Journal: Day Two

My Dad is transferred from New Delhi to Rawalpindi

Our journey from New Delhi to Rawalpindi ( by foot, tonga and train): first we had to walk from our house to our Dad’s office on foot. It was a Sunday, the streets were quiet, there were no tongas in sight, only some humans who were having fun watching us, dragging our feet to reach our destination. They knew we were in trouble, there were some who asked, ‘where are you going?’

My Dad and all of us pretended we did not hear them. Finally we stopped at a place, where there were two or three tongas waiting for passengers. Dad felt it was safe at that point to hire the tongas to go rest of the way to reach his office.

From the office we were transported to old fort, New Delhi. We stayed in tents for a couple of days. My Dad was informed, arrangements have been made for us to travel by train.

How we went to the station and got in one of the compartments of the train, is a complete blur on my mind. I only remember the compartment was pitch dark and filled with passengers, there was hardly room to move. My baby brother was thirsty, he was crying, one man said, ‘it’s better to kill him or our enemies will kill all of us, if they find out there are passengers in this compartment.’

This is how racism looks when man does not hesitate to kill another man because of religion.

Our train was stopped for a long time, we could hear shots fired by Indian army against those who wanted to kill the passengers of the train. The train tracks had to be cleared of large branches of trees before the train could move.

After many long hours our train stopped, we finally reached our long awaited destination. We were welcomed by Pakistani officials. There was water, food and everything to make us feel at ease. But the fact that we were safe made our day.

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My Daily Journal

I’m trying to start writing. I could not think of anything, I’m therefore taking the help of a regular journal, to keep me from getting bored.

This evening I’ll take myself back years ago. I was in Lady Irwin Higher Secondary School, New Delhi. I was a primary student. We were waiting for Mrs. Biswas to give us some work that morning. To my utter delight she gave each one of us a picture of a person. We were asked to make up a story. The picture I had was of a lady. She was dressed in a sari.

Since we were learning Bengali, we were encouraged to write in this language to improve our written work.

I started writing in Bengali. I said, this lady’s name is Roma. She is wearing a sari. Sari is usually worn by Bengali women. Roma is a very pretty girl. I like the colour of her sari. It takes six yards of material to make a sari. The border of her sari is red and the rest of the sari is blue.

Roma has to be careful when she walks. If she’s careless she may fall and faint. I wrote this because my older sister wore a sari to school one day, she could not deal with the six yard sari she really fell and fainted. Her headmistress said, ‘Firdaus tell your mom to let you wear the dress until you get used to a sari.’

I thought I’d add that little anecdote to make my story interesting.

I started feeling tired, because Bengali alphabets are tricky to write.

This is what I wrote that day.
You are welcome to give your opinion about my story, remember I was six years old. Compared to millennium little girls who learn from television, our vocabulary was not a whole lot. Television was not invented in those days. We could listen to a radio. But our Dad said, ‘no the children will not study if they have the privilege of listening to a radio.

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Reincarnation : Memories, posted by Ranu

Sometimes my brain needs a jog

Believe me at times it likes to fog

It happened to me yesterday

Reincarnation was the word this day

I was going out of my mind

Thinking my brain needs to unwind

I sat down and thought

What am I doing wrong?

I took a minute and sang a song

I felt my brain suddenly woke up

Sorry Ranu I took a break

Do not worry for heaven’s sake

I am one of your machines

Perhaps you had too much caffeine

Forgive me if I want some rest

It’s the only way I perform my best!

………………………………………………………….. 🙂 (:

G.O.A.T( greatest of all times)by Ranu

In men’s tennis, there is a lot of discussion about, which tennis player is the greatest of all times. In contention for this title are: Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal, and Novak Djokovic. How will they (the tennis commentators) decide who is the greatest among these three players. It seems their decision will be based on, which player among them won the most Grandslam Tennis matches.

Let us see who won the most:

Roger Federer: won eight Wimbledon Grandslam titles, One Roland Garros title, Six Australian titles, and five United States Titles. Total= 20 Grandslam Titles

Rafael Nadal: Won thirteen Roland Garros Titles, the remaining seven titles in Wimbledon, Australian, and United States Grandslams. Total= 20 Titles

Novak Djokovic: Nine Australian Titles, Two Roland Garros Titles, and nine titles in Wimbledon and United States Grandslams. Total= 20 titles

If all of them managed to win twenty Grandslam titles. Who should be called the GOAT? In my mind all three of them deserve to be called the Goat.

What do you think dear bloggers?

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Grammarly, Ranu

My writing experience with them is horrific to say the least. It seems they invited themselves to be a part of my blog. As far as I know I did not invite them.

