Abbey's Pineapples!!

What drops into your mind when you think of ‘Pineapple’? Do you get images of the sun soaked beaches of some tropical paradise? Maybe visions of hula dancers in grass skirts with orchid wreaths and leis caressing the crisp salty night? Maybe your senses are awakened by cocktails in coconut shells or curries in pineapple shells? How about some good old pineapple rasam or Thai fried rice with pineapple? Perhaps grilled slices of pineapple with a dash of rum? Or fresh cream pineapple pastry from sweet chariot in Bangalore? Hmmm…all things food and tropical, really!!

I love pineapples!! I enjoy smelling a ripe one in a grocery store or the local farmer’s market. Even when I hold the prickly fruit to my nose to smell its ripeness, my taste buds get tickled. I enjoy placing it in my fruit bowl in an aesthetic way, juxtaposing all the other fruit around it. It forms a nice visual treat till it’s eaten. I enjoy looking at the crown of the pineapple remembering the ‘flower arrangement competitions’ at school when some one or the other made a beautiful flower arrangement with a pineapple crown for a centre piece. I enjoy the sweet fragrance of the ripe fruit wafting through my kitchen, begging to be put under my loving knife.

And then as I break off the crown, slice off the ends and deftly slice through the thick spiky skin, I am reminded of the many times I have watched my father do the exact same thing. We’d always hope that the fruit was sweet and not sour, if it was not sweet enough, we’d coat it liberally with sugar. The crunch of the granulated sugar sweetened the fruit and brought smiles to our eyes as the juice dribbled down our hands and chins. When dad saw how quickly I could cut up a pineapple he was awestruck!! My precious dad, surprised by even the simplest things I do!! The pineapples are always sweet here…the growers even guarantee it.

As the juice flows onto my hands and then to the cutting board, I think of the many times Hubbs and I used to walk to one of the many “Ganesh Fruit Juice Centre”s just to get a couple of glasses of pineapple juice. We’d always drink some, then pack some for later and drink it with lunch or dinner. I also remember the push carts back in India, with ochre coloured ananas nurturing flies and dust. The sticky juice makes my hands even more slippery.

As I make long incisions along the rows of ‘eyes’ with seeds and gently cut them out in strips, I am reminded of the cold coffee shop kitchen where I hacked countless pineapples each morning. My good friend Deb would toss a piece of watermelon or cantaloupe into my mouth and I’d toss a piece of pineapple into his mouth. I don’t know where Deb is now, or who he chops fruit with anymore. I make pretty diagonal patterns and quickly quarter the fruit and slice them into bite sized chunks. For the thousandth time I wonder if I am the only one who likes the hard core.

Finally when my cutting board, my precious knife and my hands are all washed and dried, I ignore the fork by the bowl and take a piece with my fingers and bite into the succulent sweetness. The acid sweet taste explodes in my nostrils before flowing onto my tongue, flooding my mouth with intense flavour. The juice dribbles a bit on my chin and as usual I giggle like a school girl. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and reach for the second piece while still chewing on the first one. If I am greedy for any food, its fruit…I can’t live without fruit. And while munching I think of my childhood, yet again.

In fact, every time I see a pineapple, I become a little girl. I remember the forest floor crowded with wild pineapple plants flanking the slippery path down the little hill. We’d have to go through horizontal logs of wood that served as a gate of sorts before starting our hike down the hill. The trail was a narrow one, bordered by ferns, poinsettias, cannas and birds of paradise, and it winded steeply through a coffee plantation. The red berries would look splendidly sweet against the dark glossy leaves. The sunlight would filter down in strips and straps through the tall teak and silver oak trees. Dad would show me the coffee berries and clusters of green pepper on the vines. Mom would show me the turmeric, ginger and cardamom plants, teaching me how to differentiate between them. And every now and then she’d stop for a bit to scan the dark roof above. When she did spot an orchid, she’d clap her hands in glee and we’d squeeze our eyes trying to imprint the shapes and colours of the orchids on our minds. The path had remnants of a few footholds in the garb of a dilapidated set of steps. As we carefully picked our way towards the bottom of the hill, the thunderous roar would get louder and nearer. And at the end of our little hike would flow one of the most famous attractions of beautiful Coorg – the Abbey Falls. The cascading water was breathtakingly stunning and surprisingly warm.

