Welcome 2010!

2009
Okay, it’s that time of year again…time to do my annual recap of the year that was giving a low down on the highs and lows of the year basically letting you catch up on what’s been happening in my life…whether you want to know or not!!!!
So let’s see, where do I start? 2009 was a year full of trials…but there were good times too (only I’m trying very hard to remember what they were!)…well, it was one of those years, I guess. Work was good, (let’s start with something safe…) kept me appropriately busy and out of trouble, sometimes busier than I would’ve liked to be, but hey, I’m not complaining. I had to travel a bit and I thoroughly enjoyed the “time out”… a luxury I can ill afford! There were the usual share of disappointments but all in all it worked out more or less. I’ve become quite the juggler… home, kids, work, cooking, family, extended family etc…. only sometimes I feel the jesters cap is missing!
The girls have been busy…. Piano, roller-skating, badminton, singing, studies….they rarely have time to breathe! And I like it that way!! Isha wishes she was learning silly Hannah Montana songs instead of classical and watching TV all the time instead of learning Arithmetic tables but those are minor hitches as far as I’m concerned….at least now she’s learnt the words of the only MJ song I like (Will you be there?) and I’m hoping she’ll sing it for me one of these days…only as any Mum will tell you, kids never have time for such things for their “uncool” mothers! As for Amisha, she loves roller-skating and badminton and ice creams and sour sweets that make your teeth rot and fall out…but hates her studies and finds every excuse in the book to be in the loo when she should be studying! Isha had an appendix operation last March and milked it for all it was worth when she wasn’t allowed to lift heavy weights or do any strenuous activities for 3 months!!!!!
But the girls had some serious growing up to do, their beloved grand-mother passed away last year. She spoilt them rotten and the day she died they were heart-broken, their first encounter with something so final as death….but kids are more resilient than we give them credit for, they have neatly interwoven her memories into their lives. For us too, it was a huge jolt. Ma was more to me than just a mother-in-law and I do miss her calming presence. For Amitesh and Baba she has left much more than just a void and it’s something you can see in their eyes. For me I have just adjusted myself to having more to do…..although I seriously doubt I do anything of worth! We went though the motions and rituals and at every step I was faced with the girls’ pointed questions to which I had no answer. It prodded me to ask myself about the after death state of being…..is it infinite and peaceful floating in eternity or are we doomed to tuneless chants in a dead language! Whatever the case may be, it’s unlikely I’ll know very soon. But faith is a very strong emotion, specially if you have it!
I lost my uncle too, my Dad’s brother… and our family lost a much revered priest. I was sad but somewhere along the way I seem to have lost the ability to cry…grieving has become such a continuous process sometimes…..after committing the man I loved most in this world to the pyre I wonder if there are any tears left! And yes, I do dredge up the past. I look at it often, mourn the memories or smile at them as the case may be and return to my life……
Sadly though, the feelings remain. The loss, the anger, the frustration, the emptiness and the vacancy of nothing to look forward to. Yet there is love and laughter and the joy of friends and family who stand by us through it all.
That has been one saving grace, the support of family and friends. Near and far, they all reached out…some even came as a surprise…but I don’t know where we would’ve been without them. So God bless you all!
The year ended beautifully though, we were in Bhutan on 31st December and awoke to a city blanketed in snow. It was beautiful watching the flurries of snow as it fell. As I watched the snow and heard the girls’ laughter around me I was filled with a sense of peace and hope. May this year be like that, peace filled and as quiet as you wish it to be. May all your wishes and dreams come true and may you find contentment and see the light surrounding you…I hope to.
Quietly,

Ma

Ma. She came from a very erudite family in Calcutta, her father, the late Professor S. P. Chatterjee is known as the father of Indian Geography, the man who coined the name "Meghalaya" and the founder director of the National Atlas and Thematic Mapping Organisation (NATMO)...so if you hated geography in school, you should know that in our generation all those books we read were written by him. But this is not about him. Its about his third daughter, (he had four), an elegant lady who was known for her quiet demeanor and gentle ways. Ma met Baba in college, and the rest as they say is history. Ma was a qualified lawyer, fortunately for other lawyers in her generation and unfortunately for her, she did not practice law after marriage. But she was with Baba every step of the way and solely responsible for his illustrious career....she was the driving force, the one who took the decisions, the one who gave up on personal happiness for the sake of her family....and her family was large. Sorry, I err when I say she gave up on personal happiness, she just made the family her number one priority, whether it was the children's studies or going for "secret" matinée shows with other ladies in the house! Ma was way ahead in her generation and she possessed that delightful blend of whim and gentleness that made you stop whatever you were doing and listen to what she had to say. And she never imposed on you...you were free to do as you wished....she insisted that the daughters-in -law of the family work, she allowed them to dress and behave freely when all others were shaking their heads in disapproval and she absolutely endorsed further studies and higher education.Ma never made the headlines but in her own quiet way she held the reins in the house...kind to a fault, her heart and home was always open for friends and relatives. She gave of herself just as she gave of her material possessions and never once have I ever heard her speak ill of anyone....everyone got a kind word of encouragement but that did not blind her to the weaknesses of others....oh she knew exactly what you were only she handled it her way. With kindness. And patience.....
Ma left us on September 15th this year. She went painlessly and peacefully, without a fuss just the way she would've liked to, unobtrusive and quiet. She had been ill earlier, and we had been though many complicated medical battles which she won through sheer will power and inner strength... but this time she had it her way...with Baba by her side and a quiet "adieu". She left before we had a chance to reach her side to tell her half the things we still have to say to her but I know for sure she's still with us, deeply woven into the matrix of our lives. And when she left home that last time she took with her the glow that set it apart......

