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!

Of Few Poems and Amaltas..

Sometimes there is not much to write by way of a 'post' but a recurrent thing/theme/object also wouldn't allow one to find peace until one gets it out of one's mind. Come summers, and as its time for the Laburnum flowering, no matter where I am, a surfeit of 'Amaltas' memories start playing in my head. 

The memories go far back to our school days when we would come home on sizzling afternoons and the streets of Delhi would be paved with either the 'gold' of Amaltas or the 'crimson' of Gulmohar. As years passed, the daily 'struggles' and far more 'important' things crowded the mind space and one no longer even spared a thought of the same. And yet, today, nearly two decades years later, staying in a district where I have managed to come across just one Amaltas no matter how hard I try to find, I pine for my hometown and its 'streets of gold'. 

Each time I think of Amaltas, my most stirring memory is that of my dear friend (and hostel mate KC) leaving JNU and two of us setting out early on the day of her departure to take as many pics as possible of our beautiful campus. Today when I look back at those pics, nearly all of them seem to present a yellow splurge in the backdrop. If I am lucky enough to find, I would add to this blog post a pic (of the same tree of gold growing inside our Godavari hostel) that I happened to capture during my last visit (which in turn has precious memories of its own). Though a lot of water has passed under the bridge since we left our alma mater, a few things are caught in a time warp. Am sure each of us who carry a bit of JNU in our hearts, will always also carry a bit of this gold.

Years later as life took me to the arid Bundelkhand where summers meant a challenging time of misery, droughts and fires, and the landscape turned dreary into the color of dust, it was once again only a few trees (Amaltas, Gulmohar, Palash and Mahua) which would provide succor to the eyes and the soul alike. Needless, my 'gilted' memories are the only thing I carried along as I waved goodbye to Bundelkhand twice!

Leaving Delhi almost a decade back (and living in multiple places before I could settle and call Lucknow my home), once again my eyes are invariably drawn to Amaltas in bloom anywhere on the streets of Lucknow. Yet a particular favorite of mine is a feeble Amaltas near the Loreto crossing that I saw everyday on my way to the State Secretariat. It doesn't remain in bloom for long nor there is anything special associated with the same and yet I couldn't help making it a part of my art journal and writing a few lines about it.

There was this lovely yellow tree

Everyday it seemed to be greeting me

On my way to the work

My own little happiness quirk 

 (14 May, 2015)

As I shared my art journal entry (sans the poem) with friends and family, long stories flowed in (not to mention a century of 'likes')! Of particular mention are the two poems I received. Not just that these poems need to be shared, the memories would no longer be complete without them.

अमलतास / गुलज़ार


खिड़की पिछवाड़े को खुलती तो नज़र आता था
वो अमलतास का इक पेड़, ज़रा दूर, अकेला-सा खड़ा था
शाखें पंखों की तरह खोले हुए
एक परिन्दे की तरह
बरगलाते थे उसे रोज़ परिन्दे आकर
सब सुनाते थे वि परवाज़ के क़िस्से उसको
और दिखाते थे उसे उड़ के, क़लाबाज़ियाँ खा के
बदलियाँ छू के बताते थे, मज़े ठंडी हवा के!
आंधी का हाथ पकड़ कर शायद
उसने कल उड़ने की कोशिश की थी
औंधे मुँह बीच-सड़क आके गिरा है!!

The Laburnum Top/ Ted Hughes 

The Laburnum Top is silent, quite still

in the afternoon yellow September sunlight,
A few leaves yellowing, all its seeds fallen
Till the goldfinch comes, with a twitching chirrup
A suddeness, a startlement,at a branch end
Then sleek as a lizard, and alert and abrupt,
She enters the thickness,and a machine starts up
Of chitterings, and of tremor of wings,and trillings -
The whole tree trembles and thrills
It is the engine of her family.
She stokes it full, then flirts out to a branch-end
Showing her barred face identity mask
Then with eerie delicate whistle-chirrup whisperings
She launches away, towards the infinite
And the laburnum subsides to empty

There are a number of people who have stood by us in life's journey and who have left an indelible imprint on our lives. Incidentally, many of them already know of my 'Amaltas love' and were not surprised to receive a-middle-of-the-year-no-rhyme-or-reason 'Thank You' card that carried a pic of (you guessed it) AMALTAS! 

