empty nest .. revised

 

The Empty Nest

You miss the fledglings.

You miss the conversations..

the banter,

the tirades.

You miss the worrying

You miss the fussing

You miss the control..

that you are there......

for them.. at all times.

That when the day ends,

the fledglings are safe in the nest,

so that you can be at rest.

One has cribbed over the drudgery..

of the cooking...

of the cleaning....

But ask an empty-nester,

what it feels like to wake up to empty bedrooms, the ones next to theirs...

Ask an empty-nester

what it feels,

when by force of habit,

they press their knuckles..

against the fledglings door,

tap ..tap...

and then .. draw away....

to call out to the child .loud.. to wake him up...

...uttering the first syllable of their name..

and then mouthing the others, silently...

A line of salty tears

streaks the face..

Turning away from that door

and looking away from the next,

you know..

behind the doors

is a silence.

The room will now be tidy..spic and span,

also,

empty.

As the day ends,

the empty - nester,

hurts..

a heaviness settles in the chest..

while encountering the shut doors, once again..

with nobody to to tuck in

cuddle,

smile at,

touch...

There are the video calls, oh yes!

laughter

and conversation..

Grateful for that.

But ask an empty- nester what it feels,

to have nobody to hug..touch..

Yeah , the spouse is around,

as well as dear friends, who rally around you.

But the pleasure of a tight hug

returned with an equally tight hug..

the strong bones,

the taut body..

against your soft sagging one..

of a silent assurance..

of belonging...

The empty-nester waits,

patiently,.

for the fledglings to return..

Waits....

to soothe

and to be soothed!

Kelvan. Novermber 20 , 2021

 

November 20 2021

 

 

 

Today has been a strange kind of a day. Right from the time I opened my eyes. The sprained but healing ankle, tingled today, unlike the past week when it felt perfectly fine when I woke up. 

 

 

The next moment, I remembered I had a whole lot of things line up for today and I hoped that the tingling episode was just a 'one off thing.'

 

 

The son and the daughter in law had made plans to visit us, for 2 weeks just 2 days ago. Not having them around for nearly a year now, their space in the house had been duly encroached upon by me. A wardrobe , the writing desk.. the bed..everything. Anything which did not require immediate attention had been placed in that room and today, everything in that room demanded my attention.

 

 

To add to that, we had a small function to attend in the evening. It was a 'Kelvan' function, on the occasion of the wedding of a family friend's son. The Kelvan is a Maharashtrian function. Function/ ceremony... I am at a loss for the correct word here.

 

 

Poised on the top rung of a (very sturdy ) ladder, I was looking for the set of new pillows I had stored in the 'above the wardrobe' cupboard. My eyes fell on a small carton. It contained a stash of soft toys which belonged to the daughter.., a couple of dolls, doll house items, the doll's clothes, shoes and bags. She had long outgrown them but some toys never got discarded or given away. And then I am a hoarder. MY children;s toy's, my memories of my children's childhood. And my next thought was, 'If that stash belonged to the 2nd category - My memories of the children's childhood', - then I need to do a rethink. I should probably ask them to take a look and keep those that they have an attachment for. . Of their memories of their childhood. 

 

 

I also did another rethink... probably it is time to release stuff which my own parents had saved and I had hoarded.. tangible objects -a little tumbler gifted by my neighbour when I was born.. a liitle steel plate, given by my aunt .. all bearing my name, and the date on which it was gifted, the story books which bears my name in my father's handwriting. These had given me a lot of happiness in my childhood,, to drink from my tumbler -' a gaddu', read My books...and then when I made my own family, it still gave me pleasure to feel those items in my parent's home and then again when I brought them into mine. 

 

 

This 'mera tera' was going on in my mind and stopped only when I realized I had just about an hour to get ready and leave for the evening's do.

 

 

The evening started well. For a change, we started from home on time, little or no traffic for most of the part of our travel, finding a good parking spot.. it was just perfect!

 

 

The Kelvan.

 

 

Kelvan is a Maharastrian ceremony. A bride-to-be, or a groom-to-be and their respective parents are invited for lunch or dinner by close members of their respective families. In this case, all the siblings of the father of the groom-to-be, organised a dinner and hence a family get together. And we being family friends, got invited too. I love Maharashtrian food. Be it the typical Kokanastha Brahman fare, or the CKP fare. You have me on your side, at the Varan Bhaat. Pretty easy to please, I am.

 

. It had been years... decades .. since I had partaken of a proper Maharastrian festive meal.

 

So.. coming back to today...

Along with the kelvan, they also had the mehendi ceremony for the women folk.

I had an enjoyable time, (unintentionally) overhearing snatches of conversation.... the very familiar and the almost heart tugging "aggo baai" being said, the very fluent marathi being spoken... It gave me a high. I do not have much opportunity to speak a lot of marathi.. or hear the language being spoken with such fluency, where there are no english or hinglish words intersped. Then there was also that bit of nostalgia.

 

 

Why a kelvan? asked the husband. One of the ladies there, said "kaahi naahi ho, zara aapla kautuk karaaycha. Navar devaacha, tyaachya aai baabancha. Zhaala. evdhach.' she said.

Soon there was a much excitement in the room and a bit of a hustle and a bustle. Tables were drawn together. The mandatory disposable roll of 'table cloth' unrolled. Chairs were set in place. On one side, a chair for the groom-to-be and on either side of him, a table with 2 chairs. One his left, sat his parents and to his right, his eldest paternal uncle and aunt.

 

 

A silver taat was placed before him- a taat is different from a thaal or thali which we see in restaurants serving thali meals. A taat is a plate alright, but the edges are not straight but at an obtuse angle, outwards. Will attach a picture of the same. A taat is always accompanied by vaati or "vaatya' when there are many. A vaati is a small bowl. 

 

 

The silver plate and bowls were in honour of the groom-to be. The parents and uncle and aunt were served in steel taats and vaatis.

 

 

The ladies got busy placing a ' reusable' rangoli, - bits of colored acrylic sheets, embellished with zari, mirrors and fancy crystals in various colors. These were arranged around the taat of the guest of honour of the day. Next they placed a few bright artificial flowers, around the plate. An incense stick was placed next to his taat. 

