Wednesday 17 May 2023

Why did the banana tree fall




The banana tree fell 

cause it had a story to tell 


There were babies , warm 

enclosed in its arm 


all covered up cosy 

In their thick blanket , rosy 


They were numerous 

multitude clamorous 


They spoke their words 

Of  their future worlds 


The choice was scant 

To fight the storm or rant 


The wind lashed this way and that 

It broke the mama tree, splat 


In the flash of lightning 

It was clear as morning 


It was either the parent 

Or the baby future plant 


Hence the tree broke 

With a grunt it spoke 


Bye , my kids 

My heart bleeds 


please grow up fast 

i am already in the past 


 adieu !

Mon dieu !


Kaal Boishakhi

 Kaal boishakhi

( kaal boishakhi roughly translates into death in the midsummer. Like all deaths , it brings rejuvenation and fresh life in its wake)
The tree pie has had enough
The farmer holds his plough
Tired , he wipes his brow
Tree pie  has spoken, no fear bro

The rains are  here
Don't fret or fear
I can very much hear
Beyond the molten fire

The sky shimmering
The cricket singing
It's age old monsoon song
The forest is still and strong

A power burst is on the way
The skies darken , gray
Within seconds , grayer
Fearsome black  layer

Blots  out the sun
That yellow villain
It has caused so much burn
Now it's time for wind churn

The forest summoned
The clouds respond
The tree tops dip ,sway
Maddened , every which way

The wind , alive, mad thing
Blundering , twisting, turning
At your windows , howling
Lifting dirt , upward spiralling

The skies hesitate for effect
One split second, perfect
The skies are split , deafening roar
Dark  pelt rent asunder ,

Crackle , hiss and terrible flash
In neon , whole gray world awash
Drops begin naively , benign rash
Innocent and gay , first splash

Of dirt mushrooms
Then the vrooms
Suddenly the downpour
Blinding , drunken power

Oh the rain . The puddles
The rivulets , the bubbles
The earth takes a beating
No longer hissing or steaming

It is a "Wall of water "
Wrote a foreign author
Yeah . We don't do in halves
We believe in excesses .

                              


 

Monday 15 May 2023

Elusive Joy

 Fold your wings , 

Stamp your fire 

gather your things 

Tone down the ire 


Dull your brilliance 

fog your senses 

There is no chance 

Dont air your vices 


Your words your moves 

wont be heard 

For failure and shoves 

 Be prepared 


Again and again 

Setbacks will rain 

You would think 

Cry , shout and blink 


What you thought 

will come to naught 

World belongs to luck 

 No place for pluck 


you may work hard 

But not seen or heard 

On the destiny’s radar 

 No blip , no flik dear. 

Sunday 7 May 2023

The light blossoms

                                           

 A New Dawn 


( This is a fictitious story and any resemblances to anyone living is purely coincidental )


Rose remembers it raining . The clouds had been gathering since the evening , and the thunder was audible above the din of the wedding . 

Then , later as she sat in the tiny corner of the railway station bench , the downpour had started ,the sharp crackle and flash of the lightning , tending to reveal too much . 

There was no time to cry or ruminate .There was only one thing to do . Hide . 

A dark train was sitting idle on the station , water running in rivulets across the face of the air conditioned coaches . The passengers had alighted . 

So , she waited for the train to move . It did , in a minute, with a lurch and a sharp whistle . 

Then she saw the unreserved compartment , and leapt into it . In her faded salwaar kameez , with a shawl covering her head , she could be any one . On a wooden bench , someone had made place for her to sit , dripping , miserable . 

In her anonymity , lived her safety . 

She had no idea where she was hurtling to , what life would lead to next . In her heart she knew , whatever it was , it will be better than the future her parents had planned for her .


                                                   $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$


Last week everything , was in place . Last week , Rose or Roshni as she was known then , was the hockey captain . She was the best student and drama enthusiast . Roshni was the apple of her teachers’ eyes .  

She had everything going for her . Then , Subhankar came . Her cousin . He held hushed and whispered conferences with Amma and Babujee . Roshni didn’t think much of it . People in the village were free to behave wierdly if they wanted to , she had a match to play . Little did she know , it was going to be the last match of her life . 

Wednesday , the moment she came back from school , she bumped into Subhankar again . He was grinning from ear to ear , displaying his paan eaten  teeth . He was carrying a basket covered with red cloth into babujee’s room . 

It was full of banknotes . 

