HER

As all her voids filled
An ocean formed
In the depths of her soul.
Wings sprouted
From under her bruises
And she flew
Towards a rainbow
Beyond the seventh sky.
As she soared
Tracing the silver lines
They, who disrobed her soul,
Who laughed as they gutted her
Watched her with vacant eyes,
From the darkest bowels of some raging volcano.
They screamed
But
their strangled screams
Just echoed and echoed
Until it fed into the hunger of the lava.
The fire from the heart of the earth
Raged up, mercilessly
Turning their flesh into buttery ashes.
Slowly.
Utterly.
Horridly slowly.


© Anjana Rajukumar. Unauthorised copying is strictly prohibited.

Watching from the wings- A personal reflection on Maayan - the Colours of Krishna

Kala Arpan’s magnum opus ‘Maayan- The Colours of Krishna’ premiered at the Pegasus Theatre in Oxford on the 14^th of November. Maayan is a Bharatanatyam dance ballet based on the magical and pivotal episodes from the life of ‘Krishna’; the enigmatic Hindu God.

Let me begin with a confession.

 This write up may come across as partial towards Kala Arpan but I have my reasons for that. I have been a regular performer with Kala Arpan and have performed as part of their brilliant ensemble since 2007; so even the word ‘sisterhood’ falls short, when it comes to describing Kala Arpan. Maayan has been no exception, and this was one show I poured my heart and soul into. (often at the expense of various muscles in my body!  ) However, on the eve of the performance, I was diagnosed with Labrynthitis which causes severe vertigo that left me unable to even stand up. With a lot of disappointment I had to let Kala Arpan know that, I am in no shape to perform the next day and pull out of the show. And there it was;  with the tech rehearsals happening that evening, with media interests hovering around and with a sold out audience and less than 24 hours to go live on stage, I was the final casualty and Kala Arpan had to quickly devise a contingency plan!

Feeling personally responsible for the unfortunate situation, I wanted to be there at the least and watch the show. So I told my vertigo to take a hike and with the help of my very supportive family, I got myself a seat in the audience. Being an integral part of the production, I probably do not have the right to comment on the production or the content itself, agreed. However for that day, I was one among the audience and what I do want to write about is what I perceived as an audience nd especially on the performance of individual artists.

As planned, the show began with a Mallari (a traditional rhythm based piece, where the dance is set to a sequence of progressive rhythm culminating in a short sloka (hymn)). All of Kala Arpans tutors, senior dancers and students were on stage for this opening item, looking.  The stage was filled in a shade of blue and gold and it was a delight to watch the dancers weave in and out of exquisite formations filling the entire stage. I kept looking for what would have been my space, but I honestly could not find it!

Following a brief lighting of the lamp and a few speeches, the dance ballet commenced. The whole production of Maayan was set to a Margam (a traditional Bharatanatyam repertoire with pieces that follow in a specific order of complexity and grammar.) format .

The whole story of Krishna was therefore told through clear narratives with the pieces Alarippu, Kauthvam, Jatheeswaram, Geetham, Keerthanam, Varnam, Padam , Javali and Thillana.

Being involved in the show, I knew exactly what was going to happen on stage at every point of the show. But despite that, I found myself engrossed in it and often clenching my fist in tension be it when Kamsa wreaked havoc on stage or when the princess Draupadi, was dragged by hair onto the court! Without any ounce of bias, I can honestly say that there were some sterling performances that evening. Here, I merely intend to comment on the caliber of the artists and what impressed me the most in these performances.

Sapna Shankar the founder of Kala Arpan is a seasoned performer and any introduction to her or her dance will merely be inadequate. As the torch bearer of the Bharatanatyam movement in Oxford and an established name amongst the Bharatanatyam dancers in UK, I did expect nothing less from her on stage. Donning multiple character roles, she effortlessly transformed herself from the blood thirsty King Kamsa to the doting Mother Yashoda and then to a beautiful Gopi of Vrindavan before swapping back into the devious and evil mastermind Shakuni. And finally Sapna enthralled in the form of Krishna who reveals his magnanimous form of Maha Vishnu!

Sapna’s portrayal of each role was defined and there was a lot of clarity of thought in her ‘Abhinaya’ (expressive element of Bharatanatyam). As  Kamsa she brought a fuming fury to the character and her portrayal of Yashoda was gentle and delicate. As a Gopi she fits in easily as a beautiful damsel enthralled by Krishna and in the final scene she takes one’s breath away emerging as Maha-Vishnu.

However her role as Shakuni , was the winning one for me.  The smiling villain of Mahabharata, Shakuni is perhaps one of those roles that require a thorough interpretation and on stage you could see Sapna bringing the conniving sorcerer to life with calculated pauses and punctuated glances.  From start to finish Sapna stole the show and it was an honor to watch a dancer who was in complete surrender to her art!

 There was another moment when Sapna portrayed Yashoda with Himani, her daughter as young Krishna and I wished I could capture it in a crystal ball. In that moment,  Yashoda looks into Krishna’s eyes , her whole being beaming with pride. This was a priceless! I wished Sapna’s Gurus the Dhananjayans were there to witness that moment. They would have felt incredibly proud too!

