Mago Jaio Na!

Picture Credit: Panchali Sengupta, Kolkata, India

Ma go Jaio Na – Don’t leave us and go away, Mother!

She visits us only once every year. It is looked forward to by Indians all over the world and for Bengal and Bangla people in India and the world, it is one festival that brings all and everybody together in celebrations. 

In Shillong too, for days before the pujas, there is an air of celebration in the air. When I was a child, I got over four new dresses for every day of the celebration. The dog in the house got a warm water bath and scrub and a new collar. Our dogs were registered with the Shillong Municipality Office and had a number given to them, in case they got lost or ‘stolen’.

For all four days of the celebration, our kitchen was closed and we all ate at the pujo mandol (tent) and our dog ate at house, his normal, meat soup and rice. Only Zarak was vegetarian – he ate only rice and dhal! Imagine, for the size of a lion, Zarak refused meat! Unbelievable!

The pujas happened in the Jail Road Boys High School and many other places. Our family, visited everywhere but participated at the Jail Road puja because it was closest to our house.

Every year, when the pujas were over, Shunu carried the gigantic idol of Durga ma, and her children, Ganesa, Lakshmi, Saraswati and Kartika, along with the asura and lion on his shoulders along with three other men on her journey to the river, where she would be immersed, to symbolise to her return to her ‘husband’s house, Sivaloka!

The earth visiting deity came once from her husband’s house to destroy the evil in the earth. The earth is her mother’s home! Symbolic of creation, the earth, is Ma Durga’s . 

That year, when Laika and I sat near the washing area, behind the kitchen to watch Shunu take Ma Durga on his shoulders, to the river, was the year, that finally put a stamp on my fate, as my Mashis, my mother’s younger sisters were going out of Shillong. I was to be sent to boarding school. My crime?

Laika and I were engaged in a kissing act, which had been banned! Needless to say, we were caught in the act by Shunu, as he was passing by with the goddess on his shoulder. Since our house was clearly visible from the road, Shunu had seen me and Laika ‘in the act’!

Actually, this cute participation between us was only an excuse. My family was worried that I may get an infection, but the fact is: where there is love, there is no fear of infection.

My mother had left for her first employment, my mashi was to be married and would leave for Bombay, my youngest aunt had got admitted to a College attached to the University of London and she would be leaving soon. Naturally, I was to be sent away to the boarding school in Shillong.

Like Shunu, who chanted, continuously as he carried the idol on his shoulders, I too had pleaded in tears, when I saw my mother, leave for her job:

“Ma go, jaio na! – Mother, don’t leave me and go!”




Memories from childhood, by Julia Dutta, in anticipation of Terry and His Little Brothers.

Picture credit: Panchali Sengupta in Kolkata, India

My family and other animals V

Laika, the first dog to go to space in a Russian spaceship

Chotomama was the real intellectual in the family. He loved books and read a lot. He was member to many libraries and brought home books and magazines he devoured in just a few days.

To me, he read loudly from Will Durant’s Story of Philosophy, starting me on to my own journey with philosophy.

“Do you know who the first dog sent to space was?”

“No, tell me.” I gawked.

Out came a magazine with the picture of a dog on its cover. He read out the name loudly, SPUTNIK

I stared at the picture and heard the natural born Orator, my Chotomama speak:

“Laika (whose name means “barker”) was a 3-year-old mongrel stray wandering the streets of Moscow when she was picked up and taken to a secret Soviet space laboratory. Scientists selected strays because they had already learned to adapt to cold and harsh conditions.”

In my mind I had already decided that my next dog would be called Laika. And so she was!

