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by whatsonsidsmind

The Hail-Tailed Alien – Part 3

Written by Siddhartha Krishnan | 7-Min Read

Of all the chapters in Joshua’s life, this is the one I’ve dreaded writing. But without it Joshua’s story would be terribly incomplete.

***

At 4 months, Joshua was a ball of energy—wild, playful, and unstoppable. If you’ve seen Marley & Me, you’ll understand. That dog in the movie? That was Joshua. When we watched the film, Joshua was 6 months old, and we couldn’t believe how much he resembled the lead character. By the end of the movie, we were in tears, emotional wrecks.

We got home and hugged Joshua, apologizing for not understanding his boundless energy. He was completely unfazed. I think he knew his parents were the type to get caught up in stories rather than reality. With a ball in his mouth, he snapped us out of our emotions and pulled us back into playtime. That’s who he was—living in the moment, never burdened by our overreactions.

After that rainy night, we realized we needed someone to care for Joshua when we weren’t home. Luckily, our housemaid, Bhagyamma, stepped in. She wasn’t afraid of dogs—in fact, she adored Joshua. It was a perfect arrangement since she lived on the ground floor of our apartment, which made it easy for her to tend to her own matters if needed while still being available for him.

Over the next month, Bhagyamma looked after Joshua as if he were her own child. Every evening when we returned, she would excitedly share stories about his day—what he ate, how he played, and every little thing we might have missed. In those three or four months, if not for her, we wouldn’t have noticed how fast he was growing into an adult dog. She spoiled him without hesitation—massaging him, playing with him, and often hand-feeding him, something I’d scolded her for more than once.

But deep down, I knew Joshua was in good hands, and he loved her for it.

Then came the sly cat that changed everything. She appeared one day in our neighborhood, constantly lingering in Joshua’s line of sight. At first, we didn’t think much of it—just part of his socialization. We figured he’d get bored of barking at her. But one afternoon, everything shifted.

Kavita got a call at work. It was from our maid’s son, saying Joshua had bitten Bhagyamma, on the hand. Kavita rushed home, took her to the hospital, and ensured she got the medical care she needed. Bhagyamma, surprisingly, wasn’t too upset. She told us she had grabbed Joshua by the collar to stop him from barking at the cat. In his frenzy, he bit her without realizing what he was doing.

The guilt on Joshua’s face stayed with him all day. But for us, the event was a wake-up call. Was there something wrong with our dog? Could this have been the result of some hidden trauma? Or was it simply a mistake—an instinctual reaction, exacerbated by the maid’s decision to grab his collar when he was still building trust with her?

At the time, dog psychologists and behaviorists were almost unheard of in Bangalore. In 2008, we were mostly on our own. The little advice we got boiled down to being more vigilant and avoiding unnecessary risks.

That day, Joshua taught us another hard lesson: sometimes, even with love and care, things can go wrong. And it’s not always anyone’s fault. The thing that had me shocked was not the bite. But the violent nature of the act. No dog would bite the hand that fed it.

Taking Joshua for walks became increasingly difficult as he approached his first year. The moment we stepped onto the street, stray dogs would surround us, trailing behind until the walk was over. We couldn’t understand the issue. Joshua, on edge, would either mark territory every few meters or explode in rage if any male dogs got too close. In these fits of anger, he would sometimes snap at us, his frustration turning dangerously inward.

This routine became unbearable, so we sought help from a trainer. That’s when we learned our sixth lesson— a dog’s tail is more than just a part of its body; it’s a vital tool for communication. The way they wag, hold, or tuck their tail tells you everything about their emotions. Joshua’s half tail, which was always stuck in a horizontal position, made him an outcast. Other dogs couldn’t read his signals, which made them see him as a threat.

This was also when we learned our seventh lesson—the importance of understanding a dog’s breed. Every breed was created for a specific purpose. The trainer believed Joshua was a mix of a Labrador and a Boxer. Labs are retrievers, bred for their gentle nature, while Boxers are guard dogs, known for their protective instincts. But Boxers have another defining trait—a docked tail.

Things started to make sense. Joshua’s tail wasn’t lost in an accident with a door. It was docked by human hands in an act of cruelty when he was a puppy. This unnecessary trauma had scarred him for life, and the depth of that wound would become clearer in the months ahead.

