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 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.

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

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.

Like Wind... Like Light..

Time flies. Its been a decade since our paths crossed- not just once but over and over again, tracing patterns which remain as incomprehensible to me today as they were back then.Its not always that people drawn from the length and breadth of this country come together at a juncture in their lives and from that juncture their lives are intertwined forever. Being the pragmatist that I considered myself to be, I never thought that when we will finally say goodbye (for however short or long a duration it might be), we will leave a slice of our lives behind or perhaps something more vital like some broken fragment of our existence. 

Prayer flags in Mussoorie

In the past few days, it occurred to me more than once, that when I feel happy for a friend who recently got married or feel overjoyed for the laurels heaped on another, its because I have known these people for one-third of my life (quite literally!). In more ways than one, we have lived like a dispersed family across space and time, knowing each other's failings and strengths all along. And while modern means of communication have revolutionized things indeed, our bonds were sealed with the language of silence and remain intact as ever. Its not important that we articulate with exquisite expressions because we remember each other in our thoughts and prayers. Life would be incomplete but for the memories that I have carried along and relive in moments of solitude and peace. I wish I could write an entire blog dedicated to preserving our collective memories, some secrets which are yet to be shared and the beautiful times we have spent together but then so much will still remain unsaid and unspoken. 

On several occasions, I wished I could send something across but the trappings of existence always seems to get the better of me. And today while I chose these pictures to write on something entirely different, my thoughts took a completely distinct course and I ended up here instead. Just as these Tibetan prayer flags make the winds carry the prayers written on them across the mountain and the seas, I too utter a little prayer of hope, happiness and contentment for you and urge the winds and the skies to carry them across.

Like wind-- In it, with it, of it. Of it just like a sail, so light and strong that, even when it is bent flat, it gathers all the power of the wind without hampering its course.

Like light-- In light, lit through by light, transformed into light. Like the lens which disappears in the light it focuses.

Like wind. Like light.Just this--on these expanses, on these heights.” 

― Dag Hammarskjöld, Markings

Party(ing) Politics!!

Just as we have active smokers (those who smoke themselves) and passive smokers (those who happen to inhale the smoke emitted by smokers) and both seem to be affected equally; the same could be said about the party lot in this part of the country. On one hand there are people who throw and attend a party and on the other there are those who partake vicariously (and without much choice) through the effects generated by former's activities. To elucidate, as I write this blog post, my mind continuously drifts towards the sounds emanating from the party-scene in the lawn below my house. Much as I try to concentrate on any job, I can not help but notice the loud music playing in the background since morning, the  hum-drum of vehicles bringing in provisions and the constant clatter of crockery.

Surprisingly, the experience of passive partying has been similar across the years and cities that I have lived in. The predictability of the event managers is even funnier. Without actually knowing the occasion one can guess the same through the music playing in the background. Certain songs for certain occasions have remained unchanged since even our parents' time. And it must have been some major lapse on the part of Bollywood(-inspired) music industry that the newer symphonies have been largely unsuccessful at displacing the older and the popular ones. Needless to mention, an occasional burst of western music is considered to be reflective of somewhat higher status (that you can actually appreciate music in English!) And Yes, Vengaboys' Brazil remains an eternal dance favorite since the days I was writing my class 10 exams to this day as I celebrate three decades of my existence. 

Before one actually moves on from music, I have never been able to understand why the music for a party scheduled in the evening is put on in the afternoon itself.. Even if it were to keep the workers in good mood (which they are rarely in and I hope to do something about it by opening a butler finishing school after retirement), am sure even they must be bored with the same music blaring at different locations day after day. Alas, we have people with ailments in this society who can't stand loud music, students who have to prepare for their year-round exams and little babies who fuss endlessly finding music to be just another excuse.

I do not even find myself qualified and capable of being able to write about the dressing-up part. For one, being a lady who is in a profession which calls for utmost 'simplicity' when it comes to meeting people, on umpteen occasions it has been presumed that for me (and the likes of me) it must be impossible to possess any 'real' fashion sense. At a few important theme parties it was even thought by the esteemed lady wives that the lady officers could be given a skip for perhaps the reason cited above.

