THE OPEN BOOK

The lady in white

2017-11-28T10:16:00.001+05:30

Pigeons eating pizza.

I saw a poor homeless lady being pushed around in downtown last summer. She seemed to linger on the pavement beside my apartment building and sometimes in the afternoon and evenings she would park herself at the intersection of two roads a block away from my apartment. She wore disheveled clothes, had a permanent frown, her rag blonde hair was dry and matted due to lack of proper hygiene and care. Well for those people who have to think of each day as a struggle for survival , grooming is the last thing that might come to their minds. She was pushed around by a stout friend of hers who had a curly beard and wore baggy camouflage pants with a grey jacket which they might have collected from the goodwill a few miles away from downtown on Michigan avenue. Once when I was going to the gym I saw her fighting fiercely with him over something which I assumed was money or food. It could have been anything but since they were poor I thought it had to be either of the two. After the initial slandering at the top of their voices and threats to do bodily harm to each other, the vocal and physically strong one slammed a box full of Chinese food on the lady. She could not get up, poor lady was glued to her wheelchair and was hurling the choicest expletives on him. It was a wild sight to be seen in downtown amongst a sea of professionals who take quick strolls from one building to the other perhaps attending meetings or mid work recreation. A few days later I saw the familiar pair of the wheelchair bound lady and her friend enjoying the summer air and drawing easy draughts from their cigarettes. I pitied them, how could people like us not have compassion and overlook such misery. I wanted to help them as I have helped others , I bought a girl a pizza one day and she still waves at me whenever she sees me walking around. But I was skeptical about their volatile temperament. I did not know if they were mentally stable and I am obviously not ready for any expletives to be hurled at me for no reason, my self respect matters a lot to me. I don't owe anyone anything hence I do not need to be at the receiving end of any unstable person's foul mouth.

A post shared by Jahnavi Mahanta (@jahnavimahanta) on Sep 4, 2017 at 9:15am PDT

Jazz festival this year.

It was June, peak summer and there was a flurry of activity and events in downtown. Every weekend there would be some festival or the other. Once there was a garlic festival, then came the summer in the park and after that the ever popular jazz festival . Jazz weekend is one of the most popular music festivals in Michigan and draws a lot of crowd. There is a bevy of activity, many artists , homegrown and international perform. The entire town is converted into a fair ground. I decided to enjoy the summertime craze and set out on an exploratory stroll to listen to music , look at people and of course to see if there is anything to indulge my taste buds in, all my major senses sight, sound and taste and invariably olfactory were to have a feast that day. The next block from my apartment was converted into a makeshift but sturdy stage. It was one of the many stages but was the main one. People came with their collapsible chairs and booze to enjoy the show. Some of them stood on the pavement or just made themselves comfortable on the concrete to watch their favorite artist playing. A few of them found comfortable space under the shade of trees that line the boundary of a parking lot beside the pavement. I walked towards the stage from my apartment, imbibing the festivity and happiness that pervaded the air that day. I thought of walking past the stage to see more, therefore I decided to turn left and cross the road. As I was waiting to cross the road after taking left, lo behold!!!! I saw the lady in the wheelchair enjoying the performance with a cigarette lodged between her fingers stylishly , except that she was not on a wheelchair, she was standing, swaying and enjoying her drag. She was not shabbily dressed that day although her hair was the same rag doll like , she was perfectly fine physically, swinging to the beat of the music and enjoying the summer air. Our eyes met briefly as I waited to cross the road. My eyes had a look of surprise which she must have noticed and she reciprocated by giving me an oblivious look as if she had never seen me before. She went back to being in a happy state enjoying the blues and the swing. The lights had then turned red and it was my turn then to cross the road, the music in the background concluded with the usual fast drumming and the progression of the guitars. It served a context to my conclusion and the revelation I had that day. Well I guess it is her strategy for survival. Who are we to judge , we just move on. I walked to the other side of the street to explore more of the festival and lose myself in a sea of half drunk people.

Lower Antelope Canyon, Arizona

2017-11-05T11:20:00.000+05:30

The steps that lead the Lower Antelope Canyon.

This post is in continuation of my previous post about our road trip to Page.
After having reached Page, we alighted from our respective cars and without wasting a second started unloading our luggage and most importantly our prized possessions, our bicycles. We filled two large luggage carts with our baggage while a few of us groggy with sleep and exhaustion barely managed to bring ourselves into the real world. In spite of all the pain, sleep and fatigue, we beautifully managed to get our bicycles, cycle carriers, luggage inside the lobby, unscathed. I spoke to the lady in the reception who seemed to belong to a Native American tribe. After verifying our credentials she asked us to show our respective credit cards to be able to charge us in case if we decided to destroy the rooms we had booked. Sangram groggy with sleep could not grasp the context. I merely asked him to give me his credit card which made him assume that the payment was not made. With sober steps he went up to the receptionist and produced his credit card while giving a confusing and half asleep look to Shray and saying in Hindi and English, "Machi, payment to nahi kia bolti hain. She says the payment has not been made". The lady horrified with the accusation by an almost half asleep man drew a long startled breath and said ,"Oh no, don't misinterpret me! The payment has been made. I need your credit cards as means of security in case anything goes wrong in your rooms." After straightening the kinks in our conversation we finally took possession of the keys to our respective rooms.

