First kiss (and other firsts)

Before you get any ideas from the title, my dear readers, bored as you are, this is about Jishnu too. All first-time parents think it a great deal each time their child does something for the first time, and I am no exception. And how could I not be overwhelmed when this first something is a kiss! Jishnu is six months old today and has declared himself a big boy with a celebratory kiss. All the obsessive kissing by all and sundry seems to have finally taught him to reciprocate, because when I kissed him yesterday and then held his mouth close to my cheek, he half opened it, poked out his li’l pink tongue and gave me a little licky-kissy!! I was overjoyed! But, wait a minute; was this behaviour just part of his put-everything-in-mouth repertoire? Viren and I decided to repeat the experiment and this time, the J-by-now dad took his turn. Vir kissed him and Jish kissed him right back! Yippee! But hey, Vir and I will stick to our solemn promise that when he learns to point to his body parts and say ABC, we will not bore our guests with demonstrations. For a third party, seeing a baby point to his toesies and belly and nosie and stuff is utterly boring, while the doting parents coo with pride.
But, the incentives are starting to roll by. Though I still may not be at the point where I can claim that it was all worth it, I sure am beginning to collect my reward points. Wonder when I’ll be able to accumulate enough and claim that big gift. Although it is already kind of rewarding to see others covet what I own. My bundle of cuteness seems to win most hearts and leaves them wanting for more, especially my parents. My father is reportedly losing his mind in pining for his grandson and is apparently often caught talking to himself reminiscing about the time Jishnu and I spent there. He, of course, is getting ‘impatienter’ by the minute as the day of our visit to Nagpur comes close. We’ll be there on March 24, 2010 for his annaprasan that will be held the next day. I hear the obsessive grandparents have managed to increase the guest list from 100 to 200 already. Phew!
Even as I get ready to pack my bags, it seems surreal that my baby is already 6-months-old - old enough to be offered rice and a dozen other goodies and have a huge function in his honour. When I was spending those difficult first days, it seemed like he’d never grow up. But he has, and so have I. I am a 6-month-old mom too and no one’s congratulating me. Not fair!

The last six months have been the most eventful months of my life. Even as I fit into most of my pre-pregnancy clothes again, I don’t seem to fit into my old skin anymore. My being in now full of Jishnuisms and has been emptied of all sense of false ego. It hurts to falsify my very own, my precious ego, but once a baby comes into your life, there’s very little space left for anything else. The first thing to go out of the window is ones luxury to ‘eww’. Dude, when you gotta clean smelly shit every day off the baby’s bum and then his nappy and then perhaps the bedsheet, there’s no ‘ewwing’ away. Another luxury that is taken away is procrastination. You cannot not sterilise his bottles, you cannot not feed him, massage him, bathe him and of course, you cannot not wash his nappies. When a baby is hungry, he is hungry. Boss, you just have to get off your arse and feed him, even if it is bloody 2.30 in the morning and perhaps again at 5.30!
  Also, time takes on such value that you can never imagine as a non-parent. You sleep when baby sleeps, and of course finish as many chores around the house as you can. There’s little or no time left to sit back, relax with that proverbial cup of coffee or curl up with your favourite novel. Heck, there’s no time to even fight with your spouse. I’ve surprised myself so much with a change in attitude that sometimes I find it difficult to believe it is I who buries the hatchet so fast and easy. I could nurse a grouse for weeks before Jishnu was born. Now, I just get on with an argument and pretend it’s all over in a jiffy just so I don’t lose out on Vir’s help with the babyworks. I mean, there’s no point anymore in carrying on with an argument if it means I have to do the ‘night duty’ everyday. I know now where and when all mothers acquire the skill of making peace. Lack of time, my dears, teaches it all.

Babies also teach you patience. They teach you that even life seems like it’s offering you no choices, it’s not so bad; because every now and then there is a first that you can fawn over. Ever so often you realise how priceless the exclusivity of those first moments is. Whether it’s your baby’s first chin up, first roll over, first sleep on his own, first intentional smile, first crawl, first sitting up, first snuggle, first tooth, first standing up, first solid meal, first chuckle and a myriad other firsts, each one of them is special. As you scramble to get your baby record book to pen in the date and time of seemingly irrelevant information to a stranger, they become your most prized possessions.

And then one day, there is your first realisation that life without your little one isn’t quite fun.

Dearest Jishnu...

