Shillong has been on my mind this week and no its not because of the rains and hailstorm— though I have to to admit that the patter of raindrops invariably teleports me to our old tin-roof cottage.

This time it was the mention of Shillong in A.I.R. prime time news announcing the curfew hours.

Our childhood experiences not only form our memories, they mould our very psyche. An eight year old girl strains her ear against the open window to listen clearly to the next days curfew timings. It is blared out daily by the local patrol at about 8.00 in the evening. Her three year old little sister fears these voices coming out of the dark to be some sort of apparition , terrified she runs to mother. While the closing of school was always welcome , being confined at home for sometimes even more than a couple of days could get pretty inconvenient for everyone. And then the queues in the kirana stores in the few hours of relaxation!

In those days the situation was pretty grim, the non-tribal discrimination had turned violent.My grandfather would however claim “ I will follow the last Bengali out of Shillong.” Now I can appreciate how attached he must have been to the place where he spent a lifetime. Our house there is built on the plot that was procured by his mother before the Partition and he had personally supervised the placing of each wooden plank in it. He had named the house after her ‘Manorama Kutir’

Anyways, the petrol bomb and evening assaults had increased so much that one night me and my family were practically ready with our indispensables to literally flee for our lives, leaving back everything at the drop of a pin.

As my mother was mentioning the other day, ten Bengalis have been knifed in the present disturbance and now the remaining few families will also probably move out.

So whether I watch a movie on Kashmiri Pandits or meet the Sikhs from Afghanistan in our sector 29 neighbourhood, the vivid memories and hazed identities always resonates.

Of course life flows on, better days dawn, newer identities form — the sting is removed but the pain……..

It was two days to Diwali. The excitement and hustle bustle was palpable. A patient walked up to me and requested for his pterygium removal today only as he had come a long distance. I felt a bit lazy as it was not my OT day but then goodwill prevailed and I decided to do it quickly in the minor OT itself. At first I hesitated a bit to open my three tola golden kadas to wash, the words to mark here are ‘ three tola golden kadas’ but then I thought its someone’s eye involved.

It must have taken me hardly fifteen minutes in the minor OT, when I came back to the tea room to wear them, you can imagine the shock I got to see them missing!

It’s been two years since but every couple of days I berate myself for leaving them unattended even for a few minutes. I wish I had postponed the case or given in to my instincts and not opened them. What if I had taken the bag to the minor OT or something else.

I consoled myself that I owed this offering to the Goddess for all her kind blessings till date . I remember a good friend in my hostel explaining plainly “ Seriously, you think only good things will happen to you. Nothing bad will come your way in life?” Thinking in those lines then my Grandpa was right in preaching to us that the lucky people lose things and the unlucky otherwise.

Coming to terms with our losses is a basic life skill. The loss hurts but as my husband aptly points “ I see patients with lost hands I cannot grieve for your bangles.”

And then this year during our Manali trip me and my mother lost our newly purchased long coats, even the tags were untouched. I again solaced myself with the wisdom that this is divine balancing of what I should have given but didn’t. We had left them by mistake on a car bonnet at our transit stop but the car cleaner had picked it up and kept it in our acquaintance’s garden chair and lo! on our way back we got it at their house.

This incident reinforced my faith in fate. What is yours will come back to you. Of course this cannot be an excuse for carelessness. As mature individuals we know that letting go with peace is the only option life gives. We can only pray that our losses are of the material kind.

Its a match made in heaven…an Indian princess and a Colombian lad meet in the fashion streets of Milan…and die for each other! Their wedding ceremony had to be one straight out of a fairy tale…and every bit it was.

The elegantly bordered pastel coloured invitation placards with accompanying Haldiram boxes spoke of the the tasteful extravaganza that awaited at the functions.

The festivities began with a welcome dinner cum Christmas party for the Groom’s assemblage. The chilly barren farmhouse was transformed as if by magic into a cosy classy discotheque, a glowing haven amidst the severe Northern cold wave.

This was followed the next day by the Mehendi and Tilak ceremony. Mehendi is one of the sixteen adornments or Shringars of the bride. Its auspicious fragrance and cooling effect are supposed to bring good luck and health to the newly weds. Tilak is the official acceptance of the groom being a perfect match for the bride. No wonder this ceremony was turned into a village fair by the wedding planner with bangles, bindi and floral jewellery stalls.

By evening the Sangeet showcased well choreographed dances from both sides of the family. However, the stage was set on fire when for the finale the romantic couple waltzed to a melodious intimate tune.