That night we slept like logs. We had such good sleep that I could feel the pain on one of my ear lobes because I slept on one side of my body for a long time throughout the night. Next day, we felt as fresh as lilies and hurriedly went downstairs to avail a hearty breakfast to fuel ourselves for the adventure that awaited us later during the day. The constant need to drink water was still there, we filled our bottles with water as much as we could. I wanted to dress appropriately for the canyon tour. By appropriate dress I meant physically that would shield me from the harsh rays of the desert sun.Therefore I smothered my face and any part of my body exposed to the sun in sun screen lotion. I wore an old hoodie to protect me from the vagaries of weather. I also wore a wide brimmed hat to shield my face from the sun besides wearing my fancy green sun glasses. Like any other lady of Asian origin, by Asian I also include people of South Asia i.e India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Afghanistan and Sri Lanka, I covered myself meticulously to protect my skin from the sun. The weather was cool in the morning hovering around 50 degrees fahrenheit but gradually the temperature increased as morning turned into day.

I am sure everyone loves food. I am no different, especially if you put me in the midst of a buffet, I get the same feeling as a child would experience in a toy store. The scrumptious breakfast buffet was laid out in front of us and we made a beeline to fill our plates with food.

We had booked our Lower Antelope Canyon tour with Dixie Ellis tour agency. After breakfast we finally made our way to the place where they were situated. I thought the agency would be in the heart of the quaint little town but to my surprise our GPS took us to a location in the midst of barren arid land, basically in the midst of nowhere. As we took the only lifeline that connected the town with the touring agency, I could see two large smoke spewing chimneys rising from the horizon.

#lowerantelopecanyon #page #navajonation

A post shared by Jahnavi Mahanta (@jahnavimahanta) on Nov 4, 2017 at 10:49pm PDT

We reached the touring agency that was basically a tiny shack build on a large plot of land on one side of the main road. Our group of 6 was assigned one guide who took us to the canyon that was situated a few meters behind the ticket counter. There was a small fence separating the hut from the area that led to the canyon. People were forbidden to loiter in the area behind the hut for various reason, the primary reason being people could easily fall through an unassuming crevice on the ground and fall into a 40 feet deep pit. There were instances when livestock grazing on the ground fell through a crevice that led people to discover these majestic slot Canyons.

As we made our way to the canyon, I was expecting a large valley cut by a meandering river but it was a slot canyon that was accessible through a fleet of stairs hinged on the face of steep rock. We were very curious about this geographic marvel. The terrain was also very different for us, we had never seen such majestic sandstone hills with different bands of color undulating as if God had frozen a big sand dune in motion. We felt as if we were in Mars, everything was red. We were told that this geographic monument is situated in Navajo nation which is the country of Navajo Native American people. We asked pertinent questions such as if the nation issues passports, what about heads of government, financing of various important departments such as police, natural resources etc. Our guide gave us the answers we were seeking Amidst all the banter and back and forth between us and our guide we were warned to be extremely cautious while descending down the steep staircase into the canyon.

#antelopecanyon #lowerantelopecanyon

A post shared by Jahnavi Mahanta (@jahnavimahanta) on Nov 4, 2017 at 10:44pm PDT

The moment we set our eyes on the interior of the canyon we were in awe. We stood in awe of the marvel that nature's forces had created in cohesion or confusion. Pictures do not do justice to the visuals. You might see a pretty picture but the picture can never recreate the feeling of majesty and humbleness within you when you realize that you are nothing in front of the wrath of nature. I could not comprehend how a narrow crevice on a rocky ground could lead to a canyon 120 feet below the ground.The atmosphere within the canyon was surprisingly calm in spite of so many people passing through the narrow passage. You could see the imprint of the momentum of water on the walls. The walls waved and undulated throughout in front of us. The waves felt as if different streams of water had gushed through the canyon and the walls moved too but ceased to move later on. The roof of the canyon was narrow, it almost gave you the feeling of standing in a cathedral or a place of worship built to resonate our prayers to the almighty.

#lowerantelopecanyon

A post shared by Jahnavi Mahanta (@jahnavimahanta) on Nov 4, 2017 at 10:55pm PDT

The undulating walls of the canyon were characteristically sedimentary rocks in which you could see the different layers of sediment bound together by forces of nature. Therefore the walls were colored in different hues of red which basically meant that there was a large iron content. The walls had a band of smooth layer and above the smooth band was a band of tiny dots as if someone had engraved those as a part of some divine architecture. The bands of lines and dots ran through the wall of the canyon like a relief sculpture. At some places the wall was concave and the edge of the concave portion continued to a convex part of the wall. It was as if a sin curve was imprinted on the wall of this natural structure. I am sure architects like Gaudi whose buildings have a feeling of muted borders and undulating walls might have been inspired by the majestic creation of nature.The combination of smooth and dotted bands along with the reflection and shadow of sunlight created such a wonderful image that it would not be wrong to describe it as nature's poetry. The dotted band was created due to calcium deposits whereas the smooth bands were created due to the flow of water. As we snaked our way through the belly of the canyon we went through narrow passages where water might have faced some difficulty to cut through the rocks. It felt as if we were in a corridor leading to a staircase that took us to another level within the canyon. Our questions did not cease to exist while we were still awestruck with the marvelous beauty of the canyon. Shariq and Sadiya clicked a handful of beautiful pictures with their Nikon camera while the rest of us made good use of our iphone s by switching on the Chrome filter. Sometimes we forgot to take a picture because we just wanted to soak in the beauty that surrounded us. You could never tire yourself while continuously gazing at the wavy and layered walls of the canyon. We did not want to waste one minute in useless banter, we imbibed as much beauty as we could.