Joshua was neutered the same year Kavita moved into a spacious two-story house in Koramangala with her batchmate and sister. The new setup seemed ideal—Joshua had more room and received plenty of attention. After the surgery, we noticed he seemed calmer. He wasn’t marking as much, and his frantic energy during walks had subsided. We thought we were past his behavioral issues, but then something unexpected happened.

One day, Kavita’s mother, seeing him resting on the sofa he now considered his territory, tried to pull him off by the collar. In an instant, Joshua lashed out. The bite was vicious, tearing into her flesh—his boxer instincts and strong jaws making the damage severe. When I arrived, there was blood on the floor, and Joshua was hiding behind the TV cabinet, shaking. I rushed her mother to the hospital, and though her physical wounds healed in a month, the emotional scars were deep. For the first time, I felt afraid of him, unsure if he could do more harm. Yet, we still didn’t fully understand what had triggered this.

A few months later, another incident occurred. I was at Kavita’s place one Saturday, waiting for her to return from work. Her roommates were in their rooms when suddenly, I heard two screams—first Joshua, then Aditi, Kavita’s sister. I ran upstairs and found an all-too-familiar scene: blood on the floor and Joshua looking guilty. Aditi had accidentally stepped on him while he slept beside the bed, and he had bitten her leg in response.

At the hospital, as I sat reflecting on everything, it finally made sense. Joshua’s violent reactions weren’t out of aggression—they were from fear. Something terrible had happened to him as a puppy, likely while he was asleep. I began to suspect that his tail had been cruelly docked during sleep, leaving him traumatized.

In the wild, a fearful animal can be far more dangerous than an angry one. We had to help him, face this fear with him—there was no abandoning him. He had only us.

To be continued …

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

All rights reserved by http://www.whatsonsidsmind.com

by whatsonsidsmind

The Half-Tailed Alien – Part 2

Written by Siddhartha Krishnan | 4-Min Read

“You don’t own a dog. You have a dog. And the dog has you.” – Unknown

Joshua was around 35 days old when we brought him home. At the time, Kavita and I weren’t married yet; that was still two years away. He was my Friendship Day gift to her. Since she had a dog growing up, I was sure she’d be the better pet parent in those early days. Plus, she had a roommate who was just as eager to spoil him.

From the moment he stepped into her flat, Joshua acted like he already knew the place. He sniffed around, explored every corner, used the bathroom for his first pee, then came right back to sit beside us. It was seamless. There was no hesitation, no fear—it felt like he was always meant to be with us.

In the coming weeks Joshua’s bond with Kavita grew stronger. She pampered him, often treating him like a human baby, which led to arguments between us. I always believed in respecting the animal for what it is, but that idea never quite stuck with her. It still doesn’t!

My 25th birthday passed by. We had a gala time. Joshua was the center of attention that day. No surprises there. But our lessons as pet parents were still due.

Three weeks after bringing him home, we faced our first hard lesson as pet parents—puppies may look sturdy, but they can be as fragile as human babies. He ate something bad, and by nightfall, he was vomiting repeatedly. We consulted a vet we knew, but it didn’t help, and somehow, we made it through the night. The next morning, Joshua was barely conscious. We rushed him to the vet and were told that if we had been just half-an-hour late, he wouldn’t have survived. “A dog doesn’t die of hunger, but it can die of dehydration within hours,” the vet explained.

Thankfully, we were just in time. Joshua was put on drips, and after a few hours, he came around. As soon as he recovered, he was back to his usual self, getting into everything he could. That’s when we learned our second lesson—dogs don’t dwell on what happened. They live fully in the moment, no matter what they’ve been through.

A month passed, and Joshua’s vaccinations were complete. He was ready for his first real walks. Until then, we’d only taken him to the terrace of our building, where he smelled the world from afar. Now it was time for him to truly experience it. Feisty as ever, he was eager to explore. But there was a problem. None of the dogs—stray or otherwise—would tolerate him. He’d go into a frenzy at their rejection, and we couldn’t understand why. The truth would reveal itself much later.

But before that, we faced two unforgettable shocks. The first came on a night when the rain refused to stop. Joshua had been staying at my apartment for a few days, as he often did on weekends. I figured he’d be comfortable even when I was at work. But, of course, he was still just a puppy.