I am talking of years before the small hanging bridge there was built, when there were no crowds of tourists competing in screaming contests with the monkeys around. I hate it when tourists scream, its so disturbing!! There used to be a few logs of wood on which we could walk to the other side of the river if we wanted to. And I recollect the very first time I went there, when I was barely 3 or 4. At the sight of so much water, I was ready to jump in and splash it all away when mom’s firm hand restraining me had spoken volumes of the dangers that lurked beneath the bubbling brook. We had sat on the mossy rocks and ma had showed me graceful slivers of black and silver – water snakes. She put her index finger close to the surface of the water and moved it around and at the scent of blood, leeches came like little blood starved sharks, moving ever so gracefully along with my ma’s hovering finger. They craned their little bodies towards hers in hopes of a drink… Ooooh!! That gives me goose bumps even now!! Everyone around got plenty of leach attachments, all except me.

Dad and his friends would carefully stick the bottles of beer into the water, securing them within the boundaries of rocks and pebbles, while Ma and her friends would find ant-less spots for the picnic. There were places where the leeches and snakes would not come and after a few years, my parents were as good as the locals at finding the right places, so I would splash around in the designated areas. The water pounding on my head would make me deaf and giddy. The rocks beneath my bare feet so slippery and smooth, the chirping and crying of birds and insects and animals all around, the extraordinarily feathery ferns and colourful caladiums – so many varieties….I remember it all. Strange how my eyes saw everything so differently at that age! I guess that’s the age when I took my first photographs – with my eyes. The prints are permanently etched on my mind.

I revisited Abbey Falls in 2000, after 16 years, with my new husband and some friends. I am glad the owner of the estate has left it open to tourists and still collects no entry fee. Abbey Falls is in a private coffee estate. The local Kodavas insist on calling Abbey Falls, Abbaey Falls…and that’s what it is called even now.

A lot has changed – it’s noisier, dirtier, hotter, strewn with plastic and paper, the coke bottles and lays packets a reminder that India is way more global than we can ever imagine… too many stems of ferns, coffee and spices are broken and disfigured, too many birds have given up hope for peace and quiet and moved on to denser parts of the forests. The trees and rocks have ugly memoirs of decades of travelers and revelers. But the pineapple plants are still there – the silent prickly clusters of crowned sweetness, yielding delicious and juicy moments of silent pleasure.

4 yrs ago, as I sat on a huge rock close to the waterfall, the spray soaking the skin on my neck and face, I noted that the leeches and water snakes were not around. Perhaps they were fearful of a more dangerous enemy – man.

Pina Coladas anyone???

My Liquid Destinies!!

Here!!

Bananas...and more bananas!!

Bananas!! For those of us from tropical countries, there is nothing particularly remarkable about bananas. But it’s impossible to imagine life without the humble banana and its cousin the plantain. Whether it is in the form of dessert or breakfast or a snack, bananas are absolutely indispensable.

They are the perfect travel food – I remember those bus trips when the person seeing me off always ensured that I was equipped with bananas and buns, just in case I got hungry?? They make a great snack when you are on the go and you need to be energized instantly. I have vague recollections of making faces at the mandatory after dinner bananas as a kid, only to be reminded of how Lendl and Steffi ate bananas during tennis matches. It sure helped!! They add a great spark to your dull bowl of cereal and are perfect just plain. They are a must in smoothies and make great milk shakes too. And who does not like banana bread or banana cake. I love bananas in pancakes. Try making samwiches too…Banana sammies are one of my comfort foods!! Yum-oh!!

Bananas are good for most people! It has an impressive list of nutrients and it tastes a whole lot better than a pill! Make that - pills and drinks (Metamucil, Benefiber and the like…bananas are just so much better!!)

Back in India as in most tropical countries, a banana plant is a common site in homes. Just about every part of the banana plant is used. The banana flowers are used to make a delicious kootu – from each purplish red bud the individual bracts (commonly thought of as flowers) are painstakingly taken apart to discard the stamens, which are bad to taste. Here’s a recipe to try!

Another kootu is made from the stem of the banana plant – the extremely fibrous, hollow stems are chopped finely and dropped in huge bowls of water or buttermilk, a thin stick is then twirled in the water to collect the loose inedible fibers. The unripe green bananas make great curries and palyas/poriyals, batter fry them to make bajjis, or just slice them and deep fry them. The fruit, of course, is more widely eaten.

