Mistaken Identity

Anvita always believed in dressing well. Her saree would always be prim and proper, neatly pleated and pined against the blouse. She had 3 sarees which she would wear to work and each of them had a matching blouse which fit her perfectly. A simple gold chain ordained her neck and she wore golden loops in her ears. Even with the meager income and having a large family to fed, she would always ensure that she had a bath with soap, wore a clean saree and looked tidy. She tried instilling this sense of cleanliness amongst her three kids but given the broken down house amidst the slum area where they lived and the vicinity it was very difficult to teach them the tenants of tidiness.

They were never always this poor. She did study when she was young and her father wanted her to study more and earn for herself but things changed one fine day. Her father a railway guard died in a train accident. The whole family was shattered. The pension was meager and the mouths to feed were many. Anvita took it on her to earn for them, she would do odd jobs, try teaching some school kids and give whatever she could earn to her mother and her 4 brothers and sisters. To ease the burden, her mother did what most families in that situation would. She got Anvita married off to the village boy who had a job in the city. Things happened in a flurry since. The marriage, the dowry paid by her mother, the pleadings, bickering followed. Anvita knew that her escape lay in this disastrous marriage, she would go to the city, start a life and earn for herself.

The dream shattered very soon. On reaching the city she faced reality which appeared much severe than the village. The husband had lost his job a year back, he was living off some savings, the house was a rat hole- a one room behind the Kanpur station. There was hardly electricity ever, water had to be drawn and got everyday and the neighbours were noisy and jobless. Her husband sat at home the whole day and told her categorically that she needed to earn for them. This seemed ages ago now. She had toiled everyday, took up maid’ jobs in the quarters nearby, she did some stitching in her spare time and sometimes taught in the night school. Her family had now grown, she had managed to save up some money and they now lived in a cleaner two room premises. Her children went to school. Over time her husband started working for 10 odd days in month as a labourer and earned some money. Their lives were much better comparatively.

She felt the happiest pinning her saree and going to work at Mrs Tewari’s house. She was so nice, she always asked about her, gave her to eat and always encouraged her. She would keep her money with her and save up for the future.

It was one such day when Anvita had just entered Mrs.Tewari’s house. I will be back soon said Mrs Tewari and left the house. Anvita was in the kitchen and decided to finish the fries before shutting the door. Ji madame she said and continued with her task at hand. Glancing up she saw the apron hung in the kitchen wall. The oil was still simmering and she wandered towards the apron. She had always seen Mrs. Tewari wearing this while in the kitchen and curiously Anvita took it out and put it round her neck. Useful thing she thought, now no oil stains on her neatly starched saree as she continued frying the potatoes.


Hello is anyone there.. hello…….. came a voice. Anvita quickly ran out to see a young lady at the door. She opened the door ajar and started talking. Anivita started blurting that madame was out but this young lady was so excited, she started saying oh my what a beautiful house you have Mrs. Tewari, its so beautiful, I hope I did not disturb you, I am Alpana. She plonked on the sofa and smiled at Anvita saying that she and her family have just moved on the first floor and she has just come to meet the neighbors. Anvita again opened her mouth to clarify but Alpana started her story of her move, her family, the locality urging Anvita to join her. Anivita tried several times to interrupt her but gave up after a while. She sat down on the leather sofa, smiled back inquired about her, told her about her family and her neighborhood.

The afternoon went by and as Anvita lay in her bed at night. She wondered and smiled. She actually lived a different identity this afternoon and for the brief twenty minutes she forgot who she was, she forgot the tiredness, the problems and she was Mrs. Tewari at the railway quarters in Kanpur. It felt amazing to be able to converse with someone and not worry about a thing. Maybe she will never have this in life and maybe she will always be Anvita, the maid but for this brief time she lived the mistaken identity. If it was not for her circumstances she could be there, she could be her but she won’t , she can’t. She had come to terms with her reality ages ago but this one time in this make believe world made her feel very alive. The unlikely moment became possible at least once.. Maybe she would live her life on the surreal hope which the mistaken identity gave her…

Unchained

Sparkling against the sullen sun
Glistening and glimmering
Hurling forward in laziness

Stories forgotten
Mysteries untold
Moments lost

Gliding in splendor
Pausing gloriously
And then moving on

Unspoken words are heard
Unheard voices surround
Hurt and anguish beckon

Saying so much yet nothing
Wanting to be heard
The tears against the stained glass.

Etched in time

It was a relationship of sorts. It had been a long journey and we have never been apart. So many memories, moments glorious moments caught in time or just mundane glimpses rushed through my mind.

