The Cement

Perhaps I should do this more often. Perhaps, only this is what I should. Indulge in the play of words. Play with words. Perhaps have meaningful conversations with myself. Perhaps, only look forward to socializing with myself.

It is amusing and annoying to watch myself be affected by you. You—whom I have known only a bit, only for a while.  Only a few days now. 

Is it a personal battle or a battle with you? But how can I have battles with someone I have known only a bit; only now. You keep returning in different shapes, forms, voices and in a variety of smiles. Why do you come from outside and not from within?

Because when you come from someplace else, you choose to stay or walk away. You leave me with no choice but to let you go when you’d like to or keep you when you’d stay. You make me sway to your tunes, make me go weak in my knees; you make me read things, read into things. In good ways and not-so-good ways. Whether I like it or not.

You make me look at him, admire him—whether I want to or not. Without giving me time to think over it; decide whether I want to or not.

All this when you come from somewhere else. It’s not like I do not appreciate your presence. I like you lingering around me. I’d like you to make yourself at home. Be with me.  Stay with me. Be me. I would want to become you. Provided you come from within. Don’t dictate terms. Recite to me your poems instead. The former happens when you try to conquer me and not drive me. Be my driving force instead.

Don’t just come home to me. Be my home. Become my home. Become my person. 

Become my being. 

Thought for the day

A woman must try and lead an unconventional life. Or at least some parts of it. Not for reasons favouring feminism or female chauvinism. But, because the world mustn't run out of extraordinary tales of inspiration.

White Noise

Have you heard the noise your nails make, when you scratch it on a wall?
Ever heard your nails screech?
Have you tried scratching your nails on a wall?

She did, on and off.
It was her way of making herself believe
That she was breaking down the walls.

Walls that she let to shut her in
Within which she thought she helpless
She thought she had no one to talk to

Does talking to someone ever really help?
She couldn't find the answers
She still searches for them

But she had to do something about it
About these walls
So she chose to scratch them with her nails.

Because, breaking them wouldn't give her a closure
She had to give all her thoughts and pain
An outlet

Breaking down would end it all too easily
And she wanted to yell her lungs out
Before she found closure
 
But she lived with a bunch of people
Who would be terrified
If they ever saw her cry or yell in agony
 
But she had to something about it
About these walls
So she chose to scratch them with her nails

She cried and cried, and cried more
Until it all made sense to her
Until she felt lighter
 
Her thoughts had begun to fade away
She vanquished them at last
So she prepared to break down the walls

One last bit of mourning
One last bit of venting
One last bit of hearing the walls screech

She geared up to break down the walls
Which she did
One wall at a time

Anna’s Blues

Anna by the piano
Stood waiting for the dusk to fade
As her soul swayed in silence..
In silence it prayed

Prayed for the morning sun
to shine and lift her up

©Rameez Kakodker Photography

from the blues at bay

Coz Anna’s blues blued the town
A once painted town, red in love
by Anna in her yesterday

Love once so strong
it even awed them thunderstorms
the winds blew for her
and with her in love

Love once so strong
even love birds were put to shame
Anna danced with the rains
while the rains sang to her

But today she stands at His feet
praying for love once so strong
the love that now stands lost
and she the blue’s host

And Anna stood by the piano
waiting for the dusk to fall
so Morning comes with another
Hope of love stronger than
once love so strong

Mannil Virinja Poove, Nee Sugam Alle?

You've turned 57 this year. A little close to becoming the 'senior citizen'. That never bothered you much, isn't it? You've always been young at heart. I still picture you in the la Rajinikant avatar with your bell-bottom pants, dense and stylized hair. A smile that seeped out to your dimples. Eyes with a lovely gleam. You've always had this charm about you, haven't you? I bet, Amma fell for the smile. 

Appa, Appu and I have always admired your love for Amma. Although, your fights would always begin and end with 'Iruvadu varsaham ore vishayata chollind iru' or 'Uma, please, at least, Poojai nerathla kathade', the two of us knew how deep your love has been for Amma.

We've always loved the way you'd buy her a gift and send it through us. We've always known that you're a die-hard romantic. A romantic who chose to be shy about it. I've read the letters you and Amma exchanged during the courtship period. I never really managed to read a whole letter, but I've read enough to know the romantic in you. I've always loved the way you'd narrate the ponnupaakal incident. It gets better each time. I am glad you chose to spend your life with Amma, in spite of the high-on-acidity Sambhar and Uralakazhangu kari. In spite of Athai and Paati having threatened you with dosham.I'll always remember you as the die-heart romantic who took the heroic stance to stand by his lady love.(Of course, I've exaggerated the whole episode. But, I like to remember it that way.)

