What nostalgia tastes like

I got home four days ago. I was away for over three months. I know that isn't such a long duration and that there are a lot of people out there who have been away from home for years at a stretch. But this day and this trip feels different. 

Have you ever smelled nostalgia? We all relive the past and feel "nostalgic", but can you tell what nostalgia tastes like!? Well here's what makes me get the taste of the dinner I had over a decade ago on a lightless evening when inverters hadn't made their entry and electricity services sucked more than they do now.

Back when I was seven, my elder sister was preparing for her tenth boards. She was a studious devil who set a bench mark for the others in the family by sticking her butt (for hours at a stretch) to her white armless plastic chair in front of the small wooden study table in an uninteresting corner of the bedroom we both shared. We lived (and still live) not in office quarters (like most of my friends do) but in our own house and hence the state electricity board was what brightened our homes. A mild wind is enough reason for powercut to come and make lives difficult in our area. And in those days, these blackouts were more frequent. For us ordinary kids, black outs provided the perfect chance to throw away the textbooks, go out in the pitch dark verandahs and watch fireflies do their dance. And on days when the moon shined in its fullness and the  evening breeze felt merrier than other days, carefree childhood summoned us to forget the unit test of the next morn and live in that fleeting moment of stargazing and daydreaming. But my nerd of an elder sister was indifferent to the beauty of blackouts and oblivious of the sweet joy of leisure. She would continue studying with a candle lit and barely even lift her head up to look around. Being the little notorious monkey that I was, I would run indoors after play with my high spirited shouts and songs and watch her concentrate on textbooks that have not been able to interest me to this date!

Soon it would be dinner time and Mum would serve food for all. I dont remember the menu but everything appears delicious to me now. On days when Dad was in the "mood", he'd cook a special dish for us all and we'd devour on it not cause it really was delectable but because of its rarity.

Now thirteen years later, I do not find my sister at home (not dead, just working elsewhere) and Mum and Dad have more wrinkles on their faces than I had ever before seen. Although the problem of powercut persists, candles are no longer needed. Inverters have replaced candles and we are barely affected by the prolonged powercuts. I never had to study by the light of a candle (like my sister had done during her crucial years of school). That day from my childhood which has its place in my memory  as one lit with candles and dancing fireflies and the 'Papa special dish' eventually got lost amidst inner conflicts, responsibilities, setbacks, personal battles and other such things. But today...today when I'm home on my winter break, when once again there is a prolonged powercut; I find the taste of that special dish at the tip of my tongue. The smell of the chilly winter evening when I saw my sister sit and give shape to her life, that sight of a dozen fireflies spreading happiness and everything else that made childhood worth being a fond memory return to me and nostalgia suddenly seems tangible.

And coming to think of it, I realise that life just recreated a day from my childhood for me! For the first time in ten years, our inverter ran out of battery today. It has been constantly drizzling since last night. Winter is at its peak for a place like ours and candles have been brought out once again, just like old times. Dad too has announced that he will cook something special today and the "Papa special dish" is being created as we speak. My childhood is right in front of me, right here in my present. I don't have a more befitting description of peace than this!

Gratitude over Samosa & Chai

Old post alert:

My blogger account isn't accessible to me at the moment but on days like this, I feel that I MUST write despite the glitches. And so, let me narrate yet another memory from the diary of Dreamer Hello:

So I had the privilege of being a part of a tea expo at Umsning, Meghalaya as a volunteer today. I was told that I'd be paid for the work and would also get the hifi complimentary lunch and snacks. Being a college student with a limited pocket money and apps like Myntra, Shein and Amazon on your phone often make you a money chasing, perenially broke and forever hungry person who is always ready to sacrifice on free time for free food and extra money. So, I had agreed to volunteer at this tea expo and went there and dedicatedly rendered my services to the lady who had hired me. She too was extremely kind to me throughout the day. I wasn't having a happening day but things weren't dull either. She even made me milk tea (one of my favorite beverages) just cause I said I felt like eating something.

The lunch at the expo was nowhere near my hyped up expectations. To be honest, I just got rice, dal and a mix veg I didn't like. But that was still so much better than the shit they serve at my hostel. And by dusk, we had left Umsning and were on our way to Shillong. It was drizzling outside but that was soothing when combined with the smooth highway and calm music. My 'boss' for the day was a loaded lady and she was displeased with the lunch, so we stopped at a local  shop where she got us momos and tea. Now I am not a momo person but then like I said, free food and kind gestures are always appreciated by me. After the quick snack break, we resumed our journey to Shillong and in my heart of hearts I was hoping that my 'boss for the day' would offer to drop me at Shillong and not Mawlai (Mawlai is where she lives & also  a place I have never before been to & also a place whose cab points are not known to me). I was expecting that she'd deliberately offer the extended lift since she had said "You're just like my daughter, don't call me Ma'am. Call me Aunty", being pleased with my buttering skills. However, I was up for some disappointment that way. But then, always know that I prepare for different possibilities well in advance. So I had  Rapido right in front of my eyes, on snooze, waiting for some angelic rider to cross by and accept my ride. We reached her house and the car didnt move past the house and so I had to get down, thank her, kiss her on both cheeks (a Shillong culture I'm not very comfortable with) and bid adieu for the day.

