Mast Rehta Hai...Chur Rehta Hai...

The moon, yes it can drive u crazy.

It was last night. N I was nicely plopped on the bed re-reading Anita Desai's "Cry, The Peacock" when I noticed a few scraps of paper dancing like dervishes. The fan was turned on a li'l too high I guess. I tried to ignore their 2-dimensional tauntings.
Really did.
Infact I managed to finish a full whole page in ten minutes flat!
Ok that's a lie.
It was maybe like a para n a half. I just couldnt ignore them scrapping around.
It's probably a disease.
If not yet, then it soon very well might be.
This obsession w/ keeping things in order.

Anyway, I gave up all pretense of being able to concentrate n enjoy the book...gathered those rollicking pieces, arranged them in a nice li'l pile in my palm...taking care none were left behind...opened the door, bent down to deposit them in the dustbin -- which I keep outside.

Something wasnt quite right.
It was supposed to have been darker than it was.
The milky-white light. All over.
That explained it.
I looked up.
N there He was.
Big. Round.
Beckoning Bright.
If this wasnt enough...an accomplice too.
Steady. Cool.
Insistent.
Balmy Breeze.

It was.
Rommanntic As Hell!

N then the steps joined in the game of seduction...the ones leading to the terrace. Almost as if they sprouted arms all of a sudden...to slowly drug me...drag me...up.

But I ran back...to grab the old mp3 player -- it really is old BTW! If this had been the 1980s, it would've probably qualified as a crank-up gramaphone...
Khair...
Moonlight without music just didnt sound insane enough, esp if u intended to spend practically the whole night on the terrace listening to songs...w/ the moon gawking at u!
Atleast, that was the plan.

I din manage to spend the whole night, but I'm hoping till 3 in the morning might jussst qualify.

N I must say, it was worth every bit of it.
Just beautiful.

What w/ the moon n the stars playing hide-n-seek w/ the clouds.
Cliched.
Yes.
But very very beautiful.
They've been doing it for thousands of years, but it still never ceases to amaze!
Quite a spectacle.
It was even more stunning coz the moon had bloated himself round n chubby.
N then there was just that tiny bit of hint of monsoon in the air.
The only thing missing was a beautiful lake, shimmering in that moonlight.
But, as they say, har kisiko mukammil jahan nahi milta...

But the play of moonlight on the terrace floor came close.
Very close...
The soft milky moonlight, so fluid, it felt like each step would plunge right through the floor.

It was amazing.
If I had been the dancing sort, I probably would've broken into a nice li'l jig, but me being me -- w/ two left feet at that! -- I just kept strolling all over the terrace.
Like a very lazy, very content cat.
Just that!
Music in my ears, awash in moonlight, strolling w/ slow deliberate thoughtful steps.
For hours!
While the canopied trees swayed, silhouetted, in welcome.
Arboreal mother, casting a spell, whispering,
"Jump! Just one tiny step. N into my arms. Curl up! I'll rock u to sleep!"

God bless my landlord for having the sagacity to weave a strong parapet into the plan of the building.

It's been a long long time since I witnessed a night like this...fast asleep in its own arms, swaying gently.
Houses all around had shut their eyes, a few of them even yawned shamelessly, lolling out their curtain tongues.
Probably caught unawares.
Manners at an unearthly hour as that, is I guess a li'l too much to expect.

Down below a black mangy dog was scratching itself crazy.
Also shamelessly.
Birds of a feather?
Maybe.

Through all this, a roller-coaster of emotions.
Not in the dog!
In Me.

Memories, the indelible ones seared through n through.
Thoughts abt tomorrows. N day-afters.
Where-to-nows.
Panic. Bliss.
The trying-hard-not-to-but-cant-help-smiling.
Groping through that diaphanous moonlit night, to make it all somehow make some sense?
Strolling endlessly...round n round...in tight li'l circles...a li'l moonlit...a li'l moonstruck...
Like those scraps of dancing dervishes...

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Koyaliya Mat Kar Pukar

Today pretty much blew.
Mostly for trivial reasons.
And one nontrivial one.
Which I, of course, dont remember.
Or rather choose not to.

