Showing posts with label longing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label longing. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 06, 2011
The Letter
The story of a middle class family told over a letter. I wrote a 'long story' after a very, very long time and the sense of relief when I finished it was awesome! A story that's very close to my heart too. I know I have been missing in action on this blog for a while - even more so from stories point of view. So, here's something to make up for that. Read the story here.
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Untitled
I don’t know why I think of you so much even now when you have gone so far away, when fate had decided long back that we wouldn’t be together. I remember you with every song that I hear, every breath I take and every sight I see – I still think that it would have been so lovely if you had been by my side. I whisper your name every other instant, with no particular purpose; it escapes me unconsciously just like the breath I take. I write poems thinking of you. I even dance with you in the realms of my imagination. Remember that night when we had danced secretly in the dimly lit corner of the street we lived in? I still think of that. I think of your smile, your assuring voice, your gentle gaze and feel the warmth of your grasp as vividly as I had felt it the last time you ever held my hand. I still love you for the fact that you loved me beyond my famed eccentricities.
I am lost in the past. Do you even have a clue? The world would surely see me as a lunatic – a love-lost-lunatic steeped in a past that has withered away to obscurity - if not for the effectiveness with which I cloak this supposed insanity with my role as a writer. What do they know? I live on clutching the bag of priceless memories.
I try to imagine how you would look now. But my imagination fails me miserably. My imagination, it appears, only aids the birth of the written word but not the sight of your face. It’s only memory that roars like a ferocious lion, sending imagination whimpering into a dim corner. Try how much ever, I see your face every time the way I saw it last.
Let me tell you about the biggest paradox of my life. The last time I saw you – it’s been so long; so long that a child practising counting with fingers would grow tired of counting. 27 – that was all you were when you left me. Four years– that was all the time we had lived for as a married couple. And then, you just left – left me as simply as a tender dew that slips off a blade of grass just as it is meant to do in the large framework of destiny. Well, the paradox is that my dear, with every passing minute, the years have counted up, but you have only grown closer to me and have come so close that my words fail to describe.
The truth is perhaps that you have dissolved within me as pure, unadulterated thoughts.
And for no strange reason, I want to title this untitled piece ’80 and still in love’.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Amritavarshini
Amritavarshini. You would hardly hear anybody calling me by my full name. The last time I think I heard that myself was when my class teachers took our daily attendance back in school. I am Varshini to my dad, Amrita to my neighbours, Varshee to some of my friends, Amy to few others, Varshu to my cousins, and Ammu to my mom. Ammu – would Siddarth have called me that way?
Siddarth – all I know of him is what I have heard from my parents and my aunts and uncles. Are you surprised when I tell you that I didn’t know of him till I was ten years old? He was like a little box of chocolates hidden away from me; a treasure that remained oblivious till I was deemed fit to be told about it.
It was on December 19 1996, when mom pulled me into the dining room, as I returned from school and threw my bags carelessly on the sofa. I still remember that day so vividly, in all its detail, as if it had happened yesterday. There was a cake with a single, lonely candle, glowing serenely. And my, what did I catch in the light of that candle? It was the photograph of a sweet, chubby face, with such innocent eyes, the photograph of a boy with lovely curls.
I saw Siddarth for the first time in my life, heard of him for the first time during his 20th birthday, 20th if he had been around, with mom, dad, with me. My mom spoke of a brother that I had, a child they had till five years before I was born, a precious child they lost in an accident when they sent him with his grandparents for a vacation.
Somehow, I didn’t pester my mom for details. But I burned with curiosity to know more about my brother, who had drifted away like a beautiful feather, back to God, who wanted him back so badly. How would he have looked? How would he have handled his little sister when she got all the attention that he had received by all means, earlier, exclusively for himself? Would he have flung her new doll to the corner, scribbled with a sketch pen all over its face? Or would he have kissed her gently, stealthily, when mom put her to sleep and disappeared into the kitchen? Would he have run away to grab his share of mom’s lap when the princess slept in her cradle?
What are these questions that remain answered even today? Tormenting figments of imagination, that’s what they are – when one remains clueless about what would have happened, if what happened hadn’t happened.
Siddarth was all but five when he left my parents. I think of my mom now. How many times I would have nagged her as to why I didn’t have a sibling! Why should I be the only one? Oh, how many times I have bothered her! Where would she have buried her face and cried then? My heart feels heavy, like a rock tied to the end of a thread; so heavy with guilt. Don’t give me reasons – you were afterall a kid and anyway, you didn’t know what happened. I tell you, this feeling is beyond any human reasoning.
My brother I hear, was so naughty, that his eyes forever sparkled with innocent mischief – like those of khannaiyah. My aunts tell me that he was one among them, more than belonging to his generation. He used to claim to be Lord Krishna himself and talked all sorts of things, like what big men do, for he declared that he was a big boy when he was four! Another of my aunts fondly recollects that he said he would marry her, when he finished college. The many beautiful facets of a small child that never saw light.
These are like pieces of a puzzle for me. I gather them all together to get the bigger picture, of a brother whom I have grown to love more with every passing day, a brother with whom I wish I could spend at least one day. Sometimes, I sit by the sea, smiling to myself as I let my imagination run loose. How we would have built a castle out of sand, together; how we would have taken sides with mom and dad, and laughed a great deal in the end, together; how we would have shared secrets and sealed our mouths and fooled her, together; together, together, together. I am a lonely dreamer who dreams of us being together. I am Ammu, who became Amritavarshini because Siddarth once said his baby sister would be called Amritavarshini, years before I was born. He lives no more to see it, and I live as an impression of what my brother once uttered – as a fragment of memory called Siddarth.
Siddarth – all I know of him is what I have heard from my parents and my aunts and uncles. Are you surprised when I tell you that I didn’t know of him till I was ten years old? He was like a little box of chocolates hidden away from me; a treasure that remained oblivious till I was deemed fit to be told about it.
It was on December 19 1996, when mom pulled me into the dining room, as I returned from school and threw my bags carelessly on the sofa. I still remember that day so vividly, in all its detail, as if it had happened yesterday. There was a cake with a single, lonely candle, glowing serenely. And my, what did I catch in the light of that candle? It was the photograph of a sweet, chubby face, with such innocent eyes, the photograph of a boy with lovely curls.
I saw Siddarth for the first time in my life, heard of him for the first time during his 20th birthday, 20th if he had been around, with mom, dad, with me. My mom spoke of a brother that I had, a child they had till five years before I was born, a precious child they lost in an accident when they sent him with his grandparents for a vacation.
Somehow, I didn’t pester my mom for details. But I burned with curiosity to know more about my brother, who had drifted away like a beautiful feather, back to God, who wanted him back so badly. How would he have looked? How would he have handled his little sister when she got all the attention that he had received by all means, earlier, exclusively for himself? Would he have flung her new doll to the corner, scribbled with a sketch pen all over its face? Or would he have kissed her gently, stealthily, when mom put her to sleep and disappeared into the kitchen? Would he have run away to grab his share of mom’s lap when the princess slept in her cradle?
What are these questions that remain answered even today? Tormenting figments of imagination, that’s what they are – when one remains clueless about what would have happened, if what happened hadn’t happened.
Siddarth was all but five when he left my parents. I think of my mom now. How many times I would have nagged her as to why I didn’t have a sibling! Why should I be the only one? Oh, how many times I have bothered her! Where would she have buried her face and cried then? My heart feels heavy, like a rock tied to the end of a thread; so heavy with guilt. Don’t give me reasons – you were afterall a kid and anyway, you didn’t know what happened. I tell you, this feeling is beyond any human reasoning.
My brother I hear, was so naughty, that his eyes forever sparkled with innocent mischief – like those of khannaiyah. My aunts tell me that he was one among them, more than belonging to his generation. He used to claim to be Lord Krishna himself and talked all sorts of things, like what big men do, for he declared that he was a big boy when he was four! Another of my aunts fondly recollects that he said he would marry her, when he finished college. The many beautiful facets of a small child that never saw light.
These are like pieces of a puzzle for me. I gather them all together to get the bigger picture, of a brother whom I have grown to love more with every passing day, a brother with whom I wish I could spend at least one day. Sometimes, I sit by the sea, smiling to myself as I let my imagination run loose. How we would have built a castle out of sand, together; how we would have taken sides with mom and dad, and laughed a great deal in the end, together; how we would have shared secrets and sealed our mouths and fooled her, together; together, together, together. I am a lonely dreamer who dreams of us being together. I am Ammu, who became Amritavarshini because Siddarth once said his baby sister would be called Amritavarshini, years before I was born. He lives no more to see it, and I live as an impression of what my brother once uttered – as a fragment of memory called Siddarth.
Friday, November 17, 2006
To each one, a tale..
Sai was clutching his tummy and almost rolling over the floor. Well, laughing. Anybody who didn’t see his face would easily assume that he was having a fit of spasms. His hehehes and hahahas reminded me of a monstrous but cute creature like Shrek, guffawing at a joke that may be only he found utterly amusing.
“Sai,” I called. He was too busy laughing to pay any attention to me.
“Saaaaaaaai,” I screamed, “Now what the hell is up?”
“Oh, here comes our Ms. Moody Memsaab,” he spurted out between giggles, “hehehe..hahahaa”
“hahahahaha”
“hahahahaha”
His whole body shook without any hassles, like ‘laugh laugh, no trouble buddy, am there with you to see through it all.” I stood there with my hands folded, waiting for the uproar to die down. As I did, the jumbo- bimbo’s laughter that spiked and slowed alternately, finally sloped down to a much desired silence.
“Now, could you for heaven’s sake share the joke?” I scorned.
Puffing and panting, Sai lifted his left hand and pointed at Ashok, who sat at his desk, facing his computer.
“Well?”
“Ashok,” he paused gulping down a piece of unavoidable laughter, “our dear handsome man seems to have had a great day.”
Sai shot a glance my way to see if I was responding. “Hmm“I nodded. “Whatever happened?”
“Arrey yaar Purnima, tu itna tube light be nahi ho sakthi hai!”
“Yeah right, you talk everything else other than what you are supposed to. “
“Aww..K, “he said and cleared his throat, as if on the verge of making a crucial announcement, “let me get serious,” he paused, “and not laugh, err and be precise..”
“Our romantic hunter went chasing his favourite bird with rosy dreams and the bird hopped away saying it already had a mate,” he grinned. “Our man proposed with all the romance of a love stricken heart and she told him, Can I ask my fiancé and let you know?” “hahaha, kya slap maara!!” and laughed again.
“Sai, that’s hardly funny!” I said sternly. “Why waste moments laughing?”
“Waste? Naah my dear lady,” he said, “it definitely made me feel better,”
“How unjust Sai,” I retorted, “you feel happy at someone’s expense!”
“That’s not the way you see it, Purnima,” he said meditatively. “I am just lightening up the heavy mood.”