Mud brown, with light brown eyes, Laika was reaped out of the space under our bedroom floor where the neighbourhood dog, Lilly, always delivered her pups. It was always a very silence process and there was no warning before that Lilly would be coming in the night to deliver. When the first light of day, filled our mornings in Shillong, with its golden hue, the whole household was up. The Hour would be 4.30 am, even earlier. By 5 am it was broad day light and Shunu had already washed his face and brushed his teeth and stood by the verandah, coughing, which signaled out to the man servant in the house, to quickly bring in this pure Darjeeling Tea, in bone China cup and dish, with Thin Arrowroot buiscuits. But on days Lilly had done her delivery, he smelt it in the air and rushed to see where she was. And there, under the planks, Lilly would let us all have a glimpse of her babies. Before long, she would bring them out one by one, all in the night or early morning to sun them and the neibourhood kids would join in. With shrill thrills in the air, that time, I could only save one for myself, Laika.

Both Laika and a subscription of the magazine Sputnik, were literally gifts from my most learned mama, my Chotomama.

To read more about Laika in the Russian Space Craft, you must read here:
http://www.rocketcityspacepioneers.com/space/first-dog-in-space

Stories from childhood by Julia Dutta, in anticipation of Terry and His Little Brothers

Photo credit: http://www.rocketcityspacepioneers.com/space/first-dog-in-space

My family and other animals IV

Shunu was a dog’s man. Yes, read that again – he was a dog’s man. Why else would Zarak take to him and make him his Master, despite the fact that he already had one?

My maternal uncle, whom I called Shunu took long walks in the morning. He usually took his dog with him. At this time, he was alone and at around 7 am, having walked many miles, he landed up at his friend’s house, for tea and biscuits. His friend lived not too far away from ours, rather close to the Jail Road Boys High School, Shillong, where my grandfather was the Headmaster during his working years.

Shunu’s friend had acquired a fluffy little tennis ball, with a tiny black nose and black and brown fur all over him, a little Alsatian puppy called Zarak. No sooner did Shunu sit himself in the sunny courtyard, on a moorah, Zarak jumped on his lap and began to bounce around as if he had met a long lost friend. Shunu spoke very little but he made some sounds, which the little pup understood and perking his ears in disbelief, looked every now and then to make sure he had heard right. Indeed, Shunu was only making it known to the pup that he must now stop jumping up and down, slipping once or twice and falling off the lap, yelping and crying and then back again on Shunu’s lap, over and over again! Zarak couldn’t care. He listened to no one, and his Master brought out the ruler pretending to threaten him, but Zarak grabbed the ruler and began to chew it! After some time, when the little tennis ball’s energy seemed to have subsided, did Shunu get to quench his thirst with a cuppa.

Zarak, grew fast and when he was three months old, he was already huge. The relationship between man and dog had already been established and one day, we found Zarak had come home, all by himself! How did he do that? He followed Shunu’s scent from his first Master’s house to ours. Within moments, our cook was sent to inform Zarak’s family that he had come to ours. The distraught family sighed in relief, but not even an elephant could take Zarak back to his own home. He refused to go. His Master, cajoled, pulled him by his chain, but Zarak could not be moved.

So Zarak became our dog too. There was no saying how long he would stay with us and when he would return to his Master. Shunu was his second Master and when he had had his fill in this house, he would go to the other. Sometimes he stayed for months, sometimes only a few days. He was divided in his loyalties and so, when he was with us, he I guess did not at all think of his first Master.

They suited each other perfectly, Shunu and Zarak. Shunu was Zarak’s Man! Royal Bengal Tigers!

Yesterday I saw the video of the man who had fallen into the white tiger’s den in Delhi, India and was mauled by the tiger. Zarak looked so much like the tiger. He was ferocious too. People were so afraid to come to our home, because, he would grab then by their ankle, if he was not tied up. Sometimes, he broke thick chains to pounce at visitors.

BEWARE OF DOGS, was not what we ever wrote on our wall or gate though. Although, in later years whenever, I thought about it, I said, we ought to have written:

BE AWARE OF WHO YOU ARE INSIDE, BEFORE YOU COME IN!

