SANJUKTA

the unbearable

[sanjukta1977]

chilli oil and kimchi

Feeling a bit boastful about my first attempt with chilli oil and kimchi. Used the kimchi with Bhutanese red rice and roasted eggplant meal. The chilli oil was the dressing to baked bhetki soaked in lemon. Served with shrimp rice. Was thrilled to see Amreeta Das testing the kimchi with satisfaction

[sanjukta1977]

The night of Marseilles to Paris

The bus from Marseilles to Paris. Seat 14B as worse as it can get. Its the back seat, not exactly what you wanted when you are looking for sleep. And a small allergy attack doesn’t make it easier for anyone. Most of the back seat travelers ( who were women I realized later) had switched places. On the left corner were two young men not French by their spoken language keenly watched me take my place, shift, cough, shift etc. One of them asked me if I speak English. Then my origin. On learning I’m from India they were just too happy about me being from the land of Shahrukh khan and told me the names of Bollywood films they knew. After few questions, exchange of names I shifted to the right hand corner window and curled up to sleep under my jacket. Travelers came, realized their seats had been taken by others, moved to the back seats, filled in the spaces. A polite Pierre sat next to me, put his headphones on and settled meditatively. I coughed on, then tried to settle my legs and my head and a sunken heart. I may have slept for a few minutes and woke up with an uncontrollable heavy heart. The boys in the other corner, still awake, chatting and watching over me, asked me if I was ok, if I needed something, if I needed to shift seats to be comfortable. I answered in “yes” and “no, thank you” s. No it didn’t bother me at all. I felt safe, taken care of, like strangers must make feel each other. I didnt see them later as they must have gotten off somewhere else. I don’t even know their names.

It reminded me of the flight I took from Kolkata to Delhi at the beginning of this trip. A very young boy occupied the window seat. He arrived later than me and was in a hurry to get past me sitting in the middle seat. At first it seemed he was just teenagers and insensitive. A few seconds after settling into his seat, I realized he was crying. Not once did he turn his head from looking outside. I first figured from his jerked breathing, sniffles and then drops of water on his mobile phone that he held in hand resting on his lap. It was uneasy but I waited for a little while. Then I asked if he was ok, if he needed some water. He responded in yes and nos keeping his face hidden. The crying stopped. It worked. Talking worked. Just a sentence, just a line of concern to make someone feel, that they are not alone. Talk to strangers people. Just few words can fill in a lot of empty spaces with love.

[sanjukta1977]

Affection of a Korean grandma!

This evening I stepped out of my home after what it seems like ages for eating outside. I have been upset . Upset and alone I ate a Korean meal. In a similar mood two years ago I had stepped out of my hotel in Iriya, Tokyo, looking for a place to eat. As my habit goes I walked around the extremely dull neighborhood with very few restaurants. A Chinese family run shack, an Indian restaurant 100 meters from the Chinese. A yakiniku shop claiming happy hours, a couple of Korean restaurants and the local konbini ( convenience store). I completed one round and started another. The Nepali worker from the Indian restaurant came out hopefully to help a lost Indian. We smiled at each other. He said namaste , so did I and walked on.

This time I felt myself stopping in front of the first Korean restaurant. I entered it with a little hesitation. No customers. A old woman attentively watching japanese drama looked away from the television screen and voiced a welcome note. I took a place close to the counter. The menu arrived. I went through it unable to conceive the portions or the contents of some. I asked for help. I told her my choices from the list. She asked me if I eat meat, if I eat a lot. After the rapid fire she pointed at one among the list and hopped off into the kitchen. The second picture here is what arrived on my table . The soup was boiling bubbling hot. I stared at the assortment. The woman stared at me . I had no idea how Korean meals are eaten. I looked at her. Soup+ rice on spoon she signalled. Then bits of other assortments. The next bit of the story is to be imagined in slow motion. A hand approaches the spoon. The spoon, is now loaded with rice and hot soup. The mouth opens wide. The hand draws in the spoon closer and closer towards the mouth. A shadow moves, a hand rises waving , eyebrows too, eyes grow bigger. mouth drawing in air . Lips pursing and blowing out on the spoon . The old lady blew on my spoonful of hot food so that I don't burn my mouth. I went back to her another day, ate again, talked about our lives, discussed the nastiness of the lady villain in the j-drama, invited her for my exhibition. She stuck my invitation at the shop counter, wished me luck, gave me 40 yen off and stole my heart forever.

[sanjukta1977]

somedays! some people!

This evening my teacher took a picture of me talking to a cow. I was telling her (the cow) about what had happened a few hours before just around this corner (in the picture).

we (I and my teacher) had walked out from our quiet neighborhood out to the main street across which is our little practice room for Aikido with a few enthusiastic children. My teacher, an Italian man, within a few months of living in India has become an expert in negotiating the streets of Varanasi through its notoriously mismanaged traffic and dust. This evening, as he zipped through the hellish street and I struggled to keep up with him without getting struck by anything, a woman with a babe in arms called out to me. She wanted to know if either of us teach or learn karate. I told her I neither teach or learn karate but Aikido. I even pointed at my teacher across the street and told her it was him who actually teaches here. Judging the woman by her appearance, I had begun to calculate inside my head that the woman must be a resident of one of the high-rise apartments lining the street. Perhaps she wanted to get rid of her children for a couple of hours. Perhaps we would have more students who could pay for their lessons and then we could practice happily ever after.

The happily-ever-after dream abruptly came to an end when she extended her arms to show her baby to me and asked--can you teach her? I looked at the woman in speechless horror and shook my head.

My teacher unaware of what horrors had followed me waited for me across the street. After reaching our practice room I told him about the babe in arms story. The 10 minutes before the class started he kept breaking into little fits of giggles and shaking the head all by himself.

Can you believe it, I asked the cow, who merely nodded sagely and flicked her tail. There we parted after sending flying kisses to each other.