Music

Music is a crystal stream with tinkling ripples

The sound of water lapping against the shores

Sometimes it reverberates and resonates

Strums the very chords of your being

Is like a turbulent sea

Sometimes it is gentle breeze wafting melodies

Sometimes a raging storm with flashes of lightening

Rumbling thunder or gentle rhythm

It can be a soothing caress, a healing touch

It can be an embodiment of serenity

A placid blue sky

Then again a singing bird

Or a wandering minstrel

Enchanting your thoughts and dreams

It seeps within and plays inside

The lilting tunes sooth your soul

The lyrics invoke myriad moods

Echo your emotions or memories

Music submerges your being

It has cosmic grandeur

Or a quiet solitude

Simple notes or a magnificent symphony

Swaying masses or cocooning privacy

Creates tranquil delight or crazy fervor

Evokes nostalgia, unleashes tears

Makes your spirit dance

Awakens your soul or induces slumber

Makes or breaks silence

It is for serenading, celebrating, dedicating, meditating

Connecting surpassing boundaries

Transcending language and culture
Music is solace.

Drizzling dust on my window pane
Paints an alibi for my absent spirit
Some peer through
At a hazy pencil sketch of me
Listless objects strewn around
Sprayed with neglect
I have to shake off the gloom
Resurrect zest organise life

Introspection

It's easier to lash out

Than to hold back and calm down

To look within for peace

Shadows on the wall

Sway with the whims of light

Then I realise it is the breeze

The makes the lamp swing

Shadows elongate and spread out

They crouch and even disappear at times

They flicker and darken

They ripple and create intricate patterns

Like a filigree or a kaleidoscope

I sit and stare at them

Are they the shadows of my mind ?

A rain drenched day...

A rain drenched day!

Clouds billowing in the sky

People scurrying past

Huddled under

The canopy of umbrellas

Splashing puddles

Hapless birds shaking wet feathers

The sun seems a sleepy head

Not yet up and about

Lazing around

Beneath a foggy blanket

Today is the day

For curling up my feet

Sipping a steaming cup of tea

Sitting with friends

Soaking in laughter and chatter

Or lilting melodies

Munching goodies

But here I am

At my office desk!

They are with me

I had anticipated it, yet when the phone call came my vision got blurred by uncontrollable tears. I just rushed off to the nursing home. On the way it all kept coming back like a kaleidoscope.

She was a small fair exquisitely beautiful woman, large kind eyes, perfectly formed fingers and feet, simple, fragrant and fresh, always clad in a white sari with borders, shell framed spectacles, hair tied in a bun or left open after a bath. She was straight spoken, firm and inordinately loving. She was deft at her household chores, her needle work and cooking. She had such impeccable handwriting and did everything with such neat precision. She was a strict disciplinarian and would put up with no nonsense and yet she pampered me, indulged me. I loved her affectionate rebukes. Her entire world revolved around her family and her prayer room. I remember sneaking in to her house when it was too late to return home after romping around with my friends. Each time she gave me an ultimatum that I would be barred entry if I was late again. Each time I entered with equal confidence that I would find my bed ready and a warm meal waiting for me. She would come trying to look as disapproving as possible and warn me not to raise my voice as I would wake up my ‘Dadu’ (grandpa)Then her concern would overtake her when I said “Didu( grandma) , I am hungry.” She would sit by my side as I ate the crisp parathas she made, give me a change of clothes, tie my hair before I slept. At night if I coughed too much or tossed and turned due to the itch in my throat, I would suddenly feel soothing fingers applying a balm on my neck and chest and I would doze off with a smile.

