A Walk...

Today is a beautiful day. I was walking on campus with Atul, loudly singing 'Yugan Yugan Hum Yogi' - Kumar's voice resonating inside, and my voice a weak, slower echo in its wake. Suddenly I noticed a single leaf of a tiny date palm flutter at a high speed...there was no wind, no breeze, just a cool and bright blue day. In that stillness, a single leaf fluttered -wildly. I understood without comprehension, that sometimes, somewhere, something moves one wildly - and yet the world around, steeped in the same wonder, remains at repose, calm and un-moved. I understood the leaf, tipsy with resonance of a song inside - and yet, in the same world, people chattered on mobiles, rushed in cars, tended to the sharp whistles of a pressure cooker - and that this was all, as it should be, fine and perfect.

Rum, Rasam and Raaga

There was a phase in my youth that I recall where "rum and coca-cola" was a mood to swing to. Decades later, I discover the same pleasures with a different twist - ahem...maturity. This year has been particularly cold in Bangalore and a little while back I was introduced to all kinds of cocktails with indian twist...so now, I can imagine no greater pleasure than to be curled on my diwaan with a glass of rum n' pepper rasam all to the moods of some evening raaga - say Marwa?

There is a monster..and other observations

There is a monster, roaring, clawing, raging, desperate and breaking loose - in deepest caverns of my inside. No, cant say thats in my heart, or my head, and lost my soul long back. But don't worry -it wont reach you - its been wadded in layers of sanitised, hospital white, middle class conformability, anesthetized sentimentality and blogger-prose expressibility, that can quieten fiercest of brutes - if it ever manages to even verge out.

I have a brute inside and he is not tame..is yours?
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I am buffeted within tiny confines of my dark cocoon - battered from one edge to next, hit by waves of convulsive coughs that shake to the core. I tolerate in zombie state of benadrylled calm - watch from outside the cocoon rocketing around and the creature marooned inside...between the stormy spells I watch the light filter through the uneven fillings of my quilt, sounds of normal home life, and the silence in my yard outside. I count seconds between spasms and try mental statistics - I also remember Proust.
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I have been fixating on this tiny fibre stuck to my blanket. It is finer than a hair, erect in an inverted 'L' and ruffles to the rhythm of my breath and my coughing bouts. I am trying to use 'mind power' to get it to swirl and point towards me. We struggle, it and I. Finally I give up - low on pranic energy these days.

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Cant believe that less than two weeks back I was jumping waves in 'Gopalpur by the Sea'. Cold water, colder breeze, tall waves, transparent green, bright lit. We gorged on "bhajas", played with "Rani" the kitten and wore shell earrings.

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Today I am sitting, staring out. Cold days are almost gone - bright warmth filters through green to reach inside my cage. A Bulbul has discovered my water garden, swings clutching at a vine, swoops to peck at the water, and fly away...it does this many times over. I sit watching it.

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The passion fruit vine is blazing with a row of flowers - right outside my window! Scarlett, opulent, exotic, very passionate - how much beauty I almost missed. Strange that its essence is used to 'pacify' in homeopathic remedies.

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Orissa Images

There are places embedded in the deep recesses on my memories; places not known except in myths associated with first awakenings of early childhood. Orissa is part of my earliest memories and for years I have resisted stepping into dream haunts.

I remember vividly a long corridor and walking to a doorway to stand in front of glass jars - one of them contains raisins. A big person in orange reaches out and hands me these raisins. My parents tell me I was just 2 years then and what I recount is in Ramakrisha Muth in Puri where they stayed when I was little. And, yes, I was very taken with raisins that I was fed by a 'sant' in the ashram. This person predicted that I would become a judge, when I grew up - very far from truth actually, except that I have often been advised not to judge people or events too harshly.

Then there are a whole lot of imagined memories from stories of 'Bhaskar' - a man servant who worked in the joint-family when I was very young. He was from Orissa and his stories revolved around his fields, his family, his woman left behind in order to earn a better living in Kolkatta. Here Orissa was in water-color greens, earthern browns of the land, brown people in brown homes. These images were permeated with his sorrow, his awaiting his next trip home.

And finally Orissa was painted with sounds of a flute. He was young. I forget his name. I was older - and I thought he was beautiful. Again a man servant in the family home, who got to use the area of the coal storage(we called it a 'khancha') for his space. It was barely two and a half feet wide, about 10 feet deep, and at the end there was an area for coal. He got to use the passage as his home. Late in the afternoon, when all the work was done, he bathed, got into clean clothes, ate the leftovers set aside for his meal and then he propped himself 3 feet off ground, between the walls of his tubular home and played his 'bansuri'. I was usually in my room, after college, reading. Sometimes I would go and stand, watching him play. He merely smiled and continued playing. He painted Orissa in undeciphered longing with slow, long notes, dark brilliant eyes. I remember asking him, only once, whether he would marry. He laughed and said, yes. His folks were looking for a match for him. Would he still work in the city. Again, another Yes - someone had to send money home.
I recall his face clearly as I type - yet a name escapes me.

Orissa has since played a recent havoc in my life. Its part of what I am, and what I think needs to be done. POSCO, Vedanta, mining rights, forceful evictions, police firing, and strings of promises from MoEF - undelivered.Orissa has also been on my wish list as an avid traveller - I wished to witness the annual migration of Olive Rideleys to Orissa coastline, the birds on Chilka lake, the ancient temples, and cave monasteries. I left my conscience behind when I visited Orissa, avoided those - whose rights occupy my days. I went as a spectator, a foot loose traveler with my daughter and a friend to wander its coast, lakes, temples, caves, watch weavers create masterpieces and dancers seduce Gods...I saw all this and experienced much much more...and found all of it worth fighting for.