 

 

An aunt of the groom-to-be., now stepped forward and applied kumkum tilak and a spot of chandan, on the foreheads of the men folk at the tables and she then sprinkled a few vermilion coated grains of rice , 'akshata' , on them. 

 

 

The serving staff then took over. Ceremoniously they placed various food items, on their plates, beginning with the guest of honour . 

 

 

Salt, a wedge of lemon, pickle, kothimbir (coriander) chutney, koshimbir ,, puris, a poli (chapati), talalela papad (fried papad) were served in the taat. Then the vaatis began to be filled. Dalimbi usal, Aluchi paatal bhaaji as it is referred to respectfully, else it has another name which had always caused us children to burst out in laughter, while the elders lifted an angry eyebrow - alu cha phadphada. This colocasia leaves curry was a mash of the leaves, spiked with tamarind, coconut, peanuts, and was of a thickish consistency. Thickish consistency .. hence the name.

 

 

The other vatis were filled with a Panchamel bhaaji, a rose petal Shrikhand and a ukadi cha modak. The pillowy soft, very white modak was delicately jabbed with a knife and a generous spoon of 'toop' - clarified butter, was ladled over it. 

 

 

Then followed a scoop of rice - bhaatachi mood(h) as it is called. It is a serving of rice, placed in a small bowl, lightly packed and then upturned. The server holds several such scoops on his serving plate and gently slides one in the taat. Once it is topped with the yellow varan (daal) it makes for a pretty sight. Once again 'toop' is drizzled on it. 

 

 

The servers served all the others seated at the tables. A sort of a mini 'pangat' .

Vadani kaval gheta - a verse/shloka recited before every meal - was recited .. and they commenced their meal.

 

For others, the buffet was declared open.

 

 

Now that I had seen the food served... I marched to the food counter. Drooling, almost!

Chutney, koshimbir, varan bhat, shrikhanda (yes yes,,rose petal shrikhanda,,), puri to go with it. I gave the chapatis a miss. I had spotted the Masale bhaat and made a dash for it. Haughtily, i turned away from the Panchamel dal, and helped myself to the alu chi paatal bhaaji instead. And then the daalimbi usal.

 

 

I quitened my mind and conscience and picked up a fried papad. And then that ukadicha Modak. The same ritual was followed by the server as he placed it in my plate- a jab at the Modak and a good drizzle of toop. 

 

 

As i settled in my chair I realized I had forgotten to pick up a wedge of lemon...i had to have my ' 'varan bhaat , toop , mith , limboo '. Seeing that the husband had 2 wedges in his plate ..i picked up one.

My eyes welled up as i took a spoonful of the meal .and then another .

It was a homely meal. Many of these, are cooked in my kitchen whenever I have a craving for them. But all of these together on a plate...waaaah!!

 

For every item on my plate..I had a story.

 

अगं asha कोथिंबीरीच्या चटणीत जराशी साखर घालावी..this tip was from Rao kaku , my neighbour and friend who was in her eighties

 

अळू ची पातळ भाजी करताना पानां बरोबर शेंगदाणे ही शिजवावेत. सुक्या खोबऱ्याचे. पातळ काप करावेत आणि हलकेच भाजून घालावेत..Rao kaku

 

मोदकाची उकड करायला पार्ल्यातील विजय स्टोअर मधून मोदकाचे पीठ वेगळे मिळते. बासमती तांदूळ. कुठलं ही तांदूळ पीठ घेऊ नकोस -.Nayak kaku.. another aunty and dear friend frm the building

अगं डाळइंबी उसळ काय...आम्ही सीकेपी , daalimbi चा भात ही करतो ...तुला पाठवीन करून. -Nayak kaaku again

.

Daalimbi usal . ...how can I describe what it tasted like, man. It was like eating काज्जु बी. Well cooked dalimbi..yet retaining a crunch. Spiced..yet you couldn't taste any उग्र spices. - this was my father. He had his memories of eating this usal in his bachelor days..when he first came to mumbai. I forget the place he would mention.

 

The masale bhaat..it always tastes distinctly different when it is made at a wedding or a function as opposed to what it tastes when made at home. This is true of the भजी / pakoras too,when served at a wedding . It's probably the taste and fragrance of a lot of oil heated at high temperatures. .yes. that oil has a taste and a fragrance unique. 

 

The varan bhaat ..me as a school girl, coming home at lunch time..picking up my plate and rushing to my neighbour's home..to aai' s home..aai, जेवायला वाढ. ,And she would serve me varan bhaat and the bhaaji of the day. My mother , embarassed at this antic of mine..on a daily basis.. would sometimes send me with my share of rice from my home, only to have aai at our doorstep.. काय हो हेगडे बाई..कसला मोठेपणा दाखवता आशुचा भात पाठवून..चालणार नाही हे. . जेवेल पोर आमच्याकडेच. And she would continue her rant.. saying to me...kaay समजते ग आम्मा तुझी..

 

So many memories...so many people .who were part of my life..at various times.. various stages ..who had showered me with affection..held me close...

 

All these thoughts raced through my mind as I ate each morsel.

 

"अगं कामत काकूंना आग्रह कर.".said one of the senior ladies there to the sister of the groom- to-be. " हा मोदक घ्या..गरम आहे" she said . 

 

Little did she know..garam or cold..nothing mattered. Aagraha..i didn't require it...I was content. Overwhelmed.

 

This Kelvan function..was all that every family function could be. Simple...dripping with warmth..Lots of love..for every member of the family and lots of love for the others. 

 

Kya hai na... we all have our bundles of memories. Kisika badaa,, kisika chhota. some happy some sad memories... Nostalgia !

 

And sometimes when one sees the happy memories. play out once again, inadvertently.. senti hona toh banta hai.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 When I get less than what I feel I should be getting

I feel cheated!

 jaaaa simran jaaa.. jee le apni zindagi

kaise?

The Empty Nest

 

 

You miss the fledglings.

 

You miss the conversations..

the banter

the tirades.

 

You miss the worrying

You miss the fussing

 

You miss the control..

that you are there......

for them.. at all times.