In the morning when I woke up Dadu would be back from his morning walk. I would be lazing around in bed watching his tall straight frame getting morning tea ready while Didu had her wash. He was lean yet not frail, bespectacled, neat back brushed hair. He was always impeccably dressed whether it was in formals or a crisp white Punjabi and dhoti. He had been a revered academician all his life and now after retirement had his day neatly slotted. Early rising, morning walk, going to the market then a cup of tea in the verandah while relaxing a bit with Didu, then gardening, odd bits of self taught carpentry, paperwork, a short afternoon siesta, evening tea, watching TV or doing some paper checking or paper setting for the university on special request……I never perceived him as an old man. He had respectable seniority and quiet dignity. The aroma of piping hot malpoas( sweet delicacies) would waft into my nostrils making me jump out of bed to demand my share and my cup of tea. He always had a delicious assortment of biscuits and cookies stacked up in a blue box on top of his cupboard. As a child he would warn me not to pilfer them. As soon as he dozed off in the afternoon I would do just that, as I knew that they were meant for me. When he woke up I would hear him complain. Didu would say “as if it was meant for any other purpose”. He would always scold me if I peeped into his neatly arranged cupboard and yet hold it enticingly ajar so that I would peep and throw tantrums to let me use some of his deo sprays and perfumes. I would have mock fights with him to let me use his transistor, and if he didn’t relent I would resort to Didu and she would make him. This man, who people found difficult to approach, actually ironed my clothes when I was in a hurry to leave. He covered up his embarrassment gruffly saying that he thought I was clumsy enough to step out in crumpled clothes, so he didn't take a chance. He stitched covers for quilts and made shopping bags using Didu's sewing machine and didn't feel lesser as a man for doing such "feminine" chores. They would take me out for treats and they would give me pocket money whenever I was broke. When he was going out then he would hover around waiting for me to tease him on his attention to detail in grooming.

When my sister and I were very young, my dad got posted in Madras which is called Chennai now. We lived in a huge bungalow there and had a great life. Right through the year however all of us would look forward to their visit. Their suitcase would inevitably be filled with gifts and goodies for us. I remember as a child we had gone to visit the Annadurai Memorial which was a huge architectural wonder in Madras on the periphery of Marina beach. Dadu and Didu were with us. I was a wispy day dreaming child. There were very beautiful artificial fountains there and I was mesmerized by the light dancing along with the spray of water. I don’t know when I lost sight of my family and wandered off absent mindedly behind another group. Suddenly I was jolted back to the reality by some alien voices. I couldn’t see or hear my people any more and I wasn’t sure where I was. I was choking with fear and anxiety. Suddenly it occurred to me that trying to find them here was futile. I decided that I would get out and cross the road and go and wait near our car. I stood near the huge gate which was shaped liked elephant tusks. I looked with dismay at the wide road with incessant traffic whizzing past wondering how I could cross. Suddenly I was lifted up by firm hands and a cry of “there you are!” and before long, my Dadu was holding me. It was such a relief. I can still relive that sensation of being lifted into safety. He had anticipated my move and he found me.

My sister was down with typhoid during one of their visits to Chennai and Didu was there by her side always. My mother was so relieved to have her mother by her side while looking after her child. Didu would give her sponge baths, tell her stories, feed her, soothingly caress her, and hold her close. My sister wouldn’t let her move any where. I would look wistfully and wish I were ill as well. I remember when I had traveled with them on a vacation I was afflicted with measles. She looked after me and nursed me untiringly. It’s as though she had a healing touch.

Whenever it was time for them to return to Calcutta, my sister and I would be crest fallen...no more coming back from school and being with Didu and Dadu and enjoying bed time stories, special gifts, treats outings and goodies. We would jointly start praying that they miss their train and once it actually happened! We saw them driving back in through our gate much to our delight and thus our euphoria got extended.

Her puja (prayer) room was so quaintly beautiful. It was always filled with the fragrance of incense and sandalwood and delicious prasad (offering to her deity).She would sit there and do her elaborate puja and then come out looking even more divine. Dadu would use his carpentry skills and creativity to embellish her little sanctuary. I would wait eagerly for the Prasad and then partake of her muri (puffed rice) mixed with cucumber which was her breakfast. Then she would fish out her red dot pen and her big exercise copy where she diligently filled the page writing the name of her lord, which was her way of chanting it for the well being of her loved ones.

They celebrated their golden anniversary and we were overjoyed to be part of the festivities. Their love and companionship, their mutual interdependence was something to be celebrated. One could never imagine one without the other. He doted on her and she adored him. They lived so simply, had such a deep core of spirituality, integrity and innate self respect. Their love was unconditional and they gave of themselves boundlessly. Wonder if we can ever carve such a niche in the hearts of our future generation?

