Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Monday, 13 June 2016

[Short Story] The Diverging Road

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It was early afternoon. Venu surveyed her surroundings doubtfully. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found the signboard. It read Venpani Peak. What lay ahead was a steep slope. She began the ascent, lips pursed.

She panted a little. The heavy camera that hung around her neck swayed and twisted heavily, with every stride, as she negotiated the jagged steps. Sharp branches of dead wood that grew alongside the path, grazed her elbows and legs.

‘Damn! I should have worn something more sensible!’ she exclaimed as she looked down with dismay at her sleeveless short dress. Several red marks marred the smoothness of her arms and legs. She rubbed them to relieve the pain.
She slowed down to catch her breath and clicked pictures of the golden sunlight filtering in through the curtain of leaves.
The charm of her surroundings engulfed her and she gave in to the pure mountain air, the greenery and the sound of the wind that whooshed through the trees.

Venu was pleased with herself when she finally reached the peak. She spied a wooden bench a little distance away and rushed towards it to rest her aching limbs. But as soon as she sat down, she stood up again drawing in her breath sharply. She was greeted by a sight that she had only seen in the screen savers in her computer. She ran to the brink to drink in the panoramic view of the hills covered in green, dotted with rocky precipices and straight ahead of her, lay a white, misty, waterfall that fell several meters below into a wide river that meandered and vanished through a bend in the rocks. She stood transfixed for a long while and then began photographing it all in a frenzy, eager to capture the sheer beauty and transfer it all into her camera.

She heard the soft rush of a mountain stream and set out to find it. She washed her face and drank the cool water thirstily. Rejuvenated, she moved about capturing wild flowers through her lens, all the while imagining the ripples and the envy it would stir up among her classmates, who were at the base camp. She and her college mates had arrived just that morning on a botanical expedition to the mountains and she had slipped out quietly at lunchtime for her own little adventure in the hills. Will they miss me? Would they perhaps look for me? Would Akil stall them? she wondered.

Venu wasn't the adventurous type at all, but Akil had challenged her to do it and she was never one to back down from a dare.

Thank you Akil, I have the entire hills to myself!’
She shouted hands cupping her mouth, waiting eagerly for the reverberation.

But thoughts of nature, beauty and peace gave place to fear doubt and panic.
Venu was seized by the thought that she had not seen another human being all through.

Her survival instincts kicked in.

She looked around anxiously for the path that would take her back.

But a few false trails later, Venu realized that she was completely lost.

What sort of a boyfriend was this stupid Akil?
He could have easily slipped out with me or he should not have put me up to this! She lamented.

Hunger pangs gnawed at her stomach. Just take any path downhill …it would lead to civilization, a sane voice spoke in her head.

She began her descent and came upon a clearing.

Then she saw him.

He was of a diminutive height, small made. He was brown skinned with an angular face. He wore an embroidered shawl of red black and white over his right shoulder leaving his left shoulder bare.

She ran towards him and began animatedly. ‘Oh thank god, you are here …’
She switched to Tamizh when he fixed her in a quizzical stare.
But when he continued to stare at her in puzzlement, she broke of a twig and began drawing on the ground. She spoke the words slowly and gestured animatedly with both her hands. He nodded and pointed to a pathway through the trees.
She drew money from her pocket and held it out to him. He slowly but firmly pushed her hand away.

As she made her way down hill, sending up a silent prayer, she saw another man.

He came up the stone path effortlessly, twirling a cane. He must have been in his thirties. Everything about him spelt style and fine taste, right from his khaki shorts, blue shirt to the Gucci sunglasses carelessly pushed back to his crown. An unlit cigarette dangled rakishly from a corner of his mouth. He waved at her and Venu waved back a little hesitantly.
He came closer.

'Are you part of that college expedition? She nodded smiling sheepishly.

‘Hmm… That’s what I thought, when I saw you from a distance!’

He gave an easy laugh.

‘What are you doing here all by yourself?’

‘ Oh, I am Sanjay, by the way’

He held out his hand.

She shook it with her fingertips.

‘I am a geologist … I am staying in the same resort.’

Venu merely nodded.

He continued

‘Are you lost or something?

What are you doing with him?’ He gestured to the adivasi, who stood patiently during the exchange.

‘Come with me. I could take you back. I can always come up here tomorrow. Twilight is almost upon us …’ he laughed again.