One of the main worries, I had when I was convalescing in bed the day before, was who would play the opening role of Devaki; there was simply a lot to learn in a short space of time for that person. As the music began in the opening scene, I looked up to the left of the audience where I know Devaki was to enter from. My heart was pounding heavily in anxiety. But then I heard the sound s of ankle bells and looked up again and saw Meena Anand emerge dressed as the princess of Mathura, Devaki and instantly I felt a sense of calm overcome me.

 If Sapna Shankar is the foundation & strength that holds Kala Arpan together, Meena is her pillar of strength that puts a roof over this establishment. A student of Shobhana Balachandra and a  well-known name in the dance circuit of Oxford, Meena exemplifies grace. As Devaki Meena brought a certain delicateness and vulnerability to the character. However what impressed me the most was her depth of understanding of the characters. When Kamsa kills Devaki’s first born child, Meena as Devaki ‘s welled up with tears - such was her emotional grasp of the character.

A powerful dancer, she further impressed with her fluid and clear execution of steps and neat lines in Jathiswaram, the Kaliya dance (keerthanam) and Varnam .Meena was also a vision to watch as Radha, the one true love of Krishna. There was such lightness in the way she portrayed Radha and she shared great timing with her fellow performers especially the Krishna.

Coming to Krishna, we had a few people playing the role of Krishna in this production. Let me start from the tiniest of them- Isobel. All of 5 years old; this little Krishna stole everyone’s hearts. As she appeared on stage, I heard the audience gasp in adoration at this little one with a mischievous grin.

The child Krishna was played by Himani Shankar. This was Himani’s first performance in an all Bharatanatyam production and I was beaming with pride to see this young performer portray the mischief of the young Krishna.  Naturally expressive, Himani was convincing as the young Krishna and she was supported well by the very expressive Dhanya Barani and Rithika Raj. I sensed that the audience thoroughly enjoyed the interactions of these three performers and the playful episodes of the young Krishna. Himani, Dhanya and Rithika all displayed excellent stage management and sense of timing, especially given they were dancing to live music.

The boyhood Krishna was played by my good friend Aarthi Jagannath. Before going into Aarthi’s Krishna, there is something you should know about Aarthi as a Bharatanatyam dancer. A disciple of Alarmel Valli and Nirmala Ramachandran, doyens of the Pandanallur style of Bharatanatyam, Aarthi is well known in the dance circuits of Oxford for her no compromise and precise dancing style with the most perfect ‘araimandi’ (the deep plié position of Bharatanatyam).

 An energizing performer, with a riveting sense of music, Aarthi has a great understanding when it comes to both the technique of Bharathanatyam and the musicality of it.

When she burst onto the stage as a young lad Krishna, wearing the traditional yellow kachcham (the stylized trousers often in yellow worn by Krishna characters) and adorning a peacock feather on the hair, the unsuspecting audience watched with intrigue.  Aarthi totally rocked the young boy look and this was accentuated by her swift, agile dancing and her mischievous expressions!  She was well supported by other student performers in the Pandattam which was a great piece to watch with light footwork, playful choreography befitting the scene.

However in the Kalinga Narthana, we got to glimpse Aarthi’s trademark high energy, no compromise technique, as the young Krishna dueling Kaliya , the poisonous snake. Aarthi lent a lot of intensity and drama to this episode as she executed each leap, each adavu (step) with purpose and power.

The adolescent Krishna was played by the guest dancer Shyam Patel . An effortless dancer, Shyam is a noted dancer and a disciple of the decorated Guru Pushkala Gopal. One of the main things that struck me when I first met Shyam, was his passion for dance. And this came across amply in his performance as the adolescent Krishna who was the heart throb of Vrindavan. The center piece of a Margam repertoire is Varnam. The Varnam performed by Kala Arpan in this production was conceived and choreographed by Shyam and it was one of the best pieces in the whole show.

Shyam exuded charm as the Krishna who loved to play pranks with Radha and the Gopis of Vrindavan. Besides looking the part, Shyam portrayed the Krishna with a lot of honesty, poise and panache. In the Padam (Rusli- radha) where Radha and Krishna are seen to be upset with each other, Shyam displayed a fascinating range of Abhinaya (expressions) and he had a good chemistry with his co performer Meena Anand in the duet parts of the Varnam and Padam. If I am not mistaken, I was watching one of the most promising stars of Bharatanatyam; a force to be reckoned with in the future!

Another artist, who really shone brightly on stage, was Shahila Gokul. She was one of the guest dancers performing with Kala Arpan for the very first time. Shahila played the roles of Vasudeva (Krishna’s father), a mother of a young Gopi, one among Krishna’s Gopis and Yudhistira.

Every time Shahila appeared on stage, like mine, the audience’s eyes too kept getting locked on her.

A stunning performer with clear and precise lines, neat finishing, Shahila’s dancing was flawless.  She comes from a strong background of Kalakshetra tradition (a pioneer and much revered school of Bharatanatyam) and this was evident in the dancing.

She effortlessly delivered a calm and caring Vasudeva and a regal Yudhistira in the climax. However her brief yet starring role for me was a mother of the young Gopi who the young Krishna (played by Aarthi) playfully elopes with. Shahila portrays this brief role with such dignified grace that despite the brevity of this role, it was noted by all.  Like me, the audience too watched this beautiful dancer with unblinking eyes.

