Little Joys

 

They fascinate me with their beauty,

They motivate me with their heights,

 For reasons unknown,

They attract me always,

The roads coiling around their bellies,

Beckons me,

Come along my child they whisper,

The voice which only I sometimes hear,

 

And when I can’t resist the urge to meet them,

 I follow them,

Drawn like the mouse to the Pied Piper,

But do they drown me?

Oh yes they do,

In the myriad boles of the stately deodars,

In the rugged branches of the friendly oaks,

In the song of the magpies and the whistle of the thrushes,

I don’t mind getting lost in the milky mist,

As the ethereal affection descends on me,

Caressing my face with that sublime touch,

And when I begin to regain my senses,

The resinous smell of the pines takes over,

I pick up a fallen cone,

And like a child delighted,

With an elusive toy coming his way,

I walk again,

A little lost,

A little dazed,

Till I reach a road again….

(Pratima Srivastava)

 

A few days ago I was attending a workshop. As I made my way back into the hall after the lunch break and was settling down on my seat….a patch of blood on the note book and the pen in my hand surprised me. Thinking that I had crushed a mosquito inadvertently underneath the note book…..I showed my blood stained thumb to my colleague sitting next to me and rushed towards the washroom to wash my hand. A few seconds after keeping my thumb under running water I realised that the blood wasn’t that of a dead mosquito, it was oozing out from a tiny but deep cut in my own  thumb. In my anxiety to rush back to the conference hall  so that I did not miss marking the all important attendance sheet for the session….I assumed that it must have been a rough edge of the handle of the washroom door and safely pressed my thumb against a handkerchief till it stopped bleeding. Now when I look back at that pretty ordinary incident something pricks me and tells me it is always easy to rely on a convenient presumption and remain in a state of blissful ignorance…. our own actions at times lead to hurt which we are unable to see….. Friends do read the book to explore all shades of human emotions…

Bottom of Form

 

An excerpt from the story Pebbles of Turbulence from my book "The Unfortunate kidnapping-tales of destiny"

The ten minute journey back home looked like hours long. On reaching home he had expected that his worried wife would be there at the gate, waiting. But there was no one, except Samir who was wandering in the verandah, alone. He opened the door and took the bag of medicines from his gandpa’s hands. Babuji had to hold Rani by the shoulder and escort her to her room as Mallika came rushing down from the roof to offer help. She took off Rani’s slippers and lay her in bed, with the father clutching her tightly, close to his heart. Samir came and affectionately held her hand and gently massaged her back, his tender mind appeared to have read some unpleasant message in his grandpa’s eyes.

The beauty of the undefined and the unresolved...........

It is said that blood  is thicker than water….absolutely it is….can anyone disagree? But then there is something else…something difficult to define.. which adds to the charm  and beauty of such relations….I have a few such experiences which have reinforced my belief in that something undefinable… and the last I had  a week ago. I was on my way to Chandigarh to attend a meeting scheduled the next day. Tired and bored after the long journey from Ferozepur….I was dozing off intermittently…extremely short sessions of sleep I stole…as subconsciously I knew it was criminal to occupy the front seat next to the driver and sleep even if it was for a few seconds. I had reached Ludhiana and was caught in the mad and reckless traffic of the city. My vehicle had crawled towards the Samrala chowk and I was slumped in my seat…desperately trying to keep my eyes open by engaging in some conversation with the driver on how much time it took always to cross the city…..on how many years it would be before the unfinished under construction fly overs would be operational regulating the traffic flow and reducing the congestion. I craned my neck to stare at the driver of a passing vehicle only and only when the driver attempted something too daring…some breathtaking  manouvers, otherwise I let it rest in the sleep mode I was in. But I don’t know, out of a sudden impulse I straightened up and looked at the driver of the neighbouring car who was driving in his lane if there was any…in perfect order….and I was in for a pleasant surprise…it was my younger brother at the steering. Though I knew I was driving through the city where he lived but seeing him in traffic and that too at a time when he was expected to be in office was puzzling. I immediately rolled down my window and like a child shouted his name….and can you believe… I might be too childish….foolish and sentimental but he too saw me at once and rolled down his window…In the honking traffic we were in I could easily ask where he was going but as he was driving, he asked me to stop at a stop a little ahead…..and then I asked the driver to give way to his car…and follow him….till we reached the decided stop. Once there, we had a brief chat, … ten minutes in all …..I had no time to stop over at his place for lunch …. …but the happiness and the energy that I felt afterwards is beyond words. For the rest of my two hour journey I was cheerful…upbeat..and wide awake….lost in thoughts…of time gone by…of our childhood days and also wondering what was that invisible force, that impulse that made me suddenly peep out of the window at that juncture…in that crazy traffic where there were 6-7 rows of vehicles of all kinds trying to overtake each other….I am still looking for some sensible reason….but I would be happy …even if I don’t find any…some things are beautiful…when they remain unresolved…

The big heist....