I looked at him and sighed and moved to Ashok’s place.
“Hi Ashok,” I called out softly, “been a bad day, has it?”
“Well, yeah, didn’t expect things to turn out this way,” he spoke, words dribbling out like drops from a soaked sponge. Sadness oozed out from his voice, grief was smeared all over his face.
“Am not going to say it’s alright,” I spoke, “it takes time to get over but I know you will, someday.”
That assurance came readily from me until later when I wondered whatever made me say that. Can you get over something like that with time? Can I even make a claim to have been successful about it? Jesus, no! It’s tough and a struggle, and it hurts, hell of a lot.
“Thanks Purnima,” I heard Ashok say, “It felt good to hear that,”
“Now let me strike a blow to the gloom that’s settling in this work area,” Sai came announcing. “Let go guys, just learn to let things go.”
I smiled, hopelessly.
This man, Sai, Sairam was my immediate boss but to an outsider I suppose it would least seem that way. His heart was as big as he was. You could seek emotional refuge in him and be assured that your tears aren’t wasted. Feeling good? Go to Sai. Feeling utterly dismal? Speak to him. He always had the heart to listen, an unmatched ability to heal. I ought to be grateful to Sai. He tore open the cocoon of silence that I had spun around myself after what happened to me a year back. I suffered from what I may call a ‘loss of love.’
Do you know how it feels to be in love? I am not launching into one of those obsessed, heart wrenching, and utopian discourses on it. Love, I think, is plain, simple and beautiful. It fills one with awe, happiness and fulfillment. But, isn’t there always two sides to a coin? Haven’t we all heard of how love hurts? Few friends have told me that this perspective is farce. It depends on the way one sees it. Losing one’s love, however immature it may sound, hurts. It is like a thousand pins shooting down your heart leaving it bleed in agony.
When I met Shyam for the first time, I never knew love had come knocking. We met at a common friend’s party, started going around and things began to take shape. It reached the climax when he proposed to me on my birthday last year.
You know how it is when you have found the person of your life. You start weaving dreams, literally, thread by thread. And finally, one fine day, someone walks through the door and shreds your fabric to a million pieces and your heart lies shattered like shards of glass strewn devastatingly over the floor. That’s precisely what happened with me. As much easily as he breezed into my life, he slipped out, only that this time, he left a big emotional scar.
You can’t brush away the man just like that, can you? He left me because he couldn’t face familial pressures and finally yielded to it, married some other woman, leaving me alone.
I refused to show any signs of interest in marriage following that and much to the despair of my parents, moved away from Pune to Bangalore. Fussy I sound, don’t I? But I believed that change was a big healer.
The ad agency that I work with and the people around me sprinkled hope back into an emotionally deserted terrain, my heart. And suddenly, at some point in time, I felt I was standing like a fool, trying to leap from one cliff onto another, fully aware of a deadly chasm in between. Sounds cryptic? For all that seriousness in that statement, there is a dose of humour in it too. Laugh it off, horrors and horrors, I realized I was falling in love again -in love, with the man who had just then lost his love.
Ashok joined me over tea the next afternoon.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
“Hmm, just alright,” he said, flatly.
“Guess what Purnima,” he continued, “I truly felt like an idiot yesterday. I mean, it was bizarre. I actually felt burnt up, it that sounds any close to how I felt.”
I nodded, blandly.
Ashok looked into my eyes and I searched in those misery plagued ones, helplessly for love, for me.
Later that day, Sai walked into my cube to inform me of a client meeting.
“Sai, what would you do if you loved a girl like nobody’s business?” I asked him when he was turning to leave.
Shocked, dark silence, broken by a sheepish grin.
“I wouldn’t even tell her!”
“Come on Sai, stop kidding,” I screeched.
“Can we catch up on this during a late evening walk?” he requested. Suddenly, I felt like the boss. (Grin!)
Sai had grabbed a handful of popcorn from God knows where, when we left for a walk. After a string of useless talk, I desperately tried to drive him back to the point.
“Answer my question,” I said.
He nibbled away the single popcorn thoughtfully.
“Well, tell you what Purni, I would really tell her some day. When, I have no clue, I would do it just when it seems right!”
I smiled; Sai and his pretence of orderliness and problem-solution crystallization; Clever, quickwitted, funny and yet, thoughtful and immeasurably kind.
"But, I will tell you another thing," he continued, "I wouldn't care if she liked me or not and wouldn't sink even if she said a no!"
"To me, it's the feeling that matters, and it's just that! which is what I have always told you, ever since we met."
I kept quiet. What he said was true. This is a lesson he had always preached to me for months now.
"So," he startled me, "Let's come to the point. What's running in your head?"
For a moment, I felt like I had a transparent head; as if he could see through everything.
I sighed.
"Sai, I think I am pathetic."
"I think I am falling in love, all over again! With a man, whom you would least imagine."
"Ashok?" he asked me plainly while I looked on, dumbstruck!
"Sai, What the hell! How could you? I mean how did you..for heaven's sake, I tell you.." "Holy shit, you are too much!!" I spoke, broken sentences.
Sai laughed.
"Now tell me, how did you ever come to know?"
"Magic, magic.." he smiled and walked ahead.
I pulled him by his sleeve.
"Tell me Sai," I persisted.
"At the risk of sounding cliched, but definitely to tell you the truth, I could see it in your eyes."
And I thought I had cleverly avoided leaving any evidence.
"Do what your heart tells you to," he said and walked off.
Ashok. How was I going to tell him? Wouldn't he think I am a moron, who just advised him big time a few days before and now comes to him with a silly proposal? How stupid!
After two horrifying days and restless nights, I went up to him.
"Tea?" I proposed.
"Sure."
Over tea. The usual exchange.
And then,
"Ashok, I got to share something with you."
"Hmm..You like someone, don't you?"
"Mighty God, how did you know?"
"And I also know who it is.."
I blushed.
"Well?" I paused.
"Sai, isn't it?", "He loves you man, he told me that once!"
I just felt like a loose end, yet again.
“Sai,” I called. He was too busy laughing to pay any attention to me.
“Saaaaaaaai,” I screamed, “Now what the hell is up?”
“Oh, here comes our Ms. Moody Memsaab,” he spurted out between giggles, “hehehe..hahahaa”
“hahahahaha”
“hahahahaha”
His whole body shook without any hassles, like ‘laugh laugh, no trouble buddy, am there with you to see through it all.” I stood there with my hands folded, waiting for the uproar to die down. As I did, the jumbo- bimbo’s laughter that spiked and slowed alternately, finally sloped down to a much desired silence.
“Now, could you for heaven’s sake share the joke?” I scorned.
Puffing and panting, Sai lifted his left hand and pointed at Ashok, who sat at his desk, facing his computer.
“Well?”
“Ashok,” he paused gulping down a piece of unavoidable laughter, “our dear handsome man seems to have had a great day.”
Sai shot a glance my way to see if I was responding. “Hmm“I nodded. “Whatever happened?”
“Arrey yaar Purnima, tu itna tube light be nahi ho sakthi hai!”
“Yeah right, you talk everything else other than what you are supposed to. “
“Aww..K, “he said and cleared his throat, as if on the verge of making a crucial announcement, “let me get serious,” he paused, “and not laugh, err and be precise..”
“Our romantic hunter went chasing his favourite bird with rosy dreams and the bird hopped away saying it already had a mate,” he grinned. “Our man proposed with all the romance of a love stricken heart and she told him, Can I ask my fiancé and let you know?” “hahaha, kya slap maara!!” and laughed again.
“Sai, that’s hardly funny!” I said sternly. “Why waste moments laughing?”
“Waste? Naah my dear lady,” he said, “it definitely made me feel better,”
“How unjust Sai,” I retorted, “you feel happy at someone’s expense!”
“That’s not the way you see it, Purnima,” he said meditatively. “I am just lightening up the heavy mood.”
I looked at him and sighed and moved to Ashok’s place.
“Hi Ashok,” I called out softly, “been a bad day, has it?”
“Well, yeah, didn’t expect things to turn out this way,” he spoke, words dribbling out like drops from a soaked sponge. Sadness oozed out from his voice, grief was smeared all over his face.
“Am not going to say it’s alright,” I spoke, “it takes time to get over but I know you will, someday.”
That assurance came readily from me until later when I wondered whatever made me say that. Can you get over something like that with time? Can I even make a claim to have been successful about it? Jesus, no! It’s tough and a struggle, and it hurts, hell of a lot.
“Thanks Purnima,” I heard Ashok say, “It felt good to hear that,”
“Now let me strike a blow to the gloom that’s settling in this work area,” Sai came announcing. “Let go guys, just learn to let things go.”
I smiled, hopelessly.
This man, Sai, Sairam was my immediate boss but to an outsider I suppose it would least seem that way. His heart was as big as he was. You could seek emotional refuge in him and be assured that your tears aren’t wasted. Feeling good? Go to Sai. Feeling utterly dismal? Speak to him. He always had the heart to listen, an unmatched ability to heal. I ought to be grateful to Sai. He tore open the cocoon of silence that I had spun around myself after what happened to me a year back. I suffered from what I may call a ‘loss of love.’
Do you know how it feels to be in love? I am not launching into one of those obsessed, heart wrenching, and utopian discourses on it. Love, I think, is plain, simple and beautiful. It fills one with awe, happiness and fulfillment. But, isn’t there always two sides to a coin? Haven’t we all heard of how love hurts? Few friends have told me that this perspective is farce. It depends on the way one sees it. Losing one’s love, however immature it may sound, hurts. It is like a thousand pins shooting down your heart leaving it bleed in agony.
When I met Shyam for the first time, I never knew love had come knocking. We met at a common friend’s party, started going around and things began to take shape. It reached the climax when he proposed to me on my birthday last year.
You know how it is when you have found the person of your life. You start weaving dreams, literally, thread by thread. And finally, one fine day, someone walks through the door and shreds your fabric to a million pieces and your heart lies shattered like shards of glass strewn devastatingly over the floor. That’s precisely what happened with me. As much easily as he breezed into my life, he slipped out, only that this time, he left a big emotional scar.
You can’t brush away the man just like that, can you? He left me because he couldn’t face familial pressures and finally yielded to it, married some other woman, leaving me alone.
I refused to show any signs of interest in marriage following that and much to the despair of my parents, moved away from Pune to Bangalore. Fussy I sound, don’t I? But I believed that change was a big healer.
The ad agency that I work with and the people around me sprinkled hope back into an emotionally deserted terrain, my heart. And suddenly, at some point in time, I felt I was standing like a fool, trying to leap from one cliff onto another, fully aware of a deadly chasm in between. Sounds cryptic? For all that seriousness in that statement, there is a dose of humour in it too. Laugh it off, horrors and horrors, I realized I was falling in love again -in love, with the man who had just then lost his love.Ashok joined me over tea the next afternoon.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
“Hmm, just alright,” he said, flatly.