However, the story doesn't end here. I came to know, my 'yellow fever' has truly caught on, when,(living far away from my loved ones,) one morning I unexpectedly received  the adjoining pic and realized sometimes no words need to be said.

A page from the everyday life of an about to be 33 year old!

“I’m the kind of person who likes to be by himself. To put a finer point on it, I’m the type of person who doesn’t find it painful to be alone. I find spending an hour or two every day running alone, not speaking to anyone, as well as four or five hours alone at my desk, to be neither difficult nor boring. I’ve had this tendency ever since I was young, when, given a choice, I much preferred reading books on my own or concentrating on listening to music over being with someone else. I could always think of things to do by myself.” 

― Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

As March Madness makes way for 'May Mellowness', and friends and family grant a lifelong extension to my license to be mad, for the first time since school I find something to look forward to each day and for the first time 'everyday' seems more interesting than some 'special' days. While there a million thoughts running through my mind and at least half a dozen blog posts (which require dedicated writing time) traipse half-baked through my imagination, I earnestly wish I could freeze a slice of my time and relish it at a later stage in life. While time travel remains a distinct improbability at the moment, I could always mark this great time of my life with chosen reference points which will be my memory aids in days to come. If I were to present a cross-section of my daily activities, this is what it would look like:

• Enjoying- Summers in Pratapgarh (I know its 43 degrees outside!) and long evening walks 
• Listening to- MTV India Unplugged (all seasons)
• Loving- my disconnect (not yet freedom) from cellphone/Whatsapp/Facebook..
• Learning- to drive around and observe the beauty/architecture of country homes
• Feasting (my eyes) on- Gulmohars in full bloom and Mahua leaves which appear red in sunlight
• Relishing- home-cooked 'Litti-Chokha' (typical meal of this part of the country) 
• Playing- Two Dots (my meditation)
• (Night time) Reading- David Levithan (all books), Murakami (What I Talk About When I Talk About Running)
• Organizing-Craft Supplies/ Digital files/ Photographs
• Clicking- Parakeets and Hornbills and Hoopoes flitting about in the fields in the evening
• Dreading- Return to office in July and managing two kids by myself
• Hosting- People over lunch/tea and serving meals they do not expect in Pratapgarh (We never host dinners because its kids' sleeping time)
• Sending- love and wishes in the form of self designed cards to dear friends all over
• Hoping- to complete my Tapestry of Dreams before younger one turns one
• Reflecting upon- being emotional and instinctive (and its fall outs) (As Murakami says, "Emotional hurt is the price a person has to pay in order to be independent.")
• Smiling- over the little things my kids do and amazed at God's kindness.
• Thanking- Everyone and Everything that has made all of the above possible

An eventful February and the advent of spring..

February in this part of the world that we live in, has always been a season of change. As students, it was that part of the year when our academic session would close, we would write our exams and wait for our promotion to the next class. When life taught us to appreciate the seasons of the year, February marked the beginning of Spring. February coincides with the month of Falgun as per the Hindu calender and augurs a time of festivities all over the country. As a student of economics in the University, February meant the economic budget and year long repercussions of the same. Even on the personal front, February marked a time of family celebration as we would gather to celebrate the anniversary of our parents. As if it was not enough, me and A tied the knot in this very month and later welcomed little N into our lives at this time of the year. 2015 was no exception.

Little N's birthday Winnie-the-Pooh inspired birthday cake

                         
Before February could even knock on our door, the season of change had begun. It was not the first time that I had to change assignments in the month of February. Thankfully, the same did not involve any change of places this year. Yet, when it comes to 'moving' of any kind or at any time, I become a living example of the 'Law of Inertia' and its always the bonds which unite humans, that I find most difficult to deal with. It was not easy saying goodbye to all those fabulous people who had brought up my daughter since she was 7 months old, who helped us move houses, who worked extra hours to keep their commitments and who did much more than their job title demanded of them. Needless to mention, they become family for life.