Venu deliberated for a long moment. She cast a sidelong glance at the adivasi who waited patiently.

‘No’ she began apologetically ‘I think I will go with him ... He has agreed to take me back and it would be impolite.’

He laughed.

‘Don't be silly. I could give him some money and send him away… let me speak to him.’

She turned and blocked his path. She looked him firmly in the eye. 'It's alright. I'll go with him. I am pretty sure we will have plenty of occasions to meet later on…’

She signaled to her guide to lead her and followed him, head bent.

The Noble Savage won the day.

Image Source: 7-themes.com

Thursday, 21 April 2016

[Poem] I search

Image by: HelgaMcL

I search for him
In smiles strange
In hands extended -I search
For the one touch

Rummaging
Through words that fall of alien lips

Sifting through tones
I search for The Voice

In the light of a thousand eyes
I scour
For the look that delights

In the gloom of the night
When dreams walk free
I hunt for reunion

In slideshows of memories
That collapse and rise
In constant auto play
I search

Tears pry open
Crumpled eyes
Sluice gates
Rise
To release
The misery
Threatening to explode
A tormented heart

Loss teaches love
Alas, when all is lost

Sunday, 29 November 2015

[Translation] Nazir Kazmi's Ye bhi kya sham-e-mulaqat ayee

This is one of my favourite ghazals by Syed Nazir Raza Kasmi (1925-1972) Nazir was born in India and migrated to Pakistan during the partition. The ghazal presents the pain and the desperation of love.

I sincerely thank Murtuza Furniturewala for working closely with me to bring forth this translation.

Original:

Aankh khulte hi chhup gaye harshar
Aalme bekhudi mein kya kuchh tha
Laakh rahe thi laakh jalwe the
Ahedi awargi me kya kuchh tha
Yaad hai marhale mohabbat ke
Haye us bekhudi mein kya kuchh tha
Kitni beete dino ki yaad aayi
Aaj teri kami mein kya kuchh tha


ye bhi kya sham-e-mulaqat ayee
lab pe mushkil se teri bat ayee
 subah se chup hain tere hijr nasib
 haye kya hoga agar rat ayee
 bastiyan chod ke barse badal
kis qayamat ki ye barsat ayee
 koi jab mil ke hua tha rukhsat
 dil-e-betab wahi rat ayee
 saya-e-zulf-e-butan main 'Nasir’
ek se ek nai rat ayee



 
Translation:
On waking, I realized my abandonment
Though disoriented, stark indeed was the clarity
Many paths lit up with splendorous lights
In my lonesome wanderings, what not did I see
Reminiscences of the pain of passion I did see
Though inebriated, my clear vision, an irony
Recalled I, several blissful days spent in harmony
Alas, what contrast, to this present ignominy

O hark! the dawn of evening heralds thoughts of you my darling
I can barely speak of you without my voice breaking
I fall silent all morning
Recalling our forked destines
Oh how I dread the night 
Ridden with anxieties
The tears flow, the barriers come undone
Does this deluge augur the end of times?

The emptiness which comes 
When a loved one meets and parts
 I feel that same restless emptiness now, upon this night

Oh Nazir! how lost you were in that beauteous form
and in the shadow of those tresses
Ah! how wondrous the delight
Meeting night after night, 
As new groom and as bride

Now listen to this song rendered by Penaz Masani.

Lyrics Credits: https://www.lyricsbogie.com/albums/tu-hi-mera-dil-tu-hi-meri-jaan-1988/ye-bhi-kya-shaam-e-mulaqat-aayi.html

Monday, 10 June 2013

[Blog] My days with grandmother - An abiding love


Whenever I think of my maternal grandmother (paati) two images quickly spring to mind - a large red rexine bag with a self pattern of roses and leaves and a pair of blue and white Bata slippers barely larger than mine placed neatly on the doormat.

I had no clue of paati's visits in those pre-telephone and pre-email days and even if she were to send a letter, she would probably arrive sooner as she lived just about a hundred kilometers away in the outskirts of Chennai, in my uncle's house.

Paati usually arrived sometime during the day when I was away at school and if I spotted the blue slippers, I would hammer impatiently at the door and rush screaming into the arms of the frail four foot frame of patti who waited equally impatiently for my arrival.She was a petite woman with silver white lustrous hair that she always wore in a neat bun in the back of her neck and I was always amazed at how she managed to swathe her frail form in the customary nine yard saree. Her face was wrinkled and shrunk like the rest of her body and her once fair complexion had changed to an even brown hue. Her ears and nose were no longer adorned by the shining diamonds that once rested there- (I hold preciously one of her nose pins that she gifted me in anticipation of my marriage when I was a barely four years old!) But she had startlingly pink lips that had somehow survived the ravages of time.

