International Twist To Thanksgiving

We start the Thanksgiving dinner around 3:30-ish. There’s the sweet corn, mashed potato and gravy, yam, corn bread and cranberry sauce, the poor turkey with legs tied and cooked to perfection taking the center place (proud even in death), the stuffing and etc. It's impossible to sit down to dinner around the table because there are so many of us. Each year the number grows, as we include more families in our group. And for most of us, in the absence of relatives, who are in India, Thanksgiving dinner is shared with the friends we have made here, and each family brings in a dish.

Our friend circle has its own eccentricities. Before the turkey is carved, all the kids in the room are asked what they are thankful for, and their answers videotaped. The older kids are bashful, and the shy little ones just crawl under the table. The ritual is repeated every year, and then the adults say what they are thankful for. The answers range from the mundane to the witty to the bawdy or the sincere, and then the feast starts.

Once we are done, the table is cleared and ….. we start getting ready for a typical Bengali dinner. Much later though, around ten! In the mean time we will feast on snacks, lounge, watch a movie, enjoy adda....so on. (http://nina-theamericanbengali.blogspot.com/2008/09/adda-meals-and-leftovers.html )

How do we eat so much? I don’t really know, ……. the cheerful warmth indoors while it’s freezing outside…..the feeling of relaxation that comes with the end of the year…...guess it’s just the season! We have survived and done good in a foreign land, loved and made it our home.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all! Truly thankful for all my friends and of course my readers.

I Am Busy & You Are Not! I Work & You do Not!....Yes I am Hot!

Sipping coke in a quiet corner (I had managed to find this charming window-sill) of a raging party room (don’t get me wrong, I’m a party girl, but lately have been going through a phase of blues) I was ambushed by this lady..... She came and squeezed her well endowed posterior on my window sill, announced her name, popped a celery stick in her mouth and asked if I work…out of the blue. I had never spoken to her before, nor seen her till she forcefully entered the periphery of my vision, and blinking a couple of times as if to wish her away, I sighed and replied that I did.

That was it. She had found a common bond of "career" and proceeded to enthrall me with her musings. Qualifications, career, hour to hour activity.....And I realized how easy it was to nod off in a roomful of people.

From past experience when I was a mere (!!!) homemaker, I knew what her next line would be. Sure enough, very soon in came the “how busy I am” routine. Good lord, if you are busy - that's awesome. What do you think – the world is not busy? We are all suspended in a limbo? Of course you are busy chewing that piece of celery, and on a mission to bore me....going to work at eight....coming back from work at eight, cooking, stress, going to work at eight.......coming back from work at eight, cooking……Thank god I have this special knack of inner concentration.....

"Newspaper taxis appear on the shore,
Waiting to take you away.
Climb in the back with your head in the clouds,
And you're gone."

I’m lucky to be off from work on Fridays, and a couple of friends when they call on Friday, start with “were you sleeping?”.........at 12:00??? “Yeah I was, till the jingle of your call woke me up with a tingle”. Why would you assume so? Don’t I have work? Did I just press a switch and have babies, press a remote to have the food spread itself on the table, another switch and the kids grew up by themselves?

How I love the straight forwardness of the Americans. They are proud if they work and proud if they stay at home to take care of their kids. Till date I have not come across an American friend who bored me with talks of being busy!!!! It’s a part of life after all. Imagine sitting on your couch and staring into nothingness for days.

Some work for need, some for passion, some to crib and some can just afford to stay at home and spend time to do the stuff they love.

Romance of the Chai Shack

The original chai shop: A shack kind of structure with benches or ropey beds (khatiya) generously scattered under trees, where you can lounge with steaming cups of chai, samosas and other fried snacks. Often next to an expressway or anywhere (yep anywhere), you sip your chai and vaguely stare at nothing in particular, enjoying the ambiance as the traffic whizzes by or people stroll around you. An extreme rustic version of our rest areas. (I am not speaking about the modern or elitist tea places.)

Most rustic elements in the States have a delicate beauty. A restaurant in the mountains of Utah had glass windows facing the pasture where wild bison roamed. Fancy salad was served as you gazed out. Nothing like the harsh details of our shacky chai shops back home.

But then, why do I still remember the flavor of the chai? Chai, which no tea house over here is capable of brewing. The Leaves have been boiled since early morning in an iron kettle, giving the tea a strong bitter taste. Instant cure for headaches. The milk is generous, there is no option to mix your own cream, and the tea is served in small clay containers. Cups of chai, friends, and we were sure that the college days would last forever.

