Girls are Becoming Like Flowers

Girls are becoming like breeze
They enjoy flowing freely,
They won't accept, no they won't!
Being stopped without reason.

Girls are becoming like birds
They want to fly unconfined,
They won't accept, not anymore!
Having their wings cut off.

Girls are becoming like mountains
They enjoy living with their heads held high,
They won't accept, no they won't!
Having to bow down to just anyone.

Girls are ablaze like the Sun
They like shining brightly,
They won't accept, not anymore!
Being forever shrouded in clouds.

Girls are blooming like flowers
They enjoy spreading their fragrance,
They won't accept, no they won't!

Being crushed under anyone's feet.

Translation of my dear friend and mentor Kamla Bhasin's poem "Hawaon si ban rahi hain ladkiyan".

See it here.
https://youtu.be/h4fDYYiUUzo

Zaruri Tha- It was Destined!

Some songs get into my head with a jolt and refuse to leave. I have to listen to such songs obsessively and understand the lyrics deeply from as many sources as possible. This is one such song. To understand the lyrics, I looked at various translations on the internet. I also asked for help from my facebook friends. 

There is a funny incident about this song. I had asked my friend to fast forward this song once, because I quite disliked the way the singer sang the aalaap in a nasal tone. So she removed it from her playlist. However, it came up in another playlist by mistake while we were out on a road trip across Himachal. This time, the words caught my attention despite the nasal aalaap. I sat up straight and listened to it mesmerized. Imagine, I was almost never going to hear this song!

While translating this song, I faced the usual issues of finding soft words in English to convey the meaning. In addition, this song has many references to Islamic prayers (tawaaf- circumambulation, tasbih- prayer, namaaz, qaza- missing out on a prayer), which make this song and the love it conveys special. It is difficult to translate these literally. So, I have taken the liberty of replacing these by generic terms. As a result, some of the beauty and depth of the song is lost. My loss. 

Zaroori Tha- It was Destined
(Written by Khalil-ur-Rehman Qamar)

Lafz kitne hi tere pairon se lipte honge
Tune jab aakhiri khat mera jalaya… hoga
Tune jab phool, kitabon se nikaale honge
Dene waala bhi tujhe yaad toh aaya hoga

I am sure the words would have clung to your feet

When you burnt my letters one by one,

And the dried flowers that you plucked out from the books

Must have reminded you of the one who had gifted you them

Teri aankhon ke dariya ka
utarna bhi zaroori tha
Mohabbat bhi zaroori thi
Bichadna bhi zaroori tha
Zuroori tha ki

Hum dono tawaaf-e-aarzoo karte
Magar phir aarzu’on ka
bikharna bhi zaroori tha

Your eyes had to overflow with these tears

There was no other way,

We had to love each other like we did

And then we each had to go our own way. 

It was necessary  

To have had desires and dreams,

And it was equally necessary

For them to be ripped apart at the seams.

Bataao yaad hai tumko
Woh jab dil ko churaya tha
Churaai cheez ko tumne
Khuda ka ghar banaya tha

Woh jab kehte thhe 
Mera naam tum tasbih mein padhte ho
Mohabbat ki Namaazo ko
qaza karne se darte ho

Magar ab yaad aata hai
Woh baatein thi mahaz baatein

Kahin baaton hi baaton mein
Mukarna bhi zaroori tha

You stole my heart

Tell me do you remember?

And gave it a special place

Right there in your life’s center.

You used to say that my name

was the first word you uttered every day!

And that you might forget to remember me

even for a second, was your deepest fear?

But now I believe these were mere words

Nothing more, nothing less,

And it was necessary for you

To back out of these commitments

Wahi hai sooratein apni
Wahi main hoon, wahi tum ho
Magar khoya huaa hoon main
Magar tum bhi kahin gum ho

Mohabbat mein dagha ki thi
So kaafir the so kaafir hain
Mili hain manzilein phir bhi
Musaafir thhe, musaafir hain

Tere dil ke nikaale hum
Kahaan bhatke, kahaan pahunche
Magar bhatke toh yaad aaya
Bhatakna bhi zaroori tha

We have the same faces as before

I am who I was, you are who you were,

But I am a lost wanderer

And you too are not fully here.

We could not be faithful to our love,

(disbelievers that we were and are)

So despite having reached our destinations,

Rootless, we continue to wander.

Having left the cocoon of your love,

See where I am, how much I have strayed,

But only when I was lost did I understand

that one must be lost first in order to be found.

Teri ankhon ke dariya ka
Utarna bhi zaruri the
Mohabbat bhi zaroori thi

Bichhadna bhi zaroori tha
Zaroori tha ki

Hum dono tawaaf-e-aarzoo karte
Magar phir aarzu’on k
Bikharna bhi zaroori tha

Teri aankhon ke dariya ka
Utarna bhi zaroori tha

Your eyes had to overflow with these tears
It was destined
We had to love each other like we did

And then it had to end.