Much as I believe, my stint as an academician was truly wonderful in terms of fulfillment of my personal and professional commitments, nothing can compare with the sense of satisfaction one achieves while working in a social sector program. Nothing could be a bigger education than working in the education sector in a state as huge as ours. Thanks to a wonderful and committed team, it took no time settling in and barely a month later as I write these words, it feels as if its always been an integral part of my existence and I always belonged here. At precisely these times, I strongly feel, much as government in our country faces bricks and bats for anything under the sun, the devotion of these unsung soldiers who chart the country's progress can not be acknowledged in terms of being on the government payroll alone.

Change of assignments apart, the month of February is also considered auspicious for weddings (that explains ours too!) and celebrations and hence one could easily correlate the same with a packed social calender. Add to that the responsibility of contributing in every-which-way to our annual service week, and we end up juggling our roles as parents who have to organize their child's birthday and as not-so-senior members of a service that we are proud to be part of and feel committed to contribute to in every possible manner. Our experience last year had equipped us with a fair idea of how things are to be managed and neither A nor me found it difficult shuttling between lunches and dinners and yet be able to choose a design and place the order for a wonderful Winnie-the-Pooh cake for little N's second birthday. And yes, service week also brings its own sets of rewards as we ended up winning a Nikon camera, a  power-bank and a 500 GB hard drive as prizes for our entries in the Photography Competition.

Our submissions for the service week Photography Competition

The biggest event however remains little N's birthday (the fact that we too completed six years of marital harmony this year is often relegated to the category of 'mundane' in the larger scheme of things!). While N's both sets of grandparents could not join us for the celebration, N still ended up spending her day with the people she loves most. The fact that Mamma took an off from work was of little significance as she was surrounded by the love and blessings of those familiar faces who have seen her grow each day and have contributed immensely to the same. These generous souls have not just kept our lives chugging smoothly since our arrival in Lucknow but also showered their affection and care upon our little one which was not part of their 'duty' from any stretch of imagination. The only guests who were 'invited' for the birthday party were two little playmates of little N she grew up with in our old house and who still visit her on play dates in the new one. The day was a truly memorable one for us as well. While our zero-guest-policy did not bog us down with the formalities of preparing and serving food and drinks, the fact that little N was also exultant in the company of her own set of people (and wasn't intimidated by the presence of too many strangers in the house) was a blessing for our little family.

Each day we are thankful to the Almighty for our small cocooned existence spun by webs of happiness and contentment.But above all, we are thankful to our family and friends, who have stood by us over all these years , showered us with unconditional love and welcomed our little one into their lives. And now, the little story about advent of spring..

In my older posts, I have often mentioned of our memories of places being entwined with the flora and fauna around us. Yet, a special story that I am reminded of remains unsaid. In the February of 2013, barely 2 days before the arrival of our little one into this world, we too had newly arrived in the city of Lucknow. Strangers to this city as we were back then, and newly shifted to our one BHK accomodation, little else as I could do at that point of time, sitting on our (newly purchased) bed, I would look listlessly at the life outside our huge glass windows. On day one, as the sun was about to set, I remembered a tree at a little distance, with a slight tinge of red on top. Back then I thought, it could be a new leaf gleaming in the orange light of the fading sun or some resplendent bird from the riverbank nearby. Next day, as I was preparing to go to the hospital for the last medical check before the big day, I noticed a small red flower as if it was some omen about the impending arrival of our little one. A week later, by the time I returned from the hospital with the baby, the entire tree was full of red blooms and it was then I realized it was a Palash tree (Flame of the Forest) in its full glory marking the advent of spring. Over the next couple of months, that tree was some kind of an anchor of my faith while I made the slow but difficult transition into parenthood. And over these months, the tree took roots in my heart forever. Looking back, I fondly reminisce about the same tree growing outside Cauvery hostel in JNU and covering the narrow road in a lovely shade of red. Or the lovely forest of Palash on both sides of the NH connecting Chitrakoot to Allahabad which stretches for miles on end and is often the only splash of color against a dreary landscape in summers. Today, as I travel to office each day, I look forward to the crimson canopy of the Palash growing outside CO Mahanagar's office and I often wonder how long will it continue to thrive on one of the busiest thoroughfares of Lucknow. To borrow the words of Stefanie Brook Trout, to me the true nature of the tree no longer is "in the bulk of its shape but in the way its form alters my vision of the world".