Plantains are slightly bigger. The closest Indian relative I can think of is the Nendram from Kerala. They are yummy by themselves, but steam them and you have the most perfect snack!! You could shallow fry the steamed slices in some ghee and drizzle them generously with honey and you will have a dessert fit for royalty!! I tasted this at a Mopla household near Mangalore…

I remember about a year or so ago, I was craving for a taste of home. And of all the places I could have possibly been, I was in New Orleans at that precise moment. I was through with jambalaya and gumbo and humungous portions of buttery rich food for a lifetime and was in the beginnings of a bad mood. At the nick of time, we found this nice little Gambian restaurant tucked in the farther part of the French Quarter, nothing fancy, just 4 tables in a dingy room. The food was so close to Indian food, the eggplant almost tasted like baingan ka bharta!! And the dessert…Uffff!!! Fried slices of plantain slathered in honey and served with ice cream!! Once I was home, I improvised as usual and added toasted coconut flakes… yum yum YUMmmmm!!!

Speaking of desserts – another childhood favorite is the traditional rasaayana - slices of bananas with fresh coconut, honey or sugar, cardamom. Add some milk and ghee to that and you have panchaamruta a very traditional prasada served at special pujas. I used to enjoy this inspite of my aversion to milk, until one day the Aunt that was in charge of the sacred slush mentioned ever so casually that bovine urine & faeces was considered holy enough to be consumed!! Then I heard another person mentioning Morarji Desai and his weird habits… Since then I politely decline anything offered at Pujas.

Banana chips are also made with plantains – yellow flakes of crisp bliss, the best kinds come from Kerala and Coimbatore. They also make these chips with ripe fruit – absobloodylutely delicious!!! They make a sweet with it in Kerala as well – chunks of banana coated with molasses and palm sugar...sweet!! Not very fond of it, but its popular!!

And any Indian knows that banana leaves make great plates – what a fabulous way to eat!! I think even the simplest of meals tastes extraordinarily delicious when served on a banana leaf. They also make great packets to steam/bake/grill food in and this technique is not unique to India. They do so in quite a few Asian countries, in Mexico, in the Amazon, in Africa….everyone who understands bananas, understands the unique flavour that a banana leaf adds to food.

And I don’t know if there is any a Hindu religious ritual or festival without the banana plants, leaves and fruit. For as long as I can remember I have seen the plants adorning everything – from doorways of temples, homes, shops, even vehicles….and all the colours and fragrances become more intensified with the familiar decorations. There is so much more to bananas and culture!! Read this….its interesting!!

When I was younger there was a really popular variety called Rasabaale. I don’t find them around much and that suits me fine coz I never really liked the excessive sweetness or the gooey texture. Then there is the ever present pachhabaale, or as the Tamilians like to call it, the Morris variety. These are somewhat similar to the Dole, Del Monte and Chiquita brands that have inundated the American markets…the Cavendish, I believe is the variety!! I most enjoy two of the smaller varieties which are unique to South India – the Yalakki or Elaichi, and the putta-baale (sort of like finger bananas) which is smaller and sweeter. A healthy teenager can easily eat a bunch or two!! ..ahem!!...now, you know I am referring to myself when I was a lot younger, right!! I swear I needed it – I climbed tress and haystacks and needed all the energy!! Don’t roll those eyes at me!!

When we traveled up the hills, we would find a couple of different varieties, one of which is a maroon-red kind and the other a bright yellow variety. I don’t remember the names, but they don’t taste very different from the regular green or yellow spotted kinds. There are many more interesting varieties….

But bananas can’t be limited to just foods. I mean how can anyone forget one of my favorite slangs –bananas?? [Bananas = crazy, nuts, insane….I love what this means!!]

I don’t want to be prude and not mention the obvious connections the humble banana has to sexuality – some subtle and others blatant. From the mating rituals of the tribes in East Africa to banana flavoured condoms, it’s all over the area of sexuality. [I am not going to think of Desmond Morris now!!]

