Last time I wrote something like this, I was in Chennai, getting through life with a foul mood, a sad husband, a sadder maid, an almost pathetic office, the dust, the sweat, and the grind. But this time around, rains are making me pensive and happily philosophical…in a very pseudo Greek-scholar kind of way. As always, I’m not sure if my words make any sense. Now how pointless is that!
It’s been raining for the past 48 hours now…a quick pitter patter sometimes, a mad gush at other times, but soft hay needles mostly. After a lazy Saturday lunch comprising the archetypal Bengali khichoori, begun and maach bhaja, nothing much seems wrong with life. As Amitava makes cryptic phone calls to distant clients in places like Lillehammer and Fredrickstad and Londonberry City, I curl up with Eastwords, this absolutely amazing novel by Kalyan Ray. (Note to every reader: If you are looking for the most impressive portrayal of Shakespearean characters, Eastwords is your bet.) In Eastwords, you have an east meets west theme running across the pages like a finely-knit fabric, as a Puck, and a Prospero, a Sycorax and a Caliban, a Sheikh Piru and a Shukumari meet on the same platform, displaying some brilliant cross dressing. But more on the book, later. Back to my weekend interlude of happy lethargy. As I read Ray, there is a hint of a film song, wafting in from somewhere. Maybe it’s the Nepali watchman listening to a tacky Hindi number in his rickety radio. But isn’t that supposed to be strangely melancholic and beautiful? I don’t mean the ‘Dekha hai pehli baar…’bit in particular, but the rain, and the choppy radio transmission, and the dampness…with a sudden glint of sunlight from somewhere?
I must be senile. Or else, why would I be so blatantly confused? The lethargy continues, and to add to it, we have a muri-adda to attend in the evening. Now this is extremely ethnic to lazy Bengalis like me…I don’t expect the whole world to understand. So, as the afternoon gives way to a mauve evening, Amitava and myself, saunter over to this friend’s place, and we have the muri-adda, with shingara, and jilipi, and peyaj-makha muri. If non-Bong readers are wondering what these are, just a note of clarification…these are all extremely cheap but delectable Bengali snacks that any pot-bellied, self-esteemed Bengali would vouch for. At the risk of sounding myopic and parochial, let me say, I loved this muri-adda after a real long time. A welcome break from our usual whiskey and vodka-sloshed weekends. Long live lethargy…long live muri!