After that my wedding date was fixed and they were so excited. She was getting my wedding trousseau and jewellery and he was there to fulfill each of her whims for her first grandchild’s wedding. He had decided on what to wear for each occasion and had new dentures made. Then the first thunder struck. A sty next to his brow had been nagging him and he had it operated as it was painful. It turned out to be a sleeping lion. He didn’t get the stitches removed so that he could attend my wedding. Then the report came…it was malignant. I wasn’t told anything. He said he was going to Mumbai for a thorough check-up and I didn’t suspect anything. I went to Puri for my honey moon and he didn’t want to spoil it and Didu was so cheerful with me. She just asked me to pray for him at the famous Jagannath temple there. Dadu said “don’t forget to buy me a gamcha (cotton hand woven towel) from Puri as it’s my favorite". I had these sent by courier to Mumbai. Didu wrote back saying there were tears in his eyes the day he received the parcel.

When he came back from Mumbai his face was blackened by radiation. It’s then that I came to know. I hugged him and he felt frail. He was so conscious of his scar. He told me “have you come to see your grandfather’s ghost?” I wept and he relented immediately. I said a mere scar can’t mar my dear dadu. For the first time I saw his eyes moisten. Then the next few months were fine. The scars went off and the treatment continued and he started on his old routine and didn’t even miss buying bindis (felt dots to adorn the fore head) and provisions for his beloved wife. He was overjoyed to hear that I was going to have a baby. Then in a span of three days of sudden galloping deterioration he was gone. This was the first time I was facing death at such close quarters and I was shattered.

As he lay there I stared at him in disbelief. They told me he was no more. He was clad in white dhoti and punjabi. His long artistic fingers and perfectly shaped nails reminded me of the reassuring grasp with which he held my hand. My didu sat there holding me. She did not express her grief and her overriding concern was to protect me from the shock and hold me in comfort.

Henceforth since May 9^th 1992 she embodied both for us and lived for us so that we would be happy and not feel deprived of the pampering and love. My daughter was born and she was overjoyed to see her first great grandchild. There was curfew in the city then due to an unfortunate incident, but she braved all odds to come and see my baby along with a delightful assortment of titbits for me which she had made. She saw my siblings getting married and she rejoiced when their children were born. Her benign presence enhanced the joy in all family celebrations.

It was in November 2006 that she was suddenly diagnosed with brain tumor and then onwards it was a steep decline. Even in November 2007 she came to stay with my Mom and aunt, and was so happy to be with all of us. By this time she was bed ridden. On 31^st December 2007 she slipped into a coma. The end came on 24^th Jan 2008.The day before I had gone to see her at the nursing home and seen her enmeshed with tubes and pipes and her delicate hands bruised by the repeated intravenous drips and injections. I prayed that she may be freed from this torture and gain eternal peace and retain her innate dignity as she never wanted to live like this being lesser than herself and dependent on others. She had never wanted a compromised life for dadu either and was willing to let him go in spite of her pain instead of seeing him suffer. I couldn’t imagine myself doing this. Next day she was gone as if in answer to my prayers!

Before I knew I was at the nursing home and was trembling as I climbed the stairs. When I entered and saw her, she looked as beautiful as ever and at peace with a slight smile on her lips. We took her home. The last rites would be performed in the morning and I sat by her all night. She lay in the same place where dadu lay for the last time and the only difference was that time she was there to hold me and this time she wouldn’t wake up again.

I went with her till the end and then came back with these two precious people now together again in my heart and my memories. I will never lose them as they will be with me always… but I wish I could see them again and sit between them or clasp their hands or hug them as I used to.

Amma

In those days, an Indian woman, in order to be termed beautiful had to be petite and fair and have soft fragile looks, large doe eyes with a demure and defenseless gaze, sharp nose, small shapely fingers and feet. This woman was one who was adventurous and had a rebellious spirit and couldn't be tied down to patterned routines. She was tall, healthy, strong and far from fragile. She was sharp and straight spoken and had a mind of her own. Very often she was caught walking on the parapets or was off on her own expeditions, when the women of the house were lost in afternoon siesta. She played with the boys and spoke of her bohemian ideas.