You are hooked on the chai when you remember the exact flavor and then the memories come pouring in. As I smile into my tea-cup, my daughter says, "sorry mom, no offense, but who would hang out in such a dump?" A twinge of sadness.... how can she possibly know the value of those cups of chai...

P.S. The picture is of an actual tea shack ("Kalor Dokan") taken by a journalist friend, Soumik Mukherjee. A popular spot to hang out.

Have been humming since morning "should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind......."

Yogurt-Rice And Fish-stew For The Bengali Pups

Our dogs came into the household, each at two months of age, and since then have built up their appreciation of Bengali food. Baked fish…..a light fish stew with tomatoes (no onions or garlic though)…the one I cook when my kids are recovering from any kind of ailment…… woof .…..leafy veggies like spinach and poi….. chick peas with a drop of olive oil….. a little bit of rice on Sundays….. roti for the rest of the week. They also love oven roasted cauliflower, chicken and potatoes.

Timmy Too and Lucy Lou delicately start sniffing the air when I cook….aroma therapy???? Definitely. Our future stars of Ratatouille, sorry Doggatouille!

Of American, European and Chinese parentage, our dogs have adapted to our Bengali lifestyle with a natural doggie zeal. A friend of mine even gives occasional chanachur (light spicy corn-flakes mix) treat to her dog. Once a week our dogs eat yogurt and rice to cleanse their systems. The yogurt and rice was recommended by a Bengali gastroenterologist of New York. Trust me, it works.

My vet shudders when I talk to him about their diet.

“Nina…it’s just not done in the U.S.”

Mrs. Banerjee’s dog Rosogolla has lived hale and hearty for the last twenty years… on a healthy dose of Bengali Karmic diet. Need more proof???????

Shubho Bijoya!
(PS: For my non-Bengali readers....Traditional Bengali Greeting exchanged after Durga Puja.)

Puja Greetings: The Power Of Copy Paste

Puja Greeting #1:
Dear Biswajit,

Debi Pokkher suchonay sobaikey janai Sarodiyo Subhecha.
Agami bochor sobar bhalo katuk.


R, Nina, Anna, Mia and Nik
(P.S. Sorry Bro, had to copy paste your email, my bengali is onek gorbor.)

Puja Greeting #2:
Dear Mr. Mukherjee,

Debi Pokkher suchonay sobaikey janai Sarodiyo Subhecha.
Agami bachor sobar bhalo katuk.


R, Nina, Anna, Mia, Nik
(P.S. Sorry Mr. Mukherjee, had to copy paste Biswajit’s email, still need to work on my bengali.)

(Note for my non-bengali readers: the sentences in italics convey best wishes on the occasion of Durga Puja - in the bengali language.)

Uncle & Young Man Share A Moment

(Heard during the ongoing Durga Puja:)

Hello Uncle! (Meshomoshai)

Hello Mr. B...... how are you?

Good uncle…actually great, enjoying the puja bhog (a portion of the spread that was offered to the goddess). Why don’t you go and get a plate?

Later, I just had shrimp patty from the stall. Enjoy the food young man.

No uncle, not that young any more, getting on in age.

Still Mr. B you look very fit, just need to trim your tummy a bit.

Yes that's a problem zone, and also the pain in my joints.

If I remember correctly, you had a fall few years back and hurt your knee....

Yes uncle, but you look in great shape, how old are you?

Seventy-two Mr. B.

Well I am not too far behind you uncle…. sixty-nine going on seventy.

Existentialism!!!...Food For Thought!

Exit sign in our Durga Puja Hall:

Emergency Exist Only

How true of this modern world!!!!

A Page From The Fashionista's Durga Puja Diary

Hey! Check out her sari, S whispered in my ear. The lady who glided into the hall was wearing the lightest blue silk with a rich gold border, skinny gold bangles, and an antique brushed gold pendent on a thin chain. Stilettos and silky hair hanging loose finished the look, and naturally we were envious.

We women tend to check out what other women wear…. more than the men folk! And in Indian ethnic attire there is this fine line between gorgeous and omg gaudy.

Hey! One more nudge and a whisper. The prom queen came in now, a fuchsia pink sari with black and gold border, tons of heavy gold bangles on her wrist (I am rich and belong to the 18th century) a thick necklace (from where did you get that pretzel?), having a bad hair day (a birdie just finished a nest, need eggs), humongous earrings (hanging lampshades?), red lipstick (my friend is count Dracu from Europe). The art of the bindi was totally destroyed with a huge fuchsia moon plastered on her forehead (the third eye????).

It's totally rewarding and funalicious to watch the puja crowd.

