke of the days gone by, and Professor Helle, (contrary to his name, was apparently very nice acc. to my father in law), one time head of the Department, who had since retired. It did feel very a bit strange, to be back 30 years ago, to labs where B's father spent 5 years, researching and completing his PhD.

Soon after we headed for Moholt, the studentby (student town). Mary led us to the apartment where B lived with his parents, 30 odd years ago! She then pointed to her apartment, the sand box where here son Oyvind and B would play as children, and looked as though she was lost in time. She took out a photo album, of the very same place, and not much had changed. Other than time had gone by, and the 2 year olds were now 32. We insisted B sit in the sand box for a picture, much to the delight of two pretty little girls who insisted on getting a picture as well!

M then showed us a spot where she first met B's mother, and told us an amusing story of how they changed seats every time the sun moved (ok, so i know that the sun doesn't move, but if you know what i mean!). M in search of sun and my m.i.l in search of shade! We tried meeting the present day occupants of the apartment where B lived, but unfortunately the Pakistani family that now appeared to live there, wasn't very keen to have visitors!

We then headed to the hospital where B was born, and took some quick pictures. The only missing link to this otherwise perfect day was Dr. Das, a doctor as well as a friend of B's parents who had been present at B's birth! Despite best efforts, neither M, nor B nor my father in law had been able to get in touch with him. It was rumoured he still lived in Trondheim with his wife and daughters.

By now we were hungry, and Mary had planned we go to Munkholmen, the little island that lies in the Trondheim fjord, just to the north of the town. The ferry for Munkholmen left from the Fish market area, known as the Ravnkloa. It rang a bell- a name that was familiar and not.

The excursion to Munkholmen started out as a not so great idea. It was well past 3 pm, the sun was very high in the sky, and we were starving. Also the boat for the island was terribly crowded with families, with prams, hot dogs and other kinds of dogs. A marginally refined version of a boat i once took to Manori in Mumbai, under some duress, a few years ago!

I was soon to be proved wrong. For one, from the fjord one got a much better view of Trondheim! Also the island was really quite charming! Not a word that would have a rung a bell with the several ghosts that roam the island (Munkholmen was an execution ground in the Viking reign). Later it became the site of a Benedictine monastery, where the monks brewed some good beer, refined over the years. In fact the restaurant served us some beer, brewed from a recipe that dated back to 1351! The higlight of this visit though, was not the beer, but in fact freshly caught salmon, grilled, with boiled potatoes, salad, flat bread and plenty of butter! This had to be the freshest fish I had eaten in a long time!

More reminisces about the past later and a conversation with a friend from 30 years ago.Not me, but B! He had a little chat with Oyvind, M's son, his childhood playmate.Unfortunately, Oyvind spoke Norsk & B only English, so the conversation was limited, but Mary's smile was infinite! Though from time to time she'd lament,'But you spoke perfect Norsk, how could you forget'!

M, B & I headed back to Trondheim. Was there a better end to a perfect day other than a spot of shopping for some Trolls and fair isle sweaters? Turned out there was - we chanced to come across an Indian gentleman, who knew a Dr.Das, replace the 'a' with 'the' ! We then said goodbye to Mary, who had to take the bus back to and made our way over to the Das residence, in Tyholt.

Plenty of warmth, some special darjeeling tea and fyrstekake (almond & hazelnut cake, very delicious and terribly sinful), we sat on their porch amidst a well tended wildflower garden. Browsed through more photo albums, went back and forth in time, saw some photos very similar to the ones B's parents have, perhaps different parts of the same album.

Not surprising. Today a 30- year- old jigsaw had come together, and it fit perfectly! As for Ravnkloa - sounds just like Ravenclaw from Harry P. Is this where JKR had come to find her spot of magic?

We certainly found ours, in the past and in the present.