The strength of any good production are the supporting dancers who holds the whole production together. In this matter Kala Arpan is blessed! Even with one performer down and with all the choreography to be reworked in a matter of less than 24 hours, the supporting ensemble dancers comprising of students and guest dancers stayed together and performed like a dream.

Priya Joyce Rajan (Draupadi , Kaliya and a Young girl who Krishna playfully elopes with) , Anitha Nair(Nakula and chief aide to Yashoda) , Uma Nallathambi(Kaliya and a Gopi) ,Sanjana Ramamoorthy (Arjuna and Gopi), Kavitha Pillai (Gopi who was pranked by Krishna and Raas leela gopi), Annie Baby(Gopi who was pranked by krishna and Raas leela gopi), Aparna Nallathambi(Kaliya and a Gopi), , Aquila Malvankar (Poothana and Sahadeva) (senior students of Kala Arpan) and Aneeka Bartlett (performing in Mallari and Thillana) (guest performer)  formed an incredible team to bring this production to life.

 They displayed sound understanding of the techniques of Nritha (pure dance) and Natya (pure dance and abhinaya/expressions).  Many of them of them took on extra roles when I had to drop out and I was so proud to see these young dancers step up and perform with confidence in the face of a crisis. Knowing the choreography, I was able to understand the amount of improvisation these dancers did on stage and this proved how beautifully these students are maturing into confident performers. The only word I can think of to describe them is ‘magic’!

And while we are on the subject of ‘magic’ I want to congratulate the talented musicians from OICAS who played live for the show.

The vocals were by Krishnaprasad was soul-stirring and his singing were visibly moving the dancers and transforming them into their characters. I spoke to a few members in the audience after the performance who couldn’t stop raving about his divine rendering of ‘Swagatham Krishna’ and the couplet’ Omana Thingal Kidavo’.

Supporting Krishna on flute was Praveen Prathapan, a young flute maestro, who enchanted the audience and cast alike with his scintillating melodies on the flute. Improvising on stage, Praveen often played some magical interludes on flute and without Praveen; I can honestly say Maayan wouldn’t have been possible!

Another young musician without whose contribution, Maayan would not have been possible is Janan, the percussionist (drummer). Bharathanatyam is simply not possible without percussion and Janan definitely kept the music in rhythm with his powerful accompaniment on the Tabla and he played relentlessly for more than 3 hours!

The violinist Krithi lent drama to the performance with her proficiency on the strings. Krithi’s humorous rendering of ‘screechy’ notes in an episode where a Gopi sings badly, sent ripples of laughter through the audience and kept tickling them for a long time since the scene!

And finally Vibha Ratnam on Nattvangam (a pivotal instrument in Bharatanatyam, used to guide the dancers on rhythm and meter of the music) held it all together and kept both the musicians and dancers in line!

I wonder if you are wondering if this was unbiased…considering I have only raved about the performances .

So was it a flawless performance? No it was not flawless. There are things Kala Arpan will definitely take away from this show to improve. Like at times, the stage seemed small for the number of performers on stage. The lighting could be improved, to add that extra dimension to the scene and the likes.

 However given they lost a performer the day before, they delivered.  The true test of any artist is how they manage an adversity and how quickly they are able to pick up the pieces and put back the jigsaw. Credit to the performers and the tutors of Kala Arpan, they did this effortlessly!

Another spring morning...

Another spring morning...
Yet another lovely March day
The air smelling finally of sweet blossoms
The gossiping birds stirring the calmth
The unsettled mist wander around aimlessly.
While the earth lets out a heaving sigh, now and again
Just another spring morning...

My raw wounds come alive
I am reminded of the many years spent without you
I am reminded of the shadow play of death
The wreckage it left..
The deliberate attempts to strike a deal with death
The ruins, the void that we became after you left so suddenly.

I see the sun rise a bit more on the east
I see the spring blossoms spread around, looking ethereal,
In a cloud of mystical fog, the promise of new life
Their shadows fall like the veins of life
On the graves of the unknown below
In a parody of nature, life and death
Join palms and offer a silent prayer.

Yes, it is yet another spring morning
Where life carries on with it's routine abandon
I am hurt when I think of the years without you
The years of being broken and lost.
Of stumbling and falling in the dark
Of not knowing if the midnight will ever end
If the morning will ever come.

Then just as I was about to reel in my grief
And go into that dark place in my soul
The warm haze of sun hit my eyes
And I feel the warmth of your gaze
I feel your palms on my temple
Caressing my worries away.
The gentle flutter of the spring blossoms in the morning breeze
And I feel, I hear your gentle whisper.

Yes another March morning...
Let the sun rise , let it trace the sky and drown in the ocean like everyday
I don't feel that time should stop any more
And that I am far from you.
I know you are here, I know you live on
As the voice of my soul
As the wind in my wings
As the strength of my being.
Yet another spring morning...
Let it blossom!

In the wing of a prayer

‘God knows what happened to MH 370’ a few people said on Monday at work, in a spreading sense of shock. Today that is frighteningly laced with a sense of impending tragedy and translates as ‘I hope God knows what happened to MH 370 at least’.

Mysterious happenings always make headlines, but I hope for no reason such headlines repeat. For a global citizen, air travel is routine, nothing more.

You check in, fly, check out. Simple as that.

On those long haul flights we lean back and stare at the route map from the comforts of our padded recline-able seats.

