Midlife Euphoria

                                    Midlife Euphoria Day 26

                                            Monkey business 

As I mentioned earlier, one of the wonderful things that has happened to us after my husband attained superannuation is that we spend the entire summer in our hill retreat….a tiny little place in the midst of serene surroundings . Our routine is simply soaking in the beauty and charm of the place by taking brisk walks at any time of the day, as all times are a good time to walk. This keeps our physical state stimulated and to fuel our mind, we play bridge. It is the most idyllic life, slow-paced, yet we are socially connected to like-minded people who are all a stone’s throw away from each other. We catch up often without the frustration of long congested roads, and pollution-tormented drives. The pleasure and desire to meet is given a boost considerably as a result of which we spend quality time with friends and consociates.

Let me come to my story. Now, on one such instance we were busy playing our usual game of bridge inside our house, totally engrossed in counting our tricks and trying to make a slam. Out of the blue, the door opened and in that split second, a monkey took my spectacles away with deftness, right from my eyes.There was minimal body contact and absolutely no scratch  on my visage . It was a comparable to a pre contrived surgical operation conducted with very great  dexterity by  a world-class brain surgeon. Before we could say Jack Robinson, the rascal had vamoosed out of the door with the loot.

All four of us were nonplussed and when we collected our wits about us, rushed outside to salvage my soulmate, my eyes, and my vision. The rogue was perched on top of a tree waiting for us. He made himself visible and mocked us by chewing one end of my lifeline. We were told by our local gardener to throw an apple at him. We did the needful and, low and behold, he dropped the glasses which got stuck on a branch as he dived for the apple. The gardener went up the tree like an imp and recovered my monkey-chewed eyeglasses.

It was a scary experience but when I narrated it to anyone, it took a very comical twist. There were jests like “maybe the scoundrel took a fancy to your pince-nez”, or “maybe his eyesight disability was the same as yours”…….all said tongue-in-cheek with a beam on the face—a little annoying, nevertheless. We live a little away from the main town where sophisticated chores like repairing monkey-chewed spectacles cannot be undertaken. We avoid going to town as far as possible, especially during the season due to tourist traffic. But I had no choice; we needed to go to the opticians to rectify the damage on the support of my eyeglasses. After wasting an entire day on the Mall Road of the city, it finally got fixed.

The next day, we were at the neighbours’ place enjoying the perfect weather sitting in their veranda, absorbed in our regular game of bridge. Just then, a monkey stepped into the veranda, put his paw nimbly on the head of MY chair and whisked MY glasses off my face! It happened in a split second, exactly like the day before! I could not believe it. We went through the same drill. I flung a banana this time and he returned my glasses, which were rescued from a branch where they were trapped. Déjà vu...This time, the monster had chewed up both sides of the frame. It was outrageous. The tongue-in-cheek remarks continued and anyone could be taken in of their legitimacy but for the sheer absurdity of the whole episode.

The other three players were also wearing their glasses. Then why me, why only me, why my glasses only? These were the questions coming to me over and over again.

As a result, we cancelled our next bridge session and headed to the optician for repair once again. To add insult to the injury, the optician also chuckled while filing the sides of my spectacles and warned me that the next time, there will not be enough length on the frame left to support it on my ears. As we left his workshop with my glasses, I could hear his ironic jeer.

To make matters even crazier, the next day the same monkey (by now we were sure we recognized the culprit) took my husband’s spectacles. We retrieved them as before and by now, we had bought a file with which we could even the chewed up sides. The gags by the neighbours intensified as expected. I did’t really blame them as I would have reacted in a similar manner in the given circumstances.

After the last episode, the bridge sessions continued with all of us not wearing our glasses. I further decided to go in for contact lenses for these eventualities.

The jokes continued till one day, the prime jester lost his spectacles in a similar fashion. He still managed to convey in banter that now we had trained the imp to target others.

We pondered over this unique experience and realized the wisdom of age. In the first instance when the monkey had entered our house, if we had reacted emotionally by screaming or scaring him, he would have created havoc inside the house. Can you imagine a scared, vivacious, trapped monkey in your living room full of crystal, porcelain, lamp shades, light fittings, paintings, etc.? The thought makes me nauseous.

At some point, a friend had mentioned to me that once a monkey had raided her house and had made a beeline for her bowl of fruit kept on the dining table. She told everyone to freeze. The monkey ate to his heart’s desire and coolly opened the door and walked off without damaging anything. This must have been in my subconscious; therefore, I just stopped dead intuitively when the incident occurred. We gained from the wisdom of someone else’s experience.

