Conversations in the Dark-2

A typical conversation in India would never be complete without sharing notes on food. So typical-proud-Indians that we are, from three different parts of the country, leading different lives, a large part of our conversation also has an element of food and feast to it. Often, we chat away recalling the Wednesday Biryani menu and Friday Egg-Curry in Godavari Mess. And not to mention the chai-paratha from the adjoining Godavari Dhaba. Or the Rasam Tina made and Bindu's inimitable Kheer cooked in our hostel rooms. We even remember the whacky menus like Bhindi-Chhole we had to cope with on days. And still we were never under-nourished. Not to mention the nourishment our memories and conversations provide.

Me and Bindu- Tina, what did you prepare for dinner today?

Tina- How do I explain to you guys.. Let's say eggplant and drumstick gravy.

Me and Bindu- Phew! Who eats that? What a terrible combination. We can only have eggplant fry and bharta. 

Bindu (adds)- I only have drumstick when I am sick.

Tina- What did you guys have?

Me (grumbled incoherently)

Bindu (visibly drooling)- Chicken fry

Me and Tina- Wow! Where do you get chicken in these times? How lucky..

Bindu (at her wisest)- Had it to get it for feeding the dogs. My mother just sneaked a portion of the same and served specially for me

Me and Tina- Laughing

Bindu- I mean not the same thing that was served to dogs.. a bit of it was kept and cooked specially for me by mom..

All of us- That's what life in Corona has come to be- surviving on dog food if need be. Or any food that tastes like dog food!

Conversations in the Dark-1

So the story goes back to year 2004.. JNU.. Three of us stayed in the same corridor of Godavari Hostel.. Me doing Economics.. Bindu and Tina in Political Science. Bindu from Presidency, Calcutta and Tina from Presidency, Madras. Over polite introductions, we decided to go the hostel roof. And once there, we cried our hearts out over missing home. A decade later, of all the things we shared in days to come, this memory remains our dearest.

Now a decade and half later, (having weathered much in our lives,) thanks to Corona and the time at our hands, we decided to form a group and bond again. Only this time, we hope never to stay out of touch for long again. Sometimes it seems we were never apart and we didn't grow a bit in the intervening years. And our conversations in the dark are as interesting as ever.

Bindu- The only time I go out these days is to feed the stray dogs near my home. Though I am a dog lover, but one particular dog howls a lot at me. Turns out he is the only male and my mom attributes my man-hater instincts to be understood by dog.

Tina- Let it bark.

Me- (in all my feminist glory)- Tell the dog to behave properly and eat whatever is given without howling.

Bindu (admitting guiltily)- Since all other dogs are females, I think my misandry comes to the fore subconsciously and I give less to the male dog compared to others.

Me- So what.. at least you are feeding him each day

Bindu- (laughing out loud)- Imagine me with all the education we had, I am trying my feminism in feeding dogs..

Me(laughing louder)- And me, with all the years in governance and policy, telling you to tell the dog to shut up!! (How dare a male (of any species) try to intimidate us..)

Of a forever gone friend and full moon..

Dear @

It's been years and yet every time I see a full moon I am reminded of our conversation long ago. It was May.. around the time of your birthday.. We just managed to sneak in a telephone call somehow while we were both busy preparing for the counting of votes on the following day.. Now when I think of it I am convinced I must have called to wish you on your birthday. But I do not remember exactly. What I remember is that you noticed the roosting call of the peacocks on my end. And asked me to send you a picture. And since those were early days when camera phones clicked hazy pictures, I brought  out my bulky DSLR. (And you were terribly happy with the shots when I must have sent them much later.) And it was our small moment of shared joy while we lived in two different world miles apart. In the madness that pervades election season in this country, hanging around with a friend (even if on a phone call, and there were no video calls then) was a stolen luxury.

I can no longer send the moon pics to you. And moon continues to fascinate me as ever. Yet having lived through more than 400 full moons in my life, nothing compares to the memory of that day etched in that pic. We never knew it would be the first and the last Lok Sabha election for both of us- but for different reasons. 

I have learnt to appreciate the beauty of moon (and everything big and small) not knowing what tomorrow might bring. I see moon when the faces' of my children light up upon seeing me.. I see moon when a lone bulb (yet to be replaced by CFL) lights up a long winding street.. I see moon in rivers, and lakes and puddles reflecting glimmers of light from insignificant sources.. And I have also learnt meanwhile, however bright and resplendent the sun may shine, it is no match for the serene beauty of moon.