What pops to my mind is Woody Allen’s Bananas!! And what about the classic comedies of Herbie & the Beetle!! If you did not watch it as a kid, please do yourself a favour and put it on for your children - Herbie goes Bananas!! The slipping on a banana peel act still gets me laughing....of course if I saw someone actually fall, I 'ahem' would not laugh!

There's so much more to know about boring bananas...for instance, did you know there was a banana beer? Or that there could be weapons made of bananas??

Here’s some food for thought….. Why are monkeys bananas for bananas??

And while you are thinking of that....check out my pictures!! That is the last link...I promise!!

Weekend Rants!!

Aren’t rants lovely to read?? I hear they are lovely to write as well. Are they?? Well, I suppose they can be fun, if you know how to rant. I don’t know if I do know how to rant. I complain a lot, but usually about the same thing. So, I figured I find some new things to complain about. J

Well for starters, I come back to my beloved PC and what do I see?? None of my blogger pals are around. Of course, I could think to myself and say, ‘Hey Chay, you were so missed on blog-boards, that your buddies decided to take a break as well, till you come back.” But that would not be true. So I won’t think it. I am not saying it, am I? As it is I have a reputation of being narcissistic and totally & inseparably in love with my handle. Well, I am in love with Chay…err I meant the meaning of Chaya – life. Oh well! Think what you want, you lovers of ‘chayspeak’!! (It’s a good thing it’s just my handle and not my name eh!!)

It’s Sunday afternoon. Hubby is mowing the lawn. We tried to weed the backyard which needs much work. After 15 minutes of digging with a hoe which is a ‘Made in India’ from Lowes, Hubbs decided we should see if we can get a mechanized version of sorts for rent. Most of my garden tools are ‘Made in Indias’, amazing how there are so many business opportunities right there and all our Desi entrepreneurs can see is the need for Desi groceries or Enterprise Solutions. No one really wants to climb the rainbow, they’d rather be at the ends, on terra firma!! Well, It makes good business sense to be in safe place, no? Yeah…but what would I know??

For the 1000th time, why do the houses seem so flimsy in Oosa?? Yeah yeah!! I know about earthquakes and tornadoes and in our case, volcanoes and what not!! But I still wish they were made off brick and mortar like back home. At least I would not hear the Chinese Opera playing in my neighbour’s home.

Speaking of building, I spoke with Ma last night. Last month a truck of construction sand cost Rs. 4000. This month the same truck of sand costs Rs 14,000!!! Can you believe that!! If the problem is not with sand, then it is with water. How can anyone build a house in Bangalore with such ridiculous prices?? Good news is that she does not need much sand anymore.

I am trying to clean out my pantry. In the process I discovered I need more shelving in there. There is so much food there, that I can feed an army for another year or so. I finally managed to get some good old desi type dabbas at Wal-Mart at prices that don’t give me a heart attack!! (Yes, they are ‘Made in China’) So now, all my grains and masalas look pretty and presentable. My Oosa’ian friends sure love the colours and shapes. It’s like a Montessori school for them with new colours and new shapes!! Thank goodness I have fewer groceries than cleaning supplies. The garage - that’s a story I am not going to tell you!!

I need more shelving in my closets as well. Poor hubbs seems so worn from his weekly yard work, I am so tempted to just try a hand at his power tools. Oh well, dry walls are so easy to fix, I am certain he wont mind terribly if I just punch a fist sized hole by mistake. Or I could just threaten to do that and he will put up all the shelving I need pronto!! Hmm….nice idea that!!

I got sunburned badly on my break. And it was raining for most of the time too, yet I managed to get sun burns. I now look like an over baked chocolate cookie…just before it burns!! If an SPF 45 sunscreen can’t take care of my super sensitive brown skin, I wonder what can!! Don’t say SPF 50, for goodness sake!!

We went bicycling last night. I finally figured how to use those gears. Dang!! And all this while I pedaled so hard needlessly!! Anyway, it was great fun to ride around last night in the pitch dark parts of our community, with absolutely no lights on. We even left the blinkers at home. It reminded me of the time when hubbs used to drive in the Bangalore University campus in pitch dark on our dates. We’d cruise slowly and the moment we came near the Law College Campus, he’d turn off the lights and I’d scream my head off for a couple of seconds and then we’d just enjoy the crickets and the star filled skies….till we came a main intersection with street lights. Then we’d turn around and do the whole thing again. How fun!!