The other thing in our favour was that as we grow older our reflexes become slower as a result of which all four of us senior citizens present at that moment could not react in time to scare the monkey, thus avoiding mayhem.

Talking of other advantages of ageing, I am reminded of another friend Rita. She kept an immaculate house. Each room has a spectacular view—some naturally as they are garden-facing (the well-manicured and landscaped garden is also her baby)and for some, she creates magic by hanging flowering plant baskets (Swiss chalet-like) or crafting a rockery with all the trappings of a waterfall, etc.

Her favourite room with the view overlooked the garden but with the span of time, the road adjoining it became very busy resulting in a lot of noise in the room. It became quite impossible to sleep there at night or even enjoy an afternoon siesta. She was crestfallen. To cut a long story short, shortly afterwards circumstances required her mother-in-law to take

permanent residence with her. Her mother-in-law was a fastidious lady with deep-seated compels.

Rita was all caught up in knots thinking about this. This was going to be a long-term arrangement which required a lot of fine-tuning. She, of course, wanted to put her best foot forward. Now, her quandary was to decide which room to assign her that would meet her approval. Finally, Rita made a decision to do up the two rooms she had in mind for her and waited for her mother-in-law to make the final choice.

One room was the one with the stunning view but the catch was the noise, and the other was the one with not that brilliant a view but serene and peaceful. Her mother-in-law arrived and Rita took her around to choose the room she desired. At a glance, the choice was obvious and she picked the one with the amazing view. Rita kept mum about the noise angle. She would cross that bridge when it came. Surprisingly, she never had to cross that bridge. With age, her mother-in-law was just a little hard of hearing and the exterior noise never disturbed her. In fact, she went around telling everyone that her considerate daughter-in-law has assigned her the best room in the house.

Thank God for small mercies of ageing!

Coming back to my monkey story, I learnt a lot.

It is not the provocation that matters but the reaction to the provocation that determines your attitude.

We have heard our elders, and even spiritual gurus tell us to count to 10 or take 10 deep breaths before retorting to an ugly situation. The wisdom behind this theory is to delay one’s reaction when being provoked.

In life, it is easy to lose our temper and react angrily at the slightest provocation without considering the consequences of our actions. Most of the time, reacting under provocation leads a person to have a broken relationship and feel guilty for their reaction for years to come. Therefore, it is best to delay your reaction when being provoked so that you can make a calculated response.

We are told that whenever you feel tense due to some irrelevant remarks, try not to react immediately. Do not let the provocation dictate terms for you. Make a conscious effort to delay your reaction with the help of will power and in the intervening time, choose the best possible way to respond. Always keep in mind that it is not people who provoke you, rather your own inability to handle situations that disturbs you. It is you who are responsible for your action, not the person who is provoking you.

This is easier said than done. But when you are in the glorious, golden years this happens quite naturally. Your reflexes become slow and you take a while to register and perceive inciting remarks or situations. It allows one to regain calm composure and respond properly.

Take for example: Your friend asks you how she is looking. You may say wonderful without noticing the dark circles under her eyes or the blemishes on her face, if you are not wearing your glasses. You would be giving a prudent opinion without lying. Your friend will be

happy and so would you be. Similarly, if you hear a shade less, you may actually duck an offensive situation because you missed the nasty barb.

My tryst with the monkey taught me to restrain myself and reconcile with a situation when nothing that you do can help change it.

Consequently, other than benefits on rail tariff and the separate queues for senior citizens during the demonetization drive, there are many more blessings to count once you reach midlife and beyond.

Moral of the story, Count your blessings rather than cry over spilt milk. Cultivate a sense of humour and learn to LOL even if you are the target yourself.

Midlife Euphoria day 25

                                                   Wow Calcutta!  

A “wow” reaction for Calcutta coming from me is a little astonishing—especially for me. Considering my previous experiences with the ‘city of joy’, “Woe” Calcutta, “Oh, no” Calcutta or “Go” Calcutta might have been more appropriate!   

Back in college, I was acquainted with a lot of crusaders of the city. I had heard numerous tales about its culture and ethos, spoken with such dreaminess that the ones who had not been there felt as deprived as the swan with a long beak served the best soup in a flat plate.  