“Guess what Purnima,” he continued, “I truly felt like an idiot yesterday. I mean, it was bizarre. I actually felt burnt up, it that sounds any close to how I felt.”
I nodded, blandly.
Ashok looked into my eyes and I searched in those misery plagued ones, helplessly for love, for me.
Later that day, Sai walked into my cube to inform me of a client meeting.
“Sai, what would you do if you loved a girl like nobody’s business?” I asked him when he was turning to leave.
Shocked, dark silence, broken by a sheepish grin.
“I wouldn’t even tell her!”
“Come on Sai, stop kidding,” I screeched.
“Can we catch up on this during a late evening walk?” he requested. Suddenly, I felt like the boss. (Grin!)
Sai had grabbed a handful of popcorn from God knows where, when we left for a walk. After a string of useless talk, I desperately tried to drive him back to the point.
“Answer my question,” I said.
He nibbled away the single popcorn thoughtfully.
“Well, tell you what Purni, I would really tell her some day. When, I have no clue, I would do it just when it seems right!”
I smiled; Sai and his pretence of orderliness and problem-solution crystallization; Clever, quickwitted, funny and yet, thoughtful and immeasurably kind.
"But, I will tell you another thing," he continued, "I wouldn't care if she liked me or not and wouldn't sink even if she said a no!"
"To me, it's the feeling that matters, and it's just that! which is what I have always told you, ever since we met."
I kept quiet. What he said was true. This is a lesson he had always preached to me for months now.
"So," he startled me, "Let's come to the point. What's running in your head?"
For a moment, I felt like I had a transparent head; as if he could see through everything.
I sighed.
"Sai, I think I am pathetic."
"I think I am falling in love, all over again! With a man, whom you would least imagine."
"Ashok?" he asked me plainly while I looked on, dumbstruck!
"Sai, What the hell! How could you? I mean how did you..for heaven's sake, I tell you.." "Holy shit, you are too much!!" I spoke, broken sentences.
Sai laughed.
"Now tell me, how did you ever come to know?"
"Magic, magic.." he smiled and walked ahead.
I pulled him by his sleeve.
"Tell me Sai," I persisted.
"At the risk of sounding cliched, but definitely to tell you the truth, I could see it in your eyes."
And I thought I had cleverly avoided leaving any evidence.
"Do what your heart tells you to," he said and walked off.
Ashok. How was I going to tell him? Wouldn't he think I am a moron, who just advised him big time a few days before and now comes to him with a silly proposal? How stupid!
After two horrifying days and restless nights, I went up to him.
"Tea?" I proposed.
"Sure."
Over tea. The usual exchange.
And then,
"Ashok, I got to share something with you."
"Hmm..You like someone, don't you?"
"Mighty God, how did you know?"
"And I also know who it is.."
I blushed.
"Well?" I paused.
"Sai, isn't it?", "He loves you man, he told me that once!"
I just felt like a loose end, yet again.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
The dark secret
Through trees that rose to heights
The moon white as a dove
The sky watching with a million eyes
We played the game of love.
By the brook rippling down softly
On the earth that smelled fresh
Wrapped in your arms so closely
We nestled in our youth’s mesh.
Ah, the memory of one glorious night
It pricks the heart and it bleeds
And now, it’s your spite that I fight
No more in the ring of your needs.
The secret, I bury deep in the wood
The truth falling like sullen shadows
Here once hand in hand we stood
O’ the passion in me, still bellows.
You vow your love and steal my right
Never again to see your face
I remain the mistress for a night
A lover distant in time and space.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Ballerina
Move. To the back, To the front, Inward, Outward..
I sway and dance,
As if in trance..
Rainbows inside my soul,
Ah, fresh love out for a stroll..
Pause. Jump, Turn, Pull in, Pull apart..
This joy so pristine,
me, the new queen..
Serene and tender,
Isn’t love a wonder?
Rise. Swing, Stretch, Bend, Twirl..
The eyes converse,
Languages disperse..
For, it’s silence that steals,
The beauty, off words..
Sway, Pull in, Touch, Hold. Pause.
In his eyes, am lost..
Pragmatic, is this thought?
Or is it all trouble,
Like a dream inside a bubble?
I sway and dance,
As if in trance..
Rainbows inside my soul,
Ah, fresh love out for a stroll..
Pause. Jump, Turn, Pull in, Pull apart..
This joy so pristine,
me, the new queen..
Serene and tender,
Isn’t love a wonder?
Rise. Swing, Stretch, Bend, Twirl..
The eyes converse,
Languages disperse..
For, it’s silence that steals,
The beauty, off words..
Sway, Pull in, Touch, Hold. Pause.
In his eyes, am lost..
Pragmatic, is this thought?
Or is it all trouble,
Like a dream inside a bubble?
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Return to innocence
I say a prayer so fervent
To crawl, to whine, to be innocent
To relive that forgotten moment
I wish, I wish I were a child again..
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Duality
When her radiant black hair looked wild like the deadly night,
When her face grew pale like the ghostly moon,
When hot tears stung her eyes like a thousand bees,
When nails dug into her skin, letting it bleed in agony,
When every pore in her body cried out in desolation,
When a fierce fury wrenched her heart,
When pangs of jealousy seized her being,
When her heart lay shattered into a million pieces,
When her soul burnt like a raging fire,
When that fierce, passionate possessiveness overtook her,
And..
When her lips quivered with love so sublime and pure,
When she knew for sure they would never leave behind a kiss,
When she learnt that this love could never be consumed,
When in missing him she missed a part of herself,
When she saw her love grow truer with every confession,
When even the pain of separation seemed a sweet trial,
When the heart that was filled with love, still felt hollow,
When they seemed like the dove’s wings that never met,
When she accepted in peace that their paths couldn’t cross,
When that calm and serenity of a cool blue sky overtook her..
I saw the devil and the Master coexist and sustain their beauties together, this duality in Love – an insanity in whose core lay the seed of profundity –The same love that evoked a devilish possessiveness, was the one that let him go, without holding back; anything.
When her face grew pale like the ghostly moon,
When hot tears stung her eyes like a thousand bees,
When nails dug into her skin, letting it bleed in agony,
When every pore in her body cried out in desolation,
When a fierce fury wrenched her heart,
When pangs of jealousy seized her being,
When her heart lay shattered into a million pieces,
When her soul burnt like a raging fire,
When that fierce, passionate possessiveness overtook her,
And..
When her lips quivered with love so sublime and pure,
When she knew for sure they would never leave behind a kiss,
When she learnt that this love could never be consumed,
When in missing him she missed a part of herself,
When she saw her love grow truer with every confession,
When even the pain of separation seemed a sweet trial,
When the heart that was filled with love, still felt hollow,
When they seemed like the dove’s wings that never met,
When she accepted in peace that their paths couldn’t cross,
When that calm and serenity of a cool blue sky overtook her..
I saw the devil and the Master coexist and sustain their beauties together, this duality in Love – an insanity in whose core lay the seed of profundity –The same love that evoked a devilish possessiveness, was the one that let him go, without holding back; anything.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Sarah
Ms. Sarah Parker. Yes, that is me. It’s been a day since I have moved into our lovely cottage in Yorkshire and right now, am sitting by the window watching the light drizzle outside. Dad is fabulous. When I tell you that I find my residence so amazingly beautiful, I owe it to him. The smell of fresh paint still hangs in the air. Mr. Parker knows his daughter’s tastes too well and I must admit he has made sure that I have had all of it around me. Dad has made sure he would give it all, when he has the chance, may be his last one.
Martha is busy pulling out a fresh bed sheet and spreading it over my bed. She is busy dashing in and out of the room. This time, she is carrying one of my paintings, struggling rather. Meet Ms. Martha Harper, the tall English girl with beautiful curls and dark, piercing eyes and yes, my childhood friend, and my maid’s daughter.
“Martha, need some help?” I ask her, while she tries to hang on the wall, a landscape painting that I had done about four years back.
“Nope dear, I can manage. Give yourself all your time to watch that,” she smiles and points at the glass shutter of the window by my side.
Drip, drip, drag, drop.
Drip, drip, drag, drop.
Drop, drop..Drop where?
What are these drops teaching me? That nothing could stay on forever? That someday you have to descend and drop down into chasms unknown? That someday you dissolve into oblivion?
Dated 23rd September 1968
My dear diary,
I realize my last entry has been about three months back where I have complained of a bad, bad headache. It seems like ages between that day and today, and there is a lot that happened in these days. Lots. That these ninety days seemed longer than the twenty four years that I have lived on this planet.
Within a week following that headache, I was diagnosed with a brain tumor in its advanced stage. My hands refuse to move, dear Diary. Tears are already welling up in my eyes and I feel a lump in my throat. A chill runs down my spine. Why am I falling into this mode of self pity?
I am proud to tell you that I have come to terms with it after the initial shock. It was almost like the entire world has closed in on me, when Dad told me this three months back. Dad has handled it equally well too. We just know we have to go ahead. But, tell me, am I not human too? Sometimes I can’t escape the gravity of self pity. It sucks me in, especially when you know your best times are yet to come and you may not be around to see and live it. Diary, it is even worse when you realize that you are in love..
Good night,
Sarah
It’s around seven in the morning. I decide to take a stroll in the garden for I am not able to sleep anymore. Dad left for London last night, to collect my latest test reports. There is a great possibility that Edward might drop in along with Dad, when Dad returns this weekend.
“Good morning,” Martha’s brisk voice greets me. “Isn’t the place so beautiful now?” she questions. For a moment, she is lost in her own thoughts, though she quickly realizes that and turns to me, “I will be right back with a glass of milk for you.”
I smile and turn around. Yes, like Martha mentions, the place is utopian. Lush green everywhere and the rain’s freshness sits atop that I earnestly wish I could soak myself in it.
After lunch, I insist that Martha read some poetry out to me. Frost and Longfellow today, I tell her. It is such a strain to read for ten minutes together these days. I am glad Dad agreed to my request to get Martha to be with me. It’s through her that I am living my life now, doing what I would have loved to do all by myself.
Dated 25th September 1968
Hi Diary,
I hadn’t intended to come back this early to you. I get so easily exhausted writing these days, that I take breaks and write. I can’t get Martha to write this for me. These are deepest feelings that I can convey through no one else but myself.
Just now I got to listen to some poetry. It’s so relaxing and brings me back memories of graduation days at London. Literature is awesome. No one would know that better than you, for that’s when I had gotten into this habit of writing to you.
20:00
Sorry, I had to stop that in the afternoon. I am excited, for tomorrow, Edward is here. Dad sent word that Edward is joining in. Now, aren’t you wondering who this is? Well, to give you the briefest introduction, he is Dr. Edward Johnson, the one who has been treating me, about 18 years elder to me and the man I am in love with..
Shall write more tomorrow.