#lowerantelopecanyon

A post shared by Jahnavi Mahanta (@jahnavimahanta) on Nov 4, 2017 at 10:45pm PDT

All the geography lessons we had as children in middle school, chemistry lessons we had in high school made sense. The words that we sometimes leaned by rote and sometimes understood without actually looking at a live example revealed itself as we walked through the canyon. Shray and I had a moment of epiphany, a Eureka!! moment, thankfully unlike Archimedes were were covered from top to bottom. We could never imagine as little children the power of nature capable of moving mountains and creating sedimentary rocks out of granules of sand. The excursion to the canyon was a glaring example of how practical knowledge can greatly simplify subjects and everything seemed self explanatory.

We asked our guide about the folklore and local beliefs associated with the canyon. He told us that they consider the canyon to be the belly of a snake. It is spiritually very harmful for him to move in and out of the canyon everyday. Therefore he does a ritual everyday in the morning to cleanse and protect him from the evil energies that might emanate from the belly of the snake. According to him when people emerge out of the crevice on the ground at the end of the canyon, it is akin to having a second birth from the belly of a snake.

I was wondering if there are petroglyphs on the walls of the canyon which has been a constant structure among the native people. There were none, probably because one could not inhabit the canyon due to flash floods that instantly fills the structure upto the brim. He also recounted a story about his grandfather who was lost in action in a war and has a permanent plaque in his memory at Page's town center.

The canyon attracts a lot of tourists from all over the world. Around 80,000 tourists visited the canyon during one season. At the hotel where we were staying I could hear banter in different languages. Among the languages I could identify were Chinese, Korean, German ,Russian and there were 6 of us who were occasionally speaking in Hindi with a smattering of English. At the tour agency site we saw people speaking in German, Russian , Chinese and Korean.

We took picture of various structures created by water in the cave that resembled things from day to day life. For instance a part of the wall when seen from some distance looked like a lady's profile with flowing hair. Another part looked like the USPS eagle, yet another looked like a dolphin and another an Indian chief. The walls rose high up above us and created light silhouettes in the sky. At a certain point in the canyon the walls were narrow and seemed to create the silhouette of a sea horse.'

#lowerantelope

A post shared by Jahnavi Mahanta (@jahnavimahanta) on Nov 4, 2017 at 10:56pm PDT

After we emerged out of the canyon fully inspired, awestruck and soaked in the beauty of nature our guide Chavez gave us a demonstration of how natural forces of wind and water created this canyon. He showed us with the sleight of his hand in a very simple and ingenious way by pouring water from a bottle and layering sand on top of the wet spot over and over again. The result was he got a lump of sand held together by the wetness of water. He then uproots the lump of sand from the ground and sets it upside down and slowly pours water on top of it to demonstrate how persevering water cut through rocks millions of years ago to create such slot canyons. It was simple but effective. I wish someone gave us such a demonstration when we read about sedimentary rocks in middle school. It is surprising to know that these are the same kind of rocks used to build the majestic Mughal monuments in New Delhi although the source of those rocks might have been somewhere within the Mughal Empire.

#demonstration #geology

A post shared by Jahnavi Mahanta (@jahnavimahanta) on Nov 4, 2017 at 10:49pm PDT

It was time for us to take customary group pictures of us in leaping in the air. We took the essential couple pictures. All these pictures were taken by the deft hands of Chavez.
As we headed back to the tour agency's hut, we were greeted by a hoop dance performer who performed a dance by making intricate formations with a couple of hoops. It is not easy to be simple, it is very hard to achieve simplicity. I would echo the same thought for the dance which looked simple but required exceptional skills and practice of the dancer to execute flawless tricks of the hoops with perfection to the rhythm of the drums.

#hoopdance

A post shared by Jahnavi Mahanta (@jahnavimahanta) on Nov 4, 2017 at 11:00pm PDT

By the end of the tour our throats were parched, we felt the importance of water that we seem to take for granted in our day to day lives. We were also famished but we had to head to the horse shoe bend which was a few miles down the road, before it got too scorching hot.

Some important details:-
1. Tours booked with Dixie Ellis tour agency.
2. Got ourselves a bag full of water bottles, fruits.
3. Good breakfast.
4. Kept ourselves hydrated throughout the trip.
5. Proper attire to shield the eyes and body from sun.
6. Generous application of sunscreen lotion on exposed areas of the body.
7. Good sunglasses.
8. Active shoes such as tennis shoes, running shoes, hiking shoes, no sandals, slippers or shoes with heels.

Road trip to Page, Arizona.

2017-11-05T03:13:00.002+05:30

High way in Arizona between sandstone hills.

My better half completed the half-Ironman in Tempe, Arizona on 22nd of October in 5 hours and 50 minutes. Shariq with the wind beneath his wings finished the race within 5 hours and 34 minutes. Mary the youngest of the lot, persevered and finished this race strong within 8 hours 34 minutes.(blog on the race by Shray)
We had planned to visit Page, Arizona after the Ironman 70.3 event. Page was around 4 hours away from Phoenix. It is situated to the North of Phoenix around 281 miles away at an elevation of about 4118 feet. We basically planned to tour the Antelope Canyon and the Horse shoe bend on the Colorado river.