This incident took place many years ago. I must have been around 10 then but my memory remains very sharp and vivid as far as revisiting instances such as these are concerned. It was during the summer vacations when the entire extended family had gathered in our native village where my grandmother lived with my uncle and his family. In all, the children gang comprised of 16 members with my oldest cousin brother at 21 and the youngest at a year and a half. The girl gang had a strength of six with the leader Munni didi, 16.

Over the years, we the girls had come to a conclusion that the granny was biased towards the boys ie our brothers. This had been inferred by a careful study of her behaviour when it came to distribution of any goodies to all of us. It had always been observed that the boys got a better deal, whether it was the sweets, the mangoes or even the steaming paranthas for breakfast. They very always the first to be served and more often than not when the turn of the girls came the prized ones had always been polished off, leaving us glum faced at the apartheid being practised. Sometimes our leader mildly protested to the granny but her teary eyed response at such a “baseless allegations” being labelled against her in her words always made us feel so guilty that we had reconciled with our fortune or lack of it.  We had become very understanding and instead of blaming her, her bias was attributed to the fact that she had no daughters of her own, she had been married off very young at 12 and all her life she had lived with the boys.

But one day our patience wore off. We decided to change our fortune. Over the years we had borne with her behaviour but now it was decided enough was enough. So it was decided that something needed to be done not only to lift our morale but also to have our slice of the cake which was so blatantly being denied to us. And after carefully weighing all the available options, the readily available delicacy of milk was finalised. And no it was not ordinary milk that had caused a change of heart and strategy. For those of us unaware of the richness of the milk those days, let me give you an idea of the taste and the aroma it possessed. Every morning, the milk was kept in an earthen vessel and left to boil on a slow fire for 20-24 hours on fire stoked of a little pack of cow dung cakes in a hole scooped in the earth in the small room behind the kitchen. The hole itself was covered with a thick earthen cover in which a few holes had been punched. The milk simmered over this fire and by the time it was distributed to the children next day, it would be thick, rich and wonderfully aromatic.

As usual the boys queue always walked away with the top layer of thick creamy milk. By the time the granny turned towards us, the quantity too fluctuated from a small cup to a few spoonful depending upon our luck!

 On the day the big heist was planned, the unsuspecting granny was dutifully escorted to the family well around 100 yards away for her daily bath by two of us. A guard was also kept at the door so that nothing untoward happened if God forbid she returned earlier than expected. The granny normally took 45 minutes to have her bath and return home after offering her puja. So the entire secret operation had to be done in these precious 45 minutes. Once she was away, the leader was on the job. And it was not easy because all our aunts around had not been taken into confidence except one. On her rested the secondary responsibility of taking the other three away while we carried out our mission. Once this was accomplished, we broke onto the room by quietly opening the heavy latches and bolted it from inside. There was no electricity then and the room had no windows either except for a small ventilator at the top. Therefore a torch had been carried in. The lid was opened and there it was…the smoky…..thick…mildly sweet….milk with floating malai…..The four of us inside had a real treat…and licked the bowls clean in the dim light of the torch. With jumping hearts and delighted taste buds, we came out one by one….with our leader proudly smuggling out a bowlful under her dupatta for the two of us standing guard at the door. Now it was time to give the message of the mission being successful to the aunt who was a willing partner in our crime. Excitedly she was beckoned  and informed and profusely thanked but wait…..she had a question for the inexperienced malaichors….have you made up the volume? She asked. Oh we had never given it a thought and before any of us could respond, she was off…with a jug of water….and no prizes for guessing.. where the water went!!!

A SPECIAL JOURNEY

It was a difficult decision to make. To travel or not to travel, when the fog was blinding and visibility nil. Even before venturing out on the road it was amply  clear that the fog today had descended on the city lock, stock and barrel. This I could easily deduce, as no matter how much I strained my eyes through the partially translucent window of my room, my faithful green friends in the park behind had been rendered invisible today. I could only feel their presence by the sound of their rustling leaves in the chilly wind which had arrived in the city the preceding night, armed with heavy bag and baggage. Intermittently it rained, not due to any visible clouds but due to the fog dripping from the trees and other objects that stood out in the open, braving the chill in public, cursing their luck in private.