There I go again, I wanted to rant and eventually came back to my unending love stories!! Sighs!! I can’t even rant properly!! Maybe I can rant about that the next time!!

Too much blogging....?? huh??

You know you are spending too much time blogging, browsing and chatting when:
(not a general or specific 'you'. Its actually 'me') :-)

• When your dad calls you from home and says, ‘Hey Chay!!’ and continues to call you Chay instead of your real name.
• When your friends and family mail you addressing you as ‘Dear Chay’
• When all your mom and you discuss are your blogs, her health and the weather.
• When you hear a great joke and say ROTFL while laughing and holding your tummy
• When you chuckle in mid sentence and say Lollz
• When you don’t respond to your real name as quickly as you do to your handle, especially when hubby dear is asking for his socks. If he calls you ‘Chay’ you are so happy happy, even to hunt down his socks for the gazillionth time.
• When you almost get tendonitis, from excessive typing and mouse-ing. But still continue writing.
• When you write and write and churn out garbage continuously. And still you write and write. And everyone tells u to write and write.
• When you see someone or something you like and a smiley pops into your head.
• When you make smiley faces…like :-o *shaking head vigorously side to side* or :-p (I always did that, anyway)
• When on a lonely Friday afternoon, you are the only one on the shout box.
• When your friends complain that they are not getting enough of you.
• When your hubby is the first one to go to bed for a change at 1.00 am and you don’t sleep till 7.00 am. (ok that 7.00 am thingy does not happen too often!)
• When you trade boredom and endless cups of tea for insomnia and endless cups of coffee.
• When you say ‘brb’ to someone in the middle of a convo.
• When u use phrases like deffy, diffy, peeps, convo, etc etc. And keep interrupting yourself to say, ‘deffy=definitely, diffy= different….” You get the drift?
• When you forget to paint your toe nails in spring.
• And don’t care about being seen in your jammies at 11.00 in the morning.
• When you start making plans for blogger meets at various parts of the country and the other country at various times of the year. When you make vacation plans that include meeting blogger pals. When u start planning menus for these get togethers…etc
• When you want to blog about everything you see and hear. When you want to write about everything hurriedly, impatiently. When you always feel there’s more to write than you can write.
• When hubbs says, “I am scared to even say pipsqueak, coz I am certain it will end up in your blog.”
• When you throw caution to the wind while facing and living your own emotions, feelings and thinking your deepest thoughts.
• When you become desperate trying to articulate your thoughts. And that desperation leads to more dissonances.
• When you start developing new interests and passions. Progression is imperative for life (chaya), after all!!
• When you start rediscovering your old passions and loves. That is always a nice thing. And that’s what makes it totally worth it!!

Chay needs a break!! I am taking off for a week of fun and seasoned sun.
Hopefully when I am back, I will be able to write something decent. Enjoy my friends! I will miss you!!

PS: Oh! And feel free to add to this list. This is mine, but u might have similar points too.

Re(v)el in the love!!

On the 1st of May, 2000, a young man and a young woman were surrounded by their closest friends who happened to be in town on that particular Sunday. As they walked in through the huge ancient temple doors, they were assaulted by the pungent smell of incense, camphor and the monotone chanting…and sudden panic from one of the buddies. “We don’t have any garlands!! There are no wedding garlands!!” While the groomsmen ran helter skelter looking for a flower shop that was open, the bride and groom stole a moment and spoke with their eyes and smiles. That was us...me and my hubbs!

Friends were teasing us that we were about to wed on Labour Day (1st of May is Labour Day in India), hence we were going to labour a lot! They were right!! Others joked and said May Day!! May Day!! It was all frighteningly funny!! In the heightened confusion, amidst friends who became family and strangers who became friends, exactly 5 yrs ago I took my hubbs as my lawfully wedded hubbs. 5 years of sickness and health, 5 years of struggles and rest, 5 years of good times and bad, 5 years of wandering and 5 years of love, devotion and sheer fortitude!!

So on the 1st this month, marking our 5 year mark, we started our celebrations a day earlier and extended it to the next day as well. We received the usual phone calls and emails with wishes and blessings, the gifts were there. But we were both in a sober mood...not sure why. Perhaps we felt that time was passing by too quickly, perhaps we were overwhelmed yet again when we looked back at our action packed marriage. Perhaps we were once again filled to the brims of our hearts with love and gratitude. Our eyes definitely seemed to be brimming that day…with tears and many other things.