#halfironman2017 #tempe #arizona

A post shared by Jahnavi Mahanta (@jahnavimahanta) on Nov 4, 2017 at 2:41pm PDT

Mary and Shray posing before their swimming leg commenced.

It was the crisp October desert Sun that sucked all our bodily juices dry in Tempe. We waited patiently until the last member of our team, Mary Lyon, completed the Half-Ironman distance race. It was her first Half-Ironman event and her first Triathlon. She made a quantum leap from petty 5 ks to an Ironman distance Triathlon. You must praise her grit and determination. After she finished the race we all decided to fuel our famished bodies at a local Indo-Pakistani-Afghani restaurant, basically a desi restaurant. A couple of us south east Asians who have become quiet comfortable with the American midwestern weather were toasted crisp by the Arizona sun and on top of that dehydration was making us swing between portable toilets and drinking water stations.

We carefully hauled our bikes, our most priced possessions in this trip, on the bike carriers behind our respective cars. Our car carried two bikes while our friend Shariq's bike was given to the cycle shop to be disassembled and shipped back to Seattle where they live. Our car was basically a stink bomb because we all got into it without taking a bath or having any sort of refreshing break after the race. Our scents mingled in the air that circulated through the vents of the air conditioner. We got used to sitting in our own stench.

#page #highway89

A post shared by Jahnavi Mahanta (@jahnavimahanta) on Nov 4, 2017 at 2:32pm PDT

Mary, Sangram, Shray, Shariq and Sadiya making sure the bikes are well fastened.

That evening a few of us could not eat as much as our usual voracious appetite. We all wanted to doze off on a clean soft bed. Well driving 4 hours straight without a break was a challenge since it was quite possible that we might gradually go to sleep while driving. Therefore Shray and I decided not to eat a lot since Indian food makes us drowsy. We got cups of coffee from a Starbucks on our way. Mary ordered coffee for all of us and she got herself a White Mocha Frappucino which I think is the best Frappe I have ever had and I now only order that particular drink if I ever have to order anything at Star bucks. To hell with abstention from sugar!!

As we moved out of the city towards Page, we could see how the terrain changed by and by. We took the I-17 North highway. The prickly desert vegetation, the ubiquitous cactus and prickly shrubs gave way to Pine and Fir trees. There was pitch darkness on both the sides of the highway as we snaked on the hilly terrain towards our destination. We were gradually climbing an incline of a road that was made on the facade of a large mountain. Trucks were being driven cautiously with both their blinkers blinking to indicate that they had large loads. For a while, for about more than 3 miles or more we climbed a hill and read signs that asked cars to switch off their air conditioners to prevent over heating. We were driving at a steady speed of 75 miles per hour to the accompaniment of a Bollywood party mix playlist on Spotify. On certain patches on the highway our phones ceased to play songs due to lack of phone signals. We were not a bit surprised since it was not the first instance when we experienced signal less areas. I had a similar experience in Northern Michigan too.

We made pit stops at two gas stations on our way, the first one at a place just before the road forked into two, left to Flagstaff and right to Page. There was a nip in the air and we were surprised, although we should not have been, that only a few miles could make such a big difference in the air temperatures. The air smelt of burning wood, something that always evokes vivid happy childhood memories. After refueling our cars and relieving ourselves of all the water we had drunk due to dehydration we were once again on our way to our destination. However, that did not stop me from turning our car into a gas chamber. I slowly and gradually at several times during the ride let my rectal fumes dissipate into the car. Sorry I could not make it implode in my body since it was saturated with a lot of elements that needed to be expelled. I think this phenomenon of not being able to excrete properly during a vacation has been proven to be a common occurrence among a lot of people. (read this later.) But I am glad my bodily fumes initiated the conversation we needed to keep ourselves awake. It jolted Shray out of the nonchallance of driving on a boring highway. He asked, "Did you fart?". I denied coyly, an expression that helps me avoid useless conversation. He then asked Sangram in Hindi, "Tune paada?(Did you fart?)". Sangram's reply was hilarious since he was in no state to reply because impulsively and out of love for Mary he ran 6 miles in converse shoes. He said in Hindi,"Machi mere lower body ka control mere upar nahi hain, agar nikla hain toh nikal sakta hain mujhe malum nahi." (Bro, I have lost control of my lower body, I could have let loose my bowels and I would not know it. May be I farted may be I did not.) It was philosophical to some extent. Oh well! I burst out laughing at his reply and they knew that I was the culprit. Poor Mary, was exhausted beyond limits and slept through out the drive even in the stench that smelt a little bit of everything I had eaten that day. Well, I guess you also know that coffee is a good laxative. ;)
We traveled through stretches of road that had no sign of any rest area or a familiar flicker of townships. Sometimes a tiny little fox crossed our road. There were also signs of deer crossings. But the icon of the deer was different at different stretches of the highway. At one point the icon looked like a normal deer icon whereas at other places the deer icon had a large antler on its crown. I did not know if it meant that different kinds of deer might cross the road.

