Letters to Anita : Letter 1

Dear Anita,

I tried to call you a couple of times yesterday. You did not pick up. It’s alright dear. You don’t have to say anything but just let me write this letter to you once in a while, because this is my salvation.

            I happen to go to the Gurdwara tea stall at the crossing of Elgin road today for a while. It felt strange to drink tea alone without you. Nothing has changed over there but yes a lot has changed from my side. The sweetness in the tea seemed to be less. Then I realized it’s your smile and laughter that was missing. It’s just that the emptiness sometimes kills me. I try to fill it up with your thoughts.

            I stand at Prinsep ghat and look into oblivion. The river flows and damn it does not stop for me to say hello. I never noticed before how it flows nonchalantly. I never got chance for your eyes never allowed me to do so. I stand by its side. I watch it for hours and try to gain strength from it. It goes on flowing no matter what might be the situation. I expect it to fill my soul with its nonchalance. It does not help.

Yours Always.

P.S. – Please reply.

Paper Boats

Life was a lot better in simpler times; when we were children. Our wants and outlook towards life was a lot simpler. The cradle of life went on rocking by hands of time and we grew up to be wiser, essentially. No matter how strange or obtuse it seems. I live in a place where I have grown up. So I have seen the changes a town or city metamorphose over all these years. Same are the roads, same corners and sometimes the same shop which stood the test of time. I never pay attention to how ferociously time has or is passing by. But sometimes, when I find some time for myself, a lazy Sunday evening with music rolling, playing some old songs which I have heard in my growing years, I happen to ponder back. Time actually slows down. And all those memories buried deep inside my mind crawls up to the surface.

As if just yesterday, I remember, it was customary for my dad to take me to the ‘bazar’ every Sunday. I learnt to recognize the fish, the meat, the bread, the milk and many other things. The infusion of various sights, smells and sounds still lingers fresh on my mind.  That was since at a very young age.  My dad held my hand and traversed the busy ‘bazar’. Intrigued and mesmerized by all that happened around me. I always looked forward to those Sundays because I knew after the busy ‘bazar’ lessons, I would get some toy from a local shop. Those kinds of Sundays are not there anymore, neither is dad. The milkman is still there but the ‘bazar’ itself has changed a lot and the toy shop is not there anymore.

First day of school! Suddenly listening to a different language and praying to another unknown God. I often wondered how I or any other child understood the language from first day itself. I started praying to a different God and they told me it was not something different. He was just another of God. Missionary Catholic schools have their own charms. Those who have not been to one will always find the strict rules and disciplines a bit too much. But trust me, it’s not that much different from any other types. It’s just a tad disciplined. You meet and make new friends and suddenly you find someone of your same size to share your thoughts and opinion on what’s happening in and around your small world. His pencil box is larger but you have more number of pencils. Her eraser is better but yours smell nicer.  These kinds of important things, which hardly matters to the rest of the universe, were of paramount importance. Forget pencil, I don’t even use a pen today.

As the small fingers leant to hold pencils, erasers, crayons, a whole lot of new world opened up. Where are those coloring books and drawing sheets? Or the double ruled copy books to write in cursive? The red football and a porch to play on; or my snowy dog, or the slip at the local park; they are not there anymore. When heavy rains meant just small paper boats with my name on it slowly floating to places unknown.

I had this small closet where I used to keep all my toys. It was my small world of Pandora’s box. The content of that box was mostly toy cars. So when my dad bought an attaché, it came along with a sheet of alphabet stickers to imprint one’s initials on it. When I grew up a little older and still in kindergarten, I happen to use those alphabets to form the word ‘CARS’. And I pasted it on the door of that closet. All by myself! It was quite an achievement in those simple times. That closet is not there anymore. It was with us for quite a while until few years back. It had become a tad too old. When it was broken down, it still had traces of those alphabets. That kingdom of mine is long gone.

I always loved nature and playing with mud was one of my favorite pass times. I used to dig up small holes to mimic a small pond and fill it up with water. An imaginary miniature village would come up beside it. An imaginary story line would run on my mind as if it was a different world altogether. Simple were the wants. When was the last time you played in mud?

