Did I tell you that the previous night, we, the innocent, diligent kids, went out, to stroll the streets of Ajmer well past midnight? No?!
Well, so it was, that few excited bunch of kids, really wanted to climb the mini-Everest, that stood high, not far from the house, but we just had a bad timing. After everyone was well snoring, under the deep sleep, brought by the bitter liquid, we kids ventured out for a small walk at around 2 am. It was the winter-cold, considering February was approaching to the spring of March, but had not ended yet. The brother-in-suffering dragged his fatigued self, against the road, to keep up with us. I could understand it would be tough for him, mountain-climbing at night.
On the lonely streets, in spine-chilling cold of a dark deserted night, when even the owls won’t hoot, few adrenaline pumped people, with chattering teeth, sought for adventure.
Well enough, said nature, and we heard a sound, of a vehicle fast approaching us, from an adjacent lane, we could hardly see. We thought maybe it was police on patrolling business. Everybody decided to stay still, girls got back, we stood like Prairie dogs on high alert. Until the light and the sound of vehicle made it clear to us that it was an auto rickshaw, we held our breaths only to release it, watching a rowdy playing undecipherable songs on high volume like a spoilt Delhi boy, showing off his new car and a blaring woofer. One of the Mister-still-keen-on-adventure, laughed and intended to call an Ola cab, to escort us to the mountain top or bottom, whichever was palpable. Not all were interested in the idea. The thing about that night was, one could have been murdered and done business with and no one would even get a hint. We decided on better options and instead headed our way back home amidst the constant persuasions. I am sure even Ola cab would have left it to rowdy auto-walas to carry folks like that at night.
Next morning, breakfast served us with mouth-watering Bedmii Poori and aloo ki sabzi and alternatively with sandwiches and boiled eggs for typical angrezi Indians, along with tea and coffee. I knew I ate too much, when getting up and putting the plate in dustbin became an effort. Meanwhile di and aunty were nowhere to be seen, yes probably having their share of quality time, before the bride to be was to leave for the new home.
Seemingly, lunch time came soon and we merrily headed for the venue. A mini cab drove us to the destination that was at a walking distance but hunger prompted us to make it faster. The lunch appeared more than welcoming and we pounced upon it greedily. For the first time ever in my life I had Bengali cuisine, this one, as I enquired, was called Maach Mudo, meaning the Fish head. It didn’t appear that appealing but the taste was good. I didn’t know whether I was eating the brain, the flesh or may be the eye or tongue for that matter. But it was all in the head you know.
Another dish that took my notice was Doi Maach, a special kind of Fish curry. Although I really am not a fish fan, mostly because of the effort it takes to separate fish bones, I savored the taste of the newly tried dish. The deserts lured me and took me to a different world altogether. I am sure, I was high on food with Ghevar and I ate it until I thought I would vomit it out.
With happy tummies we slogged back to the house and I didn’t know when sleep started taking over. Though aunty had told me and my best to do some work for later, I couldn’t help but summon to sleep. As soon as, I kept my first foot on the stairs to sleep, I heard aunty call me.
Thankfully I got quick work, which was to fold few dried clothes. I was doing it gladly and fast until I found few ladies and gents under-wears and bras to fold.
HUH! I AM NOT GOING TO TOUCH YOU!!
I said disgustingly to the inner-wears or may be just thought loud to myself, I can’t remember. I picked up the bundle, with the untouchables, sandwiched in between the clothes and went to ask aunty where to keep them. I kept the stack in the room and ran upstairs fearing if aunty catches me again I am sure not to get a bail out. Sneaking into the room and under the blankets, I held on to my dear sleep, that was about to take off without me.
While I and my bestie, slept with rice and fish packed tummies, the excited kids went to explore Ajmer. The gang went to visit Taragarh fort. Although I accept that I missed the opportunity, I would definitively like to highlight some shots taken by Tushar Chakraborty aka Chintu Bhaiya, with his iphone (wonder if I can do a promotion). There is such a splendid beauty in the scenic shots that will make you wonder and wish that you were there. The mosque with the Golden dome, with the setting sun in the background, hovers like a form of peace rather seen than felt.
The kids jumped up and down with excitement when they told what and all I had missed, explaining the classic scenes with glitter in their eyes and awes in their speeches. I shuddered it off and got up to get ready.
The evening turned to night without our knowledge and the girls got ready taking their own sweet time while the boys rushed between getting work and getting ready. I had a got my mom’s red and white silk saari, thinking that, it looked somewhat like a traditional Bengali saari and wore it in the same style with the help of a friend. No pleates, no tucking them in and swelling like a balloon; it was the most comfortable style of saari wearing technique.
After finishing the makeup and getting constant calls to come down and leave for the venue, I finally came down but to find no-one in the house. Yes, everybody had left, so I waited there for the last of the few people, to come along so as to be carried to the venue, until this friend of mine called for me and we hurriedly scooted to the venue as the Barat was to come soon. In that Bengali styled sari, riding the streets of Ajmer, to a Bengali wedding, I witnessed a lifetime in that moment.