Childhood snapshots - (in the memory of my late father)

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                  Blogging from A to Z [April 2015]

A childhood buried

across the border

a yellow tri-cycle
shared with siblings
a permanent bite mark
on the left earlobe
for an extra dollop of butter

watermelons thrown in wells to cool
delicacies cooking all day
in mud pots on slow fire

radios as magic boxes

with voices trapped

djinns and fairies

who could light a bulb

in Rawalpindi*

 

a school across the river

where first alphabet was Urdu

in black homemade ink

on wooden writing boards

swimming lessons

self-taught in Jhelum**

religion a happy word

and trains that could

one day bring FREEDOM

 

playing hide and seek

on full moon nights

in the cobbled lanes

fields, cow sheds

 

and one day a label

that stuck lifelong

- Refugee

 

He chose a full moon night

to say the final goodbye
 

I'd like to believe

they were waiting

up there

Kartar, Ashfaq

and others whose names
I didn't know

to play hide and seek

around the moon.

 

* Rawalpindi is a city in Pakistan, close to where my father was born in 1934.

** Jhelum is a vast river where my father learned to swim with his childhood friends.

 

 

Blessing of being a BIBLIOPHILE- in the memory of my late father

                                       Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015 ]

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In the various homes that I have lived in since I ever remember there was always less space and more books. On the shelves, side tables, bed boxes even wardrobes. My mother who was herself a teacher and is an avid reader till date did not understand me- as to what kind of a girl would put her dresses aside to make more room for books.

Where did I get my first taste of books from?

As old timers in Shimla will tell you, in the extreme last segment of shops on The Mall, towards the HPTDC lift there used to be the old Asia Book House. Whenever and that means every time I would go there papa would buy me a book- a book to read, a sketchbook, a drawing book anything that had a world of wonder enclosed in its covers.

My first ever that I remember clearly was the abridged version of The Count of Monte Cristo. Then came the write-n-wipe ones which were such a novelty then, the hardbound, the imported ones,the fiction, biographies. I was given every genre to try my hands on.

For every small or big achievement, for every occasion I was given a book, memberships to libraries and every possibly opportunity to have and read books. Books are my ticket to the millions of lives I can't possibly live in this one, guardian angels who never give up on me.

I always feel that best fragrance on this planet is not some exotic bottled perfume,  next in line to the fragrance of fresh rain on the parched soil is the fragrance of old books, of libraries, of book stores.

My father himself was not an avid reader. Most of the books he had were technical/professional but he took great care of them and loved them. He had once told me that when he was an engineering student there were no Xerox machines so if one student had a particular sought after book there used to be a waiting list in college to get that book for one day.

So maybe he ensured that I will have no waiting list for books. A day he passed away I was reading Tuesdays with Morrie and a line stood out - Death ends a life not a relationship.

After he passed away,as is customary,I was giving away his things but I kept back one of his books- Industrial Engineering. A hard bound, faded grey cover, from his student days. Its subject matter means nothing to me, but its yellow pages will always remind me that one of my best blessings from my father is my love for books.

Strangely my little one loves books too and I hope some day she knows that this love for books is a blessing.

Aide-memoire ( in the memory of my late father)

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015 ]

 

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from the cold,hard
deathbed in a hospital
he uttered a monosyllable
into the phone
I knew it was
the last fragment
of his voice for me.
*********************************
No I was not
hoping against hope
as the kilometres lessened
I knew the distance
between papa and me
had extended
to a fixed forever
that would never change
**********************************
The sunset that day
was special
he had not waited
long enough for it
and it was the first
of the many for me
without him
breathing
***********************************
I walked in
he lay there
a corpse for the world
for me my dad still
I was thinking about
was mom's medicine
and phone calls to be made
***********************************
I didn't stop my tears
there weren't any
I was aware he was gone
but all I felt
was a deep hollow
inside me
emptiness and calm
************************************
His body was being bathed
ritual after ritual
tie the toes
fold the hands
the smile gone
the eyes closed
I ran my fingers through his hair
one last time
I am sure he liked it
so did I
************************************
My child touched his forehead
kissed his cheek
she had been told
he will always love her
I know she will
always know
Karmic connections
************************************
the van was shaky
I had put my hand on his chest
the chanting
was the only rhythm
my heart was
as still as his.
*************************************
He was placed on the pyre
He had once told me
about the five elements
I knew what I had to do
fire was the final test.
*************************************
Most people had left
two more pyres were afire
I kept looking at the flames
long and close enough
to feel the ash
on my skin
in my breath
peace, peace, peace
I knew much later
I was chanting.
**************************************
The beauty of the moment
of letting go
is the clarity
about who I am
and what I want
***************************************
I had read somewhere
nothing ever goes away
until it has taught us
what we need to know
I washed a few pieces of bone
and put them in a pot
I learnt the meaning of life
************************************
thunder and lightening
a journey within a journey
darkness and flickers of light
every one travelling
none of them know
*************************************
all that remained
of his eight decades
was a mud pot
and a handful of remains
I was not listening to the priest
the stairs on the Ghat were cold
with my freezing hands
inside the water
He and I touched freedom
************************************
The house was the same
the world wasn't
I lay in his bed
I packed his medicines
touched his papers
his clothes
life had to go on
I kept asking why
***********************************
Yes I was smiling
laughing aloud
because he liked me that way
and I wanted him
to know
I was fine
***********************************
some fond memory
and mummy would smile
for a few seconds
before she broke down again
he knew I was trying
***********************************
rituals, visitors
cheque books, bills
lawyers, offices
papers, decisions
only in the pauses
I closed my eyes
and we met
************************************
finally me and mom
alone
nothing to tell each other
she made me some tea
I combed her hair
************************************
my little one plays
stone-paper-scissor
a death is a litmus test
so many real faces revealed
*************************************
grief is a long lonely road
I look for Rumi, Buddha
they were right
the wound is where
the light enters
the journey is
actually the destination
*************************************
one journey has ended
another lonely one continues
in a sacred fire
all my fears melted
memories cling
like a fragrance
now I know
everything is temporary
so why worry
***************************************