That when the day ends, 

the fledglings are safe in the nest,

so that you can be at rest.

 

One has cribbed over the drudgery..

of the cooking...

of the cleaning....

 

But ask an empty-nester,

what it feels like to wake up to empty bedrooms, the ones next to theirs...

 

Ask an empty-nester

what it feels,  

when by force of  habit,

they press their knuckles..

against the fledglings door, 

 tap ..tap...

and then .. draw  away....

Call out to the child ,,,loud.. to wake him up...

...uttering the first syllable 

and mouthing the others, silently...

 

A line of salty tears

streaks the face..

 

Turning away from that door

and looking away from the next,

you know..

behind the doors 

is a silence.

 

The room will now be  tidy..spic and span..

...also.. 

empty.

As the day ends, 

 the empty - nester, 

hurts..

a heaviness settles  in the chest..

while  encountering  the shut doors, once again..

with  nobody to to tuck in

cuddle,

 smile at,

touch...

 

There are the video calls, oh yes!

laughter

and conversation..

Grateful for that. 

But ask an empty- nester what it feels,

to have nobody to hug..touch..

 

Yeah , the spouse is around,

as well as dear friends, who rally around you.

But the pleasure of a tight hug 

returned with an equally tight hug..

the  strong bones, 

the  taut body..

against your soft sagging one.. 

of a silent  assurance.. 

of belonging...

 

The empty-nester waits,

patiently,.

for the fledglings to return..

 

Waits to soothe

and to be soothed!

 

 

 Karma... a propagated lie!

Crediting someone as honest

placing a blind faith in them

is plain laziness.

 

Just means you do not want to

weigh the right or wrong

and absolve yourself of responsibility

 

And I realise'

they have a right to their own life.

Live their life

on their terms.

Just as they desire.

 

Rightfully not being  answerable

to you

And

unintentionally excluding you 

from their new relation.

 

In this equation, 

you are outside of the bracket

 

 I always noticed

the older generation

be it  my mother

father 

or my firend

prasie a person

because 

that person asked 

about their well being

Just this much was enough

and I realise today

Just this much is enough

 You are a good person

until 

you tell them they are wrong 

You are a good person

until

you tell them you were looking for more

than they were meaning to give .

 

If they were intending to give at all......

 Loss ... Pain... Hurts.

time ... heals         

scars remain

 Equanimity

Sthitapradnya

The one who remains unswayed

A new goal...

But why?

I'd rather remain human

 Get a life they tell me

Live the life,  the offspring tells me

Pray what life, when there are none of my own in it.

That hurts

 

 Expectations

 

They tell me to give up on expectations

My only questions are How and Why

 

Meditate, it will quell your  excited, disturbed mind, they say

Divert your mind.  Take up a hobby.  Engage your mind, they say.

Divert your affections to a pet they say.

Is happiness reached only by looking away? 

Is life a series of looking away only?

And how many times?

As I have said before, there needs to be a parenting manual

But hey, there has always been one, hasn't it, 

A life manual.

The ashramas. Brahmacharya, gruhastha, vanaprastha, sanyasa 

Where the preoccupation with the self and it's extensions,

dull or wipe out the lines of when to disengage,

one can fall back on the texts.

 

I only wish there was a text on the step by step of  HOW TO,

Gradually wean yourself from the longing for the sweet but often unrequited affection of the  offspring.

 

 

 

 Mine is the sandwiched generation they say

We never got to be children, 

carefree...

Carried the burden

of expectations of many a kind

 I accepted.

I didn't know I could rebel.

I got to be parents to the parents who became childlike.

Accepted.

What about being parents to the children I bore?

I do not even want to exercise the authority we were answerable to.

But when every question is answered with a

so what.

I wonder.... what changed? and mainly, when?

 

 I  have to unfailingly, relentlessly play mother

mother to my children , 

The children get to selectively play 

children..demanding of attention,

strangers..unconcerned of your emotions,

favour doers.. throwers of scraps of affection as and when it suits them,

Is this a new phenomenon?

or has this been a norm 

and me the exception for believing otherwise?

 If there were 2 manuals I wish existed, with clearly written SOPs, , to follow them to the T, with unvarying responses... they would be

1.  A Parenting Manual

2.  The How to manage Emotions and Memories Manual

I have a need for the 2nd one now.  

Today is the 5th of June

I realized it on the 1st of June, when the phone Memories threw up a foto of that day.  It was a group foto of our friends and us, dining at Copper Chimney

And in a microsecond, the events of that day, and the following five days, and the day after... June 6th the day he passed away and the day of his funeral .June 7th... the flashes of memory.. strike me.. strike me hard.  

June 1st, we had admitted him to the hospital.. this time more as a precautionary measure.  The fibrosis weakened his lungs.... caused him to cough incessantly.. racking his frail body.   Tire him..His odd cough through the night, as I heard it through the walls was reassuring.. that he was alive

I would wait.. to see if he would cough again.. is it going to be a bout?  then I would rush to his room.. I could do nothing but hold his hand.. prop him.. increase his oxygen.. anything to create an illusion that it would help him.   But  I knew it wasn't

He knew it too

 Sometimes he would humor me.. Sometime I would humor him.

I am not really known for my patience...But he was my father.. I am known for empathy. But things did get to me sometimes and I have prayed.. for his life and then sometimes also for a peaceful transition to the other realm for him.