Day 4 and Half | Trondheim | Sepia Tints

Here we were at last. The city of B's birth. At 64 degrees north, pretty darn close to the edge of the world, Trondheim it was. We reached at about 4.30 pm, and one of the 1st sights that greeted us was "Jadab's Indian Restaurant". Quite amazing! Turned out later it was run by Pakistanis.
We then passed by a bright red building which turned out to be the "Studentersamfundet", probably a student center, perhaps one where B's dad used to hang out!

At 1st glance it looked like any little town in northern Europe. Not the prettiest of towns, with old wooden houses and shops that had stood still in time, but different. The 1st thing i did when we checked into our Hotel - the Radisson SAS Royal Garden Hotel - was checkout the drapes. Yes, they seemed to be thick enough, and we had a room facing the inner garden, so I was getting some sleep tonight hopefully! No more sunlight!

I was soon to be proved partly wrong about the 1st impression of this city, probably best known as the first capital of Norway and a renowned university. We set out to see some of the sights, saving some of the more interesting parts for tomorrow which, Mary, an old friend of B's parents, was to show us around.

We started by walking out towards the Nidaros Cathedral and the Archbishop's Palace. The cathedral was beautiful, as were the surrounding gardens. The cathedral is really quite old, apparently started out as a stone church at St. Olav's burial site around 1070, and it is assumed that the Cathedral was finished in all its splendour some time around the 1300s. Though one must admit, living in such close proximity to the St. Jan's cathedral in our very own Den Bosch had spoilt us - St. Jan's seems so much more striking than most cathedrals I have ever seen!
The Archbishop's Palace was more impressive in many ways- for one it gave one a feel of the architectural style of the place, especially the east wing that is well preserved. From the palace one could go down to the river Nid - which offered us a wonderful sunset view.

We later stumbled across the Tourist information office - very friendly folks, especially once they discovered B was born in Trondheim! Also gave us a couple of maps - and insisted we visit Munkholmen. B didn't pay much attention to that, he seemed preoccupied in trying to recall something of this town, but was unable to! Not surprising - he was 2 when his parents left with him for India.

We walked on - it was unusually hot. It was hard to believe we were at 64 degrees north. Also the sun showed no signs of abating as yet. The Royal Residence, “Stiftsgården” much touted as the largest timber palace in Europe turned out to be something of a disappointment. We then arrived at the Market Square - which was dominated by a statue of the founder of Trondheim, Olav Tryggvason.

Finally the long drive to Trondheim and the daylight took its toll- and we headed to the Elvehavn area- recommended by the friendly boy at the tourist info office. The area was reminiscent of the reclaimed docklands in many other cities - with old and new blending in to create a hip new area filled with shops, restaurants and modern apartments.

We found ourselves seated at a Tapas restauarant, Ajo (wrong part of the world to be eating Tapas) but getting a seat in this busy restaurant area was akin to winning the super grand slalom!

Some Tapas - surprisingly good (the chef was spanish), local beer, lots more sun, a short walk and we were home. Nothing about the hotel made it feel like home, but for B it was close enough to the 1st home he had ever known, here in Trondheim.

Day 4 | Oslo-Trondheim| Ride of the Valkyries

I woke up this morning, and hastily recounted; if it's tuesday it must be Trondheim.
Not quite. We were to head there today though. Did i say woke up?

For the 1st time in years - i hadn't slept a wink all night! There was no night. The sun faded for a bit around 12.30 am and it was bright by 2.30 am! Through the porthole of our very large cabin on the ship, all i could do was stare outside, at the Oslo fjord and recall Al Pacino's plight in Insomnia. Ironically, this child of Kumbhakarna had been taken over by Heimdall, of Norse legends, who never sleeps!

Spirits were high. Only figuratively, we were going to see the town of B's birth. Well, it looked as though Norwegian policemen had similar ideas. We found a section of the highway closed, and followed other cars to a parking spot. Where to our amazement, they were administering breathalysers to everyone! This at 9.30 am on a tuesday!