Her carefree childhood days were not destined to last very long as early marriage was the lot of women then. She was hardly fifteen when she got married. When she came in as a bride there were murmurs of disapproval. She wasn't the tiny pretty hapless bride they were expecting. She faced adverse comments but her spirit never faded. They weren't capable of appreciating her bright intelligent looks, her straight tall frame. She enjoyed good food and people were shocked as the new bride was expected to peck at morsels.

Her husband however was really taken up with her and indulged her tantrums. He was not very ambitious but he was inordinately loving, and accepted her whimsicality and mood swings. This was one quarter where she never had to fear lack of acceptance.

She got embroiled into the vortex of family life. There were the daily chores and the social duties. She did it all but always had to suppress the beckoning of her spirit of adventure and her wanderlust.

Her children were born and she had her dreams in place. They were not going to lead run of the mill lives. Once she found her voice of protest, after the initial years of being subdued in her role as a daughter in law, she put her foot down. She ensured that her sons did not take up clerical grade jobs and went beyond her means so that they studied to be an engineer and a chartered accountant. She was very ruthless and disregarded all opposition in this. She also ensured that her daughter would be allowed to study as much as she deserved.

She lived in a conservative joint family. A woman in those days in a typical traditional Bengali family was quite confined. She inspired her sisters in law to accompany her on adventures. She planned escapades to a movie or an outing which was quite a blasphemy then. Evenings she got together with them and spent time chatting and relaxing, away from the pressing worries of her family life.

She actually set off to Varanasi alone and spent time there wandering about the familiar streets and river banks and temples whenever she could .It was her favorite destination since childhood and her family had a huge mansion there. They often spent their vacations in that quaint city. As a child I remember I had made trips to Varanasi along with my family during her stay there. It would be during my winter vacations and she took me for walks along the serpentine lanes and antique neighborhoods of the city and showed me objects of interest and bought me the delicacies the city was famous for. She was hell-bent on making at least one trip a year to some outstation destination and if her husband was unwilling, she would go alone. She had a very strong personality and once she was decided there was no way she could be dissuaded. He husband wanted her to be happy and never had the heart to stop her.

She loved going for drives and made it a point to get on to the car whenever she could. In her early years she could never afford a car .Later when her sons got established in life she never missed an opportunity to go for a drive just accompanying people when they were getting dropped or picked up. In her later years when her health was failing and she had a pace maker installed she would be discouraged from just sitting in the car as it would be strenuous for her but she was adamant.

She was diabetic and a heart patient and had had major operations. She couldn’t give a damn. She liked living life on her own terms. She didn’t always have the means at her disposal and thus there was this deep rooted dissatisfaction and suppressed unrealized ambitions that never allowed her to be totally happy. She read a lot and all kinds of books and magazines, watched television. Yet towards the end her eyes had deteriorated due a problem in the retina which was irreversible. She gave it all up and became rather quiet and lonely.

She was an excellent cook and made great pickles and sweetmeats. She was a deft tailor too and stitched exquisite dresses. She was good at embroidery. However she enjoyed doing all this only if it was of her own volition. She hated being compelled.

I used to be scared of her as a child. She had curly hair and large frame with a towering personality and if she dilated her eyes and asked my mother whether I was giving any trouble I would shiver. She didn’t match the image I had of a grandmother as I saw others. She didn’t have that benevolent indulgent presence. Then I don’t know when I began to bond with her. She read me stories, told me about interesting incidents of her life, her secret dreams and unfulfilled desires and aspirations. She gave me a glimpse into her vision of life. She told me how she had faced the death of one of her sons who I hadn’t seen and her second born infant. I recognized her strength, her will power, her streak of independence and her sense of self respect and dignity. She was never happy with mediocrity and that element of dissatisfaction never allowed her to rest in peace. She was ambitious and she never really got to spread her wings confined in her social constraints. She called me “shona” and I called her “Amma”. She had special nick names for each of her grandchildren.