Flying over the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Indian Ocean…Canada, China, Turkey, Oman, Afghanistan, France…

It is all routine.

To think the people aboard the MH 370 must have done the same, sends a shiver down my spine.

No one in their wildest dreams might think that there is a remote , no matter however remote, but a remote possibility that your mighty Boeing bird can just disappear off the face of the earth in a matter of minutes. Without a trace. Without a trail. Without a sound.

 

Global panic sets in. Countries pool in resources and do their best (allegedly) to find wreckage, a trace. Conspiracy theories spread rife all over the web. Endless permutations and combinations of speculative explanations are circulated. And after nearly a week still nothing.

The loved ones of the people aboard MH 370 have no option but to wait. Wait for what? It seems now they just wait for bad news or far worse no news.

Detaching ourselves for a minute from the emotional element here, let us evaluate. A big plane , on flight mid-air can logically only come down. If it comes down, it will land somewhere. If it lands somewhere we claim to have the technology and resources, the brawn and the brain to track it but yet it has not been found. Why? Simple questions with seemingly no answers.

And that is the mystery. The fact that families claim the phones of the passengers aboard has been ringing when they tried yet no answer, if true, suggests a catastrophe or a mass behaviour (the most hopeful scenario!). And this deepens the mystery.

Either way the loved ones wait for news, some news. And I hope from the depths of my heart they do get some news. I hope we all get some news about MH 370. I hope we are told MH 370 didn’t just vanish off the face of the earth ina split second for no apparent reason. I hope they will find evidence to explain what exactly happened to this aircraft. I hope to hear good news that the flight has been found with all aboard intact and alive. But if not that I hope there is some news, for the sake of the loved ones; so that the rest of their lives is not an endless wait for someone to return.

It is human nature I guess. We fear the unexplainable. We don’t like ambiguity. We fear we cannot figure everything out. We fear we may never know.

 

So be it.

I am going to hold onto my prayers, to know, for MH 370 and for the loved ones of all aboard.

The glimpse

I wonder..

Between existence and non-existence; beyond death; if there is a place.
A balcony of sorts in heaven. From where the departed watches us and continues to be with us.
I wonder if that is the safest place. Suspended in eternity, still, warm and light.
They continue to watch over us.

 

In a moment’s journey from breath to breath...
Perched on the wing of a silent, transient prayer
I close my eyes and look around
And there you are…
Towering over the frozen mindscape –
Made of precious memories from the past
Here yesterdays merge with tomorrows
To create today, this moment ....the ‘now’.

 

Where nothing has changed ...
Where nothing ever will
Where the margins of time fades
And converge into a single moment in time
Balloons from our childhood joyfully suspended mid air
Like they have always been...
Books stacked neatly where you always liked them
Your glasses rested on the desk on top of today’s newspaper.

 

And your cup of tea still steaming hot in your hand.
And there you are...
Watching the three of us pensively...
Go about our busy lives...
Laughing, crying, screaming, sobbing ...
We go about gathering the pieces of our lives.
And there you are...
Smiling that way with that glint in your eye...

 

Like you always did...
Looking at each one of us warmly
Your gaze and watch enveloping each of us...
Like a shield...like an armour…
Like you always did
You watch us smiling that smile of yours...with that glint in your eye
Here you are..
Today...here...now.

 

Nothing has changed
You are here...with us
Like you have always been
Watching us...guiding us...guarding us...
In this moment’s journey between breath to breath...
Nothing has changed...and nothing ever will.
Nothing ever will.

They make me cry...

 

I open my eyes to this world everyday, thinking today may be it will be better. I look at the sky everyday, thinking perhaps, today the sun might come out. I open my windows to the street outside...thinking maybe today; the child across the street will sleep peacefully, without being beaten up.
 

Perhaps today, people won’t need reasons to hug each other and when they won’t need an occasion to smile. Today there will be no more accidents, no more angry displays of nature...no storm, no earth quake, no blasts...anywhere in the world.

 May be sometime today if I close my eyes, I might get to listen to that perfect silence inside me.

And then when I step out at the end of a tiring day and look up...I hope there will be a canopy of midnight azure-blue sky spilled with a million stars, blinking their eyes at me…
And if I am lucky, perhaps even, the child across the street might smile at me and I may just stand there watching him fall asleep cradled in the silent arms of the night.
Perhaps, tonight I will go to bed without a single thought in mind and would sleep through, uninterrupted by dreams or nightmares. Floating atop the peace inside me...drifting from one world to another. In perfect silence.
Alas, but this is only a dream! Just a dream and nothing more...

 

I open my eyes today ...and I see suffering. I listen and I hear nothing but screams...
As it is now, the world makes me cry a river inside me …every day.


It is pain- its unbearable pain. I, like many of us, choke on it every day and die a millions deaths every day! I wonder why people are scared to smile; I wonder why there is no respect. I wonder why they are unkind to our planet...I wonder why there is so much bitterness.
Everyday millions of children are born here, with closed eyes and folded palms; with only one dream in their minds; a dream no different to mine...
A dream without wings.
A dream...that will be dead and gone as soon as they  open their eyes.
The starving children homeless and tortured. The killings, sufferings and bloodshed. The screams of abuse at one another.  The mad noise of screaming urban life; the treeless rainforests, waterless riverbeds and lifeless toxic oceans. The struggle for pointless power and wealth and the torture in God’s name and a planet that is slowly wasting into oblivion ...where are we ?