Remember you just as fondly each day,

$

And it comes to leaving again!...

The time runs out fastest precisely when we want it to slow down and let us be where we are. And its six long months that am talking about. I had come to Pratapgarh when little P was barely ten days old, it was the last week of January (last spell of cold) and A was yet to come to terms with the challenges associated with this new official assignment. In the middle of December, precisely a month before P was born, when A had been posted out of Lucknow and given less than 12 hours to take over in Pratapgarh in difficult circumstances, we had bitterly resented the sudden shift of events. Not only it meant me being left alone with N when it was beginning to get difficult for me, I had also looked forward to spend my maternity leave in the comfort of my own house, living in a city. But while not everything turns out as we want it to be, with the benefit of hindsight, the beautiful memories of the past six months will continue to be cherished for an entire lifetime.

Once I moved here, it was difficult to come to terms with the new reality of living in a countryside house when one had spent three comfortable years living in an ultra-modern, self-designed, super-convenient apartment space. My initial days were spent trying to restore some normalcy to our daily routines (and having a less than one month old baby certainly doesn't help!). While I relentlessly tried to revive the flow of wind and light around this beautiful colonial house, I also found myself increasingly drawn to the boundless treasures it seemed to contain.

A large part of my time (before the summer sun became too harsh to bear) was spent sitting in the 'courtyard with magical light' as I call it and watch the play of light and seasons on the Siris tree that grew beside it. Even before I had brought newborn P over, A had restored a number of doors and windows around the house. My greatest joy on my first morning in the house was waking up to a garden view (after a very long time). Often afterwards, in the early hours of the morning, I would find a golden ray of sunlight filtering in through the gap in the curtains  in my room as if kissing the cot-mobile while P slept like a little prince underneath.

I could not be more thankful to God for making it one of the happiest times of mine and A's life as we watched little N chasing butterflies, filling the rooms with her multiple pursuits and we entertained family and friends alongside. It was here that I could finally live my dream of building a studio where I could paint/craft for hours without any distraction and stream endless music while being at it. While we introduced Masha to our multiple birdie guests (and he taught their names to wide-eyed N), or the multiple impromptu snack parties we hosted and clicked pics for the keepsakes, both me and A were beginning to fall in love with the place that has given so much to us. 

While I sit here writing this and there's less than 24 hours remaining before I take up my old duties in Lucknow, move back to work and start school for N, I completely realize none of it would have been possible without the fabulous people who took care of us- the women who took care of my kids during the day so that I could make up for my sleep deficit, the housekeepers who kept everything in order and the officers who hosted us, worked hard with A and stood by us. Upon return from a recent visit to a fabulous plantation resort in Chikmaglur, we realized there was no point traveling 2000 kms for the same. At least not when one himself lives on a huge estate, in a century old heritage bungalow while still being able to enjoy delicious home-cooked meals. If waking up to the call of the birds and sleeping by the sound of cicadas sums it up, then it is precisely that.

Yet there is more to my 'leaving' this time. And its not just the house, the people and the place. Its also the security and well being of living together as a family that I leave behind (till no certain future date!). Living as a single parent to tiny ones in a city, while continuing to attend official responsibilities is going to be a huge challenge. And there's also the guilt of depriving A and kids of the joy of each other's presence. Multiple sources of advice (and may be even a part of me) suggest I extend leave and continue to live on a little longer. But what solution would it be. In a profession that we have chosen, this will always be the case. While I do not write this by way of justification, but another six months or a year wouldn't make much of a difference. The kids will continue to need both me and A the same for a very long time to come and also better learn soon what it takes to be the children of a 'working mom' (you could say an ambitious and obstinate one at that).

And just before I go and take one final look at the things (before I start packing them up), I look up at the twenty feet high ceiling and think of the innumerable people like me and A who would have lived in this house, children like P and N who grew up in its environs and the countless stories exchanged under this roof. And yet the house doesn't complain about the good and the bad,it doesn't moan about the change of the times and continues to be. How I wish things worked for us the same way!

Time, You Old Gypsy Man

Will you not stay, 

Put up your caravan 

Just for one day? 

All things I'll give you 

Will you be my guest, 

Bells for your jennet 

Of silver the best, 

Goldsmiths shall beat you 

A great golden ring, 

Peacocks shall bow to you, 

Little boys sing. 

Oh, and sweet girls will 

Festoon you with may, 

Time, you old gypsy, 

Why hasten away? 