Love,
Sarah
Edward is already at the table by the time I am dressed and out. Dad throws a warm smile and waves his hand. I wave back and look at Edward, who is deeply engrossed in the newspaper.
“Morning, Edward..”
“Oh,” his head pops out of the newspaper. “Sarah..”
I pour out tea for both of them.
“Martha, could you fetch that pack of cookies? I shall get the milk ready for the two of us. ”
“In a minute sweetheart.” And Martha disappears behind the curtains.
Edward is dressed in a light blue casual shirt and a pair of deep blue jeans. I take a moment to look into his eyes. What do I see? Love or am I imagining it?
I tell Edward we could take a walk round the garden.
“Sure,” he smiles and reassures Dad who fears that I am straining myself.
“How do you feel?” he asks me.
“Never better,” I smile. I can see it in Edward’s eyes – that he has read the sorrow behind the smile.
I tell him I really wished I could get back to picking up Spanish and reading some more on Latin American cultures.
Edward promises to send along books. “Or why don’t you pick them up from me, when you come for your treatment in ten days?” he suggests. “I shall collect them from the library for you.”
”Thank you Edward, you really are a big help.”
“My pleasure,” he says so sweetly.
Dated 26th September 1968
My dear Diary,
As you might have guessed, I feel elated and relaxed today. I got to spend considerable time with Edward. We spoke of nearly everything – poetry, music and he filled me in with the latest theater fest in the capital. I wish I could be around to watch it.
And guess what Edward shyly confessed today? His wife Rachel is carrying their second child. I really wish they have a pretty, pretty daughter this time, after a son. Little Dave is so cute. Edward had gotten him to the hospital when I was undergoing my first level treatment in London.
I am sure it is obvious to you now that I am in love with a married man, leading a blissfully peaceful life with a beautiful wife and an adorable family. And I am in love with him, without him even having the slightest hint about it.
Have you ever thought how it feels to be this way? I pause because of the paucity of words. It’s like holding all your dreams in a bunch, trying really hard to hold them from drifting away, but in vain; For, they do, they do drift away like weightless wisps into thin air.
Edward leaves early morning tomorrow.
See you soon,
Sarah
P.S: There is something that I want to share with you. I attach the piece of paper to this page.
Meeting Dr.Johnson
11th August 1968
I met Dr. Edward Johnson under the worst of circumstances, definitely not in the way I would have liked to. Yeah, it was at the Cancer Research Hospital when he disclosed what I know and have slowly got myself to digest, today.
I don’t wish to get into the details but I would like to recall one incident in particular which brought about this ironical turn of events. It was when Edward told me that I suffered from an incurable brain tumor and gently pressed my hand when I sat motionless. When I looked up, I was already in tears and that passing instant, when I looked into his eyes, I fell for the calm in his eyes.
I fell into his arms, that of a complete stranger and sobbed, as my Dad watched. I loved the security of his embrace as he stroked my hair and patted me. I cried I don’t know for how long and I didn’t care for his time and nor did Edward resist. He let things flow freely and didn’t give false promises. He never said that everything would be alright. Had he said that, I would have called him a blatant liar!
I owe it to Edward for transforming the experience of my treatment from being dull and lifeless to a courageous battle that ought to be fought. Every time that I had gone there, Edward made it a refreshing experience for me. He revealed great interest for music (the piano especially), for Keats and performing arts.
I grew to like him for the synchrony he brought to our conversations. I never felt like I was talking to someone different from me and yet he was different. A vibrant personality, I found him to be an extrovert, unlike me. I saw in him all that I had wanted to be myself.
And suddenly one day, I really wished I could swim in the oceanic blues of his eyes and lose myself completely, leaving the present behind. That day I knew I was in love and I felt blood rush up my veins in what seemed to be an otherwise lifeless existence.
So much for Edward Johnson. Should I regret that he walked into my life only now or feel happy that he came in at least now?
Sarah
While Edward leaves, he promises me my books again. I can read fear in Dad’s eyes and even in Martha’s. I am sure Edward has told them what he told me during our walk.
It’s a dizzy feeling to think of a moment when everything comes to a grinding halt. It’s true that mortality is the inevitable truth but even rock hard determination can’t stop some questions from popping up – what would Dad do after I am gone? Even Mom isn’t around. Isn’t it a worse punishment for him to suppress his feelings just because he wants his daughter to be happy?
I feel like running up to God and asking him another chance. Trust me, Life is so beautiful and many of us don’t realize it till an end to it, is at sight. Once that is near, the fear returns through the dark, when the world sleeps. It’s tough. It really is.
“Sarah..” Edward shakes me up. He pats my cheek and says that he hopes to see me soon. I smile and I feel I could take a plunge into the sea. I take Dad’s hand into mine and lean on his shoulder.
”Dad, I love you..”
Dated 27th September, 1968
Dearest Diary,
I feel like a child today, a child chasing fresh bubbles, each bubble a simple wish – to wake up and watch the gentle morning sun, to chase butterflies, to hug dad, to joke with Martha, to read, to write, to explore, to love Edward forever.
I hope the bubbles don’t burst….. Or.. will they?
Sarah Parker.
Martha is busy pulling out a fresh bed sheet and spreading it over my bed. She is busy dashing in and out of the room. This time, she is carrying one of my paintings, struggling rather. Meet Ms. Martha Harper, the tall English girl with beautiful curls and dark, piercing eyes and yes, my childhood friend, and my maid’s daughter.
“Martha, need some help?” I ask her, while she tries to hang on the wall, a landscape painting that I had done about four years back.
“Nope dear, I can manage. Give yourself all your time to watch that,” she smiles and points at the glass shutter of the window by my side.
Drip, drip, drag, drop.
Drip, drip, drag, drop.
Drop, drop..Drop where?
What are these drops teaching me? That nothing could stay on forever? That someday you have to descend and drop down into chasms unknown? That someday you dissolve into oblivion?
Dated 23rd September 1968
My dear diary,
I realize my last entry has been about three months back where I have complained of a bad, bad headache. It seems like ages between that day and today, and there is a lot that happened in these days. Lots. That these ninety days seemed longer than the twenty four years that I have lived on this planet.
Within a week following that headache, I was diagnosed with a brain tumor in its advanced stage. My hands refuse to move, dear Diary. Tears are already welling up in my eyes and I feel a lump in my throat. A chill runs down my spine. Why am I falling into this mode of self pity?
I am proud to tell you that I have come to terms with it after the initial shock. It was almost like the entire world has closed in on me, when Dad told me this three months back. Dad has handled it equally well too. We just know we have to go ahead. But, tell me, am I not human too? Sometimes I can’t escape the gravity of self pity. It sucks me in, especially when you know your best times are yet to come and you may not be around to see and live it. Diary, it is even worse when you realize that you are in love..
Good night,
Sarah
It’s around seven in the morning. I decide to take a stroll in the garden for I am not able to sleep anymore. Dad left for London last night, to collect my latest test reports. There is a great possibility that Edward might drop in along with Dad, when Dad returns this weekend.
“Good morning,” Martha’s brisk voice greets me. “Isn’t the place so beautiful now?” she questions. For a moment, she is lost in her own thoughts, though she quickly realizes that and turns to me, “I will be right back with a glass of milk for you.”
I smile and turn around. Yes, like Martha mentions, the place is utopian. Lush green everywhere and the rain’s freshness sits atop that I earnestly wish I could soak myself in it.
After lunch, I insist that Martha read some poetry out to me. Frost and Longfellow today, I tell her. It is such a strain to read for ten minutes together these days. I am glad Dad agreed to my request to get Martha to be with me. It’s through her that I am living my life now, doing what I would have loved to do all by myself.
Dated 25th September 1968
Hi Diary,
I hadn’t intended to come back this early to you. I get so easily exhausted writing these days, that I take breaks and write. I can’t get Martha to write this for me. These are deepest feelings that I can convey through no one else but myself.
Just now I got to listen to some poetry. It’s so relaxing and brings me back memories of graduation days at London. Literature is awesome. No one would know that better than you, for that’s when I had gotten into this habit of writing to you.
20:00
Sorry, I had to stop that in the afternoon. I am excited, for tomorrow, Edward is here. Dad sent word that Edward is joining in. Now, aren’t you wondering who this is? Well, to give you the briefest introduction, he is Dr. Edward Johnson, the one who has been treating me, about 18 years elder to me and the man I am in love with..
Shall write more tomorrow.
Love,
Sarah
Edward is already at the table by the time I am dressed and out. Dad throws a warm smile and waves his hand. I wave back and look at Edward, who is deeply engrossed in the newspaper.
“Morning, Edward..”
“Oh,” his head pops out of the newspaper. “Sarah..”
I pour out tea for both of them.
“Martha, could you fetch that pack of cookies? I shall get the milk ready for the two of us. ”
“In a minute sweetheart.” And Martha disappears behind the curtains.
Edward is dressed in a light blue casual shirt and a pair of deep blue jeans. I take a moment to look into his eyes. What do I see? Love or am I imagining it?
I tell Edward we could take a walk round the garden.
“Sure,” he smiles and reassures Dad who fears that I am straining myself.
“How do you feel?” he asks me.
“Never better,” I smile. I can see it in Edward’s eyes – that he has read the sorrow behind the smile.
I tell him I really wished I could get back to picking up Spanish and reading some more on Latin American cultures.
Edward promises to send along books. “Or why don’t you pick them up from me, when you come for your treatment in ten days?” he suggests. “I shall collect them from the library for you.”
”Thank you Edward, you really are a big help.”
“My pleasure,” he says so sweetly.
Dated 26th September 1968
My dear Diary,
As you might have guessed, I feel elated and relaxed today. I got to spend considerable time with Edward. We spoke of nearly everything – poetry, music and he filled me in with the latest theater fest in the capital. I wish I could be around to watch it.
And guess what Edward shyly confessed today? His wife Rachel is carrying their second child. I really wish they have a pretty, pretty daughter this time, after a son. Little Dave is so cute. Edward had gotten him to the hospital when I was undergoing my first level treatment in London.
I am sure it is obvious to you now that I am in love with a married man, leading a blissfully peaceful life with a beautiful wife and an adorable family. And I am in love with him, without him even having the slightest hint about it.
Have you ever thought how it feels to be this way? I pause because of the paucity of words. It’s like holding all your dreams in a bunch, trying really hard to hold them from drifting away, but in vain; For, they do, they do drift away like weightless wisps into thin air.
Edward leaves early morning tomorrow.
See you soon,
Sarah
P.S: There is something that I want to share with you. I attach the piece of paper to this page.
Meeting Dr.Johnson
11th August 1968
I met Dr. Edward Johnson under the worst of circumstances, definitely not in the way I would have liked to. Yeah, it was at the Cancer Research Hospital when he disclosed what I know and have slowly got myself to digest, today.