As our trio (me, A and N) completes two years of our stay in Lucknow, and we live each day like none before- watching mini adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh, baking fresh cakes and pastas and spending time with family and friends, I often imagine myself asking my two kids (the older one and the little one), the words I reproduce below:


“Would you like some warm Spring pie?
Then, take a cup of clear blue sky.
Stir in buzzes from a bee,
Add the laughter of a tree.

A dash of sunlight should suffice
To give the dew a hint of spice.
Mix with berries, plump and sweet.
Top with fluffy clouds, and eat!” 

― Paul F. Kortepeter, Holly Pond Hill: A Child's Book of Easter

House This!!!

House This!!!

All these days I have been trying to take some time out to be able to pen down a few thoughts for my blog but the election fever in the state, A's posting to Odisha on Observer duty and my own transfer on the day he left meant little respite for days to follow. Little N has shown understanding well beyond her years (she's not even 14 months as I write this!) while Mamma discharges the election duty and stays away for hours on end. Once again as I find myself in complete solitude after the day's work and as little N sleeps peacefully after chasing peacocks all day, my thoughts wander back to the days when A was still in Tripura and I endlessly pursued a zillion hobbies to keep my hopes from fading and my energies creatively channelized. 

I had brought along with myself M-i-l's book EASY EMBROIDERY by Lis Paludan and had wanted to start on some work of my own too. The way her book is written, it seemed like a matter of patience and practice before even a novice could embark on embroidery project of sorts. One of my two initial choices was the embroidered houses which seemed simple enough to begin with.

During the recent visit to my parents' house in Delhi, as I looked at the houses I had made, I reminisced about the winter evenings I spent confined to my Agra house all by myself and doing embroidery for hours on end. My dear friend P made an interpretation of the same work too and if it were not for the countless happenings in her life these days, I could have showcased her work too.

The work comprises of 11 houses stacked in three rows of 3-4-4 respectively. In the bottom row for example, the outline of the houses is done with black running stitch, the rooftops are done in pink asymmetrical running stitch, blue satin stitch, yellow chain stitch and dark pink and red chain stitches respectively from left to right. The doors are mostly in chain stitch while the daisy flower petals are done in french bullion knots. The marigold flower and the windows of the second house from left are done in buttonhole stitch.

The Bottom Row

The Middle Row

The middle row too comprises four houses done in outline black running stitch. The roof of the first left house is done in a mix of buttonholes and french bullion knots while the windows are outlined by chain stitch in two colors. The chimneys of all the houses are done in chain stitch. The roof of second house has a double outline done in chain stitch and filled with satin stitch, windows are filled with buttonhole circles and double chain stitched door is adorned with french bullion knots. The third house from left is a classic example of chain stitch and buttonhole stitch while the herringbone roof of the last house lends a real touch to the depiction.

The three houses in the top row are largely a mixture of chain stitch and buttonhole stitch used in tandem.

The Top Row

While I truly hope I have tried my best to preserve the beauty and color scheme of Lis Paludan's work,the unavailability of certain colors' threads and my own lack of discipline coupled with the fact that the project was completed in over six months in different cities with different states of mind, meant a melange of ideas on the fabric. The left panel is my work and the right is the original depiction as given in her book. I really hope my sister M loved her long promised gift when she saw this!

In the Kingdom of Clouds- Coorg, Karnataka

A lot of things have changed since my last blog post. For one, I have resumed office.And as I write these lines sitting in my office, I could not be more thankful to the government for being such a liberal employer. There are multiple reasons for that: I got six months of maternity leave, got nearly all my hospital expenses covered and now that there's nobody I could leave my baby with, am even allowed to take her along to the office. An outsider to the system may smirk at this but then as civil servants living in a city far from our respective home-towns, there wasn't much else me or A could do about it.

Cooperative as our baby has been, bringing up a kid without grandparents, drains the last reserves of one's energy and patience. Add to that the constant fire-fighting which has become the quintessence of government functioning in India and one is left gasping for breath. By the time I write this, I shudder to even mention about the woes faced by a young couple in keeping the house running without any full time support. Weighed down with these and a dozen other concerns, the posting of a dear friend An in Kodagu came as a whiff of fresh air and an opportunity we could not afford to miss. While A showed immense enterprise in getting the reservations and bookings done in a matter of hours, the generosity of the invitation extended to us was no less commendable.