We had a ton of shopping to finish before our week long trip out of town that’s coming up. And a nice lunch and more shopping, we decided to go to one of our favorite spots for a warm evening before dinner – the Marina Park on the Kirkland Waterfront. It is a favorite spot among the desis as well as the real desis of Seattle. It offers spectacular sunsets on the Lake Washington and beautiful boats on the Marina. The whole of downtown Kirkland is quaint yet has an urban downtownish feeling to it!! I just love Kirkland!! Its perfectly paced!!

So here we are - sitting on the steps by the Moss Bay beach, my arm crooked in his elbow and his hand holding mine, smelling the salty water, smiling at ducks and children, breathing in the cold air and allowing the sun to warm us up. We noticed not more than 20 feet from us a small group of girls and boys. One of the guys was wearing a wetsuit, fins, goggles and all. The short distance between the steps and the water was strewn with rose petals and the path to the water was flanked by purple candles and votives. The diver by now was maneuvering a remote control operated toy boat towards himself. When it got close enough we saw there was bunch of flowers inside the boat. And what now, he was inserting a fishing hook into a bottle with more flowers. Very odd this whole thing!! The crowds were gathering by now. Everybody was curious! Kids stopped playing; even the dogs stopped playing fetch.

The diver then swam some 40 feet into the water with the bottle in hand and looked for a way to hide behind a bobbing orange buoy. The other friends quickly settled all the things, gave final touches and then dashed away. After 5 mins, one of the guys came back and yelled across the water to the diver, ‘she’s at the wrong beach!!’ The crowd burst out laughing!! And soon enough they were saying their ‘awws’ and ‘sweet boy’s!! Well the diver by now was frustrated getting tired of all the kicking to stay afloat. And the candles were getting blown out by the wind as well. A couple of women ran and re-lit them, the diver yelled his thanks and it was now a community event!! Encouraging calls were made over the water, ‘hang in there dude! err…stay afloat!!’ etc etc.

In some 10 mins, ‘she’ was escorted to the park by more girls and boys. And there she was in beautiful pastel green linen pants and sweater, full of glee and jumping up and down with her hand clamped on her mouth. But, when they reached the water, she asked another girl to go forward. We were focused on the wrong girl!!! Aaaargh!!! The right girl was in jeans and a white halter and had no smile or grin. She seemed nervous and embarrassed!! She was looking at the candles and treading on the rose petals carefully so she would not squish them. She came up to the edge of the water, picked up a piece of paper that said, ‘reel me in!!’ She then picked up the fishing pole nearby and started reeling in whatever it was!! The toy boat was supposed to be the decoy, as the diver swam under water, bobbing only now and then to breathe. This took forever!!! The crowd was getting antsy and the she was getting tired. But by now she was giggling too. After a very long 5 or 10 mins, the boat and diver came to the shore. Amidst squeals and giggles, he presented her with the bottle in his hand. The single stem of rose in it broke and cut a sorry figure. But they all laughed. Then he scooped the flowers from the boat and gave it to her. The crowd started clapping and cheering!!

Somehow everyone around was under the impression that he was proposing marriage to her…but he did not. Instead they all just sat around on the steps and laughed and joked. We assumed it might have been her birthday or something!! She just seemed so numbed by the gesture!! It was sweet to watch them all.

As hubby and I kissed to celebrate the love around, we both felt a little more reassured that with love, everything works out fine!! We have never made our wedding anniversary a big affair, perhaps because our families always thought that something was wrong in the way we got married. But we do celebrate our marriage and as always, it never is on one day each year. We find ways to celebrate each other as often as possible….I suppose its okay to say that I am happily married!!

***********

For dessert, I’d like to present a song from Astitva. Listen to it here (the 4th song). Regardless of whether you understand Hindi or not, listen to it. This is one of those songs that reach the depths of your heart. The movie itself is very good and I recommend that as well.