B passed the test with flying colors and ventured to ask the policeman the choice of time and day. He then explained they were looking for drugs and alcohol traces, also - because of the never ending daylight people party till the wee hours of the morning,and then drive! B didn't get it, i did though. This much light would drive anybody to drink! And if you can't sleep, drive!
Soon after we drove through the outskirts of Lillehammar - familiar to us as the host city of the winter olympics a few years ago - '94 i think. The outskirts of the city comprised well-preserved late 19th c. concentration of wooden houses, which enjoyed a picturesque location overlooking lake Mjøsa and the river Lågen, surrounded by mountains.
We crossed some beautiful parts of the world. In parts it reminded me of a conversation I once had with a Norwegian on an airplane when he showed me a picture of the Myrdal region, and said, "Perhaps, Kashmir is like this?" Though he had never been to Kashmir, and I had visited it at the age of eight, he couldn't have been more right. Snow capped mountains, rushing rivulets, little fjord inlets, plenty of places to fish, and startling purple wildflowers. If there was heaven, it was here. Most of all - the weather god Frey was really kind, sparkling sunshine changed one's perspective considerably.

It was an amazing drive, we stopped off at little inlets to splash around, saw wild berries, which looked edible, found fresh salmon sandwiches! Snowy peaks at a distance were melting fast into gushing waterfalls. The road swerved here and there, and was quite mountainous in bits. Peeking below the road, suddenly we'd find rapids!

The map we had purchased from the fuel station didn't go any further north after Otta (about 62 degrees north!). Which would have been daunting to most. But B seemed quite in control. I think he felt like he should know the roads from 28 years ago! Also the Hag and he were conspiring by now, and were determined to reduce me to the Navigator "who couldn't". To annoy me further B would hum a tune from time to time which sounded familiar, but i couldn't seem to place.

The number of elk signs seemed to have increased; the E6 also had changed character, was now a fairly narrow highway. I was busy looking out for the elks, but discovered an Lapp dwelling instead! When we got hungry, we reached for our packs of the famous Hell Melk - to which my mother in law attributes many things!

Trondheim would arrive soon.Which is an entirely different story. And i would recognise the hum as the ride of the valkyries. But for now I was busy falling off the map.

Day 3 |Malmo-Oslo | Faster than Fairies

We left Copenhagen, and started towards the next leg or trip. As always The Hag and I differed on what was going to be the way forward. I was looking forward to taking the ferry from - get this - Helsingor in Denmark to Helsingborg in Sweden. If you think the Scandinavians are short on names and creativity, you can say that again!

Helsing reminded me of Hugh Jackman(hot) and a stupid movie (not hot). Turns out - Helsingor, situated at the north east point of Zealand, is the same as Elsinore, mentioned in Shakespeare's Hamlet. The history of Helsingor can be traced back to 70 BC - wow ! That is the one thing that i missed in all my time in the US - nothing there was more than 300 years old (or perhaps they simply obliterated everything that was older!) It almost redefined my concept of history. When we moved back to New Delhi from Boston, and I discovered the ruins in the park in front of our house were nearly 800 years old, i almost gagged on the "ahhwesomme" that came out of me , unwittingly!

So the cross over the Øresund was going to be across an engineering marvel - the 16 km long bridge-tunnel link. One of the highlights for B on this trip was the Øresund Bridge between Denmark and Sweden, one of Europe’s largest ever construction projects. Just before we left i had read a bit about it - the bridge was celebrating its fifth anniversary on July 1. To quote from their website "This bridge and tunnel link across Øresund has generated a dramatic increase in the land transport of people and freight between the European continent and Scandinavia, thus substantially contributing to the development of the infrastructure of modern Europe." Apparently the bridge seeks to promote 'economic, cultural and mental bridges"!

If only it were that simple! At this point - the only mental bridges that needed to be built were

between the GPS - aka Hagatha (the Hag) and me. She insisted on efficiency, and led us through the fastest routes at all points. B loved her - he could program her, she always listened to him, when he made mistakes that required the iq of a flea, instead of calling him a *****idiot, she calmly advised him to make an u turn if possible.