That last time we admitted him.. it was a cautionary measure.. we didn't want to take a chance on his infection aggravating

 today.. that day .. he had been fitted with a pipe for food intake... he had stopped eating.. he would drift into unconsciousness.. in and out of consciousness.. he would accept a morsel,, when over the days he had grown too tired even to resist.  From the evening of his first day of being admitted there he had very surprisingly started believing that he was not going to come home

by the noon of the 2nd day he had started his hallucinations,, the light behind his head cast a glow on the tiled wall in front of his bed.. He believed that light... it was for him. to take him away... on the 2nd of June.. that evening he ate 2 morsels

next morning too  one bite

by noon he would keep the morsel in his mouth and drift off

the Dr said i cant do that.. he could choke

He advised intubation

i resisted

he was furious with me.. the patient would die of hunger

i wanted  him to live

i was scared of the intubation procedure

would i be able to manage him,

we did what  was necessary

i can hear his wail... of pain  .. at the procedure

tue evening // he was coherent

he spoke a lot

to my mother he said... we can be together only this long.. I am not coming back

and that nigh 1,30 we got that call

he was critical

 i rememembet that struggle.. when he saw me.. wanting to say .. not able to

and then he drifted

he was sinking they said

i saw him

he was peaceful

breathing

and then they said his heart had stopped

and i said what does that mean

and they said he was dead

one of his physicians had said 2 days ago,  why don't u look at it this way.. may be knows.. the end is near

today why am i grieving

he died

i knew he would

it was a matter of time .. a yr they had said

it was a year and a half

why am i sobbing like this

i am not remembering the father that he was .. for all the 50 years

i am only remembering the struggle and the events of the 6 days. as i write this

i do not want to relive this moment of that day of that yr.. or even of  this day last yr

memories.. should they be wiped out?.. the sad ones?

is there a way of handling them?

a prescription

the tears, they relieve some pain they had said.  yeah it helps some

talking helps they had said.. yeah,. it helps a bit

everybody goes thru this they had said... 

time will make it easier they had said.. yes.. but then there are days like this one

In his case, he had lived his full life. that will that make it easier for me they had said.  I believed them.. it had.. but then there are days like this one

Keep busy they had said,distract your self they had said.. but then there are moments like this one.

Sanity will return I know.  but how do I go through these next 2 3 days... when those memories resurface...

That year , at this time,  i was preparing my mother.  preparing myself

last yr this time I had had a bad head ache.. I wanted to run away from it all.. During all the other times he had been hospitalized I wld wait with him till 9  or even 11 pm in the night

that particular day, i had been a wreck

I had left at 6. pm.. longing for a hot coffee,  and some food..I wanted to come home.i didnt want to sit there  . so overwhelmed was I.  and then mom and the husband were there in anycase.

and then that call at 1.30 am

 

 

when will these memories release their hold on me.. just a little bit, ,,

 

Actually..should it be easy?

 

 i am still analyzing my feelings

do i miss him,, yes in that first year

then on occasions..

what does missing mean actually. i don't miss his presence every minute of the day... 

I can't bear to look at his pictures.. but that is  slightly easy to manage

turn the page.  scroll away quickly

 i talk of him very fondly too .. when sometimes we friends or family talk about him

no tears then.. no breaking down them

I had seen suffering and death earlier.  The Father in laws death was the first .. that had been difficult;t and i was near numb when the mother in law had passed away

it is on days like this... 

the events play ... replay

 

 

 

 

In

 

Like all of us my tryst with sparrows began with the chiu taai chiu taai daar ughad, or like my amma would say in konkani ' gurbanji akka Gurbanji akka, baagil kaadi!

and that was it for a long time.

we had the odd sparrow build a nest in a sheltered nook on our floor when i was still a school going girl.

then around 2011 , a friend mentioned, and people also were noticing that sparrows were becoming fewer in number in urban areas. Yet in my society - residential co-op hsg society. sparrows chirped, cheeped, hopped, flew. Some monsoon mornings, when the clouds parted and the sun peeped from behind a plump crowd, and then shone brightly, glowing - a very welcome, bright orange , one could find the sparrows in groups of 6 or 7, prancing in little puddles on the ground, chirping .

it was only last year, yes, during the lock down that i actually started looking out of the window. It started with me having to rest for nearly 3 weeks, bed bound , following a surgery. it was at this time that I started noticing a crow build a nest on a tree in the building compound, bit by bit, string by string, twig by twig. An unexpected weather change made the crow abandon the nest and it was never seen around the nest again.

Soon I started noticing the sparrows. close to my window were many young palms and i as the windows remained open, with the weather being pleasant, i would 'wake up to the sound of birds' . Many different bird sounds, including the sparrows.

With that arose the desire to capture them on film... photo kheenchna. I have unsteady hands. The picture which i have in mind is very very rarely what is seen as the end result. but i was not disheartened. I tried leaning against a sliding window, sitting on the floor, using a tripod.... i enjoyed this activity.

I also realized that the sparrows were a frisky curious lot. they would perch on my window grill.. try to peep in.. gain entry..yes i have videos of the same.

soon i was walking around the building, camera in hand... friends assumed i was a professional.. they assumed i was working on a project.. Ahem!!

unko kya pata... i was the curious one.. a student - trying to shoot a few 'steady , clear' pictures. and then i really started enjoying watching them.. i have been so smitten ..that on many occasions i had just been staring through the viewing lens, forgetting to click or to hit the record button.

my 'Bird watcher' friends appreciated the pictures and then suggested that i place a saucer of water on my window sill..Place a few grains for the sparrows and soon sparrows as well as other small birds would make my window their regular haunt. - Biplov, Amey, Meghana... many thanks to you.

being the empress of jugaad, well they call it DIY now... and also being the impatient one - kaun bazaar jaaega and feeder laayegaa.. Amazon would take 3 days to deliver too. So i just looked around the house. i found an unused winnowing fan.. small in size. on it i placed an ice cream tub, filled with water. and i waited.. in my mind i imagined little sparrows, sun birds,, bulbuls,.. having their fill of water and then maybe splash around in it.

Biplov and Meghana asked me to remove the plastic tub. 1st rule - no plastic. a terracotta bowl said Biplov. it would keep the water cool during the hot afternoons. A saucer, said Meghana, the little birdies would get intimidated by a bigger deeper fuller water body.

Another jugaad happened and i found a bright red plastic lid of a glass jar which had slipped through my butter fingers. It was a decent size. the right diameter, the right depth. so it was placed on the windowing fan and the whole contraption was wedged between the window and the pigeon net. one side of the winnowing fan was weighed down by a kind of a bronze tumbler.

and i waited.

the next day i realized that i had a few , dried stalks of rice. each navaratri when the new rice is ceremoniously brought into the house, a few stalks of rice, wrapped on one end with a mango leaf , are tied to our rice container, altar, main door, wardrobes, study tables, book shelves, etc.