The lyrics are provided below, as is the lose translation. Go ahead and work on the translations if you think I might be wrong…I hardly know Hindi.

kitne kisse hain tere mere
kitne kisse hain bas tere mere

dhoop kadi hain
chaon mili mujhe
anchal main tere
umas badi hain
chhoom li paon
zameen se tere

kitne kisse hain bas tere mere
kitne kisse hain bas tere mere

aTari pe tere sokar hain
dekhe maine angin sapne
khidki se tere jhanke hain
man main suraj mere kitne

aangan mein tere main khili thi
jab banke rajnigandha
darwaze se aaye the andar
mausam woh khushi ke saare

kitne kisse hain bas tere mere
kitne kisse hain bas tere mere
kitne kisse hain bas tere mere

[kissa, qissa : Anecdote, Dispute, Event, Fable, Happening, Incident, Legend, Matter, Romance, Story, Tale, Quarrel, Yarn, myth, story] I prefer using the word 'episode' in the transalation… it just seems more complete.

Translation:

So many episodes that are yours and mine
There are so many episodes just yours and mine

The sun is hot
And I found shade in your shelter
The heat stifles
My feet kissed your ground away.

So many episodes that are just yours and mine
There are so many episodes just yours and mine

I dreamt myriad dreams
While sleeping in your grand house
So many suns shone into my heart
When they peeped in through your windows

When I was a heady & fragrant flower (rajnigandha)
And had bloomed in your yard
Through the door had come
All the seasons of happiness

That’s how many episodes are there, just yours and mine
How many episodes are there, just yours and mine?
So many episodes that are just yours and mine

The Ride!

When as in silks my Julia walks,
Then then methinks how sweetly flows,
That liquefaction of her clothes

She remembered the tender strong voice reciting the poem aloud. “Was it Herrick?” The question lingered on the borders of her thoughts. “Maybe!” she dismissed the question flippantly. Her fingers stroked the grayish-blue silk of her dress and she was comforted by its textured softness. She had a soft smile on her mouth and her eyes were lit with joy and bright signs.

The neon lights floated listlessly on the car windows. And along with the lights her mind traversed against the general stream of traffic. She spotted a knot of young girls and boys in front of a bar with a bright red sign. They were in uniforms, probably partying after a varsity game, she thought. As they floated past her, her mind heard the steady voice of her Ma as she ascended the stairs to her room.

**********

She was sprawled on her tummy and emptying another box of tissues.
Ma walks in shaking her head gently, her brow furrowed with concern.

She gently strokes her head, “Write!”
“What use is it? They won’t like me anyway!”
“There will be others. You are just in school. You still have so many people to meet, so much to live. See our friends? We met most of them in the university.”
“Ma, I heard them talking. They said they were going to ostracize me. They went to the game without me Ma. They left me behind. It is writing that always gets me into trouble.”
“Still, write! You must just be careful about what you do with your writing”
“You aren’t angry with me for getting into trouble?”
“Yes I am, but that can wait. Now get up and wash your face. I want you to write everything you feel. Don’t worry about making it an essay. Just write.”

Ma’s kiss lingered on her cheek, as she struggled to fight back the tears that threatened to flood the car and stain her dress.
*******
“Not now!” she murmured to herself. And then loudly, she said, “Stop it! You don’t have time to do your eyes again.” She exhaled and shook the thoughts out of her head.

She saw Tim looking at her in the rear view mirror with concern.
“You ok Miss?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you Tim. Are we there yet?”
“In just a bit Miss. We will be on time.”
“Alright then!”

She looked outside again. A street musician seemed to be lost in his world. His fingers strummed his guitar and a cigarette was hanging from his lips. And with the wispy smoke, her mind went back to the time when she sat around a warm bonfire on a cold December night.

********

Janni has the tamte and he is singing a folk song from a new play still in production. Ma is with Rathna inside arranging for more snacks, Pa as always is teasing Raghu Uncle about being a tagaru. It sure is a great way to celebrate New Year’s Eve.

She is sitting close to the fire and the music, lost in the stars above, lost in her many fantasies.
Venu comes by and sits next to her with a bottle of Kingfisher in his hand. He ruffles her hair and asks with a broad grin, “Tell me na, will you marry me?”.
She blushes furiously and tugs at his beard, “Venu Uncle, stop teasing me!”
“Who uncle, where uncle?” he searches around in mock shock.
She cries aloud, “Maaaa. Venu has started again!!”
Everyone laughs and so does she.