The gentleman wearing a transparent dhoti and a transparent kurta bothered me. ( Future playboy model? Sir, pujas are no place for Tarzan-ism. Hide your assets please.) And also the lady with a huge butterfly clip on her hair that looked like a helicopter ready to buzz off. Nice orange-pink sari, watermelons are meant for the store or your refrigerator.

Wow what liberal use of gold jewelry. We Indians do not win too many golds in the Olympics, but when we wear the stuff we make up for everything. Just keep a piece on; the rest will suffice ten generations to come. Ouch! is that a plastic flower in your hair?.... since when have you become a vase in a motel doorway? Sir, interesting artwork on your shirt (kurta). Do you intend to become a picture in a museum? And why have you wrapped that scarf tenfold around your neck……please please change your decision and stay alive for the puja.... think positive. Is that a salwar kameez (shirt and loose pants for women)?... welcome to Benihana…..

Yeah I know I am  catty.

Bata Shoes And The Speedo Lookalikes

For those of my readers not familiar with the phrase Durga Puja, please read “The Topsy Turvy Calendar”, an August 2008 post. In short, it is the worship of goddess Durga, a colossal occasion for the Bengalis as Christmas is to the Christians; and we celebrate it over a five day period with preparations ranging for weeks.

With Durga Puja at our doorsteps, dinner talk usually involves reminiscing about our childhood. The evening temperatures have started falling outside, and even a leaf or two. With steaming plates of rice, salad, baked fish and a curry, we sit at our cozy kitchen table, the children avidly listening to our stories.


Ø Bata shoes for her
It’s hard to describe the joy I felt when we stepped into the Bata shoe store before Durga Puja. And every year we would go through the same ritual. I would try on four to five pair of sandals, dad would look at my feet, make me walk in them, and finally choose a couple. As I grew older, the sandals started having higher heels. Maa took over from dad, and Bata gave way to other stores. Once I brought the shoes home I would keep the precious boxes for at least a week next to my bed. Everyday I would parade before the mirror, putting on a splash of gloss, and admiring my painted toe peeping through the sandals.

Ø Bata shoe for himMy husband was brought up in a one parent household. Till middle school he used to get just two pairs of shoes for the whole year. And when the new shoes were brought home, the shiny box would somehow be hidden beneath the pillow. And there it stayed  till the beginnings of the festival. Everyday, after returning from school he would give it an extra shine, and the day he walked out wearing the shoes ……. he knew for sure that all the pretty girls were looking at him.

Ø Clothes for herI would get five dresses for durga puja, one for each day of the festival. As the shopkeeper unrolled lengths of cloth before us, Maa would look at each material and comment on their merits. I used to run my fingers lovingly through each fabric and visualize myself in the dress. Then, the trip to the tailor, gazing through fashion magazines for the latest designs and finally waiting for the finished product. (I still love the scent of new clothes.) And once the dresses came home, the model would be parading before the mirror a few times each day. With a touch of gloss of course!

Ø Clothes for him
My mother-in-law stitched clothes for my husband till he was in the sixth grade. Once the shorts turned out to be somewhat like Speedos, clinging and about eight inches above the knee. The poor guy had to endure endless ribbings from his friends and a lot of giggles from the girls! But he had no choice; either sit it out at home or wear the skinnies and enjoy Durga Puja in the spirit of superman!

The Cow's Husband

Mia: Did I tell you…. in India ….you can get puppies for free. Oooh…. cute…. Cuddly little things.

Lena: (wide eyed): Ooooh!

Mia: And did I tell you of the time when this cow chased my mom and her friend Pam when they were riding their bikes to the university? They had to cross a field. It was summer.

Lena: Wow!

Mia: And there was this time when the cow wandered near the dorm and gave birth to a baby. A cute little baby. Oooooh!

Lena: Oooooh!

Mia: And once, a group of monkeys were passing by this place where my mom went to school, and one chased my mom and her friends and took the bananas from the shopping bags.

Lena: Wow, I wish I could go to India.

Mia: And then the monkey slapped a dog. Sometimes they steal cameras.

Lena: Wow!

Mia: Mamma, is a bull a cow’s husband? Well, our piano teacher is Mr. S, his brother-in-law had gone to Agra in India, and a bull nudged him from behind.

Lena: Gee!

Mia: And once there was this goat……and then the snake...

By this time I desperately wanted the conversation to end. I wonder what Lena will tell her mom Cindy? I made a note in my mind, to keep the animals of India out of our subsequent conversations.

Only we understand the seamless co-existence!!