I glanced clutching thy hand with all my might. You muttered under your breath asking me to lift you up. I shook my head as my eyes were stung with my efforts to keep the tears at bay. You forced yourself up and stared at my moist eyes. We both knew it was time to bid farewell. It had been a memorable journey, we had shared, cried, learnt, unlearnt, lived, laughed and embraced life. You had taught me that at times it had to be about me, it had to be about oneself – things which were inexplicable. You had taught me to listen and march forward, you had taught me to be brave and often let me walk alone. I misjudged you and called you names. Often, I followed suit of where the masses took me but you always were my shadow- lurking behind and coaxing me to take the less trodden path.

There have been times I have hated your guts, they way you would make me listen to you. They way I would never listen to others and just trust your instinct. You know that by following your word, I have been hurt, bruised and so often broken. Those moments were the worst when I promised myself to close you out of my life, never letting anyone hurt me and never being so vulnerable but you always crept back in. You always showed me the softer facet to a circumstance and helped me re-believe. With time you ensured that there was no hurt and I could trust again.

And there were conflicts between you and the others where I tried to listen elsewhere. Each time I would try, you would be hurt, it was hardly ever simultaneous. I tried to walk the middle path at times listening to both but it never worked and you eventually succeeded in having your way.
I do not want to let you go. I do not want to walk alone. I need your comfort and I need you to guide me. You breathe even worse and the beats are less frequent. I can feel you walk away as I have to turn and face life all alone. .. seconds pass and the heart stops beating.

… I lie open eyed now. The doctor says the operation was successful, the heart transplant happened. He smiled and encouraged me. I wiped the lurking tear in my eye as only I knew that I had bid farewell to my companion- my heart. I was another person now, I had a new heart beating in me. Will it show me the way as before? Will I be guided by my heart and will I be my emotional self or will this heart be too weak for my strong mind?
An undying relationship etched in time- my heart and me!

taanth ghar

It was always an uncanny feeling when I climbed those long winding stairs. I would always turn back to call for Deeksha. She was the timid one but very curious. Deeksha would always show disinterest but I knew her curiosity would get the better of her. I paused for a minute on the last flight of stairs and turned around. I could see her slowly climbing the stairs and grumbling how futile our adventure would be. I giggled and urged her to run up the stairs. Slowly, we would open the taanth ghar and peep through the cobwebs, dust and blur. This was true adventure I told Deeksha just like famous five and secret seven- we could be the troublesome two! She merely grunted and stood quietly. But I could see the gleam in her eyes. Her desire to discover, to explore and to unravel the mysteries of the past was shining right through. We stepped inside the room filled with old vessels, bronze boxes, marble table tops, steel trunks piled on top of each other. We had so much to explore so much to see and we had the key.. the key to the taanth ghar.
The house was a treasure trove. Built in 1750’s it was an epic in itself, every corner had some memory, some story of its own. The house of my great- great grandfather where multitude of families, lived and grew together. We came each summer and we would be thrilled with all the games we could play and each time we would discover something new. Our grandparents would pamper us with all the special dishes, sweets and chocolates. We could watch our favourite cartoons and we were also allowed to sleep late. Deekhsa always loved to hear dadu telling us the stories of the era gone by when the house was bustling with activities- stories where the family would go hunting into the sunderban or where the house had its own poultry, cows and even peacocks. We would always gape for more stories and ask him many questions which dadu would patiently answer. I would love to peep at didu cooking our favourite fish in mustard and fry our crispy aloo bhaja while we nibbled on the food. She would shoo us away saying we would fill our stomach before lunch. The summer holidays were such a treasure, Deeksha would play house and line up all the dolls and toys which have been played with by generations. She would arrange the tiny wooden furniture which dadu had crafted for us. I would be prancing around in the little wooden toy horse which stood in the corner of the long corridor. I would be curious to try and hold the air gun which was kept to scare the monkeys. I would ask dadu to tell me if there were any secret passages in the house, any treasure hidden, stories of deceit, anger and hate while Deeksha would calmly listen to the happy stories of brides coming into the house at the age of seventeen and learning to cook and take charge of the house. We were poles apart and yet together. We would argue and disagree and I would always win over Deeksha. I could yell louder, jump higher and cry myself hoarse. I got heard and I made sure I always did. Deeksha let me have my way, she loved me too much.
I still remember that fateful summer. The summer of 1988, where we had our 10th birthday celebration. I remember the cake was specially ordered from Fluris it was a large cake in the shape of a sun flower for us. Ma said it symbolized us Deeksha and Disha and she sang for us … “as the sunflower that follows every movement of the sun… so I turn towards you.. to follow you my lord……”. She said our names symbolized the path of the future and we were like sun flowers always bright and sunny like the sun. I for one loved the colour of my cake and Deeksha was too busy adjusting the yellow bow on her head. I could not wait to open my presents and play. It was perfect, everyone sang and hugged us. We got so many presents. I just loved birthdays. I kept hunting for Dadu’s gift to us but there was none. I did not show my disappointment but I was hurt. After everyone was gone and we were put to bed, there was a knock on the door. Deeksha opened the door and there was dadu. He came and sat by our bed side and smiled his peaceful smile. He asked whether we were wondering about his gift. I said –of course not, we had enough gifts. Deeksha remained silent as she often did. He held our hands in his and gave us a wrapped packet. I was smiling- trust dadu to be all adventurous. He was super. I jumped to open it and saw an old diary… almost tattered with handwritten pages. He smiled and said – girls, this is your great grand father’s diary- here he wrote everything about the house, the daily activities and the untold secrets. He said here are all your questions and here are all your answers. Keep it safe. I hugged him and Deeksha glanced at him and muttered a thanks. I knew what she would be thinking – more adventure, more secrets and I would drag her in this journey of discovery.
I was gleeful with excitement. Here I had the treasure map, the key to answers- wow! I woke up early and jumped on Deeksha telling her the plan for the day. I had already read a few pages and there was one part of the house we had to see.. the taanth ghar. I told her the dairy described it as the place where sarees were woven but it was later on used for storing various things. It had a cupboard full of goodies which people had used over the years. The diary said I read out to her …….
“…. It’s a room where you will either discover yourself or loose yourself … but you will meet your true self…”
I told her our great grand father must be wanting to sound mysterious but we must find all the treasures. Deeksha paused, I have never seen her like this.. She asked me to repeat those lines and she closed her eyes and breathed heavily. She glanced at me after a long pause and said don’t you see Disha he wants us to find us. I looked at her with a perplexed expression. My weird sister. I told her just come and we will strike gold………