Janni stops singing and asks, “So when are you writing my script? We have a vacant spot for you, you know. You can write or act or do both…what do you say?”
She does not know what to say and looks away with a polite smile.

On the way back home, in the soft morning glow were loving embraces by all 12 siblings and all their friends. Every single one of them had at some time or the other teased her about marrying them. She was their muddu hudugi, laadli, the precious sweet child everyone loved.

Laughter, smoke, the crackling fireplace and Janni’s singing! So warm, so distant.

***************

The car halts at the traffic light as does her reverie. Another question rises on the horizon, “Where is Janni now?” “Maybe he is back in NSD teaching or maybe still at the repertoire!” She dismissed the question with acquired ease.

In the silence that followed in her mind, she searched for something to fill the empty moments with. The flashing yellow and blue sign indicated a coffee shop.

She remembered the time she had coffee with her Pa after browsing in Gangarams for an indefinite period of time.
He had quietly asked her,”Why won’t you write? You write well, you know!”
“Pa, don’t start now. Not you as well!”
“Why not? You Ma is right.”
“Well, what do you want me to write?”
“Anything you want! Start anywhere, you’ll find the road you need to take.”
“Pa, why don’t you write? Your thesis on Shelley is getting as old as you!”
“Touché!”
Giggles and laughter! Just like old times!

And then there was that phone call from cousin V.
“Akka, you write so well. Why don’t you write?”
“When did you read any of my writing da?”
“You write me emails right?”
“Uff! Bye now! Take care”
“Akka, akka, wait…hello”

The visions from past just summon themselves, rudely!!

Thatha (grandfather), beckons her into his study on a humid summer afternoon, and shows her his new hobby – his writing. He is writing a book in the grand old age of 85. He says, “I am writing this book in Tamil. When I am done, your mother will edit it and have it published. Will you translate it to English?”

Uncle S meets her after many years and asks, “Are you writing?”

Another Uncle S meets her after many years and gives her his latest book in Kannada. Then he asks, “When will I have the privilege of reading your writing?”

She met Ma’s professor one day. When introduced, he asks, “Who do you write like? You Ma or your Pa?’

Uncle D mails her, “I was about to suggest you try creative writing, given the grace with which you write….”

And finally she hears the familiar voice of Hubbs saying on a hundred different occasions, each time the same thing, “Why don’t you write?” at every party, every gathering, in front of friends, when alone, agreeing with Ma and Pa and all the others around her.

She hears all the voices saying the same thing…Write dear Write!! They seem to echo one another. She can see all the faces, imploring, pleading…Write dear Write!! The resulting cacophony is beyond description, it would have put a Mariners game to shame. Her whole world spins and she gasps for breath. She holds her head, honestly believing it will either implode or explode any moment!! Compounding the voices with their demands is Janni explaining the joy of writing for theatre, Venu asking if she would sing with him, the tamte already booming in her head.

And right through the cacophony comes an unwavering, tender & strong voice – When as in silks my Julia walks, then then methinks how sweetly flows,that liquefaction of her clothes. With a gasp she realizes it’s her own voice. Her English teacher from school is trying to shush the laughing children who have mushroomed all around her. The incessant dissonance gets louder and louder and all the voices amalgamate into an unbearable crescendo that threatens to sweep her away in its thunderous deluge.

Suddenly, the cold air chills her back to reality!! She looks around and realizes she is in her car.
A voice in the distant horizon reaches her world. Miss….miss…
“Miss?? Miss? Are you Okay?” Tim is asking though the open door.

She just looks at Tim’s face with glazed eyes trying to focus.
She remembers that she has to breathe and touches her temple to steady herself.

“Miss? We are here already. Are you Okay?”
She looks around and quickly collects herself. She remembers now.
“Yes Tim, thank you” she says hoarsely.

Tim looks unconvinced. He hands her a bottle of Perrier and closes the door gently to save her from embarrassment. After quickly looking at herself in the mirror, she realizes she looks nothing like she feels. Pushing a stray hair back in place, she smoothes her dress. And with a confident smile, she steps out of the car. Tim smiles back and pats her hand and she knows all will be well.

Later that evening, when all the speeches were made and thanks were said, she raises her glass in a silent toast to all that have encouraged her over the years. The stars above smile in their sparkle and join her in her silent salute!!