     

My dearest Jishnu,

the use of this superlative endearment has never sounded so apt before. Yes, I may have used it for certain persons I've loved before, but I know now that it'll fit only you for the rest of my life.
       It's 2 a.m. of  a hot night of my first month in Mumbai and having woken up for your midnight feed, I can't go back to sleep. I have a rather vicious pain in my neck (literally) that even your daddy's magic massage couldn't drive away. It's good in a way 'coz it has my head swarming with thoughts that I need written down. And these thoughts, my son, happen to constitute the first love cum apology cum confession letter of your life.
This letter also happens to be from the first woman of your life. (I'm smug at the thought that I shall forever be the mistress of this title, whether or not you, your girlfriend/s and your wife like it).
       Yes, my darling, I love being the first woman of your life, but it has come with a lot of pains...in my neck and otherwise.The list of my complaints up to this point about pregnancy and parenting have been endless, but you know what sweetheart, if it were between your life and mine, I'd give mine away without a moment's consideration (yes baby, I know mamma's being a li'l dramatic, but that's her). I love you a lot now, even when you've not shared six whole months of your life with me and by the time you read and truly understand these words of your 26-year-old mother, she will have loved you a hell lot more.
        Anyway, coming back to this pain in my neck that led my train of thoughts from bad to real bad. I wondered what would happen if this pain were the result of some brain tumour and I died before I could tell you how much I loved you. I wondered what i would do if someone told me that tonight was my last night with you. And believe me, my light, I couldn't bear the thoughts. We all take relationships for granted, and you tell me Jish, how can I think otherwise of you when I made you, when you're part of me? Yet sweetie, life is unpredictable. If there were indeed no tomorrow, mamma would like you to know how precious you are to her.
         Mamma loves you Jish; but she'd like to add that she loves herself too. Your Diva (maternal grandma) taught me this valuable lesson. If you're not happy, you cannot make anybody around you happy. And my happiness, my love, lies in my work. It defines, to a huge extent, who I am. It gives me an enormous amount of self-worth. So, sweetie, each time I go to work leaving you behind, don't curse me. I know, there may be times when you don't want me to go, and I'll have to break your little heart; but when I am back from a fulfilled day, I'll enjoy every second with you. I don't want motherhood to be trap for me, sweetheart. This might sound incredibly selfish to you before you are, say, 25; but I'm sure you'll understand me and forgive me for the times I wasn't around when you needed me.
         These are the extents of my presumptions darling. These are the things I take for granted. I'm presuming you'll need me, you'll be angry with me, you'll forgive  me and at the end of it all, you'll love me. I hope for all this and more than these pages can hold. Jishnu, firstborns are always burdened by the biggest of their parents' expectations. And because I know that you'll never have any siblings, you'll have to deal with being an only child all your life. I also know that it will put on me the expectation of being the 'only parent'. I'll try to fulfill them all. I promise. Trust me, every mommy wants to be a good mommy. But I want to be one on my terms. I don't want you to idolize me. No, that's too great a responsibility. I'll love you and protect you with all my might, but I want my inner being to be content too. I don't want to go on making those sacrifices for you that will hurt my spirit, those which will make me want to ask you to return the 'favour', those which will make me wonder what happened to my life at the end of it all.
          Jish, I'm scared of the day I feel I've forgotten myself in raising you and find you retorting "I didn't ask you to". But, I'll try my best to never let that day come...if there is a tomorrow. For here and now,

I love you lots!
Mamma
  

Mommy and me

8/3/10

“Hello. Is that Urmi…Chanda Vaz?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“This is X from Y company.”
“Yes X, tell me.”
“This is about a job opportunity. Is this good time to speak to you?”
“Yea, sure.”
“You were working with Pune Mirror before this, right?”
“Right.”
“May I know why you left?”
“Yes, I’ve had a baby. Been on a maternity break for six months now.”

This is pretty much the crux of every conversation between me and potential recruiters nowadays.
Five months of giving those answers and I still feel like I’m talking about someone else sometimes.
I have a 5-month-old? Really?
For a reality this size, it seems to be taking awfully long to sink in. Or perhaps I’m clinging on too tightly to my old self. But for all the shorts and tees, motherhood has been insidiously creping into my personality. It’s like a peel of cling-wrap that you can’t technically see, but know is there.
Urmi Chanda-Vaz, who famously hates kids and continues to advice child-free couples to stay so, is changing. Slow, but firm and perhaps permanent changes seem to be taking place, sometimes even without my permission.
Motherhood’s made me hard. And motherhood’s made me soft. I’ve hardened to Jishnu’s tantrums and can let him wail alone in the bedroom while I do dishes in the kitchen. But a softy has been co-created too, who’ll run from any end of the planet to her son when he bitterly cries for his mamma.
Speaking of hard, my hands seem to have become pretty hard too. Pulling feeding bottles out of boiling water after they are sterilised doesn’t seem to hurt when my baby is hungry.
Jishnu still seems like a big, irritating interruption in my life more often than not, but I almost fired one of my maids the other day when she dared criticise him. (Okay, it wasn’t that bad. She just said, “Kitna rota hai yeh”.)
  Motherhood has become an incessant struggle about integrating who I was and who I am becoming. For the greater part, it is a job I don’t like, but want to do it perfectly, because any job worth doing is worth doing well.
  Motherhood has meant giving up a lot – a city, a job, a waist, a life and heck, even whatever was left of my intimate life what with Jishnu sleeping in our bed! Also, Jishnu has come between Viren and me in more ways than one. I hardly ever have the time, inclination or mental energy to invest in what used to be a very interesting partnership. It’s scary. I’m definitely not liking losing out on Vir because of Jishnu. But I don’t see myself doing anything about it, coz I’m so zonked all the time. Perhaps when I start working again and become an equal on all terms, including caring for our son and the household, will I be able to achieve that elusive work-life balance. Because, right now, the scale is more than skewed by seven and a half kilos of that incredibly cute pile of flesh that is my son, drawing me deeper into that inescapable mire called motherhood.