I don’t wish to get into the details but I would like to recall one incident in particular which brought about this ironical turn of events. It was when Edward told me that I suffered from an incurable brain tumor and gently pressed my hand when I sat motionless. When I looked up, I was already in tears and that passing instant, when I looked into his eyes, I fell for the calm in his eyes.
I fell into his arms, that of a complete stranger and sobbed, as my Dad watched. I loved the security of his embrace as he stroked my hair and patted me. I cried I don’t know for how long and I didn’t care for his time and nor did Edward resist. He let things flow freely and didn’t give false promises. He never said that everything would be alright. Had he said that, I would have called him a blatant liar!
I owe it to Edward for transforming the experience of my treatment from being dull and lifeless to a courageous battle that ought to be fought. Every time that I had gone there, Edward made it a refreshing experience for me. He revealed great interest for music (the piano especially), for Keats and performing arts.
I grew to like him for the synchrony he brought to our conversations. I never felt like I was talking to someone different from me and yet he was different. A vibrant personality, I found him to be an extrovert, unlike me. I saw in him all that I had wanted to be myself.
And suddenly one day, I really wished I could swim in the oceanic blues of his eyes and lose myself completely, leaving the present behind. That day I knew I was in love and I felt blood rush up my veins in what seemed to be an otherwise lifeless existence.
So much for Edward Johnson. Should I regret that he walked into my life only now or feel happy that he came in at least now?
Sarah
While Edward leaves, he promises me my books again. I can read fear in Dad’s eyes and even in Martha’s. I am sure Edward has told them what he told me during our walk.
It’s a dizzy feeling to think of a moment when everything comes to a grinding halt. It’s true that mortality is the inevitable truth but even rock hard determination can’t stop some questions from popping up – what would Dad do after I am gone? Even Mom isn’t around. Isn’t it a worse punishment for him to suppress his feelings just because he wants his daughter to be happy?
I feel like running up to God and asking him another chance. Trust me, Life is so beautiful and many of us don’t realize it till an end to it, is at sight. Once that is near, the fear returns through the dark, when the world sleeps. It’s tough. It really is.
“Sarah..” Edward shakes me up. He pats my cheek and says that he hopes to see me soon. I smile and I feel I could take a plunge into the sea. I take Dad’s hand into mine and lean on his shoulder.
”Dad, I love you..”
Dated 27th September, 1968
Dearest Diary,
I feel like a child today, a child chasing fresh bubbles, each bubble a simple wish – to wake up and watch the gentle morning sun, to chase butterflies, to hug dad, to joke with Martha, to read, to write, to explore, to love Edward forever.
I hope the bubbles don’t burst….. Or.. will they?
Sarah Parker.
Monday, December 19, 2005
From Bombay to Madras
So what if it’s raining? Vani and I today raced through in my scooty pep, as the rain hit hard on our skin and the wind rushed on our faces, dishevelling our hair. It was wonderful, to say the least, to be back driving my dear two wheeler. It is wonderful to meet my sis after about 8 months (and hasn’t she thinned down?). Well, it’s wonderful to be back home.
Happy to be back here, yes..But what’s that? The kind of suspended feeling that I woke up with today morning - a sense of still belonging to a different place and that this was may be a dream, from which I would wake up and rush to take the 9.45 local from Churchgate. It doesn’t take long to see that my being in Madras, is reality, when mom places a cup of steaming ‘Milo’ in my hands. Day before yesterday morning, I was somewhere else, there, where my heart still lies.
I am now reminded of a post that I had written on transitions, a few months back. Transitions – how they rule my life; the last one week at Bombay was one where I found myself engrossed in work, for almost 14 hours at a stretch, everyday. I am surprised, I never complained; somehow, I never felt like. The last day, I walked out, without looking back, as if it was yet another day of going back home and being back the next morning.
Despite all the work at office, I still managed time for things closest to my heart. I walked up to Marine Drive, lost myself looking at the serene sky and the placid waters. I went to my often-frequented Barista at Colaba for a last bite of my favourite brownie and a mug of hot chocolate. I watched a movie at Sterling. I walked down Colaba causeway. I stood for a moment in between platforms 1 and 2 at the Churchgate station staring at the tireless local trains that went up and down, listening to the announcements. I threw one last glance at the Oxford bookstore, a place that I had visited as if it was my second home. Days so full of ‘for one last time’ visits.
Farewell gifts, sweet hugs, moist eyes, seen yet unseen tears, good luck messages and to top it all, a mail from a person who you hold in high regard. It isn’t always that your boss writes you a mail and ones that welcome you to stay back in the organisation, even rarer. I still chose to leave them behind, saying someday I would be back, to this lovely place. The question nevertheless remains. Will I ever go back and even if I did, will things ever be the same again?
It is difficult to fall in love with places; But when you do, it’s even tougher to miss them. When I boarded the train back home, my mind was blank. But as the train pulled out, my heart grew heavier. Isn’t it true that it’s the memories that make a place beautiful? Bombay, where I saw so many of my dreams take shape, where I lived my life to the fullest..She, the queen of my Dreams; She is a tear that hangs inside my soul forever..
Happy to be back here, yes..But what’s that? The kind of suspended feeling that I woke up with today morning - a sense of still belonging to a different place and that this was may be a dream, from which I would wake up and rush to take the 9.45 local from Churchgate. It doesn’t take long to see that my being in Madras, is reality, when mom places a cup of steaming ‘Milo’ in my hands. Day before yesterday morning, I was somewhere else, there, where my heart still lies.
I am now reminded of a post that I had written on transitions, a few months back. Transitions – how they rule my life; the last one week at Bombay was one where I found myself engrossed in work, for almost 14 hours at a stretch, everyday. I am surprised, I never complained; somehow, I never felt like. The last day, I walked out, without looking back, as if it was yet another day of going back home and being back the next morning.
Despite all the work at office, I still managed time for things closest to my heart. I walked up to Marine Drive, lost myself looking at the serene sky and the placid waters. I went to my often-frequented Barista at Colaba for a last bite of my favourite brownie and a mug of hot chocolate. I watched a movie at Sterling. I walked down Colaba causeway. I stood for a moment in between platforms 1 and 2 at the Churchgate station staring at the tireless local trains that went up and down, listening to the announcements. I threw one last glance at the Oxford bookstore, a place that I had visited as if it was my second home. Days so full of ‘for one last time’ visits.
Farewell gifts, sweet hugs, moist eyes, seen yet unseen tears, good luck messages and to top it all, a mail from a person who you hold in high regard. It isn’t always that your boss writes you a mail and ones that welcome you to stay back in the organisation, even rarer. I still chose to leave them behind, saying someday I would be back, to this lovely place. The question nevertheless remains. Will I ever go back and even if I did, will things ever be the same again?
It is difficult to fall in love with places; But when you do, it’s even tougher to miss them. When I boarded the train back home, my mind was blank. But as the train pulled out, my heart grew heavier. Isn’t it true that it’s the memories that make a place beautiful? Bombay, where I saw so many of my dreams take shape, where I lived my life to the fullest..She, the queen of my Dreams; She is a tear that hangs inside my soul forever..
Friday, October 14, 2005
To BITS, with love
Today, I talk of a small place that housed many dreams, aspirations and a single spirit that bound many people together. It housed me, a tiny dot in that big ocean.
Some months back, Amrita asked me, "You are still rooted to that place, aren't you?" That shouldn't come as a surprise. The place she was talking about, is a speck in the Rajasthan map: Pilani. That day, she was the victim of my rambling.
What would you call this - Irony? I talk of a place that has almost been shadowed, after the turn of events in my life. I came out an engineer, and now I am a writer. I think of this place and all the events linked to it, everyday, even if it means, in a trivial way. It's almost four years since I graduated and the bitsian slang still refuses to slip out of my routine..
It simply isn't easy to forget. The moments of pride that came with wearing those bitsian tee-shirts, the hungama in the trains, when travelling from Madras to Delhi and back, the group of friends that came together in the most unusual way, the first birthday at BITS with people painting your face, the corridors, the classrooms, the EEE lectures, the never ending list of tests, the mess food, the lawns, the 5 maddening days of OASIS, the spirit of our cultural departments, the innumerable treats, the blooming romances, the crushes, the trips, the laughs, the smiles, the sighs and the tears, the affection of the sweetest friend, her never ending support, the solitary rides on my bicycle round the campus, the chilly winters, the warm razais, the lazy wintry afternoons, the beautiful february spring,
the miserable summer heat, the tired PCs, the gossips, the small monthly budgets, my room, my cupboard, my table, my bank account, the home sickness, the letters (no, not mails), the night outs, the gatecalls, the professionalism that grew in you, the small successes, the heart breaking failures, the spirit to fight on, the 'just for the heck of it' pictures, the farewells,the second home, the people, their variety, the place, the place made most beautiful by the people in it..It's they who carved the beautiful memories that I cherish now..It simply isn't easy to forget.
Talk about reflections. Now, hasn't it really been a while?
Sometimes I wonder why I resist change so much, why I find it so difficult to go with the flow. Friends, with whom I have spent almost every minute of my time, now seem so distant and far away. In no time, our lives have taken totally different paths, from a period where we flowed together.
Change, it is so hard to live with. But, that's the way life works.. It's tough, but I just move on, holding these memories along..
This is to BITS, with love..
Some months back, Amrita asked me, "You are still rooted to that place, aren't you?" That shouldn't come as a surprise. The place she was talking about, is a speck in the Rajasthan map: Pilani. That day, she was the victim of my rambling.
What would you call this - Irony? I talk of a place that has almost been shadowed, after the turn of events in my life. I came out an engineer, and now I am a writer. I think of this place and all the events linked to it, everyday, even if it means, in a trivial way. It's almost four years since I graduated and the bitsian slang still refuses to slip out of my routine..
It simply isn't easy to forget. The moments of pride that came with wearing those bitsian tee-shirts, the hungama in the trains, when travelling from Madras to Delhi and back, the group of friends that came together in the most unusual way, the first birthday at BITS with people painting your face, the corridors, the classrooms, the EEE lectures, the never ending list of tests, the mess food, the lawns, the 5 maddening days of OASIS, the spirit of our cultural departments, the innumerable treats, the blooming romances, the crushes, the trips, the laughs, the smiles, the sighs and the tears, the affection of the sweetest friend, her never ending support, the solitary rides on my bicycle round the campus, the chilly winters, the warm razais, the lazy wintry afternoons, the beautiful february spring,
the miserable summer heat, the tired PCs, the gossips, the small monthly budgets, my room, my cupboard, my table, my bank account, the home sickness, the letters (no, not mails), the night outs, the gatecalls, the professionalism that grew in you, the small successes, the heart breaking failures, the spirit to fight on, the 'just for the heck of it' pictures, the farewells,the second home, the people, their variety, the place, the place made most beautiful by the people in it..It's they who carved the beautiful memories that I cherish now..It simply isn't easy to forget.
Talk about reflections. Now, hasn't it really been a while?