It rained today quite heavily. As water drops trickled down the leaves of trees, I happen to ponder back to those times. Maybe, you have too. Maybe a drop or two have escaped your earnest heart through your eyes remembering those times. May be you will be nostalgic reading this once you remember your childhood. Maybe!

Today I thought about that paper boat of mine. If it could return to me, I will find it crumpled, soggy and my name all gone from its side. It is too small now to carry all the heart’s desires.  But I can bet, hidden in its small folds are the sights, smells and sounds of the garden I used to play.

Always a Woman to me...

      I see you everyday. My eyes follow you. I see your hair. Your eyes. Your strides. I follow your smiles and I follow your frowns. I see you. You are beautiful.  You are God’s most sensible creation. You are a world in yourself and a source of my inspiration. Varied and plenty are you. You are moody. You are sensible. You are naughty. You are revengeful. You are emotional. You love. You hate. You scare. You bless. You care. You are the day. You are the night. You are the sun. You are the nature. You are the wind. You are the sea. You are the mountain. You are the air. You fill me. You are my faith and you are my religion.

     I silently watch you. I silently believe in you. You are there with me. You love me. You hate me. You doubt me. You look up to me. You look down on me. You betray me. You abandon me. You have faith in me. You have no hope for me. You have no trust on me.

     But, but I cannot lose faith on you. You are what I have. You doubt me in my greatest time. You love me when I need most. You hate me when I care most. You question me when I serve the most. You abandon me when I need you the most. You cheer me when I am down. You disrespect me. You give me hope. You are an enemy. You are a stranger. You are a friend. And you are the reason for my tears. You are the reason for my laughter.

     I love you. You are a mother. You are a sister. You are a wife. You are a nurse. You are a nun. You are a daughter. You are a teacher. You are a friend. You are a girlfriend. You are everything. You are a world. You are a universe. You are a celebration. You are life. You are hope. You are a woman. You are what you are. You Are. I am what I am. I am. Without you I don’t exist. Because You, give me birth. You will always a woman to me.

The Pink Dress

    Mom told her that she was looking pretty today. The thought brought a shy smile on her face as she dangled and danced her legs from the high bench. Her little hands went up to the nice little pink ribbon on her jet blank hair. The pink dress has pink flowers and pink bows all over. Even her shoes are pink. Pink is her favorite color. It’s her birthday after all. A smile returned on her face. Mom says that her cheeks turn pink too when she blushes. She calls it baby pink cheeks.

   She is waiting for her mom to call her. Little hands neatly and patiently folded. Dad is going to take them to church. It’s Sunday. She wants to make just one wish to God. She wants to know how pink looks like.

The Last Supper

Somewhat it was reaching his head. The pain was unbearable. It’s delirious.

In some corner of Somalia, the sun was at its peak. Sucking the juice out of his body and life.

He saw a small kid far away leaning on to something. He felt his legs were running. What is it?

Ahhh!!! Water!!!

Hunger and Thirst gets over him. He hits the kid with one blow. The twelve year old hits back. But the kid can hardly stand. His limbs were thinner than a twig.

Rage strikes him and he picks up a stone and hits the kid on his head. The kid stumbles to the ground motionless. Dark colored something smears the parched earth.

He gorges onto the small puddle of muddy water, and he drinks like a king.

Buule felt a strange sort of calmness engulfing him. How he longed for a sip of water.

He looked at the man for one last time. He seems to be familiar.

Buule couldn’t even say proper good bye to his father.

I AM

I am a raging river. I am flowing through treacherous mountainous ways of life. The penchant and relentless rains of fate is only a feed to my strength.

 I run. I fall. I get knocked down. I get up. I cry. I smile. I laugh. I make mistakes. I fail. I triumph. I sulk. I feel happy. I care. I feel sad. I win. I lose. But I start again. I don't want to stop. Never! I want to go on and on. No matter what. 