Stories from childhood by Julia Dutta, in anticipation of Terry and His Little Brothers

Photo credit: http://image.rvmagonline.com/f/features/1406-rv-winter-blues-highway-tales/62585119/highway-tales-man-with-dog.jpg

My family and other animals III

Just because he is cute does not mean Bagha was not a naughty boy!

Bagha was an individual by his own right. I remember he vanished for days and went to live with his lady, when she was in heat, over the hill on the other side of our house.

Just one fine day, he would take off and not return for days. While I cried endlessly, the entire family joined in a chorus calling out to him – Bagha! Come home! But there was no sight of him.

It was only once that he showed up at the top of the hill, while we called like people gone mad and wagged his tail. I was sure he was going to come down, but he actually didn’t! Having had a good view of all of us, he just went back to the house on top, whose roof is all we could see.

“Maybe you can take a half-day off at work,” we suggested to our cook, who worked in a government office and lived with us, “he is in that house, which can be approached easily from your Office.”

The cook agreed to go, but only after his work was over at 4pm.

We waited anxiously thinking that Bagha would return with him. We imagined that he would be very happy to see the cook and come with him, immediately.

He didn’t. The cook could not find him in the house. Nor could he find any other dog there. He returned without a smile on his face.  And just as he returned and we all weighed heavily with grief, we heard Bagha barking on the top of the hill, once again!

“Come home!” we wailed in unison, but he was his own man. He did what he wanted, at his time.

Then one day, he returned and was well received! There was joy and celebration in the house and he got a big bone to chew.

Shortly after that he was at his worse again. Chicken were being killed with jealousy. Really, we were desperate!

Then, the taxi driver gave us an idea. Two days later, Bagha was locked in the back-hold of the car and taken many kilometers away and left there. He would find his home there it was presumed by the elders of the family.

The stunned silence in the house was palpable. Nobody talked to each other during those days. People avoided each other’s eyes and they looked away when they spoke to each other. There was a shroud that covered the house we called our home. And the silence went on and on, its sound deafening as it were. Then one night, I woke to the sound of a whimper.

“Bagha is back!” I screamed. It was night and everyone was sleeping, but we all woke up and opened the door to find out if it was true. Indeed, it was!

And the morning rose next day with happy faces, laughter and joy. People chatted meaninglessly. The cloud which hung over our house had passed. Bagha had returned in the middle of the night, all the way from Upper Shillong, trailing back with the smell of the taxi in his nostril!

The strongest instinct in a dog is his sense of smell. He can smell his Master miles away from him. He may recognize you while he is standing 20 feet away from you, just because of the smell, he recognizes to be yours. He cannot see, over three feet away in front of him.

The return of Bagha also made me realize what I had gone through. It was my first experience of nights of light sleep. I had never known it before.

Giving away your pet or just leaving him in unknown territory can be life threatening for him. He may survive or he may perish. We as owners need to understand that the well-bred dog on the street is one that has survived the torture of the street, when its owner sent him out or began to disown it.

There is absolutely no reason to send a pet on the street, unless we as owners are ready to take to the streets ourselves. 

Indeed, they jolly well can survive on the streets and in the open, if we as humans did not desire to put them in a cage, we call our home.

Animals are born free!

Stories from childhood by Julia Dutta in anticipation of Terry and His Little Brothers

Photo credit: Unknown, via email share.

My family and other animals Part II

My tears for Tiger had dried up fast, licked away by Bagha’s frequent ‘kisses’. Clumsily I would pick him up only to be smothered with kisses all over my face. In an effort to save my face, I would drop him on the floor and a sharp yelp would denote a hurt little puppy. No sooner though, he would forget his hurt leg and jump behind me wherever I went.

Again, in traditional houses like ours, dogs were not allowed inside the house. They had their own kennel. Bagha and I sat on the steps leading down from the main house, with him brushing hard against my side to engage in talks that only children and dogs do.

“Tomorrow is my birthday, Mamoni said. You must have heard the many things I wanted for my birthday.”