Best foot forward

 

Day 4, Mumbai

        It's my third day alone with Jish in the new house of 'new' Mumbai and I'm sitting here on the window seat writing this. That must mean I've not lost my marbles yet. That must mean it's not as bad as I thought it would be. That must mean I had some unknown reserves of fortitude someplace. That must mean the theory of first impressions is true. And all that must finally mean that Jishnu is a hard core 'first impressionist'. 

         Vir has always maintained that of our son. He says that our 5-month-old always puts his 'bestestest' foot forward. He eases you into what could be a not-so-nice situation. He leads you to believe you can easily put him to sleep, for instance, and as soon as you start strutting your confidence, he helps you land ground.

         I am almost beginning to believe Viren about this. 

        After living in utter aaram for the last four moths at my parents', with all my support systems in place, I was in absolute dread of the first day when I would be left 'alone with Jishnu'. "What the heck?", you may say, "He is only a baby...and he is yours!" 

       Yes, thanks for that grim reminder of my no-escape situation.

       Anyway, coming back to my boy and his first impression thingy. He used his trick on me and it seemed to have worked. Jishnu behaved like an absolute darling on that first 'dreadful' day. He slept lots, he didn't cry (much) for attention, played by himself, and not to forget, fed properly too. With such perfection personified, I managed to steal a little bit of siesta too. Wow, what a perfect day! Fresh and rested, Mumbai didn't seem all that intimidating, the colony didn't look as unfamiliar, and even the RJs blabbering away on the radio all day sounded like friends. All thanks to that angel child who didn't even demand to be put to sleep. So there, first day spent with a fundoo first impression on Mommy and she was ready to take on the world. By the beginning of day two, Jishnu was ready to rock and roll too...me that is.

         By the second 'alone' hour next morning, I was more than looking forward to my ever-obliging dad-in-law to come over and babysit both of us. Jishnu had thrown all the tantrums he knew of by then. But the day got over, as even the worst ones do. And when I lay down next to my baby, my back aching with carrying him around, my voice hoarse with singing lullabies, all I could do is feel sorry for the poor dear who had been bitten by mosquitoes all over his adorable sleeping face.

        By the end of the third day, I had not only managed to make sense of the stuff lying around the house, but also cooked a humble, but infinitely gratifying gobi ki subzi! Even while I fumbled around my new kitchen, Jish sat rather peacefully in his basket on the kitchen window and played with some of his toys. Joy!!

        That taking care of this little bundle of unpredictability by myself is possible, I'm beginning to believe. As I write this on my fourth 'alone, Mumbai' day, I surprise myself with what I've achieved. And to say the least, first impressions have definitely helped.   

     

         

Farewell…again

 

29.3.06, Pune

“The world is full of uncertainties, and all anxieties stem from our search for the certain”.

This was one of the lines quoted often in our Psychotherapy class by my favourite professor Dr Sathe, and something that made better sense.

Today I know why it appealed to me the way it did. I am standing on the crossroad of life, faced with many uncertainties. My life as a student, the walk to the university everyday, those endless chat sessions with friends in the canteen, is all getting over today. And like all good things in life, I don’t want it to end. It sure is scary to step out into the world of the unknown.

The last few days have been a dream. My friends from my MA class, other friends from Pune and I have had so much fun. Through journal submissions, job applications and hours in class and at the nearby photocopy-wallah’s shop, I’ve lived every moment and loved it, propelled perhaps by the urgency of fleeting time. Never before have I been so agonisingly aware of time. 10 days, a week, 5 days, 4, 3, yesterday and today: the countdown to my life of carefree abandon, where the most I’d have to worry about was giving my exams well. I feel frightened as I see ahead of me this huge mountain of responsibilities and struggle – as a professional, a wife, a mother and so many more. Shit!

Now it’s going to be barter all the way. You love and I’ll love you back, you work and I’ll pay you back, you become ideal and I’ll respect you back. I mean, no more of the free stuff! I wonder how many more times in life will I be allowed to toss over the foulest of my moods onto others as I did on my parents and friends and still be loved for who I am.