I was frustrated. The landscape was only marginally nicer than Denmark. If anything it looked like parts of the New Jersey scape - the golden arches, large ikea stores, just boring generica.
Fortunately, they had decided to repair the E6 highway in parts, forcing the H to send us to some inner routes, where at times, she was lost ! Her silly voice would say "you are not on a digitised route". So even she wasn't invincible. Nearly, but not quite!

Some of these routes were rather scenic; there was village close to the Halmstad-Valkendal regions - large conifers, streams running through front yards, large red houses, all in all very charming. We were now in Småland - home of the Swedish glass-making industry. Unfortuantely most of them are located closer to the Kalmar region, on the east coast.
Also it seemed to be golf country from the minute we had crossed Malmo to go north. It was incredible to see so many people make the most of the rare warm weather.

We hoped to find interesting lunch - and were looking forward to trying the famous smörgåsbord. But it was easier to find the golden arches, so filet-o-fish it was. Sigh.

Time sped, as did we. At considerably lower speeds than Germany though. Towns and cities came and went.Names such as Goteborg, Uddevalla, Munkedal remained names on a map. Finally we reached the Svinessund Bridge,which connects Norway and Sweden, with the E6 running right through it. Fortuantely we had made it thus far, unattacked by the famed Swedish short snout dragon, though B was doing a pretty good imitation in bits!

The entry to Oslo is very charming. Hillside houses with spectacular views of the Oslofjord. A wooden bridge on theE 18. Purple wildflowers everywhere.

I was very excited about spending the night on a ship in the harbour. On the MS Innvik in Langkaia. Not sure why - but it didn't quite turn out that way! Perhaps best summed up by the gentleman showing us to our cabin - "Not quite what you expected, eh?" when he saw my expression! We hastily unloaded some of our belongings and made our way towards the city.

Oslo as B says is - one of those places, you can take it or leave it. Pretty enough, we did the usually touristy rounds of the Kongelige Slott (Royal Palace), Stortinget (Parliament Building), the Cathedral and Åkershus Castle.

The day ended after a fabulous meal at a restaurant D/S Louise on the quayside, Akker Brygge. Their oysters were very fresh, my baked catfish with black olives was good, but B's sea bass in the papaya sauce with asparagus was to die for!

Did I say the day ended? Not quite. Will explain tomorrow.

Day 2 | Copenhagen | 200 years of HCA & Hygge

We spent a very comfortable night in little M's large bed. It was fascinating being surrounded by interesting odds and ends that belong to a 7 year old's world. Especially a world more complex than the one we grew up in, where her mother has to explain why one of her friends at the American school she goes to has a mother and a mother, and that dads are dispensable!

Turns out Copenhagen is celebrating Hans Christian Andersen's 200th birthday this year. If I were to look back, i get the feeling that HCA's stories were more entertaining for my mother than me. Some of his fairy tales were rather dark. Before I left for Copenhagen, i reread a few after several years, and found that some of them still seemed as cheerless as I recalled from childhood. Tales of a little match girl that died, the ephemeral yet eerie illustrations of the Snow Queen were not the happiest of stories. But the one that's etched most vividly in my mind till date is the Red Shoes. For this distant relative of Imelda, shoes is a subject close to my heart. Let's just say - every time i don my favourite pair of bright red aigners I am afraid they won't come off!

Copenhagen is really like most other western European capitals, cobbled streets, quaint cafes, large squares, a long pedestrian shopping street, large buildings and the ubiquitous town hall. Some parts of it are rather striking though - the Nyhavn area is really quite charming, and makes for bright and colourful pictures! We walked around the Amalienborg area hoping to catch a glimpse of the royals - the newly married Crown Prince Frederik (sigh!) and the once ozzie Princess Mary. Ugly duckling, anyone?