What I do remember is a wonderful feeling.
From a long long time ago.

I know this "wonderful feeling" doesnt exactly go with the grain of how I dove into this post, but what the hell!
Not like my thoughts r ever coherent!

So I was sitting in the bus.
Pretty glumly, I would say.
I could almost feel my chin scraping against the floor of the bus.

Ok, this is an exaggeration.
It scraped only when the bus went over a speedbreaker.
And Bangalore has quite a few of them.
As if it wasnt already tough enough being glum.

But we're talking about a feeling.
A wonderful feeling in bold-n-italics!

I have always loved watching things whizz by.
People.
The world.
Life.
And at the risk of sounding cliched, deadlines!

I love sitting at the window of a speeding car or bus,
and shutting off all the noise around me.
That's not easy, but once I manage to do that, it's amazing.
Watching.
Listlessly.
Silently.
At the world, whizzing past.

It's as if I'm watching a silent film.
But in color.

And without fail, I'm reminded of this scene from some movie.
There's a camera in the vehicle.
It's night outside.
There's lights.
I dunno if this is correct English, but in my mind, there's lights.
From streets, shop-windows.
Sometimes from fairy-lights.
And all of them whizzing past.

And for some weird unknown reason, I've always found this very soothing.
It always seems a bit surreal, those ribbons of light streaking past.
As if Life itself has become, mercifully, if only for a few moments, Unreal.
And me, a distant detached silent spectator.
It's probably the only reason I clamor for a window-seat.

To tell you the truth, I was pretty depressed.
The soothing feeling of watching the world whizz by, notwithstanding.
The scraping chin pretty much established that.
As a final, desperate measure, I turned to music.
Slipped on my headphones and blindly hit the play button.

It was Begum Akhtar.
Admonishing.
"Koyaliya Mat Kar Pukar"

But it was good.
I closed my eyes.
And was transported to a cab-ride.
From a long time ago.

And I couldnt help smiling.
Inspite of the scraping chin.

It was Bombay.
Night.
A black-n-yellow Premier Padmini cab whizzing past Regal.
Jehangir Art Gallery, Fort...
The window rolled up almost all the way up.
She, there.
Staring straight ahead.
The I'm-never-ever-gonna-talk-to-you sort.
An occasional gust of wind, blowing back her hair.
A pearl earring in that undulating darkness.
It was wonderful.
Waiting for that gust of wind.
The stern face still staring straight ahead.
But sometimes throwing furtive glances through the corner of those eyes.
Big. And black.
And on being caught, making a face.
That face against a world whizzing by a cab window.

And I couldnt help smiling.

I still cant.

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Moonstruck

This evening's been unusually good.
Woke up after being dulled into sleep by a thought nagging and clawing w/ invisible icy fingers.

But I woke up happy.
And surprised at it.

Felt a bit like finding money in one of the trouser pockets while sorting the laundry.
An unexpected gift.

Must be the rains.
Yes.
Must be.

The sound of raindrops going pitter-patter drumming on the tiny, and sadly plastic, awning.
The raindrops dangling by the washing line.
Making it look like one monstrous necklace.

You remember trying to look
Together
Through those dangling droplets?
A warped, watery world.
Cool
Against your hot breath.
Your happy laughter.
Trying to coax
Your world
And mine
To coalesce into one.
Trying to fuse worlds
With index fingers.
No wonder
Unsuccessfully.

But I'm happy today.
Just heard a train hurtle away
With what seemed like a happy
Hurried whistle.

Ya I like trains.
They're long.
Loud.
And always in a hurry.
Always purposeful.
And always inviting.
Almost saying, Hop-On-We'll-Go-Places.
Whistling.

It's a beautiful evening.
Was unable to decide if I should throw in that tape n listen to 'Aahat Si Koi Aaye Toh Lagta Hai Ki Tum Ho'.
For the millionth time.
Or if I should just keep staring out the window.
Watching the rain
Drop.

But apparently the Karnataka Electricity Board doesnt like ghazals.
Atleast not this evening.
This so very beautiful evening.

I want to ramble about those swaying dancing trees just across my window.
But I wont.
They're swaying too happily.
And that too to an invisible beat.
They're happy.
Happier than me.
In their nice little row.
Swaying almost arm in arm.