It’s six in the morning and my roommate, Avani, is still sound asleep. Outside my hostel room’s window, Pune looks as beautiful as ever. And here I am writing this piece with involuntary tears streaming down my cheeks. Damn! I hate goodbyes. I hate them so much! It’s going to be so hard to pack up half of my stuff later today and head home to Nagpur. Pune’s more home to me than anyplace in the world. I’m head-over-heels in love with this city. Shall I thank God for giving me an opportunity to spend two years of my life here or shall I beg Him to let me live here for some more time?
 

JLT

And then there were poems about those things that moved me in their small ways. Life, death, heartbreaks, power failures and a great many things that brought forth words just like that. My favourite among those and of all my poems is this one that was triggered by my love-at-first-sight for nature in a holiday to the North of India.

Her willing prisoner (2003)
This year in my trip
To the Himalayas,
I met this woman –
An incredibly beautiful lass.
Then amidst my worldly cares,
Entered beauty,
Into my transfixed stare.
She wore a blue headdress
And green skirts;
Though pretty as she was,
She looked like a flirt.
Her blouse dotted in brown
With pretty white lace,
Made a perfect match
To her fair face.
From that moment on,
When I first set eyes on her,
Her smile cast a spell
And set me on fire.
The twinkle in her eye,
Gave me a divine high;
And her rolling laughter,
Made me her willing prisoner.
The gait in her walk,
Was almost alcoholic,
And her merry talk,
Spoke only of fun and frolic.
Her enchanting voice,
Made promises of pleasure.
A touch of her icy hand,
Had warmth of infinite measure.
The wind in her hair,
Made the loveliest curls.
A million flowers she held,
In her hand, this girl.
By the sunshine and the moonlight,
The smooth skin of this dame;
Looked as if it would put,
A thousand diamonds to shame.
With her breath of incense,
She walked in the light.
Her charm thus led me seeking her,
Far into the night.
I called her by names,
Soft and sweet.
With stars above my head,
And the sand at my feet.
The moment I approached,
She changed her route.
Untiringly yet, I followed her,
In close pursuit.
She kept hiding,
Behind trees and rocks and hills.
But I walked on and searched,
By roads and men and mills.
Long after, tired of her game,
Of hide and seek and flirtation,
I sat me down,
With heartache and desperation.
Then a familiar sound drifted into the air,
And I opened my eyes slowly.
My joy knew no bounds,
As I saw her before me.
The startling revelations then,
In my life have made changes.
But why such games,
My dear Mother Ganges?

The Ebb (2002)
One does not dare
To see any more,
After looking around.
Life’s so unfair!
To suck the life out of
A new bud.
Our faiths in God,
Become an object of doubt.
Tears in a mother’s eyes,
Watching her lap emptied
Every day is an agony
And those pitiful sighs…
What helplessness and desperation
Before death’s cold stare.
All prayers are but fruitless
On fate’s cruel condemnation.
What? Ebb so soon
Of the new spring of  life
That is yet to taste the air outside
Yet to feel the warmth of noon
The equation is distasteful.
When the old yearn for death
The young ones go to their tombs.
Is life beautiful?

The Two Little Devils (2002)
The mind plays annoying games, you know?
With the naughty accompaniment of the heart.
You may get angry as you want,
But these guys are really very smart.
They bewilder and perplex,
And puzzle and confuse;
And if these were not enough,
They tempt and you cannot refuse!
They make you believe in improbabilities,
Then make you chase impossibilities.
And then it’s not long before you see
That they laugh at you in mockery.
Admonish them, they will abscond,
Reprimand, and they will race.
You try to catch and bind them,
And you’ll fall flat on your face.
With impatience and fortitude,
If you’ve learnt to tame,
These two little devils; I’ll wager
For your victory in life’s race.

…And The Heavens Weep In Concurrence (2002)
If the tears that flood
Are for an earnest sorrow,
The oceans will show reverence
And the heavens weep in concurrence.
Sighs that are heaved,
From a heavy bosom,
Make the winds blow in turbulence,
And the heavens weep in concurrence.
An intense pain
That wrecks the wretched self,
Causes the earth to shake in violence
And the heavens weep in concurrence.
The anguish, the hurt
That make the heart burn
Setting mighty forests ablaze
And the heavens weep in concurrence.
When anger in vanquished,
And the soul surrenders
To calm, peace and silence,
No more will then
The heavens weep in concurrence.