#page #highway89

A post shared by Jahnavi Mahanta (@jahnavimahanta) on Nov 4, 2017 at 2:32pm PDT

However, as one moved out of civilization into the part of the highway that ran through passes cut in between sandstone mountains and through desert lands, the sky became the cynosure of our eyes. I had never seen so many stars ever in my life. Mary and Sangram chatted for sometime until they could keep their eyes open involuntarily, but soon enough they were in their dreamland. I would not blame them for giving way to sleep and not enjoying the starry October sky. They deserved every little ounce of their sleep due to the race and the consequent exhaustion. The gentle air conditioner draught and the din of the car's engine lulled both of them to deep sleep.

There was a point where our GPS signaled us to take a right instead of continuing on our route. When we reached that point we were confused if the GPS was correct since the road looked like a narrow patch of private drive. Since we did not have a map with us, we had to put our full faith on the GPS. We took the right turn and as we slowly started advancing we saw ourselves being overtaken by a speeding BMW. We took the road that the GPS showed us and finally it turned into the US-89 Highway which is famous for being the highway that connects some infamous national parks from Arizona to Montana. I was struggling to keep myself awake, I would lose control over my eyelids and phase out. I tried keeping ourselves awake by playing loud Punjabi songs. However we would lose cell phone connectivity at certain patches. We switched on the radio but could not find any FM channel. I scoured through all the frequencies on FM and met with static.

I do not know how Shray was driving so calmly without phasing out and not getting exhausted after his grueling Ironman race. We changed channels and looked for something to listen to on the AM frequencies but could not find any except for an ominous channel that constantly played Native American chanting. It made the journey a little eerie. I quickly switched the channel and started talking about anything that came to my mind. As we were getting closer to Page we saw blinking lights at a distance. We were still on the road and could not see anything on either of the sides because it was pitch dark and even our high beam car lights would not help us have a good look on either side of the highway. However, there were places where there were signs of a junction but you would not be able to distinguish it was one until you reached the spot because the junction obviously did not have any traffic lights. All I could see was we were travelling on a road with red soil on either side and a blanket of stars twinkled in the sky. We realized that we finally reached our destination when a sign board declared proudly that the place is Page,Arizona. We reached Jake's trading station that was basically a gateway to the tiny little town of page and slowly made our way to the hotel we had booked for our stay.

If you ever embark on this road trip and that too in the evening please make sure you do the following: -
1. Carry enough water.
2. Have coffee and have a good sleep in the afternoon to keep yourself awake and alert during the drive.
3. Have a spare driver who can drive if the need arises.
4. Fuel your car to the brim.
5. Keep a spare map besides charging your phones on the go to keep track of the directions on Google Maps.
6. Drive cautiously, you might see animals crossing the road.
7. Get your tires and brakes checked beforehand.
8. Prepare a music playlist on your phone.

Feast

2017-10-16T08:46:00.001+05:30

Like hungry vultures

who congregate, to feed,

on corpses and rotting meat

They swooped down from the skies,

On a dead branch of a tree

with expensive glitter on their eyes

To partake in a meal of bodies,

of old rotting thoughts that emanated

A rancid olfactory distress.

It drove all pleasant bees away.

Attracted a business of buzzing flies.

A place where rotting flesh held sway,

A place of disintegrating sinew and lies.

They partook in that hearty feast,

digesting rotting sinew and bones.

When they could not get more of it.

They ate all the innocent flies.

Their laughter bellowed in the air,

Gave the place an air of despair,

To clear the rancid olfactory distress

They pumped some perfume on their dress.

Duality

2017-10-16T07:56:00.000+05:30

She asked me to spread water proof foundation

On her pretty face.

Her words were as pleasant as her eyes,

When she smiled her teeth were like pearls,

And her mellifluous voice,

Strengthened the compassionate

and uplifting adjectives

She would bestow upon us.

She helped people too,

The rich, the famous

And also the poor,

But had to relay

The stories of her compassion

Among her friends.

She was raised to the altar of being

An epitome of grace and kindness.

One day in a ladies room,

She splashed water on her made up face.

Accidentally or by an act of providence.

I was dumbstruck to behold,

The ugly reality that was concealed

Within a lovely facade,

The words were conceited,

A way to adjust with society,

To garner goodwill,

Her heart was pit of darkness,

With no kind words for anyone.

As I listened patiently

To every condescending adjective

she bestowed upon her friends.

I realized this duality is reality.

She then dabbed the make up to perfection,

Put on the pretty facade

And proceeded to go into society,

Fluttering like an innocent butterfly.

Winds of change

2017-10-16T06:30:00.003+05:30

Do you hear, the raging winds of change?

It eroded that proud sand dune,

Obliterated it's existence

It's pride flew away in the air

Like the granules that formed it's flimsy foundation.

Do you see how the adamant ocean

chipped away the mountain's strong facade

and carved majestic arches?

Do you see how the bubbling river,

gushing through the valley

cut insurmountable rocks

with her subtle determination and endearing grace?

The permanence of change prevails,

while unrelenting and proud elements

had to bow their heads in humility;

Or get obliterated by and by

by the feeble wind

that one day becomes a squall of

test

In which if you succeed, you prevail

and if you are vanquished

you become a vestige of the past

That even ceases to remain in memories.

Moon.

2017-10-16T06:02:00.000+05:30

I am the moon,

Bright and beautiful,

Notwithstanding my flaws,

The craters and marias on my surface.