Last week in Babylon, 

Last night in Rome, 

Morning, and in the crush 

Under Paul's dome; 

Under Pauls' dial 

You tighten your rein - 

Only a moment, 

And off once again; 

Off to some city 

Now blind in the womb, 

Off to another 

Ere that's in the tomb. 

Time, you old gypsy man, 

Will you not stay, 

Put up your caravan 

Just for one day? 

~Ralph Hodgson

A snail-mail project and a million questions!

“I've always felt there is something sacred in a piece of paper that travels the earth from hand to hand, head to head, heart to heart.” 

― Robert Michael Pyle, 

Sky Time in Gray's River: Living for Keeps in a Forgotten Place

My past few posts have been dedicated to my zillion pastimes during six months long maternity leave and the importance of doing nothing once in a while. The initial days were all  about getting used to two kids in the house and their innumerable demands on mom's energy and time. After a while, however, life begins to follow a pattern and one is somewhat able to reflect on small acts of kindness and gestures of affection shown by family and friends which make life truly worth living. Given mine and A's mechanical home-office-home routine and our tendency to remain caught up in inanities of everyday life, often people/things that deserve heartfelt gratitude and need to be acknowledged go unreciprocated and after considerable time has elapsed, one is rather ashamed of expressing the same (with such delay) anymore.

Over the past few years, as me and A lived in separate cities (for a long time even separate states), life had become a constant effort to spend time together and many important things slipped past unnoticed and unacknowledged- whether it was our best friends' getting married and then having their first kids, or shifting out of places without saying thanks to the people who constantly supported us. Therefore, this time when we had the opportunity and the time, we decided to let all the fabulous people in our life know how much they mean to us. While my original intention was to make a handcrafted card for each recipient, it took no time to figure out that (given my zillion other preoccupations and being 'full-time' Mom to two tiny kids) the thank-you-card-idea would once again become an item on our wishlist only. Therefore, I decided to get two of my watercolors printed in the form of thank you cards (Thank God,for once the internet printing company delivered to a place like Pratapgarh) and shoot them immediately to our 'magic circle' of friends.However, getting everyone's postal address seemed to be a task in itself and I SMSed/Facebooked/Whatsapped everyone to send us their address please.


The most interesting part of the story is the variety of questions and responses that followed my request for postal address:

• Majority of people enquired if we intend to visit them soon and much as I feel delighted with the idea, I had to politely convey my answer in a negative.
• The other set was hopeful that am planning an event (to celebrate something) and perhaps intend to send an invite. For one, while postal invites are still the norm in our part of the country, Me and A did not even send our wedding cards to begin with and rely completely on paperless invitations till date!
• Yet another interesting set had two subsets of its own. This comprised two people we are extremely open with and who wanted the full story before they would fish out their address. While one of them felt that only somebody as crazy as me could come up with this (and gladly complied), the other plainly refused to accept any Thank-Yous from me whatsoever.
• Then there was yet another (largely international) set who cited 'operational difficulties' in receiving anything by post (like nobody at home to receive, shifting homes in the interim etc). Considering the difficulties at their end, I could never bring it upon myself to incur international postage charges without being sure if the post will ever even reach them.
• Lastly, there were dear friends who chose to never respond to my request.

While it shouldn't be a surprise that (prima facie) the idea of receiving anything by post is rather difficult to digest,I was equally charmed by the responses to my request for people's home address (and hence this blog post!). However, for all the trouble that it is, as a dear friend warmly conveyed 'it struck the deepest chords of the Heart'. It was heartening to note that the post still works (and much faster now!) and most people were touched by the simple surprise. There are also a dozen cards still left to be sent for a multiplicity of reasons and I hope they too serve their intended purpose. Much as I have created a story out of the entire exercise, there is no judgement involved in doing so. Some of the dearest people in our lives couldn't be sent any card and as one of them remarked, they perhaps do not even need any. Yet, to each one of them, we owe tons of our happiness and gratitude.While the card could barely contain a few words, to most, I wish I could write tons and tell them how life would not have been the same without them.

“Generally, people who are good at writing letters have no need to write letters. They've got plenty of life to lead inside their own context.” 

― Haruki Murakami, 

A Wild Sheep Chase

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.

March Madness- of a different kind!!

Life is beautiful. Being a mom to a three year doll has been a delight. Been blessed with a baby boy this January and life never seemed so incredible before. While it does take a lot to manage two kids, being home on a six month long paid maternity leave is also an opportunity that presents itself only twice in a working woman's career in my part of the world. And to add to these wonderful circumstances, living in a place away from the trappings of city life and close to nature, is an experience of sorts.