Here’s the third lesson we learned as pet parents—dogs have a far better sense of hearing than humans. To Joshua, every thunderclap must have sounded like a bomb. I discovered this the hard way when I returned home late, around 10 p.m. As soon as I opened the door, I was greeted by a terrible stench. I frantically searched for Joshua, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Finally, in the bedroom, I found my king-sized mattress lying on the floor, a large chunk of it chewed to pieces. There were paw prints on the walls, streaked with dog poop—the source of the smell. Great artwork! But where was the little rascal? After a frantic search, I found him hiding beneath the mattress, his mischievous eyes gleaming even as he lay exhausted. It took Kavita and me two hours to clean up the mess he’d caused. That night, we learned our fourth lesson—a three-month-old puppy can cause an astonishing amount of damage, and Labradors suffer from separation anxiety. Joshua needed company when we were out.

We soon found someone to look after him, but that led to our fifth lesson—the psychological scars of his half-tail. We discovered that dogs, too, carry trauma. And sometimes, their wounds run deeper than we can see.

To be continued …

***

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

The Half-Tailed Alien – Part 1

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 3 Min Read

I was convinced that Joshua was an alien dog. From a few months into having him until the day he died, I was sure of it. I even called him that. Before bedtime, I’d often tell my son a story about how a spaceship dropped this odd creature on our planet, and we were the crazy ones who picked him up. Joshua was my ET dog.

But there was something else that made him special—his half tail.

***

We met the “alien dog” at the pet market in Shivajinagar, Bangalore. Puppies were on display in huge baskets, cramped together like soft toys. Back then, our understanding of animal cruelty was still immature. My wife and I were like naive kids, wandering through a candy store, overwhelmed by all the choices. The market was a sensory overload, with cute eyes staring at us from every shop. Each puppy seemed to be desperately looking for a home.

In the midst of it all, we noticed a small cage beside one of the shops. Inside was a little puppy with unforgettable marble-like eyes. When I put my finger through the railing, he eagerly nibbled on it as if it were a treat. He was desperate to get out.

I asked the shopkeeper to take him out of the cage. The moment he was free, he ran all over the place. The other puppies made space for him, wanting nothing to do with his energy. “Which breed?” I asked. “Labrador,” the shopkeeper replied. The puppy had half a tail, and that was impossible to miss. “Why does he have half a tail?” I inquired. “It was an accident. A door slammed on it,” the shopkeeper said. The explanation seemed absurd, but my wife and I exchanged knowing glances. Whether the story was true or not, one thing was clear—this little guy would have a tough time finding a home with that half tail.

We kept looking at each other, silently negotiating. He was the cutest, most spirited dog we had seen. And he had chosen us. Unlike the others, who were all vying for attention, he never left our side. He’d run around, but always came back to settle at our feet. Finally, my wife broke the silence, “Can we take him home?” I was relieved to hear it.

We took him home in a small cardboard box filled with cotton. I remember the date clearly—August 3, 2008, the first Sunday of August. Friendship Day.

Your first dog is always special because nothing prepares you for what is to come. It’s like having your first child. We were on that road of unexpected surprises and this rascal would teach us how to be a pet parent and mad dog lovers.

To be continued …

About the author

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

All rights reserved by http://www.whatsonsidsmind.com

by whatsonsidsmind

Durga Puja | A Beloved Goddess, A Grand Carnival and a Few Tiny Tales …

By Siddhartha Krishnan . 4 Min Read

(This essay was originally posted by the author in Purono Kolkatar Golpo FB group)

‘Ya Devi Sarva Bhuteshu,

Vishnu Mayeti Shabdita,

Namastasye, Namastasye, Namastasye,

Namoh Namaha’ …

(To the Goddess in all beings,

Known as Vishnu Maya,

I bow to her, I bow to her, I bow to her)

The memory of Birendra Krishna Bhadra reciting this ancient hymn, in his inimitable style, on the early morning radio, is still fresh in my mind. His voice, at once, energized all Kolkatans to begin preparations for ‘Durga Puja’. This was true for my Malayali family as well, and we too earmarked the four days of the festival on the calendar at the beginning of the year. We too, on Mahalaya day, readied our to-do lists in preparation for what we believed was the greatest spectacle on Earth. On this Ashtami morning in Bangalore, as I endeavour to write this essay, these and many more fond memories of Durga Puja in Kolkata, flash before my eyes.