Before I forget, I have to add that Ma is my mother-in-law. When all my friends would sit around and bitch about their mothers-in-law I was always the one with nothing to say. I was the envy of my friends, I never had to undergo a single fast or snide comment, I was never made to feel she handled a home better than I did or raised smarter kids. We giggled together, we laughed together, we shared hopes and dreams and stories...I'm sure there have been things which she may have disapproved of....but I was never made to feel small or inadequate...I was never criticized....scolded, yes, but never without cause. I was the spoiled "Bahu", the pampered one. Hell, she may not have been my biological mother but in the years I have known her, in many ways she was more of a mother to me than my own! And I never ever was made to feel like an outsider. That says it all.

Today I like to imagine Ma up there, quietly watching us, dressed in a beautiful sari, looking as gorgeous as ever, surrounded by people she loved in this life and who are no more, ensuring we are safe and well and free from harm.... And if I look hard, I'm sure my father is there too in that crowd and somewhere together, they watch over us!

For you.

"The emperor reached for the jade bird
with glittering golden eyes,
he pleaded for it to sing,
his eyes glittered with tears.
The potter looked down at broken fragments
of an urn
too shattered to be kept,
yet too precious to be thrown.
The seagulls rose, they flew and dived
into the winds
across the oceans of eternity...
they mocked the passing clouds
and soared to the top of the sky.
Solomon walked on the gold dust
of the scattered sand of the desert
restless and shifting...
A treasure trove of mirages and oases.
Ask me why the nightingale sang?
Ask me why the potter stared?
Ask me where seagulls go?
Ask me where the desert water lies?
These are but unknown words
for unknown emotions.
Ask me why I write."

Read this poem when I was in school and liked it enough to save it all these years. No clue as to who wrote it....Anyway, why do I write? Raneedi declared "I write because I can." I admire the confidence but I lack such conviction, I do not have such lien over my words....my words tumble out, at times sloppily, at times smoothly until I gather them up and make them stand like soldiers in the dark...quiet and still...waiting for opportunities such as this!
I write because I like to. You, dear reader, may not like my words but then I enjoy the process, my words melting and molting onto my page.
My father never read any of my poetry. So my favourite critic has never been there to share my thoughts...do you think he'd approve? Thing is, by the time I found refuge in poetry, actually fancied my verse, he was already gone....
They say people come into our lives for a reason. Manish was there to make me write poetry...he studied in AFMC, I met him through common friends. He had this habit of constantly scribbling bits of blank verse on bits of paper and a small notebook he carried around with him.... I was fascinated and impressed...later I found a lot of the verses were "borrowed" from Vikram Seth but at the time it was irrelevant...a whole new dimension had opened up for me! This Manish started me onto writing and thinking in verse...It came easy....the words just fell into place and there you go...another thought taking wing!
I knew Manish for a very short time, he wasn't the military type and paid his way out of the army and disappeared back into oblivion....But sometime after college was over and I was working and trying to live a routine disciplined life, I wrote a poem for him...which of course it never found its way to him. And today, I think this poem is not just for Manish, it's for every friend who has ever liked a word of what I've written, ever shared their comments or ever encouraged me. So.... to Vani and Re...for the first faltering steps....Vaishali, my constant reader...Ted, for sharing the hurt....Raka, my second favourite critic.....Rini, for weathering the storms.... Isha for the tears that roll down her cheeks when I read out some of my poems....for Aimee who likes to be part of everything, whether she figures it out or not...Amitesh who doesn't always understand my strangeness but plays along...for my inconstant muse, you know who you are.......for every follower on this blog ...to all the kind friends and strangers who have ever bothered to leave a comment....and for everyone in my life who have helped me become the person I am today!Cheers!

