Promise delivered

Well, there’s rain outside the window,
Or at least the promise of one,
The cooling turned to a bone-chilling cold,
A steaming paper cup of sugarless coffee
And many stories.

No, no. Not the sweet nothings we’ve known before.
We are told these are things that matter --
Things that churn algorithms somewhere,
Make telephones bleat, people yell.
And then money is lost, money regained.

Life is an endless journey,
Of such fruitful days.

There’s pouring rain outside the window,
Drops chasing each other down on wet glass,
The smell of freshly dug up earth,
Comes coursing through memory.
The promise is delivered,
But my eyes burn.

Probing ties

Have you ever tried to probe,
The ties held close to the heart?
Have you ever tried to test,
The myriad shades in a start?

Have you ever felt
The overwhelming tide of distance?
Have you ever fought
The frenzied waves of an instance?

Have you ever given up, given in,
And then picked up the tossed strands again?
Have you ever unwound the knots,
Just to tie them back in another lane?

Have you then tired and despaired?
Felt ashamed of your weakness
& aware of your strength?
And then has the big why loomed?
Egging you on to fight the next length?

And the walls you built?
Breaking out, creeping in?
Sometimes protecting from the without,
At most times saving from what's within.

A crazy melee of thoughts,
They carry on and on,
Making you at times a sinner,
At other times, the sinned.
An endless shuffle,
A constant repeat,
There is the hint of strength,
But also weakness skimmed.

And finally...
How will this all end?
Will the endless grinding just come to a halt?
Or will the system crank out?
Or will there be some sort of a victory?
No sinner, no sinned,
Just a happy ending,
Of an endless story?

Prisoners of birth

"They're both oaks, even if they were planted in different forests. But then, m'lord, we all suffer in our different ways from being prisoners of birth,” – Fraser Munro (Prisoners of Birth)

So aptly put… come to think of it, most of what we are is because of something we don’t have a hand in. We can’t chose our parents, our religion, the social strata we want to belong to or for that matter our name – and it is all of these that gives us our identity. An identity that evolves, but never really goes far from its essence.

We are prisoners of our roots, and like in the extract, we can only hope to move towards the sun, while remaining firmly bound to our earth. I am not sure whether this is fortunate or otherwise, but one can only hope to grow into the tallest oak of the forest.

"Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day"

You can't swap your chains with another, much as you may want to, but you can find peace in the thought that it was God who wished so. How else can you explain "why" you were born when you were born where you were born and to whom you were born?

Accept the firmness of the ground you stand on, feel it hold you in place and it will set you free.

The moment has come when I change...

From being a spectator, to being a participant. From wondering how people let themselves get bullied, to thinking how to prevent myself from getting bullied without hurting sentiments. It’s tough, I finally agree. And I now see why others succumb.

It’s tough not because one is relatively weak, but because one is never strong enough to hurt those one loves.

Marriage -- an institution that has been coming down the ages, with its own set of rules, its own stamp of patriarchy and I am finally going to step into it, with my principles of an emancipated woman intact but my actions unsteady under the assault of emotions unfelt before.

Suddenly I am surrounded by his relatives, who obviously love me because he loves me but who also expect me to behave in a certain way or do certain things befitting the bahu. Well, it’s not as bad as it sounds. There is no “ghunghat” or “you can’t work”, not that they would have gone far with any such demands, but there are assumptions such as “you can’t take off the nowa”!

Kind of weird, but I couldn’t say a thing. Nowa is the sign of a married woman and linked to the husband’s life by prejudice and tradition. Even I felt weak under the strength of the belief.

I cursed myself for my weakness. A girl known for calling a spade, a spade, I was shocked at my hypocrisy. To compensate, I thought -- well let them say what they want to, I’ll do as I wish.

But really, let’s face it. I was thinking like a loser. The truth was I couldn’t say a thing, firstly out of respect, secondly out of fear and thirdly because it was after all only a nowa, a bangle. Now I sound like the Saraf girl who stopped wearing green after marriage and told me very calmly “I can wear it once I have a son, it’s only a colour”.