He wagged his tail and stretched his neck to kiss me.

“I am getting a new dress and you a new collar around your neck. Shunu is getting one from Barabazar. It is brown in colour Mamoni said, because, you are shining black.”

Indeed, Bagha was jet black with a wet black nose. Despite the many warnings, including instilling the fear of being sent away to boarding school for kissing his nose, I would always, always kiss his soft black nose, hiding away from elders in the house.

Bagha grew very fast and in a matter of two months, he was a strong big dog who turned out to be possessive and jealous of anyone else who took the attention away from him. Such as the chicken.

We had over fifty white leghorns in our house which lived inside a very large hen pen. Around 9.30 every morning, my mama would go place food in their feeding long dish. You should have seen them at that time. The whole hen pen was full of birds flying and landing up on my mama’s shoulders and head. There was so much sound with all of them calling out at one and the same time that the pandemonium could be heard from the streets way above our house.

Bagha was forever alert at these times. He monitored them from far and in the afternoon when they were let out of the pen to roam around to pick up worms and such things, he chased them endlessly. While the hen and cock scraped the ground with their feet to look for worms, Bagha prepared for the prowl. Slowly and stealthily he approached them like a tiger on his bait and as soon as he was close enough, the hen was alarmed and he began the chase. Mostly, he got one of them by the throat! But he never ate them, he just left them on the floor, his anger and jealousy avenged.

The next day was a day of tomb-like silence in the house, when my angry mama bit his teeth planning for the punishment to be doled out to Bagha.

At last, when I was away at school, my mama did the worst thing any man can do to an animal. It was an act that proved that man is worse than dog, because when dog kill he does it from his natural instinct to prepare for his meal; when man kills an animal, he does it to prove that he is the Lord of the human jungle, which is bereft of all love, loyalty and fellow-feeling.

The day, Bagha was shot dead by my mama’s rifle, Bagha could not rush back to attack my mama – he had been tied to the pomegranate tree by the side of the ‘toilet’ in our traditional home in Shillong.

Bagha died but the guilt of killing his own pet never left my mama, not even after he took sannyas and lived for twenty-five years at the Ramakrishna Mission at Luxa, Banaras, till he died.

I was told by those who were at his bed-side when he was passing on, that he craved to say something, nobody could understand because he was delirious and I wondered if it was a confession he was making to someone.

I also wondered if Bagha was at his bedside, like a true and loyal friend, come to take his Master home?

I would never know, because, I was not there to hear His Mater’s Voice at his dying hour.

Stories from childhood in anticipation of Terry and His Little Brothers

Picture credit: http://cdn.cutestpaw.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/Cute-Black-Dogs-l.jpg

My family and other animals Part I

The first time, I remember, I had a pet was when I was a little girl, in my hometown in Shillong, Meghalaya, India.

It was a little puppy called Tiger. He had a shining black nose and a coat that was brown. He hung around with me wherever I went.

When I sat for lunch, he sat outside the kitchen and dining room, waiting eagerly for me to throw him food from my plate. Actually, Tiger got his food first on a plate near his sleeping house – his kennel. But as soon as he saw me at the table, he would leave his and rush towards me.

In our traditional home in Shillong, the kitchen was away from the rest of the other rooms. It had its attached room, which we used as a dining room.

Tiger and I shared a number of stories together. Of course, I was the talker and he the listener whose tail wagged incessantly in approval of what I said.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I would say, “but there are some cookies you and I can share, as soon as there is no one to see us, taking some.”

He wagged and smiled. Have you ever seen dogs smiling? They do if you are watchful.  The point of this cookie stealing was that he and I had already been given our share in the morning, which is one each.

The strict rules that governed our sweet tooth, was often flaunted by him and I together, when we stole from the cookie jar.

My God, I remember the excitement. While he whimpered, I tiptoed to the jar and picked up the cookies. My heart beat rapidly and I can truly say that the little heart inside both of us, had a very good exercise when we did that naughty thing!

