I Don't Like Tea

Every morning papa makes tea for ma and amma. Ma loves it. Amma not so much. I think amma likes the tea but she doesn't like the fact that papa makes it. This time when I went home for vacation, papa used to wake me up too for morning tea. I wondered why because I don't like tea. We used to sit and chat about random stuff. On some good mornings, he would tease amma till she has a giggly fit. After this morning dose of tea and chit-chat, papa would rush to get ready for work. Ma would be off to the kitchen and amma would go out to get flowers for "pooja". And I would slowly tiptoe my way back to the room to get some more sleep.

"Shaam ki chai" is the time when all three of them sit together and discuss chores and errands. On most evenings, the discussion is interrupted when amma starts rushing towards the gate hearing the call of the vegetable vendor. I follow her too for the conversations that happen among the vegetable vendor, amma and neighborhood aunties are far too interesting to be missed. The vegetable vendor is a young man and he is very fond of amma. He calls her "aiyya". I remember when amma got ill, he used to bring her radish leaves every day. 

I don't like tea but I have it sometimes for it reminds me of home. It often brings back the melancholy, and I enjoy it. So the next time your mom calls you downstairs for tea, don't tell her you are busy. Go have tea. She misses your company and you miss it too.

PS: I don't like people who assume that I like coffee when I tell them I don't like tea. Please don't be one of them.

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

This is about the days when abruptly anytime the ceiling fan used to stop working. The days when there were no "backups," no inverters. I used to run to my mother's room in the middle of the night and she would use my favorite handheld fan to help me sleep. That fan was handmade. Dadi made several for us. They were of beautiful bright colors, some had embroidery over them.

This is about the summers when everybody at home would eventually go upstairs and sleep on the cot, beneath the stars, except my father and me. My father used to complain about mosquitoes and I had weird complaints. It was difficult for me to sleep beneath the stars. Those millions of stars had the company of each other and they made me feel alone. Alone in a strange way. I remember how difficult it was for me to continuously look at them while trying to sleep. It felt as if there is a hollow tunnel and as much as I would look at it, I would keep going inside. I was intimidated by the vastness.

Little did I know that it's a privilege to have a sky above you that is filled with these tiny sparkling gems. Am I missing that feeling? The feeling of being intimidated by the vastness. I wonder if I miss that hollow tunnel too. Or is it just the fact, that a part of my childhood is lost, that is bothering me. I don't know. I don't think I will ever know. 

Is it strange if I say that I miss those dark nights that I had back in my hometown? We don't have such nights anymore. The nights that used to be lit only by the silvery moonlight and twinkling stars. There weren't many lights. I miss that sky. I miss the stars. I wonder if they are gone because they are miffed about how I used to feel about them back then. Can you ask them to come back? Can you tell them I am sorry and that I was not alone in their presence? They kept me company. They have been a part of my love for the moon and my fear of darkness. Can you please convince them to come back?

I grew up singing "Twinkle twinkle little star." How will it be if after a decade your daughter asks you, what are stars and how do they twinkle? Wouldn't it be heartbreaking to not be able to show your kid something so precious, so beautiful? What did we do? In an effort to bring everything to our feet, we lit the whole earth and let the stars drown in this arrogant bright artificial glare.

Don't you miss the sky of your childhood? The sky that was filled with stars!

Broken Pieces

Something just broke inside me.

But there was no sound. No shatter.

I don't know if it hurts.

I feel too numb.

Too distant. Too lost. 

This looks like a dark box,

filled with sharp broken pieces.

Pieces that pierce my feet.

I am banging all the walls,

to find a door. 

A door that can lead me out of this.

To a place that doesn't

smell like a chemistry lab. 

To a place where there is sunshine

to keep me warm.

I keep trying for some time.

But it seems like there is no door.

Tired, I fell on the rugged mat.

And went to sleep.

Hoping to wake up in another place.

In a place where I can breathe.

मुनिया की दादी

कुछ महसूस हुआ, और उसके बारे में लिख़ने गयी तो उस जज़्बात के लिए शब्द ही नहीं मिले | जीवन में कितनी सारी ऐसी बातें, ऐसे इत्तेफ़ाक़ होते हैं जिन्हे हम अक्सर याद कर लिया करते हैं | उन यादों में हम एक बार फिर से वो बातें, वो इत्तेफ़ाक़ जीने की कोशिश करते हैं | पर अगर अचानक से कोई दृश्य आपको अपनी यादों के उस कोने में धकेल दे जहाँ आप पहले कभी नहीं गए तो कैसा महसूस होगा? मानो जैसे वो इत्तेफ़ाक़, वो याद आपसे रूठ के शिकायत कर रही हो |

ऐसे ही एक छुट्टी की सुबह अपनी बालकनी में बैठे हुए मेरी नज़र जब इस बालकनी पर गयी तो मेरी आँखों के सामने दादी की झलक आ गयी | वो थी तो मेरे पापा की दादी पर मै भी उनको दादी ही कहती थी | उन्होंने मुझे स्कूल जाते हुए भी नहीं देखा | वो उससे पहले ही चली गयीं थी |

