Let me be

A woman of butterfly dreams
Fluttering in a thousand shades and prints

A woman of childish whims and fantasies
Invigorating and ebbing like ocean tides

A woman of shea butter self-love
Waxing the milky vanity and goodness

A woman of firefly fury
Burning injustice and blasting irrational expectations

A woman of ghoulish solitude

Silencing howls of societal jackals

A woman of “mundaned” nothingness
Couch 'potatoing' to pulp and gluttoning indulgence

A woman of parachuting explorations
Leaving behind strings and landing into unknowns

Let me be
Break out or shut down the emotional drama
Scream or silence the bedraggled thoughts
Carve out of accumulate the resentments
Smile or drown in the tears of self-pity

I choose the verb, the noun and the adjective
I choose to be
One heartbeat here, one 'womanday' there
 
 
 

Dosa, coffee and the gopurams

 I found my ambrosia in Tamil Nadu…drinking like the gods, into the cultural and historic splendors of Tamil Nadu…indulging and getting drunk on the experiences that Thanjavur and Chettinad regions of Tamil Nadu threw up for me in the my recent trip.

The short but eventful trip started on a good note at the Thamayur fort overlooking the lush greenery and straight charcoal roads of Tamilnadu that slice through the symetrical patches of agricultural spaces. And then into the Athangudi region; famous for its floral and colourful tiles that adorn the athangudi mansion and beautify its floors and open courtyards. The wooden pillars, open coutryards and colourful array of ceilings and floors do release a whiff of history and you could almost imagine a motley of cousins playing hide-and-seek in that large space of peace, history and love.

The next stop was the heritage streets of Chettinad – yet another aesthetic corner of the country where colours, weaves, pillars and mansions will greet you at every corner of every street in this heritage village. I ticked all the boxes including exploring Chettinad mansions, shopping for Chettinad weaves and sinking my teeth into Chettinad cuisine and yet I felt like there was more than what I experienced. Like a coil of unexplored history, untold tales lay there at some corner of the street, like the corridors wanted to whisper more stories of yonder and as if the streets wanted to speak out..but I moved ahead promising to return for more exploration..

The journey continued as it took me to the monument that I was eagerly waiting for – the magnetic pull of the “Periya Kovil” in Thanjavur. Literaly meaning the “Big Temple”, there can never be a more apt name for a monument…it was monumental and gigantic in all senses – the façade, the gopurams, the designs, the expanse of space and the grandeur of the idols and carvings aplenty!

For the “hardly religious” me, the first sight of the imposing façade of the temple ramparts took me to a step closer to humility, towards subservience and a perhaps to the true sense of “godliness”. For what can explain the sheer size, skill and the marvels that was built thousand years back and still stand tall and strong despite the attacks and natural events of the centuries that the temple has witnessed?

I was almost cockeyed in the mission to take in every carving, every sculpture, trying to size, capture, imagine and admire all in that few hours at the temple. That little morning was perhaps as close to divinity as I could ever get – the breeze nestling into my hair, the silence cleansing me and this godmotherly structure towering and soothing me into an era of monarchs, perhaps gods and marvelous cratfmanship..

Unchartered walks through Thanjavur city was next on the agenda – where the delicious food of Ariya Bhavan (since 1964 said the board proudly) and the must-have coffee fueled me onwards..Of course I had to pick up the nimble wobbly Thanjavur doll to add to my menagerie and dig into my  “Chennai Tamil” with the autodrivers. And finally the triumph of getting into a local bus and getting a free ride (being a woman has perks in Tamil Nadu I guessed) was one of the many treasured moments that I would take home from Thanjavur!

I was not yet ready to bid goodbye and so there was yet another trip back to the temple but at dusk when the city twinkled and the temple shone bright and beautiful..some more walks and some more peace and I refused to let the trip end ..so we headed back to the little “square” and yet again indulged in the “dosa coffee” routine before heading back home…the last image of the magnificent gopuram blurring into the rearview mirror staying with me as the picture of Thanjavur…my heart richer and my mind calmer – the  magic of dosa, coffee and gopurams!