Tiger knew everything about me. I told him all. After all, there was no one I could talk to, but him. He was my friend and my sibling so to say. I slept thinking about him and woke up thinking of him. Even before I saw my mother, I wanted to see Tiger.

So why did he vanish one day, without telling me? When I woke up and did not find him, I began to cry. It was a cold winter day in Shillong and my mama said, tomorrow he would return.

Tiger never did, but sure enough, Bagha, a black puppy did. I threw all my emotions into Bagha. He was not really Tiger, but why did he fill me up, just like Tiger did?

I know what it feels to have a full heart.

Stories from childhood by Julia Dutta, in anticipation of Terry and His Little Brothers.

Picture credit: st2.india.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/untitled-11.jpg

BETEL, BANYAN, BASIL & BAMBOO: The Greatest Love Songs ever...

BETEL, BANYAN, BASIL & BAMBOO: The Greatest Love Songs ever...: I pay homage to the greatest, quirkiest and most moving love songs ever written or sung... gives me the chance to create my own playlist and...

The Wreck - dangerous dreams!

A recurring dream around one person, ails deep sleep in Ms Polly’s mind. The last time she had it, she was stretching herself over her partner to kiss someone on the other side of the bed. She had two things going in her life at that time – an overwhelming desire for the one she dreamed about and on the other hand the dawn to a new beginning was peeping out of a night of troubled sleep. When she read the dream, she was sure that it meant that she was on the verge of a new life. And indeed, it did happen, although, she was dabbed as a coward for not having the guts to actually take the bull by the horn and go, get the woman of her fatal passion.

The dream has now reoccurred again and although there are additional characters, the protagonists of the dream remain the same.

The dream reads like this. Ms Polly has returned home after a long journey. With her is a couple, one of whom she is burning her midnight sleep for. Once out of the station, they are unable to get a taxi to go further. While Ms Polly’s ‘subject of desire’, Ms Eros and Ms Polly rest in a room with another woman, Ms Eros’ partner has gone to look for a taxi. Finding themselves together, the two women pass vibrations that begin in the head and rock the muladhar chakra till a volcano erupts!

Ms Polly can hold it no longer. She strips her body from the upper half and begins to close in on Ms Eros, who is receptive but not responsive. While Ms Polly has at least let her defense down, at least by half, Ms Eros has not ventured forth to do the same. Soon however, they know they must move on, as Ms Eros’s partner has arrived with the taxi.

The two step down from the room and there, as they wait for the taxi, Ms Eros and Ms Polly engage in erotic mouth to mouth kissing this time initiated by Ms Eros herself. Indeed, the time is short, there is tension in the air as both know they must say good bye very soon, but the taste of Ms Eros’s soft, swollen lips leave a taste for more on Ms Polly’s. The taxi arrives; Ms Eros slips in with her partner and is gone.

Recurring dreams may be indicative of many things, but one can’t deny, it is certain that the dream is trying to show the dreamer two realities, or more. One, where there is smoke, there is fire. Second, there is unfulfilled desire that needs to be looked at closely. Thirdly, in both cases, of Ms Polly and Ms Eros, while the flirtation is real, each is settled in a traditional ‘partnered’ preference and therefore neither is ready to rock the boat. Fourth, had both been single, un-partnered, or at least Ms Polly the dreamer, not been in a settled relationship, would she be having such dreams in the first place?

A settled life is patriarchal in nature and yet, this is exactly how we like to see ourselves. Unless we are brave to be single – and mingle!

The question I am putting to myself – and you - is, are partnerships really worth it then? Is the human spirit free to be, and mingle around with many? Is there more to dreams than what we are willing to concede?  Is it worth allowing the boat to sink and find a new shore?

Most of all must Ms Polly stop intellectualizing and take the jump?  

Read also: See not, hear not, do not!

http://juliadutta.blogspot.in/2014/03/see-not-hear-not-do-not.html

Book Review - No Holy Cows in Business...