 

 If this is so, I wonder if it is the last flutter. I wonder if it is the last dance.

An old friend

One of the greatest anomalies of life is that sometimes, certain people appear in your life from nowhere and then dissappear equally into oblivion.And often these people steer the direction of your life without realising it for themselves.

And for vagabonds it is just the norm of life. You meet new people everyday, you make memories that last forever but then you part ways like no big deal with a cow boy walk into the sunset.
But thanks to social networking, you can look up anyone now and re connect. As they say old faces, old memories all ...just a click away!

I recently got back in touch with a childhood friend and I recoiled into a rather nice space and time of my childhood.

Memories are strange things, you never know when they might walk into your life. Without showing the courtesy to knock- The audacity of the uninvited guest I suppose! I have found myself in the oddest of moments opening doors to the dark grim strger with a leaking bag of rags in his shoulder smelling of a familiar scent from the past. And I have asked who are you like  umpteen times, but with no respect the stranger just pushes me aside and enters like he owns the place…no introduction, no explanations- what can I say, but the audacity speaks for itself again.

 

The other day I was fretting at my desk to meet a deadline, and without a warning, without a sign, in came the stranger again! And this time the scent was that of a five rupee note…
Long back, and I mean, long back, when I was in my primary school in Punjab, I had stumbled upon this five rupee note on the floor on our way home from school. One must remember this was an era when after school street snacking was a big NO-NO at home, when pocket money as rationed.

 Coming back to the note, it was slightly wet and the green of the note was almost deepened by the rain and Mr Gandhi tilted his head and grinned at me through his glasses. My first impulse was to tell my friends who enticed me to the corner snack shop , that I was going to buy them all ‘Kachalu’ – which was semi cooked potato dipped in a  spicy tangy sauce (might not sound much but man o' man nothing like it on a summer evening...) At the time, to me Kachalu was the best food in the world, simply due to the ‘No Street Snack’ policy of parents.

 I looked at the note again, tattered and wet, it wreaked a strange scent. On the little white portion by Mr Smiling Gandhi was a faint scribbling in blue ink , smudged all over. It read- Vicky Loves Reeta…;-) !Amused, at the prospect of trading this epic monument of love for Kachalu I began walking to the shop with my friends. As we were about to cross I saw my classmate Swetha, crying her eyes out outside the gates. We rushed to her and enquired. As luck would have it, it turned out she had lost all her money and had nothing left for the rickshaw…

 Now I clenched my newly found five rupee note inside my palm so tight that , I almost suffocated our Baapuji! Patting her shoulder I was saying ok, hoping that someone would offer her the money and wouldn’t put me in the awkward position of having to part with mine. But as luck would have it again, my best friend Anoop (the Messiah of people in Distress :-)) steps in as and says,” I have an idea…Shwetha, you are so lucky that I am here now, you better pay me back for this….”All of us looked at Anoop bewildered and in anticipation. Her fair face, shot to a brilliant red colour and her eyes widened …

She said " Anju has just found  lost five rupee note and we were about to get Kachalu….but clearly since your ‘Situation’ is more urgent, Anju please give it to her…."

 Now all eyes turn to me ...some narrowing their eyes judgementally. I looked at each of them hoping to hear something that would encourage me to keep it. Everyone else seemed to have been cursed into icy stone by Anoop who stood there playing with ponytails , looking at me in a tone of 'Come on, you heard me! Give it to her or I will throw you in the drain and break your bones!!’

The thought was enough to scare the living daylights out of me..I was a tiny fragile little thing and Anoop was a strong ‘hatti-ghatti’ Punjabi lass with strong arms , a strong grip and a mind that doesn’t think twice!

I opened my palm and looked at the note again. Bappu was still grinning at me from behind his glasses. I stared at him for a while. Slowly, the ‘Rupees 5 ‘was fading away and all I could see was a brighter bigger Bappu. Something about his expression told me to do the 'right thing'. I looked up at Shwetha, smiled and handed over the note to her. She smiled, her face wet with tears and said Thank you. And that made my day! 

 I turned away and started to walk home with a smile on my face. Behind me, I could hear Anoop say to Shwetha’ Yaar, see I told you na! Now you owe me a treat, come on you only need 2 Rs to go home….with the rest you can treat me to Kachalu’.

Now with the enterprising nature that Anoop had since then,I would have surely expected her to claw her way up the corporate ladder and be a CEO by now.But I found her after nearly 20 years and she is a doctor by profession and a lovely mother to twin children. She has grown into a beautiful human being and continues helping people in distress and pain just like good old days.

I wonder if she still thinks of the kachalu stalls.
And me well...I am alright too.
Bappuji still smiles back at me from the Indian rupee notes and then I end up giving it to people.
 

Salaam Bombay! - Part 1 - Story of an Iced tea robbery.

A couple of years back, a trip to the cinemas, reset me and left me in a pleasant flashback mode. Mr Danny Boyle’s latest masterpiece- Slumdog Millionaire- with it’s clever sepia shots brought  back a lot of sinking memories of my two month stint in one of the busiest, craziest (in a good way!), and intoxicating places in the world- Mumbai…

I am sure a lot has been written, said, painted and even sung about this amazing place! So although I am itching to go on about the vibrancy, the buzz, the people, the colours and the love of this place…I am going to try and control it!