I looked around, and lo and behold.. my desk had one such bunch secured around one of its legs. I removed it and stuck it outside the pigeon net , secured it with thread , a little above the water contraption and... well .. i waited.. I lay in wait

it was day 2 and not one sparrow ventured anywhere close to the water or the grain.

they were all over the grill as usual. chirping , chasing each other, grooming themselves... not one looked down at the sill.

and on day 3 ..it happened. a little sparrow flew down. examined the sill, and then her surroundings..- outside and then inside. she caught me looking happily at her . she flew away and she didn't come back.

but when the window was shut, or the curtains were drawn, i could see through the glass and from the side of the curtains.. at least one sparrow was sipping on the water. the stalks of grain, the sparrows were oblivious to them.

till that one day. what had happened was the breeze had caused some paddy from the very dry rice stalks to drop on the window sill. a few on the winnowing fan, a few on the sill. Having had a go at them, one day, one sparrow simply craned her neck and looked upwards. and then it was happiness... she flew up to that bar of the grill and tugged at a grain. and how meticulous she was,, tug at one or two..chomp on them and at regular intervals, spit out the husk. yes.. i have it on camera. looking at this action of hers, i was reminded of my childhood. while we ate berries (Bor) or karvand, or orange or watermelon.. friends would caution.. throw out the seed, else a tree of the same fruit would grow in ur tummy. Also about the Pink Bubblegum - chew on it , try and blow a bubble and then spit it out, else ur intestines and stomach would stick together ..throat too i think. ( Vivek Dilawari ) The sparrows too had heard similar tales frm their mamas and grand mamas probably... eat the grain frm the paddy, spit out the husk. My friend Amey had mentioned - they like doing this. and i certainly enjoy watching them do this.

woh ek din tha... and aaj ka din.. sparrows throng my window sill at regular intervals. Of that one bunch of rice stalks that i had hung first, nothing but the dried mango leaf and thread remained. and i had started noticing that the ' regulars' looked up, to find nothing. i cld imagine their bewilderment and then the shock.

so another another look around the house and I found another , thicker bunch wrapped around a handle of the daughter's book case. it was removed frm there and duly tied to my window ka grill.

today is International Sparrows Day, i was reminded. post toh banta hai. posting 2 video clips . do watch.

and a big thank you to friends who saw my photograpy attempts on whatsapp and appreciated them.

also a big thank you to friends who helped with advice on video clips. - cutting or compressing videos - Sanjay Vasudev

Shobha Shenoykini

Day 10 Somreeta

Of Nostos and Alogos

Day 10 and the concluding part of the 10 day 'project', Somreeta.

I will begin with a confession. When I started my studies once again after a hiatus of about 20 yrs, I realized I had one short coming. I was slow in applying, or connecting studies or learnings with happenings around me, connecting 2 learnings... However I will also add that there has been some progress in that area and though the lacuna hasn't been 'fixed', I am on the path.

Okay.. now for the story of the day.

In their later years, my parents-in-law lived with us, until they passed on to the other realm. It was then that I convinced my parents to move in with us as neighbours.

Later we and my parents moved in together into a bigger apartment.

I asked my father to select a room of his choice for him and mommy. He walked through the bedrooms, standing at the windows, taking in the sights and very happily zeroed in on one. " I will take this room", said. "You know why? This room offers a full view of the garden below. It makes me feel as if I am in my native home, with the many trees around me. It makes me feel 'at home' already. It makes me happy", he had said.

Our house here in Mumbai is on the first floor. The patch of garden below our house was one abounding with trees and plants. There were several palms with various vines crawling up on them. There were many coconut palms lining the compound wall and those too were visible from his window. When the plumeria was planted at the four corners of this patch, one was right below his window.

His home in his village near Udupi was a beautiful place. Behind his house there was a big patch of land with many trees. Coconuts, mangoes and even a cashew I remember. I remember my grandmother talking about the eucalyptus trees too. Across the street, they had their fields and trees like that of the coconut, mango and tamarind as also the pineapple shrubs.

The bit of land behind his house, which was heavy with trees, they called it the 'haadi'. It was a cool and well shaded zone, thanks to the many trees that grew there. When dad sat on his chair in his room, and looked outside the window, from his new home now, he had said " I feel like I am in Kuthpady, sitting in our 'haadi' . Kuthpady or Kuthupady as he pronounced it, was the name of his village.

While on the subject of the 'haadi', that area was not a well laid out orchard, or a farm or a garden. The plants and trees must have been planted randomly by them when they were young, or probably earlier. In the monsoons, the wet soil sprung out wild flowers. One of which I very clearly remember was the 'baila phool'. 'Bailu' in Konkani is the bullock. The flower grew on the ground and one had to look for it after the first rains of the monsoon. It was a small whitish flower. One plucked it carefully. Like the hibiscus flower that has a stamen, this flower would have a small growth which closely resembled the bull, horns and all. Just the face. From the stem of the flower, emerged a thin filament. One pulled it back and forth, very gently and the head of the bullock would move up and down. I have a picture of it which I happened to see on a face book profile and I had saved it. Shall share it below.

Also there was a tree which bore chickoo shaped fruits. The fruit had a rough grey exterior, much like the the kavat (wood apple). We bit into it gingerly. Gingerly, because once we sunk our teeth into it, the inside of the fruit was almost waxy. The main reason however, was that the centre of the fruit was the most exciting part of the fruit and we did not want to disturb it by biting through it. The centre of the fruit, would be a very bright orange and shaped like a Ganapati. Sounds unbelievable, right? I last remember seeing it in 1985, when we had our last proper summer vacation there.

Since 1992, we visit Udupi regularly, every year for Ganpati, but this tree which bears the ' Ganpati Phala' , bore fruit only around May or early June, I have been told. And very few of the many family members and friends I have spoken to in all these years, remember that tree or fruit and have not seen it in years. I wished I could show it to my children.

So Somreeta, this concluding post was about these 2 plants from a garden we have left behind for several decades now.