Its’ not only a bangle just like it’s not only a colour. It’s about principles. Why does the society require a woman to wear or not wear certain things to show the presence or absence of a man or son in her life?

But, sigh, I am shackled too. I might have the comfort of knowing that I can after all do as I wish because my doing does not depend on something as abstract as “once I have a son”, but I still have a problem.

I don’t want to do as I wish, concealed from the people who wish me to do it otherwise. They need to be told why things are being done or not done in the accepted way. Only, now I realize this cannot be done in my usual matter-of-fact way.

But it will be done nonetheless. I will make the little change I promised I would in a woman’s life, in her state… and I will begin with myself.

As honest as it can get

I find a pattern that I want to break. It’s the same story repeated over time, at different locations, with different people and the same me. Somewhere down the lane I even stopped blaming others. I agree it was time I did, but there is a certain bliss in stupidity, in the pretense of ignorance. It offers a safe haven one would not want to exit, but exit one must. What stares at me are faults, shortcomings, the existence of which is known to me to the extent of the generic abstract intangibles they are. Beyond that, once again, I move blindfolded, groping and cursing others for putting things in my way.

And I suffer loneliness, an isolation I wish I could leave behind but I can’t make up my mind as to whether this is a curse or a gift. If I can assure myself of this being a greedy need, then I would be happy. No, I am not sad but I am happy only in pockets. Is it wrong to want all my pockets to be full with things I want? I crave for bonding as I see it around me but what to do to satisfy the craving, that’s something I don’t know. And maybe, I don’t need to.

A little bird tells me it’s better this way and I have half a mind to believe it. I just pray for conviction to reach me faster than despondence.

Just random

A conventional picture, a conventional thought -- a long tunnel ending in the promise of light without, the belief of warmth, of visibility… and then there is the sudden crash. In the whirl that slowly sucks you in, the light that was so real suddenly becomes a distant star – taunting and unreachable.
A look around somehow always convinces that each person caught in that whirl will find a way out, will reach the arms of security while you wont.

Visiting a graveyard

The Hosur Road Cemetery

It's one of those things I always wanted to do. It will probably sound weird but it’s true. I still remember a story a girl in the boarding told me about All Soul’s Day.

It was early morning, she said, when she and her family and many other families went to pay their respects to the departed. The graveyard lit up with candles. A gust of wind suddenly snuffed all the candles, except for a lone one — the one my friend had lit in her brother’s memory.

This picture has stayed with me and finally last Saturday I visited a graveyard.

It wasn’t a morning Dawn had spoken of, nor were there any solemn candles. But the calmness was the same, the serenity also similar and… something more — so many stories untold.

A small granite grave of a two-day old child spoke of the grief of the mother barely out of her labor pain, the pretty picture of an 18-year old girl spoke of untimely deaths, of accidents, bricks being removed from an old grave to make place for kin of the constancy of it all, of the pattern of life while fenced in larger areas with one grave and place for more spoke of the sadness of truth, of inevitability, of times now when bookings open not only for a place under the sun but also for a space under ground.

There was more… the stamp of patriarchy where every woman who died was identified as w/o, her parents not anymore a part of her being and men remained proud individuals, needing no identification except the worldly qualifications acquired at earthly institutions.

Silence took over conversation as we left the graveyard. For some in the car it was probably many of the departures before the final arrival while for us it was a reminder of the day we would be reduced to ashes…

On the happier side of it, if I live a full life with relatives, children and grandchildren rallying around me, I will probably be able to avoid the limitation of being just somebody’s wife.
(Don’t know why I felt like adding this last bit)

You & I

Have you ever seen the twinkle
In the eye of the night sky,
Raised your hands,
And felt its moist tears,
Lifted your face to its openness,
And felt its calm breath.

Have you ever heard,
The whisper in the wind,
The words in the silent rustle of leaves,
The music in the silence of all that around,
The dance in the shimmering above?

Have you ever felt all this and more?

Guess what?
I have felt them too…

Far away,
Under different skies,
We sit united,
In feeling, in love,
You & I.