I am selfish. I don't need the sun. Neither do I need the shade. I don't want to stay anywhere. And I am nowhere. I am my master. I ride my will horse. I have seen and crossed the seven seas. I have seen plenty and have learned a lot. And yet, there is still dryness in my throat and a drought in my heart.

 I am a rebel. I expect nothing. I assume nothing. I make no exceptions. I do not sympathize because it makes you weak. No one waits upon me. No one is behind me. No one is in front of me. No one is by my side. No one looks up to me; neither do I want them to. Neither do I look up to anyone, nor do I look down upon anyone. I am ruthless. I am relentless. I break all that pulls me down or slows me. I respect what you are. And you respect what I am. I may give you give you second chance, and might be even a third. But never a fourth. I don't forget. I don't forgive. If you put a gun on my head, you better pull the trigger.

 I know what needs to be done. I know my duties. And I will continue to do my duties. I will continue to flow. I am a free spirit. I am a dreamer. I am an idealist. I am a perfectionist. I am a teacher. I can only show you the door. It is you who has to go through it. When everything fails and there is nowhere to go, you understand that I will be the last person on earth who will hate and rebuke you. I don't.

 But I am. It is not a subject of compromise. A faint heart will not be able to ride the river. You need guts to tame the storm and live it. And that is yet to happen. But when you can, you will reach the ocean. And then its bounty is for you to receive. I am me chauvinistic. Because at the end of it all, I am, what I am. I Am.

The Constant Gardener

Okay! Here I go again. Now the topic is an age old topic, but a statement was made to me about a month back. The statement goes like this “Love is the 7^th sense which destroys all the six senses and make you a complete nonsense”. The reason stated was that love is blind. In return I asked  “So does that mean if it’s not blind then it is not love?” 

Very recently I went on a trekking expedition to Chandrashila, the summit at Tunganath at Chopta, Uttarkhand.  After a hefty two day trek we reached Chopta. The Chopta valley is surrounded by gigantic snowcapped mountains and its scenic beauty is paramount and beyond explanation in this blog. During this whole trip we were guided by a stray (or maybe wild too) dog. Yes. He accompanied us the whole trip. Guarding and guiding us through treacherous ways. Now after the hefty trek, when I was sitting on a rock and smoking, this dog, whom we fondly named “bhuto” (in English, loosely it means ghostly), sat close beside me and seemed to enjoy the view too. It was then it struck me about its self-less endearing love for me and other members of the group. It was obvious to him that we were going to abandon him two days later and come back to the plains. He wanted nothing in return except our leftovers and maybe a pat now and then. People can argue that he came along with us for food. Seeing his size and health and the forest it dwelled, I disagree with the conclusion. We started our trek from a village called Sari Gaon and he followed us from there. I am sure he could have found plenty of food there. Instead he chose to be our companion.

To answer the question we have to first define love.  I think Paulo Coelho sort of defined it in his book “The Alchemist” well: “Love is an untamed force. When we try to control it, it destroys us. When we try to imprison it, it enslaves us. When we try to understand it, it leaves us feeling lost and confused.” But this does not clarify whether love is actually blind. Neither does it clarify my question to my friend.

Love is blind. This was penned by Shakespeare and was quite a favorite line of his. For example, this piece from The Merchant Of Venice, 1596:

JESSICA: Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,
For I am much ashamed of my exchange:
But love is blind and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy. 

If you ask me, I think yes love is blind, most of the times but not always. Yes you do insane things for that person and you happen to ignore and overlook certain things about that person. Well if you don’t do that then this whole world would seem to be filled with persons with follies. That is the reason we have love at first sight. You like a person even before you know the person. But we have the wise ones who consciously look for the person of their dreams. They are rare in comparison to the above category, but they do exist. They meet, discover all the pros and cons of each other, and still fall for themselves. Because time makes them grow fonder for each other. Love is not blind here but like a constant gardener who nourishes the flower beds and rids it off its weeds. So that, when the eternal spring comes, flowers will bloom. And the birds and the bees will roost forever.