Luckily for me, I had found an angelic rider who agreed to drop me to  my hostel at Motinagar. By now, the rain had stopped as well. Now, a thing to note about Shillong's weather is its unpredictibility that overpowers even a Geminian's mood swings! After much stupid descriptions of the location on my part, my Rapido rider arrived. We took off and I started enjoying the chilly wind touching my cheeks. I tend to daydream when overwhelmed and so I was in another land when, suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, the Shillong rains began. It was a HEAVY downpour. I had a jacket on but was still shivering like crazy. I had an umbrella in my bag but it was a source of embarrasment cause it was broken beyond description. But the shower was too strong to show and be a macho girl. My Rapido rider was an extremely kind middle aged Khasi man. He stopped the Scooty and asked me to use my umbrella. He said he'd ride slowly so that the wind doesn't overturn my fragile umbrella. But like I said, the umbrella was near dead, and this mild exposure to the wind, did it for my poor umbrella. Now I was left offguard to deal with that heavy shower all the way from Police Bazaar to Motinagar without a raincoat, umbrella or even a hanky on my head (to provide me a fake sense of protection). My rider had his rain coat on and I was wondering that if I had  brought my shampoo bottle along then I would've easily been able to wash my oily hair while heading homewards. People talk about blinding heat and here I was dealing with blinding rains. After a struggle of about 15-20 minutes I finally reached my hostel. My rider said, "I feel pity for you" and I said, "No...its fine yaa" while what I wanted to say was, "I pity me more than you".

That was the end of the Rapido story.

Coming back to my room with water dropping down from every garment and part of my body, I was told by my roommate that they had given Samosa with the evening tea and she had saved one for me. That last part of her sentence was enough to compensate for all the shitty things that had happened to me throughout the day, including the Rapido disaster.

So as I sit with my hot cup of chai and cold samosa now, I feel like thanking the heavens and everybody around me for the kindness they exhibit in their tiny little gestures. My roommate saving me a Samosa (knowing that I love, love, LOVE samosas), my boss treating me like her daughter & feeding me, my Rapido rider being so gentle and considerate....all add up to making mundane days stand out with warm memories. Doesn't it feel good when God sends you an earning opportunity just when you badly need money!? Isn't it wonderful when you realize that your good actions may not necessarily get recognized but they always, ALWAYS get rewarded in some way or the other!?

Life is full of blessings if you know to count them right. I am still not done counting mine but I do hope that each of you making it to the end of this piece atleast begin being grateful for something or the other that happens in your day, every day of your life.

From a Granddaughter

Dearest Granddad,

Jatindra Nath Bhagowati

Perhaps you are a seven year old boy now at somebody else’s home. But if you would have been alive as my grandfather, you would have seen how all your grandchildren are struggling in their lives. Each one of us is fucked up in some way but that’s how life is supposed to be, right? I miss you. I miss a role model. I can’t remember the last time I was inspired to live life. Right now, I am just surviving…occasionally smiling at life’s blessings, and cursing the imperfections for most of the remaining time. In the eight years since your demise, a lot has happened with me. From my first period, to the first boyfriend, first kiss, first major crush to the first genuine relationship. Academically it has all been about numbers that I don’t remember and stories that I tend to forget but personally….personally, I’ve grown. I learn a new lesson every day. Some days are hard for me. I cry myself to sleep and nobody has an idea about it. I am a Gemini; this information wouldn’t make sense to you. In your times, things were simpler. But as a millennial Gemini, I tend to get a lot of mood swings that I cannot handle. I am emotionally dependent on the people around me and it sucks. Sometimes I feel like running back to you and to hear you speak those bombastic English words.

I have no idea how your youth was. I have only known you as a ninety year old man wearing a Khaki Dhoti and a White Kurta but I would like to believe that you were a lot like me. As I write this, your trembling low voice echoes in my ears and the words “Dhunu Maina” spoken in the tenderest manner fill the air around me. I can see you walk towards me with your walking stick and a toothless smile. The few summers and winters spent with you still hold a significant place in my life. The vacuum that shadows the deeply unhappy life of us millennials with fake and seemingly fulfilling Instagram feeds and fucked up personalities is often because of a yearning for something that’s to do with our past. For me, it’s you and the love I smelt when a certain someone promised to love me the way I always wanted to be loved. Things change no matter how hard we try to keep them the same. But when I come to think of it, we are all torn in some way or the other. You too must have had a dark past; you too must have drawn inspiration from things that no longer belonged to you. You too must have longed for what you cannot have. You too must have remembered that special smell of love while on your death bed on 7^th January 2012. The thirteen year old Dhunu Maina you adored is now a grown up girl with mistakes and regrets of her own. You wouldn’t approve of most of her actions now but she still adores you the same way she did when you visited her place some thirteen years ago. She even mimicked you for some time after that! She misses the kind of love she received from you. If only you could be back!

With love,
Dhunu Maina.

(Written on the eighth death anniversary of my dear Kaka. May your soul rest in eternal peace!)