In those days, my mother tried (rather unsuccessfully, I might add) to teach me propriety but despite her glares I would excitedly look for 'the bag' and touching it ask excitedly, "Paati, what have you brought for me?"

The red bag was always the focal point of paati's visits as it held a virtual treasure trove of goodies- grandma had different gifts packaged neatly in old newspaper like candy, groundnuts, peanut candy and many other tidbits and she would release them at different points during the course of her visit.

I recall vividly one such visit and my unabashed question to her -"Paati what have you brought for me?" I remember her smiling excitedly at me and moving to 'the bag' with a spring in her step- my heart skipped a beat and my impatience was heightened by grandma's things that came out one by one from her bag- her neatly rolled bedding, neatly folded sets of clothing, her toiletries which she kept in a string bag that she had stitched herself. The wait seemed impossibly long but before I could cry petulantly - "What is it paati?" I heard the tiny clang of metal and my grandma unwrapped a set of tiny shining kitchen utensils made of brass. I let out a big scream as this was a windfall compared to the clay utensils that my mother bought me during the car festival at Mylpore, that promptly broke before the week was out! To my delight, I even found a traditional kitchen knife fixed to a wooden plank and other miniature versions of pots and pans and a stove.

I ignored my mother's entreaties to change from my school uniform to my 'home clothes.' I wanted to start play right away. My grandma with her winning ways narrated stories and coaxed me to do everything that was an improbability on ex-grandma days!

The next week was the rapidest one as she could never be persuaded to stay beyond a week at her daughter's house. That one precious week was filled with endless stories narrated till I fell asleep, next to her caressing her soft hands. She knew my taste in fiction and mealtimes were no longer a nightmare for my relieved mother.

Paati, I gathered later, was born into a rich landowner's family. She was married at the tender age of seven to my grandfather when he was still in school. Though she had attended school for a very short period, grandma was proud that she could write her name in English, and once, very slowly, she wrote it out when I appeared not to believe her. N. Subbalakshmi she wrote, with her eyes and concentration completely riveted on the slate, and her hand shook slightly as she tightly gripped the tiny piece of chalk. It is of course another matter that my knowledge of English at that point didn't exactly equip me to read such a long name, but I pretended to read nevertheless not wanting to disappoint her. But perhaps this pride or should I say signature happy tendency, sadly made her sign away all the wealth that grandfather had laboured to earn (and which she inherited due to his early demise) unwittingly to greedy relatives.


My innocent paati, had been cheated out of her wealth by avaricious family members, and the last years of her life were lived in great hardship. I remember the last time I saw my grandmother. She lay in a small bed in the corner of the living room in my uncle's house. She looked frailer than ever and I noticed how she had switched to wearing a six yards saree in white. I tried unsuccessfully to make her talk, but except for a brief look of recognition in her eyes, she lay there motionless. As I gazed at her, I heard my weeping mother complain that she had stopped eating for more than a week. I touched the almost cold hand that lay limp, outstretched. It registered no response. I returned to my home in a different city and the inevitable happened within a week's time. The only grandparent I had ever known, the only being who had given me so much of her love and attention unconditionally, the confidante and play mate of my childhood, was finally gone! I felt as if a part of me had gone with her and every thought of grandma makes my eyes brim with tears and I miss her today as much as I have done over all these years.

I still have the brass utensils, that have a pride of place in my curios display. Every time I polish them, I go into a reverie. I long to have her once more with me, and tell her what an angel she had been and how her visits had brightened my rather drab childhood, and how I regret not having the opportunity to express my gratitude. I want to make up for the disappointments she had faced for being childlike and want her to know how she had featured prominently in my thoughts in all the years of my youth though she had only touched me in the limbo of early childhood.

And I treasure those tiny vessels to pass on to my yet to be born grandchildren, and with them the selfless, benevolent love that survives and abides in my heart today.

[Translation] ஆண்டாளின் நாச்சியார் திருமொழி - கற்பூரம் நாறுமோ

    What form does bhakti take? In deep veneration it evokes intense spirituality. Can one express romantic love towards the divine? Great s...