TO A FELLOW POET
Digging through the rubble
of the disaster I call my life,
I chance upon poems 'for Ipsi'
only you spell it with an 'i'.
Wishing back all the days
of RCs and watermelon juice
those long drives and longer nights
searching for our lives' muse...
Wonder what you're doing now
wonder where life's taken you,
if you're content with why you are
or doing like I do.
Yes, I'm doing what I wanted to,
or so I say, law keeps me happy
occupied and beyond reach
at least I pretend its that way.
Court and chamber, chamber and court
did i say I was happy? I lied
I try so hard not to hear
the familiar music of the night.
Poetry is out, dying but not quite so
lame excuses suffice for the lack of verse
still there are times I can't think in prose
yes, you could say it is a curse.

Enough of this self indulgence though,
I shall not take more time,
suitably chastised, yes I'm broken
sometimes life ceases to rhyme
if there is anything at all
I have done to cause you hurt,
some silly joke or ridicule,
or maybe something worse...
I apologise, yes I do and
yes, even I do cry sometimes
Would love to hear from you...
so please won't you write?

Shhhhh

.....if you do not understand my silence how will you understand my language?
I speak volumes when I am silent. Even when my hours are filled with idle chatter, it is the words I do not say that say the most, take wing and go on to discover new worlds...unchartered territories.
Only, rarely does anyone care to listen.
Oh my words fall smooth and strong, all at once ruinous, tactless and volatile and yet my silence stutters like the candle that the wind cannot blow out...Can anyone ever claim to know another person...inside out? Does anyone really dare? For rarely does anyone plummet their own depths, forget about anyone else's....who has the time? We are all too busy to listen to our own silences...or we think we are bored and cover up our own voices with music and flurries of activity....Once, stop and listen....to your true self, with no pretensions or delusions, be honest with yourself, say what you really want...and who knows, one day you can hear the song of the mermaid and the rustle of the flower as it breaks into bloom!
I love being alone...I like my own company. I enjoy the silence when I paint long into the night and my mind stretches out on the canvas in front of me. Sometimes I like to paint over and over, changing night into day, clouds into moonlight and whirls of light where there should be only darkness....
When I am hurt or disillusioned, silence is that which comforts....the words of well meaning friends are like raindrops....soothing and comforting but one also needs to hear the silence to listen to the rain!
Silence
coming back
to haunt again
ominous silence
deafening
among music, noise,
rain
strangers
friends
and day is night
is day again
and there is nothing
in the moon and stars
for all this
without you
is nothing.

15th August has always been special because it is my father’s birthday. I used to love that day more than any other. Even my own birthday paled in comparison…we always got gifts on 15th August, usually there would be a neatly gift-wrapped new box of paints for me waiting at the breakfast table….. in myriad colours….and I would set about painting with gusto for the only man who really mattered. When I learnt about my dad’s illness that would take him away from us I first went into denial. Then I was angry…..later there were times I just wanted to hold him and cry my heart out in his arms but never found the courage to do it…preferring to be brave and “take it like a man”. When I used to sit quietly by his side while he slept, when he could, through the pain, in his last days, I realized I could never have enough of Baba. I would always want more. Today I yearn for those arms more than ever and I need to feel his strength and listen to his answers. I find some comfort in words and paintings which someone said are always lonely…like I’m looking for something and cannot reach out to it. It’s like there’s a strong current and the water is dark and deep but I know he waits for me on the other side…..to take me home when my journey is done. I wish he had been around for my daughters who never met him. For my husband who tries to understand why a song can surprise me into tears….Sometimes I blame him…why didn’t he take better care of his health? Why didn’t he tell us he was this ill? But then I realize Baba always had more time for us than he did for himself. The illness had been growing inside for years but he had pushed it aside, for everything else he thought was important.
My father was just a man. And he was just being himself.
I always used to say I would never get married…because my dad would shoot anyone who ever came close, no man was ever good enough for his little princess…but then suddenly now here I was, free of paternal judgement…but without paternal love as well.
After I finally decided to marry, I suddenly felt more lost than ever before. There was no way I could talk to Baba or seek his approval, was I making the mistake of my life or was this just what I needed? Does anyone really NEED marriage? What if I tired of it all or, worse still, got bored? What if I just didn’t measure up? The list was endless, the questions coming thick and fast….and then there was some comfort for everyone agreed 15th August was a good date for a wedding…I was eased…..to an extent…… and then came the poem; for the best father a girl could ever have:


CONSENT/BLESSINGS
Your arms were my refuge in every storm
Each step I took guided by your love
You watched over me, helped me grow
And suddenly – silently, you had to go.
Years passed. An emptiness no one still
can fill; time flew, venues changed, life held
surprises new, which never ceased to test
the courage you taught me as a child.
Now it’s come. The day you told me of
A day in my life you’d be proud to be
here. I’ll miss you – and I can still see
those meetings you cancelled, the work
you left to be one indulgent smile in the audience-
When the lights went low and the house
was dark and the theatre waited (bated breath)
for that momentary spark. You gave me the guts
to act that solo part….It’s like that now
too. I’m getting married. True,
this is not a school production and I know
you’d love him well. Still I need you here, I need
your consent. 15th of August, isn’t it ironic
I never asked you but I feel it couldn’t have been
without your approval. Do you recall those long walks
together with the sun barely out. Stopping
to look at the trees, to smile at the pups
each morning was new – it’s like that now
I’m a little apprehensive, a little scared
I wish there was your hand to hold on to.