The taanth ghar ‘s door was old and rusty. It creaked when we opened it and we stopped to see the historical mess of decades of things piled together. The reluctance which Deeksha had shown on the stairs vanished, it was like she was someone else as she floated around the room, browsing through the shelves, touching the vessels. I found an exciting looking old hunter and I was testing it around. Deeksha had opened the huge cupboard and though covered with dust she looked around as if hunting for something. I was bending over to pull out the pile of toys hidden underneath the bed when I heard a shriek. I jumped and turned.. It was Deeksha- she was holding a dagger and there was a gleam in her eyes. She was chanting and saying something. I rushed to her for the first time feeling scared. My timid sister was not herself. Deeksha looked at me, there was a peace in her eyes and I will never forget that moment where she glanced at me and smiled. She said…

“Disha- in this room we find ourselves, but to find you I loose me and to find me I loose you.. We are together yet apart, we are separate yet one.. find yourself Disha.. find your disha.. find me.. find me in you……”

I told her Deeksha stop it you are scaring me. I yelled for ma, dadu and didu..Noone heard me as she plunged the dagger into her heart, as she fell , as she silently lay there.. I stood struck … I stood pale.. It was like time had stopped for me.. I faced death..

I wake up abruptly as the matron pushes my chair to the courtyard.. I had fallen asleep again. It must be dinner time now and then I have to finish the sweater I was knitting. Rishi and Neena were to visit me tomorrow. The matron said I was looking better and healthier. I smiled at her. She inquired whether I got any nightmares again. I answered silently that I have dreams. I glance at the setting sun and I still see the gleam of the dagger, the words still echo in my ears. Fifty years and I can still feel her. They say there was no Deeksha, they say it was me and my mind, they say my alter ego created a dual personality. But, it can’t be.. she was there, she was my blood, my other half, my sister.. she was Deeksha.. In loosing her I lost myself.. Whatever they say I know.. She was there and she was mine as I dose off, the book falls on the ground and the page reads…..
“It’s a room where you will either discover yourself or loose yourself … but you will meet your true self’………

words

Who said it is all about grand words
And thought provoking visions
Who said it is about life changing ideas
Or challenging a societal norm

It need not always be verbose
May not be difficult
It shall never be similar
And need not be incomprehensible

It will have a few things
Will always have meaning
It will be a culmination of thoughts
A repository of notions

The more I see the more I believe
That it is always an experience
It is always an expression
And it shall always speak

Turning through pages of poetry
I see notions, ideas and often hurt
But I always see a soul
which makes every word so alive

Catharsis

A wondrous moment, a flutter of emotions and a bundle of questions defined the moment.