I wax when I see beauty and compassion,

I wane when I see pain and destruction.

I do not shine always like the proud sun.

I do not emanate heat.

I depend on him for my luminescence,

Because it's strength inspires me

To be happy ergo I wax

when I reach the pinnacle and full circle

Of my emotions.

I shine like a goblet of silver

peeking through a veil of clouds.

Making every object

That look in awe at me

Gleam with joy and glee.

Thoughts

2017-10-16T05:33:00.000+05:30

The wind howled last night,

As I put my pen to paper

To jot some thoughts about life.

I had to put a weight to prevent my thoughts

from being blown away in the gusty wind.

I tried to cling to my strands of memory

of you, how you would play with my hair.

Get intoxicated in my smell,

And how your touch

would give me goose flesh.

I know we will see each other soon.

But will time stop?

Will providence not take us to different destinations?

Why can you not drift closer to me?

Fight

2017-10-16T04:25:00.003+05:30

A pall of gloom veils these eyes,

Blocking rays of gleaming sunrise.

She tears and fights the veil of gloom,

Viciously like a dance of doom

She poked a knife and ripped it apart,

The tattered strands billowed in the wind.

But the strands mingled and patched the tear,

Gloom again pervaded in the atmosphere.

Sun rays filtered through the veil,

But fear in her heart still prevailed.

The warmth of it was replaced by

Insipid rain pouring from the sky.

She learnt to live with the veil on her eyes

that filtered stars and gleaming sunrise,

But she also tried to break free

And recover her lost sanity.

She failed many a times,

The veil, impermeable and strong,

She did not stop,

It engulfed her, in an embrace too long.

Her trials and tribulations,

strengthened her heart,

She tried many a times to tear it apart.

One day a strong gale of luck,

Left her dizzy and awestruck

Because she could now see the stars

And reveal in the rays of the sun.

It had blown the veil away

and freed her of its weight.

She had torn it with her bare hands.

shredded the last strands with her deft fingers

Before the the strands of medusa could patch

She was free from it's deadly latch,

At last!

Free to feel the gleaming rays,

from the burning sun and sparkling stars.

She opened her arms to fly

and embrace the air of liberty.

Surprised that she could fly,

Realized that she had become stronger.

Than she ever was.

The veil now seemed like a boon

That had engulfed her in a cold womb.

It was a birthing ritual of struggle

that kindled her fire within

Lo behold! there is a new she,

That the old she admires,

who fights her demons

Fearlessly with no iota of mercy

Maya and her nigoni(rat).

2017-09-30T11:55:00.002+05:30

Maya the spirited pre teen curly haired girl was chasing a chubby rat in her house. It was a difficult chase since the nimble footed rodent darted across the expansive rooms , across the verandah and then disappeared into the drain where the water drained from the roof of the old building. It was difficult to prevents rats and vermin from entering old houses in the countryside because the basic layout was open. In those old houses one could never think of privacy because the rooms in the rectangular layout would open into the courtyard at the center and each room was interconnected. So if a rat entered the kitchen he basically had an unhindered route to discover the old feudal house. It had littered the old heirloom sari of the great grandmother, had nibbled on rice in the storage house, had nibbled old wisdom of yellow pages of ancient books kept in a rickety old ebony and glass book case while its kids grew up in the luxury of fur that was kept in an ancient teak cabinet.

Maya was furious because when she studied with rapt attention under the concentrated light from the table lamp, this rat, let's call it Sana, almost gave her a heart attack by jumping out of the books on her antique table. It littered her drawers and moved things around without any warning. Once Sana climbed into the Long curtains that cover the tall windows in her house and shook them vigorously that made her grandma swear that their house had a paranormal member. She raised a hue and cry asked to call the ojha to exorcise the ghost away, but Maya's rationalist father spoke with his thundering voice and proclaimed that there was no place for superstition in their house. That evening perplexed that she could not get her hands on the rodent, she asked Shyam kai to get rat poison and generously lace a nice bait to lure Sana out of its den.

It was December and time for exams, Maya was supposed to bury her nose in books until supper. Maya's grandmother strolled in the verandah with her cane and as she approached the door to the boudoir of the old house the curtains shook vigorously, the old lady cursed,"Shyaaaaaam you are slacking in your duties!! Your rat poison was not effective; the marauding rodent is back and climbing curtains again!! Next time get the kaalnagini brand of poison." She gave the curtain a poke and stepped into the lounge to sit and wait till Biraja, their maid served her evening tea. Evening descended quickly in those places and especially since their area was in the foothills of the Himalayas , evenings meant a faint trail of fog from the hills would descend on the plain and shroud the town by and by as dusk turned into night.