For someone who has spent nine long years in government service, March in India only means a month of meeting financial targets and reconciling funds and expenditures. Needless to mention, in my recent memory, March has always been an immensely stressful time of the year when office work takes precedence over everything else and life in general is put on hold. As our colleagues and friends in most professions too follow the rigors of financial year closing, there have hardly ever been any memories built around this time of the year.

While most of the above is till true, this particular March for me has been a rather memorable and personally satisfying one. It is perhaps for the first time in life that I have been able to immerse myself into any number of hobbies without any constraint of time and space. The entire experience of endless reading-poetry-painting-bird watching-photography-cooking-listening to music and so on has been a thoroughly refreshing one and renewed hopes and energies alike.

While I wish I could write every aspect of this phase of my life and read and reread it later in life whenever the going seems to be tough, certain things are too beautiful to be left un-shared. Being somebody who can not sleep without reading, I do not know if I never paid attention to the beauty of certain words before or if these three books (whose passages I reproduce below) were exceptionally well written, but certain books definitely take the reader to an entirely different level altogether.

“The more you love someone, he came to think, the harder it is to tell them. It surprised him that strangers didn't stop each other on the street to say I love you.” 
― Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated

“Because we see only what we already know. We project our own capacities—for good as well as evil—onto the other person. Then we acknowledge as love primarily those things that correspond to our own image thereof. We wish to be loved as we ourselves would love. Any other way makes us uncomfortable. We respond with doubt and suspicion. We misinterpret the signs. We do not understand the language. We accuse. We assert that the other person does not love us. But perhaps he merely loves us in some idiosyncratic way that we fail to recognize.” 
― Jan-Philipp Sendker, The Art Of Hearing Heartbeats

“Even now, all possible feelings do not yet exist, there are still those that lie beyond our capacity and our imagination. From time to time, when a piece of music no one has ever written or a painting no one has ever painted, or something else impossible to predict, fathom or yet describe takes place, a new feeling enters the world. And then, for the millionth time in the history of feeling, the heart surges and absorbs the impact.” 
                          ― Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

While I was caught up in the web of these exquisite words, even more words flowed in. As I started reading about World Poetry Day,(which happens to be on 21 March,) while I revisited some of my favourite poems, I discovered the poetry of Kashmiri poet Agha Shahid Ali and in the order of precedence of my all time favourites, he currently tops the list.

1. Tonight by Agha Shahid Ali
2. I Will Meet You Yet Again by Amrita Pritam
3. Unending Love by Rabindranath Tagore
4. Jo Beet Gayi Woh Baat Gayi by Harivanshrai Bachchan
5. Bullah Ki Jaana by Bulleh Shah

Talking of books and poems, can songs and images be left behind. While I love to fill the rooms of our (current) colonial era house with varied music and sunlight, the house too presents small joys to elate our hearts in the form of chirping of birds, dappled sunshine, long shadows in the afternoon, the sound of wind in the trees, and so much more. The house and the place provide ample opportunities for experiments in art and photography and the results are often deeply gratifying. These multiple pursuits interspersed with the visits of loved ones and rounds of endless banter have only added to the charms. 

While one does miss the comfort and convenience of own house and the freedom and choices of city life and also while sometimes the professional hazards become too much to bear, our stay in Pratapgarh and the pursuits have shrunk these longings and troubles to a mere trifle. Once we leave this place, we may or may not get to see this place ever again. The house (more than a century old) itself may not be around in a few years time but the air around this place will always contain a few molecules of our precious memories of one of the happiest times of our lives. I do not know what future holds for us but this place will definitely be etched in our minds for all times to come. If this is not happiness, then nothing else can be...

Sunset over the Ganges at Kalakankar

                        

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

Turning 31 and the challenges of being an academician!

31st birthday is not a happening event in any case. Its not even as if one is completing a decade of existence. Add to that the fact that one's best friends (the likes who are credited in blog posts)do not even remember and an eighteen month old constantly tugs you down, one can not help but wish one could stay 10 forever. As a kid I hated the fact that my birthday would fall on a National Holiday every year. Since it would always be a holiday at school, I could never attend school in a new dress and distribute sweets to my classmates on the day of my birthday. Today, being a civil servant,I have a duty to attend the flag-hoisting early in the morning and other such official engagements planned for the day. I can not recall a birthday when I could claim the day for myself and just let things be!