My first tryst with Calcutta was way back in 1973, on my way to Cuttack for a sports event with a group of 50 other “sporty” types. We, the sportswomen and men, had been put in aordinary train in a second-class sleeper. The journey was long, hot, humid and tedious. We reached Howrah station 48 hours later after a series of delays, which was the norm back in those days. The stopover was for a couple of hours during which we were allowed to walk around.   

What I remember the most of those few hours is seeing masses of humanity almost like bees in a beehive. The other thing that blew me completely was the filth and the beggars. Their ages ranged from infancy to the ripe old age of infinity. There were malnourished babies whose mothers begged, making them the baits and walking precariously on the Howrah Bridge. Our hearts went out to them but the locals restrained us from showing much sympathy towards them. We were told that the babies were just a ploy to entreat and extract the most from unsuspecting onlookers. In case of mortality, these so-called parents would just drop them down the bridge. To add further to our horror, we were told that some of these children had been stolen. There were toddlers, young boys and girls, teenagers, old and the very, very old. Poverty was literally splattered all over. You could not circumvent it however much you tried. The memory that really stuck in my mind was of eating an apple and throwing the core in the bin. I am not exaggerating when I saw at least five kids dive into the bin to retrieve the remains of what little remained of that apple. It was the most depressing, wretched and horrific sight.  

My next trip to Cal, as it was popularly known, was in 1980. It was the year I got married, and my husband was posted with the Oberoi Group of hotels. He had put in his resignation; hence, it was just for a month, almost like an extension of our honeymoon.   

I came to Calcutta again after another 36-hour gruelling train journey, in first class this time but the heat, dust, humidity and the Howrah station were pretty much the same. I subjugated the fears of my previous encounter with the city by reassuring myself that Howrah station is not synonymous with Calcutta. I was looking forward to a glorious 30-day revelry, all set to quell the image of my last encounter with the city.  

This time, I was exposed to the city’s glamourous side, its fabulous hotels and the famous club culture. The scrumptious Bong cuisine at the Bengal Club, the Saturday Club and the Tollygunge Club and the spectacular panorama from Fort William were breath taking. I loved the elegance and sophistication of these places. The people we met were cultured and fun-loving.  

However, day-to-day living was exhausting. It was summer. There used to be massive power cuts. When I say massive, I really mean it—power would be gone for six to twelve hours. We would be sitting in the humid weather with hand fans. Due to the high humidity, I had a bad hair day EVERYDAY. The traffic jams were indescribable. The yellow and black cabs were appalling.  

The famous New Market of Calcutta was fascinating with all kinds of stuff. But what really caught my eye were the various kinds of hair accessories, including long hair extensions and wigs.The place was simply strewn with all these hair things. There were long hair, short hair, black shiny ones, brunette, blond—you name it, and it was there. Before I go further, the cascading hair extensions shattered the illusion of the long haired dusky Bong beauties. The long plaits with flowers was not real … that was cheating.   

Coming back to my story, I picked up a kind of a wig to bring some respectability to my totally unmanageable Calcutta, humidity-encumbered mop. It is another story that I could hardly use it because it was nauseatingly hot.  

The whole city was dug up because of the metro that was to start in a couple of years (it took that long). Added to these minor woes, the monsoon was on in full blast. The entire city would come to a standstill. To cross the road, one had to resort to the hand-pulled rickshaws. It was the most dreadful feeling. The city was a complete disaster. Water used to flow from one side of the shops to the other. To reach the five-star Oberoi Grand, we had to balance on a suspended makeshift wooden plank. The whole situation was ludicrous.  

I was told that the city grows on you, but it would take a couple of lifetimes to impact me in the least.  

I made a few more jaunts to Calcutta after that but they were to mostly attend some official events. I remained away from any activity that required me to venture out of the comfort of the hotel. These expeditions are obscure in my memory.  

The trip that reaffirmed my image of Calcutta was the one I made with my younger daughter Neha, eight years ago. One day, she just remarked that she had never been to Calcutta. There and then, we decided to go.  

We had no agenda. The city looked really run-down. It seemed that someone had smeared grime on all the buildings. The dirt and filth around was unbearable. The traffic jams were atrocious, the local cabs were rickety, and in one of them the driver actually asked us to hold on to the door lest we fly out. It was terrifying.  