Gopal, Maya's father, came back from work soon enough, trotted into the portico with his boots and entered the lounge. "Gopaaaal", quivered Maya's grandmother, "come have tea with me. I have asked biraja to serve maya in her study. She is a good girl , she is studying hard for her exams." "She better be" thundered Gopal. "Let me freshen up". Gopal had a routine of coming back from work , taking a cold shower be it winter or summer and lighting a lamp in the prayer hall of the family that lay on one corner of their house. One had to cross the courtyard from the lounge to go to the temple. Gopal bathed, lit the lamp and as he was coming out into the courtyard after paying obeisance to his gods he saw Maya staring at the drain where Sana had disappeared the other day. Maya!! Why don't you study!! So you were not studying and devising new ways to catch the rat again! I am fed up of your tricks, this time if you fail in math don't call your aunt to save you from me." Gopal the strict disciplinarian was furious and uprooted a bamboo stick from the holy basil's altar that was planted right outside the temple. He was angry that Maya lied to everyone and was taking her exams for granted. He hated lies, especially since it was Maya who lied because he feared she would turn out to be like her mother. He was about 5 feet away from her, she had her back to him. As he raised the stick to hit her legs and back with all his might , someone called him from behind, Detaaaaaaaa, detaaaaaa where are you???? Come help me with this math problem please!!! I do not understand this problem". The otherwise strong willed Gopal never felt cold even while taking a shower with frigid water during those bone shivering Himalayan dooar winters. Detaaaa was the word he had longed to hear at the end of a long day at work, but then that word sent a shiver down his spine and raised his goose flesh. He had never felt the need to take a shawl after a cold shower but he needed it then. He gathered courage to look at the Maya who was staring into the drain, he was staring at the blank nothingness in front of him. "Coming dear! Just got out of the gosain-ghar". He hurried into the lounge, bare chested and in a dhoti and asked his mother about the ojha who chased spirits into their own realm. "Why are you naked?" asked Aita. Realizing that Maya was alone in the study he sprung on his feet darted out of the room and ran into the study saying,"Maya ma, you are the best daughter I could ever have". She was confused. Shyam kai then came in with tea and bakery biscuits in old china on a tray saying,"Aitaaa, don't blame me, that bastard rat was found dead in the veranda. Bandar chaap poison was good enough for it." Aita was shaking her head, mumbled something and proceeded to have tea.

The homeless lady

2017-05-22T10:14:00.003+05:30

A familiar silhouette against the sun,

That colors the aging day that had begun,

People clamor to reach their nests,

Before the sky burns in the west.

The silhouette greets me with a humble smile,

The lady recognizes me from a mile.

Hello! she greets me, how was your day,

Please listen to me, I know what you are going to say.

That you are late and have to run,

You are late and yoga class has begun,

She said it with such confidence,

Encapsulating a plea of despondence,

I did not want to condescend,

By twirling my wrist, by trying to pretend.

That she is vitreous humor to my eye,

An Invisible lump of flesh to sight.

A hollow silhouette that blocks our way,

Always and has vile things to say.

About her poverty, about hunger,

Can't she disappear other than linger,

In those streets that we tread,

On our way to earn our bread.

But I am human after all,

Can't spectate and be mute as a wall.

I have a heart and have compassion,

To help someone is not transgression.

So I asked her what she wanted,

She said food and that was granted.

I brought her food to feed her hunger,

My soul found something that I hanker,

Food for peace for a famished soul,

Stripped of compassion in a mechanical world.

Infertile mind.

2017-05-21T07:22:00.005+05:30

The fecundity of my mind,

Nowhere can I find.

Writing has become a chore,

Poems that were not bore,

Now I have to drill a hole,

Or take a hard fall.

To force some words of cohesion.

That do not sound of frustration.

The mill of life grinds my brain,

I think I have mental sprain.

Coz words that flowed like a river,

I had poems in my quiver.

Are now dwindling and is a dry stream,

I just want to eat ice cream.

To cool a boiling brain in my head.

A brain very hardworking and well fed.

To get my mind's fecundity,

I need your solidarity.

Just let me sleep in peace.

And give me wine and cheese.

You are an Ironman!

2017-02-22T10:41:00.002+05:30

Has your heart pounded so hard in your chest, as if it throbbed to burst out of your straitjacketed ribcage and challenge you to a jump competition, in which you are sure to fail if you could not hop 185 times per minute? Has your stomach felt like a bottomless pit in which if your loved ones let out a faint hello it would greet them with an endless echo. A pit so deep in which calories disappear into nothingness while the one who is feeding the ravenous entity, feels it to be a personification of a cosmic entity, a black hole, yes a BLACK HOLE. Have you soiled endless towels that when squeezed and wrung would fill enough glasses with clear sweat that could be easily used to pull a nasty prank? Have you irritated your loved ones with your sudden need for extreme hygiene, a far cry from the filthy, smoking, don't care a damn about cleanliness youngster that you were once? Does the ticking of the clock induce obsessive compulsive behavior in you so much so that you meticulously plan each second to the tee with the deftness of a headmaster in a military household. By now discipline is your religion and "netflix and chill" is blasphemy. In this case my husband became BABA Kandhari. "Can we hang out aimlessly ?", this sentence brings forth the acrimonious tone in your speech. When you have realized you spent a few hours aimlessly, do you start your self loathing and guilt inducing introspecting soliloquy in front of the mirror? Does it make your loved ones worry for your sanity as if you have some moon struck imbalance and need a reality check? If all of the above points ring a bell, then with certainty I can say that your loved one might be training for a triathlon and not just any other triathlon but an Ironman.

I am the better half of the Ironman in question, or in other words an Ironmate. An Ironmate is not left far behind when it comes to undergoing the rigors of an Ironman training. The physical training might be undertaken by the Ironman aspirant but the better half goes through a mechanical disciplined life devoid of any diversions or distractions that could be an impediment in training. Our lives revolved around cooking, running, biking, swimming, eating and sleeping. I had well developed traps in those days as a result of making chapatis. The same routine would be repeated over and over again for a year.