While it wasn't our maiden trip to 'the Scotland of the East', the sheer diversity of the landscape with a change of every few kilometers meant our holiday was not going to be bereft of discoveries and surprises.I often wonder how little we knew about the place till not so long ago. Even if one were not to visit, it is difficult to understand, how a place with culture and history as distinct as this, could be unknown to us for so long. Even if it were not for the 'charm' of the place, the fact that we were welcomed by a bright sky full of fluffy white clouds, I could not help but christen this place as 'the Kingdom of Clouds'.

There are many places in India one could describe as 'breathtakingly beautiful' but for Coorg this alone doesn't suffice. It is one of the few places which has been so favourably endowed by the Nature and has managed to preserve much of its pristine beauty. Strangely however, in terms of the parameters of modern development, Kodagu is considered to be a backward district. For me however, in some fictional narrative, the place could serve as a magical country in its own right. It has a language of its own but no script. Coorg was also an independent state of India till it was merged with Mysore after States Reorganization in 1956. It has a distinct cuisine of its own. It is an important spice region of India and contributes one-third of the country's coffee production. And not just that, the people even have their distinct dressing styles/ costumes/ jewellery. The way Kodagu women wear saree differs from the rest of the country- with pleats at the back, it is supposed to make it convenient for them to go up and down the hilly countryside.

The people of Coorg, (Kodavas as they are called ) consider themselves to be descendants of the soldiers of Alexander, the Great and hence are known for their martial skills and beauty. Hence the fact that a number of Kodavas have made their mark as India's defence personnel, athletes, actors etc shouldn't come as a surprise. Our friend An took immense pride in informing us about the Kodavas Annual Hockey festival, the existence of three astro-turfs and four eighteen hole golf courses in Coorg! We were also surprised when he decided to shed light on Section 4 of Arms Act of 1954 which read with another notification actually exempts all "persons of Coorg race" from going through the usual process of obtaining an Arms license!

Whatever be the reason or excuse, we were smitten by the beauty of the place, the first time itself. But this time as we walked amidst the floating clouds (and lived in the middle of a cardamom estate!), we felt we had to bring our parents to Coorg or else they may never know such a place actually exists in India. The fact that the renovation of An's house would also be complete shortly, seems to be an incentive strong enough..

“Sometimes, for a moment, everything is just as you need it to be. The memories of such moments live in the heart, waiting for the time you need to think of them, if only to remind yourself that for a short while, everything had been fine, and might be so again.”

-Ami McKay, The Virgin Cure

The Tapestry of Dreams-I

The onset of this year also marked the beginning of our lifelong journey as parents. No joy in the world could compare with the joy of holding one's baby in one's arms for the first time. Every parent in the world aspires to give the very best to his kid, often more than what he/she got as a child. Its a pure joy to watch her grow before our own eyes and perhaps even before we would realize, she will grow wings and will be ready and set to embark on a journey of her own. Much as we would always strive to provide her everything we can and perhaps even more, right from the day her angelic smile illuminated our lives, I wished we could give her something to remind her of how much more her parents love her with each passing day and what an absolute delight she has been to us. While it is our duty as a parent to bring her up in the best manner possible, something I strongly wish she comes to possess is the power of imagination and the perseverance to translate her dreams into reality.

After much thought, bickering and planning, we zeroed in on a grand hand-embroidered tapestry project and decided to label it as 'The Tapestry of Dreams'. For days on end, me and hubby kept sketching and visualizing objects to incorporate into our tapestry and scanned every source of inspiration (books, internet, signboards  etc) for hours on end. In a random Ikea catalog, I saw an interesting doodled fabric and hours of image search led me to Tidny by the amazingly gifted designer duo of Sissi Edholm and Lisa Ullenius. I have incorporated several of their doodles into the tapestry and hope to embroider it as beautifully as we can.After hours of deliberation (and endless baby related jobs), we started upon our project bit by bit. The progress has been slower than we expected but, without hubby's contribution it could have very well been a zilch!