Once in a while,
My heart says,
Drop your promises.

Once in a while,
My mind argues,
What’s the harm?

Once in a while,
I say,
Let’s!

But always, always,
That moment passes.

My heart revolts,
With a glimpse of pain

My mind counters,
Is it fair?

And I decide,
Let’s not.

To and for my IR family

The first step on a road,
And you know there are many more to come,
The first smile you share,
And many you pass on,
A silent tear you shed,
And someone secretly looks on,
The first hand you hold,
And a family is born.

On such a road a faltering step I kept,
A lingering sense of uncertainty around me,
And soon, very soon, there was the first smile,
A first hesitant hand was held out,
And where once all was unknown,
A family surrounded me,
To make me … one of its very own.

We skipped along this path,
Sharing joys of camaraderie,
Gulping each new experience passing us by,
Watching them become familiar,
As they pass from eye to eye.
On this joyride,
Sometimes, we lost a friend,
Sometimes, we greeted another
Holding hands through sorrow
And through a lot of fun
We mastered life together.

But the safety net now withdraws,
The family now recedes,
The launch pad stands ready to catapult
But am I ready?
Just a step away awaits a new future,
New place, new people
But may be not a new family.

I see behind me a small gap,
Hands slightly parted where mine had been
Beads of sweat on my palms
A hard reminder of what was.
An apprehension of what may not be.

But there was a smile lingering on their lips,
A sparkle in their eyes wishing me luck,
Bidding me farewell,
Tightly clasped fingers, covered every chink,
Standing apart I felt included,
Enveloped in the strength of love,
A love that bade me to take on the world.
Asking me to take just one faltering step forward.

And now I will.

Goodbye!

Sorry, not easy

Sorry doesn’t seem to be an easy word, but if easily said it can sure make relationships a lot easier to maintain. What’s more, its even makes things easy on the conscience. The irony, however, is that I can say all this only on hindsight. For instance a few years back a very special friend of mine became a victim of my inflated ego. I still remember the huge quarrel we had and my refusal to say sorry despite recognizing myself to be at fault. On the very same day, my friend was leaving town but even that fact kept me undeterred. There was no way I was going to ‘bend’ and till this date I regret that decision, that foolhardiness. Now when I want to say sorry to her and make amends, I don’t know where she is. What I believed to be a show of strength then was nothing but a weakness of character. Today I know it for fact, only the very strong can say sorry, the weak tend to run away. I ran away and in the bargain I lost a special friend.

~ Himani

The fountain of joy

The fountain no longer springs,
The throat drinks,
But the thirst remains unquenched,
The picture no longer paints itself,
Thoughts remain barren. Empty.

Where is the sun that never set?
The moon that lingered silently?
The waters that flew gently?
Where is the coolness of the dewdrops?
Under my bare feet?

The grass looks wet, but I don’t feel it.
There are stars in the sky, but I don’t see them.
There is a gaping hole, where water once played a gushing role,
The wind is on my face, or is it?

Delve, delve deeper, a little voice said,
Faint, feeble, yet incessant,
Insisting, running over and over again!
But where do I delve, will someone tell me?

A hand is clutching at my heart,
Squeezing it for all its worth,
But not a drop of blood.
The pain is excruciating,
But not a tear drop.

Will shutting my eyes help to shut out the desert?
It is creeping, crowding me in, suffocating me.

The flutter of lashes,
A whirl, freefall,
I recognize the fountainless gaping hole,
And see a new cold darkness,
The desert is receding,
But what is that sound, a roar?

Coolness on my cheeks,
Moistness in my eyes,
The wetness between my toes,
The smell of earthy rain,
I feel it, oh yes, I feel it all!


An inkling of a wind now touches,
Murmuring a new vitality in my ears
“To rise you need to fall,
When you fear the fountain has dried,
Remember the roar that fed the stream?
Go to the heart of the roar,
Make its pain, its pleasure, your own,
Dip yourself in the coolness of the stream,
And watch the fountain rise,
Rise. Rise. Rise.”