I am often asked by people who haven’t experienced Bengali culture — “What is so special about Durga Puja?”. My humble reply to them — “Please experience it for yourself and you will get your answer”. This was the reply to my wife as well when we got married in 2010 and subsequently got down to exploring each other’s culture. She is a Kumaoni girl brought up in Lucknow and I am a Malayali boy brought up in Kolkata. We got our chance in 2012.

However, for me this was a daunting task because I had to step into my father’s shoes and do all the heavy lifting. The thought of being the historian, food connoisseur, art lover and storyteller was giving me the jitters. My motive though was simple; to let my wife experience all that I had experienced as a child. We had 3 days in hand that year — Saptami, Ashtami and Nabami to do all the pandal hopping and our itinerary resembled the one that I used to follow as a child. Day 1 – North Kolkata, Day 2 – South Kolkata and Day 3 – was left to discover the hidden gems within the city. Father’s office car was at our disposal as usual.

Naktala Udayan Sangha Pujo (2012)

As was the practice, we started early in the morning (to avoid the crowds) and reached the Bagbazar Pujo. The idea was to start from one corner and then drive all the way back to Bhowanipore, where we stayed. By the time we reached Kumartuli Park, my wife was brimming with curiosity. She shot a barrage of questions at me mercilessly. I dealt with them cautiously while hesitantly taking dad’s help every now and then. I recollect the secretive glances he traded that day, while sporting an impish grin, as I cleared my wife’s doubts. However, with each passing pandal my wife looked more and more at ease. Her inhibitions (if any) had disappeared into the cool autumn air of the city.

Inside Chakreberia Sarbojanin Durga Puja Pandal (2012)

She walked on the little alleys of North Kolkata exuding a child-like exuberance. Her eyes looked wonderstruck. The artistry on display at Ahiritola, Mohammad Ali Park and Santosh Mitra Square had done its trick. As I narrated my childhood stories of ‘Durga Puja’ and shared whatever little history I knew of these places; I was overjoyed to realize that she had bought into my storytelling. Her expression was the giveaway and it evoked a bout of nostalgia. I travelled back in time to when my little finger clung onto my dad’s as we walked through these very alleys. I wondered — “Did I sport the same expression on my face when my father narrated those stories?”.

On Ashtami day we were in South Kolkata, and my wife was quick to spot the change in the cityscape. The difference between the North and South of the city fascinated her. From Adi Ballygunge, to Ekdalia Evergreen, to Suruchi Sangha we covered all the iconic South Kolkata pandals that day. She being a ‘people person’ I knew that the crowds weren’t going to be a deterrent. But when she rebelled to step out for pandal hopping at night, I broke into a cold sweat. Me, not much of a crowd person was now the spoilsport. But I knew I wasn’t going anywhere with my resistance (actually her energy was infectious). So the two of us ventured out that night on foot.

The Chandelier at Ekdalia Evergreen Durga Puja Pandal

Surprisingly, my wife looked more at ease than me in an unknown city. She bargained with gusto at stalls selling handicrafts, nudged me to beat the crowd and get a cotton candy and insisted on a ‘jhal muri’ at midnight. This was unexpected but I was secretly enjoying it. We merged into the crowd and soaked in the energy. I for some reason had forgotten that the festival was also accommodating of this kind of subtle romance.

At noon, on Nabami, we were at Shiraz for lunch. While relishing a plate of mutton biriyani and recapping all the outlandish concepts and artistry we had witnessed over the last 3 days, I slipped in a question to my wife — what were the most appealing aspects of Durga Puja in Kolkata? After taking a minute to gather her thoughts, she replied — “the sheer love for art and the infectious energy of the people of this city”. I couldn’t agree more!

We were going to leave Kolkata on Dashami morning. So that Nabami night we played all the images we had gathered over the 3 days on a projector. The lights were turned off and we watched the pictures in silence. At once, I was engulfed by a plethora of emotions as images from my past seamlessly blended with those of my present. I shed a happy tear that day.

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories. He is also an enthusiastic blogger and on his website www.whatsonsidsmind.com, he regularly puts out his essays, articles, travelogues and film reviews.

All rights reserved by http://www.whatsonsidsmind.com

by whatsonsidsmind

Aloo Posto with Sambar and Rice | Memoirs of a Malayali in Kolkata | FB Live @ Purono Kolkatar Golpo

Inside a Durga Puja Pandal in Kolkata

By: Siddhartha Krishnan . 10 Min Read

I have been away from Kolkata for 14 years. However, I have often wondered why the city is still a part of me and despite not being Bengali, why do I yearn for so many things that are Bengali? So when I received an invitation to do an FB live session on my experiences in Kolkata from the FB group—Purono Kolkatar Golpo (a group comprising of Kolkatans from across the world), I was thrilled, as it gave me a chance to introspect and relive some important moments of my life (YouTube video of the FB live session below. Please skip to 4:40 mins since the talk only starts then).