I started reading a new book yesterday night. 'This World Below Zero Fahrenheit- Travels in the Kashmir Valley by Suhas Munshi. He has written a fairly long and engaging introduction to the book. About the book he states that he did not have any grand, connecting theme in mind. He was clear that he was not going to write about violence ('and I failed even at that') he adds.

At one place he writes and I quote, 'Daniel Mendelsohn , the great essayist , in "An Odyssey' describes the genesis of the word 'nostalgia'. One of its roots is Nostos, the Greek word for

'homecoming". In time, this wistful word nostos, rooted so deeply in the Odyssey's themes, was eventually combined with another word in Greek's vast vocabulary of pain, 'alogos', to give us an elegantly simple way to talk about the bittersweet feeling we sometimes have for a special kind of troubling longing. Literally this word means' the pain associated with longing for home,' but as we know, 'home', particularly as we get older, can be a time as well as a place.'

A few of the past few posts, and then today's post....these were all about memories and impressions which lurked in the recesses of our mind and heart. Why I was attracted to a few plants, why they appealed to me, why I longed for them to bloom and to match the picture I had of them, in my mind's eye.. why dad had his connection with the little garden...

Nostalgia .. a melancholy yearning..a homecoming.

 

Day 9 Somreeta

Dil Maange More!

The plants which survived and thrived, boosted my morale no end.

It is almost an emotional moment, to see a new baby leaf sprout, on a branch or a leaf unfold., a leaf stick its head out of the soil... the tender leaf...That they respond to the attention and care, lavished on them, uplifts the spirits , makes you happy. And this is where the artificial plants, however attractive, fall short.

After the success in keeping the bougainvillea, the periwinkle and the madhumalati, growing and healthy , I almost felt a bit vindicated and hence confident of bringing home a few new plants.

Also, one of our online purchase of a very popular plant - the ZZ plant , last year, had a healthy green hue to it now , it has also grown in height in the past few months

That particular vendor. Ugaoo , to be specific, packages its plants very immaculately. The plant had arrived home in great shape, with no damage , not even a leaf which had come loose.

Thus emboldened, I purchased 3 succulents and an indoor plant, with reddish green leaves.

These plants come already potted . One does not water the top soil. There is a small tray fitted to the bottom of the pot and the pot has a lip through which one can add water. The plant also comes with a list of instructions.. regarding their placement in the room - indoor or outdoor, sunlight needed, how many times it needs to be watered, etc. They were called the self watering pots. The plants draw water from the tray below it.

Ugaoo has a range of table top plants , as also indoor plants and many others.

Meet mine - The Jade, The snake plant, the Snake Plant - Golden Hahnii and the Aglaonema Red Plant.

 

Day 8, Somreeta

Of The Aarey Road and The Ukshi tree and The Shankasur Rain tree and The Yellow Gulmohar!

In the early seventies, we used to travel at least once every 4 5 months to Chembur, to visit one of our very close family friends. The trip meant first, taking the 261 bus route from Shastri Nagar to Goregaon Bus depot. From there we crossed over to Goregaon East, using the foot over bridge.

All the times we have done this, I distinctly remember a chalk artist, who drew huge figures of Gods, on the road, just besides the landing of the bridge on the eastern side. They used to be very attractive and I remember being enamoured by the sheer size of that canvas. The one figure I remember clearly is of Lord Hanuman. The devout who walked past this, would offer a coin or two. My mother would give me a coin too, while my father gave us disapproving looks.

From here we would move to the Bus Depot on the eastern side and wait for another bus . Bus Route number 341, to take us to Sion Bus Depot.

From Sion we would have to take another bus, or sometimes a taxi which would ferry us to our destination near Diamond Gardens.

This remained a practice till 1980, when that family moved out of Mumbai.

The highlight of this trip would be the journey from Goreagoan East to Sion. Actually, just that patch which was called Aarey Road.

Even if one wasn't really watching the road, one could tell when we entered Aarey Road. There would be a pleasant breeze which would hit you, and then the forest sounds.. The swoosh of the branches of a tree as the bus passed by them, or the sound of the odd branch which had spread so wide that they touched the moving bus.. The sound of the crickets, ..the sound of birds settling in for the night, heard while on our return journey.

I had noticed that the trunk of the trees carried brown and white bands as markings. I remember dad saying that they were state property and hence the marking.. that they cannot be cut. Since then I have heard many other explanations about the same.

Years passed by and after the shaadi, we resided just a little away from the Andheri end of Aarey Road. The parents stayed at Malad. For me, the many years had not taken away the the charm of that patch of 'forest' as we travelled down that road once again. The lush greenery still attracted me. When the children arrived and it was time to go to Malad, I would remember to carry a shawl and then two, so that they could stay warm as the rickshaw passed through Aarey road in the evenings. Yes, it would be cold.

One could see boards sporting directions to the New Zealand Hostel, little roads going off the main Aarey road, all of the streets and the main Aarey road itself, lined with trees on either side.. in some parts of the street they would merge and create a green canopy under which the vehicles would move.

Over the years I have seen the thick green cover, become sparse as it made way for development.

Once the parents moved in with me, there was no reason for me to travel down that road.

Until 4 years ago, when the husband suggested we go out for a drive. The closest place where we could go to and which would truly be the balm for our stressed minds was , yes, Aarey road. Ever since, whenever I felt a little overwhelmed with the goings on in life, a drive through Aarey road would bring some calm to the mind.

And so it was in the pre lock down months of this year.

The main Aarey Road was still beautiful. Branches of trees still met in the centre of the road, creating lush green arches.

But this time we drove off the main street. Lanes, by lanes, driving past some paada or the other, driving past cattle sheds, old buildings...

It was here that I got to see the beautifully bright bougainvillea. and .the Yellow Gulmohar trees ( I do not know any other name for these).. In the light afternoon breeze, The gulmohar would gently and incessantly shower flowers on people walking by. The street would be dotted by these flowers and then the breeze would blow it off the road , on to the sides of the road. And as the late noon sun rays, mellowed further, as they passed through gaps in the trees, they would cast their golden yellow light on the little piles of these yellow flowers, making it a sight to behold.