Reflections (2003)
Today is the day –
I knew it was coming,
Coming my way.
And it has created ripples
In the still waters of my life.
Though none is responsible,
But I.
So, I’ll have to be alone
To face this strife.
But what is my fault?
Where did I go wrong?
Maybe it’s my heart,
Maybe it’s the pain it feels
Because it has been torn apart.
Or maybe it’s my mind,
Which cannot concentrate
And flutters like a butterfly.
Which does not understand
No matter how hard I try.
And why?
Why does it love the one
Who never cares?
Or maybe it’s me,
Who has caused hurt to another
And the tears that fall,
Fall off my eyes,
Is the price I’m paying
For every tear of the one I hurt,
Of the one who loved.
God, forgive me.

Perceptual Difficulties? (2002)
The race for money, the fight for status,
The hunger for fame, what will it get it? 

These are the questions, that scream and shout,
And make me look at life, with an uneasy doubt.

It is a difficult place, this world, to live in
A ruthless people, with a dishonest grin.

Is it only money that matters? Looks that way to me.
If there’s another perspective, I’d really like to see.

Competition, competition: is the only way to live.
Relationships are business; I take and you give.

Emotion, emotion…where are you?
You were a close friend in a time I once knew.

Name and fame and wealth and lust,
As they come about, bring along distrust.

Life is beautiful, as good as it can be,
But is a price tag attached? Or does it come free?

Nature is wonderful; so is the building of 100 feet.
Feelings are weaker than bricks and concrete.

Show me a world, where man has a heart,
Made of flesh, not steel and is God’s integral part.

Without Electricity (2000)
Last night we went out to see,
A play: mummy, daddy and me.
Blast it! When we reached
Loadshedding!
It kept us all waiting.
There I saw faces –
Dismayed, flustered, worried
And I saw people moving,
Hither, tither and harried.
It was then that I realized,
How helpless were we
Without electricity!
I sat there bored,
Observing, wondering –
Then a good look around
Set me thinking…
What was life like
When lights were not there?
To move on with their lives,
Did people not care?
Was it like what
Happened last night
When everything came to a standstill
When out when the light.
What did people do
Without an AC or a fan?
Did he act like this,
An impatient, restless man?
How did man spend time,
Without a TV or a tape?
And did he never cook,
Without a microwave?
Did he not clean the house
Without the vacuum cleaner?
Did he not do the dishes
Without a dishwasher?
And the housewives’ love
A washing machine by name,
About the laundry,
What was done for the same?
I’m sure things were done,
Before, as they are today.
The only difference is,
The change in the way.
Why can’t we live life
Like people in the past?
Where power wasn’t a factor,
In making happiness last.
Nah, I must be crazy,
Isn’t it too plain to see?
That we are plain crippled,
Without electricity! 

The Bong mom syndrome

I can see I am treading the path of typicality, and dreading it. But I can also see that I’m not making an iota of effort to stall my steps. Slowly, very slowly, I’m realising every woman’s worst fear: becoming like her mother. Though my mom is my heroine and all my life has been about emulating her; this bit, I never thought would become part of me – the Bengali mother.
Not that this stereotype needs any description, but for those who’ve not had the good (or bad) fortune of seeing one, she is obsession personified. Obsessing over her child/ren is the mark of the Bong mom. Most modern Bengali couples have two or less children and hence the capacity to obsess never wanes. And God help it if it’s a male child. This Baba-Bacha has to go through life without being able to hide even the tiniest of holes in his underwear from his doting Ma’s eyes. The biggest obsession, though, is feeding. Perhaps it is true of all mothers, but a Bong mother’s need to feed her child borders on the psychotic. I remember this family friend of my parents (a late-mother), who once sent her husband about town in search of fresh carrots in the middle of a scorching Nagpur summer afternoon just so that the little prince could have his glass of carrot juice.
It’s like a Bong mom’s life pauses till she hasn’t fed her child’s face.
That’s exactly what I caught myself doing yesterday. In an ironical coincidence, the revelation came about on my mother’s birthday. Since Jishnu is quite ‘travelable’ now, we decided to go out for dinner – mom, dad, I, Jish and some acquaintances. The couple, who accompanied us, also had a ten-month-old daughter. I was appalled at how underweight the child was and how ‘underconcerned’ her mother seemed. That perhaps triggered a comparison of our mother metres.   
    By the time everyone was ready to leave for the club, it was nearly quarter to nine – Jishnu’s time for sleep. Feeling rather bad for my sleepy child, I dressed him up and took him along. A bottle of milk, baby wipes, a diaper, a change of clothes, powder and a rattle, needless to say, were stuffed in that sack of mine that is my excuse for a handbag. Perhaps he had sensed the excitement, or it probably was one of his moods, but Jish hadn’t finished his last feed either. So since Jishnu was half-fed and half rested, his mother was have mad with anxiety by the time we sat settled on the plush couches of the club.
    My idea of an outing with Jishnu nowadays is a go-order-gulp-run home in an hour routine even when everything is hunky-dory. So, when I saw my dad first ordering a round of drinks and then lingering over two more, I seethed. ‘How can dad be so insensitive towards his nati’s needs?’ I grrred.
     While my darling son seemed happy to be savouring the new sights, I kept trying to give him the bottle every 15 minutes, and despairing each time he refused it. Only when he finally drank the full 4 ounces, did I enjoy a piece of fish tikka.
    Later that night when I lay in bed looking adoringly at my cherub’s sleeping face, I laughed at myself for having stepped into the shoes I so despised. Then suddenly I had this flash of insight that solved the mystery of the Bong mom syndrome.
    Bengalis love food. Food is the centre of their universe and the core of their identity. The greatest love of any Bong, even ahead of Tagore, is food. For some, it’s the whole point of living. Food for celebration, food for desperation, food for salvation; trust any Bengali to have his luchi-torkari and mishti ready.
    For such a food-loving race, then, it is hardly surprising that feeding the child is sacred duty. Bengali mothers can never let a child be. Hungry or not, food must be pushed down the gullet so that it becomes clear that this khoka or khuki belongs to a bhodroloker badi, who, God forbid, never eyes another’s meal.
    I hope Jishnu gets the advantage of being a multi-cultural child and not curse me for the rest of his life for those rolls of fat around his waist that refuse to come off.     
  