Hesitatingly I dragged myself out of bed on a Sunday morning and got ready. Today was the big day, the day I was to meet Guruji. Who might be this, you may wonder. My dear friend and ardent believer in Guruji had tried to convince me for much time now, about Guruji. She kept telling me about the catharsis in one’s thoughts on meeting him and how life changes. I, being the logical me refused to believe any such thing. All Guru’s are a sham, I told her. It is pointless to convince me because I do not want anyone telling me how to lead my life and what all I am doing wrong. I am very much capable of doing that, thank you very much.

The attempted brain washes continued for six months, many fell on deaf ears and many I nodded furiously whilst laughing in my mind. Guruji decided to visit on what happened to be the coldest day in Delhi. Jessica, my dear friend’s happiness knew no bounds on that news. She immediately cornered me and resorted to every possible method in the book or even outside the book to make me agree to meet him. To avoid the constant nagging, I agreed.

Now we come back to the cold winter morning, where I sat in my car cursing myself, at having agreed to meet Guruji at 7:00am on a Sunday!! I consoled myself by deciding to sleep through the preaching and get back home to my warm bed.

The crowd was enormous, it was like a concert night where people waited patiently to catch a glimpse of the idol. Jessica with her press pass managed to get inside the building dragging me with her. We waited and soon Guruji stepped out. He was wearing a white kurta with a loose dhoti and looked very handsome, I must admit. He sat down and smiled. There was something very serene about him. This made me uncomfortable, I was not supposed to like him. He would soon begin preaching, I said to myself frowning. He started casually asking our names and what we do.

When my turn came, he smiled even more and asked why I was worrying so much, I should let things be and learn to let go, forgive myself .. it is not your fault, he said. I was furious, I mean – seriously, he does not even know me. Gulping down my anger especially with Jessica gesturing me, I sat down and frowned even more.

He spoke for an hour after that, about life, about people, about the political developments and cracked multitude of jokes which got me to smile and giggle a couple of times. His talk was very non- preachy, he spoke with much ease and spoke as if he were speaking to each of us individually. In his discussions about the nuclear power and environment, it seemed like he was talking about every day incidents of our lives, our fears, our problems, our insecurities. The answers were latent but were direct, were about unrelated issues but very related to us. I saw myself hearing attentively and nodding at several places. A couple of times he looked at me and spoke. The feeling was very unexplainable. Just when we were leaving, he patted my head and said “My child, make peace with yourself and its all within you.” On any given day I would have frowned and reacted but I was spell bound and caught in the moment that day.

Later, as I drove home, I opened the window and enjoyed the cool breeze against my face. I smiled at passers-by and I felt on top of the world. His voice echoed in head –“ our lives are not determined by what happens to us but by how we react to what happens, Not by what life brings to us, but by the attitude we bring to life. Give and don't expect. Advise, but don't order. Ask, but never demand.” I looked back at various instances of my life where my attitude, my reactions, my expectations caused me much hurt but what I failed to see till date was there was a big “my” before each of that.

That cold dreary winter day changed my life in many ways… It made me change my attitude towards myself, life and everything. It was a catharsis of sorts and to this very day, I can relive that day, as if it were just yesterday and every time something goes wrong, I revisit Guruji in my heart and mind.

Something in my coffee

Today there was an unknown feeling
Whilst entering the Coffee Pot
Pausing a step before the door
I tried to analyze the feeling
The Coffee Pot was a daily ritual
Then why the unfamiliarity today
I entered through the bright shiny door
The bell tinkered with my step
Looking around, I tried to spot my corner
Bright yellow checkered table
Sparkling gerberas beckoned me warmly
I sat staring at the bustle of penny lane
Amelia smiled warmly rushing to get my usual
I sat and pondered why the fuzz in my head
Why the uneasiness in my familiar space
My steaming cappuccino made me grin sheepishly
Amelia inquired why I looked lost
I stirred my coffee and tried to read my mind
Today there were flashes of speculation in my coffee
Today there was a lack of sang-froid
The Coffee Pot seemed far away from where I was
I tried not to admit that maybe I had overgrown my coffee
Today I had to face the fact
Moving from my home town to New York wasn’t the same
Today I guess I had to grow up and sip the reality
Which was staring at me in my coffee

You can work it out

So, Deepa came to me weeping furiously. Yet another fight I thought. She plopped herself down on the chair in front of me sniffing and muttering between the sniffs. I handed the tissue box to her and passed her some water. It was 11 am on a Wednesday not the best time for my boss to see me doing girl talk. I meekly went up and shut the door.

Deepa continued sobbing and grabbed tissue after tissue. After about two minutes of the sobbing silence, I asked – “deepa, you want to tell me what happened?” Hysterically Deepa started speaking and in between sobs and sniffs I could understand are as follows:
· I don’t understand men
· What do they want
· Why are they always creating issues over non issues
· What’s the point of being together if all we can do is fight
· I don’t want to continue like this.