I Wish India Was Right Next To The US

My grandparents live in India. I love the cool stuff they bring when they visit us. Especially the necklaces, earrings and the sweets. They bring a lot of presents for me.

I love to hang out with them. The guest room becomes so cozy when they come. I call my grandma nini and
my grandpa dada. During summer vacation we stay up late. Grandma tells us stories about mamma's childhood and grandpa sings us to sleep. Sometimes we drink coke together.

Most of my friends have their grandparents in the US. They visit them often. I miss my grandparents during Durga puja, Thanksgiving and Christmas. I wish India was next to the US. Then I could visit them often.

Mashima and Mr. Kitojima

Mashima is a new permanent resident of the U.S and a much loved part of our group. But though in her heart I’m sure she feels some affection for the US, as both her children live here, outwardly she denies any and all attachment to this country. Her disenchantment with the US, she cites, is due to the mosquitoes and crickets in our Long Island backyards, the lonely afternoons when her son and daughter-in-law are at work and the grandchildren at school, and also the country's foreign policy (not necessarily in that order).

One summer evening during the Olympics we were having one of our weekend parties. Swimming was on and we were enthusiastically rooting for the US swimmers. Mashima was looking disinterestedly at the TV screen. In the absence of India she declined to support any other country! But then adjusting her glasses, she suddenly pumped her fist in the air with a “come on Kitojima”. Kitojima - who??? Along with US representation, there was this swimmer from Japan. Some of you may feel that the similarity between the names Kitojima and Mashima must have endeared the Japanese swimmer to our dear Mashima, but that was not the case. After India, Mashima’s next love is Asia, and hence Kitojima! All hail to the Indo-Japan water coalition, and talk of extreme......continental patriotism!

"The Crow Fainted", "Motherland" and other poems

Gripe! Maybe, because I lack the talent, I'm a tad tired with the singers and poets around me.

Last year at a Durga Puja gathering we had this fabuloso singer from India entertaining us with some old melodies. I sighed in pleasure as I looked forward to a very enjoyable evening, when this guy sitting behind me started humming in sync with the singer on stage. Peace is elusive; the humming turned to vocal gymnastics, and there I was sitting with a finger delicately pressed against one ear, listening with just a single ear to the voice on stage.

We have had our share of great poets, ennobling thoughts, controversial lines and also publications in magazines like:

The crow fainted today
Was it the heat?
Or thoughts of a bygone era…..
The lines haunt me now, as increasingly some folks have started reciting their self-composed poems at our gatherings. Some have merit, sure, but after a tiring week I just want to relax and not use my brains to decipher why:

The sorrow of the river
Knew no bounds
Like a lazy snake
River of my hazy dreams
O Kaveri….. Kaveri
The bird flies over you
Dropping - a feather
O Kaveri…..Kaveri

Thank God for just a feather. Now, I have a malady; if I start to laugh, I just cannot stop.

In the U.S. the Bengalis often put up shows……. a kind of music and dance medley or home theater productions. We were sitting in the middle of one such show, when from behind the wings it was announced that Mr. Y would recite a self-composed poem. Electrified with memories of past experience I tried to quit the room in a hurry, but too late......

Remember me O motherland
Though I do not want to be a great poet

The poem was about the problems of modern India(a verse for each state, we have more than 22 states) and after each verse the refrain in a high pitched whisper, as if every government agent was after Mr. Y:

Remember me O motherland
But I do not want to be a great poet

Now Sir, if you do not want to be a great poet, why bestow on us the gift of your sublime imagination? And every time a member of the audience discreetly tried to leave the room, Mr. Y would ask us to sit down in a stern voice.

That night, I had nightmares about my motherland.

Tying The Knot On Ganesha's Trunk

Maa says that if you really wish for something (within reasonable limits of course!), tie an imaginary knot on Ganesha's trunk and don't open it till the wish is fulfilled. Every time my parents board the return flight to India, I tie this imaginary knot on Ganesha's trunk so that I get to see them soon.

What do you choose at a certain point in life: your parents and relatives, or your life in this country, now the birthplace of your kids? The kids know no other world, loving America and all things American with a natural passion. Obsessed with our lives, have I become too accustomed to the lifestyle here, how easily all jobs get done, the cleanliness, the dust and pollution free weather, the American dollar? Lifestyle and jobs are great in India too, but I dread settling in a "new" land and starting all over again.... what if I find India too chaotic....and besides, the U.S. has been my home for the last fourteen years. I was excited with Abhinava Bindra’s gold at the Olympics, but not so much, as when I was screaming myself hoarse with my kids, for Michael Phelps to win gold in the 100 meters butterfly.