Lovey-dovey dos

Sound cheesy as they may, these poems are the result of real tugs at real heartstrings of a real love in a real relationship. These are the words of a young woman in love studying English literature.

Looking at tomorrow (2000)
To wake up in your arms each morning,
I dream of growing old with you.
I imagine walking hand in hand,
On grass wet with morning dew.
To bring you bed tea each morning,
Want to argue about the colour of your shirt,
I think of experiencing myriad emotions
With you – healings and hurt.
I want you to despair over my cooking
And smile at  my little victories,
I’d expect you to kiss me each time
I help you solve life’s mysteries.
With you life’s journey, my trusted friend,
I want to live a fairytale with you.
But when I say that; don’t mistake
That bickering and quarrels will be few.
Each time yet, I’ll come to make it up
And imagine you playfully turn away,
I dream of an evergreen relationship
Whence new love awaits each day.
I imagine being your support
And dream of you as my strength.
I know that saying matters; trust me,
Each word I’ve said, I’ve meant.

Farewell my trust (2000)
Yes,
That’s what I’ve always known you as
My faith, my trust.
Though it tears my heart apart,
Bid farewell I must.
Today we are separating,
Just bodily, not by mind.
I’ll not lose you forever
For you are one of a kind.
People come and they will do so.
They come and they leave,
But I’ll not let you go.
How can I do thus?
When you are my credence,
When I gain my strength from you,
When with you is my alliance.
But a goodbye is inevitable,
For you’ve played your part.
You have a fresh future ahead
And a new life to start.
Leave you might,
But I’ll detain your care.
For without it,
My soul will be bare.
Stifling a sob,
Striving to smile,
I take my virgin step
Towards my first lonely mile.
Through love and laughter,
And hatred and pain
You’ve been the best of friends,
And will be the same.
Of heartaches and disappointments,
I hereby apologise,
The depths of my remorse,
Perhaps you’ll never surmise.
The days, the months, the years,
Have swiftly passed us by
With you by my side
Within the blink of an eye.
I’ll treasure the times,
With you which I’ve spent
For in my life you were,
An angel God sent.
With a prayer for you,
This bond I untie,
Though it breaks my heart,
To say the last goodbye.

Stirrings (2001)
Talking about past tense,
Love seemed like nonsense.
Couldn’t see how intense
Is love’s pure effulgence.
It is only of late,
That she smiled upon me – fate.
Now united with my soul mate
After this interminable wait.
Love is an infinite possibility,
Exposing lucre’s naked frailty,
No more ego, nor vanity,
Trust is now the eternal verity.
A whole new world I see,
Come share the sight with me.
Boundless joy is love’s decree,
Will last us an eternity.
Love’s depths I cannot surmise
Not to fall in love, but rise,
Have no desire for paradise,
Just a place forever in his eyes.

Endeavour (2001)
Strange, how we never know,
What we’ve got,
Until it is time,
For us to let it go.
But I’ll live and love you everyday,
Through tears and through mirth,
And wait not till the day you leave
To know all that you are worth.
You’re my most precious dream,
The one that came true.
 Who has loved me for real
With pains, and seen me through.
With you love’s no mystery,
Oh, simple-hearted angel of mine.
It is bright. As pure daylight
Rips through despair to come forth
And shine.
Can I lock you in my heart?
Can I keep you forever?
For the love that is an eternity,
A promise, an endeavour?