Oh and she also slipped in the fact as to how lucky I was not to have a man in my life to deal with all this on a regular basis. Deepa was engaged to Amit. They seemed really happy and things were going on fine. One fine day these fights started and non issues became issues, frivolous stuff became larger than life and what they used to love about each other became problems. A story of every couple, I thought.

I wondered- “What does it take for two people to be happy?, why is that all couples start all great and amazing and sooner than later regular mundane issues take precedence, tempers fly, impatience creeps in. Each one wants to change the other for their need. Why??? Did you not choose to be together because you liked the differences and in no time you want to change the person to what is acceptable to you?

My mind wandered and I worried about various things- are their really two people who are meant to be together? How do u resolve issues which cause friction- do you sleep over it and let it pass? Or you discuss it but do these discussions lead to any conclusion? Two people are bound to differ and one has to accept the differences but as human beings we can’t. We can’t accept and we can’t let go. We hold on to things which can be brushed aside by a hug or maybe a blind eye but the wet towel on the floor, the scattering of shoes, the food items for dinner become bones of contention. Why?? I would think that a couple can change a bit for each other and accept the rest of the differences but easier said than done. Overtime, the real person hidden behind the courtship period emerges and rigidity sets in. I had no answers to any of these questions for myself or for Deepa. “You can work it out” is all I could tell her!!

Maybe a few rules would help as and when I do find my special someone-

· Never sleep over a fight
· Have your own world- do your own thing, have your space
· Learn to ignore a couple of things/remarks/comments/ situations (however, this can work only if the other person does the same)
· Don’t discuss every single contention and over rationalize so much so that you make an issue where there is none. Sometimes a blind eye, counting to 10 or just a hug solves things
· Accept the differences- its good. (mutual acceptance is the key)
· Learn to let go- never keep things to your heart
· Apologize even if it not your mistake

No one is made for each other but you take the good things and sort the rest. Its going to be a trail and error method and soon a couple will become attuned to each other. However, the change is a phase and it will happen over a period of time. Nothing is easy and relationships are definitely not so do a few things and over time probably it will be worth it, maybe not that day but when you look back these small things will make the big difference.

Oh! In the meanwhile I consoled Deepa. Amit had called and sent her flowers. She was smiling at an sms when my train of thoughts ceased. I could not help but smile. Relationships… .. there will always be the devil on one side and deep sea on the other and meanwhile we can just walk the line!

bhola

The fields were green in the rains, the breeze was so fresh. I could almost hear myself gasp as I tried taking in the fresh air. The pitter patter of the rain drops sounded like music and the hush of the trees added that beat to the glorious nature melody. I skipped and ran across the greens. The roaring in my tummy told me its lunch time. Running home I looked forward to the helping of rice and maybe there would be some steamed potatoes today well mashed with some mustard oil, onions and chilies. If I got real lucky there might be some ghee too. I ran even faster and suddenly I fell into the ditch which I failed to see. A loud jarring noise followed. I sat up realizing that my dream was shattered and my reality was far from the greens and the breeze. I wiped my face and my neck which was wet with the perspiration of the hot and humid night. I jumped out of bed the moment realizing that a brief delay in answering the bell would result in some remarks from memsahib.

It was barely 6 am and my reality of serving the household of 2 at Greater Kailash II, New Delhi had just sunk in. The garbage collection boy frowned as I opened the door saying “kya, itna time lagta hai darwaja kholne mein !” (Does it take so long to open the door?). I meekly handed the garbage to him. In my second year in the capital, I realized after many hard lessons that smiling at people, thanking them, expecting them to smile back never helped. No one ever was pleasant without a motive so it was better to just be elusive.

The mornings were always a hurricane. Between 6 am to 9 am when the house hold left, I had to get breakfast ready, pack Tiffin (2 different ones), finish sweeping and moping the house etc. I rushed around the kitchen. I knew the tiffin was the tough part, Memsaheb tool 3 roti’s, one bowl of vegetables, a dal, curd, salad. Saab never liked the staple diet as he liked variety and craved over chicken which memsahib never let him eat. She would keep saying eat healthy, look at yourself, you need to be in shape. I sneaked a bit of the dry chicken from the night before, dal, sabji in his tiffin. The tiffin’s were ready and lined up near the exit. The breakfast was simple- cereal (some fancy thing in a box called Kellogg’s, it seemed an awful waste of money. I could have made daliya for a year with that money), fruits (3-4 kinds all neatly cut up), milk, toast and sometimes if they asked an egg.