Sometimes I wonder why I resist change so much, why I find it so difficult to go with the flow. Friends, with whom I have spent almost every minute of my time, now seem so distant and far away. In no time, our lives have taken totally different paths, from a period where we flowed together.
Change, it is so hard to live with. But, that's the way life works.. It's tough, but I just move on, holding these memories along..
This is to BITS, with love..
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Dil Se..
Sometimes life could give you nothing but pain; it couldn't hurt worse..
For he suddenly landed from nowhere, giving all that somebody could ever give, in unbounded measures; countless smiles, sweet nothings aplenty, a warm presence all time, even without being around, leaving her utterly pampered, letting her be the lucky star, his sweet little kid..
And as the days rolled by, the sweet addiction went on a high, till a drop slowly came upfront; and when every previous day felt better than the present, when silence, emptiness and uneasiness hung over conversations, when what came without asking, now promised to come, but after a demand, she knew things were never the same again..
And what was it but her own ego, that yearned for his attention, but still refused to accept that he was being missed, with all that being left behind to hug were those warm memories, a defeated feeling and the silence that came with it all; and she, who would never blame him but herself for getting so involved, waited and waited, with all her hope, for she still liked him, immensely..
For he suddenly landed from nowhere, giving all that somebody could ever give, in unbounded measures; countless smiles, sweet nothings aplenty, a warm presence all time, even without being around, leaving her utterly pampered, letting her be the lucky star, his sweet little kid..
And as the days rolled by, the sweet addiction went on a high, till a drop slowly came upfront; and when every previous day felt better than the present, when silence, emptiness and uneasiness hung over conversations, when what came without asking, now promised to come, but after a demand, she knew things were never the same again..
And what was it but her own ego, that yearned for his attention, but still refused to accept that he was being missed, with all that being left behind to hug were those warm memories, a defeated feeling and the silence that came with it all; and she, who would never blame him but herself for getting so involved, waited and waited, with all her hope, for she still liked him, immensely..
Friday, July 15, 2005
Moments to grasp
Shades of change unwound sequentially as I walked down that path, that familiar path that I had paced up and down with unmistakable precision as an eight year old. New shops, some new houses. But amongst them, stood those houses that have endured the test of time. It is a pleasure to watch things that have been stamped with an archaism that would never be victimized by the forces of modernity.
The 2nd cross street of ThiruVika Nagar, in Thirucharapalli, was more than a street to me. It had nurtured my dreams as a child. It demonstrated a freshness about it that had lasted years and beat the gap of 17 years in between. It felt like just yesterday that I had belonged to this place but I had still missed 'its presence and my presence in it' and the unique charm that came with it.
“New door no. 24, old number 72,” I quickly checked that small bit of crumpled paper that was almost yielding to the moisture of my palm. Appa had insisted that I should go and meet them this time.
“Black gates,” I smiled to myself. “They used to be hmm…green.”
I pushed the gate inward and it creaked open. As I set my foot on the stone pavement that had weathered everything in the years that went by, I looked up to that balcony right above, the thatched roof over it still intact. My entire body shook. God! Sometimes nostalgia can just offset you.
For a moment I just closed my eyes. It was the same balcony where I had stood years ago, waving good bye to my father when he left for office. It was the same balcony where I had stood, hot tears pouring down my cheeks, when they got my baby bro home, for the first time. I was no longer ‘the one’ then.
“And Aditya now..” I smiled to myself.
The veranda at the end of the footpath welcomed me with the same warmth with which it had borne my pranks as a mischievous kid. I would tirelessly climb on it and jump off it, in a loop that would end only with a tight slap from my mother.
I thought I would collapse out of excitement when I rang the doorbell.
“Vandhutten (Coming)”, the familiar lady voice came from behind the door. It hadn’t changed much, the voice, just traces of ageing.
As the door opened, I caught myself staring at this lady, who wore her sari in a ‘madisar kattu’. The vermilion, the glittering nose ring, the traditional hairdo with a string of jasmine encircling it; Lakshmi Amma, there she was and..She had aged so gracefully.
“Yaaru. Yaar venum?” (Who is this? Who do you want?)
“Ahh..Hmm..Lakshmi Amma..” I spoke in between gasps of excitement. “Do you recognize me?”
She stared with confusion written all over her face.
“Lakshmi Amma, Shailaja..,” I placed my right palm on my chest. “Shailu kutty..” I paused. “Enakku Lakshmi Amma rasam thaan venum..” ( I want only Lakshmi Amma’s rasam..)
And her face broke into a smile.
“Shailu Kutty, is this you?” She almost jumped and held my hand immediately. “How grown up you look. I couldn’t even make out,” she exclaimed.
I smiled. I was at loss for words.
“Inga parungo” (see here), she called out to her husband. “Come here, see who has come”
“Come in, come in,” she took me in hurriedly.
“Yaaru?” (Who?) a man in a white dhoti and a white cotton half slack shirt and thick rimmed glasses emerged from one of the inside rooms.
Sambu thatha adjusted his glasses, trying to register the image of a woman who suddenly landed in his abode from nowhere.
“Can you make out who she is?” Lakshmi Amma questioned, impatience marking every word. Sambu thatha just shook a no. I watched his lean frame seeking immense support from the wooden walking stick, an addition to the 84 year old man’s personality.
“Shailu kutty idhu, nenavirukko?” (This is Shailu kutty, remember?) “State Bank Ramachandran who stayed upstairs.. from Coimbatore..his daughter..”
“Oh amaam..adi vaalu..” (Oh yes, you mischievous girl!)
“Va..Va..” (Come, come). The warmth in his voice made me melt. How much I had missed it all these years. Though we had stayed upstairs, Sambu thatha’s house was literally where my existence had been. I would play, run around the house, nobody to question, most of the times eat there and fall asleep in Lakshmi Amma’s lap.
The affection that I had held for that house, for the two was special and unbounded. It was marked by innocence so typical of a child and there was no other reason to it. I loved them because I loved them.
“So, what made Shailu kutty suddenly remember these two old hags?” went on Sambu thatha with his characteristic laugh.
“Oh come on, enough of your silly jokes,” Lakshmi Amma cut him short as I deposited the sweet packets into her hands.
“Are you working?” she asked me.
“Hmm..yes, I am working for a software concern in Delhi,” I replied.
“Ohh..soft..” she stopped halfway. “That thing Raju keeps talking about..”
“Tell me how are amma and appa”
“They are good. They keep talking about you,” I paused. “Oh, Appa has retired.”
“Really? Even Chandru joins the old hag list,” burst out Sambu thatha.
I giggled. I really did. Lakshmi Amma wasn’t bothered. She almost sprang her next question at me.
“How is your brother..ahmm..what is his name?”
“Aditya,” I helped in.
“Ahnn..Adi, how is he?”
“He is studying, 2nd year engineering in Madras. He has been pestering Appa for a bike.”
“Really? Has he grown that big?” Sambu thatha questioned the very essence of mankind - growth.
It is funny the way I addressed them. Sambu thatha was thatha because when I saw him for the first time, he had grey (or as I used to call it, “white”) hair. I used to jump at my mom when she called him maama. “He has white hair. How can you call him maama. Call him thatha,” I would order.
Sambu thatha was 67 then. Lakshmi Amma was Lakshmi Amma because everyone around used to call her that way and somehow she never used to look that old then, that I would have to call her ‘patti’. Moreover, Radha akka, her daughter, used to call her Lakshmi Amma. I had liked it, felt it suited her best and let it stick on.
“So, when are you getting married?” Lakshmi Amma continued with her questions as she handed over steaming filter coffee in a “duvrah tumbler” to me and one to Sambu thatha. I had cosily seated myself on the mat alongside Sambu thatha who was resting in an easy chair. A copy of the day’s newspaper and that old transistor was lying next to him. Lakshmi Amma sat down beside me.
“I actually came to tell you some good news,” I said.
Sambu thatha who was busy tuning into odd stations, desperately in search of the “renu mani kutcheri” (the concert at 2), stopped suddenly.
In a minute, both of them were staring at me with all eagerness. “Marriage fascinates old people beyond any scale,” I thought to myself.
“Ah, well, I am getting married this September,” I concluded abruptly.
Sambu thatha leaned forward.
“Who is the boy?” he asked with brimming eagerness.
“He is my colleague at office, in Delhi.”
Lakshmi Amma’s happy look transformed into a resigned one.
“So, it is not an arranged marriage?” she asked quickly.
“Well, it is..” I paused, “Yes, I did choose him but he is like one of us,” I put it forward politely to her. I didn’t know why I was telling her that but I thought I should and hence I did.
“But..” she shook her head. “There is nothing like your parents seeing somebody for you.”
“Did you match horoscopes?” she shot out.
“Oh.ah..hmm..yes, we did, everything is fine,” I mumbled out owing to lack of preparation.
“But still..”
“Lakshmi, these days kids are very mature. They can handle things very well. I am sure Shailu kutty’s choice must be good,” Sambu thatha spoke reassuringly, patting my head.
“Love marriages are fun in their own way,” he added with a wink.
Lakshmi Amma cast a sharp look that almost silenced him.
“Ennavo ma, pathukko” (Whatever, take care), she said, turning her face towards me. Anxiety was written all over it.
“Lakshmi Amma, everything is fine,” I assured her, gently pressing her hand.
“What is his name?” Sambu thatha’s excitement hadn’t subsided.
“Vasanth, Vasant Chandrashekar”
“So, tell me, how has life been for you all these years?” I asked them.
“just going on. We have only few more years left, all I am praying for is that we should pass away peacefully without troubling anybody,” Lakshmi Amma’s voice was low.
“Enna Lakshmi, you don’t know what to talk,” Sambu thatha intervened.
“Thatha please, let her talk”
“Illai Shailu kut..,” I looked up at Sambu thatha. “Shhh..”
“Lakshmi Amma, what happened?”
Suddenly Lakshmi Amma’s voice mellowed down.
“Nothing. Sometimes it is so tough to live when you grow old,” she looked up and blew her nose.
I took her hand into mine and looked intently at her.”Ennachu?” (what happened?)
“Nothing is particularly wrong Shailu kutty. We have everything that we want. We have this house, we have thatha’s pension as a steady income and we do our pujas and prayers regularly.”
“Hmm…”
“But..” she paused, “Sometimes there is loneliness, a lack of direction in life when you turn around to see that there is no one around to share your happiness. When we fall ill, we have nobody to fall back on. It is true that we have each other to confide things in but I am missing the joy of living together,” By that time, her first tear had already made its way out.
I let her cry. I didn’t assure her, say things would be fine. Sometimes silence and the mere act of listening could heal wounds much more than words of consolation, so did I believe.
“Sambhu thatha, what about Raju anna and Kumar anna? Where are they?”
“They are both in America, all well settled,” he paused. “Raju has two daughters and Kumar has a son. They come to India with their families once in two years.”