The next day began with a five star breakfast buffet. Then everyone was ushered for the Haldi ceremony . In this an antiseptic turmeric paste is applied to the bride and groom by all present to purify them for the upcoming union. After much music and jovial shananigans we proceeded to our rooms to get ready for the afternoon marriage ceremony.

Amidst the chant of Shlokas, in a pink-white floral Mandap the couple took their seven Pheras signifying the seven vows of togetherness. The whole ambience resonated with the sanctity of marriage. While the guests were happy to show-off their Ray-bans.

Finally, the Royal Reception. It was grand with ice sculptures for decoration and the Shillong Chamber Choir for performance. With over a thousand invitees, it had everything from the huge three tier cake to an infinity smorgasbord that had dishes from all corners of the world!

Phew! Just attending this gala wedding left me exhausted, God save the organisers.

In our day to day mundane lives, once in a while we get caught in such fantasy, and I am glad to have lived my chance. But in my government hospital where everyday I see pain and want, where money can make the difference between treatment and life or suffering and death, such splurging does make me smirk!

Life is time, that is,it is the stipulated time we are given on this planet earth to spend the best we can given our conditions and resources. That’s my philosophy of life .And I had to form one because of late there was a question I would often dodge, and when asked to write I would look over my shoulder hoping no one is looking! That ominous question is — what is your age?

I sometimes wonder how did a confident vivacious twenty something relegate into a stuttering timid tricenarian. The answer lies in unfulfilled dreams and unattained goals and the feeling that time is running out to ever achieve them. Confronting this wish list rips apart my picture perfect life on Facebook and Watsapp and reminds me of time wasted and decisions regretted. Such thoughts always push me into an abyss of darkness. So everyday I tighten my safety harness with positive thoughts and a page from a wide selection of self-help books.And they work ! Trust me.

Everyone has a story. Mine is first basking in the feeling of having plenty of time at hand and then panicking , buck up — time is ticking off ! Then a friend jokingly commented — life is like an ice cream,enjoy it without too much analysis,no matter what it will melt.

It made a mark.And I sat to make a list of all the little things that made 2019 great — seeing my one year old niece for the first time, enjoying snow for the first time in my life, glittering get-togethers and a wedding, my happy patients, my blog, a pair of danglers…..a collage of the best memories of the year gone by — maybe just a well dressed photo session. This will be milestone down my nostalgic path. It is the gift of a passing year to me. And I am glad a new year is beginning….

Another winter! It inevitably takes me to my Shillong days! Shillong has a perennial winter feel, at least it did in my childhood days. All round the year we used one blanket and in the colder months we just doubled it with thick cotton quilts.

The better of part of our winter vacation was actually spent in Shyamnagar near Kolkata, comfortably with the maternal side of my family. But the November, February and March months were also chilly enough to enjoy the honeyed sunshine and a steaming cup of coffee.

Christmas is in the air there at this time. The whole city is donned in lights and holly leaves. I remember going to dinner parties where I would satiate myself with a variety of cakes and pastries, my favourite being lamingtons.

However for me the real pleasure of this season lies in the ways we can warm not just our bodies but our hearts by indulging in “hygge.”

Literally it is the Danish art of creating a cosy atmosphere and enjoying the simple things despite the cold and gloomy weather. Acknowledging a feeling or moment, whether alone or in company, at home or out, ordinary or extraordinary as cosy, charming or special is hygge . It is a mindset about relaxing with friends, enjoying homely meals with family or cherishing our free time.Though commercialisation has transformed even this feeling into a cosy home decor . But one can feel cosy just watching a movie in bed or having a private dinner with parents and siblings. The feelings of contentment and gratitude fill us with such immense positivity that it makes life,at least temporarily,a box of chocolates. Valuing our relations adds happiness to our existence and are assets in themselves.

Well winter does bring its own problems — working in the kitchen and washroom become a pain,even for the maids one has to arrange for as much hot water as possible. And its very difficult to keep the children warm and fully clothed. They inevitably run outwards, catch the cold and then its upto you to spend sleepless nights giving the meds on time and comforting them.Nonetheless whether we like it or not winter will make its annual appearance, only varying its severity.

Maybe it’s the warmth or the closeness of dear ones or the me-time, the shot of endorphins is real! So three cheers to some hot drinks, a soft blanket, a favourite author, pampering the soul , tending to the heart, nurturing some close ties — whatever it is that brings hygge to your winter!

As a doctor and as a mother of two, children’s nutrition has always been foremost in my mind. So I decided to delve deep into the topic rather than just sit and fret over what my kids are eating…..

