Of Jamuns..

My first post from Sitapur. Three months have whirled by and I have never quite found anything as fascinating to merit a post. The days follow a mundane pattern and often being occupied at office, I found 'fruit lunch' as a solution to menu related inquiries. As rains draw in, watermelons begin to lose their colour and sweetness and I requested for replacement with whatever fruit was locally available in abundance (in addition to our super abundant mangoes of course!). 

To my astonishment (and immense nostalgia), I was presented with a plateful of Jamuns today. In the past decade of serving in Uttar Pradesh, of all the fruits that grow well in this part of the country, I never imagined Jamuns could be one. To us, Jamuns have always been small black-blue-violet berries which dot the pathways of parks and public gardens and leave amethyst streaks wherever they fall. It is a common sight to find folks gathering the edible ones for consumption in such parks and streets. Growing up in Delhi, I only remember buying Jamuns in small newspaper pouches (which never contained say more than 10) and thought like most berries (falsa and shahtoot) these must be rare and not meant to be eaten heartily.

And yet when I was brought that plate of Jamuns, it suddenly took me almost three decades back. I clearly remember the day it had rained heavily all night, there was a storm and there was no power in our part of the city. Therefore, as soon as our school van deposited us (the very few who had braved the weather to attend the school) at the gate of our small school building, to our utmost glee, a huge branch of the lone Jamun tree in the school courtyard had fallen. With no electricity to keep us indoors and the absence of sun outside, we were given an impromptu picnic of sorts. I remember filling the pockets of my rust colored skirt and everybody else doing the same. But what I remember most is my sister suggesting we empty our 'Milton' water bottles and fill them with Jamun too (and we did that eventually only to present our Mother with squashed Jamuns upon arrival and also the problem to clean that bottle somehow!).

From that day in late 80s to the day I saw these Jamuns today, I have no other memory of a Jamun feast. In reality, I do not even remember eating or buying Jamuns eversince I am on my own. And yet as I write this post, it occurs to me now why my 'Nani' (grandmother) always referred to the color purple as 'jamuniya'. While I believe purple is my favourite colour, the connection never occurred to me before. Nani is no longer around and others in the family refer to color purple as 'baingani' (like a brinjal). Like many memories which evaporate or remain tucked in some unknown corner, this was one. 

For once I am contented and grateful for the surprises life offers us. For once, I am astonished how stories of life resurface unbeknownst. For once, my plate is full and I relish what I have!

A splendid Sunday.. and the long awaited walk to the river!

Wheat fields!

Today was an ordinary Sunday like any other but sometimes the crisp blue skies and the yellow sunshine make all the difference. Even before I could properly open my eyes, I could see the golden beams of sunshine knocking on my vintage glass doors. In a place like this where winters are literally bone chilling and there's no sun for days on end, a sunny radiant morning has the power to lift spirits instantly. After bath and breakfast, I decided to just stroll around.

Perhaps the opportunity beckoned. I digressed from the my regular walking route and into the vegetable patch and wheat fields. With a little help from Prisma and phone camera, I too could immortalize my memory of this day with my own series on wheat fields. And being reminded of  VanGogh's wheatfields' series, I realize why artists are often drawn to the beauty of what might appear to others as the ordinary and the mundane. It was also an education of sorts to witness how broccoli and lettuce grow.

When I had broached the possibility of walking from our house to the river bank (the proximity of the river was known to me thanks to Google Maps) to our staff few days back, I was not just discouraged on account of the fear of wild animals and snakes, I was also told how impossible it was to cross the the boundary wall of the campus.Yet the spirit of adventure (attributable to heavy dosage of Ruskin Bond stories) refused to die and as a first step, I thought it would be interesting to survey the wall itself and check if it offers any recess for me to disappear quietly. While the wall appears low and easily surmountable from a distance, upon reaching near, I discovered that it was toughened concrete and there was also a trench running alongside which was overgrown with low bushes and thorny shrubs. Yet the view of the house from the wall was a joy in itself and I continued walking parallel to the wall (not to mention my socks and shoes which were soaked in mud by now from walking on damp farm soil of the fabled wheat fields). 

My doubts over the idea of an impenetrable fortification were shortly confirmed when I discovered a section of the wall that had possibly been vandalized for either ease of access or some other petty theft like mangoes etc. However, that little egress was also my portal to the magical realm beyond my boundary walls. With an escort in tow (who was even more game), and Google Maps for general sense of direction, I embarked upon my little expedition.

The 'pucca nala' behind the campus walls and the mango orchard in the distance

It became clear that if I managed to cross the adjoining sugarcane fields and the mango orchard behind my house, the river would be less than 200 m away. However, there was a brickwork trench that separated me and the orchard. Common sense dictates that this 'pucca nala' must be some sort of emergency channel when the river  is in flood. At the moment, it was dry as dust, and I used the trench as my path for roughly 100 m till I found an easy entry into the orchard. Crossing the orchard was easy and Google Maps showed if I walk North-West, I would reach my destination. Reaching a thicket of foliage, I managed my first sneak preview of my neighbourhood river. The river was reduced to a clear stream and was flowing in a narrow channel at least ten feet below my vantage point. I saw a beautiful pair of Saras birds (which made me long for someone's presence) playing on the river bank but flew away quickly hearing the rustle of my feet on dry leaves. 

First glimpse of the river

As the river quietly flowed, I wondered how in the midst of a bustling city, these few moments on the river bank are full of serenity and pristine beauty. I was reminded of a few lines by the poet Keki N Daruwalla who wrote; 

"if you decide to pull away

from the dust of your lives,

the best thing would be

to get hold of oars

and row down a river."

I decided to make this trip to 'river' again, possibly with a DSLR camera next time and definitely before the wall is repaired. It was my own little meditation and my own piece of solitude in an otherwise whirlwind existence.mAnd also the joy feels incomplete, if you constantly think of bringing that special someone to share the beauty of your find and marvel at its existence.

On my way back (through the vegetable patch), I decided to feast on a Pilibhit version of Caesar salad (with lettuce-broccoli-raw paneer- tomato tossed in olive oil) for lunch.  A good siesta and evening tea followed by a beautiful orange-lavender sunset are perfect nourishment for a starved soul.  I sincerely hope all Sundays gave a sense of fulfillment like this one did.

An orange lavender sunset