Just a few anecdotal incidents and the reflections (did anyone yawn ;-)!)

First let me introduce ‘the Mumbai power cut’ to you. From those of us from India, it is no big deal but to people from the richer parts of the world I better make it clear. So, it is two hours of no power, and that used to be in the middle of the day and it is so hot that if you spread raw rice on the ground, it would get cooked or even roasted in no time! Life went on, nothing stops- offices went on as usual, traffic remained the same, the street vendors took no notice, the house wives carried on with a hand fan…Mumbai kept flowing- with a chaotic calm!

However, I found the heat rather uncomfortable, perhaps because I knew there was a way out. And as it happened it worked out well for me and my partner (s) in crime...my dearest cousin-meet Miss R- the suave and sophisticated (need I say gorgeous!) modern day Mumbai girl!


It was R who suggested the escape route- trip to ‘The Mall’. A fully air-conditioned shopping centre, complete with a movie theatre and several food joints. Two hours fizzles out into the distance in no time in those Malls!


Having made the excuse of power cuts…we regularly haunted the Café Coffee Day( and I take this opportunity to salute one of the finest coffees I have had!)and drowned our melancholy of being hot and bothered, sipping Cappuchino in the cool air conditioned Café. One of those days, after our regular routine of a coffee, we decided to try the desi Subway in the mall. I was quite excited to in fact be able to have Subway after a long while and we ordered our regular subs, ate, cleaned and ordered our drinks to have on our way home- two iced teas.


A thing about iced tea is that - it is not everyone’s cup of tea!;-) And we found that soon enough, a few minutes later. With our take away transparent cups full of ice tea, we walk out of the Mall. Dazed by the mid-afternoon heat that hit us suddenly, we look for an auto rickshaw to take us back home as we had no intention of ruining the experience of having our ice teas by walking home. After standing for about 10 mins, we manage to hail an auto finally and get in half-baked and fed up with the heat(already!)


In our pursuit of hailing an auto (which by the way is a skill in that part of the world!), we had not noticed a group of street children who had been loitering around us. It is not an unusual sight in Mumbai , as you may know already if you watched Slumdog Millionaire.  There was nothing suspicious about them and when some of them approached me to seek alms, I politely dismissed them with a smile, as I have been told not to encourage begging for alms as the children are employed by the lobby and they don’t get anything out of it.

Every time I do decline though, my hearts sinks and feel bad for the child. I get into the auto with my cousin- I climb in first and sit nearer the window followed by Miss R.. Just as the auto starts up, a boy (one from the group of street children) of perhaps about 5-6 years of age, suddenly flashes near the window. Before I could even see him, or realise his presence, he snatches the cup of ice tea from my hands and runs it across the road into a traffic island with his mates.
Artic freeze made a guest appearance on my face!;-)
Dumbfounded, I made some noise which my cousin interpreted as ‘What the!’
Ice tea was not my concern…the way he did a Mission Impossible across the busy road, with cars screeching down to a halt, made my heart come to my mouth..and all for what – Iced tea!


In the state of shock too we could not help notice the auto driver, who carried on turning the rickshaw around as if nothing happened…detached from this world…the Yogi baba driver!;-)


As he turned the rickshaw around the traffic island, I looked at the little boy who mugged my drink. He took a sip…a moment passed…and he spat it all out with a  vengeance!!!


He could not understand, what had gone wrong! He shouted from the island looking at us…’Ye kaisa Cola he Didi! Aap kyon peeteh ho ye!’-


Translation: ‘What kind of Cola is this sister…why do you drink this disgusting thing?!’


I was amused beyond my wits! Getting mugged by a 6 year old and sympathetic words from the little mugger himself! This happens only in India. Mumbai just got more interesting for me!:-)

Copyright : All images sourced from Getty Images. Copyright belongs to individual copyright holders.

In Memoriam - 11th Death Anniversary

Trying on your shoes...


I see a wide eyed little girl 
trying on some big shoes.
It is too big for her.
She is upset.
She is upset with her feet.

As she sat with her face buried
A hug warmed her and she looked up
Her father smiled down at her
She complained again about her little feet
He looked down and rolled his eyes and smiled!

He put his feet next to hers
They were big and they fit the shoes
He told her, that her feet were exactly like his
The shape, the colour and even how the toes were!
He told her that one day her feet will be bigger than his
And he would need to get her bigger shoes!

The girl was happy and hugged him back
And she put her feet closer to his and looked
Yes, they were similar, except the sizes
The girl thought one day I will be like him
One day I will fit his shoes.

The girl grew up...
She has big feet now ...
She measures up against the old shoes.
But they are still big for her.
But she is happy she does not fit it.
She knows that she will never fit it.

Walking through life,all over the world...
Happily in your big shoes:-)


We love you!
- Renu, Anish, Anju, Sunil and Krish.

Reflections

Yet another poem for Achan...