I wish we were those trees.
You and me.
Always rooted.
Always together.
I envy them.
Their constant company of each other.

It's almost dark.
There's no stars.
And no moon.
You had said the moon is mine
But that you'll keep the stars
The many yours
Against a solitary mine.

No, wait.
There he is
Beautifully cresent.
In the company of a few of your stars.
Ya I'm happy this evening.
And missing you.

In the company of your stars.

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Crushing Matters

You know that thing abt the first crush...how it's always special and you always, always clutch it close to your heart w/ a fondness, which sometimes literally borders on the insane?

Well last night, I suddenly realized that I had been clutching the wrong one all this while!

An image which has always haunted me since like forever, but one which I had never managed to place, last night, suddenly propped itself firmly under my finger! I'm not sure if it was my thumb or the index finger, but it all suddenly became clear as daylight!

But first, it's only fair that I talk abt my just-dethroned erstwhile First Crush. BTW, tho' it has lost the crown, my fondness for it has not diminished even in the least bit!

Anyway...

I've always believed that my first crush happened during my Jr KG year -- ya I know I started a li'l too early, but wot cld I do...this world is suchhh an enchanting place ;-)

I still remember it warmly n vividly...so much so that I can still feel the crispy wafers crunching aah-so-deliciously in my mouth. Thing is, it was recess and I was sitting under one of the mango trees -- we had two, n mercifully they're both still there -- in the compound of the primary section of our school...w/ the tiffin box -- which BTW, was the sole reason for my even agreeing to go to school! -- perched happily in my lap, being fed crispy wafers and sweet pink strawberry crackers. I was crazy abt those crackers, actually more than the crackers, I loved the soft shiny pink wrappings they came in. They tore so noiselessly and so easily...as if they understood my eagerness to get to those light as light rectangular pieces of sheer delight...n they melted tingling on the tongue...

I still dun understand how I managed to tear my eyes away from those delicious distractions. But then again, it's not that surprising coz wot I saw next has survived in my heart w/ a fondness really bordering on the insane...n one which still refuses to diminish inspite of having been toppled from the top slot...well, atleast chronologically speaking...

Hmmm...wot I saw was a very very pretty woman in a tight black skirt n off-white frilly blouse. She had just walked out of the classroom...straight into my heart! She was the most amazing woman I had ever seen...ok, I agree my life had been barely a few years old, but she really was something. Not just pretty, but she was one of those women who knew how to "maintain" herself. The last time I saw her was when I was in my 9th or 10th std...n even after so many years, she was almost just as pretty n just as shapely as she had been during that beautiful recess many many years ago! :)
Even when I had moved to the secondary section, which was housed in a separate building, I used to make a pilgrimage to her class...no, I wasnt obsessed...it used to be once in a while ;-)

But I must admit that I used to wish very earnestly to get demoted many times over, just so I'd smhow land up, back in that nursery class of hers...so I cld sit on those tiny colorful chairs n watch her endlessly ;-)

Ok now abt that image :)

It's actually frm the very early years of my childhood. I was born in my village -- apparently it's a tradition...atleast on our side to have the first child at the mother's maternal home -- and spent a few years there. I dun remember anything from those years, except for this image.

It was of a very young woman, in a white saree walking by our house. She was fair, which is again a rarity down south, which is where I am frm. She had nice black hair tied back in a bun. Now I know u'll say all the women I seem to get attracted to, all smhow seem to be fair n moreover wearing white. But it's not so. I actually have a thing for dusky complexion! Abt the white saree, I really cldnt do much abt it. She shd've been wearing smthng different...maybe a plain blue saree or smthng brighter, smthng more colorful...bright colors go well on a fair complexion. Maybe this is the reason, that image managed to remain elusive for all these years! Something brighter wld've certainly made a much stronger impression!
Anyway, the woman in question was a distant aunt. Actually in the village, everybody was related to everybody in some way...sometimes in more than one way!