It was necessary  

To have had desires and dreams,

And it was equally necessary

For them to be ripped apart at the seams.

Listen to the song here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eoTj5IksBXM

The Tale of the Maroon Sweater!

After months of insisting I take a sweater to a tailor to put a zip on it, my mother finally gave up on me and asked a dear friend of mine to do the job instead. Now this friend is an accomplished dentist,  a busy one, who has hardly any time for her own chores, but she isn't accomplished enough to say no to my mother. So she took the sweater and dropped it at the tailor's, and called me up and asked me pick it up the next day, as she was too busy. Big mistake!

I promptly forgot about it, as I do most such tasks. After a week, I suddenly remembered the task of the sweater and sheepishly drove to the shop, some 5 km away. There, I met a gentleman with a white beard, who asked me to describe the sweater. I had to scratch my head to remember what it looked like- a rather difficult thing to do because I had done everything in my power in the last few months to ignore the sweater and anything to do with it. My sketchy description must have been good enough because his eyes lit up and he pulled out a cloth bag from under a table. Shaking his head, he smiled sweetly and said "Yeh to nahi hua", meaning "This one hasn't been done yet". 

I felt such a relief- the delay was not my mistake, but the tailor's! But I dutifully sweet-scolded him, telling him how far I had come from for it. He promised to fix it the next day and asked me to come for it again in the afternoon. But who remembers the next day? The mountains call, the rivers whisper, and I have to listen to them, don't I? 

After about 10 days, my mother asked me about the sweater. I told her rather indignantly how the tailor had not done the job, and how careless people here are, and how my precious time is wasted in such things etc. But that very afternoon, I sent my driver to the shop to pick up the dreaded sweater and be done with it. He returned empty-handed. No one in the shop knew what sweater he was talking about! It seemed to me that this shop was competing with me in its disdain for the sweater!

Another week passed. This time my friend reminded me about it, so I made the huge effort of going to the shop again. The person in-charge looked at me askance when I asked him to give me the sweater. He had no clue what I was talking about. I asked for the older man, and I was told he had gone for his namaz and would be back soon.

So I waited with my arms folded, muttering under my breath and frowning. Those who know me well know how impatient I am. I make life hell for those who make me wait, but here, no one paid any attention to me. All three tailors were busy doing their stuff, sitting in their small chairs, surrounded by hundreds of jackets strewn around them. It was as if I and my frowns didn't exist. My impatience didn't bother anyone but me. 

After about 10 minutes of standing looking at the mess, I saw the white-bearded man coming towards the shop. I was ready to burst into a tirade, but one look into those eyes and all my anger vanished. I haven't seen such kind eyes in my life I think. That and his body language, which was neither overtly apologetic, nor arrogant, just full of calm good-cheer, completely floored me. I managed a saccharine-laced complaint about the missing article, but even that stopped once he said "Woh maroon wala half-sleeve sweater!".  He knew! He knew! 

I spent the next 15-20 minutes standing patiently as he pulled jacket after jacket from the piles on the floor, trampling on them with his shoes in the process. It was the most ridiculous scene. There were two huge piles, each with at least a hundred jackets each. When I asked him about them, he said one pile was of clothes already fixed and the other of the pending jobs. Mine was surely to be found in the first one.

Seeing the older man bending over double to find my packet, the other tailors joined in the search. 

Finally, a small packet was retrieved, resulting in much cheering from everyone! I asked the gentleman to pose for a photograph with it and he obliged happily. 

I left the shop with my mother's sweater, grinning from ear to ear. It was only when I was nearing our house that I remembered that I had not made the payment for the work done! No one had asked!

Such is the pain and the pleasure of living in a small town!

This is also Me

When I think about people

in my life

That have caused me pain

Uncalled-for, excruciating pain...

Somewhere deep inside I know

There is no point wishing them away,

This life is wholly mine

And this pain is also me.

When I think about the loveless life

I led for years

Starting way back, even before 

I could form memories...

Somewhere deep inside I know 

There is no point in complaining,

This life is wholly mine

And this lack is also me. 

When the mountain glow makes my heart aglow

When wild cherry blossoms make my heart bloom

When clouds fill my mind with secret stories

When my kids take wings and I can't stop flying

When a friend's hug suddenly makes me weightless

When a look of love makes me believe I am lovable...

I will remember that my life is fully mine,
And this is also me, this is also me. 

The Grand Kainth Theft!

In and around our village, there are a number of wild pear trees. In local language, wild pear is called kainth. These trees turn the valley pink and white in spring, and are a delight to the eyes. We drive around the valley in March and April just to ooh and aah at their lovely blossoms. Their small round fruits ripen in early winter. I have sampled some in my jaunts to the nearby mountains and villages with Sonu. The ones that are fully ripe are sweet, though gritty. The ones that are not yet ripe are quite distasteful.  