उनके कमरे में एक ख़ास खुशबू हुआ करती थी | वो खुशबू याद है मुझे | दादी चुटकी बजा के मुझे कुछ सुनाया करती थी | उनकी चुटकी याद है मुझे | उस समय मै सोचती थी कि जादू है, कि दो उंगलियों से कैसे आ जाती है ये आवाज़ | जब मैंने उनसे पूछा तो उन्होंने मुझे भी चुटकी बजाना सिखा दिया | फिर हम दोनों बाहर धूप में बैठ के साथ में चुटकी बजाया करते थे | मेरे बजाने पर वो खुश होती | उनकी हंसी याद है मुझे | रात में खाने के बाद पापा रोज़ उनसे पूछते थे, "का हो तरकारी कैसी बनी है?" और हर रोज़ हमे एक नया जवाब मिलता | रात में उनके साथ सोते हुए जब मै बुरे सपनों से डर जाया करती थी तो वो मुझे हनुमान चालीसा सुनाती |

दादी मुझे मुनिया कह के बुलाती थी | उनके जाने के बाद मुझे किसी ने कभी इस नाम से नहीं पुकारा | मुनिया सुनते ही मुझे उनकी चुटकी की आवाज़ और तरकारी पर उनकी हर रोज़ की टिप्पड़ी याद आ जाती है | काश वो होती और मैं उन्हें बता पाती कि मुझे मुनिया नाम कितना पसंद है | 

Where Do You Think It's Gonna Lead Me?

That fragrance reminds me of you.

That melody reminds me of you.

I zone out for my mind wanders,

to far off places, to far off people.

To everything that is miles away.

Is it like an alternate universe,

where memories reside?

Yesterday it looked like a castle,

that led me to a good night sleep.

Today it looks like a cave,

Where do you think it's gonna lead me?

Faraway Home

Dear Hugsy,

Did you ever feel at home in a strange place? Did you ever feel like this is where you have always belonged? A place that completes your incomplete jigsaw puzzle. A place that makes you cherish your existence. This feeling might be difficult for you to comprehend but I swear I am not exaggerating.

I am home now but this doesn't feel like home anymore. I want to go back. I want to go back and keep looking at the sea. I like how it goes till infinity and you can not see it's end. I like how it makes you feel tiny and helpless. This helplessness, although, is liberating. It makes you realize that you do not have control over a lot of things in your life, and at times you just need to let go.

Do you know, the sea was meeting me for the first time but it wasn't shy? It was spontaneous and crazy. Loud and clear. It never whispered. As I saw the waves coming towards me, I wondered how can people decide if they are a mountain person or a beach person. How can you choose between the two infinities? As the sea breeze brushed my hair and caressed me, I felt home. I felt like surrendering myself to that moment and somehow capturing it somewhere for I know I would crave for it tomorrow, I would want to live it again.

The sea, that day, behaved like me. Sometimes it looked angry but there were also moments when it laughed with me. I fell in love that day. I fell in love with the sea, its mood swings, its chaos and with its breeze too. I think it must have fallen for me too for it did not leave a chance to caress me. Am I making sense to you or do you think it's just my wishful thinking? 

I am scared though for I know that the sea is free and wild. The breeze that is caressing me today will turn into a storm tomorrow. It's going to hit me hard but I still don't know how to not fall in love with it. I don't know how to not fall in love with those waves that gave me goosebumps and made my whole body shiver. I think I ended up loving its wildness too.

I am back home now. The home that doesn't feel home anymore. But I know, in a faraway land, the sea is waiting for me. This time when I go, I will take you with me. You will understand me then. You will know why I miss it so much. You will also know why I keep wondering if it misses me too. 

Till then let's hug each other tightly and sleep.

Cheers!!

Do You Remember?

Do you remember the e-rickshaw ride that we had back to the campus? I was wearing my pink kurta and I guess you wore one of your breezy shirts. Do you remember how there was something wrong with the rickshaw and it was unimaginably slow and how weird it was to see everyone overtaking us, even the pedestrians? I am having all those flashbacks today when I am here after two years. Did I tell you that I didn't want that ride to end. I don't remember us speaking a lot that day. Silence did all the talks there. But I know you understood. Did you feel the electricity too?

As I go on, I feel thoughts rushing through my mind as storms. Storms that carry people; people from the past. I found myself entangled amidst the storm. I feel so much, suddenly. As I enter through the gate, I see the older me. Me who was young and stupid and naive. I see myself rushing to the class every day. It felt surreal. Like I was back in those days when life was all about the struggle of attending the 8:40 class. Everything looked the same. It's just that I felt invisible today like nobody can see me. They were passing by without noticing me. No one to wave and say hi, no one to even exchange a smile. Everyone I knew has left. This is just a place now filled with memories and flashbacks.

Do you remember how we sat outside MacDonald's on that thin platform? I thought our bums actually won't fit there but then they did. We sat and talked about life. That was the first time when we were not really using silence to talk. We found our words. I remember how you used to wrap your arms around my waist and we use to walk like little ninjas all around the campus. Do you remember the comfort we shared? 

As I walk through the baddy court, I remembered my jazz sessions. She used to tell me that I do jazz like it's Kathak. And that I need to work on my hands. She wanted me to not be shy and show the side of me that I didn't know existed. The side that is uninhibited and unapologetic. The side that doesn't care and is unabashed. She called it the sexier side and then chuckled. In those dance sessions, I used to become the person, she wanted me to be. And I used to feel liberated and free.

Do you remember those morning walks? You wanted me to sleep early and wake up early. You wanted me to see the world that I don't see every day. And you did show me. But did I tell you that the motivation was not the sunrise or the morning, it was you? Just you. Do you remember how those walks used to end every day? I hope you do.