I see the dew drops..
so beautiful and precious
Cradled gently by the tender blade of grass
That sways in glee in a passing wind
The angel in the dew drop smiles
Beckoning the sun to rise a bit more
Like in trance he obeys with joy
And night leaves with a heaving sigh
The light then pierces the dew drop
Making it weep with heaviness
And finally like an unstruck note
It melts away into oblivion.
Like you left me that day
Echoing into a past

I wept, I mourned, I kept to myself
The words, the songs that i treasure so muchI kept to myself the silence of our moments-
the days you taught me about the life in clouds;
about the grace of the stream and the song of my soul
I kept to myself what little i understood of you
And When my words failed me i turned to my silence
and saw thyself mirrored in my conscience
And then I realised who I am
That I am a reflection of what you were

Homeless Deity

One night I decided to give up on this world and run away into the unknown. It was a strange night when the unknown seemed better than the known. I didnt think, I didnt even pause to look back. I ran into the thick darkness,with a luggage of hatred and anger on a path that leads nowhere. As I sped in the dark, I was fanning the fume inside me. I hated the world...and I kept walking repeating that hatred. And that was when, I saw her, sitting at the doorstep of some fortgotten ruins...

She was a frail little girl. It was just a blur from where I was standing, but she was an eloquent beauty with fierce eyes and an ethereal grace...I was stunned at her form and just watched her from the distance; she looked like a dream!Her face shone like a thousand moon in the faint glow of of the silver clouds.I wondered what a frail little girl like her was doing in this scary silence of this jungle.I walked closer to her and her form was becoming clearer and more enchanting.

She had her head down and she was sobbing. I looked closely, she was bleeding and bruised too. Her beautiful eyes moist with tears; glistened in the dark like little fireflies. Summoning all my courage I approached her. I asked her," Can I help ? ..."

She looked up at me. She had blue black eyes; just like the midnight sky! Such were her eyes that I could see myself reflected in them. A moment of gaze seemed like a lingering century...I was preparing to ask her again if she needed my help, when she stood up and walked off leaving me empty and baffled . I dont know why, I didnt walk off then- I was frustrated enough...I was humiliated enough...- But I didnt! I followed her. She walked and walked under the moonlight and I kept following her. There was something about her that was mysterious and magnetic. It seems strange for a person like me with so much hatred to follow a weeping strange little girl in the middle of the night in an unknown jungle.Perhaps it was my aimlessness, perhaps when in hatred I threw away my world, I was throwing myself into an existential vacuum.

Who knows!

And that was when it happened....she started singing...

My heart stopped!Her voice pierced the insides of my soul like a million swords. Her voice was faint and melodious but as she continued singing, it shred my soul into pieces and I felt a deep, unbearable pain. My insides bled! She walked into into a cave,still singing... I followed her into the cave. The next thing I know, is that I was in this deep dark cave alone talking to my own voice...and found myself battling between shock and pain. She was gone!I felt humiliated and angry, but at myself this time not at the world. I endured all this pain...to catch a glimpse of her and she decides to hide. I was angry with myself or caring...!I stormed out and walked back...

That was the last time I was going to care, I said to myself..

And just as I finished saying that in my head...I spotted her again...sitting on some other ruin...

I was'nt going to let her baffle me this time. She is not what she seems, I thought, and I must get to the bottom of this. I was convinced that this was far from reality and I was spiralling in a phantasmagoria...

I approached her again and I said " Look, I dont know what your story is. I am tired...now. Look at what you did to me!...Your voice pierced my insides and now I am bleeding...What have I done to deserve this?What are you...? Are you like a ghost or something?Are you punishing me for hating this world?...I dont understand...."

She looked up at me with her moist blue black eyes again and stared again into my eyes. There was a certain helplessness in that stare , this time.Then in a faint, soft voice that had the quality of first rain about it, she said " You say I am punishing you? " She titled her head to one side and looked at me rather consolingly and said " No, I am not, In fact you are punishing me..."

I was shocked!

She continued " I am not a ghost or an evil spirit. I dont have the power to punish. I only have power to love and receive love. I am the Goddess that once knew not what grief is, until the day

the seed of hatred was planted on earth.

Today the weed of hatred has invaded the world and there is no place for me. I walked out of the concrete buildings ,whereI was housed and people came three times a day to offer meaningless prayers! I was bathed in expensive milk and honey and annointed pointlessly, when I could hear the world chanting pure hate! I have become nothing but a wooden or marble figurine in a building or an image in a frame. I was feeling consumed !I couldnt breathe! I was dying a new death every moment seeing the world tear itself. It was just too much and I had enough!

So one day I walked out of all those temples , for good! I didnt want to exist, monumentally...I walked out into the darkness like you.And today I am homeless, I am alone..I am a goddess without power. I can only weep at the death of humanity. I can only sing a song of hope...

I wander aimlessly in the darkness mostly on my own. Occasionally I meet people like you ...who are runaways like me. There is only a single difference between me and you - I am running away from hatred, you are running towards it...."

She got up and walked off, singing into the wind, in a resounding voice that was like the first rain...She didnt turn back...

I stood there dumbfound and guilty; in an unknown jungle surrounded by thick darkness!I stood there watching a forgotten deity walk off...

I closed my eyes and I saw her blue black eyes again..I stood there with my face to the sky..

It started raining ...

The deity is crying...

The Road that they walked

THE  ROAD THAT THEY WALKED

It is pretty deserted when I walk through those streets in the morning on my way to work except for the delivery guys making deliveries to the cafes, the compulsive  Mc Donalders and the man who sits before Starbucks asking for spare change.