I could hear the shuffles in the room inside around 8 am. I finished cleaning the house and laid the table. Saab and memsahib ate well and cribbed about the ac not working for an hour. They asked me how I slept. I replied that I slept well and never felt the load shedding. Memsahib instructed me on the items to be cooked for the night.

BY 9 am I was home alone. I loved this part of the day. All the time was mine, I cleaned the house, dusted the rooms, washed the clothes, ironed the earlier day’s clothes. By 1 am I was done. I had my meal of rice, dal and aloo and lay down for an afternoon nap. I had to go buy the vegetables in the evening and I would cook dinner. I knew no one would return before 8 pm. They went to some gym to work out ( I always wondered why not walk in the open air, run, play rather than going to another closed place and use big heafty machines) and came back all exhausted. They would eat dinner post 9 pm and sleep after 12 pm. These were my days. There were a little different days where some people were called, then there would be more cooking then there would be days where they would not eat at home and there would be no cooking.

My life was simple. I felt grateful, I could send money home every month, I could save up for my family back in Orissa. I had little or no demands, I was fed and I had shelter in this household and the work was not too much. I knew of people from my village who had to toil for hours endlessly to earn even Rs. 500. I felt privileged. There was a lot of money in Delhi, the family had a lavish lifestyle, they had two cars, spent a lot on eating out ( I have seen shocking bills of Rs.5000 left in clothes given for washing ), shopped but they were kind people who never yelled or troubled me without reason.

I looked forward to my yearly break when I would go back to my village, amidst the lush green place and enjoy the breeze. I sighed as I put on the fan and sat on the floor. I knew another day would go by and another and soon months would pass. I felt blessed, I saw the complications of the lives people led here- money, power, pressure, health, competition, expenses… the needs and the ends were endless. When did life get so complicated I felt. I lived my cycle everyday, I was content and I served with a happy heart. I wish that my contentment would reflect in the family too and they would find some solace in their complicated lives. If only they could be content, if only they could stop running and live… just live by being bhola for a day.. dream of the green fields and look forward to one bowl of fresh rice… I dared not say that but I smiled more.. I helped more.. I tried more.. I hope someday my acquired family at GK (as they call it here) understands the meaning of living… simply living….n being content about it..

The door bell rang at 6 am.. another day … for bhola was just about to begin………

Till we meet again………

We go back a long way. You have always been there for me, my soul rests with you. Yet I have not written to you for long. My mind is juggling several thoughts, the ink is drying up and the scrolls remain bare. Joyousness in its bounty has taken over and frivolity is overpowering. Then I should write more to you, you say? Share with me those moments in your mind, let me dance with you in the oh so melodious chant…

I stare blankly.. overpowered with emotions and thoughts. Maybe I am skeptical about sharing my joy, maybe I am superstitious, maybe I am just in my own exclusive world. It’s a whirlwind of things which swerve in my mind, its happiness personified, its anxiousness un controlled, its hopelessly hopeful. I wish I could share my journey with you… sigh! How I wish..

I close my diary and consoling it say.. sometimes my dear diary, word’s are not enough and I am glad to be in one of the times!

We shall part to meet soon where I take you with me on this journey…. Till then…

Roots

Invigorating from the first step
Reciting volumes of history
The clickety of the cobbled roads
Endless charm of the memorial
Smell of gastronomy all around
Engulfed by the constant chatter
The comforting chaos surrounds you
Even if the screeching cabbies zoom by
The debates on soccer and world politics
Yet a comfort in the way of life


The luscious green on the rains
Lal mati of the countryside
The eccentric intelligentsia of the mind
With a bold step of culture in one’s stride
Quoting history in every breath
The city still bound in time
Sounds of music in every household
Redefining creativity in every step


Bamboo, wood or paper never molded this way
Creating structures of divinity
Touching euphoria in the dhaki sound
Broadest grin across the ageless family it brings
The sumptuous food which binds one and all
And the in explainable “areektu” serving

I mesmerize in childlike glee
Wondering constantly
The vagaries of the glorious state
Never lived did I but I feel I did
The guiding invisible hand for many years
Today defines what is truly me

Your Music and My Lyrics

Life has its ways always
Its when unexpected things hit you on an idle day
Is when you realize the endless nuances it offers

You meet people for a reason they say
Some for a season and some for a lifetime
But always for a reason.. n mostly the reason being u

Some add music to your moments
Making you float high for a few days
Some add the tune which you want to hum for a while

Few add music to your lyrics
Meaning to your song
And even fewer sing along with you

Life reinforces disbelief and strange belief
When one meets such people
Making you ride on the sounds of music

I wonder if its for a season or seasons or longer
But I am glad to have sung my heart out
At the song we created together

On a day like today

The droplets sparkle and glisten
I wonder if its for a reason

The clouds in their resplendent glory
Speak their very own story

The wind uplifts my soul
Adding a spring to my sole

The rumbling skies and the cloudy haze
Turns the mundane alive and ablaze

The rain, winds and clouds gives me serenity
Showing the holy trinity

Nature seems to be beckoning its way
On a day like today…

Sigh… on a day like today

The Tempest

The fragrance unfolds, drapes and engulfs the room
As I slowly glance up
The view is hazy due to the storm
The rain lashes on incessantly
The constant murmur only beckons silence to my ears
The aroma of the flowers reverberates
The tempest unfurls both within and around
I see rain in my eyes, the storm in my head
As I stare blankly at his posthumous portrait.