However, it did not turn out to be as bad as I might have made it sound. To look at 200 (officer-)trainees present during the flag-hoisting in formal attire and everybody lending their voice to the singing of our National Anthem fills one heart with pride for one's country. It is on occasions such as these that one can feel the idea of 'unity in diversity' and however much we may differ, our respect for our nation and national symbols really shines forth.

And while my dear friends forgot my b-day in their own official engagements, my dear colleagues R and S surprised me by gifting me a beautiful bouquet of flowers each. While the flowers would dry out in time, it is the memory of this gift that would linger forever.My sisters and family would never fail to wish me on this day, however near or far they may be! More surprisingly, while a boisterous party was insisted upon on this occasion last year, a lot has changed in this one year and me, A and little N celebrated the day all by ourselves gorging on fabulous mushroom-cheese enchiladas and penne farmhouse for dinner!

I may not have mentioned it before, but in the kind of profession that one is in, the chances of coming across an academic assignment are rather slim. And even when one talks about academics, its not as if one is studying/teaching literature or pure sciences, rather one has the task of training fresh entrants into the service or mid-level government officers  by equipping them with latest tools and  basic skills essential for being an effective administrator. While it is easy to conduct sessions which are objective like legal theory, the real challenges arise when it comes to abstract notions like leadership, humility, perseverance. As a Course Director, one constantly worries that the inherent bias of a speaker/faculty member may be imprinted upon the receptive minds forever.

Also certain aspects of certain professions (read government service!) are rather 'intoxicating'. For one, there is a sense of 'having arrived' on the scene. It just doesn't stop at that. Even in a profession where most of the perks and promotions are safeguarded by law, there is often a strange sense of superiority and cleverness displayed by a few. Again, thanks to the super-competitive Indian society (and more importantly pushy parenting) if one has qualified for certain institutions/professions, sometimes one develops the tendency to look down upon those who do not carry similar tags.

Strangely enough, I sometimes feel, we have lost our ability to appreciate a poet who always wanted to be one. No wonder that a country as huge as ours, has over time, a dwindling population of artists and literateurs and sportspersons fewer still. In our country, for most people who attain some degree of success in any walk of life, it becomes difficult to look up to those from humble backgrounds and from alternate professions with parity and tolerance. 

As a beginner student of economics back in 2001, the basic premise that was made clear to us is how economics differs from our other 'pure' social sciences. While pure sciences like chemistry, physics would yield similar results under a similar set of conditions, economists can only claim satisfaction from the 'law of large numbers'. Even then, an economist can never be certain of results because when it comes to human behavior, no scientific tool can predict the same with infallible accuracy.In recent years, a number of Nobel Prizes in Economics have been given for Behavioral Science, Decision Making and allied fields.

Yet while a lot of research is being carried out in these fields,  I can only seek comfort in literature finishing two dense reads 'Snowflower and the Secret Fan' and 'The Book Thief' back to back. And yes, before we even dare imagine incorporating inputs on behavioral aspects in the structure of our courses, me and my colleagues too need an orientation training for the same. In the meanwhile, am happy that the tribe of artists, writers and poets continues to flourish in the larger world and years later when little N has to choose her calling, she need not worry about the tags, and will have these innumerable role models to look upon.

While another year in service (almost co-terminus with my birthday) and 365 more days of my existence on earth pass rather uneventfully, I send out secret thanks and prayers to God for all that there has been and all that he has in store for me. Talking about A's gift,I can imagine him saying

“For your birthday, I got you a box. Hooray! It’s empty, so you can fill it with whatever you want.
” 

― Jarod Kintz, A Zebra is the Piano of the Animal Kingdom

Goodbye Banda and my favorite peacocks!

Saying graceful goodbyes has never been my forte and saying a final goodbye to a place twice over, happens rarely in life. Its difficult as it is to come back and live in a place one had left forever once. And when it comes to leaving yet again, its not just living through a feeling of deja vu but also one has little or no emotion left. 

This time around, not just me but everyone knew, my stay in Banda will be short and limited to the specific purpose of conduct of General Elections alone. Once the purpose was accomplished, it would have been a surprise if I were allowed to continue for long. Carrying absolutely no baggage with me ( both the literal and the emotional kind!), it was just a matter of biding time. The only thing I looked forward to at the end of the sweltering hot days was the bevy of birds who would come to roost in the lush overgrowth around the house. Much as I may have remain detached during my stay, the fact that little N spent hours chasing peacocks and parrots on her tiny feet, filled my heart with unbounded glee.