One of my favourite memories of Copenhagen will always be what i consider one of the most aesthetic stores ever. The flagship Royal Copenhagen porcelain store in Amagertorv was as charming as a store can be, the quaint blue fluted pattern, almost japanese cherry blossom like, were a far cry from some of the ugly mass produced in China porcelain that masquerades in Holland as the poor man's Delft ware. Even the graceful store assistants were clad in knit blouses with the hall mark pattern. This was a design dream. An expensive dream, but worth it.

All in all a pleasant day, many photographs, a visit to HCA's residence which is now privately owned, (turned out he was born in Odense, not Copenhagen), The Tivoli and a visit to McDonalds (in deference to a 7 year old's wishes).

The day could probably be summed up in a favourite Danish term - Hygge. To mean a relaxed, comfortable way of being, described inadequately as "cosiness" by some, similar to the dutch word Gezellig, and the Swedish word "fika". One amusing description i found to describe this is the english "like a bug in a rug" . By the sound of it - the bengali word "adda" is probably a close relative of these terms, in spirit if nothing else!

Onwards to Malmo tomorrow...then towards the country of B's birth and so much more.
But tomorrow is another day.

Day 1 | Den Bosch - Copenhagen | Wistful Mermaid

I couldn't believe we were actually going on holiday! Everyone else i met kept reminding me "So you are off on vacation, yes?" My sister sent me a Happy Holidays card! It then sort of got me thinking....... I guess it's hard to go on vacation if you are on vacation!

The plan was - So B & I were going to drive across Scandinavia - from Holland, which meant across Holland, Germany to Denmark.Then cross over onto Sweden, then to Norway, close to the Arctic circle, drive through some fjord- scapes and back. The high point of this trip was going to be the Little Mermaid as far I was concerned! And any trolls that we might meet on the way!

When I say we were going to drive - it's strictly the royal "we". Read B was going to drive, because the car insurance didn't cover me (convenient for all parties concerned!). I was to be the navigator (little did i know at this point that it was a titular role, the real navigator was going to be Hagatha Grand Pain in my **S). This lady was to reduce me to a mere cat's paw, as she took over my husband's mind and soul. Ungrateful i thought, given that i was responsible for her new name. We had called Agatha for a while, perhaps her accent had something to do with it. Then to add viking flavour, we pretended she was the daughter of Hagar the Horrible - and B took to calling her "Honi" which didn't work for me at all! So we rechristened her Hagatha.

We set off early (by our standards) on saturday morning, the sun was up in the sky, and the radio was belting out "i don't like reggae, oh no..". Spirits were high other than B had left tuna salad in the fridge, which i discovered before we left fortunately, or else we'd have a green salad in 2 weeks time when we came back! B didn't see what the problem was, and i did.

We passed several nondescript towns on the way...the landscape didn't change much...same old chubby cows in Holland...and the rapeseed fields in Germany which had changed to brown patches, rather different from the sunny yellow they were in may.

We drove past towns that often didn't mean much to us other than yet another place to stop and refuel. Names like Osnabruck, Bremen, Munster and Hamburg flew by. Flew is a good way to describe it because B. on the autobahn transmogrifies into a pilot, the car into a 747. At one point we crossed the river Weser - which took me down memory lane, to Browning, and the Pied Piper of Hameln. Unfortunately the town of Hameln was south, and we were headed very north, so the piper would have to wait.

Soon after the map seemed to indicate we would have to cross the Ostsee to head towards Denmark. But Hagatha (the Hag) had other ideas, and led us through some very boring countryside in a northerly direction past odder sounding towns such as Kiel,Schleswig and finally we crossed the border into Denmark. Nothing about the Danish countryside in these parts inspired much confidence, if anything one could be in an arid Holland, less the cute cows, and land as flat as flat can be. The only plus seemed to be rare glimpses of some startlingly red wildflowers. Similar to the one in the mermaid's garden?