Most of my memories of the 22 years that I had spent in Kolkata are centered around one place—7A Gokhale Road. They say “Nostalgia is a dirty liar which insists things were better than they seemed.” I agree because I am often guilty of remembering my past with the kind of fondness which I did not exhibit while experiencing them. Picture this—I used to live in a small two room apartment in a 100-year-old building in Kolkata and so, with it came the challenges—space constraints, water supply issues, maintenance problems and every now and then, whenever it rained in Kolkata (in the 90s), the streets were flooded with knee-deep water.

A Pic of Gokhale Road from my last visit in 2018

Thus, I was often found cribbing about my circumstances. However, now when I go to Kolkata and engage in a bit of “Adda” (informal/idle talk) with old friends, I am guilty of saying “Shei Ki Din Chilo! Ekhon aar koi?” (those were the days). What’s more my younger brother’s apartment at Rajarhat, blessed with all creature comforts, does not feel like Kolkata anymore. That to me feels like Whitefield or Electronic city in Bangalore—mundane, boring and lacking “the cultural heritage”. How strange is that? Well, I guess this kind of hypocrisy is intrinsic to human nature.

Nandan Cinema close to Gokhale Road

Since, Gokhale Road is such an integral part of my story in Kolkata, let me help you locate and visualize the place, although I know most Kolkatans would know of it.

So Gokhale Road is a quiet little street located in the heart of Kolkata between Sambhunath Pandit Street and A.J.C Bose Road with the Gol Mandir at one end and the Calcutta Club at the other. On this road the other big landmarks are the Institute of Engineers and the Army’s Recruitment Centre. In the vicinity we have some of the city’s iconic cultural landmarks like the Victoria Memorial, Nandan Cinema, St.Paul’s Cathedral and Netaji Bhawan. These were all within half a kilometer from my house.

Next to the Gurudwara (on Sambhunath Pandit Street) we have two of the most famous eateries of Kolkata – Balwant Singh’s Dhaba (known for its Dhoodh Cola) and Sharma Tea House (renowned for its small kachoris, jalebis and the heritage tea). Just across the road are the much-sought after Gujarati snack shops serving their delectable dhoklas, khandvis and mathris. So this gave an excuse to my father to never leave Gokhale Road and say— “When most people living in the city are dying to stay in this locality, why should I leave this place?”

An early morning pic of Victoria Memorial

Our 100-year-old building— “Krishnapriya Mansions” is in the middle of Gokhale Road. But the name on its façade has all but withered away over the years. However, I vividly remember that in the mid-nineties during a hartal (strike) while we were playing cricket on the street, a friend of mine had hit the ball toward the façade and that’s when I first realized that the building actually had a name! We had become accustomed to calling it the building opposite the police barracks.

Flat no: 24 in the A block of this building is the place is where I stayed. It is the place my grandfather after migrating from Palakkad (Kerala) some 2 years before the independence of India called home. That was a time when many Malayalis like him migrated to Kolkata in search of a better life. Kolkata was the city of opportunity in those days. So my grandfather periodically brought people from his hometown who were looking for a good education and were ambitious and hard-working. He was their support until they managed to settle down in the city. Flat no: 24, therefore, is the place my father, uncles and aunt were brought up and so my brother and I are the second generation in the family to have grown up there. Hence, we owe a lot to this place.

Much of what we are today is a direct result of the culture we have been brought up in. This culture manifests itself in the clothes we wear, the food we eat, the movies we watch and the books we read. And, like everyone else my first point of reference in these matters were my parents. My father who has spent all his life in Kolkata and despite having close ties with his native place in Kerala is more Bengali than many Bengalis I know today. On the other end of the spectrum is my mother, who is what I would call a “Pukka Malayali”. She married very young and came to Kolkata when she was around 20 years old. Hence, much of my childhood I have been witness to the dynamics of their relationship and the clash of cultures. My father at the time of his marriage knew very little Malayalam while my mother knew no other language other than Malayalam. As a result, I picked up the Bengali way of doing things from my father while clinging onto my roots in Kerala due to my mother. However, over the years I have seen my mother evolve and become more and more comfortable with the Bengali culture.