My parents have never asked me to return to India, nor has my husband’s mom. But what happens when they decide that this twenty hours plus journey from India to the US is too much for them. Does my conscience, and love for them, accept the summertime visits as enough? Other American Indians must have had similar thoughts, they have made short trips to India to be with their family in times of happiness and in times of loss, and then returned to the US and resumed their lives. Are they at peace?

A courageous few I know have returned to India. With the festive season approaching, it’s easier to push back these thoughts and just focus on the present …… kids, their activities, daily life, job, parties, friends, books, music, Durga Puja, Thanksgiving, Christmas........it is easier to believe that there is no option except the present.

My Basement Is Yours!

Participants: "Me", Leah (American friend), Pam (modern American Bengali Friend), Sumita (traditional American Bengali friend).

Me: had a fight last night.

Leah: We have so many of those.

Pam: Tell me....

Sumita: Wow!.... was it bad

Me: Guess so. Men...

Pam: Last week, the nerve of Jay, he asked me to leave him alone.

Sumita: Oh no, never leave him alone, you know how they are...

Pam: Give me a break honey, he brought orchids in the evening.

Sumita: Still, we make it a point not to fight.

Pam: Sweet!

Leah: Well Al was late last night. He had gone to the library to pick up some movies and books. That's fine, but he could have at least called me. You know..... Robbie was waiting to go to his soccer practice.

Me: So what happened?

Leah: We had a chat and he stormed out...... won't communicate.

Sumita: Try counseling.

Pam: Come on darling, marriage is bliss and fights...... I love the make-ups.

Me: Somehow last night's arguments...

Pam: Hey girl, wear something glam this evening

Leah: (with a laugh) and fill us out on the details tomorrow....

Sumita: But if you are still upset, come and stay in our basement for a day or two. I'm always there for you.

Me: (In my mind...... and can I kill you?????)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Later, a telecon...

Sumita: "N" had a fight with her husband last night. He is such a nice guy, so calm, I wonder.....

Sonali: I hope things are okay with their marriage, must be stressful for the kids.

Sumita: Let everyone be happy. After all, so far away from India.....did you hear of that girl abandoned by her husband......living in a shelter...... you never know with men...... got to pamper them..... why do you think so many American guys are marrying into the Orient.....

Editor's note: Please get a life!!!!!!

Bengali Parties by Anna

We attend a lot of Bengali parties. Usually, at a party in someone's home, my friends and I hang out in a separate room away from the adults. We try to avoid them (especially me) because they are sure to ask me to sing or one of my friends to do something. And that's the last thing we want to do! They have their own music and recitation sessions!

The fun part though is that everyone has a great time. We chat, play games, and of course when you go to a party there is always food.....right? At Bengali parties, they serve you Indian food. Sometimes it can be very spicy. Some of the kids who are not used to eating spicy food sit down with 2 to 3 glasses of water, and I am one of them. About the spiciest thing I can eat is black pepper! My dad has four to five green chillies with his dinner!

The parties usually last till 12:00 am, sometimes ending at 1:00 am. By the time a party is over, everyone is tired, yawning, and falling asleep. My dad dozes off at the party itself by 11:00 p.m. and the same goes for my sister. Most of the times we have to carry her to the car. Sometimes one can have enough of it!

Come On Baby Shake Your Hips! Hey Bubba Show Your Moves!

The Bengalis sure know how to dance. Back home we used to have dances at the Club, where with each number being belted out either by a live orchestra or recorded music, we did see some exciting moves but nothing like the ones over here.

In a wedding reception, with Kajra re kajra booming in the background, Mr. X suddenly started flapping his arms like a seagull. It looked like he was all set to fly over the chandeliers. Mrs. X grabbed his arm ….. swaying her sari draped hips … and placing the index and middle fingers of both palms shaped in a "V" next to her eyes. Not to be outdone the cute Mr. and Mrs. Y pushed themselves into the center of the crowd jumping like pogo sticks. It was time to show off the salsa lessons diligently taken for the last six months.

My husband Mr. R, a Delhite by birth, switched to Bhangra moves. He accidentally kicked a couple of people on the shin and I just lost part of a freshly pedicured nail. As the music switched to a gentle romantic number, Mr. Z grabbed Mrs. Z, trying to pull her into a waltz and nearly suffocating the lady to death! And when the DJ started Dhoom Machale Dhoom, Oh boy, all hell broke loose. People were gyrating all over the place, the American guests joining in with mucho gusto, and the cute Mr. and Mrs. Y doing karate chops in thin air which fortunately did not land on anyone. The Bengalis were on the go, a kaleidoscope of colors furiously pacing the floor.