They say dreaming of fathers is an ill omen
Little do they know; those are the dreams
that sustain me. Keep me sheltered
from the storm. The world outside is dusty
the winds blow my dreams asunder
but I have you to cling to when the morning
comes to thunder; into my haven
of sleep. Those moments with you I cherish,
unreal as they may be. I’m not sure
if I’m where I belong but this much is true
when I smile and the world thinks all is well,
it’s a smile that comes from you.

There’s so much going on these days
what with the big day drawing near
there’s all the joy, the excitement, the pain
and also an insurmountable fear
that comes from knowing you won’t be there
to guide me or help me on my way –
but Baba, I had to write all this
talking to you eases my mind, and yes,
help me please that I may be worthy
of all the trust and love you showed
help me be strong, courageous and kind
a worthy tribute to your generous mind.
It’s confusing here, I know I’m disjointed
I need your love to help me. Since I cannot
ask for your consent let me at least
take your blessings. Let me carry you in my heart
in every action, every dealing. Give me
your integrity, your values, your strength
bless me so I can be brave. Let me not stumble
in my duties, let me not crumble
or be vain. When I fall, help me stand
let me not break or be broken
give me the strength to be your daughter
give me the strength to remember your name.

I do not know who regrets it more.
You, for not being here, or I because
you’re not. But when they take me away
I know I’ll see you standing around
There by the door, a tear in your eye
A heavy heart but full of joy and pride…
I know somewhere you listen. And you watch.
I know you’ll be near when I’m a bride.

Dabish!

8.8.90. I was in Pune about a year when I was adopted by a white furry little ball of fur that allowed me to call her Dabish. Dabish means a small stone in Arabic and that’s how tiny she was, so I conveniently carried her home in my pocket. I never fancied myself as a cat person, always imagining myself with a big dog by my side so no one was more surprised when this little waif kitten trained me pretty well…..soon I was running circles around her every whim…I’d buy milk and fish even when I was broke, I cleaned and cleared out her litter box, turned a blind eye when she killed a sparrow, made trips to the vet and even took her to class on occasion, hidden in my jacket pocket! She looked at me balefully when it was bath time and had such a pained expression that I took to bundling her against my tummy till she was warm and dry again…Dabish accompanied me on my walks in the wee hours of morning, using me as a safety pole whenever a dog barked…she shared food from my plate, patiently waiting when she was done, never intruding on my corner and when I was sad or lonely she curled up on my lap and purred her way into my heart. Dabish kept me for four years, happily adapting herself to my changes in address from a flat to the hostel to a one room out house in somebody’s garden…she slept curled up near my face, turning when I turned, moving herself to adjust so she could rub her face on my cheek. When I lived in a second floor apartment she used the neighbour’s balconies on the way down but always took the stairs back. So often the bell would ring (thanks to some kindly neighbour) and I would open the door to have her walking in complaining about the delay….One time, Dabish climbed a tree and couldn’t get down. So I climbed upon a garbage vat under the tree, red bucket in hand and waited patiently till she finally decided my positioning was right and she could jump into the bucket. My friends were, in turn, indulgent, impatient and affectionate with Dabish but all in all they put up with me and my nonsense! When Dabish had kittens, I sat next to her and shared her birthing pains….we had tiny kittens blundering about all over the place…and when her kittens later left, one by one, she was the one who consoled me. When I went home for the holidays, I once left her with a friend in the Army, a doctor stationed in Khadki…he and his friends spoiled her silly and I came to be known as the “cat’s mother”! But she unfailingly ran to my kinetic whenever she heard me coming…leaping into my arms with a loud purr!
One morning, four years later, the neighbours called me and I found Dabish….run over by a passing vehicle…..she had outlived her nine. I buried her in a park near the Film Institute, close to where I was living at the time. And each time I’ve been to Pune thereafter, I’ve made it a point t visit that park….the last time I was there the grass grew wild in her corner and the sunlight danced on the trees and I did not have to shut my eyes to imagine Dabish running about chasing mice and butterflies! But my most enduring image is of Dabish at the foot of my kinetic, sitting straight up at my feet…ears pinned back by the wind!