However, the last straw was the city tour that we decided to take for my daughter’s benefit. We booked ourselves on a Government of West Bengal conducted tour by bus. The minute the bus started, we realized it was a catastrophe. The bus was rattling and the din was as if two skeletons were making love on a tin roof. The noise was so abrasive that whatever the guide was screaming in the speaker was completely lost to everyone. After going through the central city, we proceeded towards the old city. The racket the bus was making, the narrow lanes, and the traffic started to get to us. The bus was veering through the most constricted and mucky lanes one can imagine. Our next stop was the Kali temple. It was filthy, and we actually saw blood flowing through a channel along which we were walking. It was disgusting. At that point, we told the conductor that we want to abort the tour. He was quite amazed as there was still half a day more that we needed to spend in that ruckus.  

We caught the first rickety cab and rushed to our hotel and flew back the next day, away from the hullabaloo of the city of joy.  

Now, once again in January 2017, we got a chance to come to Kolkata as it is called now. Wild horses would not drag me here voluntarily but it was to attend an important event that was unavoidable. Also when you are retired from active work, everyone thinks you are always sparing around to attend any outstation functions, as there is no good enough excuse for being busy. This is one major downside of midlife. Your excuses of being busy are taken with a pinch of salt.   

Since it had to be executed, come what may, we made all arrangements for our trip. However, a few days before travel the reason for the jaunt was called off. Now we were stuck with the flight tickets and reservation in a guesthouse. We were definitely going to cancel everything but destiny had something else planned for us. I had mentioned our forthcoming tour in our college Whatsapp group. Out of the blue, a friend Giggly responded saying she would love to come along. Another friend VA quickly reacted that she would love to go along as she had never been to Cal. We were in a quandary. Should we go or should we cancel? To cut a long story short, loyalty towards friends won over trepidation for the city.  

We met at the Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose airport as our flights were a few minutes apart from each other. We met with great glee, got into the cab and I started my narrative for the benefit of VA who was visiting Kolkata for the first time. It sounded terrible as I was telling her that only in Cal can you feel that all the buildings have been covered with dirt deliberately, and sure enough, I pointed out a few. Then, I told her to be ready to face the most obnoxious traffic jams ever. On the other hand, Giggly who is totally in love with Calcutta, was squirming away telling us to ignore the negatives and focus on the positives.  

Surprisingly, we reached our destination which was downtown, without any major glitches and that also in record time. After putting our luggage, we were willing to paint the town scarlet. We booked an Uber, and in no time were in the New Market area. It was a smooth ride. The lanes looked broader and cleaner with traffic that was easy to deal with. It was fun roaming around and gorging on the Nizam rolls, mishtidoi and sandesh. Then, we hailed a cab to go to Park Street. The yellow-black clattering cab was replaced by a shiny yellow respectable one. The tariff was amazingly paltry. Park Street looked nothing less than Champs-Elysees. Since it was just a week after the Christmas-new year week, it was decked up to the hilt. All the lights and buntings looked brilliant.  

After visiting Flury’s, Trikas and eating puchkas, paan and jhal muri, we decided to call it a day. Startlingly, the first day was splendid.  

Next morning, we Ubered to Belur Math and then cruised to Dakshineswar temple. The ease with which we were steering around this chaotic town was quite amazing. In half a day, we had wrapped up half the city!  

Another winner for the city was that we did not see many beggars. We were carrying some packed food that we had not consumed. We thought we would give it to beggars who are abundantly available. Well, for a couple of hours we did not spot a single one. It was a new revelation.  

The evening was devoted to Camac Street where we shopped till we droppedThe icing on the cake was the Bhekti Fry with Kasundi for dinner.   

Most of the times, we extend our stay in every place where we have to go for some function as we have time on hand—a part and parcel of midlife euphoria. But this time due to our past experiences,  we had booked for just two nights—the bare necessary time for the event that was annulled. However we had not got enough of this bustling city. This time, I felt like actually kicking myself. We could easily have spent a couple of days more!  

The next morning, we started the day with a long walk around the imposing Victoria Memorial, which was just a block away from our guesthouse. Since they have ticketed the entry for morning walkers, it was not crowded—a great way to start the day!  

Regretfully, soon it was time to Uber back to the Dum Dum airport (old name) via the “Ma” flyover in flat 50 minutes’ time.  

This city with its rich culture in art, music, dance and theatre, historic monuments, great stalwarts like Tagore, Netaji, Vivekananda and Satyajit Ray, whose stories of valour and intellect are legendary, is well worth a visit for everyone. Not to mention, the culinary delights, artistic handicrafts and most of all the gorgeous jewellery.  

Road engineering, cleanliness, job opportunities, pride for the city, and the phasing out of old shaky vehicles, are some of the factors that completely transformed my view of the city from “Ouch” Calcutta to “Way to go” Calcutta.