I don't know if you remember our waltz to Baharo Phool Barsao. I distinctly remember every bit of it. I was in the fourth standard; had just received my final exam mark-sheet. I had been given an 'A' grade. Ah, my joy knew no bounds! It was a Saturday. I remember the day because you were usually home on Saturdays. You were busy with your usual routine of swaying to Old Hindi Songs. I came home, rung the bell and displayed my report card as if I had bagged a Gold Medal at the Olympics. Baharo Phool Barsao had just begun on the tape recorder. You held my tiny hands and swayed with me to that Suraj's classic number. In my mind, I had clicked a picture of us dancing. A fragment from my memory I always go back to when I am overloaded with joy. Especially on occasions when I want to sway to old hindi songs. Did you know that I've bequeathed that art from you? Oh, yes, I have.

I vividly remember us opening the first bottle of alcohol in the house. I was surprised how Amma wasn't perplexed about it. When Amma let me gulp down an entire glass of that delicious wine, I sat there baffled, looking at the joy in her eyes. Do you remember how Amma and you would ask me to slow down, while I tried to hurriedly gobble up those luxury chocolates. What joy!
Do you remember that one anniversary when little-hippo Appu and I cooked up a half-cooked, wholesome, hearty meal consisting a sandwich of sorts, and some chat. The naïve attempt at setting up a candle-lit ambience; the two of you were embarrassed. Appu and I lifted our shoulders and held it up high after that night.

©Rameez Kakodker Photography

I will always cherish these episodes from the days of our lives. There's a lot more that I want to write you today, Appa. I am unable to write as these tears are messing up the keyboard. Please don't get me wrong when I say tears. These are tears of joy, and sense of contentment. I want to take a walk with you through the lane of soulful memories. Of times you and Amma spent in raising this family. Thank you for bringing us into this world; you virtually showed me the world on your shoulders; maad madiri valandootum I chose to trod the streets sitting on your shoulder. Amma and you have carefully knit this family with the most comforting fabric. Thank you for being a friend, philosopher and a guide in disguise. Thank you for letting us have you as our father.

Happy Birthday, Appa.

Around the Ye in 90 days.

It wasn't an easy task to capture my admiration for the Bongs and Calcutta in words. The only expression that does thorough justice, according to me, is the ubiquitous 'Ye'. Of all the Bengali I've managed to grasp and gobble down, Ye is what I adore the most. Pronounced as 'E-Y-E-A' or 'Y-E-A-H' with a peculiar accent, this all-encompassing term is used and abused as a noun, verb, adjective or just ye. Every language has a Ye, for instance, in hindi it's 'Woh'. In tamil it's 'Adu' and if that doesn't help your case, you could always resort to 'Idu'. 

My first brush with Ye happened while I was trying to figure out the monsoon in Calcutta. Romantic when it rains; moody,confusing and humid otherwise. So many emotions, yet only ye describes it aptly. Once I realized its true potential, I went on a Ye rampage. I bought everything from tomatoes, mishti dhoi and movie tickets to harem pants using ye. I've observed that the Bengalis do not fuss about specifications. You could always mention Ye and you'd have still conveyed the message loud and clear. The ye where my PG is located has a lot of buildings with typical Bengali architecture. I love walking back home as I like ogling at these Ye-s. Thanks to my poor sense of geography, I've had to ask around for directions to my PG. Ye came in handy when I couldn't recollect names of the landmarks.

Some of the popular usages include 'Kothay jachho? Eito ye' ( I am going to ye), ' Ki korcho? Kichuna, ye' ( I am doing ye),  'Janish shedeen ye r sathe dekha holo' ( I met ye the other day), ' oke besh ye lagchhilo aajkey' (he looks very ye today).

This multi-faceted, multi-purpose word connects you to the dynamic city and its people. Just as how the whole of Calcutta is tied together by the Ganges and the Metro Railways. Reading sessions with Naveen Kishore, ferry ride to Belur Math, Shantiniketan drenched in the rains, Masterclasses—with John Donatich, Ronnie Gupta, Jennie Dorny, Manjula Padmanabhan, Aswathy Senan—captivating Sundarbans, tram rides, intoxicating walks through College Street, the Ghats, my tour through Calcutta is made up of ye emotions.

Ye has a kind of comfort that I found in Seagull's artwork-filled classrooms, easygoing Calcuttans, and the unhurried pace of the city. I came to Cal looking for newer horizons and I am contently going back home with ye. 

Simply put, a little bit of exploration teamed up with ye is all it takes to understand this adventurous city. 

In the words of Sunandini Banerjee:
‘It's a kind of universal application, which can describe a person, an emotion, weather. Anything at all can be summed up as Ye. Have you seen my Ye? Have you seen my lost wallet, lost eggplant, my dog . . .  depending on the concept along with some strange hand gestures, ye is indicative of a word that doesn't ring in your mind.’ 

On that note, 

All Hail Ye!

Zen Master's Wisdom - Part 1

So what you got to do is open that dusty which is at the bottom of your heart.
The file of all the good things you want to do in life . . .

The file of all the good things you wanted to do in life put away because you want to do it later, when you're old, and retired and useless. Get something out of that and do it now. It might not make you rich but it will make you happy. Look at it this way, if you get a job only because it pays well you end up spending the money to buy yourself prepaid happiness which lasts not very long. 

So if you do what you really care for and makes you happy, you are sorted for life!

You will always have money to spare!

-  
Vivek