Dew-dipped memories of Mahalaya

I no more wake up to the noise of early-birds strutting down the pavements in their autumn awakening. 

Mahalaya mornings are not about guarding the coral jasmine from pesky flower pickers anymore, 

or watching grandpa ward them off, 

neither is it about feeling that tight embrace of a morning dipped in dew, so fresh in my memory that I can almost touch it. 

The muffled voices of morning prayers from a far-away speaker that stoked my Puja spirits then, 

remain today only in my musings like a luminous dream. 

When a WhatsApp message lets me know of this day off-handedly today, in seconds, I am that sixteen year old, 

swathed in the promise of this morning, hopeful and giddy with pleasing thoughts, weaving dreams of my own. 

And when all of this is nothing but an aching longing today, 

I summon my memories to evoke the rituals of the day, 

so that this ancient bond I worship, doesn’t fade and move far away. 

The post that happens after every vanishing act. Yah, that one.

Those of you for whom nightly retreats mean rummaging through  Netflix ( and the likes...) for few moments of escape, and shutting the world behind you for few precious hours (if you are lucky), you have arrived at the right place. As much I hate the fact that my before-sleep hours are trapped in this unending loop of online movie prowls, another part, the one that gets satiated by the good watches, cannot thank this luxury enough. I call it a luxury, because I am not bound by the rhythms of life that an average mortal is obliged to fall into. With nowhere to head first thing in the morning, or no particular rush to pack a sleepy kid to a real school( just yet), my mornings follow a rhythm of its own. And the late the nights, the longer the morning sleep. 

Sadly enough, falling into this routine has me let go off my late night readings. I see my last purchase, Cynthia’s good looking, and exciting ( from what I recollect from where I left) book, ‘The Nest’, lying unattended on my bedside table, and my heart aches every single time my eyes are drawn to its beautiful egg shell blue cover. Because coax and coax I may, but I cannot even come close to lifting the book, forget reading few lines from it. Let’s just say, I need some time off from everything, some recovery time, from the onslaught of taking off to places. Packing bags, waiting in security queues, marinating my back on car seats, doing the touristy things, eating out, and wiping arse of tiny human in car seats too, if you please. Did that for a month. Non-stop. I want to say I am done, so I can get back to my normal life. Discipline myself to finish the half-done, half-baked drafts, one at a time. That demands time, and focus. But I am afraid, that would have to wait its turn. Because another bout  of Marry-go-round is lurking  round the corner. I am hardly complaining though. I mean who wouldn't like  to be whisked away to exciting places every second or third month? But there is this searing feeling of guilt and worry that’s growing within me - a part that seems to be dissing the 'plan.'  With an increasing fear of losing sight of my goal, I am flirting  with the idea of a writing retreat, from where I can operate as I wish - watch life in  technicolors, dream, create, and dream some more, while remaining invisible to the world - a 'hideout.' Although right at this moment,  my girl’s red and white stripped tent filled with odds and ends, seems like my best bet. Then sometimes, I dream of teleporting to some faraway land, cancelling the noise with ear phones plugged deep into my eardrums, and not caring about thoughts that keep colliding with each other in my mind. But then again, I am a homebody. These four walls that surround me, make me, me! This is who I am. I love this space. I love the snug welcome it treats me with every time I am back from somewhere. 

You wouldn’t believe, but this is what I had set out to do here. To talk about homes, decor, movies, things I have been treating myself to, things that transport me to a world of dreams. Netflix - the friend and the foe. I hadn’t thought of this as the title, but I was headed on that direction I must admit. So, Netflix, Lust Stories, Home decor shows. There. I listed them. This way I will remain more focused. I think. 

