Blog Adda

Doggy Musings

You walk desultorily in the dusk of a bleak wintry evening, along the back lane of your house, skirting the park. A chilly breeze makes you draw yourself together, your mind as listless as the paling sky. And suddenly from nowhere she comes, wagging herself double in delight, the stray pup you nurtured ,showering you with love and devotion for she has found you! As she probably does every now and then in unexpected nooks and corners. And the world seems a brighter place; the winter's cold lifts off your warming heart, leaving you touched with the glow of hope.

Saviours

Sometime in the late sixties, while in senior school, my father, mother, a mechanic and I were returning from Benares in our Landmaster car.  With us was Connie, a most uncontrollable mongrel we had been gifted. Earlier, on reaching Benares, my father had thrown his back, due to a recurring slip disc problem caused by lifting a piece of heavy machinery. He lay immobilized in the hotel bed for days. Obviously then, we were in a cautious mood on the way back to Kolkata.

Around 8pm we stopped for dinner, only casually aware of a group of people at the next table. Some hours after we left, I was jolted out of sleep as the car braked with a terrific crash and all the breath blew out of my father’s lungs in a loud ‘ooof Ma!’ The traumatized mechanic’s bloody face had shards of broken windscreen glass. The impact of my father’s chest on the steering wheel had broken it into four and he had a gash on his leg from the gear while I was relatively unhurt except that I could never fall asleep in a car again. However, it was my mother’s obscenely swollen forehead and groaning which scared us horribly.

The car had hit the back of a truck parked with no lights on the left side of the road, exactly where my father had swerved to avoid an oncoming truck bearing down full force on us from the right. And then the police arrived. We learnt later it was a hot spot for such parked trucks at night to steal sand in a nexus with the local police. The police report no doubt stated our car was speeding at such a rate it hit the’ moving’ truck. I remain silent on the name of the accident site; who knows, things may have changed by now? To top it all, Connie wailed and scrambled around.

Suddenly, a car with the strangers from the next table at dinner pulled up; they said they recognized our car from the parking lot at the restaurant. As if it was the most natural thing to do, they took responsibility for my mother and me while my father stayed back in that condition to tackle the police .The kind  locals, also strangers, took care of Connie, tying him  to their charpoy and feeding him dal and chapattis till he went back with my father.

Meanwhile, our restaurant friends took us back, stopping first at my father’s colleague’s place for him to make arrangements for my mother at the company enlisted Nursing Home. Before taking us to the nursing home, they rang up my father’s best friend who left immediately for the accident site .All this happened pre dawn. There were no cell phones then. My mother had acute subdural hematoma, blood collected between skin and brain; her forehead was swelling like a balloon. She needed to have the blood drained immediately, potential hazards being amnesia or even death. She recovered from a successful surgery without any complications. Our new friends helped save her life and took us out of a real messy situation otherwise.

My father was treated on reaching late afternoon.. Connie had been dispatched to my grandparents’ place, the mechanic’s wounds superficial. Curiously, the sudden jerk cured my father of his backache permanently, moving something back into place after a decade. The broken steering wheel left no impact. Our benefactors kept in touch till all was fine. While I am sure my parents expressed their overwhelming gratitude to them I salute the magnitude of their hearts once again.

A baby Bulbul

A baby bulbul comes and flutters around on the ledge of my balcony. I have got so used to it that I wait for it every day. Initially, it is accompanied by the mother bird who feeds him the scraps and bird food I leave for them and a host of other birds. Whirring its wings, going’ chee chee ‘without a break while mother drops food into the open beak, it looks dependant and somehow helpless. It has now grown a bit and comes on its own. It picks up food on its own, takes a dive to the water bowl and flies off. One day, it shoots off having been chased by a pigeon and hurtles onto the window pane with a thud. Without losing momentum it flies off to the tree almost like a swimmer doubles back on finishing the length.

The day I have enough time I remember my pet bulbul from decades ago. Having been told that they make obedient pets, I guess it was procured from the mela that takes place on Rathyatra. Stoically, my mother takes care of it as she des of the fish and the rabbit which runs around the small flat. On occasion we take the bulbul out of its cage, shut all windows and doors and let it roam around. It follows us all over the house like a dog, a strange sight no doubt. I am very attached to my bulbul. When I come back home from school, it flaps its wings in greeting. I wait for the ice cream cart to come around to pick up my daily dose of an orange bar. I don’t have to hail the seller; he draws up at the huge bay window of the ground floor flat and hands me my ice cream through the grill while I pay him somewhere around thirty paise I think. And then I sit and slurp next to my bulbul while it carries on some kind of silent conversation with me.

One day I come home to find my mother agitated. She draws me to the bulbul’s cage where it seems to half sit and half lie against one side. It is trying to flutter its wings and an inarticulate ‘chee’ comes out of its throat. “The cat came an hour ago,” says my mother.” It pounced at the cage, that’s all , and since then the poor thing has been struggling to overcome something.” I have no idea how well it had bonded with me, for the instant I go to the cage, it steps up its fluttering, and its desperately feeble cries. I say something comforting; it flaps some more, looks at me and sinks down gracefully, dead. “It got scared,” said my mother,” too scared.” “It was only waiting for you to come.”This is the first time death touches my life and I can find no answer to my ‘whys. I turn the ice cream seller away, engulfed in nothingness.