…. The calorie count for younger children is 1000-2000 per day. For older children it ranges from 1400 to 3200 depending on the level of activity. Male children have a higher caloric requirement . The Recommended Dietery Allowance RDA, should be met by making a balanced diet from all food groups—carbohydrates,proteins,fats,vitamins,minerals and fibres.Fluids should also be kept in mind. We don’t need a professional dietician to plan our kid’s meals, following our maternal instincts, awareness of calories and respecting the child’s taste sense will do the trick.

….In this era of working mothers, it can be very challenging to make elaborate dishes. Let’s appreciate Nature’s bounty and try to replace cooked items with uncooked or semi-cooked ones. Like a glass of locally sourced milk, a few almonds, a banana and a jam roll or bread-butter are a great way to start the day. Fruits,sprouts,curd,boiled eggs and the like curb the need to open packaged snacks. Also children grow up to the natural flavours of seasonal fruits and veggies.

….We set the model for our children, so let us first follow the wholesome diet and correct meal timings chart. We have to make the meal enjoyable by watching an interesting family movie or interactive general discussions. This way children will be automatically drawn to the dining table and grow into adults with an awareness for a healthy eating system.I can never grasp the concept of separating eating from entertainment in this gadget driven age.

…. Taste and presentation come foremost — I won’t bore you with the pink puri and smiling sandwich recipes that the net is flooded with. But yes — I have tried pouring the milk in fancy glasses, laced with chocolate and home-made make-it-yourself burger and bhelpuri trays. And it works!

I am sure we all cherish our memories of the time when our mothers and grandmothers prepared delicious regional delicacies brimming with nourishment without an inkling of the N word. Remember the Aam Panna in summer and the Gajar Ka Halwa in winter.Perhaps the salvation of the younger generation lies in reconnecting to our basics.

It all started with a simple thought… food is the source of our sustenance. Food is the source of our health and immunity. And if we delve deeper into the subject of food history, food emerges as the driving force for rise of civilisations, entwined inseparably with different cultures and religions. And even in this modern era amid the complex web of comfort and knowledge no matter on which rung of progress we are, food is still the basic of all necessities.

Today I want to focus on how it is also the source of our emotional bonds. I have sometimes wondered where does this old as time custom of inviting people for meals on happy and sad occasions arise from. But naturally we are subconsciously thankful and friendly towards someone who fulfills one of our primitive needs. Sharing meals with friends definitely leads to closer ties — remember the school tiffin time and the hostel ‘ghar se kya Laya?’ days!

As dinner is the only meal that we eat together as a family I decided to work a bit on it. We have our dinner in the bedroom in front of the television — the big bad giant in our dinner story! Nonetheless I procured a large green cloth to spread on the bed and then put the plates. I decided to cook a healthy and delicious main course. And as I started filling this cloth-spread I was just brimming with enthusiasm. So I added a beverage — chilled in the summer months and milk-tea or coffee in winter. Then came the fruits, dessert,salad,chutney,papad and sometimes a starter or side dish even!

This has become the centre piece of our home time now and I am glad the kids also look forward to it.

When I was searching for a word for that cloth-piece I came across this beautiful untranslatable Persian word ‘Sofreh’. A Sofreh is a traditional Persian table cloth, it is in fact a connotation which is far beyond a piece of cloth spread for serving food. All family members gather around the Sofreh which is spread on the table or on the floor during meals. Special things are put on the Sofreh on special occasions and festivals. Tradition commands that elders sit at a higher level and commence eating first.

“May our Sofreh be always adequate and wholesome. May we be ever mindful of the pleasure and good fortune of a bountiful Sofreh.” Amen.

Its been a stressful week. And I have sourced the stress — its my efforts to appease my dear mother-in-law. I have tried everything from modulating my voice to modifying my opinions to running errands till my feet ache — but I think it’s the incompatible nature of the relation that transcends all generations and all cultures — that ends in frustration on both sides. There’s a joke that a boy brought home three girls and the mother commented that its the girl in the middle you want to marry right? The boy was surprised that how come his mother knew his heart without his telling anything. The mother replied—Well I instinctively disliked her!

I owe my kitchen skills and domestic intricacies management skills to my mother-in-law. But with time I have noticed that too much of advice sounds as a taunt to my ears. I think as girls are getting married at a more and more mature and opinionated age, this rift is only going to widen.

And there’s always the comparisons that rankles most … the comparison about how the other ‘Bahu’s do all the household chores without uttering a word! Comparison regarding whose parents give the more expensive gifts. Comparison between how ‘at your age I was so much more active and organised.’ And of course there are no comparisons with the daughter of the house, who is out of the world altogether!