A smile is touching my lips,
My mind is yet again painting a new picture.
Yes, I will drink of this fountain of joy,
Confident of the sea that gushes in me.

Twigs

The twigs under my feet,
Cracking audibly with each step.
Too many, indeed too many…
A leap and a bound,
A conscious detour here and there...
But the pitfalls ~ too many
And the sound
It still goes CRACK!

The beauty of the ground.
Is it in the fallen leaves, the strewn twigs?
Or in the feet that walk through,
And in the sound of the twigs going snap?

Or both?

The potential smell of emotions possessed
Or the odour of those expressed?
Anger withheld?
Or tears in full flow…

Which and how often?

Hurt?

Honestly, are deep sentiments, passionate feelings really worth it? I am not that audacious to imagine I am the only person who can feel with such strength, but yes I am one of the very few. If I have been fortunate enough to find a man who can at least respect and understand the passion I have to offer if not reciprocate fully, I have also been unfortunate to find friends who misunderstand it wholly. I don’t know whether I should be grateful for the one or unhappy for the other.

Perhaps the case is not about me being misunderstood… maybe my emotions are misplaced or maybe I am wrong to feel in this way. A change is warranted but difficult to make. Where do I draw a line? When do I know that I am overstepping my limits? When do I know that I am not supposed to expect xyz from abc? The only thing I am absolutely sure of is the result of my dilemma — pain and lots of pain…?

So, once again, the same question — is it worth it? For what others do or don’t do, who suffers? I.

In this situation, one has two options 1. to change the internal factor or 2. to change the external factor. The first is difficult and the second absurd. After all, how many times will one change the external factor… whereas the emotional factor, alias the internal factor, is under your control and once changed remains changed for good! Though old habits die hard, the #1. option remains the most viable one.

If there is anyone out there thinking about the purpose of this post, well it was expressly for working out my confusion. Thanks for reading through.

“I say hey”

When loving seems difficult,
When speaking doesn’t come too easy,
When the heart feels heavy with an unnamed numbness,
I say hey!

When silently, unasked, tears prick your eyes,
When a kind touch of the hurting hand wrenches your soul,
When with each lonely step you miss the lost rhythm,
I say hey!

When you tell yourself all is over,
When you still hope with crossed fingers “God forbid”,
When you truly believe that you are insignificant,

I say hey!

I say hey, stop a while.
When loving seems difficult to you,
When speaking is also not easy,
Feel the presence of your silent companion,
Feel the pain weighing down on him.

I say hey, stop a while.
When tears prick your eyes unawares,
When the hurting kind touch wrenches your soul,
Turn around and do the same,
Do you see the glisten in his eyes?
The loneliness in your walk,
Doesn’t it match his dragging foot?

I say hey, stop a while.
When a voice had said all is over, another had said “God forbid”

If love was a bond, then realize —
The new-found pain is a greater bond,
If you had something to nurture then,
You have something to share now.

If love didn’t bridge the gap, pain will,
If that doesn’t work either…
Trust me… time will heal.

But once again, I say hey, stop a while.
Are you sure you want to let go?

Why??

My cousin's wedding is just round the corner. No the 'why' is not connected to this, 'why not' would be more appropriate. Point is 'why' are they disussing plans with everybody. To make myself more clear, why are they, as in her parents, discussing the wedding plans with my family and my chotokaku's family and no 'why not' is not more appropriate here. You still haven't got it right? See this is a trend in Indian families. "ladki/ladkey ki shadi hai, humsey to poocha hi nahin, this could have been done in a much better way had we been involved.." these, mark, are words spoken by relatives of the would-be's. To avoid these talks, all and sundry are involved in the wedding plans and then follows, "bas itna hi budget hai, ismein kuch nahin hoga. Wahan book mat karo, its out of the way, why dont you'll book near our place (which is an expensive area 'lol'), and, WHAT?, Plywood, no way it must be teak... (sigh!)". These words, hear, hear, are spoken by the very helpful relatives, notwithstanding my great dad w.r.t. my cousin's marriage, who surely and completely forget that they are not paying for the wedding! Why can't relatives strive to make the process easier? This is not to imply that some people don't but, let's accept facts, most don't. Now why not plywood, why only teak, why not wrought iron, in fact why either. Talk about eligible bachelors! Why do these men suddenly need new beds, cupboards, etc.? Ok they don't? It's a matter of the bride's parents' status? Well that settles it then, its just a one way status question. Surely the takers don't have much of it.