What I had set out to say earlier (just before the digression) was that, I am again in that phase, that huge part of me that is a home decor enthusiast. Lately, with all of my writing plans thrown out of the window, I have been binging on one show on home decor after the other and like always, my head is amassed with my own decor plans for my rooms. TLC is what I have been hearing a lot lately, and DIY is music to my ear. It is almost a cuss word in my household though, with a husband who is severely allergic to anything DIY. I however, am all for throwing in your own creativity wherever I see a possibility. So there, next thing you know is, I have ordered a bunch of wall decals for a particular sore wall in my girl’s room that badly needed some...another favorite word...'treatment.’ ‘Home Doctor’ should thank me for coming up with all the right words in this post. Alright alright I won’t push it. Okay just one more, ‘I am feeling ‘emulsional’ right now!!’ Heck! 

Then comes Lust Stories - four short films by four leading directors of Bollywood under one banner made for Netflix.  Fortunately, I grabbed it on the very day it was released. God knows how much I hate to wake up late to anything film-related! Particularly when it becomes the talk of the town and I am yet to find out about it. This timely consumption however got me sitting on top of it. Being the selfless person that I am, I instantly spread the word around over WhatsApp groups, barring the family and 'family-like' ones for obvious reasons. These films wiped off most of my frustrations with never finding the right movie to watch over Netflix! Sounds like a familiar scenario? Well, now you know what to watch. Impressed with the great execution of the films, I took to Twitter, well, almost took to Twitter. But turned out, I was probably the last one amongst the early birds. Twitter was already rioting with ‘hashtag lust story’ so bad that after a while my mind got attuned to seeing the two words strung tightly together at all times. ‘Luststories’ is what remained of it. But the good news is, either way, these films will entertain you, engage you, tickle you, embarrass you, try you. But one thing they will never do is - waste your time. 

Interestingly, the stories  have incited curiosity even within the movie-novice circles ( Dear God, how do they live!). They seem to be asking funny, but relevant questions, and so am I. I read a quote by writer Arundhati Roy today in the passing that says, ‘The point of a writer is to be unpopular,’ and I didn’t have to look too far to realize what she meant. Do treat yourself with Lust Stories. They are the forerunners in the unpopular category because they ask the difficult  questions. They throw flood light in places we conveniently choose to overlook. They are worth it because they urge you to think and arrive at your own conclusions. 

Diya wali Diwali

Diwali always gets the better of me. Particularly this year, after having spent last Diwali holed up in a hotel room. When we had barely made the transition from Buffalo to Tampa. And I remember spending a wistful evening scrolling through numerous Diwali pictures, and how my heart had ached and longed for a 'home' to light diyas in. And here we are,  almost a year later...  

Diwali is also the time when my bigger, sharper, lenses come out of hybernation, and capture the essence of this beautiful festival - the sparkle, the glimmer, and the glow - casting a quiet spell on me.

Hence, this time, I will let the camera do the talking...

The usual me...not

Ever so often, I disappear. I vanish, without a trace. And allow this space to collect the virtual cobwebs. And with the same brazen abruptness, I make a sudden appearance, and catch you in the middle of something. And feign a casual air about the long and awkward silence I often subject this place to. I act like all this is normal – this coming and going. But I return, because I am assured that these erratic visits have become a part of a ritual now. An unspoken bond that you and I have formed. An understanding - that doesn’t demand any explaining. An assurance - that thrives on the knowledge that, ‘life’ comes in the way, and focus, like other things, gets pushed away. So with that score settled, here is another attempt to keep the words flowing...to keep the story going.

I remember last time I left you with me gushing over a movie that I had immensely liked. That was roughly two months ago. I must have enjoyed it so much that I saw to it that the word spreads steadily around. Particularly because the movie had not made it to the tier one cities in India. And that information had killed me. And I passed on the ‘link’ (horror!) to the film like I was getting paid for it. And I remember I chuckled with satisfaction when friends left notes saying that they had watched the film based on my review, and had really liked it. And then I seem to have forgotten all about it, and drifted to other things, and abandoned this space yet another time with a callousness that comes so naturally to me. And even if I take solace in knowing that this sporadic blogging is a common trait with our brood, I do feel obliged to do some explaining.