Touch me don’t touch me don’t touch me soniyaa
Touch me don’t touch me don’t touch me soniyaa

Mr. X was poking his wife on and off, trying to keep up with the lyrics...

Sexy lady on the floor
He’ll be coming back for more……

Mr. Y was swaying as he advanced towards his wife like a panther in slow motion.

The Macarena, the Electric Slide, Cotton Eyed Joe, fast paced Spanish numbers, Punjabi songs …. we danced to one and all. The numbers were given life with improvised unprecedented moves. During the Macarena, the enthusiastic ones in the crowd were slapping themselves all over as if to purge something from within; and the Electric Slide inspired some to march sideways and then forward and backward. The crowd just needed uniforms and a flag!

Hurrah hurrah we bring the jubilee
Hurrah Hurrah the flag that makes you free….

Yeah, the party was a good one! Everyone got to show their moves, lost some calories, nice food and drinks, the bride and groom were spectacular …… Ciao till the next one. Just avoid the waltz, Beethoven would have refused to compose music for such surreal acrobatics. By the way, classes in Latin dancing might help, try the tango………don't pass up on the chance to trip a fellow Bengali!

Hello Dadu!

"Hello Dadu!" As the voice of the bus conductor pierced through the consciousness of pleasant contemplation on the merits of Bengali sweets, Mr. A was rudely awakened to the notions of "relation" and "respect". An American Bengali and our family friend, Mr. A or as we call him A-Dada was on an extended tour of Kolkata.

We Bengalis love the notion of “relation” and respect. A senior couple is addressed as Dada/ Boudi or Dada/Didi by a younger couple. We grew up addressing the contemporaries of our parents as Kaku/ Kakima, Mesho/ Mashi, their younger friends as Dada/Didi, elder kids were often addressed as Dada/Didi. In modern Bengal these terms though still in existence may be slowly eroding.

Some Favorite Bengali Words:
Dada: elder brother
Didi: elder sister
Boudi: wife of elder brother
Kaku/ mesho: uncle
Kakima/ mashi: aunt
Meshomoshai: uncle - grandfatherly person!!!!!
Mashima: aunt - grandmotherly etc!!!!!

……. And their meaning in the US:
(you are older than me; I am frozen in time.)

In the US we have given a different slant to the traditional Bengali terms. Usually people get offended by the Dada-Didi tag except the ones who are fearless about their age.

If you are 50+ or approaching the age, own up to it buddy, it’s no big deal. I mean, though nobody says it, people know your age. How long can you stall the journey?

I am 39, I know sometimes it hurts to be 39; but when I see my children growing up, I look forward to the coming years. You could say I am at peace without the botox or collagen extras!! But I feel a twinge of irritation when young adults in their late 20s or 30s call me mashi, or my husband mesho. Hey! When did I adopt you guys? – my eldest is just twelve! Besides, I call your mom who is approaching or has passed half a century of glorious life on planet earth, either by her name or didi. So for us, a simple Dada/ Didi will do.

My parents often visit me from India. My dad is seventy two and my mom sixty-two. Where, a polite Mr. X/ Mrs. X would have sufficed, Bengalis in their late forties, fifties and sixties call them mashima/ meshomoshai. Can you honestly walk up to a senior American couple and call them uncle/ aunt? And this is done to the visitors from India only. But you cannot call a sixty or seventy year old American Bengali meshomoshai or mashima. Age stopped for the Bengalis when they came to the US.

Bus conductors and shopkeepers and the common Bengali in India have the bad habit of affectionately calling someone on the wrong side of fifty as dadu /dida or mashima/ meshomoshai. And Mr. A was addressed as "Dadu" by a bus conductor on his recent trip to India.

My friend Pam has solved the problem. She addresses all by name, even the eighty year old Mrs. Sen.... "Hey Sheila what's up?", like we used to do at school, call everyone by name.

Anyway, silly bickering. I love the notions of "relation" and respect, and am about to attend the wedding of my 35 year old adopted niece. So what if she calls me mashi, love and affection are all that matters! But please do tell your son or daughter not to call us Jethu/ Jethima.

Jethu: Dad's elder brother
Jethima: Dad's elder brother's wife

Bengali Pleeze!!!!

I became more of a Bengali after coming to The States!