The darkness slowly unsettling itself, the rustle of the wind, and the clock tower at Carfax chiming every hour, exudes the elegance of a centuries old town whose every corner sighed and every building whispered a story. It is truly a city of dreaming spires. Especially at dawn, you look at those spires standing there in the darkness with closed eyes and folded palms, chanting an unknown prayer and dreaming of something unknown…And you feel Perhaps they are alive, perhaps they come alive in the darkness and talk to each other!

 Generations of wisdom that echoed these still stones. These magnificent stone structures and the staring gargoyles must have witnessed the making of millions of great lives, great world leaders and human beings who lead us through time and the various challenges of our history. For some its all about privilege, eliteness and grandeur to walk in through those gates. But then for a few other… its penance, determination and courage.  The ground smelt of sweat and tears and the wind that blew beyond those gates probably carried the smell of a thousand cultures and countries, exhaled in unison by the seekers of wisdom from around the globe!

Sometimes when I walk past there I just close my eyes, just to soak up in that moment experiencing something I cannot describe, I knew then, I was indeed feeling the pulse of this place, the vein of wisdom had run through here for aeons and will do so for aeons to come too! I just reflect back, quietly walking past the grand gates. I think of my school days and my university….days of endless combined study sessions punctuated with sighs and laughter…nights of intense sleeplessness spent burning the midnight oil… last minute hunt for lecture notes ….and what seemed like excruciating three hours of exams…and finally the gentle relief  upon getting the results! All seemed so far away in the distant past. I look at the clock tower again, the time is slowly ticking away in silence. I felt undeserving and proud at the same time walking that street. The road lay in darkness, the towers stood still and chanting…awaiting the sky to break into dawn and to welcome many new pilgrims of wisdom. The quest goes on! Many of those who will walk through here would be waited upon by the world...

I walked slowly…with measured gentle steps…This is the road that they walked! I must not disturb a speck of dust even as they carry the lightness of time in them. This is the road they must walk ... I should tread them with care lest I might wake the dreaming gargoyles...

Walking very quietly, I  listened….I could feel the throb of the place…serene and calm…like the depths of the bluest oceans!
The silence of that moment was better than a hundred prayers! I walked on…the dawn was about to break...the road awaits the pilgrims of wisdom...I must walk on….

Photograph source: Image Source Page: http://www.fineartphotoblog.com/architecture/dreaming-spires

©Andrew Gibson Photography.

Conversing with the Echoes

A caravan...

Spitting laughter into the tuneless desert.

Dunes changing shape with the wind...

Shifting dreams into a faraway distant land...

Time passes; steal my tomorrows...

I stay conversing with my shadows...

Listening to those echoes from the past!

In the Valley, chasing White Butterflies...(For Achan)

The emptiness, the void, the unspent stillness

Like the hollows of a dark deep gorge plunging down into the unknown

Still roars in silence.

All those dreams that have been suspended to eternal waiting

Walk around dragging their half formed bodies through the darkness

Lost with hollow eyes -blank and all hope undone.

The Unfaithful one- Fate, which lurks up behind you ever so slyly

Striking you down when you least expect it,

Still stands at the other end with a victorious smile on its face.

I look at It's eyes and the insatiable hunger in It's eyes

As if it is war, striking again and again, defeating me...

Turning my mindscape into a barren desert with just vast stretches of nothingness.

Just then, I had a dream....

A valley with horizons that stretched up to the sky,

Where the golden buttercups whispering gently and giggling in the breeze,

Danced to the unending chatter of the sparrows perched on the haystacks that they slumbered upon.

As the golden ball played hide and seek with the clouds weaving a myriad of patterns on land,

The big tree in the middle of the valley with its outstretched arms pointing to the sky

Yawned and stretched a little extending its relaxed, lazy shade a bit more...

Under the shade I see you sitting with your eyes that casually scanned the horizon

Your face was as how I always knew it - Peaceful, content and calm

Your smile as I always remembered- kind, graceful and infectious...

You looked the same as you were on that day when I said good bye to you!

Between then and now, it seemed no time had lapsed...

Between then and now, it seemed everything was as it were always!

For a moment you looked at me, smiled and walked towards me

Stroked my head and held my hand, whispering gently into my ears

That you were finally where you belonged, where we all do in the end...

You smiled and said that you are not alone now; you had a little friend to play with...

And that you two chased the white butterflies amongst the buttercups all day long...

And that there were the two of you now watching the valley until it is time for me to return!

Wiping my tears, helping me up from the dark abyss,

You looked into my eyes and asked me to march forward unafraid...

Looking fearlessly into the eyes of that which struck me down!

For you said, one who picks himself up from a fall and finishes the race

Is the one who counts as the real winner; there is nothing to be afraid of...

For there is someone watching over me as I go through whatever this life has written out for me.

Today...I have woken up...

My heart does not despair; it does not sink in the unwept tears

It does not bleed where the wings of my dreams were cut off now.

My mindscape is not deserted anymore; it is studded with the shining stars of yesterday and golden rainbows of tomorrow!

I will look into It's eyes and march forward with sure steps that echoes with a thousand prayers...

I know that there are two of you now watching over me, to pick me up when I fall again...

I know there is a sunny valley somewhere for me to return someday...where you wait with your new little companion...under the golden sun; chasing white butterflies!