In this first post in a series on 'The Tapestry of Dreams', I restrict myself to the top most panel which depicts the sky/space/ weather and elements there of.The coexistence of sun, moon and stars, as also the aeroplane and the UFO speaks of our attempt to combine the real and the imaginary. Isn't that what dreams are made of? Am also linking it up with Artistic Inspirations challenge. 

Our collective fascination for the colours of the rainbow is manifest in the double chain stitched rainbow rising over the horizon and an aeroplane flying across the sky leaving contrails. Reminds me of my recent flight when I witnessed the same while landing in Lucknow.

While they say, every cloud has a silver lining, nobody must have seen the same but ours definitely has one to boast of. Needless to mention, this silver lining proved to be the most difficult one to accomplish! The clouds outline has been done in running stitch with rain in single chain stitch. The filling of the cloud has been done in multi-colored button holes.

As is often the case in my life too, while it pours in Lucknow, Delhi boasts of a sun in its full summer splendor! Our vibrant sun however,shines beautifully over the city in our tapestry and is nothing like the scorching sun of Delhi one grew up under. The sun rays have been done in superficial herring-bone stitch and the disc has been done in button hole stitch.

The thunder of Lucknow lightning strikes can be seen in the purple blazes in the left corner but need not be feared in the presence of a benevolent planet and twinkling stars.

Lastly, the UFO in the right hand corner does not drop unfriendly aliens but stands for everything mysterious that our current level of scientific progress can not explain. Like its eager antennae extending outwards, for the rest of our lives, we too will be eager and anxious to receive any form of communication from the Small One. 

Hopefully when she will look at it sometimes in a ponderous mood, she will remember and understand a lot of things said and unsaid. As they say, 

 "It is the unspoken ethic of all magicians to not reveal the secrets." (David Copperfield ) 

Of friendship and a dear friend..

As a student in JNU, our economics class and our hostel community were more like an open family and I thought one could nurture close association with a number of people. Partially true, but in prime in particular and in life in general, one's vision is often myopic and one fails to appreciate how time takes it toll on us. Today life has taken the members of the same 'open family' to all parts of the world and at times one even realizes our paths may perhaps never cross again. It does not feel good to know that because the warmth we shared still remains, but one suddenly realizes how much was left unsaid and how much more there still is to be shared. Yet the pulls and pressures of our professional and personal lives often leave us with little time and energy to reach out for people beyond our immediate milieu and its only sometimes one decides to go an extra mile to see someone we knew all along. Even if that genuine warmth and affection remains, the possibility remains that we could have drifted so far apart in temporal and spatial terms that it might be difficult to relate to each other's lives.

This sad realization did dawn on me but only much later when a 24x7 job, marriage, home (read household) and now a five month old keep my hands more than full. Much as I would have loved to live in the old times forever, its always been a task for me to explain myself endlessly and with the kind of uncertainty one lives with in our profession, much of our social interactions could be left to luck and chance. If there's somebody whom we still warm up to, could speak uninhibited to and we know will always be there, I think that special somebody has indeed passed the litmus test of friendship and more importantly time!

Am dedicating this post to such friends A N for being two of the most wonderful people I have ever met. Its surprising how some people we never knew for the better part of our lives come to win our trust so much that at times one instinctively reaches out for them even before one's own siblings. And with this kind of faith, the intervening time, distance and circumstances cease to matter. In other words,  that there could be a thousand miles separating us or that we grew up in two entirely different social milieu has never  been of any significance. One doesn't always necessarily need words to communicate and silence is not met with innumerable questions either. Can not thank them often and enough for making us feel welcome and comfortable into their lives and for being part of one's 'charmed circle' of people who make life truly meaningful.

I wish and pray that life offers you the very best of everything there could be, forever and always. Much as I wish I could give you all that you aspire for, could not think of giving you anything better than the 'Tree of Life' itself. Hope life will treat you gently in its course and we will build many more memories and dreams together. But most importantly, just as I was about to commit the folly of saying we-stay-the-same-forever, I would rather say, life has given us a wonderful opportunity of knowing each other and even if times are hard for us and hope is even more scant, all that matters today and always will, is that we will try to appreciate each other's circumstances, will not be hasty in our judgement and remember each other in our thoughts and prayers. May the Force be with you, Always!!!

There is an eternal love between the water drop and the leaf. When you look at them, you can see that they both shine out of happiness.