Motu told her , after dinner . “They also  fixed your marriage .” Motu revealed in between bites of roti . He sounded non chalant .

The world went dark for Roshni . Marriage ? who with ? Why ? when? Oh God ? what about my class eight exams? What about my hockey championship ? How could this be happening to her ? 

.” At least let me finish my exams . “ Roshni had howled on the kitchen floor . Her mother just shrugged “ I don’t know beta . It is a good match . We came to know through Subhankar .” 

“And he has also paid babujee’s old debts .” Maa tried to reason with her .

 So what if his debts are paid once ? He will accrue more debt by drinking again . “And beating you again ?” She spoke the last sentence aloud . 

“Shut up !!” Her mother had suddenly screamed . “You have no right to talk like that about your father .” The loyalty game again . 

“That’s right . Go defending your beatings . “ Roshni screamed right back . All her frustrations spiralling in her bosom like a dark tornado , out of control . 

After this , Roshni pushed her plate away . And huffed back to her room . 

“  So you are actually going .” Motu had come and stood in her doorway , plate in hand . He spoke between mouthfuls .The miserable wretch . 

“I will break your head .” Roshni had screamed , looking for a weapon to fling at him . .  Maa had intervened , saving her” ladla “ , playfully trying to whack Motu on the head with the chimta “Chup kar “ . Then she smiled . 


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“She actually smiled .Why is everyone a villain in my life ? Tell me devi , am I adopted ? ” Roshni cried infront of Devi , her classmate and a dear friend .

Devi was the only one in whole of Joganpura , who thought like Roshni . Who thought an education , a degree , and a good job was more important than a houseful of runny nosed kids and the burden of a drunk husband . 

“What did you say his name was again ?” Devi was sharp , and lost no time in googling up Mr Husband . It says here he is 45 years old .

“Hey Bhagwaan ! They are marrying me off to a budda . Wait a minute , Babujee is 45 years old .” 

“Gather your wits around you drama Queen . you have to have your wits around you now , henceforth . All the time “ Devi was the only one to give her sane advice . 

“He might be a drunk or divorcee . There must be something wrong with him , to have offered 3 million for you , and to have not married till now .”


Roshni sat in a heap . A puddle of despair . She should hang herself , she thought . That seemed the  only way out .


“Shut up !” Devi could read her mind . 

“That is the way of cowards . And you , Roshni Singh , are no coward . “ 

“Then what should I do ? “  



                                  $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$


Devi and she had gone  to the school principal . She had promised to talk to Babujee , but nothing came out of it . Same with the hockey coach . They were at their wits’ end . She knew it was no use talking to her violent and usually drunk father . It was no use talking to the other elders too . It was not just futile , it was positively dangerous too . 


Guests had begun pouring in , from the neighbouring villages . There was non stop feasting , singing , and rituals going on in the house . Paradoxically , it is this gathering of the humungous clan that enabled Roshni’s escape . 


On the final day , with her hennaed  hands , having rid herself of fine saree and gold , Roshni retired to her room, on pretext of using the loo ,  escaped outside . She stood shivering in the stiff night breeze , looking back  , one last time and then ran . 


She had decided not to involve Devi in her escape too .She didn’t even carry her phone .  No loose ends . 


                         $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$


Ticketless and wet , Roshni landed in the megapolis of New delhi , in the wee hours of the morning . It was easy to be lost . Feverish and miserable , she didn’t know where to go and whom to trust . 


At first Roshni survived for few days with a gang of beggars on the station itself . Very generously , they shared their food and shelter with her . No questions asked . The city is known to attract human flotsam everyday . Roshni was just a statistic . 

She was scared to go to the police for help . What if her photo is circulating in the’ thana” missing person’s notice board ? She would keep away from the travellers and crowds . What if someone was on the lookout and recognized her ? 


It was a hot and sultry day . Roshni was sitting in the far end of the station with a group of  grimy ragpickers .  A seemingly educated lady came towards them , striding purposefully . The others ran .

 Roshni had heard whispers “ Isai bana degi , bhaago.” ( She will convert you to christianity , run ) Roshni didn’t run . Where others saw danger , Roshni saw an opportunity . 


The lady walked upto Roshni and demanded her name . Roshni found herself stuttering . Then , all her pent up emotions got better of her , and she fell to the feet of the lady , weeping hysterically.


             $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$


What followed next was like a prayer come true . 

Roshni was traumatised and could barely speak for the first few days . Nuns took her in . Spoke kindly to her and nursed her .