Authors Kiran Bhat, Sekhar Seshan

In 1992, an advertising agency, Xebec Communications Pvt Ltd was started by a young lady with a Masters in Industrial Psychology, from Pune University. Over the next 22 years the Agency grew from ‘just another name’ to a name to reckon with. The owner, a first generation entrepreneur tells her story in the newly released book, “No Holy Cows in Business...” along with Sekhar Seshan, Senior Journalist from Buniness India. The book is matter of fact and the writing is direct – it appears that the author is speaking to you, even as you read the 9 Principles of entrepreneurship, which she lays down, pretty simply.

1. Love what you are doing
2. An organization is the reflection of the promoter’s energy
3. Focus, focus, focus
4. Get financial literacy
5. Add a new revenue stream every year
6. Keep costs under control at all times
7. Enrolment of key people for the next level
8. Continuous learning
9. Pull the plug when it does not make any sense

Each of these principles is duly enhanced with Case Studies which make the reading very interesting. Harshvardhan Neotia, Chairman, Ambuja Neotia Group, tells his story of how he broke away from his family business to start his own, Padmasri Chandra Mohan, Founder Chairman, Punjab Tractors, C Parthasarathy, Chairman, Karvy Group, Dr Anil Lamba, Founder Director, Lamcom School of Management, Vikram Kirloskar, Vice Chairman, Toyota Kirloskar Motors, G V Krishna Reddy, Chairman, GVK Group, Suhas Baxi, CEO, Pennar Industries Ltd, Nishit Kumar, Founder MD, NOTRA Group, T Muralidharan, Founder Chairman, TMI Group – and many more names, you might have heard about, or you might not have done so, but these are stories/Case Studies of people who through extreme grit and belief on holding a large dream, started from scratch to become household names and who, fell many times, but did not give up on themselves or their vision of their Company. The book is a veritable joy when you think about the pains and strains, the never-say-die attitude of a true entrepreneur, who through thick and thin; come hail, come high water, strives to realize and spread his dream. It talks of struggle of a different kind, which is not really individual. When you have 50 people or 150, 2000 or 5000 people who work in your Company, the loss is only the proprietors, while that gain belongs to all. The financial health of the Company is THE most important watch you will ever care about.

In a world where outsourcing has become the business norm and coming out of business school does not mean getting the best job that pays the highest salary, if one is bitten by the entrepreneur bug while at school, the world belongs to him or her. Hence this book serves as a handy tool to keep along from a connoisseur who has known it all, scaled heights and bitten the mud to come up like a phoenix over and over again.

Most of the Case Studies, which have all been done by Sekhar Seshan, prove that industry does not necessarily belong to those who come from rich backgrounds, or those who were trained for it. Indeed, it is a passion, a driving need to excel and keep doing better, reinventing oneself and the organization, over and over again, that keeps a healthy business house going. It is heart, head, strategy and a mind that is clear and can hold a vision that finally wins the world.

Like Arjuna’s focus in the great big battle field of dog eat dog, keeping the mind held strongly to the goal can be the only weapon that keeps the creator of a vision going. The rest is co-creation with his team.

Surgically cold with precision to be able to hack and cut down on manpower if the need arises, the entrepreneur must execute like a Zen Master and yet at the same time, enroll personnel for growth to the next level. Above all, the entrepreneur must be endlessly on the ball, never tiring of it and yet, be distanced enough from it, to hold the vision and launch it to the next level.

A game of skill, knowledge, strategy, meditation and above all, the hunger to create, is the story you will read of in this book.

If you are an entrepreneur or want to be one, all you need in your hand is this book of inspiration and the fire in your belly that propels you to be your own Master.

Good Luck to the book and the zillions of humans, across the globe, who want to be their own business persons.

The book lacks examples of women entrepreneurs, except the shining example of the author herself and two other, like Geetanjali Kirloskar and Uma Chigurupati of KRSMA wines. Also, being more an academic book that will be read in business schools and by people with a mind for business, a digital version would be excellent as most academic books, shopped from abroad, are in digital format.