Our village economy revolved around beedi making...atleast for most women...n for even some men! Now beedi-making is quite an involved process and it starts a day in advance. U need to collect the leaves, the tobacco and the string -- we used to get pink colored one...it depended on the brand of beedi...I think the one made in our village was Shivaji Beedi. The leaves would first be soaked in water for a while to make them soft...otherwise they'd be brittle n cldnt be cut into the rectangular strips needed to make the beedis. The delicate pink thread had to wound onto tiny spindles. I used to love this task. The thread wld come in a soft soft bunch n it had to be untangled before it cld be wound onto the spindle. I've ever since been majorly fascinated by disentangling of string. Infact I used to enjoy untangling the 'maanja' more than even flying the kite.

Then there was an assortment of cute li'l specialized instruments for making beedis...scissors, a sort of metal strip which was used as a template for cutting the leaves into the proper shape, a winnowing basket to keep the strips of leaves and tobacco. N there wld be some ash, usually kept in a coconut shell...this was used to keep the fingers dry while rolling the beedis. Somehow that coconut shell would always seem like it's come from a different era...it almost had an archaelogically-significant look abt it.

I sometimes feel that if I had tried doping, I wld've been really adept at rolling joints. But smhow smoking has never appealed to me. Oh ya, there wld also be a small metal rod, a bit like a blunt nail, which wld be used to seal the heads of the beedis. Some women had real fancy ones, nice n smooth n shiny. I remember distincly, being very tempted to steal them ;-)

The women wld gather in groups at smone's house in the morning to cut the beedi leaves into those rectangular shapes. Wot I remember most is the sound of scissors going snip-snip-snip around those metal strips.

It was so rhythmic...almost music!

My mom's house had a nice awning outside, made of branches and leaves. The best part of the awning were the nests. Sparrows wld raise their chicks in them. I remember lying under that awning on a charpai on hot summer afternoons, in the shade, looking w/ absolute wonderment at those li'l birds ceaselessly tirelessly bringing food for those tiny cheeping chicks.

And below the cheeping chicks, the women wld gossip and laugh and crack jokes. Everybody was good at proverbs...there was one for every damn occassion! I used to be absolutely bewildered by the number n utility of those proverbs! It seemed to me that these women came out of the womb already crammed w/ all those proverbs, coz even the li'l girls knew how to use them! I dunno...I used to love hanging out w/ these always-laughing-joking-making-fun women! Maybe that's where my fascination for women began...n it hasnt abated since...au contraire, it has only grown w/ time ;-)

Anyway, it was during one of these leaf-cutting sessions that I saw her come frm the lane which snaked around our house...w/ a small basket on her hips, draped in a nine yard saree, looking very fresh, very delicate n very tender. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell u one important obsession of these women. They loved chewing paan. So this woman, my beautiful distant aunt, also had a paan in her mouth. That red color of the paan on her lips, went very well w/ her fair complexion n her white saree. She looked damn pretty, especially the way she was carrying her li'l basket on her hips. She came n stood clutching her tiny basket on her hips, making small talk w/ the other women n I just cldnt take my eyes off her. There was smthng very sensuous abt her whole demeanour...of course I dinno anything abt sensuousness then...I was too bloody young...
Now that the image has come, I think what I had liked abt her was her youth. And her quiet silent smile among those boisterous cackles of women.

It's a really nice image, not just for this beautiful woman, but also for those simpler pieces of village life...where everybody knew everybody, where everybody was even related to everybody, where everybody was either an uncle or an aunt or a brother or a grandfather...where u cld go to anybody's house n eat a nice hearty meal...just like that...just go n help urself to anything u liked. If the sabzi at ur place wasnt good, u cld go to smone else's...usually wot cooked in the surrounding kitchens was common knowledge, so u cld pick n choose...once the main course had been taken care of, u cld go to yet another house n take a dollop of deliciously spicy mouth-watering pickles...n then move onto yet another house where u cld eat w/ a side dish of the juiciest gossip...or if u were the restless-soul variety, u cld eat strolling like a vagabond...but w/ a plateful of food!

I am very glad this image has come back to me...it's given me a bite of a slice of life long-gone...a life which will never come back...but one I'll always treasure...

I can still hear those chattering women...n that young woman w/ red lips, n a li'l basket held delicately on her hips...n I cant help but smile :)

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