Authentic Bengali lunch at Kewpie’s Elgin Road

The manifestation of this clash was seen in all the things that we indulged in. Let me give you a few examples. The food on our plate was clearly an amalgamation of these cultures. It was not odd to find an “Aloo Posto” or “Aloo Chochodi” (typical veg dishes of Bengal) being served alongside “Sambar and Rice” (the quintessential South-Indian fare). Or for that matter a “Rui Macher Jhol” (much-loved fish curry of Bengal) served with a “Beans Thoran” (a humble beans dish eaten in South India). And, while packing a plate of kachoris from Sharma Tea House we would be mindful to pack a plate of “Vada” and Sambar from the Tamilian street food vendor next to the iconic eatery.

The iconic eatery Sharma Tea House

Such examples could also be found in the movies we watched. While I got a steady dose of the satirical Malayalam films of the 80s and 90s on Asianet, I did also get a generous dose of the movies of Ray. By the way closely observing my father explaining the subtle nuances of Ray’s movies while drawing references to English literature and parallels to Malayalam films are some of my fondest memories from childhood. But these discussions were limited to his friends while I remained a silent observer. However, I can safely say today that these experiences have left an indelible mark on my artistic leanings.

One more significant recollection from childhood is that of the “Shaka and Pola”. These beautiful coral and shell bangles from Bengal are now part of my family culture. Ever since my mother has been wearing them, all the women in our family have also been wearing them. They have found a way into the homes of people who have nothing to do with Bengal. This proves how subliminal culture can be.

How all of this has played out with me, shows in my habits. Although I have been away from Kolkata for so long, I do crave for my Kolkata Biriyani, Kathi Rolls, Macher Jhol and Bhoger Kichudi every now and then. But I do have a similar yearning for the quintessential Malayali dishes like Puttu, Aapam, Pazham Poori and Malabar fish curries. Twice a month I look forward to watching a Ray movie on YouTube while the same is true for a Sathyan Anthikad or Padmarajan film as well. And, “adda” with Bengali friends over the weekends is something I wait for eagerly. A call to their wives to prepare a Bengali dish specifically for me before these meetings is something I am not ashamed to admit. However, Bangalore being such a cosmopolitan city getting these things is not a difficult task.

The famous kachoris of Sharma Tea House

But how can any nostalgic journey of Kolkata be complete without a mention of Durga Puja? Those four days of the Puja every year are my favorite memories of growing up in Kolkata. My father, a chartered accountant by profession and usually a very busy man would get these four days off (Saptami, Ashtami, Navami and Dashami). But on these days he would exude a child-like exuberance which was otherwise absent in him. His office car would be at our disposal for the first half of these days. A cut out from the Telegraph newspaper charting out the route of all the famous pandals across Kolkata would be at our disposal. Each day was dedicated to a certain part of the city and we would start early in the morning around 7 a.m. Day 1 would usually be North Kolkata, starting either at Bagbazar or Kumartuli and driving all the way back to Mohammad Ali Park, thereby pandal hopping all the iconic North Kolkata pandals. This would invariably mean that lunch would be at Park Street, hence, either Chinese delicacies at “Peiping” or Biriyani at “Shiraz”.

Day 2 would be South Kolkata starting at “Ekdalia Evergreen” and ending at “Maddox Square” closer home. This would mean that a Punjabi lunch was on offer at the “Ballygunge Dhaba”. The remaining days were left to explore the award winning pandals of yester years and thus we would venture to places like Bosepukur and Lebutala. The idea was always to outdo our performance of the previous year. If we had visited 100 pandals the previous year, this year the count has to be 101! The crowded evenings on these days were dedicated to pandals in our vicinity and “adda” with friends outside “Gokhale Sporting Club Pujo”, since my father was not much of a crowd person.

Ekdalia Evergreen Durga Puja Pandal of 2012

But perhaps the most resounding memory of Durga Puja is of the day of Dashami when the Goddess bid adieu to us mortals. The memory is of the vermillion game or what the Bengalis call “Sindoor Khela”. On this day married women would throw vermillion on each other and the picture of my mother letting go of all her inhibitions and smothering vermillion on the faces of the Bengali women of our locality with fervor is still fresh in my mind. In return for her favors she would be covered in red herself. But by doing so, for that moment, she had managed to merge with the crowd or should I say merge with that culture?