Case Study: Booked! (pg 30)

“T Narayan Shanbhag who started Mumbai’s ionic Strand Book Stall in November 1948 and ran it till he dies in 2009 at the age of 85, was a personification of the principle this chapter enunciates – An Organization is the reflection of the promoter’s energy – Here is an extract from a biography written in 2003.”

Read on here:

Publisher: Viswakarma Publishers
283, Budhwar Peth
New Post Office
Pune – 411 002
Email: info@vpindia.co.in
Website: www.vpindia.co.in
Authors: Kiran Bhat, Sekhar Seshan
Pages: 147
Price: Rs 200

Buy: http://www.amazon.in/Holy-Cows-Business-Principles-Entrepreneurship/dp/9383572205/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1408696390&sr=8-1&keywords=no+holy+cows+in+business

The English Papers V - God Save The Queen!

The day Jilli came home looking devastated; I knew something was terribly wrong.

“He has ruined the entire apple orchard with RoundUp, which I warned him against. The apple orchard with sixty trees in full bloom, are finished for this season. I shan't be able to use them at all!” She said with indignation.

Indeed, the pictures in her camera proved what she meant.

The farmer just about half a kilometer away from her house was a source of eggs for us, at £1 for 6 hens eggs and £1.20 for 6 duck eggs, but with the RoundUp, we were now reluctant to buy from him, because, despite warnings, he had done the RoundUp thing and we certainly felt that if the chicken were feeding on the land, then, their eggs would be dangerous for human consumption, no matter what Monsanto said.  

“It now proves that if I want to grow organic apples, I must own my own land.” Said Jilli.

Acres upon acres of land lie in silent pondering, with only cows and sheep to talk to. They have a tale of sadness to tell. With not a farmer’s plough to toss and turn the soil, England’s landscape remains an idle waste like a damsel all dressed up and nowhere to go.

So what do you do when you inherit money in England? It is wise to buy land because in a country where the interest rates are 0.03 percent, for pounds in the account and by smart investing you might get 3% over time, it is best to use the money in other ways than let it sit in your bank account. But then, there it is once again, sitting pretty, with nowhere to go, oh oh!

But then, you may not have the money to look after the land. Buying is easy and a one time affair as most Sales people will tell you, it is the maintenance that is what you pay over your lifetime or as long as you have the land or property with you. 

However, you may decide to prove smarter by investing the money in a business like a Pub. But you might have to work sixteen hours in it, for profits.

The English are very hard working people. And if one is slogging away at the Pub, then someone else is pushing himself on the ship at Mousehole, and of course, others are not really honeymooning, staring at the moon. Except sometimes.  

Yet, you can’t say, there is a degree of dissatisfaction. They love it, going that extra mile to make life the best they can ever have. Although at the end of the day, they may all be lying on a tired pillow.

Said a friend in Hull, “The English are hard working because they have to be so; the economy makes them such. On the one hand you have people from other EU countries coming to England to have babies so that they can benefit from our Social Security and Health Benefit Schemes and on the other, you have people who can’t find jobs!”

Of course nobody tells you that if people came from other poorer EU countries to take advantage of the situation in England, the English could jolly well go to Germany and do the same. But, they are English. Precisely, why they won’t!

We now know that Lords and Ladies are selling off their inheritance because they can’t maintain it. The awesome story of land at The Fells in the beautiful Lake District of England going out to Lakshmi Mittal, steel baron of Indian origin, is worrisome for the English, I would imagine, as even the bid by local bodies to keep their own land failed. In India, The Times Of India, Ludhiana, reports -

“Steel tycoon Lakshmi Mittal's bid for the 2,850ft-high Blencathra Mountain has left residents feel both proud and inquisitive. While they are elated that Mittal has achieved the unthinkable, they wonder what he is going to do with this iconic mountain.