She had distinctive taste and was particular about her clothes, her bed sheets, her brand of soap and perfume concentrate which we call “atar” and the fragrance she loved was “khus” an oriental delicacy. She was particular about her spectacle frame and the silver key ring she used and regular wear jewellery. She was very finicky about personal hygiene and bathed very early in the morning and had a wash to refresh herself in the evenings. She was never overtly religious but she did her mantra chanting every morning and lit incense sticks in the evening at the prayer room. Towards the end she seemed to have lost interest in all this.

She was very good at nursing and never lost her nerves in the face of illness or accidents. She gave me such invigorating hair oil massages and whenever I had a cramp or an ache she was the one I rushed to for a quick relief as she could do magic with her hands and made the pain go away. She was a treasure house of home remedies for common ailments. Yet towards the end she had lost her grip.

She was often misunderstood and her inability to pursue her dreams made her bitter at times and her ambition found expression through wrong channels but her ability to protest and her independence was undaunted. She also had this great spirit of inquiry and wanted to know things. I remember once we had gone to “Belur Math” ( A monastery cum temple under the Ram Krishna Mission) with the entire family. I was with her as she was strolling around while the rest of the family was in the temple. She had found a blind couple and she tagged me along to their place as she was curious to see how they led their lives in their world of darkness and how they used braille texts and wrote on braille type writers. We got so engrossed that we were pretty late in returning. The entire family was frantic searching for us. I got quite a scolding but it was an experience of a lifetime. In college I remember she had accompanied me to a home for autistic children which I used to visit. She was so happy to spend time with them and gave so much of her self. Her nagging discontent didn’t allow her to be happy always and it was one of those rare occasions when she smiled so freely.

She loved me a lot and gave me free access to her room and her world. She let me use whatever I wanted and the hesitation that others felt while approaching her was never my lot. She had in fact come over to my house to spend a few days with me quite a few times and she freely unleashed the child in her with me.

When my dear grandfather passed away she was stoical. He had loved her so unconditionally and had never tried to chain her spirit He wasn’t perhaps always able to live up to her expectation in terms of achieving things in life but he never held her back. He was at her side and anxious to see her smile. He didn’t have the means to indulge her fancies all the time but he stood by her and they had been married for over 50 years. He died very peacefully and it was rather sudden. We were all very shattered but she said that she was glad that his end was so dignified and he went off like a king mourned by loved ones. She missed him a lot I know after 50 years of companionship but she didn’t complain.

No amount of pain or suffering could make her whine in agony and she faced all her illnesses and surgeries with a strange stoicism treating the visit to the hospital as an outing and a break from monotony.

At the end when she had to be hospitalized however the suffering was too much. There was a wedding in the house and her condition was precarious. Her organs and faculties were failing and she had to undergo dialysis but she bore it all. None of the festivities were interrupted. My brother’s wedding was on 23^rd of January and the reception on 25^th.Her condition was precarious but she saw us through. On 4^th February I went to the nursing home after quite a few days and saw her enmeshed in tubes and her eyes shut. My uncle held her hand and she recognized the touch even in that stupor and said whose hand it was. I saw him looking t her with despair knowing that she would be gone. Yet we wanted her to be freed from suffering. It was difficult to hold back tears seeing her like that. On 5^th February 2007 afternoon she slipped away quietly into oblivion.

She used to argue with me that there is nothing after death. It is just like extinguishing a lamp, the flame is gone and all that remains is darkness. There is nothing left of the flame which is equivalent to life. But I refused to accept that. I believe that the loved ones who die are there somewhere in some realm. At least Amma lives on in my spirit and love for individual liberty. My father has her quiet stoicism and determination.

In the last year or so I had neglected her as she had become a shadow of her former self and a little senile. I did not spend much time with her and she had been a bit lonely. We used to get impatient with her repeating the same thing over and over again. When she left us I went and sat on her bed and I looked around her room and I wanted to say sorry but she wasn’t there to hear me or was she? Maybe she did understand. Maybe she forgave.

She was ahead of her times maybe she will come to this world again in a different milieu and get the opportunity to realize herself and live her dreams.