Once , having recovered from her fevers and deliriums , she told them that she could read and write . This overjoyed her caretakers . She was given the  clerical responsibility at the convent . Maintaining books . Reading out aloud to other orphans . 

It was a missionary orphanage . 

Then , one day , she was called by Father , to decide if she would like to be converted . That is how Roshni became Rose . She cut up her hair to a smart bob and started wearing skirts instead of the salwaar kameezes . 

She was found to be myopic and had to get a pair of glasses made . 

Upon request , she was allowed to finish her education at the convent school , run by the nuns . Then she appeared for the Angan wadi exam . Clearing it in the first attempt , she was assigned to vaccinate the rural kids of villages , after training by the Primary Health Centre . 


As fate would have it , she was allotted the village of Joganpura .



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Sitting on the same railway staion bench, three years later  , Rose , the anganwadi worker , in bob hair , glasses , white coat and supreme confidence , was a different person altogether .

Rose took a deep breath of the marigold scented air , as she got up and walked towards the village , her vaccination kit in hand , and her assisstant Tushar  walking a few paces behind .


She was sure no one in Joganpura  could recognise her anymore . She couldn’t recognise herself in the mirror . 

She was an independent woman and paid taxes to the nation . She was not the weeping and heartbroken Roshni who had run . She was a bold Rose who had returned . 


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Tuesday 2 May 2023

Yellow flowers anyone ?

One would think that yellow of the blinding sunshine , the molten gold would be enough for the tropics . But it turns out no !! It isn't . 

There is a tree called the East India Walnut tree or the Woman's Tongue tree . Why is it called so , I haven't the foggiest idea . The wood is used for furniture, the resin for tanning , and the bark for asthma and arthritis . The seeds are ground and made into soaps and the leaves are protein rich , meant for cattle , and mulch . 
The flowers are a glorious , hairy ,amazingly fragrant bunches of fibres . They begin white and end yellow green . Or pink , depending on their subspecies . 
A famous pop star ( billie Eilish ) has the same coloured hair .
So , right now , we have a tree full of fragrant Billies (Sorry Billie ) right outside out home . 
The tree is called Sirish . 
The first time I asked my gardener , what tree that was , he was stunned into speechlessness . 
His look said , " what kind of illiterate people are these ? How can she not know Sirish ? For Chrissake . " 


Another tree with bright yellow flowers is the golden shower tree . The Amaltas . It is so laden with these chandelier shaped inflorescences , that the boughs bend , the tree sways and the traffic stops . If there is a tree ever to stop traffic with its flowers , it is this . 
It is called Laburnum in English . But the tree , I assure you is very much Indian , very much tropical . Do not be deluded by that European sounding name .
It has religious significance in Kerala and Sri Lanka . It is the state flower of Kerala and its blooming coincides with the festival of Vishu . 


The third yellow flowered tree is the krishna chura . Meaning the golden bangles of Krishna . It is also called the yellow flame tree and has the blossoms arranged on the terminal tips of the boughs , forming a golden crown of a towering giant . They shower the roads and the pavements and the gold coins or the "mohurs " are yours for the picking . 
It has a biological counterpart , called the Radha Chura , or the famous Gulmohur . It has a crown of flaming orange red flowers , and is famous for its aesthetics . 


The fourth yellow flowering tree is the Champa . Or the Frangipani . It , again , comes in two colours , like all others . It has a rare , pink tinted variety , which is very much sought after by the worshippers of Shiva . Like all tropical flowers of this season , it has a maddening fragrance , which is identifiable from a distance . 



Whom to Blame ?

 Who to blame ? 

Happiness and prosperity 

Two words , very pithy and pretty


May mean things entirely different

To men , yardsticks are inherent 

In their upbringing and environment

Negation of dreams and fulfilment


To some , a clean road may not be

A religiously guarded priority 

To others , a neat home , prosperity 

Comes with cleanliness guarantee 


To some two square meals a day 

Seems a goal , incredibly faraway 

Everything else 

Increasingly pales 


Into minor irritant

Wholly insignificant 

When survival is at stake 

Glitter and glamour is fake 


Clean homes , glistening car 

A far cry.Distant, irrelevant star 


All cries of civic sense , pollution 

Is just another slogan for election


"Be the change we wish to be" 

Let the first person to obey 

His own wishes , throw the rock 

At all the ignorant , illiterate flock 


Till then , we are all in this together 

A collective colossal guilt , to bear 

The man who spits on the street 

Is , unfortunately, not very different from me . It is us , not them 

Our lack of rules , our blame .