                       

These peacocks and parrots and the innumerable other birds who roosted in the house had been an integral part of my life during my previous stint too (even before little N was born!). So much so that when the temperatures would rise to 50 degrees (yes, Banda is often the hottest place in this part of the country), not just me, but even the caretakers of the house would be worried about the birds and would deliberately leave the tube well leaking during the day and keep water baths all around the campus. When I started blogging about Bundelkhand, I wished I could do a post on 'Bird-watching in Banda' but did not possess the right lens to click their pics. Once we started noticing birds, me and A invested in a good telescopic lens over time. It was only fitting that when I had to bid adieu this time around, (and it did not take longer than I expected) the only living beings who bid me farewell were my dear birdie companions I had loved and looked forward to seeing each day. And boy! the performance by the peacocks was truly mesmerizing..

During the summers of 2012, when a college friend Av and his wife Sh had chosen to move home to Banda permanently giving up a plush job and urbane lifestyle in Mumbai, I was both surprised and happy. It took immense courage to give up so much just to be with one's family. During my first meeting with Av and Sh then, one of the nicest things about my house I remember telling Av was a pair of horn-bills who had just then started nesting in the house. To me somehow, in some unconscious corner of my mind, that pair signified Av and Sh's home-coming. To my sheer delight,just as Av and Sh welcomed little V into their lives, that pair has also expanded into a family of six.

Apart from the horn-bills, the roosting calls of the babblers, cuckoos, peahens, Indian Roller (Neelkanth) and the myriad other winged creatures made each evening spent in the house both enchanting and enjoyable. It was also a source of immense happiness to see the first flowers in the row of Gulmohars we had planted in the house. Feeble as they were in the oppressive heat and inclined as I always am towards laburnum flowers (thanks to JNU!), I can not help but imagine the sheer beauty of these trees when they develop fully and grow strong trunks. In a landscape which turns brown for miles on end in the summer months and where not even a shard of grass grows, if it were not for the bewitching trinity of Palash (Flame -of-forest), Amaltas (Laburnum) and Gulmohar, this place would have been a desert to look at. The road from Karwi to Allahabad traverses through a magnificent natural forest of Palash which is sadly being fast ruined. While millions are spent on afforestation drives each year, and only a minuscule proportion of those saplings survive, these sturdy species broadcast their seeds through nature and survive wonderfully in these hostile conditions.

My stay in Banda has given me memories to cherish for an entire lifetime. It has taught me the true meaning of resilience, perseverance and above all, hope. It wasn't at all difficult leaving either. Just that it is difficult to live with the knowledge that a place which contributes so much to the development of other 'big' cities, should itself remain so grossly neglected and misconceived not just in terms of basic infrastructure but also people's perception and sentiments.

“A bird who hurt her wing,

now forgotten how to fly.

A song she used to sing,

but can't remember why.

A breath she caught and kept - 

that left her in a sigh.

It hurts her so to love you,

but she won't say goodbye.” 

                    ― Lang Leav 

Am submitting these farewell pics for Artistic Inspirations Challenge # 107 based on Memories.

On a full moon night..

While the election fever in the country refuses to ebb, there was little else to do apart from our eat-drink-sleep election routine. The heat in Bundelkhand makes it difficult to venture out in the open during the day and there is little respite from the constant buzz of phone calls and messages. With two days left for the electoral results to start pouring in, our conversations with family and friends also start acquiring electoral overtones. Interestingly, everybody adds a new twist to the stories and speculations floating all around us. Often, being on the 'other' side of the fence, being detached from the results that shall follow and being thoroughly conversant with the procedural aspects, when it comes to our batchmate-friends, we can not help but share a hearty laugh at messages and stories circulating in the social and electronic media.

It was during one such lively sunset-time empty conversation with dear friend An (of Coorg fame!) that he noticed the call of peacocks and parrots on my end. Looking around I realized the magic of the moment, with a silver moon shining up on the horizon, and bevies of birds settling down to roost for the night. While one could hear the calls of peacocks in this lovely house at any hour of the day, that moment will be forever etched in my memory and on An's insistence, also in my camera. Thanks to An's inspiration, apprehensive as I was of clicking without a tripod, the pics turned out out to be not just amazing but also as another friend N remarked 'mystical'.

Looking at a full moon after ages that day, made me loose track of time and place for a while and made me realize how little we cherish these small joys in life. Of the few things that I shall take away from Banda this time, this moment shall be the one. Of the multitude of thoughts which crossed my mind, nothing could have summed it up better than these lines:

"The moon is a loyal companion.

It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.Uncertain.Alone. Cratered by imperfections.” 

― Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me