“Hmm..”
“Radha is in the U.K. Seeing her has become a rarity too,” continued Lakshmi Amma.
“Sambhu thatha, don’t mind me asking, but didn’t you want to stay with your sons?”
“No,” his voice was fierce this time. “No,” he repeated, relaxing a little bit.
“Kumar didn’t even talk about it, Raju just made a mention. He told us that we could come along if we felt like.” His voice choked.
“What is this, a formality? Why should parents suddenly become strangers and be treated this way?” the question shot out from him, with all the heaviness of a deeply pained heart.
“I refused. I really can’t spend my life in a country that I don’t know. I am too rooted to this place, to leave it behind. Probably, I can’t blame them too. Their lives have taken that course and I can’t stop it. Once Raju had a chance to come back to India for good. I asked him, but..” Silence.
“I think I just have to accept this,” he spoke his heart out. I knew it was frustration that made them talk and not the hate for what their children did.
Lakshmi Amma was silent. “I think when things become unmanageable, we would go to an old age home. I am praying ambaal she doesn’t take us that far.”
That moment, I understood what emotional torture the two went through. Two people, whose love meant so much to me, were caught in the clutches of emotional insecurity and my heart swelled with pity. I cried; cried within.
In the meantime, Lakshmi Amma had moved into the kitchen and come back with a plate of rasam saadham. (Rice with rasam).
“Have this,” she handed the plate to me. I couldn’t remember how many times I had smiled but I did, yet again.
The rasam had not lost its taste and its aroma one bit. It was just the same. Have you ever experienced a sense of travelling back in time, that the five senses can give you? It happened to me this time. I was back to have Lakshmi Amma’s rasam.
“You know, my grandchildren are so naughty,” she said, sounding chirpy again.
“Kumar’s son is so mischievous. Last time that they were here, he suddenly disappeared out of the house. We had such a tough task locating him. He was hiding behind the well, in our neighbour’s backyard,” Sambhu thatha added with great excitement. “These kids, naughty, very naughty.”
And then they spoke about Kumar anna’s wife and how Raju anna’s wife could drive a car. “It seems they don’t wash vessels, nor does a servant maid do it. Looks like there is a machine for all that. Times have changed so much,” she sighed.
I burst out laughing and Sambhu thatha was giggling quietly. The innocence was too sweet, and I knew their hearts were lighter. No qualms, except for those momentary ones, their love and concern for their children and grandchildren was unbiased and absolutely selfless.
By the time we had finished talking about my childhood pranks and everything else, the birds were getting back to their nests and the sky had turned a reddish orange, signaling the arrival of twilight. It was time for me to leave.
“I don’t feel like letting you go, it was so nice talking to you. I didn’t feel the time pass” Lakshmi Amma said looking at me earnestly.
I stood silently.
“You won’t forget us no, after you get married?,” she asked with grave concern in her voice.
“Ayyo, enna idhu Lakshmi Amma, how can I do that?”
“Shailu, forget her, she is like that only,” Sambu thatha chipped in his comment, “May God bless you with a happy and peaceful married life,” he said, placing his hand on my head.
“You should bring Vasanth here, after your marriage,” Lakshmi Amma said. Sambu thatha turned around, taken by surprise with that mocking smile on his face.
“You both should definitely come for the wedding,” I urged. “Please, I will be very happy.”
Lakshmi Amma pressed my hand. “We will try our best, but our blessings are always there.”
As I reached the gate, I turned around, took a look at the aged couple for whom the best gift I had left behind was the smiles on their faces, which they seemed to have forgotten for days together. For me, it was a feeling of satisfaction that I had made a very small difference to the lives of two people, at least for a day. But the bigger loss was, the helpless feeling at not being able to lend a hand further. I waved at them, walked away carrying beautiful memories and also an aching heart.
The 2nd cross street of ThiruVika Nagar, in Thirucharapalli, was more than a street to me. It had nurtured my dreams as a child. It demonstrated a freshness about it that had lasted years and beat the gap of 17 years in between. It felt like just yesterday that I had belonged to this place but I had still missed 'its presence and my presence in it' and the unique charm that came with it.
“New door no. 24, old number 72,” I quickly checked that small bit of crumpled paper that was almost yielding to the moisture of my palm. Appa had insisted that I should go and meet them this time.
“Black gates,” I smiled to myself. “They used to be hmm…green.”
I pushed the gate inward and it creaked open. As I set my foot on the stone pavement that had weathered everything in the years that went by, I looked up to that balcony right above, the thatched roof over it still intact. My entire body shook. God! Sometimes nostalgia can just offset you.
For a moment I just closed my eyes. It was the same balcony where I had stood years ago, waving good bye to my father when he left for office. It was the same balcony where I had stood, hot tears pouring down my cheeks, when they got my baby bro home, for the first time. I was no longer ‘the one’ then.
“And Aditya now..” I smiled to myself.
The veranda at the end of the footpath welcomed me with the same warmth with which it had borne my pranks as a mischievous kid. I would tirelessly climb on it and jump off it, in a loop that would end only with a tight slap from my mother.
I thought I would collapse out of excitement when I rang the doorbell.
“Vandhutten (Coming)”, the familiar lady voice came from behind the door. It hadn’t changed much, the voice, just traces of ageing.
As the door opened, I caught myself staring at this lady, who wore her sari in a ‘madisar kattu’. The vermilion, the glittering nose ring, the traditional hairdo with a string of jasmine encircling it; Lakshmi Amma, there she was and..She had aged so gracefully.
“Yaaru. Yaar venum?” (Who is this? Who do you want?)
“Ahh..Hmm..Lakshmi Amma..” I spoke in between gasps of excitement. “Do you recognize me?”
She stared with confusion written all over her face.
“Lakshmi Amma, Shailaja..,” I placed my right palm on my chest. “Shailu kutty..” I paused. “Enakku Lakshmi Amma rasam thaan venum..” ( I want only Lakshmi Amma’s rasam..)
And her face broke into a smile.
“Shailu Kutty, is this you?” She almost jumped and held my hand immediately. “How grown up you look. I couldn’t even make out,” she exclaimed.
I smiled. I was at loss for words.
“Inga parungo” (see here), she called out to her husband. “Come here, see who has come”
“Come in, come in,” she took me in hurriedly.
“Yaaru?” (Who?) a man in a white dhoti and a white cotton half slack shirt and thick rimmed glasses emerged from one of the inside rooms.
Sambu thatha adjusted his glasses, trying to register the image of a woman who suddenly landed in his abode from nowhere.
“Can you make out who she is?” Lakshmi Amma questioned, impatience marking every word. Sambu thatha just shook a no. I watched his lean frame seeking immense support from the wooden walking stick, an addition to the 84 year old man’s personality.
“Shailu kutty idhu, nenavirukko?” (This is Shailu kutty, remember?) “State Bank Ramachandran who stayed upstairs.. from Coimbatore..his daughter..”
“Oh amaam..adi vaalu..” (Oh yes, you mischievous girl!)
“Va..Va..” (Come, come). The warmth in his voice made me melt. How much I had missed it all these years. Though we had stayed upstairs, Sambu thatha’s house was literally where my existence had been. I would play, run around the house, nobody to question, most of the times eat there and fall asleep in Lakshmi Amma’s lap.
The affection that I had held for that house, for the two was special and unbounded. It was marked by innocence so typical of a child and there was no other reason to it. I loved them because I loved them.
“So, what made Shailu kutty suddenly remember these two old hags?” went on Sambu thatha with his characteristic laugh.
“Oh come on, enough of your silly jokes,” Lakshmi Amma cut him short as I deposited the sweet packets into her hands.
“Are you working?” she asked me.
“Hmm..yes, I am working for a software concern in Delhi,” I replied.
“Ohh..soft..” she stopped halfway. “That thing Raju keeps talking about..”
“Tell me how are amma and appa”
“They are good. They keep talking about you,” I paused. “Oh, Appa has retired.”
“Really? Even Chandru joins the old hag list,” burst out Sambu thatha.
I giggled. I really did. Lakshmi Amma wasn’t bothered. She almost sprang her next question at me.
“How is your brother..ahmm..what is his name?”
“Aditya,” I helped in.
“Ahnn..Adi, how is he?”
“He is studying, 2nd year engineering in Madras. He has been pestering Appa for a bike.”
“Really? Has he grown that big?” Sambu thatha questioned the very essence of mankind - growth.
It is funny the way I addressed them. Sambu thatha was thatha because when I saw him for the first time, he had grey (or as I used to call it, “white”) hair. I used to jump at my mom when she called him maama. “He has white hair. How can you call him maama. Call him thatha,” I would order.
Sambu thatha was 67 then. Lakshmi Amma was Lakshmi Amma because everyone around used to call her that way and somehow she never used to look that old then, that I would have to call her ‘patti’. Moreover, Radha akka, her daughter, used to call her Lakshmi Amma. I had liked it, felt it suited her best and let it stick on.
“So, when are you getting married?” Lakshmi Amma continued with her questions as she handed over steaming filter coffee in a “duvrah tumbler” to me and one to Sambu thatha. I had cosily seated myself on the mat alongside Sambu thatha who was resting in an easy chair. A copy of the day’s newspaper and that old transistor was lying next to him. Lakshmi Amma sat down beside me.
“I actually came to tell you some good news,” I said.
Sambu thatha who was busy tuning into odd stations, desperately in search of the “renu mani kutcheri” (the concert at 2), stopped suddenly.
In a minute, both of them were staring at me with all eagerness. “Marriage fascinates old people beyond any scale,” I thought to myself.
“Ah, well, I am getting married this September,” I concluded abruptly.
Sambu thatha leaned forward.
“Who is the boy?” he asked with brimming eagerness.
“He is my colleague at office, in Delhi.”
Lakshmi Amma’s happy look transformed into a resigned one.
“So, it is not an arranged marriage?” she asked quickly.
“Well, it is..” I paused, “Yes, I did choose him but he is like one of us,” I put it forward politely to her. I didn’t know why I was telling her that but I thought I should and hence I did.
“But..” she shook her head. “There is nothing like your parents seeing somebody for you.”
“Did you match horoscopes?” she shot out.
“Oh.ah..hmm..yes, we did, everything is fine,” I mumbled out owing to lack of preparation.
“But still..”
“Lakshmi, these days kids are very mature. They can handle things very well. I am sure Shailu kutty’s choice must be good,” Sambu thatha spoke reassuringly, patting my head.
“Love marriages are fun in their own way,” he added with a wink.
Lakshmi Amma cast a sharp look that almost silenced him.
“Ennavo ma, pathukko” (Whatever, take care), she said, turning her face towards me. Anxiety was written all over it.
“Lakshmi Amma, everything is fine,” I assured her, gently pressing her hand.
“What is his name?” Sambu thatha’s excitement hadn’t subsided.
“Vasanth, Vasant Chandrashekar”
“So, tell me, how has life been for you all these years?” I asked them.