Monday 1 May 2023

The Missing Link

 At  first , it was the village madwoman .

No one knew where she came from , or what name she responded to . She was just the " pagalniya " . People took pity on her and fed her scraps and leftovers from their kitchen .
Sometimes she slept in the doorway of the chaudhary (the village chief) household . On others , she would be shooed away like a pariah dog . She wore rags and muttered curses beneath her breath . She terrified kids and made the adults uncomfortable .
Then she took to sleeping in the temple courtyard . God had given her refuge . No one could chase her from there . In fact , she grew fatter there , fed on temple offerings of sweetmeats . The pundit gave her the old saffron clothes of the "lalla"( baby Krishna) . So she would sit cross legged on the cool marble floor, clad in holy clothes , swaying to a Bhajan only audible to her . People became obsequious,  instead of insulting . It became the ritual to offer her food before entering the temple . People prostrated before her , and burnt incense sticks for her , which she picked up and stuck into her wild hair , playfully .

Then , one day , she disappeared .
People weren't much perturbed . Holy saints and fakirs were known to come and go on a  whim . They knew she would return , someday . It was their firm belief .
Then kallu , the cobbler , lost his calf . A fresh newborn , male calf , one week old . The mother of the calf , tethered to a post with strong ropes , as she was milking and thereby precious , mooed the whole night , heartbreakingly , that night and many more nights to come .

Not until Sanjay , the village clerk , discovered their mangled remains , a few kilometres from the village, on the jungle path . First , the "pagalniya's blood soaked saffron robes , then the calf .  The disappearances started scaring the village .
A barricade was built , forest officials informed and gunmen invited. People kept their movements to minimum , and walked in groups . Nighttime , a deathly silence descended on the village . All waited with bated breath behind closed doors .
But the tiger never struck again . If it was indeed the tiger . Of which there seemed doubts . As no one ever saw the tiger .
Two years passed . It was monsoon again . That time of the year , when you are running to escape the rain , then wishing for rain , when it stops raining . People had lost their fears somewhat , and the two deaths were almost forgotten .

Then , one night , chaudhary was returning from the city in his Jeep . The jeep got stuck in the mud , around half a kilometre from the village . The driver had kept the headlamps on , it was raining torrentially , and darkness had swiftly fallen . Chaudhary himself and one of his flunkies were trying very hard to dislodge the jeep from the squelchy mud ,in the blinding rain , the driver was revving up the engine , when something or someone came , almost silently and stood on the road watching them . It stood for a split second, paw raised , a shimmering curtain of yellow ,eyes gleaming . Then it , silently, crossed the road .
"It was dark . It was raining . It was definitely your eyes playing tricks on your weary mind "
People told the driver.
Again and again.
He simply muttered " I know what I saw on the jungle path ."
There were no pug marks to back him up , thanks to the downpour.

Then , there were more sightings .

Sanjay , the clerk , confessed to feel being watched , as bushes rustled next to the jungle path . A streak of orange there  , a  flight of startled birds here. 

People were on the edge .
It was like earlier times. The forest was scoured , gunmen posted to the village. Barricades built. Nocturnal movements limited.
Nothing yielded any result . No tiger . Nowhere .
People were just beginning to relax when they saw it.
Here , my grandmother would fall silent. Her fanning hands would slow down. Then we would whisper into the dark
" Saw what dadi? "
The pundit came one morning, as he always did , bustling to the temple . Carrying his basket of fresh flowers ,his black umbrella tucked under his arm , singing a Bhajan.
The tiger sat in the shade of the verandah, on the cool marble floor, it's long tail trailing into the tulsi bed . Resplendent. Silent . Watching.
The pundit stood transfixed , mouth agape , silent .
Both regarded each other silently for what seemed an eternity.
Then ,the flower basket slipped , and the umbrella fell. Spell broken, the pundit ran pell mell , screaming for his dear life.
A motley crowd gathered and came up to the temple carrying lathis and rusty swords. Someone had informed the gunman. He too came .
But the verandah was empty .
But there were plenty of fresh pug marks. Validating the priest's story.
"It is a young female, roughly two years old ," announced the tiger experts after examining the pug marks.
My grandmother fell silent again . This time her eyes were moist .
"What happened dadi?" We all clamoured , gathering around her , concerned .
Don't you see? It was the pagalniya. She had returned to her favourite haunt . Reborn .