But when it comes to call of duty, such  decisions are a trifle easier to make. As one has a ready excuse to fall back upon if things go wrong along the way. With a hundred thoughts flitting through my mind, I was on the road. The driver on his part had presented an emphatic assurance that he had no problem driving in such conditions, as he had seen many such winters in his long driving career. As an extra precaution though, I occupied the front seat as a voluntary navigator for him. The journey began with a minor hitch, the heating system of the vehicle had a minor glitch. Luckily it was resolved, it had to be, for it was absolutely essential, not to warm the occupants of the vehicle, who were armed with layers and layers of woollens, but to keep the rear glass frost free. The lights dutifully switched on, we were on our way. I had to continuosly strain my eyes to discover that a road existed beyond the bonnet of the vehicle on which the vehicle would keep glued to no matter how deep and wide the potholes were. Occasionally I looked left and right to see if there were trees which could indicate the width and curvature of the road as it twists and turns around the fields and dances over the many canals that dot the terrain. That we were moving was palpable only when another vehicle came across from the opposite direction. Numerous groups of children waiting on the roadside for their school conveyance caught my attention and I had all my sympathies for the little soldiers.. Following faithfully behind the vehicle just ahead helped us cover small distances but unfortunately most of them ditched us barely after we had travelled a few kilometres together. We lost our way a couple of times as the driver very thoughtfully took to the village roads and avoided the dicey main road which is a challenge to negotiate even in the best of weather. Two hours passed by and surprisingly I was not at all bored, busy as I had been navigating, and I was at my destination.

Going inside the wetland on a boat was an easy decision after the difficult journey just undertaken successfully. The fog ensured that the limited waters of the wetland resembled a sea with no distinction between the horizon and the surrounding waters visible. It was literally water, water everywhere as far as our eyes could see. The vast expanse of water, the bone chilling cold and almost zero visibility made me put on the life jacket as I took to the boat. In the hindsight, I feel that wearing the jacket was more of a psychological security, for God forbid had the boat capsized, the freezing waters below would have frozen all the life forms that once occupied the boat! Icy winds blew across my face and I shivered despite being covered in layers of woollens from head to toe. My teeth chattered constantly and I had to make a lot of effort even to utter a few words to the staff. The sound of the engine overpowered the call of the birds. Small flocks waded across, calling noisily, perhaps cursing the cold which had followed them from their native places. A bunch of glossy ibises flew in front of the boat only to rest on the bare branches of the shrubs behind. The egrets and the herons hid their heads and rested as the boat passed in front of them. In between I had to feel my cheeks with my hand to make sure that they existed, numbed they had been by the cold. The patrolling continued for more than an hour till I decided that discretion was always the better part of valour…Now the fog was even clouding my vision as it was settling on my glasses. Should we return, I asked. The answer was an instant chorus of yes! And the boat immediately started its way towards the nose…the area which acts as the jetty! Though the speed was slow, as the engine was in danger of running out of the fuel. Getting off the boat was a real respite and I looked for fire and ran towards the area where the staff has a tiny hearth where they make tea and warm themselves. It was cold and I had an equally cold glare for the people around me. They could have been a little thoughtful I thought. They hurried and somehow located a few ambers on which a few twigs were quickly laid. A matchstick was also discovered within the conveyor belt of the hyacinth removing machine. In their eagerness to find a piece of paper to light those twigs, moist due to the fog, they came with an empty carton of a ………..bottle of alcohol. For a second, I was taken aback, but then at this moment silence was golden. The fire was burning and I settled on the chair, pulled underneath that machine, and warmed my frozen hands. I was quite puzzled though, as the other occupants of the staff had disappeared from my sight into the little room when they could have easily joined me by the fire. The blue empty carton came back to my mind……..but I nudged it away, as the leaping flames of the little fire warmed both my hands and my heart!!!

THE BOAT RIDE...

The earthy waters of the mighty Beas,

Cradled my rugged boat that day,

I hated the ghirring of the motor engine,

For it downed the lullaby the river crooned for me,

The afternoon sun played hide and seek,

For a change,

Not with the clouds in the sky,

But with the waves around me,

The den and the hiders remained busy,

Oblivious to the millions of sparkling diamonds

Floating around,

For they knew,

That these could only be stolen in memories,

That could fill many a sack and rack,

That could be cherished without any fear,

Today, tomorrow and forever!

The pair of pied kingfishers,

Frolicked in front of my boat,

And then settled on that delicate reed just across,

Swinging wildly at intervals,

Deliberately wetting their tails,

Every time the reed bent down into the waters below!

The engine suddenly grumbled and stopped,

Indicating that we were now in shallow waters,

And the silt was eager to get ashore,

By clinging on to their friendly boat,

I smiled at my luck,

As the oars made their way into the chilly waters,

Like little children,

Shivering fearfully before taking their baths,

On those winter mornings!

The gulls and the coots swarmed around,

The large egrets too craned their necks,

For the familiar sound of the engine,

Had been replaced by the rasping sound of the wooden oars,

Slapping the waters around and below,

A flock of crows cawed in the skies above,

Eager to get home after a hard day away,

 I wondered why I was in no hurry at all,

Was it because those diamonds had already been stolen,

As the evening had fallen,

But then I had my pockets full,

Of memories of their uncountable numbers jostling around,

May be because I knew,

That I had still many riches to gather,

For the moon and the stars were still to appear,

May be another day,

Another evening I said to myself,

As my boat sailed ashore,

Away from the loving cradle of the mighty Beas!

(Pratima Srivastava)