Why can't I be a bit more patient with these people. Why can't I accept the simple explanation.."this is how things are done".

Anyways, I wish my cousin All the Best.

The anticipation, the wait, the tension,
for normalcy,
Now,
The anticipation, the wait, the tension,
for another normalcy.
The lesser evil...
This or that?

Advices in the offing,
Decisions to be made,
Independence or dependence?

Corrupted practices or honest,
Am I a scapegoat
or a fool?

The one with the answer,
To be trusted or not?

There are others in the same boat,
With answers of their own,
Applicable or not?

Confusion, pain, tension...
SIGH!!

Love is...

A Question,

Asked by all.

Love is...

A Feeling,

Understood by all.

(but)Love is...

A Realisation,

Realised by few.

&

A Mystery,

Forever new.

It remains the elixir of life,

Yet, it hurts,

It causes smiles,

It causes tears.

Sometimes right,

Sometimes wrong,

Yet special because~

It goes... on and on

Maybe apprehension, maybe...NO!

I can hear him... pottering away somewhere at the back of the house. In the kitchen or maybe in the garden. The sounds are clear, crystal clear. I can almost see him in my mind's eye... the black shorts, bare torso, muscles glistening from the exertion. Wonder what I did to deserve him. He is quite a homemaker. The smell of the omellette, just the way I like it without onions and lots of salt and green chillies finely chopped, is so appetising!! God, I still feel that it should be me in the kitchen and he propped up in bed, reading a newspaper. But he insists... likes taking care of me.
Tap, Tap, Tap. Damn, I shouldn't have told him about the leaking pipe. Now he'd try to fix it and of course mess it up. (Smile) Very enterprising, he is! He'll fix the iron, the music system, the TV. And Me. I have work to do, but, boy ain't I lazy? Wow, the boy had even run a bath for me... ummmm! the water is nice, soothing. I know at this rate I'll never manage to reach on time but this is an absolute heaven, I can't drag myself out.

(Knock! Knockknock!)

Oh, ho! that must be him leaving. I quickly peeped out, the note was in place. He never forgets anything. (Smile) I know what's in that note... "I LOVE YOU". How those three words can still make me blush. My omellette was there on the table with another note tucked below the plate. Damn! He wont be back tonight.
Poor boy, he's working so hard for me and my happiness. Isn't there anyway I can help him? Between the two of us we earn enough but ! When will he stop exerting himself so much. I feel guilty. Why cant I be as selfless, as loving, as caring.

(rrrrrrrrrrrrrring!)

Hello sweety, had your breakfast?
Yes. Missing you
So am I.. but
Its ok, I know
(Smile)
Accha, I might get late.
But, I thought...
Yeah, I know. I left it there for just in case.
Okay.
See ya,
ya
Love you,
Same here.
(beepbeepbeepbeep)

Optimism on my fren's b-day

Darkness brimming over with bubbles
Fading in a flicker of light…
Hope or a sign of the temporal,
The fleeting?

The heady smell,
The tang of lime,
Bitter-sweetness of memories unforgotten,
Reeling steps, reeling mind.

Closed lids and a slit of light,
Taste of salt on burning lips,
A faraway groan on a lonely bed,
…is it me?

In a whirl, the night unfolds
Half formed images, blurred vision,
Entwined bodies, hands, legs
Aghhhhhhhh!
There was a drumming somewhere.

The soda fizzed,
The curtain swished ,
The unmistakable tang of lime —
Clear bubbles rose in a steady stream.

The hint of a dark outline,
But… not enough.
This is ME.
— Himani Sarkar
3rd June, 2005