Aroha for the mountains

 Let the mountains happen

Responsibilities and liabilities of housekeeping

Disappear in the mist that engulfs

Drumming noise of mundane chores

Dissolves in the silence of the mountains

Potpourri of things to do and achieve

Drowns in the saphire blue of the lake

Stink of urban callousness

Swept away by the aroma of the meadows

Confusion of myriad thoughts

Escape into the blue expanse of the sky

Seriousness of urban life

Mocked away by carefree sparrows aplenty

Complexity of adulthood

Simplified by rules of farm living

Life is slow

Life is good

Just let the mountains happen to you

 

 

The independence we love

The independence that we celebrate

Not the half-price sale in the consumer kingdom

Not the white and saffron kurtas that tumbles out the closet

Not the long-weekend frenzy on the highways

Not the lip-service speeches of a long-forgotten history

The past that broke us free from slavery

The memory of queens that ruled and reigned sans reservation

The rationality and literature that filled our conversations

The decisions where logic and information was the foundation

Not the price tag of a silky tricolor flag

Not the one-day honor for our cape-less heroes

Not the pride of a miniscule billionaire club

Not the desperation to divide and sub-divide

The unity that transcended beyond the lines drawn

The diversity that came with actions not words

The equality that was equal at home and beyond the courtyard

The country that we inherited free, strong and forward!

Just another day

 Just another day

To the women who slog, smile and shine

To the fathers who brought us up to keep our head high and leveled

To the mothers who silently infused strength into our conscience

To the sisters who cuddled and crushed our adolescent fears

To the aunts who guided and built our ‘acne-hit’ confidence

To the girl gangs who shared a tear, a laugh and the cheesecake with love

To the boy gangs who helped shed our inhibitions and take on life

To the partners who gave us space to grow and expand into shapes of choice

To the children who ironed out our rough edges and let us exhale simple love

To us for the struggles we stomp at our feet everyday

To us for the joys that we search and find in our journeys

To us for the success we define 

To us for the version of us that we adore

Reflections

Reflections

It is the time

 

When the factory winds down

Shifts shorter and sweat dwindling

Output lesser and the smoke less toxic

 

The year that was regurgitates

 

You produced a lot all blood and sweat

You utilized resources to full capacity

You broke even on some capitalist measures

You indulged in the sweet sound of money making

 

But consumed more than you can regenerate

But worked your machinery to breakdowns

But depreciated your best assets

But let off fury and short fuses into the environment

 

Polluting some good times

Breaking into some good moments

 

So when you discharge your batteries

 

You see the big hole within

The edges that roughed out

The sediments of impurity within

The backs broken with hard work

 

But the clouds of impurity clear away

‘Humdum’ of the machinery less noisy

Whirring of the brain less prevalent

 

That’s when you start to sense

 

Ambitions bowing down to peace

Money settling into the bylanes

Love and you on the highway for a bit

 

A time to savour, oil your machinery

Straighten your bends, clear the soot within

 

The new year is here

 

 

 

 

Nine Arabian Nights

How do I even try to describe a trip to a place that was “home” for all of my childhood and adolescence? As I touched down into the warm (literally and figurately) city of Muscat, the anomaly of visiting Oman as a tourist and an adult was not lost on me…A place that I used to come back to after vacations for years had turned into a vacation spot, an itinerary and a ‘trip’ with a return date.

From the moment I saw the familiar Omani ‘Khanjar’ emblem, a floodgate of memories opened up and I was reduced to an emotional lump of flesh… trying to pick memories from the past and reliving each moment to the fullest..From finding an exhilarating ‘high’ shopping for stationery in Shah Nagar Das to experiencing nirvana sipping Al Marai orange juice – the memory tripping was taking a turn towards maniacal obsession..

And if that wasn’t enough, here I was walking through the corridors of my school, my apartment and my father’s office…the places that have been witness to my childish tantrums, my adolescent secrets, my pigtail dreams and a wholesome past that never would return – the past that was about the protective parental halo of ‘amma and achan’.

Muscat unfurled its exotic carpet of warmth, love like it always does – cuddling, fondling and engulfing me in a cocoon of childish excitement.. friends, family and teachers alike hugging me back to my past, to the protective love that is so ‘Muscatish’ and I forgot for the moments that I was there about my adult life back in India..

A muddled itinerary of sorts was slowly shaping up –throwing in nostalgia, touristy explorations, exuberant shopping, culture soaking and just simple dinner conversations with all the folks that I loved and left behind in Muscat.. Perhaps I ignored the tourist angle of Oman while I lived there and this trip was to make amends for all that and more - so I put on my ‘traveller shades’ and saw a whole new world of Omani culture, natural wonders and history coming alive and beckoning me to its midst.

Sadly, Oman has been in the shadow of its glitzy cousin – Dubai and hasn’t got its deserving  place on the tourist map of “Gulf”. The country boasts of a rich basket of experiences to offer – from white sands, azure blue water bodies nestled amongst majestic mountain ranges to culturally enriching “souqs” and historic forts ;and urbane architecture that keeps its head firm in its culture and yet doesn’t lose its ‘suave’ touch..