In India, though we spoke Bengali at home, most of the conversation at school and with friends would be in English. People called us “anglicized”. Form the day I landed in the US, I started missing all things Bengali and looked forward to having conversations with other Bengalis in our tongue, yearning for a simple namaskar. I did receive such a greeting in the Central library, in Manhattan, from a homeless and very American guy who had a pile of books on the Far East on his desk. Don’t get me wrong, but after ten such namaskars and with the perfect bow accompanying each greeting in a span of ten minutes, I was ready to quit the library in alarm, all appreciative of the “hello”. But in retro, I appreciate all those namaskars, and send a namaskar to him whose name I will never know.

Here at home, we speak in Bengali, occasionally the conversation flowing in English. I love the melody of our language and for my life cannot understand why fellow Bengalis give speeches in English at parties and weddings or any other formal event, even when the crowd comprises mostly of Bengalis.

It’s painful to watch the expression of the bride and groom, trying to appear cheerful and not cringe when the fathers and uncles from both sides give witty and loving speeches in English that is kind of lost in translation! We Indians are naturally emotional and very informal kind of people. At an otherwise very enjoyable wedding, the emotional “benglish” speech went on for half an hour. And some of us were forced to stare into space or nothing in particular with a beatific smile so as to not look at the perplexed faces of the English speaking guests. They were trying their best to understand, especially the part when the uncle spoke about the groom’s bygone diaper days. Hey folks, have pity on your kids and guests! Either read out a crisp speech in English from paper or Bengali pleeeze!

Why do we tend to get all mad and upset in English? A lot of Bengalis I know switch to English when they are really upset. My husband does and I have seen my friends doing it. And I wonder if the immigrant Italians or Russians or French revert to English to express their anger? Is it just an immigrant thing so that we have the best of both worlds?

More Later.

Adda, Meals and Leftovers

Back home, we did not have too many weekend parties, and on birthdays and minor occasions, Maa and Poornima would prepare a meal of fish fry or cutlet, kashmiri aloordom (dry spiced potato curry), polau (similar to the fried rice), kasha-mangsho(goat curry), macher-kalia (fish curry), sweet pepper with posto (ground poppy seeds), chutney and sweets. Here, when I am not catering the food, I have downgraded the menu to fish fry for snacks; chicken curry, fish or shrimp in mustard gravy, and some kind of veggie-mix for dinner; and home made mishti doi (sweet yogurt) or canned rosogollas (sweets made out of cheese) for dessert.

However, the Bengalis I know are amazing cooks. And unlike me, the meals they serve are elaborate affairs.

The usual weekend parties and are a treat for palates reined in throughout the busy week. The basic meal starts with aloo (potato)-posto, or something-posto. We Bengalis have a love affair with our posto! Then follows the daal (lentils), either with a dash of lime leaf or with a touch of uchhe (bitter gourd), lau-chingri (squash with shrimp), kumro shag or poi shag (all leafy vegetables), different types of fish, chicken curry and goat curry. The great chefs often add to the items listed here, but being a mere mortal, translating all the names from Bengali to English is almost impossible for me.

As soon as the food is served, we queue up before the buffet, urging the kids to eat first. The men go next and finally the women. The feminists and the modern usually line up with the men, and folks waiting at the end of the line risk missing out on some of the delicacies.  After dinner the food is praised unanimously, and the Bengalis sit down for a leisurely adda.

It is difficult finding a synonym for this word, as ADDA is exclusive to the Bengali spirit. It conveys a wealth of meaning! In a few years, as the west gets to know more of the east and Jhumpa Lahiri, adda will find its very own place in the English dictionary next to guru, pundit and yoga.

Definition of adda (pronounced as aad-da): We the Bengalis, sit in a circle or groups, and over cups of tea or coffee or drinks, talk about a variety of subjects, from literary works …. cricket …. movies ………….. to world politics. The more artistic ones might even sing a few songs or recite lines of poetry.

(Point to be noted: The Bengalis who left India in different decades, have remained faithful to the songs popular during their time in India. It is as if the clock stopped for us when we left India. Some o us do know the modern songs, but we tend t belt out the old numbers with quite a passion.)

When satisfied that we have covered nearly every topic on the planet, shared our noble ideas with the world, sang to our hearts content, given headaches to the quiet ones, we finally depart for home. Yes, we usually help the hostess clean, pack the leftovers, and often take some with us. The principled ones to their credit, always decline to take the leftovers; but humble ones like me who dread cooking every day, accept with a smile and gratitude. The crowd starts to trickle down from 12:30 a.m. and the exodus happens hopefully by 1:00 a.m.

Rabindranath Tagore (the Bengali noble laureate) writes in one of his poems that instead of being a rice and adda loving bengali he would rather go a la roaming the vast deserts of Arabia like a Bedouin.