I was soon to proved wrong - as crossed over into Odense, Nyborg, across the Kategatt into Korsor, and towards Kobenhavn! Just before we crossed into Korsor, there were some lovely sights, of striking blue water, white sails and a lone lighthouse. Reminded me of an old National geographic diary i managed to wrangle out of my father.

When i think about it - most places that i want to go, have really been inspired by the National Geographic. It brought the world to me, sitting in different corners of India, and is often responsible for my mood yo yoing as i visit places - as i constantly compare in my mind's eye "It 's just like National Geographic pictures" , or isn't!

Enough meandering. We arrived in Copenhagen at about 6.30 in the evening. Could have been afternoon, the sun was so high in the sky! We crossed streets such as Dag Hammarskjold's Alle etc. ,and i found the now familiar straat & straße replaced by Gade. Slagelsgade - our destination was here!

It felt good to meet family in this distant corner of the world. Of course it was family i had never met before, but it didn't alter any of the familiarity and warmth associated with the word! I was completely taken in by 7 year old Mishti, who insisted we had to carry a Danish flag just like the Japanese tourists ! As we made our way over to the most coveted sight (for tourists) in Copenhagen, our hosts warned us not to be disappointed.

I don't if it was the light. Or the mermaid. Or unrequited love that i associated with her. But i felt every bit as wistful as she looked. I even imagined my feet were hurting as if walking on knives.

Perhaps I was tired. Or we were sisters from a different life. But that is another story.

The Eternal Optimist

Switched on the telly this afternoon - and saw different headlines for a change. It was a relief to see news other than that of dismal bombings, dreaded terrorists, bigoted religious leaders from the dark ages, and more often than not, a bigoted American president.

Turns out the IRA has decided to "disarm, though not disband" to borrow from CNN. This is the follow up to an official cease-fire adopted since the late 90s ('97 i think). More importantly - it brings the end to a 36 year old campaign - often violent at times. Cynical newscasters and politicians alike think not too much will come of it. But i am more inclined to go with Tony Blair's "step of unparalleled magnitude".

In a disenchanted, mistrustful new world, news of an alternative way of life for a 36 year old crusade feels like the antidote to cynicism is finally here. It also brings to mind an incident that recently occurred.

B & I were in London for a few days the week after the 7/7 attacks. London and its mosaic of cultures seemed to have bounced back from the week that had gone by. All seemed kosher. We were in the St. John's Wood tube station one night, returning from dinner with friends. It must have been about half past 12, the platform was virtually deserted save for a couple of people at the other end. At this point, a well dressed, good looking young gentleman, staggered onto the platform, and made his way towards us. By the look of him - he had clearly had one too many to drink, as he insisted on shaking hands with us repeatedly! He then started a conversation with " I am Irish, I know how it feels to be stared at!" and carried on at some length about the 80s, the IRA bombings, and persecution. He then proceeded to tell us that he understood how we felt and that it was not a great feeling! B & I were somewhat puzzled - should we be feeling something? He spoke of how the muslims are the new Irish of London etc. We smiled at him, and were not unhappy when the train arrived, and hastily made our way to another compartment.

It would have been too complicated to explain - that we were not muslim, but hindus. that we were merely brown, as were some of the bombers. that classifying everyone as "pakis" doesn't work, given that we belong to a civilisation that predates most others. And confusing Indians with Pakis is a bit like mixing your vowels.

But then again - how was he to know any better? His fume filled head only recognised the most basic of human traits - that of colour. He was doing what Malcolm Gladwell describes in Blink - yet another example of bad rapid cognition!

Bad or good rapid cognition - the only things can that can change these stereotypes is a call for peace, alternatives to violence. Preachy, simplistic, but earnest. I don't like being pigeon holed.

Tonight, I for one will go to bed happier, knowing some people will sleep without a gun under their pillow, for the first time in several years.

Sweet dreams!

Falling off the Map

It does feel like that when you visit the Arctic circle and back! Herds of elks,wanton wildflowers, frozen glaciers, too much sunshine and some eerie experiences later - it feels good to be home.

