Happiness…

When I was a little girl, I read in a joke book, that happiness is like shitting. The relief in dispensing your bowel effortlessly is one of the greatest happy moments (especially when you are constipated). I could not agree more.  

As I grew up, I realised happiness is more about the simplest and run-of-the-mill things. The happiness in a bird’s twitter after a heavy downpour; the voice of Birendra Krishno Bhadra on a Mahalaya dawn, getting up at 5o’clock ONLY ONCE in an entire year (and every year) just to hear that voice; the ‘slurp’ sound while eating boiled Maggi and licking the plate when no one’s looking; Dairy Milk advertisements; the feeling of getting into a bus, standing infront of a particular seat and finding that the passenger would get down at the very next stop….these moments of happiness are what I call moments of a thousand butterflies…

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A friend comes home, a packet in her hands. The typical Bong gesture of ”haate mishtir packet”. I snarl, “Why did you have to get these? Why formality?” to which the friend replies, “Not sweets. Ice-cream.”

Me: AAAAhhhh. What’s the flavour?

Friend: Orange Sticks.

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One day my bladders were bursting. No public toilet in the vicinity. When told, my man offers me incessant “Ssssssssssss” sounds to make it worse. I thought I would die of busted bladders; my mind almost stops working. And, then…. I see a shopping mall at a distance!

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Years back, when I was mostly in school dresses, I had started dating this guy who asks me out one day.

Me: I haven’t waxed my legs. I don’t think I can meet you.

The guy: I am anyways not interested in footsie today.

Me: No generally, I don’t want to turn you off so quickly.

The guy: When we get married to each other, I will have to tolerate unwaxed legs for years. Let’s practise.

This was perhaps the first time he spoke of marriage. And then hardly spoke about it later. The man falling onto his knees, taking out a solitaire with a “will-you-marry-me” statement never happened in my case.

But “let’s practise” happened.

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I was getting late for office. I knew I had to avoid Park Street and take a shorter route. A dumb driver and an unmindful me made the same mistake like EVERY DAY. We took the car into Park Street inadvertently and saw. There was almost no traffic jam!!

I reached on time.

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I usually know what I have ordered on Flipkart. No surprise business. So, when the box gets delivered, I should be just happy.

But the bubble wraps! ‘Just happy’ turns an understatement.

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My obsession with the music of Hemlock Society is at times disturbing (for me). “Amar motey tor moto keu nei” plays on re-re-re-play modes. One day I felt a little weird and guilty. I haven’t played the radio since ages! Radio has always been my first love. I quickly change the car audio from CD to FM. Radio Mirchi plays …”koto bar tor ayna bhenge chure…..”

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A bird had carelessly dropped a few seeds of karela (bitter gourd) in our garden. It was unnoticed, uncared for unless the plant started showing up and wrapped its tendrils round the grills of our window. Time passed and fresh green karela would hang from the plant. Bitter Gourd never looked better and so sweet.

I wondered why I was so happy? Was it because it was effortless and just happened by chance?

Yes.

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Reading old Gtalk chat histories. Period.

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I love songs when sung abruptly, and NOT from the first line. The man and I would endlessly sing Hindi movie songs from the second/third paragraph and the other one would have to guess and sing it from the Mukhra. We have done it so many times on long tours.

My tastes are very orthodox about the way Rabindrasangeet is sung. I am not fond of too many experiments; I have strict reservations for particular singers. However, the fondness mentioned in the paragraph above, applies to Rabindrasangeet as well (yes, I am very surprised too). Ornob’s version of “Majhe majhe tobo dekha pai” is one such song. But that’s not my point.

“Shankhabela”. Uttam Kumar. Madhobi. Cloudburst and ”Jani ney, jani ney…kichute keno je mono lagena”. Yes. That’s how the song starts and flows into “Aji jhoro jhoro mukhoro bador dine” (which is the first line)… One of my favourite rain-songs. Not for the music. Not for the lyrics. Not because God created it. But because it starts abruptly, and NOT from the first line.

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 My sister-in-law returns from College Street with bags full of books for her four year old. Aesop’s Fables, Thakumar Jhhuli, Haada Bhhoda, Nonte Phonte, Batul –the Great and the likes.

She keeps a Haada Bhoda, Nonte Phonte, and Batul –the Great each, separately.  Looks at me and says, “These are not for the daughter. These are for you”.

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Me to Doctor: This whole baby thing bothers me. When will I have a baby?

Doctor to me: The best things always take time. And arrive the last.

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We two had an agenda. When we hadn’t married. We would date at all the places where our respective parents had dated. Putiram, Paramount, Dilkhusha, Coffee House, Sangu Valley and the list goes on.

Scene 2:

We were married by then. And revisited Sanghu Valley (Bhawanipore). Sanghu Valley has two kinds of sitting arrangements: cabins with curtains and normal ones. (During our courtship days, it is needless to mention which arrangement we preferred).

None of the cabins were vacant. The waiter insisted that we take normal seats. What surprised me was, the two of us said in UNISON: “Na, amader cabin i chai” (we want cabins)!!

The waiter gave us a “I-see-secretaryr-sathe-office-kete-noshtami” look.

His expression? Priceless!

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My brother-in-law had once told me, “As college kids, just standing infront of Dakhhini made our days”.

(Dakshini is a music-and-dance school in South Calcutta)

Me: Suddenly? Why Dakhshini?

He: “Chyatang Chyatang kore Enreji bole je swob meyera tara taanter sari pore naachte, Rabindrasangeet gaite dhukche…dekhei heat khetam!” (In short, girls from English Medium schools. Speaking fluent English. Clad in sarees. And Rabindrasangeet!).  Bliss, it is!

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My senior colleague in office howls at me all the time. Other than work, he thinks I am good for nothing. The most untidy, clumsy, the most politically inaccurate, the worst cook in the world, emotionally screwed up…in short I am a shame for mankind.

Scene 2:

I was waiting for my Rabindrasangeet classes to begin. Met my senior’s wife and started chatting. Suddenly the senior appears. I was expecting him to howl at me again (Trust me, he scolds me for no reasons at all).

He handed over a handful of Champa flowers to his wife.

It was so romantic, that I choked.

He handed over another handful of Champa flowers. To me.

Me faints. Almost.

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A friend had bought a car. Every month the EMI would get deducted.

A few years later. In a particular month, no EMI gets deducted. Not anymore.

The car is all his.

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I was back from a wedding which my mother-in-law did not attend.

The most predictable questions expected were:

“Was the bride beautiful?”, “What was the colour of the Benarasi she was wearing?”, “How was the food? Mutton or Chicken?”

But NO. What she asked was : “Did you get an extra paaan for me?”

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Baba gives me an old book where I found this.

Happiness. Yes, that's what I call it!