An Ode to ‘The Forgotten’

 

An Ode to ‘The Forgotten’

They say I am too young
To step into their adult shoes
But insist I am too old
To squeeze into my blue-and-pink muse

I close my eyes to them
While my mind’s eye sees stars and sequins
Give way to laughing eyes, to whispered voices
To intoxicating scents of pine and pecans

Splashes of yellow, sprinkles of sanguine
Light streaming in with a weak whirlpool
Of glistening dust, through dainty spider webs
Bringing a hope of hope and a renewal of renewal

Dear street-smart-Friend-proud-at-four-when-I-was-three

I remember the bandhini tents we built
The wolves we destroyed in the guise of peacocks
With the rustle of your frock; you taught me
That purity of heart can cross the highest roadblocks

Hola guitarist-from-Brazil-forty-something-when-I-was-four

Strings, tabs, chords, plectrums
Wafted to me on clouds of ocean surf
You led me to summery decks, to billowing crow’s nests
To tirelessly seek a resilient lone blade in a parched turf

Salaam-walekum Bhaiya-graduating-at-university-when-I-was-five

From Tinkles and Blytons bought at the utopian Crossroads
To pedas, puns and phuljaris from your native Aligarh
Armed with a bowl of Ma’s terethipal, you made me realize
That someday I would fill a book about being loved and title it my memoir

Well, Perpetually-Fighting-Boy-at-elementary-when-I-was-six

We probably put cats and dogs to shame
How we seemed to live solely to arm-wrestle! 
Look at you now- shy, quiet, trapped within yourself
Will you come alive if I let you wrench my pigtails a little?

My darling Doggy-a-Survivor-on-the-Streets-when-I-was-seven

One Saturday morning, you welcomed me to love you
Frisky, frolicking, fiercely protective
Through wags and wuffs, you led me to a world
Where innocuous windows opened to many a life-changing perspective 

Howdy, Computer-obsessed-Capricorn-Cousin-when-I-was-eight

Your room with the Skull and Crossbones sign was an oasis for both of us
To Rahman’s music, stained glass and Jill of the Jungle would we escape
I blow pink poppies wistfully to the dry winds, hoping that
Forevermore, this lil’ sister’s prayers see you safe through every scrape

Respects to a Habit-clad-Angel-when-I-was-nine

A new school, a new world- it all seemed so harsh and lonely
But there you stood beside me, care and concern writ large on your face
The peaceful face I saw being lowered six feet under nine years later
For you, Sister V, humanity as my religion do I willingly embrace

Oye Cable-wala-on-a-Bajaj-vespo-when-I-was-ten

You brought the stardust of Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup home
With an introduction to Monk, Phoebe, Malcolm, Joey and Bart
Sitting on the roof, tweaking the antennae; you took me
On a journey to appreciate the imaginations of varied creators of art

Rambling down the bylanes of memory
I meet eyes, I meet voices
I leave myself at 10, leave to introspect
The next eight years of my choices

Incomplete does this Ode stand
And incomplete will it always be
For I remain eight, eighteen, eighty
All the time, all at once, you see

Till the next time
We meet on this Train of Time Travel
I dedicate this Ode
To You, for to You do I reveal, in You do I revel.  

 

Balloons and Butterflies

9th November 2008.. and I turn 18 years, 8 months. Not significant from the conventional perspective, but I rather like the sound of it. 

And since nobody blogs about me, I blog about my milestones at the risk of sounding narcisstic to the core!

How I miss being little! Wonder if I can travel back in time to being 8 months or 8 years old instead….

| View Show | Create Your Own

 

Stationery in Motion

Zap back ten years and offer a gift to this Child of the Universe at age 8- and guess what I would want.

Toys?

Barbie dolls?

Chocolates? *

No. 

Stationery!

An age-old liking compounded by my obsession for books and paper.

I loved collecting pencil boxes. Of course, as kids, all of us waged the my-box-is-better-than-yours-naanananaaa wars with classmates and buddies and got influenced by the shop-wale uncle’s this-one-is-the-latest-beta-imported-from-Bombay sales talk. In primary school, I remember flaunting a yellowish-green one shaped like a music system with a mathematical tables slider and a pink Alladin and Jasmine one which had a magnet mechanism to close shut in particular- although fashion trends and me are poles apart,I was quite a modest trendsetter in such matters!

