A journal of day to day situations, feelings and experiences jotted down and compiled to make "My Diary Pages". Dedicated to all those who are going through funny, happy, sad, angry, and frustrated moments of their lives. You are invited to share your "Diary Moments" and comment on my "moments" as well.
Subscribe to this blog
Follow by Email
Search This Blog
A Tale of Gastrointestinal Turbulence
If you have read my previous post 'The Peace Amidst Chaos", you can get a faint idea about my breakfast menu in Banaras. Apart from searching my inner self on the banks of the Ganges, I tried to satiate my otherwise gluttonous soul with pipping hot Kacchori, spicy Alu ki Sabzi, Tamatar Chaat, Samosas, hot Jalebis, and some soothing cold Lassi topped with Rabri at the famous Pahalwan's Lassi shop. Not to mention, my sweet tooth (with a cavity) craved for hot, crispy Jalebis. My soul was satisfied after the week long trip. My stomach was NOT.
Sitting at the airport, I heard the first rumbling sounds in my stomach. It was past midnight. I was dozing off in my chair when a faint explosive sound inside jolted me back to the present. Brushing it off as my stomach's call for food, I tried to sleep again. Little did I know that it was a warning call by my stomach, similar to the ones given by a volcano before it erupts. The call of Nature, they say.
As soon as I settled down between a sleepy middle aged woman in the aisle seat and a chirpy young girl on the window, the first signs of Traveler's Diarrhea started bothering me. A gluttonous soul, sometimes, brings illness to the body. Cramps and nausea overwhelmed me, not the air turbulence. In my mind, I was trying to remember my Geography teacher; how she used to explain that air bubbles build up the pressure inside a volcano and how magma explodes to the surface when this pressure gets released. I was resisting the urge to pass obnoxious fumes in order to save my fellow passengers. At least, I was trying my best.
Usually, I feel claustrophobic inside an aircraft lavatory and try to hold my bladder tight while flying. Not this time. For the next nine hours, I was running between the toilet seat and the middle seat. The toilet seat seemed more comfortable than my assigned seat on the aircraft. Whenever I came out of the loo, I met a queue with at least four pairs of accusing eyes looking directly at me. I lost count of the number of times I requested the woman on the aisle seat to move her legs to let me continue my run. At the end, she gave up and gallantly offered her seat.
Medicines could not help me to restrict my onward journey to the loo. My cautious brain refused the food offered by the airlines. I can't explain the pain of munching on salted crackers while inhaling the aroma of lunch being served around. A food loving soul never dies. Even in the face of acute diarrhea!
After this instance, I have started wondering about the working mechanism of the airborne waste control technology. Does it already take into account the number of passengers onboard suffering from diarrhea? Or does an aircraft really throw away "blue ice" if the amount of waste is more due to a shitting passenger like me?
Being a Bengali, I was taught to appreciate the taste of prawn, crab, Hilsa, Rohu, chicken, and lamb from a very tender age. Though vegetables are termed as "Ghaas Phoos" (that literally means grass) in a typical Bengali household, I was fed with quite a generous amount of spinach, okra, bitter gourd, beetroot, bottle gourd, and eggplant as well. I could not evolve as a fussy eater, thanks to my mother's stern looks at the lunch or dinner table. However, I also could not realize my love for food until I started staying in a hostel. Poha, Upma, Chole Bhature, Daal Baati, Gatte ki Sabzi, Malaiyo, Raw Mango curry, Thalipeeth, Appam, Pooran Poli, Pithala Bhakri- I was introduced to new flavors from various parts of India. At the same time, I started missing "Ghar ka Khana", the much sought-after homemade food. "Those who love to eat do not necessarily love to cook." -Writer of this blog post
It is said that people who love to eat can also cook good food. …
As ridiculous as it might sound, at the end of a long tiring day, a perfect date for me means a large cup of coffee and an interesting novel to read. Yes, you have the liberty to label me as an anti-social and a nerdy introvert! I find it pretty amusing when someone tells me that reading novels is a wastage of time. Or that someone likes to go through work-related books and not elaborate literary pieces.