Modern lovers speak (2001)
Love is as changeless as the sun
That every lover knows.
But expressions change over time,
This is how modern lovers speak.
And it goes…
“Why can’t it move the clock hands?
Love moves mountains they say.
The moments creep by inches,
Damn this long interminable day.
Are dreams just dreams?
Hopes seem fragile indeed.
But isn’t love tough?
Isn’t it strong enough
That we may name it our creed?
Indulgence, innocence,
Ambition, desperation…
Components or conflicts of love?
After shedding all the false shame,
Love leads to salvation.
Acceptance of society,
I guess is yet the bare necessity.
Do we dare ignore it?
Meanwhile, love me pure love
No doubt, no guilt, no fear, no pity.
SMS-ing our hearts out,
Phoning in our feelings.
Do we look clichéd?
No, I conclude I love you just like that,
Even as I stare at the ceiling.
‘Will you be my souse?’
Oh, it’s just a routine question
Over the click of a mouse.
What is true love?
Bank balance, a car, a house?
No, no again. Love is what I feel for you.
No logic, no reasons, even so
Neither a justification.
It’s plain love,
Not without expectations though.
I need you, you time and attention.
Not very unreasonable either.
Is it?
A future together?
Depends on fair weather!”
Long before the sun rises,
The sky glows with a warm red hue.
Love’s effulgence is brighter.
Lucky enough to bathe in this light,
Let’s cherish it – me and you. 

FIRST REBELLIONS

With the beginning of junior college, began the quest for finding myself. A school-going kid no more, I did what most teens do - rebel. My rebellion came in the form of an obsession with ISKCON. I fancied that place from the time I visited their headquarters in Mayapur, and when their centre came close to home in Nagpur, there was no stopping me. I’d spend hours at the temple, getting involved in more ways than one even as my parents protested louder and louder. Meanwhile, gathering puppy loves became another favourite game, much to the chagrin of my father. The next few poems were written in the phase where I found love and inspiration in God and some men.


I need your support (1999)
Lord, today I am really alone,
And am feeling very lonely.
I feel I have got none,
To care about me.
Nobody is concerned,
About my feelings.
There’s no one to bother,
About my dealings.
At this moment,
I feel very dejected.
Very avoided and very neglected.
The people who I thought loved me,
Are not by my side,
They have abandoned me,
To face the lone fight.
At this juncture,
I need you Lord,
I need your help,
I need your support.
You are always beside me,
And that I know,
In moments of sadness,
In moments of sorrow.
You comfort me,
When I am disheartened.
You give me courage,
When I’m frightened.
And yet I need you all the time,
All the moments, all the while.
Help me wake up
From the slumber of grief.
Help me be stronger,
And find some relief.
That is all I have to pray,
To you my Lord,
Throughout the day.
In the fight for justice,
In life’s court,
I need your help,
I need your support.

Your role in my life (1999)
I am so happy to have you near me,
And that life’s beautiful, I’m beginning to see.
You have brought back the smile on my face,
You have taught me to run life’s race.
You have brought joys in my life once more,
The joys which I never knew before.
Each time you see me; I feel a gush of pleasure,
So I think of you in my leisure.
You have occupied a very special place in my heart,
Though it’s only a short time since we met,
I fear you’ve become an inseparable part.
The very thought of separation scares me,
I don’t know without you how life’s going to be.
I do love you dearly with my soul and heart,
And our bond will be like “Till death do us part.”
Now you know what your role in my life is,
Do not forget me, cause I never will.


I’ll be missing you (1999)
 Right at this moment, I do not know,
The feeling I have is very new.
But all I can say is that when you go,
I’ll be desperately missing you.

You were my strength when I was weak,
Your love for me was so very true,
You were the help that I did seek,
And so I’ll be badly missing you.

Yu were dear to me right from the start,
Your value in my life I always knew.
You’ll be in a special place in my heart,
And I’ll be sorely missing you.

You’ll always be precious t me, so,
In every little thing I do,
In every little place I go,
I’ll be truly missing you.

I ask you to forgive me,
For the faults more or few,
And I always want you to see,
That I’ll be really missing you.

It’s time for you to leave this track,
And for me to bid you a sad adieu,
I’ll pray to God that you come back,
Because I’ll always be missing you.


I’m always there for you (1999)
If life is a song, I’ll sing it for you,
If life is a gift, I’ll bring it for you.
If life is a journey, I’ll walk for you.
If life is a burden, I’ll carry it through.
All I have to say is that,
Wherever you are,
And in whatever you do,
I’m always there for you.
If life is a mystery, I’ll solve it for you.
If life is a game, I’ll play it for you.
If life is a battle, I’ll fight it for you.
If life is a storm, I’ll brave it through.
All I have to say is that,
Wherever you are,
And in whatever you do,
I’m always there for you.
Because my love for you is pure like dew,
My love for you is really, really true.
In times when you’re sad,
I’ll be there by your side.
In times when you’re in pain,
With you I’ll abide.
Whenever you need me,
Call me through.
Because, my life, my love,
I’m always there for you.