I enjoyed art class-preferred painting over drawing and drew my own lines and colored within, much to the obvious irk of the teacher! Middle school art was enjoyable, but 50 students cooped to paint within the walls of four topics led to a lot of..ahem..originality! Primary school was the best- a class of 22, we enjoyed teaching the art instructor a craft or two which would require long hours of preliminary work under a shady tree we haunted during break. But the end result was always great- we used to puzzle our-6-year-selves with such innovative concepts of engineering that a weekend would be enough to start from scratch! 

Pens-you name it, I’ve had it-and I think the longest fad was for glitter pens. I have never liked markers much, although they are pretty handy. Like good fountain pens, love gel, and cannot stand certain brands of ball-point pens which make my wrists swell up due to the pressure I tend to apply while writing! Prefer cursive in black to blue anyday-an inclination formed due to my innate love for pencils.

We used pencils in Primary School, and somehow, the habit stuck through middle, high, higher secondary, and now-college. No, I do not stick a pencil in my pocket nor collect perfectly carved pencil sharpening with glitter or flowers, but academics at home and a dark or light leaded pencil-depending on my mood (and the lighting!)- pacify me to no describable end.

Love fancy letterpads! Had won so many from Tinkle, with Chamataka and Shikari Shambu dotting the sidelines, that it became an addiction. Hallmark and Archies in town were constant prey, and I had my own standard letterpad by the time I turned 12- a sophisticated yellow background with a sunflower framed in red in the bottom right corner. 

Now? With deadlines galore and tests on the double? With markets playing peka-boo? With that most important number on the television screen? 

Give me that envelope and let me scribble on it with a ball point refill! 

* That was ten years ago and I was a sincere kid. Now I am a mean Belgian- and-Swiss-dark-chocolate monster. Bring on le rain de la chocolate! Gimme gimme.. *growl*

 

Bubbles and Giggles

Mad Momma’s latest post got me contemplating…

Time is fleeting. Period.

Playing in the first rain, crouching beneath the slide to watch the rainbow fill the sky, running wildly on the beach with waves lapping at my feet and the winds toying with my hair, rolling like a puppy on grass wet with pearly drops of dew, enjoying the precious minutes slurping ice cream from pineapple-flavored cones, running around the garden with my tiny yellow toy car, playing ball with the garage wall, cycling and stopping every two minutes to help another ladybird cross the road, long strolls in the wilderness to watch the first flowers of spring bloom, making up songs and tunes and imagining my audience of trees and shrubs joining in… when did I stop doing all the things I used to enjoy wholeheartedly? Where have the lazy early evenings I used to spend on the balcony with a huge stack of books and my stuffed puppy by my side dissapeared? 

Tiny things in life.. but immense pleasure is derived from these moments. I vividly remember snuggling up to Dad with Ma trying to feed me soup when I would come down with my frequent fevers, my curious affinity towards tents, pools and fallen bird feathers, spreading rose and jasmine petals around the house, falling asleep under the starry skies, listening and loving Jazz and Latino music while blowing bubbles….

Life tends to get mechanical as we get older. People want routine which comes equiped with a sense of security. And the ones who prefer spontaneous activities, like me, are left with a feeling of guilt at not ‘constructively organizing time’. At 18, I am terribly conscious of the time I spend going for long drives or doing something absolutely mundane like a half-finished abstract on a paper bag- isn’t this the time I need to invest in bettering my career prospects? A dear one remarked years ago that years in college can make or break my life, for these are some of the most impressionable years in terms of kiln tests of personal principles and fundamentals as well as attitudes developed towards work and life. But imagine looking back ten years hence and finding just dry leaves in place of tender petals of memories…what would have my childhood been like if I tried to measure my every step the way I do now? I am a no-return workaholic, but I need to learn to enjoy every moment.. I need.. Ermm..

I need to put intricate hypothesis about the future and regrets of the past in a huge sack and drown it in the deep blue sea, then resurface and play on the surf to my heart’s content.

Which is what I intend to do. Literally. 

This week, starting from today, I resolve to set aside time to indulge in one activity each day which I love but have stopped of late due to my own myopic, albeit temporary, perceptions about utilization of time… I wonder what you and I (!) will find in the next post!  

Pandit Nehru’s words come back to me as my scroll bar reminds me to conclude…

 

We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures that we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open.