Many of us must have heard it at least once in their marriage time — you are just like my daughter. But the subconscious difference of being one and being ‘like’ one is known to all. Once when we were all quite small, my sister and my cousin sister were playing Ludo. As my sister began to lose she cheated, they broke out into a squabble and my cousin told me to judge the situation. Looking at my sister, I didn’t have the heart to scold her, so I jumbled up the Ludo tokens and told them to start a fresh game. Well that’s all the fairness I have been meted out too.

I know a friend whose marriage ended in a divorce and the world knows Bahubali and his tragic doom when these Ego Wars take a dangerous turn.

But I must emphasise the good note too — there are many a times when I receive a lot of cooperation,domestic help and support, and at times even warmth and appreciation from my MIL. And as my husband rightly points out that she is your ‘Saas’ and she is a very good one when it comes to the notorious North Indian ‘Sasuma’s so don’t try to make her your best friend!

Of late, I sometimes envisage a scene — Ricky and his wife have come to meet an older me on a holiday— I am glad at the love and understanding he has found. I catch a glimpse of genuine concern and respect for me in my daughter in law’s eyes! Will such a day really come! Only time can tell…..

It is really strange that even in this era of feminisation how little we openly speak of this integral part of all things female.

When I first started my monthly ritual I was confined to a room without windows for 3 days on a boiled diet! Then on, during my school years the first two days were reserved for total rest, coffee and Mills and Boons!

The peri-menstrual syndrome afflicts every women in varying degrees. The bloating, low mood and the exhaustion are universal. I instinctively know it is that time of my cycle when I start getting irritated at the things which I otherwise waive off with a smile like my children’s antics or the maid’s complaints. A very positive person otherwise , at that time I can see no hope at the end of the tunnel. And I am sure it happens to ladies all the time, some do and some don’t realise it. So there’s a joke in my house — whenever my sister or sister-in-law come to me with their emotional tangles I start with ‘when is your date!’

Today’s well informed generation knows very well that it is the oestrogen-progesterone interactions that cause the monthly bleeding during a female’s fertile period. But it’s not just the bleeds, this hormone duo, in the nanogram quantities can create havoc in the female body and mind.

In Assamese culture, menarche is celebrated with the girl being wedded to a banana plant — Kela Bau. In most cultures the menstruating lady is not allowed to enter a temple but they do not permit entrance in kitchen also, I think in a way it gives the lady the much needed rest at the time. Even the Goddess is revered as bleeding during Ambubachi.

The Red Dot Movement is a commendable campaign to raise awareness regarding proper disposal of menstrual waste. And the Pad Man movie is an eye opener for the Indian scenario. I was glad to see sanitary napkin dispensers and incinerators in many girls colleges and airports in Gujarat.

Well the point of all this discussion is just to break the ice. God made Men and Women equal but different. And we should respect those differences. So at home and work we all can show a little understanding and kindness “Un Dino Mein” shhhh…..finger on your lips!

For a few years now I have not been able to go back to Shillong for Durga Puja. For me its all about the Navratris and the ‘Kanjak’s now.

But never do I miss home and Shillong as I do during this festive season! My pensive mind seeks solace by wading through the past — the memories glisten….

Our wooden house in Laban, Sylhetipara. My grandfather in his blue stripped pyjamas always cleaning or mending one thing or the other. I dearly hold in my heart his affection and advice — ‘never minus, always plus.’

During the Puja at least one day our whole extended family would hang around and feast together. Even my grandma would go pandal hopping, as much as her health would allow.

I remember the clear sunny mornings and the autumn breeze that would drift into my room as soon as I opened the bedside window — hinting the subtle approach of winter! Unforeseen afternoon showers are also very common in the ‘abode of clouds.’ How can I ever forget the pitter patter of raindrops on asbestos roofs and how it still thrills me!

We would go till the Polo grounds accompanying the Bishorjon procession after the morning rounds of Protima Boron and Shindoor Khela to bid our farewell to the Goddess on Dashami. Oh the emptiness that crept into the air as soon as Ma Durga’s face submerged under water! We hardly spoke to each other on the way back . But the next morning my mother would cheer us up by beginning the next year’s Puja plans!

Of course I also remember the curfews — for days and even weeks at an end. And also the ethnic discriminations which still exist. But still thinking about Shillong twangs a chord of my heart — much like an unfulfilled love story — you always remember it but know it was not destined for you!