All the above recollections of Kolkata, however, would not be complete without a mention of my school friends at St. Xavier’s Collegiate School and my “adda buddies” of Bhowanipore and Gokhale Road. The “Shikanji” after a grueling cricket match at the Calcutta Maidan, the ice-candy in the afternoon heat at school and breakfast at “Arun Da’s Canteen” at St. Xavier’s College would not have tasted so good without them. So a big heartfelt thank you to them for making these experiences so memorable and being part of my story in the “City of Joy”.

Gol Mandir at Gokhale Road

I’d like to end by saying that my story may be something new for Bengalis but I am sure that it will strike a chord with so many Malayalis I know who had once or still call the city their home. Hence, I am thankful to the FaceBook group – Purono Kolkatar Golpo for having given me this opportunity to take the trip down memory lane with their FB live and for giving me the chance to explain why Kolkata is still a part of me.

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of “Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories“. He is also an enthusiastic blogger and on his website www.whatsonsidsmind.com, he regularly puts out his essays, articles, travelogues and film reviews.

All rights reserved by http://www.whatsonsidsmind.com

by whatsonsidsmind

How I took to writing?

Writing

One afternoon in August last year, I sat down with my laptop and decided to pen down some thoughts. It was a Saturday and there were dark clouds looming in the skies of Bangalore. The weather exemplified the state of mind that I was in that day. It had been a terrible day for me on many counts.

I could have punched the wall a few times to vent out my frustration but previous attempts at the same hadn’t resulted in anything productive, except for a few bruised fingers. But then the decision to go for my laptop instead of the wall was purely instinctive. However, as I started writing I realized that I wasn’t really writing about the causes of my current rage but about a certain incident from my childhood!

Once I was done with the first paragraph, I stopped. Since, there was no one in the house I decided to read it aloud. I did so with full fervour. When I heard the words, it dawned on me that it sounded like a short story. There was then a sudden surge of energy which propelled me to keep going for the next few hours. I was determined to not stop until I was done with the story. I succeeded.

My previous attempts at writing had resulted in miserable failures. Hence, I wondered: What was different this time? Moreover, I hadn’t written an article but a short story. How? Why? I asked myself. The mystique of it all urged me further. I decided to keep at it. Over the next few weeks, I penned down a few more short stories. Miraculously, there was no dearth of ideas and no hindrances to my imagination. The words flowed languidly. It was as if a dormant corner of my brain had just become active.

I didn’t feel stressed during this whole exercise and penned down more than ten thousand words within two weeks. Also, making time for writing didn’t feel laboured despite my work and family commitments. This was extraordinary because I am usually guilty of uttering these famous words: “I don’t have time!”. Well, I was now done with five short stories inspired from certain incidents from my childhood. Writing was secretly filling a certain void in my life. What that void was? I will explain later.

Now, I needed a medium for validation. Hence, I got introduced to blogging. It provided me the ideal platform to reach out to my audience in an instant and seek feedback. The marketing and analytical tools that blogging websites provided were an added advantage. But I was an accidental blogger at that stage. A novice. My only intent behind blogging was to find the right people to critique my work and to test the waters.

What followed were long phone calls, WhatsApp chats, coffee table conversations, focus groups and subsequent deep introspection. The stories had managed to strike a chord with many of the readers. Yes, there was criticism as well. But then I didn’t get into this being delusional about my abilities. The intent was to get better with time.

I kept on writing and finding content wasn’t difficult because the stories were inspired from life. Hence, all I needed to do was to observe. Then it was a matter of recollecting, re imagining and expressing myself creatively. Thus, a conversation with dad, visit to a hospital, exploring unknown places, a chat with a random stranger or a late-night drive were all potential content for a story.

Past life experiences deeply en grained in my subconscious mind guided every thought. The only effort I made was to let go and explore like a child. To be instinctive and not overthink. The editorial effort to clean up the excesses could happen later, I reminded myself. The focus was to tell a good story.

Over time I made new friends. My network grew. The stories contributed to that. I even got an invite to conduct a blogging workshop for kids at a school (do check out my article “Back to school” to know more).  Initially, straying off the beaten track and stepping into uncharted territory did feel like venturing into wilderness with just a backpack and a steely resolve. But eventually the joy of discovering things on my own, prevailed over apprehension. Although, there is still a very long road ahead, I made it a point to celebrate my small achievements in this journey. Every time I read out a story to my wife or my four-year-old, it felt very fulfilling.