Another sight which never failed to attract me was of the Shankasur Rain tree (thanks Amey, for identifying it ).. These were old trees. Rooted on one side of the street, the branches would have spread across the street and on to the other side. The trees had lovely feathery pink flowers At one place, we stopped to take in the beauty of the tree and suddenly we saw the tree being taken over by a horde of crows. 30 to 40 of them. On all branches.. cawing away... fluttering..

One more tree caught my attention on one of our drives. The tree looked as if it was made up of little bunches of fresh green saunf/aniseed. The green stalks of saunf that was and probably is still available at the vendors selling kacchi imli, ber or bor, whichever way one pronounces it) .. star fruit, and the kavath (wood apple). ( Kacchi imli and ber/bor sound way better than raw green tamarind and little red berries..no?)

I learnt that this tree was called the Ukshi tree. ( Biplov, thanks)

At another time, I found the street strewn with the dried Ukshi and they too were very beautiful in their woody brown color, actually appearing as if they were crafted finely, out of wood.

Such is the magic of the Aarey Road, which has kept me enthralled through the decades.

The lock down has put a brake on our weekly drives..and I wait in anticipation for a semblance of normalcy to return.

 

 

Day 7, Somreeta

'Aukaaat anusaar!'

I have been talking about the wish list too many times, these past few days. I have also been thinking about it these past few days . I had so much of time all these years, to tackle the wish list and many of them should not have been languishing there still.

Well.. it is what it is.

Today's post is about another item from the.. yes.. the wish list!

I had wanted to have a bit of greenery in our balcony... A few hanging pots, with plants. A small breakfast table amidst the greenery...A few corners, a few table tops in the house, with little green plants... .

But then I hadn't forgotten the debacle of decades ago, where the many plants I had brought home, hadn't survived.

And then to add to that four of the 6 plants we had got home, badi himmat kar ke.... did not survive..

So the wish went back to the wish list.

The son was working from home last summer, and he needed a proper desk and chair. He was looking for them, online.

I joined him in looking up the website.

He made his selections, and then I made mine.

I had convinced myself, that I did not have the proverbial green thumb or any green finger. You don't have it, you dont have it. Then what does one do? One operates within the limited boundaries and hence 'aukaat anusaar', I bought a few artificial plants, some artificial plants with flowers on them , to satisfy that desire and aspiration.

A compromise? Yes..definitely. But kya karein,..limited as I was with my own lack of skill, talent and expertise in gardening.

Day 6 Somreeta

The Plumeria

My wish list has always had Plumeria written on it. The one with white flowers and the one with red flowers. Since the past 7 or 8 years, one with pink flowers, leads the list.

For the longest time I had seen only the white and red variety. Had never thought that there could be plumeria flowers in other colours. Then once at the Bangalore airport I saw yellow flowers. And then in my housing society , I saw the pink one.

Then I also have this confusion in my mind.. are the plumeria and the frangipani, the same? I have noticed that the leaves of the plumeria are bigger and wider than that of the frangipani.

Last year, yes, last year, we did look out for a plumeria. We found one too. And it bore flowers in a beautiful shade of peach. I loved it when I was saw a video of it on the Nursery's Insta handle.

But the asking price was around Rs 6,000/- and I held back. As a new hand at gardening, I wasn't willing to risk that big an amount. Then there were doubts, whether it would thrive as a potted plant in a balcony. Then there was the bigger fear - the plant would be delivered at the society gate. The plant was biggish, planted in a big pot. There was no way, the children would be able to haul it up to the house. They would have to heave it up to the lift, and then they would have to take the lift. And God forbid, somebody's help too. Those were scary times...you touched something, you sanitized . You went out of the house, you showered and changed and washed your clothes. And I am known to be the paranoid one, one with a very active imagination and the scenes that played in my mind in those few minutes that I was watching the clip on Instagram, I myself vetoed the idea. No Plumeria,

The son tried to reason with me, tried to get me to change my mind... I did not relent.

Many months later , as I was going through Instagram or you tube videos relating to home decor - all this for our much awaited and overdue home renovation - I noted that the plumeria was being used as an indoor plant. Place it near a window so that it gets 4 to 5 hrs of sunlight, is what I have gathered.

And just around that time, the plumerias planted in the four corners of the patch of garden facing our balcony, bloomed. Bloomed a beautiful pink. My very urgent yearning for the plant got catered to , in this manner.

Around the last week of January, I started on my morning walks.

When the mind is focused on something, one starts observing. I realized there was the white plumeria, full of flowers on one side of the building. At around the same time a yellowish white plumeria bud was visible right next to the pink flower bearing plant.

It was with great joy that I ran up to my home, got hold of the camera, and clicked some pictures of the flowers.

Like the time in my Parijaat post , when the Parents - in - law had visited us, one day as we were stepping out, my Mother - in - law, pointed out to a plant. " See , how fortunate you are, there is a 'Kudchampe' plant right in front of your window.

I had always known the plumeria as 'Chaafa' as it was called by my Maharastrian friends. Sonchaafa - the yellow fragrant flower becomes 'Chaampei' in Konkani. And the white flower bearing chaafa plant /plumeria , becomes the Kudchampei in Konkani.

So what was her excitement over the plant about? Suno...

On Naag panchami day, we make a delicacy, called the Patoli. It is rice paste, smeared on the fragrant turmeric leaf, on which a stuffing of jaggery sweetened coconut is placed, the leaf folded over and steamed . The fragrance of the 'Haldi paan' is what patoli is all about.

The mother - in - law was excited because, at other times, when the 'haldi paan' is not available ie. before or after the Shravan, Bhadrapad months, one can use the leaves of the 'Kudchampe/ Plumeria) to satisfy any patoli cravings.

Now this was a 'gyaan mein bharti' kind of information. And no, that is not why I yearn for one of those - the Plumeria .

And some day, I will have my plant.

Ummeed par duniya kaayam hai,,, aur asha toh hamaaraa naam hee hai!

 

 

 

Day 5 Somreeta

Madhumalati.

A 7 year old is on a vacation, with her family, visiting her grandmother, at a small village, 6 or 7 kms away from Udupi.

And that day, there is an excitement in the air. She and her family, are off to visit her aunt, her bua - her father's eldest sister.