The Forbidden Summer

Summer was always exciting. It meant the summer break, mangoes, longer evenings to play cricket, fly kites, the rattling comforting cooler and of course all the yum food. The planning would always begin in advance. The gang would meet weeks before the summer vacations were declared. Plans would be made as to where we would meet, what new adventure would we indulge in and cricket scores were heavily discussed and debated.

This year seemed no different as we excitedly ran across the play ground and came to our favorite spot. It was a well covered hide out behind a few trees and shrubs where the gang would meet. I was on time but of course there was Amit who always reached before everyone. Neel shuffled in soon followed by Rags (short for Raghuveer) and Gags (short for Gagan). Gags was the serious sort who joined us for cricket but would always worry about his grades and homework. He sat down in the corner adjusting his over sized glasses. Amit had conjured a board from somewhere and he scribbled “agenda” on it. Usual suggestions of cricket, more cricket, foot ball followed. Amit began listing the various options when we all heard a meek voice. We all looked around surprised to see Gags speak up. “Lets try something different this year”, he said. “We always do the usual games but why not something innovative- we could try selling something, do something noble or creative or maybe ….. try going up to the woods!” said Gags slowly looking around.

A big gasp followed… “the woods… the woods”. Gags had uttered the sacred word and to think that he could say something like that. Amit was speechless. I gave him a glare and said “… Why Gags? You know we are not supposed to.. even mention the word”. Gags looked up and settled his glasses… “Why not? .. We always speak about doing something adventurous and fun. This is real adventure and in this area what more exciting thing can be than to explore the WOODS!”. Amidst the fear there was a sense of excitement to discuss the forbidden and even dream about doing something outrageous. A long silence followed.
“We should do it Guys!” said I looking around for reassurance. Rags nodded profusely chewing some gum. Neel seemed blank but Amit refused loudly. A lot of yelling followed....

TO BE CONT....

My Color Palette

Flashes of speculation
During days of time
Clouding my thoughts
And often coloring them

The mind churns
whirlwind of emotions
a state of frantic rush
and often very peaceful

I ride on the constant tide
Balancing on the edge
As the flashes of color pass by
I clutch my paint brush tightly

Grihini

The fish always smelled when Mitali put her hand in the endearing plastic bag , known for carrying quantities of fish every Sunday. Sunday was a given day for the home to be loaded with goodies for the week. Vegetables of all shapes, sizes but all in bulk quantity were brought in. The anaj (veg) for shukto(a special veg bengali dish), patol, bhindi, gobhi, saag were staring at her . However, the fish always reigned the day, there was rohu, katla, choto mach (kinds of fish) and on some days there would be Hilsa. She sighed as she saw her kitchen filling up with numerous raw materials. Mitali was seen as the converter of the raw materials into the mouth watering goodies which the family would enjoy.

She had just finished sorting out the things into neat piles when a clatter of footsteps were heard. "Tia" (her dak/pet name) yelled a loud voice. Tia quickly settled her saree above her head and answered. The lady of the house, the mother in law, the sovereign swept in with all the glory befitting her. She plunged on the settee and started fanning herself furiously. She said “Ki goroom, baba go.. uff.. Tia .. eto bajar esche, aajake kaka kakima ra ashmbe ar amar khokon bhishon roga hoi jachae, char-panch rokom er ranna koro. Sorse Elish, tilapia mach, posto, macher bora, chorchori, shukto, dal, saag.. ektu bhaja bhuji ar kheer baneo. Thakur ke diye mishit doi aneyo neyo.” (It so hot… uff.. Tia.. so many things have come, today relatives are coming over and look how thin my son is becoming. Cook 4-5 items including Hilsa, two kinds of fish, 3 vegetables, dal and kheer and get Thakur to get misti dahi)

She seized her string of instructions and started moving the vegetables around. Tia glanced meekly at the time and realized she needed a miracle to produce all these items in such short notice without any flaws. She could almost hear herself gasp but could not let anyone see her like that. She started the herculean task of preparing the feast where she would have to toil from 7 am to 12:30 pm, get ready , serve the entire household and the guests, clear up after them and then maybe eat a few morsels. In her heart she worried that she should be able to cook all these items and have them ready on time, she knew her husband liked her cooking but she worried about what Ma (mom in law) would say even if she found less salt or any minor deviation.