“There is an eternal love between the water drop and the leaf. When you look at them, you can see that they both shine out of happiness.” 

― Mehmet Murat Ildan

These words echo in my mind each time I look at flowers. Then be it water lilies floating in village ponds or a small vessel kept at the doorstep of Indian households. There's something magical about the hues that nature has imbued the foliage with. I for one find it difficult to take my eyes off any floral arrangement, not just for their intrinsic beauty but also I because it seems to me as if God has imparted life to some delicate brushstrokes.

Till date I treasure the Chinar leaves I had collected from Nishat Bagh in Srinagar back in the year 2007 and if some dear friends happen to read this post, they will be instantly able to recall the handmade greeting cards I had sent them upon my return which carried those leaves. Despite the poor quality of the pic I had taken, I have never been able to forget the golden hued leaves floating in water and small blades of grass heralding a new life.

Chinar leaves in Srinagar

Often the people we visit in elitist echelons talk glibly about the imported orchids do they had at a family wedding and how somebody made his beloved feel special with the choicest flowers imported from some unknown corner of the world. I often lose thread of such conversations and my mind immediately wanders off to the wild flowers which grow abundantly everywhere in rains. Nature did not assign value to its creations, its only we as members of an increasingly materialistic society do..

I think flowers have a precious lesson to teach us. Even with an ephemeral lifespan if a flower could radiate so much beauty, happiness, color and life! why do we as humans waste our lives lamenting, pretending and frowning. During the tea breaks we had between the classes in our Academy in Mussoorie, whenever I found it difficult being part of any mundane conversation, I remember looking at a vessel full of water and white and orange flowers kept outside Dhruvshila. I could spend an entire life looking at those reflections in water and wondering what was so magical about those floating flowers. 

Mango blossoms in Chitrakoot

I remember most people who would visit us in Banda or Chitrakoot would try to sympathize for being posted in Bundelkhand (far from the civilisation!).  Today when I look back at the memories of the house we lived in, all I can think of is the mango blossoms and the birds and bees who came to collect nectar therefrom.. Or the rustic earthen pot at our entrance which our gardener would decorate with various hued roses and sunflowers and periwinkles..The image of that myriad hued oasis beckoning a weary-eyed traveler like us upon our arrival at the house each day is forever imprinted in my heart.

As a child I thought my fascination for flowers, trees, birds and leaves is merely a phase I will eventually grow out of. However, with the progression of time and age, I only seem to be more drawn to these forms and often feel I have less and less time at hand but so much to see!! Now when I see a beautiful flower, I go back and do a search to find its name and the stories and myths associated with it. 

Bird of Paradise

Lobster Claws

While Google image search is truly a great help, an amazing India specific website I recently discovered has made me even more observant towards the bountiful gifts of Nature around us. As one delves deeper into the subject, it throws up interesting names like Lobster Claws, Bird of Paradise, Flame of the Forest! 

Living close to an island of lush greenery in the middle of a bustling city, I was overjoyed to see the ethereal  Safed Kachnar for the first time. I remember the Palash tree growing outside Cauvery Hostel in JNU and the Laburnums and Bougainvillea which would carpet the campus. The  much-in-demand roses of Kannauj, filled our lives with fragrance and delight during our winters in the 'city of Itr' and my separate post on them would perhaps follow soon.  I can not help but feel distracted in an open air party and often lose track of time and place altogether. There's so much to learn and admire and feel these little joys enriching my life. I look forward to the day life will afford me an opportunity to live in Delhi again for I will not be at peace unless I have seen the famous tree lined avenues of New Delhi at leisure and felt the change seasons bring. It is these random moments of life which define joy for me and I live each day hoping to be pleasantly surprised by discovering a new 'thing of beauty' ..

Anthuriums in Coorg

"You are wrong if you think Joy emanates only or principally from human relationships. God has placed it all around us. It is in everything and anything we might experience. We just have to have the courage to turn against our habitual lifestyle and engage in unconventional living.

My point is that you do not need me or anyone else around to bring this new kind of light in your life. It is simply waiting out there for you to grasp it, and all you have to do is reach for it. The only person you are fighting is yourself and your stubbornness to engage in new circumstances." 