'Ghat vaili' she is referred to as , sometimes... the one who lives up the ghat.

They wait outside their home, to board a bus that will take them to Udupi. "The bus is here," she squeals in excitement. 'No, silly', says her father. 'This bus is going to Udyavara. That is the last stop. From there it will start again, and on its return trip to Udupi, it will pick us up'. This was the father speaking

The buses had names. Manujatha, Amba, Durgamba...

The bus takes them to Udupi. From their it's another bus ride. In a smaller bus, the front of which reminded me of a lorry. It was called the taxi.. if I remember right. The conductor at Udupi would try and fill the bus with as many people as he could. cram them in. The more the people, the more the tickets sold, the more money he would make. The frequency of this little bus was far and in betweeen and it was a long journey of about 4 hours.

The bus was small, so that it could navigate the hairpin bends of the Agumbe ghat. My aunt was referred to as the 'Ghat vaili'', she had her home, up and beyond the Agumbe ghats. Agumbe village was made famous by the makers of Malgudi Days, when they shot the series here.

The crammed bus would mean that many people sweating, that smell, mixed with that of the hair oil, talc, the fragrance of various flowers the women wore in their hair - champa, mogara, aboli..., then acrid smell of the bidi ... Oh it was overwhelming...

Adding to that were the sharp curves of the hairpin bends,. One was climbing up the hill.. steep roads, tight corners at the bends.. at every bend the standees would sway and end up leaning on one side and then the other.,, my nose would sometimes be hit by the little bags they carried on their wrists.

And then there was the retching!

The torture would end at Tirthalli,

From there, another bus ride to my aunt's village - Bileshvara. An hours ride. But no more hair pin bends now.

Bileshvara is a km or 2 away from the town of Humcha, known for its Jain basadis. Shimoga is the closest city to this village of Bileshvara.

The village of Billeshvara is beautiful . Every house has gardens and plants are laden with colorful flowers. Bell shaped flowers in colours I had never seen before, Hibiscus flowers - red, pink, orange, Ixora. and many many other ..most of whose names i do not know. But along with these there was one very overgrown lush shrub, full of little bunches of pink and whitish flowers which graced every compound. Some a pale pink.. the others -a reddish pink. They looked pretty as they swayed with the breeze, the little bundles.

It was only very recently that I got to know that it was known as the Rangoon Creeper or the Madhumalati.

And yes, I had it in my wish list, and yes, it became part of the wish list tackled in the lock down of last year, and yes, it has not flowered in the 7 months that it has made my home its own.

But somehow, whenever I look at it, it seems like a happy little plant, sprouting bigger leaves now, the thin branches, spreading out a little wider now, and one branch has even grown taller in the past 10 days. It now has fresh pale green tender baby leaves.

Some day, it shall flower, or maybe not !

I enjoy having it around me....... and see it thrive!

Revisiting the happy old times., recalling happy moments .. and in a small way re-creating little bits..reliving them!

 

 

 

Day 5 Somreeta

Madhumalati.

A 7 year old is on a vacation, with her family, visiting her grandmother, at a small village, 6 or 7 kms away from Udupi.

And that day, there is an excitement in the air. She and her family, are off to visit her aunt, her bua - her father's eldest sister.

'Ghat vaili' she is referred to as , sometimes... the one who lives up the ghat.

They wait outside their home, to board a bus that will take them to Udupi. "The bus is here," she squeals in excitement. 'No, silly', says her father. 'This bus is going to Udyavara. That is the last stop. From there it will start again, and on its return trip to Udupi, it will pick us up'. This was the father speaking

The buses had names. Manujatha, Amba, Durgamba...

The bus takes them to Udupi. From their it's another bus ride. In a smaller bus, the front of which reminded me of a lorry. It was called the taxi.. if I remember right. The conductor at Udupi would try and fill the bus with as many people as he could. cram them in. The more the people, the more the tickets sold, the more money he would make. The frequency of this little bus was far and in betweeen and it was a long journey of about 4 hours.

The bus was small, so that it could navigate the hairpin bends of the Agumbe ghat. My aunt was referred to as the 'Ghat vaili'', she had her home, up and beyond the Agumbe ghats. Agumbe village was made famous by the makers of Malgudi Days, when they shot the series here.

The crammed bus would mean that many people sweating, that smell, mixed with that of the hair oil, talc, the fragrance of various flowers the women wore in their hair - champa, mogara, aboli..., then acrid smell of the bidi ... Oh it was overwhelming...

Adding to that were the sharp curves of the hairpin bends,. One was climbing up the hill.. steep roads, tight corners at the bends.. at every bend the standees would sway and end up leaning on one side and then the other.,, my nose would sometimes be hit by the little bags they carried on their wrists.

And then there was the retching!

The torture would end at Tirthalli,

From there, another bus ride to my aunt's village - Bileshvara. An hours ride. But no more hair pin bends now.

Bileshvara is a km or 2 away from the town of Humcha, known for its Jain basadis. Shimoga is the closest city to this village of Bileshvara.

The village of Billeshvara is beautiful . Every house has gardens and plants are laden with colorful flowers. Bell shaped flowers in colours I had never seen before, Hibiscus flowers - red, pink, orange, Ixora. and many many other ..most of whose names i do not know. But along with these there was one very overgrown lush shrub, full of little bunches of pink and whitish flowers which graced every compound. Some a pale pink.. the others -a reddish pink. They looked pretty as they swayed with the breeze, the little bundles.

It was only very recently that I got to know that it was known as the Rangoon Creeper or the Madhumalati.

And yes, I had it in my wish list, and yes, it became part of the wish list tackled in the lock down of last year, and yes, it has not flowered in the 7 months that it has made my home its own.

But somehow, whenever I look at it, it seems like a happy little plant, sprouting bigger leaves now, the thin branches, spreading out a little wider now, and one branch has even grown taller in the past 10 days. It now has fresh pale green tender baby leaves.

Some day, it shall flower, or maybe not !

I enjoy having it around me....... and see it thrive!

Revisiting the happy old times., recalling happy moments .. and in a small way re-creating little bits..reliving them!