Tia remembered as a kid when she had examinations to give how she would worry about what she would write and the result. It was reassuring however as her mom always assured her that marks or no marks she would get married and her role was to satisfy her husband and his family. She would have to devote her life for them even if she would get no praises or welcoming remarks. She thought she was lucky, her in laws did not abuse her, she had some time to herself in the afternoons and the time she had for herself she wrote. She enjoyed writing about frivolous things and her mind wandered to the sheets of paper with scribbles of Bengali lying at the bottom of the trunk. That was her escape, her life within her existence, the freedom within the walls.

Time ticked as she toiled towards completion. Thankfully, Thakur and Bhola , the help of the house lent a helping hand and the food was ready by12:15 pm. Tia quickly bathed and drapped the saree in a typical Bengali style, the wet hair dripping on her back, she smeared sindoor on the parting of her hair and made a round bindi on her forehead. The guests arrived and sat cross legged on the mats across the long verandah. Tia graciously welcomed them by touching their feet. The serving followed, everyone chattered and ate noisly. Few said the food was good. She looked up at Ma for any reassurance or praise. Nothing was said or gestured. She noticed her husband ate well and that made her smile

Tia began to settle the kitchen after the afternoon fiasco and ate a few bits towards late afternoon. Noone asked for her after, no one inquired on whether she ate. She was used to it, she enjoyed her own company and could not wait to get away to her room as she knew the afternoon talks would continue till she would be called to serve tea.

Running upstairs, she sat fanning herself against the window. The scrolls of paper rolled on the bed and she sat down to write. She wrote today of what she cooked and how people ate. She wrote about the day .. and she wrote about her world. She dared not dream more than that. This was her world, in whatever defined limits she was in charge here. She controlled some part of the household. She was the Grihini.

As she day dreamed gazing at the noisy street across the lane wondering life beyond this pakmara lane. "Tia………." yelled ma.. "chaaa koi?" (where’s the tea”). Tia rudely woke up and ran down. The Grihini lived on in her world, secure in the existence carved out for her, protected and provided, alone yet hopeful, free yet bound but still very alive. The spirit lived on.

Its not a myth!

Some days stick to your memory as if you relive that day, that moment every day. It began with that frosty glare across the room. The tenacity and the meaning in those eyes was in explainable. In the frosty glare and the stiff upper lip, there was a world of mystery waiting to be discovered, a surge of emotions and silent words. I remember trying to steal many glances and hoping to draw some attention but the path seemed snowed in. The brief moment seemed an eternity. It had tales of fortitude, of unforeseen passion. It had pain and pleasure, mystery and clarity, aloof and near, it was painstakingly familiar and known.

The moment replayed in my mind. You seemed to be on it and the our brief interlude was glorious. I knew you felt it too.. you felt the mystery .. you felt the connection. People would wonder how so brief a look could have such results. I never expected this too. The moment etched in my mind and at some level freed it. The tainted glass seemed clearer and I felt re- born. It was an amazing feeling of familiarity amidst the masses, a connect one finds in another being who is part of this magnanimous life. It made no sense to me and also seemed very sensible. Oxymoronic to the core.

You rekindled a lot of things that night.. you made me believe again.. in moments, in people and above all in miracles. The journey ahead is much more exciting as my mind is ready to absorb more and ready to trust again.. Its not a myth anymore.. It’s a miracle of a moment and I owe it to you.

ICU

Staring mysteriously with an enchanted gaze
The droplets seemed like dew on the moorish patch
Currants in black shone through
The mysticism in the mauve was oozing

The lift was gentle and generous
The placing on the edge was perfect
I temptingly stretched my hand
Smilingly I bit into my "black currant" ice cream.

Passer-by

The letter lay crumpled in a heap of papers. The sobbing continued to soak her sleeves but never seized. The barriers were finally broken. The cries grew louder and the breathing became heavy. For any passer-by the heart would wrench at her cries. As the time ticked, the passer-bys moved on and the cries abated abruptly. She slowly rose and bent down to pick up the crumpled paper. Ironing out the letter she held it up to her chest and gaspingly uttered- “I will live.. I have so much more time.. the tests (she sniffed) the tests were negative….”. I walked on wondering that the deafening cries of happiness was overwhelming and scarier than sadness. Unexpected happiness and sudden plight of sadness evokes unforeseen emotions … She huddled by me and the passer-by’s moved on. Life has its ways I thought.