So what kept me busy all this while you ask? I really wish I had an answer as impressive as my vanishing acts, but alas! I would have to disappoint you, and say that, my life continues to be as sedated as the last time you checked on me. Expect that, I went out quite a bit (strictly by my standards), stuffed my face with all kind of food, met with new people, got invited for dinners, made dinner plans, some guests visited, retail therapy ruled the roost, read some great books that I had picked at a dream book-sale, some of my potted plants survived the summer, some couldn’t withstand the severe spread of a powdery fungus that took the life out of my chilies and tomatoes. And my heart bled and wept while giving them a funeral when I finally let them go. I took part in festivals I had never been part of before, and then, I even wrote a little, scribbled rather, every now and then. Wrote full-fledged book reviews.  Now that was progress in my book. Because it turned out to be lot different from reviewing manuscripts as an Editor at some point in my life. And demanded lot more patience than writing a quick Goodreads review which I had done ample times. And I took to Twitter to share them because I needed closure (and validation).  But was too chicken to share it on this platform. But what I hadn’t expected was to stumble upon an amazing world of bloggers over Twitter, that gave me access to a thriving world of creative writers. Witnessing this tribe encourage each other with writing prompts and story ideas was inspiring to say the least. This seemed to have done wonders for me, it kept me focused and got me into a reading and writing cycle. Occasional frustration with writing was natural, particularly when there were huge lapses between the first and the last chapter of a book I was reading, thanks to duty-calls. But I was just grateful for my days falling into a routine where I was more productive than usual. More importantly, I could shut out nursery rhymes on loop, and keep hazardous cups of imaginary tea from my girl’s pantry at bay. It was like I was growing wings, and was about to fly!

Everything looked bright and sunny till the month of August made its grand entry. And as you know it, August translates to Birthdays, and Birthdays mean August in my life. Hence without saying much, you understand that the pattern I had fallen into started to fizzle out even before I could fully embrace it, and got replaced with ‘chaos’ and ‘planning’ (of all kinds) for the daughter’s second birthday, that was leading up to be the friends’ reunion party too. The celebration went on for two weeks. The holiday weekend following the birthday weekend made room for a longish party. And goes without saying, there was not a single dull moment to kick my feet up on a chair, and recap the events in my head that whizzed by like snapshots. Towards the end of the second weekend, when the last guests were saying their goodbyes, entered an unexpected guest from the backyard door - Hurricane Irma. ‘Hurricane August’ was not enough apparently. And in a matter of a day, leaving everything behind as they were (scattered), we fled for our lives as evacuation warnings started to buzz in the state of Florida, and drove across three states in search of a safe haven. And when things had normalized, we got back to base, and heaved a sigh of relief to find that the house was in one piece. And the next day my brother and sis-in-law dropped by on their way back from a vacay. And we realized the holiday mood got extended by two more days. So you get that saying my hands were full last few days would be a gross understatement. And you do realize that I am bursting at my seams with stories that you wouldn’t hear the end of. But for now, this will have to do. In between the madness, I made two trips to the movie theatre too. A big bold event in my motherhood calendar. Both turned out to be mediocre movies, but that was hardly my concern. This was baby girl’s first ever theatre visit, and I was on my seat’s edge to run out lest she showed her true colors, and brought the roof down. But to her credit, she was most well-behaved, except singing ‘good-morning’ to her heart’s fill close to midnight, and glaring at the screen only when it would break into a song. I could go on and on, there’s so much to pour out, but I want you to come back for more. Till the next post then, adios amigos.

Memories like Luggage

Bulging on the sides 

of our longings 

Bursting at the seams 

of our yearnings 

Hefty and painful 

light and playful
Lugged through swanky airports

dragged across grimy stations

hurled under narrow berths 

tossed inside overhead cabinets
cling to us like shadow 
our memories... 

Behind every masked smile

behind every single mile

After every heaving goodbye

and every promise of visit to try 

sob in heaps our memories...

They are our travel companions
these lingering shadows  

evading time zones 

traversing seas

waiting in security lines 

they follow us everywhere 

trudging for miles and miles...