There's just so much to blog - i don't when to start, or how to. As B. would say "There are more things on heaven and earth Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy"!

But i guess an update of the map is a good starting point. See how the red has grown!



create your own visited country map

Su Su Sudoku

I think it's inherited.

If I were to turn back the clock about 25 years ago - i recall summer vacations in my grandmother's house in Calcutta. Idyllic afternoons, naps that the kids were supposed to take, gentle and furtive whispers filled the air while some of the elders snored, and others lazed, and a few exceptions to the norm. One was me - i couldn't bear to sleep in the afternoon (probably had something to do with my need to wake up later than everyone in the household in the morning, hence the inability to cozy up with Kumbhakarna a few hours later.) The other was my grandmother, universally known as Meme - who spent the greater part of her afternoon engrossed in the Bartaman crossword. Her otherwise serene aspect would be contorted with strange expressions as she racked her vocabulary for the right word.

Years later - i see the similarity in my mother , who spends her afternoon in a similar quotidian fashion - just like meme. Once she is back from school (yes, she is grown up, she is a teacher) with the dogs (now dog) at her feet, completing the Telegraph and TOI cross word. She is rather annoyed when i am around and get to some parts of her afternoon delight before she can get back from school, and even more annoyed if i don't get to it!

This child of the chatterji clan loved getting to the crossword as well - typically by afternoon since mornings were better spent sleeping or getting to school or college or work. The habit broke soon after once the workplace didn't allow me to even realise the day was over, let alone give me time to take an afternoon break! An occasional afternoon flight or train ride sometimes helped me find the crossword, which i put down soon after, feeling like a blunt knife.

But here I am - having converted to a house elf in recent times as my husband christened me today - and discovered the joys of a new kind of crossword ( I guess you can call it that ) - the Sudoku. Similar to a magic square, latin square, and a crossword -the Sudoku is a number puzzle of a different kind! Full of possibilities, a few keys that can unravel the grid, and bring you complete joy or frustration!

There's a link in my blog to a cool sudoku site that sends me puzzles every day! It really is fun - try it!

To borrow from Amitav Ghosh (Hungry Tide)
"She recalled the mythologies of discovery that attracted her to the sciences as a child, and how the most miraculous seemed always to be the ones that had the most quotidian origins - Archimedes and his bathtub, Newton and his apple."

Happy Hunting Grounds

January 19th, 1987 - June 30th, 2005


Mowgli died today. Or was it yesterday? Or earlier?

After a week of suffering, he finally joined his friends in the big kennel in the sky this morning.
I for one, am relieved - with every day that he suffered, my parents seemed to suffer more. I sense that my father has aged 7 years in 7 days, and my ever stoic mother too, though not obvious.

It's ironic that having known Mowgs for 9 years, I decided to write about him and Tequila very recently. Perhaps a premonition.

What do I really say about him? That everyone who knew him loved him? That strangers assured my mother and me that "he doesn't bite"! That his unique adaptable nature made his transition from large Bungalows with lawns to an apartment easy? That his ability to love people beyond class and creed made him friends everywhere? That his good natured, self fulfilled persona made him an enviable soul? That the truth is , he is irreplaceable.

He was the quintessential baby. Probably the son my father never had. And my mother's little kid who never left the house. My father spent more money on biscuits for Mowgli than he did on fish! (If you know him, this is big deal).

Mowgli had his day, and life all figured out. He spent the morning eating his and Tequila's breakfast. He waited for my mother to get him his first biscuit and then waited eagerly for her to leave for school. Then, his "alone time" with my father started - and he spent the rest of the morning, under my father's large wooden table, eating innumerable biscuits. He partook some of my father's break fast. He loved buttered toast. This dog ate everything. Karela, Bhindi,Pumpkin, everything. Chocolate occupied a special place in his heart though.