An unspoken relation (1999)
The bee hums by,
And sits on the flower.
Sipping on nectar,
Buzzing by the bower.
Asks the shy flower,
“What is the meaning,
of this bond’s formation?”
Answers the bee,
“It’s an unspoken relation.”
The sky turns grey,
Clouds come fleeting by,
The peacock dances joyfully,
With spirits very high.
Asks the coy bird,
“What is the meaning,
of this union’s creation?”
Answers the cloud,
“It’s an unspoken relation.”
The moon rises high,
Shining in full splendour,
The tuberoses smile,
At his endeavour.
Ask the flowers softly,
“What is the meaning?
Of this affinity’s generation?”
Answers the moon,
“It’s an unspoken relation.”
I come near you,
And see you with arms open.
My heart skips a beat,
My feelings for you deepen.
I ask myself,
“What is the meaning,
of our attraction?”
Yet you answer,
“It’s an unspoken relation.”

Waiting for you (1999)
As the dawn arrives,
And the sun rises,
I wait for it to set,
So that the day soon passes.
But the sun seems to take,
Such a long time.
To cross the whole sky,
As the days crawls by.
A day seems like ages,
When I’m waiting for you,
So eagerly and anxiously,
With love so true.
I sit at the door,
And stare at the road.
Day after day,
Night after night
With such avidity,
At every sound or sight.
Repeating every hour,
“When will you come?
Oh, when will you come?”
I am waiting all the time,
Because without you,
I’m very lonesome.

The New Year (2000)
As the new sun dawns,
In the new sky,
The new dew settles,
And the new birds fly.
Now, I wonder why,
I call everything new
Though same is the sun,
The sky, birds and dew.
Is it an illusion?
Or is it my view?
Is it my imagination?
Or the year that is new?
Maybe it’s the new year,
Which instigates me,
All things seem different,
In whatever I see.
Hoping for the best,
Of all that’s yet to come.
A little bit of sorrow,
And happiness some.
With an open heart,
I welcome the coming days,
And add joy to every life,
That comes my way.

Your eyes (2000)
Your mysterious eyes,
What message do they give?
The look that they have,
Give me the strength to live.
Your assuring eyes,
To me what do they say?
That you’ll be mine,
Near me you’ll always stay.
Your sincere eyes,
What do they speak?
That you’ll hold me tight,
Whenever I’m weak.
Your promising eyes,
What do they tell?
That you’ll lift me up,
On my way if I fell.
Your affectionate eyes,
What feelings do they convey?
That you’ll love me life long,
On every path and way.
Your beautiful eyes,
Have the infinity of the sky,
The depth of the ocean
And the glow of stars so high.
Looking at your gentle eyes,
I’ll live my whole life,
Receiving courage from them,
I’ll win every strife.

Surrender (2001)
I had always lived life
In the way I’d wanted.
Taking things as they came,
Facing life undaunted.
Tragedies failed to rock me,
By defeats, I wasn’t deterred,
Emotions couldn’t move me,
In life, I’d never deterred.
My head was always high,
Held up with ego and pride,
But at that point in time,
You weren’t by my side.
You gave me selfless love,
So much love and ardor,
That it melted my cold heart
And made it your prisoner.
Your love it was
That made me humble and low.
It shattered my pretensions
And faltered my ego.
You taught me what
Life was all about.
It’s love, laughter and care,
Sincere and without a doubt.
Now that I know more
It’s then that I realize,
That with ego and pride I’d paid,
A very heavy price.
Knowing the world better,
I surrender at your feet,
And as a changed person now,
I admit my defeat.

Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll: Impressions

There are lots of tags we like to give ourselves, “I am this”, “I like that”, “I detest that other” and so on. But then comes along this tiny human being, who, while deceitfully appearing helpless, rips apart all such illusions and induces changes in you that you never conceived possible.

Before Jishnu, I thought Alice in Wonderland would remain at the top of my ‘unfavourite’ books’ list forever. But the other day, I not only bought a copy under the pretext of buying children’s books for my 5-month-old (yeah, right), but lapped it up pat. And like most adults visiting Alice in her wonderland after getting past the book’s face value, I loved it!

Satires and metaphors apart, Lewis Carroll is adorable in the way he blows into bits the ever so pedantic rule makers of the English language. It’s not hard to see why the lines “A cat without a grin…a grin without a cat” and “I see what I eat…I eat what I see” are memorable.

And oh, who can forget the celebrated absurdity of the plot? (A few months back though, I wouldn’t have found the Duchess’ behaviour towards her pig-baby absurd). Trapped in the grinding reality of raising a child, the sincerely improbable tale felt like a breath of fresh air. In the pages of the book, I found my own little rabbit hole where I could find some moments of carefree abandon.