It was a sad morning when I noticed they were trying to read my mind. I had just completed an email. I was about to write the ending, when I noticed the words already appeared before I typed them. I was annoyed, I simply wrote my own ending.

Then at the bottom of the email, there was a question, Did you like our help? Then under that : yes or no.

I promptly checked, ‘No’. It seemed they did not get the message. There was another question. Do you want some more time?

I was disgusted. I knew this was another way of earning money. I tried to let them know, ‘their service is not necessary.’

Imagine some company trying to make you, use their service to make money. I’m tired of this intrusion.

Can you bloggers let me know what I should do?

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My favourite song, posted by ranu

In Derry Vale

This is a song I learned when I was in third standard. I was a student in Presentation Convent School. I loved singing it when I was alone in the house. I’d sit on a corner of the verandah. One day I felt someone was sitting behind me, I turned around and found my sister laughing, she then told Dad I can sing. My Dad offered to pay money if I agreed to sing. I declined the offer.

I didn’t think of the lyrics then. Now I know how much our teachers(nuns) missed their home Ireland.

Sometimes I feel homesick and think of this song.

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Tagore Song

translation by ranu

Tagore Song

My days of pleasure

are gone.

The bond of days of laughter,

and sadness is broken.

I had hoped they will learn,

the songs of my heart,

but my desires disappeared

Those wonderful days.

I often dream as if they are

moving around my broken home

hoping to see something

those wonderful days of mine

Can so much pain be mere

deception.

Are all what I see is

shadows of birds?

I wonder why couldn’t

my desires float in the sky,

Those wonderful days!

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Destiny,Bengali Song: singer Hemant Kumar

Translation by Ranu

Ferryman’s complaint to destiny

O destiny, destiny,

How long will I,

paddle this boat ?

I help everyone cross over,

this river.

Who will assist me,

to cross over?

This boat is my father and mother,

It’s also my food provider.

All my life I believed,

it is my family.

Yet destiny I have,

one complaint for you.

this boat is my home,

one that provides me with,

roof on a hot day.

During the day the,

sun smiles,

and at midnight the moon.

At times whether I’m happy ,

or sad.

During the ebb and flow of tide,

I hold on to the paddle with a smile.

No one notices when

I weep or laugh.

I only want to complain to you,

How long will I continue,

to paddle my boat!

…………………………………………… 🙂

The Best

Post by Ranu

I used to wonder what it meant, if someone said, ‘this is the best.’ It took me a while to comprehend what the exact meaning of those four words that crowded my mind, really means.

I got my chance when my husband went looking for a car he wanted to buy. He bought a magazine named ,’Consumers Report.’

My husband spent six months reading about various cars. Every now and then I’d question him, ‘hey did you find the best car?’

He’d give me a look which seemed to say, ‘Do not disturb me. It’s too complicated for you to understand.’

Then came the day when he wondered about the colour, obviously he found what he was looking for. He couldn’t decide on the colour so he asked me, ‘what do you think?’

In two seconds I said I like burgundy. From his look I knew he didn’t like my preference. He tried to make it a bit sweeter, he gave me a lot of examples why burgundy is not suitable for the climate in this country. He said because of the weather, he believes the colour lemon would be perfect. You’d be able to see it in snow or fog. I did not agree but kept my mouth shut.

Next thing I saw was a Ford Fairlane lemon colour car arriving in our parking lot. My husband was ecstatic not only he bought the best car and also his favourite colour lemon.

A month later, we got ready to move to Newfoundland. My hubby was the driver. Each mile he covered he was praising his car.

We were on Quebec highway the sunlight was gone and evening set in. It was dark and the narrow two lane highway was scary, suddenly there was a thud sound and the car’s fuel indicator turned to zero. It was a cause of worry, luckily we were near Nova Scotia, in a few minutes we found a garage. The guy at the place exclaimed your fuel indicator is bent. You must pay attention, if the indicator shows zero, it means the gasoline is half full.

Cautiously my husband drove to the ferry, which would help us get to Port Aux Basque. After arriving in Port Aux Basque, we realized there were ten more hours left to get to Gander, which was our destination.

We were taken to a hotel where we stayed for a few days. When we settled in my husband took the car to the Ford’s dealer. They could do nothing.

After five months in Gander, we had a stormy winter. My husband noticed the power steering of the car was tight in the morning. He had to turn on the ignition and wait ten minutes in the car for the steering wheel to loosen up.

Once again he took it to the dealership and the reply he got was, ‘Doc we cannot fix it.’

I could not help but remind my dearest hubby, ‘lemon is the best it is visible in snow and fog!’

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