“just going on. We have only few more years left, all I am praying for is that we should pass away peacefully without troubling anybody,” Lakshmi Amma’s voice was low.
“Enna Lakshmi, you don’t know what to talk,” Sambu thatha intervened.
“Thatha please, let her talk”
“Illai Shailu kut..,” I looked up at Sambu thatha. “Shhh..”
“Lakshmi Amma, what happened?”
Suddenly Lakshmi Amma’s voice mellowed down.
“Nothing. Sometimes it is so tough to live when you grow old,” she looked up and blew her nose.
I took her hand into mine and looked intently at her.”Ennachu?” (what happened?)
“Nothing is particularly wrong Shailu kutty. We have everything that we want. We have this house, we have thatha’s pension as a steady income and we do our pujas and prayers regularly.”
“Hmm…”
“But..” she paused, “Sometimes there is loneliness, a lack of direction in life when you turn around to see that there is no one around to share your happiness. When we fall ill, we have nobody to fall back on. It is true that we have each other to confide things in but I am missing the joy of living together,” By that time, her first tear had already made its way out.
I let her cry. I didn’t assure her, say things would be fine. Sometimes silence and the mere act of listening could heal wounds much more than words of consolation, so did I believe.
“Sambhu thatha, what about Raju anna and Kumar anna? Where are they?”
“They are both in America, all well settled,” he paused. “Raju has two daughters and Kumar has a son. They come to India with their families once in two years.”
“Hmm..”
“Radha is in the U.K. Seeing her has become a rarity too,” continued Lakshmi Amma.
“Sambhu thatha, don’t mind me asking, but didn’t you want to stay with your sons?”
“No,” his voice was fierce this time. “No,” he repeated, relaxing a little bit.
“Kumar didn’t even talk about it, Raju just made a mention. He told us that we could come along if we felt like.” His voice choked.
“What is this, a formality? Why should parents suddenly become strangers and be treated this way?” the question shot out from him, with all the heaviness of a deeply pained heart.
“I refused. I really can’t spend my life in a country that I don’t know. I am too rooted to this place, to leave it behind. Probably, I can’t blame them too. Their lives have taken that course and I can’t stop it. Once Raju had a chance to come back to India for good. I asked him, but..” Silence.
“I think I just have to accept this,” he spoke his heart out. I knew it was frustration that made them talk and not the hate for what their children did.
Lakshmi Amma was silent. “I think when things become unmanageable, we would go to an old age home. I am praying ambaal she doesn’t take us that far.”
That moment, I understood what emotional torture the two went through. Two people, whose love meant so much to me, were caught in the clutches of emotional insecurity and my heart swelled with pity. I cried; cried within.
In the meantime, Lakshmi Amma had moved into the kitchen and come back with a plate of rasam saadham. (Rice with rasam).
“Have this,” she handed the plate to me. I couldn’t remember how many times I had smiled but I did, yet again.
The rasam had not lost its taste and its aroma one bit. It was just the same. Have you ever experienced a sense of travelling back in time, that the five senses can give you? It happened to me this time. I was back to have Lakshmi Amma’s rasam.
“You know, my grandchildren are so naughty,” she said, sounding chirpy again.
“Kumar’s son is so mischievous. Last time that they were here, he suddenly disappeared out of the house. We had such a tough task locating him. He was hiding behind the well, in our neighbour’s backyard,” Sambhu thatha added with great excitement. “These kids, naughty, very naughty.”
And then they spoke about Kumar anna’s wife and how Raju anna’s wife could drive a car. “It seems they don’t wash vessels, nor does a servant maid do it. Looks like there is a machine for all that. Times have changed so much,” she sighed.
I burst out laughing and Sambhu thatha was giggling quietly. The innocence was too sweet, and I knew their hearts were lighter. No qualms, except for those momentary ones, their love and concern for their children and grandchildren was unbiased and absolutely selfless.
By the time we had finished talking about my childhood pranks and everything else, the birds were getting back to their nests and the sky had turned a reddish orange, signaling the arrival of twilight. It was time for me to leave.
“I don’t feel like letting you go, it was so nice talking to you. I didn’t feel the time pass” Lakshmi Amma said looking at me earnestly.
I stood silently.
“You won’t forget us no, after you get married?,” she asked with grave concern in her voice.
“Ayyo, enna idhu Lakshmi Amma, how can I do that?”
“Shailu, forget her, she is like that only,” Sambu thatha chipped in his comment, “May God bless you with a happy and peaceful married life,” he said, placing his hand on my head.
“You should bring Vasanth here, after your marriage,” Lakshmi Amma said. Sambu thatha turned around, taken by surprise with that mocking smile on his face.
“You both should definitely come for the wedding,” I urged. “Please, I will be very happy.”
Lakshmi Amma pressed my hand. “We will try our best, but our blessings are always there.”
As I reached the gate, I turned around, took a look at the aged couple for whom the best gift I had left behind was the smiles on their faces, which they seemed to have forgotten for days together. For me, it was a feeling of satisfaction that I had made a very small difference to the lives of two people, at least for a day. But the bigger loss was, the helpless feeling at not being able to lend a hand further. I waved at them, walked away carrying beautiful memories and also an aching heart.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Between you and me..
Warning: Pure Valentine Special. People who get freaked out by reading romantic stuff and think, man, this girl is mad, please refrain from reading this post!
Quote. A dream sequence. Unquote. Full stop.
I am strange, ain’t I? I would just hesitate and meditate a million times to tell you six simple words. The point is I haven’t managed it this time around too. I would have thanked God a thousand times that you walked into my life and offered me all that you had to. But..
I am funny, ain’t I? I would sit in a corner, reading a book and suddenly wonder what you would be doing right then and drift..and jolt back into reality, and tell myself, “Idiot, stop dreaming!”
I am crazy, ain’t I? Every time that I wake up and pray, I would say a small prayer for you too and wish all went well for you and that you had a day that gave you all that you wanted.
I am stupid, ain’t I? I would shut myself up in a room, stand away from the mirror, close my eyes and mutter weakly through my lips your name and say, what I wanted to say. Quickly then, I would open my eyes, look around with a sense of guilt, pray that the walls didn’t really have ears and dash out of the room.
I am silly, ain’t I? Sometimes, I would wonder, whether what I thought and nurtured was actually right or whether I committed a big crime. Beads of sweat would line up over my brow and I would shiver and tell myself, “Rubbish, hell with your day dreams!” I would cry into my pillow in the night, cursing my mind for all that it had to think unnecessarily.
I am confused, ain’t I? I would wake up next morning and feel weird about what happened over the night and go back to my old state of mind again. Well, the most spectacular thing about falling in love, is the inability to identify when it all happened. It just flows, the liking, to take shape into a desire, of being with you all the time, no matter what.
I am human, ain’t I? I would hate you like a kid when I saw you acting as if you didn’t care much about what I thought. I would die to know what ran in your head, whatever the heck you thought about me. I would, despite all conscious efforts to control, dream of a life with you and feel happy and secure with the sheer thought of it.
*********************************************************************
I walked back, after that fight with you, thinking all that I said. My pace got slower and slower and I forced myself to a stop. I retraced my steps, walking faster, my heart literally racing and thumping that I almost felt it would stop in a minute. I wished fervently you hadn’t disappeared in that five minutes before which I had bid you good bye. I turned round the corner, saw you there, rooted to the spot where I left you.
“So?”, you asked with that teasing smile on your face and I just stared at the ground and mumbled, “ahem..well”. I looked up to see you right there in front of me, moved in closer, my whole body literally shaking out of fear and suspense. I wouldn’t dare to look into your eyes, for I feared the worst – a total emotional surrender. And then you took my face into your palms, looked into my eyes and just muttered, “My crazy little darling!” And me that silly kid, just hugged you tight and said, “You mean bum!”
****************************************************
What next? Well, that was just a fairy tale story for yet another Valentine’s day! Nothing more, nothing less..and for those who actually wondered what those six simple words are, they are, “I am in love with you..!”And that brings us to the end of a Valentine weekend series..marriages, romantic movies and a pure romantic fiction!!
Quote. A dream sequence. Unquote. Full stop.
I am strange, ain’t I? I would just hesitate and meditate a million times to tell you six simple words. The point is I haven’t managed it this time around too. I would have thanked God a thousand times that you walked into my life and offered me all that you had to. But..
I am funny, ain’t I? I would sit in a corner, reading a book and suddenly wonder what you would be doing right then and drift..and jolt back into reality, and tell myself, “Idiot, stop dreaming!”
I am crazy, ain’t I? Every time that I wake up and pray, I would say a small prayer for you too and wish all went well for you and that you had a day that gave you all that you wanted.
I am stupid, ain’t I? I would shut myself up in a room, stand away from the mirror, close my eyes and mutter weakly through my lips your name and say, what I wanted to say. Quickly then, I would open my eyes, look around with a sense of guilt, pray that the walls didn’t really have ears and dash out of the room.
I am silly, ain’t I? Sometimes, I would wonder, whether what I thought and nurtured was actually right or whether I committed a big crime. Beads of sweat would line up over my brow and I would shiver and tell myself, “Rubbish, hell with your day dreams!” I would cry into my pillow in the night, cursing my mind for all that it had to think unnecessarily.
I am confused, ain’t I? I would wake up next morning and feel weird about what happened over the night and go back to my old state of mind again. Well, the most spectacular thing about falling in love, is the inability to identify when it all happened. It just flows, the liking, to take shape into a desire, of being with you all the time, no matter what.
I am human, ain’t I? I would hate you like a kid when I saw you acting as if you didn’t care much about what I thought. I would die to know what ran in your head, whatever the heck you thought about me. I would, despite all conscious efforts to control, dream of a life with you and feel happy and secure with the sheer thought of it.
*********************************************************************
I walked back, after that fight with you, thinking all that I said. My pace got slower and slower and I forced myself to a stop. I retraced my steps, walking faster, my heart literally racing and thumping that I almost felt it would stop in a minute. I wished fervently you hadn’t disappeared in that five minutes before which I had bid you good bye. I turned round the corner, saw you there, rooted to the spot where I left you.
“So?”, you asked with that teasing smile on your face and I just stared at the ground and mumbled, “ahem..well”. I looked up to see you right there in front of me, moved in closer, my whole body literally shaking out of fear and suspense. I wouldn’t dare to look into your eyes, for I feared the worst – a total emotional surrender. And then you took my face into your palms, looked into my eyes and just muttered, “My crazy little darling!” And me that silly kid, just hugged you tight and said, “You mean bum!”
****************************************************
What next? Well, that was just a fairy tale story for yet another Valentine’s day! Nothing more, nothing less..and for those who actually wondered what those six simple words are, they are, “I am in love with you..!”And that brings us to the end of a Valentine weekend series..marriages, romantic movies and a pure romantic fiction!!
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