When it comes to food, the guests are completely at the mercy of their hosts (and their VIP guests) in India.What will be served and when and how it will be served has nothing whatsoever to do with the socially acceptable norms. Understandably, it is not everyday that the guest gets to throw a lavish party at the leading venue of the city and attended by the glitterati at their chosen hour. So what if one of the posh-set decides to carry on drink till the wee hours, the dinner can wait and the lesser guests can benefit from the extended happy hours!!

I do not consider it appropriate to spoil the party season by raising 'politically incorrect' questions ranging from how the garbage generated at such venues ought to be disposed or why millions are spent on outrageously extravagant decorations. Even as I begun to ponder about these, I know well enough that any expression of such politically incorrect views will be straightaway attributed to my JNU-ness (if there is a thing such as this).

And yes, it needs no prizes for guessing that there ain't any invite received from the guests hosting the soiree in the lawns below!

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)

Memories

“Forgetting isn't enough. You can paddle away from the memories and think they are gone. But they will keep floating back, again and again and again  They circle you, like sharks. Until, unless, something, someone? Can do more than just cover the wound. ” 
― Sara Zarr, Story of a Girl

In our day to day lives, one keeps complaining about forgetfulness. Whenever I think of Iris Murdoch or John Nash, I can't help but feel scared of losing my ability to remember and retain things altogether one day. And yet, when one tries to forget something and stash it away for all years to come, one realizes how powerful our memories are and the influence they wield on us. Often, our personalities, our character, our emotions and our abilities are shaped by the circumstances of  our past and the lives we have led.

As a quizzer in my early days of school and university, I always took pride in my eidetic memory. I could clearly remember my interactions with people, the place in the background, the clothes that somebody had worn, the events of the day and just about everything. Its been as if a particular moment gets frozen in my mind for all times to come.

Yet, as years have passed, I often find that my mind is also a huge obstacle in several ways. Events which should have long being forgotten, words which should  have not been spoken and things which should not have happened continue to resound in my mind as if it was only yesterday.  Sometimes, the burden of these memories becomes too much to bear and I can not help feeling overwhelmed.

Occasionally,these memories prevent me from making a fresh start when the situation warrants or make it impossibly difficult to do so. Often, the memories of the times we cherished the most are always the most difficult to deal with and make us long for things which can not be.

At times, I fear returning to old places. The reality of current times and the changed circumstances might ruin a perfect place etched forever in my memory. I treasure the smells of a place and the familiar sights and will never be able to accept any changes therein. The fresh smell of paint after Diwali each year, the lush smells of vegetation in JNU during the monsoons, the cold musty feeling of Academy rooms, the slow arrival of winters in Delhi, the aroma of my mother's food, the crisp feel of a new notebook, the familiar roadside bazaars of small UP towns.. Sometimes, life seems to be nothing more than a string of these memories.


Nobody can rob us of our memories and no amount of money can lighten their burden either. As life chugs along each day, newer memories accumulate, yet the old ones at best soften but do not fade. While we set our goals and go about our business to accomplish them, we need to spare a thought to build/do something memorable too. Because long after our lives come to an end, these memories remain and we are known by the kind of memories associated with us.

I share a beautiful passage to conclude:
“memories were tricky things…they weren’t stable. they changed with perception over time. …they shifted, and [she] understood how the passage of time affected them. the hard working striver might recall his childhood as one filled with misery and hardship marred by the cat calls and mae calling of playground bullies, but later, have a much more forgiving understanding of past injustices. the handmade clothes he had been forced to wear, became a testament to his mother’s love. each patch and stitch a sign of her diligence, instead of a brand of poverty. he would remember father staying up late to help him with his homework – the old old man’s patience and dedication, instead of the sharpness of his temper when he returned home – late- from the factory. it went the other way as well.

[she] had scanned thousands of memories of spurned women, whose handsome lovers turned ugly and rude. roman noses, perhaps too pointed. eyes growing small and mean. while the oridnary looking boys who had become their husbands, grew in attractiveness as the years passed, so that when asked if it was love at first site, the women cheerfully answered yes. memories were moving pictures in which meaning was constantly in flux. they were stories people told themselves.” 

― Melissa de la Cruz, The Van Alen Legacy