This mountain was put on the market by Earl of Lonsdale Hugh Lowther in May, with a 1.75 million pounds asking price.” (Ref: http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/City/Ludhiana/Lakshmi-Mittal-buys-Mt-Blencathra-ludhiana-overjoyed/articleshow/39652932.cms)

Photo credit: http://www.britishmalayali.co.uk/index.php?page=newsDetail&id=37810

Who in India would sell inheritance, may I ask? It is an heirloom we would never part with, unless forced by circumstances to. Perhaps the plight of the Earl of Lonsdale Hugh Lowther, is indicative of the state of England, they would hate to admit to themselves. And with headcounts increasing from all over poorer nations of EU, who have willy-nilly found their way to the once Great Britain, the government has more in its mouth than it can chew.   

God Save the Queen!

News!

Sri Lanka who had earlier banned RoundUp, caves in to ‘restrict’ use.

http://sustainablepulse.com/2014/03/15/sri-lankan-president-bans-sale-roundup-chronic-kidney-disease-study/#.U-BxceOSySo

Disclaimer: The thoughts expressed here are purely the author's, Julia Dutta 

Wedding Bells!

With only a few days away from Suzie’s wedding in Cornwall, England, I could hardly hold my excitement of what it is going to be like, when she is all dressed up and ready to make her commitment to Mark. Would it be a Church Wedding or would the Priest come over to a beach party to pronounce them man and wife? Would she wear a wedding gown or would the Sporty couple wear their swimsuits and surf the sea as their unique wedding Do? Would they seal their “I do” with a kiss or just fall into a hug? Or would they fall with a big splash into the sea and kiss underwater?

Questions! Questions! Questions! I thought it best to quell the query with a visit to a shop in Delhi that caters to western wedding needs which is what Christians in India wear at weddings.

I was in for a big shock!

No, Christians in India wear saris at their weddings and the much adorable gown was worn at Parties and sometimes at weddings. This explains why, in Delhi, where you have a sizable population of people from the northeast, who are mainly Christians, not to speak of converts from the hills and the surroundings of Delhi, whose great grand fathers took to Christianity, a century or two ago, while the British were here, there were no Christian Wedding Shops in Delhi except one or two.

This took me on a trail finding one, through Google search.

Tucked away behind the Afghani Market, also known as Kabul India Restaurant Market at Lajpat Nagar II, near Dr Lal Path Lab, you will find a little door on the right side of the road, if you are coming in from where they make those lovely yummy Afghani naan (bread).

Don’t judge the inside by the door outside! The little basement design-cum-tailoring Shop is a veritable joy to enter. It was like entering a fairy tale shop and getting lost in what they had to offer there. I was enthralled and just could not stop clicking pictures for memory.

Glady Vaiphei Hunjan, who owns the shop, came to Delhi from Manipur, which is in northeast India, to study and stayed on. She says,

“Yes, the gown is coming back after a spell of about ten years when it wasn’t seen much at weddings. It is now being worn for parties and people prefer the less cumbersome and by now, a multi-purpose gown at the wedding than a sari.”

It takes almost a month to tailor a wedding gown, she told me.

“There are many levels of work to be done to make a wedding gown, starting with the choice of the fabric, the design, the embroidery and the lace etc. It takes time…”

And how much does a wedding gown cost? Naturally, it all depends on the design!

I went back to think of Suzie. Will she buy her gown ready-made or will she have it tailored, will it be white or will it be any other colour?

Times were changing and what I saw Cindrella wear, in the book, was not the only colour gowns are worn today. Indeed, fancy wearing a yellow gown for your wedding day!

If it could be tailored at Glady Vaiphei Hunjan’s ‘Sincerely Bridal’ I am sure there were people who would like to wear other coloured gowns.

I, for one would love to wear a rainbow gown!

Here take a look inside Sincerely Bridal

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/118112130944380341626/albums/6039968525704457905