But the typical Bengali, and I am one, cannot live without the elaborate meals, rice and our “adda”, and of course a slice of the left-overs!

Views Of An Eight Year Old

My parents always try to make me speak Bengali at home but I usually do not! My sister is much better than me at speaking Bengali. My parents do not say it to me but I am smart enough to know! On the bright side, my grandparents always say that I am very good at speaking in Bengali. Mom wears saris but I feel they are a nightmare! How does she manage it?

But it is really fun to be a Bengali. One of my favorite Indian dishes is luchi (a thin and puffy bread made of flour). You can eat it with daal. You can also eat it with aloordom (a potato dish).

The Topsy Turvy Calendar

The sunshine has turned to a soft gold, signaling the advent of Durga puja (Durga: a Hindu Goddess, Puja: worship). It's August now, and in two months we will be celebrating one of our most important festivals. If a Bengali were to be marooned on an island having lost count of days, the specs of white cloud in an otherwise clear blue sky would be an ideal way to predict the arrival of Durga Puja! For it is in our blood.

Here we do not have the joy of watching pandals (somewhat similar to huge tents, but grander) being constructed or Dhakis (drum beaters) making the rounds of houses, beating their drums in unison.

This afternoon in a sudden rush of nostalgia I called my university friend in California. Between chit chats, she casually mentioned that she was going out to celebrate Durga Puja in the evening! I was not sure if I had heard her right, Durga Puja in August? It’s like celebrating Christmas in June!

(Info for those interested, the rest of you may pass!
 Durga puja is celebrated mostly in the months of September and October. In a version of the Ramayana, the ancient Hindu epic, Rama invokes the goddess Durga before his battle with Ravana. Although she was traditionally worshipped in the spring, the contingencies of battle forced Rama to invoke her in autumn. The celebration in autumn has gained ascendancy now, though the worship of Durga in spring, known as Basanti Puja, is also present in the Hindu almanac. The worship is held over a five-day period, which is traditionally viewed as the arrival of Durga and her children at her father Himalaya's home. Bengalis celebrate this occasion with prayers, new clothes and gifts.)

In the US however, the “contingencies” of booking halls, convenient holidays, groupism  among the Bengalis have given way to a boom in the celebration of Durga Puja. Except for temples that celebrate and worship on the exact calendar days, it is as if the Goddess Durga has graciously agreed to accommodate the different Bengali groups throughout the months of September, October and November, almost every weekend! But the California Bengalis have managed to set unprecedented example in celebrating the Puja in August.

I guess its okay; the Goddess can be worshipped at any time and any place, especially as we refer to her as the Mother. You can visit your mom anytime! So long as the ambiance is of mellow golden sunshine, the exact warmth and color of which brings a rush of nostalgia to the Bengalis.

The BFF, Mic, Mac, Faces & Gazettes

Have categorized our friend circle into four groups:

BFF (best friends)
The Mic (small tight knit group)
The Mac (friends in general)
Faces (& acquaintances)
Gazettes

I cannot do without our Bengali friends or the Gazettes! They are in every group, opening door to a spicy universe, filtering our little joys and sorrows to the world.

Some of us have relatives in the US, but for most of us the friends represent an extended family. Say, during Durga Puja, I will be miserable if I do not catch up with The Mac, the Faces and the Gazettes (the Mic tends to interact almost every other week). It revitalizes the self to walk around the puja hall, saying hello to almost every other face, and the info from a gazette can sustain us throughout the year.

If someone within a group is unwell, the BFFS or Mic will cook and bring dishes for the family. The Mac will call, ready to help in anyway, and the faces will at least pass on the news of your welfare (and the gazette will spice it up…er… I wouldn’t exactly call it gossip). The news usually comes back in a circle to the individual concerned, some are upset, but I enjoy my two minutes of fame!

It’s nice to belong to a Mic. My kids wanted to see this batman movie, when someone from our Mic group took them for a late night movie and popcorn. During my very difficult pregnancy I did not have to worry about cooking or chauffeuring my kids back and forth from activities or even grocery. The BFFs and the Mic helped me out.

I love these friends and even if there is gossip it is okay!! These very friends (and we have our fights and arguments), bring me a drink at parties, notice changes in the kids -  how pretty or handsome they are becoming every year, they cuddle my baby and hold him for hours at a party, attend the anniversaries and birthdays, see to it that my kids are having proper dinner at parties, cook for my husband when I am away, care for me when I am sick…. the list is endless.

And somehow they make me feel at home here