An introvert raised as a single child, I have always found solace in my books. My love for storybooks started with Snow White, Cinderella, Peter Pan, and Little Mermaid. My father introduced me early to the monthly kids magazines- Tinkle, Champak, Nandan and Chandamama. I do not know if these magazines still exist. Billu, Pinki and Chacha Chowdhary followed soon. The Famous Five and The Little Women too entered into my life. Being a true Bong, Anandamela was an absolute necessity during Durga Pujo. The lazy afternoons of summer vacations were sometimes spent on Tagore and Sarat Chan…
Harry came to my life when I was in the eighth standard. A bespectacled young boy with ruffled jet black hair, green eyes, and a scar on his forehead; a boy to fall in love with. Don't blame me as I was a teenager who wanted a spell of magic in her life and to run away to the Hogwarts. I hated being a muggle and aspired to become another Hermione Granger. I imagined myself boarding the Hogwarts Express and reaching Hogsmeade, going to that magical school, and learning to wave my wand. I had once written a secret letter to Harry on Valentine's day and later decided to keep it safe in my diary. When I watched 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone' for the first time, I lost my mind (and heart!) over that young and extremely cute Daniel Radcliffe. I remember keeping newspaper cuttings of anything and everything related to him. I still have them, safely secured in my old trunk. Well, that infatuation lasted for a couple of years till I graduated from college. And…
Even though my mother and mother-in law are both successful homemakers and I have immense respect for homemakers who are unsung superwomen, I still find the tag of a 'housewife' as my identity pretty insulting. Blame it to the spirit of feminism that arises from time to time to attack my poor husband or the fact that I had worked for five years at a stretch before marriage and had led a very independent life, I never thought that I could be labelled as a housewife. Alas! God had some different plans.
Early this year, moving to the U.S. on a dependent spouse visa made me the quintessential housewife. I bawled, shouted, and argued with my dear husband whom I held responsible for my plight. As if my feminist rants were not enough to torture him, I decided to exhibit my limited culinary skills to feed him, making good use of all the free time I had. The Birthday Cake
August came and I started planning for my husband's birthday. When we were in a long distance relationship, I…
In my mind, there is always a cobweb of thoughts running in a loop: worries about my parents' health, anxiety over the work deadlines, fear about my future; the thoughts go on and on. So, when I decided to take my parents on a short trip to Banaras, I was anxious over charting out the travel plan and executing it to perfection. My parents, on the other hand, were initially reluctant and later very excited to go to the holy city for the umpteenth time. But the bone of contention between us was the travel plan itself. While I was stressing on early reservation and booking for the trains and hotel, they were thrilled over traveling by a bus overnight and staying at a place with bare minimum facilities. No prizes for guessing that they are more adventurous than me. Needless to say, I could manage to book the train tickets only.
Banaras has a charm that never fades away. Though I have visited the city a couple of times, I still look forward to roam across those narrow by-lanes and rev…
There are a thousand things in my everyday life that I do not like. Peeling garlic, commuting through traffic, folding clothes and cleaning my closet, getting my hairy legs and hands waxed, looking at a pile of utensils in the kitchen sink, indulging in small talks with people or getting dragged into a discussion about makeup products (I know, this one makes me weirder)- the list of my dislikes is pretty long.
Keeping my dislikes aside, I wonder about the little things in my day-to-day life that give me pure joy. Enjoying a big steaming hot cup of tea accompanied with my favorite biscuits is a bliss for me every morning. Feeling the warmth inside while gulping the hot tea makes me happy. Strange enough, I usually fail to appreciate such simple pleasant activities while rushing through my monotonous schedule.
After a bit of introspection, I have listed down a couple of things that take me to the 'happy zone'. Whether it is a long shower after a tiring day, a bowl of hot soup,…