I must admit though writing was a very lonely process. It is just you and your thoughts. But you must persevere and not waver. The only question you must ask is,

“Is this the story that I set out to write?”.

If the answer is no, then make the corrections and get back on track. If the answer is “yes” then keep at it and continue. Try and make it better. Unfortunately, “better” does not have any boundaries. There is always scope for improvement. Constructive feedback from friends helps a lot here. So, build your network of ten friends to give you honest feedback.

But seek feedback only once you are done with your piece. Seeking feedback half-way through is not advisable since, people might not get the message of your story and things could get lost in translation. That said, always be open to ideas and be ready to rewrite. It could be exhausting but it is worth it. But don’t compromise on the concept and the messaging, because that is what compelled you to write the story at the first place.

I had earlier mentioned about a void that writing managed to fill. The void is nothing but our inability to express in our daily lives. It is not a hidden fact that we are all actors. We act to survive. When we deal with family, colleagues and community in general we are forced to be diplomatic. There is a lot of talking that we do, but are robbed of our right to express our thoughts truthfully. Let’s face it, we live in a ruthless world where truth has no place. Opinions do. In writing I found a medium to express my real and naked thoughts.

Hence, through my characters, locations, atmospherics and plot twists I was able to express myself fully. Yes, I did conceal the thoughts under various genres, fictional characters and settings. This way I could say what I wanted to and still get away with it. It felt, “Bloody good!”.

But then, writing also gave me the opportunity to relive certain moments from the past, correct the wrongs, learn from mistakes and grow as a person. Hence, it became a process of self-discovery for me.

So next time you read my story, you might find me concealed within the words!

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by whatsonsidsmind

The Storyteller

Storyteller

Many years ago, there was an inquisitive child. He loved to hear stories. Every year during school vacations when he visited his hometown in Kerala, he would spend days at the house of “the storyteller”. The storyteller was none other than his aunt. She would narrate him stories of mysterious happenings, which would have invariably unfolded close to her house. Hence, the banyan tree near the entrance, the abandoned mill at a distance or the incessant barking of stray dogs at night were all part of her stories.

The stories ranged from ghostly apparitions to alien invasions and from witch hunts to haunted houses. But it was not the story per say which would keep the child engaged. It was the way in which they were being told. The impact of which was so great that the child would be unable to sleep at night. Every time the trees swayed in the wind or the dogs howled at night, a shiver would go down his spine.

Although, the stories left him frightened, he would still be keen to hear more. The sheer brilliance of the storytelling kept him engaged. When he went back to the city after his vacations, he would narrate these stories to his school friends and observe their reaction closely. He tried to imitate his aunt as much as he could and when he managed to grab their attention his joy knew no bounds. This would go on for days until he heard the next interesting story.

That little child was me.

But my aunt wasn’t the only great storyteller in my life. My mother who told me the first stories I ever heard, my father who narrated stories of his travels across the country, my classmate who told me about his heartbreak and the movies which mesmerized me were all equally great storytellers. When I close my eyes for a minute and recall all the memorable incidents of my life, these moments figure prominently in my recollections.

Now, let me urge you to go back to your childhood. Weren’t there great storytellers in your life just like my aunt? I am sure there were. Those people in your lives who would have told you fabulous tales of magical brooms, haunted castles, fairy godmothers, divine interventions and devious poltergeists. We are sometimes guilty of undermining the contribution of these people in our lives. For the stories we hear often shape our thinking. Sometimes even determine our actions. But most importantly they make our otherwise mundane lives interesting.

If you don’t believe me, the next time someone narrates you an interesting incident that happened in your colony, make an effort to notice the excitement that it kindles within you. In other words, we might still be surrounded by good story tellers, without us even realizing their value in our lives.

If weekend parties were only about the booze, don’t you think it would be boring? Isn’t it also about that one friend in the gang who has interesting stories to narrate? So next time, you are in the company of friends, relatives or colleagues; ask yourself who is the great storyteller in this group? Acknowledge his or her role in your life.

Jimmy Neil Smith, founder and president emeritus of the International Storytelling Center said, “We are all storytellers. We all live in a network of stories. There isn’t a stronger connection between people than storytelling.”

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