As if starting on a ‘executive summary’, we started the tour with Bait al Zubair museum that gave us a quick peep into Omani history, culture and wonders and we followed the trail to start with old Muscat spots. The Corniche lay wide and blue ahead of us- the Gulf of Oman staring at us with a stark combination of the old ‘dhow’ boat and luxury ships dotting the blue waters. We then took in the intoxication of incense, spices and silvers at the Muttrah souq where history, bargains, good steals and a small packet of Arabic Mehndi was all won and conquered for the day.

We then ventured into the historic city of Nizwa where we could take in the history and culture of Oman as we awed at the Nizwa fort and savoured the gooey brown softness of Omani Halwa at the old market. And off we were - up the Al Hajar mountains, through winding roads of ruggedness and the mountains changing from differing shades of browns and greys. And the zenith was just right – the temperatures dipping, the silence mesmerizing, and the vast expanse of the mountain range and the tiny mountain sheep truly enchanting. The journey then took us to the narrow, old ‘palm treed’ streets of historic villages, ruins and finally ended with a coffee at Halwa Coffee as we perched atop the café and witnessed the Arabian sun dipping into the mountains – coy, mysterious and striking a picture that was worth all the sweat and the climb!

Our next adventure was into the city of Sur through a beautiful drive through the Arabian sea coast, the pristine white pebbles flirting with the turquoise blue waters and bewitching us. We explored a bit of the city as the evening took us to the lighthouse, the Dhow (wooden boat) making factory and a small quaint shop with trinkets and knick-knacks from the past..we downed a “Karak chai” at one of the million Mallu run tea shops and was ready to head to the turtle beach for a thrilling turtle watching experience like never before…

A small group of us walked into the beach at night, guided by our tour guide and a small red light torch, stumbling, falling into deep pits dug up by gigantic turtles as we waited to witness the nesting phenomenon that moonlight night..And lady luck shone bright on us as saw huge shelled mama turtles laying eggs, working hard through the night to cover up and protect her offprings. And as we lingered further, voila we got to see baby turtles just out of their eggs toddling and tottering towards the beach! The excitement and the experience kept us awake through midnight and we rested for the night as excited as kids.

And when I ticked off mountain, nature, beaches, turtles, city, culture, I was ready to hang up my boots but no this escapade wasn’t ending anytime soon..I was on the way to explore the unique ‘sink hole’ blue waters followed by Wadi Shab and Shams – natural emerald water pools right in the middle of the desert. And we drove right into the thrill of the wavy patterned sand dunes of the Arabian desert…rightfully fitting into an Arab costume and interacting with a Bedouin tribe – here we were right in the middle of this Arabian experience – dune bashing, camel riding and simply letting the sand trickle through my hands – a silky warmness and my legs sinking into its softness..the glistening heat creating a mirage of picture perfectednes..we bid good bye to the little Bedouin boy from the tent and headed back to the city slowly becoming a part of this country like never before..

The next few days started whizzing by as I ticked each box off my wishlist - Oman chipsing, Twixing, walking through the old school library, hugging teachers, giggling with friends, conversing with friends who are family and the I fell in love all over again with the city…like an old school crush who looked just the same but with a bit of salt and pepper and yet the age adding to the elegance than taking away any of the charm…the city wooed me all over again and I was just another girl in hopeless love..

The moments of final shopping, drinking in the culture and the farewells and wretched goodbyes and rearview mirrors loomed large now. I tried hard not to think of the ‘end’ and continued in an uncontrollable urge to buy random chips,cheese, chocolates and cookies from local supermarkets, trying to gather and accumulate as much memories and memoirs to take home…and I really thought that a packed suitcase and the whirlwind itinerary would leave me satiated and satisfied…

What sheer ignorance of my heart’s mechanism..the love and longingness had never really gone away– it lay dormant and the trip activated it into a new frequency that hummed through my heart and starting pounding as I touched down into India. Almost like a childhood love that expanded to teenage romance and now had fixed into a permanent love in my adult heart-  there was never an escape.. of the memories of home, of the love and warmth of the city and the circle of love that were and continue to surrounded me..makes me wonder why I left this place in the first place?

Homesickness had taken a new ugly turn and I was destined to live with the longingness as I touched down to the Indian soil – a few packet of chips and some trinkets the only saviour to help me stay close to this rejuvenated love..