Thinking about June

Half the year has passed already!
The sun tinged roads are awash with monsoon drizzle, the usual sun perched dry sunken leaves are getting rejuvenated with new leaves.

A change is coming.

Last few months had been quite difficult for me, one death and one terminal illness had sunken my spirit. It is hard to see someone going away bit by bit, everyday. There has not been a single day, when I do not think about him and memorize the good times. A particular picture that comes to my mind very often, is a photograph, which I found, the other day from a stash of photographs, half faded and over exposed.

But it had something special; it captured a very special moment of my life.

I was in school then. I had every sign of becoming a good natured boy, short, bearded, unkempt hair, ultra thin moustache, and a complete disregard to (or thereby lack of) personal style. I am surrounded by my sister with boyish haircut and brothers, two of them sporting Spider-man colored tee-shirt. And there he stood, young, smart, dashing and handsome with neatly trimmed hair and casual khaki. It was taken against a backdrop of rural Jharkhand (Ghatshila) close to a river. A typical impromptu photo on Cannon Snapper, father’s very prized possession in those days!

I can see him towering over me. Time seem to have frozen in that photograph just like his piercing gaze and desire to live. I need to take a walk around that river tonight in dream; I have poses to give and hands to hold tightly.

Dasvadaniya

Today one of my grandmother passed away. 

It’s a strange feeling when someone close to you, passes away. It brings back collective set of memories which you like. If you have had fights or arguments with that person, all that fades away. All those suddenly becomes inconsequential. Only a smiling face remains in your memory stuck in certain age.

I know this blog post does not have much meaning and my words are rather incoherent, impromptu, but I have this uneasy feeling which I cannot describe, a heartache of course, which is forcing me to write.

She was a courageous lady who loved life and eating specifically. When people in this part of world, at her age, often turns vegetarian and ritualistic, she firmly stood as modern as possible, watching latest movies to eating latest Chinese dishes. She had tremendous affection for her only son and equal admiration for make up ability.

Today being last day of Hindu calendar, her passing away marks an era closing down for me. An era of childhood fun, disobedience and food. I will cherish the trips, I had with her to Southern India and our culinary extravaganza.

I will miss her affection and gentle gaze. May my Guru give her peace and solace which she rightly deserved.

Hari Om Tat Sat.

Sunday

Sundays have been very different over last few months, on a positive side, I must admit. Being married has its perks. Waking up lazily, only to be served with Darjeeling tea followed by a brief breakfast and running to local market to buy tomatoes. Its different than what I had experienced before.

Sunday's were special days when I was a kid. My father, being in medical profession, invariably went missing for most part of the weeks traveling across different hospitals, only to turn up on Sundays with a smile and a big bag of chicken brought from local bazaar. Whatever, anger my Mum had would then vanish within a few minutes and she start cooking vigorously putting all her skills and ample amount of green chillies, clarified butter and garlic. Entire house would start smelling like as if a feast is going to start. Smiles, laughter could be heard across the narrow 'kuccha' lanes.

I would sit near my father and start updating him on all the major life changing events that stuck me that week, like me taking a catch on a friendly cricket match after running 20 meters! or what my life science teacher told me about frogs digestive process. He would listen patiently and query as if he was present in those situations all along. I wondered how he always has positive answers to every aspects of life!

There was used to be palpable excitement on seeing father, hearing his stories and patiently waiting for the lunch to be prepared. Somehow, wait gets over, I would quickly rush for a cold shower, sit on ground on straw mat for my Mum to serve hot fragmented rice, spicy chicken curry, and my favorite poppy seeds fried with onion (Posto-bhaja).

I can still smell its fragrance on my hand, my heart beat stills goes fast when thought about the way I used jump around with wooden stick pretending to be warrior on seeing my father and randomly hug my Mum for no apparent reasons.

I still search for those Sunday's in my hand.