― Jon Krakauer, (Into the Wild)

Bundelkhand Summers, Endless Sun. Etsy Inspiration and Embroidery Fun!!

While the title of my post has pretty much conveyed everything I have to say, summers in Bundelkhand meant a season of indoor confinement (That is when you don't have work to attend and official visits). I joined in Banda in July 2011. By that time the first monsoon showers had already provided the much needed respite from heat in this arid country and everything seemed fresh and verdant. The confluence of River Ken and River Yamuna at Chilla was a sight to behold and the rivers were brimming to the top. It was a new place for me. For the first time, I was living at such a distance from Delhi. The event calenders, both official and social, were abuzz with activity and there was little time to do anything else.

Sunset as seen from the drive way

However, come March 2012 and the first signs of summers were beginning to tell. Tired and exhausted from the elections in the state, one had little energy and appetite to explore places for the sake of it and meet people endlessly. The change of guard in Lucknow seemed change was inevitable for us too and one lived by counting days and watching the golden sun set over the horizon each day. The saving grace of the day would only be the birds which came to roost in the lawns every evening (hope to do a post on them soon!) and the magical star-lit nights which made you forget the oppressive heat and endless paperwork each day brought.

The fact that the much awaited 'change' came only in August is enough to convey the good deal of time one had in hand after work and being the self proclaimed 'crafts addict' that I am, I turned to Etsy for inspiration. However, it is also imperative to clarify at this point that being a good 150-200 kms away from any city of repute meant that the choice of crafts was severely restricted to materials which could be easily procured from the local market but would also yield good results and above all immense satisfaction. Add to this equation, my constant desire to make something however small for my home and one has no choice but to do something of the table/bed linen or wall art variety.  

Add to that also the fact that in a place like Banda, there are little avenues for getting a good frame done. Bearing all these considerations in mind, I did a Google search on wall art-watercolors,photography,collages,embroidery,tapestry and pretty much everything that could be hung on a nail.The most wonderful find turned out to be small embroidered diskettes which could fit any occasion and any need. More intensive Etsy search revealed to me the wonderful world of 'HOOP ART' with its endless possibilities and bewitching colors.

Somehow all the people I have known all my life and all that I had read and heard about till the 'Eureka moment', nobody and nothing ever carried any mention of the word 'hoop art'. And once the discovery had been made, it was contagious (at least in the family!)Thus began my adventures as a hoop ARTIST (I can proudly call myself that!) and my first and rather simple hoop. 

The flowers are done in simple stitch with french bullion knots at the end and stem stitch for the stalks. I must also give the credit to my mother-in-law (Mamma) for all her encouragement and more importantly for her EASY EMBROIDERY book (which turned out to be a repository of beginner level stitches) which dates back to her post wedding Nigeria days. It was only much later, thanks to uninterrupted broadband connectivity, that I discovered endless tutorials on internet for various kinds of stitches

The first hoop was widely appreciated. Combined with a whole lot of encouragement, it was all I could ask for and a huge stimulus for the bigger and more colorful hoop that followed. It was again inspired by something similar I saw on Etsy and is done completely in double stranded chain stitch.

Needless to mention,  in Mamma's words, she could not take her eyes off the hoop and it adorns a huge column in her drawing room wall singularly. My love for concentric circles introduced me to the magical realm of 'WHIMSICAL ART' and am eagerly waiting for an opportunity to try my hand at the same. As for now, am linking this post to Artistic Inspiration for their Challenge 56.

The fact that am writing this post in the July of 2013 speaks volumes about my cherished and well preserved memories  of embroidery as a pursuit. My love for embroidery though dates back to my Agra days. There was something in the air in the city of Taj!! Will hopefully capture a pic or two of my first real embroidery when I visit my parents and would also request my lovely erstwhile neighbor and lifelong dear friend,P, to share her interpretation of the same work too!!

Till then, Happy Embroidery! And yes, in the words of  Aldo Leopold (A Sand County Almanac: With Other Essays on Conservation from Round River)

"A hobby is a defiance of the contemporary. It is an assertion of those permanent values which the momentary eddies of social evolution have contravened or overlooked. If this is true, then we may also say that every hobbyist is inherently a radical, and that his tribe is inherently a minority."