Perhaps my distaste for cats stems from this. I love every animal under the sun, except cats. As I look at this baby bulbul on my balcony I make fanciful assumptions woven out of imaginary yearnings that my bulbul has come back to me. I am carried back in time as I visualise the room in which it stayed, the cage, my mother’s sad face for the bulbul and for me. I crave the taste of the cold orange bar and the pulp pieces in it, licking it as it was an art how not to spill a single drop with the accidental loose chunk sometimes scooped into my hand. I could never bear to lose any of it – drop or chunk.

Nostalgia can never be a single isolated incident. It encompasses the during , before and after and opens the floodgates. Its reach is far beyond. Along with the sorrow for my bulbul the mind roams the excitement of going to the mela that young, and to the even afterwards. It recalls the joy of pottering around among the cages, from among which my rabbit had been spotted too on a different occasion, an extremely indignant rabbit who would pick up his aluminium food container and hurl it out of the cage if he found it empty of the customary soaked black channa. Or the munia birds I picked up more than once whose bird song I can replicate in lyrics if not in tune! With their cloth cover lifted off as morning dawned, they would look slightly dazed and then with an almost determined toss of their heads, launch into their song one after the other, in a kind of practised chorus. They made the mornings worthwhile. Where are they now? Where are those times when all seemed right with the world and there was no tomorrow? Where are those people who in all innocence were expected to be there always, laughing with me, laughing with me?

I cannot tear my thoughts away as one after another the memories launch themselves in my mind, taking me on a time travel. Back and forth I tread, frozen in time. I have to fight a battle to draw myself back to the real world. When I do, I see that the baby bulbul was long gone, taking with it the early morning freshness. The sun is shining bright, peeping at me through the luxurious tree branches in which baby bulbul and family live, sometimes father, mother and baby all on my balcony. The sun’s warmth and brilliance seems to say that it is a new day, a day of promise and much to do. My little bulbul.....

The Malaysia Pentagon

I am participating in the MalaysiaJao Blogathon Contest in association with BlogAdda.com Visit blogadda.com to discover Indian blogs

The five experiences through five exciting places I would love to visit in Malaysia are:

I think that there are two things involved- the places themselves and the person involved. I will never have the courage to go scuba diving, the energy to go for jungle hikes, the desire to be inside a building too long , shopping for designer brands (smaller markets for me!) and a definite lack of a head for heights which leaves out the Petronas Towers. Its nature over entertainment for me.

So the places ideally suited to me would be:

Desaru beach in Johor. Maybe Langkawi is the best known but I would love the exclusiveness of a relatively lesser known place- the sun , the white sand and the various shades of the water mine to claim. Lazy days of dreaming and walking along the beach, sometimes early morning, sometimes at sunset.And fishing and boating are definitely things the less adventurous me can do!

St.John's Fort, Melaka. Though I did say I don't like closed spaces, a fort on a hilltop is not a claustrophobic enclosure.When I stand on the ramparts I can feel myself a part of that 18th century when this fort must have played such a crucial role. But most of all, I want to watch the sunset from the top of the hill covering the wide expanse in its gleaming glow. Another day ends and gives way to a new one.


Putrajaya Do I love cruising on a lake and what better when I can take the Putrajaya cruise to view such sights as the Putrajaya Mosque and the Putrajaya bridge and other beautiful landmarks along the way. I could take the open air boat in the cool evening breeze or the closed comfort of the cruise boat with glass all around and AC in the daytime! I could explore some of the buildings later and definitely the Botanical Garden which is the largest in Malaysia.

Perak--Kuala Gula Bird sanctuary. Not only will I get to see at least some of the 2,00,000 birds that come in peak season, but I will also experience the thrill of such a large mangrove ecosystem. I love the zoos and national parks but the birds in a sanctuary are free to come and go. This takes away from some of the sadness that animals who are in closed environs generate. And birds in their myriad hues are a balm for the soul. A sudden flight of birds sets the spirits soaring.

Terengganu This one is a triple delight. It has a local market by the river, the Central Market at Pasar Payang with its local handicrafts; and it gives a chance to rub shoulders with the local shoppers. While I can buy  something to take back home, the fresh produce can be consumed there. There is Pulau Radang Marine Park with its clear waters showing up coral and anemone. And there is Kenyir Lake with its numerous flora and fauna ncluding 800 species of orchids.

Petaling Street Kuala Lumpur. Well, I couldn't leave without visiting the capital, could I? And Petaling street is a microcosm of the greater Malaysia. Not to forget one of my main attractions in life- food- this is a food paradise for those who love Chinese food. It's a place that is said to excite. you even if you don't spend a penny. Buying small stuff like incense, fresh herbs, seeing famous temples, eating, bargaining...And I have the chance to slip back to the main city and catch the wonderful buildings and the busy life.And of course, more food in the form of seafood and other cuisine.