It is not just us humans that prefer the ripe fruits. They are a favorite of birds of all kinds and much sought after. But there is one species of birds that is quite obsessed with kainth- the red-billed blue magpies, called lumb-puchhri or the long-tailed one in local language. These large long-tailed birds are somewhat pretty to look at, but as I learned over the years, are considered quite a nuisance by the farmers. They belong to the crow family, and much like crows, are surprisingly intelligent. 

Rather than compete with other birds for ripe kainth fruits, lumb-puchhris pick the fruits from the trees when they are still unripe and hide them in bushes or in mud in hidden corners, only to dig them out a few days later to enjoy their sweetness. Sometimes, they even hide the already ripened fruits so that they can relish them later. Delayed gratification! Dog in the manger? 

In November and December, you can see these birds flying with two or three fruits in their beaks, sometimes even entire branches, hiding them and then going back for some more.

Kainth Chors (pear thieves)- that's what I call them!

Over the years, I have seen this spectacle quite a few times from close quarters, while sipping tea at my friend's balcony. The wild pear tree in her front-yard is a popular target of  fruit theft by a pair of lumb-puchhris. Their hiding places for hiding/ripening these fruits is a large flower pot nearby, which is usually full of flowers. The birds expertly press some fruits into the soft mud in the pot and hide others inside the flowers and leaves. They then return a few days later and savour their goodies with much delight. 

But last November, there was much confusion and cacophony near their favorite hiding place. The birds were hopping around and screeching. They had dug up the flower pot and moved the bushes around several times, but there was no sign of their sweet treasure. The birds were hopping mad, literally and figuratively, and rightfully so! The thieves had been robbed of their loot!

The lady of the house, a quiet homebody, sat smugly on her balcony and watched the drama. There was a faint smile on her face, made sweeter by all the kainth fruits she had consumed over the last couple of days!

Note: All but the last picture are taken from the Internet. Copyright others'.The last picture is of Sonika's mother. Copyright and every other right- hers! 

The Best Feedback!

Last month, I finally set up a food stall in the local mela. I had been dreaming of doing this for a long time, but never had the energy or the time to carry the idea through. But this post is not about me or the reaction of my customers. It is about Aloka and her customers!

Aloka is a budding chef, trying out new recipes and experimenting with ingredients in her free time, which is a lot since she started home schooling last year. As expected, not all experiments have been successful, but we have still enjoyed her creations.

Sometime last year, I chanced upon some cute looking almond chocolates in the fridge. They were yummy. I was amazed to find out that Aloka had made them, all by herself, without even my knowledge! She had used her knowledge of making chocolate ganache and devised her own technique of adding almonds to them. For molds, she had used the IKEA silicone ice cube trays we had purchased many years ago when we used to live in Singapore.

So, when we set up the food stall in the mela, I asked her to sell her chocolates too. She was strangely reluctant, but I was equally strangely pushy. So, while I prepared chicken schnitzels and buttered potatoes on the day of the fair, she made some 50 flower- and fish-shaped chocolate treats. She was shy about going around selling her wares, but agreed to try to sell them to any customer that came to our stall. The chocolates were priced at Rs 5 apiece, which would fetch her a small profit. She slung a bag with some change in it (all Rs 10 notes) and held her box of chocolates in her hands.

The fair was a madhouse and I had no time to look up to see how Aloka was doing. She first came to me some 20-minutes into the sale with a worried expression on her face. "This boy wants a chocolate", she whispered, "but he says he has only Rs 2." I turned around to see a young balloon-seller, perhaps 12, dressed in a vest and shorts, looking expectantly at me. I told Aloka to sell him one chocolate for the money he had.

A half hour later, Aloka was again by my side, asking for change for Rs 100. "The boy wants two chocolates, but I don't have enough change", she said. Once again, I turned around to see the same boy, the balloon-seller, this time holding a 100-rupee note. He was back, ready to pay the right price for the treat, which meant that he had sold quite a few balloons by then. I dug into my purse and handed Aloka Rs 90 to pay him. He left happily with his purchase.

By now, we were selling out fast. So was Aloka. She had two chocolates left by the time I was sold out. I smiled at her, and hoped to grab at least one of her chocolates, when lo and behold, the same balloon-seller was by our side again, this time with a younger friend. He held out his 10-rupee note to Aloka, and bought her last two chocolates. The two kids grinned and sucked on their fish-shaped treats while walking away.

That evening, various people had bought Aloka's chocolates. Some were people who knew me and perhaps felt compelled to buy from Aloka. Others were strangers, but were sort of captive audience because they were sitting down to eat food at our table. Hard to say no to a child selling chocolates in such circumstances too.

But here was a boy, who wasn't at the fair to spend his parent's money, but to earn his own. This boy chose to spend his hard-earned money to buy Aloka's chocolates. Not once, but three times!

What a compliment!

Could there be better feedback? I don't think so.

Stepping Inside

At the end of a busy day 

After all the friends and lovers have left,

The mother having been bid good night

The child fed and put to bed,

With a last look at the mountains and clouds

That seem to unwind for the night ahead...

I step inside

And find myself alone with myself

The most beautiful moment of my life.