To Share or Not to Share?: The Social Media Jinx

I had a rebellious adolescence and youth in terms of fighting societal norms. It wasn't like I was staging protests, like the Ziddi Girls on Prime, but there were many beliefs that I did not agree with and I either wrote poems about them and got them published in newspapers or did my thing violating them, with my own right mind.

One of them was fighting superstitions, particularly nonsensical ones, like the one associated with black cats. There is a common belief in India, that if a black cat crosses your path, you should retrace your steps and wait until someone else walks over it and not walk over it yourself if you want to avoid extreme misfortune.

However, apparently black cats are considered lucky in Khasi tradition and hence there were several well cared for black cats that roamed around where we lived in Shillong. One of them used to live in Upland Road and regularly cross my path while going to school in the morning from New Colony to St. Mary's. I used to always walk over that and nothing untoward ever happened. I proudly proclaimed to whoever mattered that 'See, it's a lie, nothing happens when a black cat crosses your path'. The animal lover in me found great satisfaction in breaking that myth first hand.

In recent times, my belief about superstitions have changed to some extent though. I am sure many of you have experienced the social media jinx. I have seen few friends share about it in good humor. But let me narrate you few of my personal experiences and you can share yours too.

A lot of times, when I shared pictures during vacations especially ones with the family, something very untoward happened within twenty-four hours. 😀  In New Orleans, we broke into a humongous fight in a hotel room out of nowhere and for no good reason that I can even remember, in Florence we were not even on talking terms, in Maine I hit my forehead so hard on a wooden bar below a staircase, that Milo trembled with the sound, in Virgin Islands I fell and slided on cobblestone, in a sudden spell of rain that lasted two seconds, badly bruising my fingers and knees and completely smashing my phone screen. Deep i my heart, I know these are all coincidences, but they set in my mind the fear that my mother always tried to instill - " Facebook ot besi nidibi, maaje maaje dibi, manuhor mukh laagibo'. It finally resonated!!! 😄

Since then, although I still regularly hit the share button out of a compulsive disorder like others in my generation, I have been wary!! The final straw in the hat was when I once shared pictures of my two Impatient plants that were thriving and covered in pink and orange blooms all over. Within two days, they shriveled into nothingness!! I made it a point to not share pictures of my plants and vegetables as much, even if I was shared my own 😁

Let me know if you have had similar experiences in the comments.

A Walk To Remember -II ....Joy is like the rain...

‘I saw raindrops on my window

Joy is like the rain’ 

When we were little, this was one of the hymns that we would sing at the top of our voices, our cacophonous symphony being conducted by one of the nuns, from our school St. Mary’s, on the piano. It took us a few years, to truly realize the charm of the showers, and the glee that it filled our hearts with.

Shillong is not too far from Cherrapunjee and Mawsynram, both of which had the distinction of qualifying as the wettest place on earth, for several years. So the town itself experienced spells of rain that sometimes stretched into a week. Those would be the days and nights of an unceasing, whining, drizzly kind of rain. The dampness pervaded everything from shoes to books to mattresses. The only thing that it couldn’t dampen was our young minds. They sprang up, as lush as the greens, with its touch. The most enjoyable part of the rains was again and of course, our walks to and from school.

Orko and the Hunger Games – Reality Style!!!

His name was Orko - it came from the word urchin, Papa said teasingly. Ma had a better explanation – she said it came from the Sanskrit word Arkin meaning ‘radiant with light’. Orko was their third child – the one they decided to adopt as a baby. They had two kids of their own who were big brother and big sister to Orko. The arrival of Orko has brought with it, change in fortunes for the family who were going through some tough times. So, Ma was totally convinced that he was their lucky charm. Orko Chatterjee was two years old now.

Even though he was an outsider, he was treated with much love by all of them, especially Ma. Orko loved Ma the most as well. He would spend long hours just sitting and watching her move around the house doing her chores. She was a tall slender woman and always wore sarees. He loved to play with the folds of her saree and brush against them while trying to devour some of the maternal affection, and give some back in return.

Duet with Deuta!!!

This post is about six beautiful lines of an Assamese song I sang in my early childhood. The memories are distant but the lines still bring on an effect of reducing the separation between my dad (Deuta) and I, whenever I hum them. I was about four years old when we used to stand outside on the verandah and sing this song. He would drape a white Eri (Castor) Silk Chadar that hung loosely around his shoulders to keep the chill of the Shillong nights out.I would hold his right hand with my left, and point to the sky with my right forefinger, as we sang them. Here they are:

            Neel Akaashote Jole
            Sau Juno Moni
            Sau Juno Moni
            Tora Ogononee
            Sewali Re Paporee Re
            Bhora Bononee

For those who know the Bengali song Kar Manjira Baje Rini Jini Jini, this song had the same tune, and here is my English translation of it.

           In the blue sky shines
          The pearly moon
          The pearly moon-
          And a myriad of stars swoon
          While jasmine petals abound
          The wilderness around

This is my last post for the year. Thanks for reading my blog and wish all of you a very Happy New Year 2013!

Love,
Mallika

A Walk To Remember

Little unstable steps in black Bata Ballerina or Naughty Boy shoes, with hand-kerchiefs folded into wedges and pinned on the chest; little hearts make their first trip across the length of road that will become part and parcel of their lives. That is how the first day of school was like for most of us who grew up in the quaint little town of pines, Shillong.

Most of the major schools in Shillong are on the stretch of road between the bus-stops of Dhankheti and Beat House. St Peter's, Loreto, St. Anthony's, St. Edmunds, St. Mary's and St.Margaret’s are all almost adjacent to each other, separated only by the arterial roads to get to them. Three of these schools are boys' schools and the other three are girls' schools and all but one is not named after a patron saint of the same gender as students it admits. (Here is an exercise in data sufficiency for you …go figure!). So the common ground where these young generations of Shillong meet is on this road. This is also the stretch of road that connects to several major residential areas. Hence, for the students of these schools, this is the road they traverse daily for at least fourteen years of their lives, from kindergarten to high school. Barely 1.5km in stretch , this road remains no more just a road, but a throbbing repository of countless memories- friendly banter, drenching rain and a breeding ground for Shillong's innocent romances.

To Err Is Human, To Confess Divine?

I was about seven or eight years old when I did something that still awakens a guilty conscience. We lived in a house which had big windows with draping rods at two levels, which was common in Shillong. The higher rod was for the heavier curtain which was drawn at night and opened during daytime. The lower rod was placed in the middle, and used to drape net curtains which remained drawn during the day. They allowed visibility from inside while averting curious strangers from playing peek-a-boo with the dwellers. From basic white nets in the tin houses (houses that were very modest and had flattened mustard-oil tin containers nailed to the exterior for protection against the vagaries of weather) to ones with intricate patterns and vivid hues in the bungalows, every house had these. In the local lingo they were called half-curtains or half-purdah and the local Marwari businessmen made fortunes out of selling them.