He then slothed till lunch. In the days when my grand mother lived with us, he used to wrestle for her soft velvet quilt, and spent his morning siesta on the quilt. She didn't necessarily like her quilt being snatched, but his temperament was such, instead it led her to indulgently rechristen him "Magendranath Chattopadhaya", "maga" for short.

Around late afternoon he knew it was time for my mother to come home from school. He would lazily raise himself, and stretch (a bit like a feline ancestor he may have had), and drag himself to the dining table. While my mother ate lunch, he drooled. And he drooled. At times he sat at the table, (a habit I had got him into) and attempted to lick plates of goodies.

He then snuggled under her feet while she completed the daily crossword. Eagerly waiting for an evening biscuit.

When I lived at home he used to wait for me to come back from work. For a while I thought it was something to do with him being a loving hound. Then discovered it was to do with the cookies I may eat once I came home. Once the cookie ritual was done, he and I rubbed faces and our noses together; prompting my mother to warn me that I could get a skin infection. Well, it didn't quite work that way, and instead, who knows? Perhaps the secret of my shiny face was drool!

Then came dinner. Much drool later, it was time to go to bed. And try as you might, there was no dragging Mowgs away from my father's bed. Even before my father yelled "Mogaaaaah", he was usually on the bed already, marking his little hot spot. And if you tried dragging him away, you'd discover no bribes worked, not even chocolate chip cookies. All you'd find is that he had turned into a Mogasaurus that could growl, and who knows, even bite!

On cold winter nights my mother dragged him close to her to warm herself, and later complained she hadn't slept well because he dragged her covers. Harrumph. The truth was - I think she loved him more than she's ever loved anyone. I mean who doesn’t love a live hot water bottle with little baby grunts?

If you think all was adorable about this little doggie, it probably was not. Ask my sister. For my sister - it was complete sibling rivalry, replete with episodes of drool covered scrunchie chewing on his part, and her retaliating with annoying puffs of breath near his ears "Mowgli, phoo phoo" which he hated! One exceptionally long summer that he spent cooped up in a guesthouse with my parents, sister and Tequi, he drove her nuts. He chewed her shoes till they had to be discarded. Drooled all over her glasses till tears of rage blinded her. Chewed her lustrous locks while she slept. It was she who named him Mowgli, shortened to Mowgs.

Or ask Tequila. It was love -hate. This black and tan star of the Chatterji Household has over shadowed her since he arrived. He ate her meals, and got many more biscuits out of the patriarch. He made annoying mouse like sounds, and bothered her every now and then. Much as she resented him, try attacking Mowgs, or even sniffing him, Teqs would be at your neck in no time. No one messed with him, not while she was around.

My other grandmother, Meme, was a kind and gentle soul who loved all living beings and was loved by all. However, when she visited, Mowgli’s drools, his hound like smell drove Meme to sleep on the other side of the bed, far away from him. But Mowgs was persistent. His attitude was "Love me, love me, say that you love me”. And loved he was. If ever he was sick, Meme would pray for his well being, all odours not withstanding.

U & A, the evil sons in law, were more than happy to have my mother prevent Mowgs from sleeping on their beds when they visited. They cracked silly jokes about giving him a "swift kick" below his tail, and A imitated the sounds Mowgs would make if he went flying in the air " yeeeeoooouuuuwwww", with U cracking up. But once when Mowgs broke his leg, U called everyday to check on his progress! And for the last week or so, has sat patiently listening to ramblings about Mowgs, and assured me the big kennel in the sky is a fun place to be.

D. thinks they might have chocolate chip cookies there. And my friend P says that it’s full of lots of bones, biscuits and balls. In fact she said our Grand Ma's are chucking balls, and our doggies are having a blast.

But back in Calcutta there's something new. The sudden shortage of chairs has ended. There's one empty chair in the study. A bridge I will have to cross when I come to it.

Bye Mowgs.Moga.Magga.Mogadishu.BabyGonu.Mowgli. We will miss you.