Last month was Shravan, and during one of our daily calls to our member Ms T. Saha, she spoke to us about how she spends each Monday of the month and how her relationship with the Ganga (the Hooghly) deepens during this time.

For many years, I have observed a simple practice every Monday in the month of Shravan: fasting and then taking a dip in the Ganga. Today, for the first time in several years, I went to the river for a holy dip. I don’t remember the ghat stairs ever being this slippery. Worried I might fall, I asked a gentleman to hold my hand and guide me down.
After my dip, as tradition goes, I ate fruits and sabudana (sago) served on a banana leaf. My next meal will be tomorrow. This has been my way since I was young—a dip in the Ganga, followed by a meal of fruits to break the fast.
When I began working as a teacher, I kept up the practice. The sweeper would clear a corner of the staff room for me, and I’d sit on the floor, cutting my fruits on a boti (a vegetable cutter fixed to a wooden base). My colleagues would tease me, warning of “dire consequences” if I didn’t share my fruits! Once the fast is broken, tradition requires that the keeper of the vow be asked three times if the used banana leaf and utensils have been disposed of. During my teaching days, Swarupa—a spirited girl from Katwa—took on that role. She would laugh and say, “Tripti di, what if I don’t call out thrice? What if I don’t release you?”
Now I live alone, so I call out to myself three times and answer my own call. In a way, I have been released. But during my meal today, I kept thinking of Swapna. I wonder where she is now.

(as narrated to Support Elders by our member)

Our members have always had deep interests and passions that have driven them. One of them, Mr A. N. Saha, reflects on a moment from his youth when his love for poetry left an unexpected impression during a job interview.

Since morning, I’ve been feeling a deep sense of solitude—but not peace. It’s a little unsettling. I’m reminded of a poem I studied for my Intermediate exams (as our Class 12 finals were called back then): “The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk” by William Cowper.
“I am monarch of all I survey;
My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O Solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.”
I enjoyed reading English poetry in my youth, even though it wasn’t widely taught in schools or colleges. What little we did study was part of Literature class—and rarely given much weight in exams.
After graduating, I applied for a job in an airline. One of the interviewers was a European gentleman, part of the executive team. He asked about my reading habits, and I told him I liked English poetry. He didn’t quite believe me and challenged me to recite something. I responded with lines from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by S. T. Coleridge—a poem I loved. It’s over 600 lines long. I don’t think he expected me to recite as much as I did.
He was surprised. When he asked how I knew it, I said poetry was a passion, and I read it often in my free time. I must have made an impression—because a few days later, I received a job offer from the airline.
But the posting was in Guwahati, and that turned out to be a dealbreaker. At the time, there was considerable unrest there due to tensions between the local Assamese population and Bengali settlers. I raised my concern, and the European executive assured me I would need to stay only six months—he was due to leave India within that time and promised to ensure a posting in Kolkata before his departure.
Still, I perceived too much risk in relocating to Guwahati and ultimately turned down the offer. Even so, it gave me great confidence to have impressed a panel of senior interviewers at that young age.

(as narrated to Support Elders by our member)