Shray had planned to do an Ironman in 2014 after he completed his Pittsburgh Marathon. Thereafter he gradually planned his route to a full Ironman by taking open water swimming lessons, buying a triathlon bike and running long runs with a running group. For a non triathlete, or rather a triathlete layman, it will be surprising to see how much time and money a triathlete spends on his skills and tools. The triathlon bike is expensive, and when you get to know that the bike you just bought is elementary of the greatest order, you will be surprised to see the amount of precision and all the fields of fundamental science applied to the bikes higher in the price range. It will put a modest Toyota Camry to shame. Those bikes are tested in wind tunnels, are made of carbon fiber, are fitted with carbon fiber wheels and every god damned feature that could induce drag and reduce the speed by a few seconds is removed. In retrospective I now believe that it probably weighs less than the morning ablution of an Ironman. After the Half-Ironman in 2015, Shray started his full Ironman journey wholeheartedly. He looked for swim coach in Pittsburgh and he did find one but he barely got 5 classes with him. But as providence had different plans for him, he moved to Philadelphia owing to his consulting position and finally found the best swimming coach who believes beauty lies in symmetry. He called Shray ugly since his flip turns were asymmetrical and therefore not beautiful.

Got in the first open water swim of the season yesterday, it was freezing , 60 degrees brrrh. Thank God for the wetsuits . #desitriathlete #ironmantraining #ironmancda2016 #openwaterswimming #xterrawetsuits

A post shared by Shray Kandhari (@desitriathlete) on May 19, 2016 at 7:41pm PDT

Open Water Swimming class.

Shray moved to Detroit in May 2016 and he was engulfed in a bitter sweet dilemma while leaving King Of Prussia. He absolutely loved the town and the proximity it offered to all the facilities he availed for training.He lived in a building in a plaza that had a Panera bread whose coffee was a quintessential daily dose of laxative and caffeine for him. The swimming pool where he swam with a masters group whose camaraderie he was really fond of, was a mile or two away from him. The Grocery store that provided him with the latest organic fads was at most 5 minutes of driving distance away from his apartment. He had built a small close knit world revolving around triathlon for himself. The cherry on the cake was an Indian lady who provided him with heaps of roti and oily Indian food at his beck and all. All he had to do was dial her number and ask for food and voila! it was there. It was a magical world, a food genie Indian 'auntie', coffee fountain at doorstep, and magical ever so effervescent friends with good sense of humor and some of them were even demi god like, otherwise who could even dream of swimming 100 kms in a week(John Kenny, Shray's coach). I kid you not triathletes are interesting creatures. I am taking the human factor out of them because to me their dedication, sincerity and grit is not human, it seems a little god like, stuff that Greek heroes were extolled for. Finding a proper swimming team in Detroit was hard. Thank God for John Kenny and the amount Shray's muscles retained, he joined the YMCA in downtown and repeated his Guru's drills every weekend. He also joined the Detroit Body garage, an enterprising and community based gym opened by the indomitable Terra Castro who herself had been a professional triathlete par excellence and recently moved back to her hometown after retiring professionally.

4k in the pool today with @djquandt . 20X200 for me and 40X100 for him . #ironmancda2016 is literally a month away from today . #desitriathlete #ironmantraining #swimbikerun #ironmanprep #swim #justkeepswimming #triathlontraining #trilife #triathlete #gettingitdone #instafit #fitlife

A post shared by Shray Kandhari (@desitriathlete) on Jul 21, 2016 at 6:33pm PDT

Shray would bike on his trainer at the garage a few days along with a friend, Derrick whom he met at the garage. Running was continued, because not many fancy tools are required except for the God given legs and a pair of running shoes. We were thankful that Detroit downtown boasts of a beautiful riverfront that provides a suitable place for joggers and walkers alike to exercise. The entire stretch of the river walk from the Renaissance center to Belle Isle, an island on the Detroit river was around 6 miles and if you decided to run a loop of the island, you would have covered another 6 miles and if you decided to come back to the Renaissance center it would be another 6 miles, thereby one would have covered 18 miles just by running the entire length of the continuous river walk. Sometimes we would run the length of the Dequindre cut and come back to Rivard's plaza on the river walk to drink water. In summer I biked behind Shray with bottles of water and nutrition as he ran along the length of the river walk. Since I am well acquainted with the routes of Downtown I arranged a continuous route for him to run almost every weekend. Summer is the time for picnickers and revelers on river walk and in Belle Isle.

Gut wrenching intervals on the bike, 110 , 120 and 130 percent of FTP for 3 min each and then again backwards. I had to dig real deep for these intervals, I was questioning my sanity , why am I putting my self through this workout , this is unnecessary. So many negative thoughts but then you have to push them aside .I Was so close to throwing up on the second set, but then you listen to this lone voice at the back of your head and decide not to quit and push through and take it second by second and watch the clock run out . At the end of the workout I am glad I did not quit . Followed the bike with a swim workout, nothing crazy - 20 x 100m @ 2 min . Could still feel the fatigue from the massive pull set on Sunday- 2000m with paddles.FML. And then dinner prepared by @jahnavimahanta. ❤ Super nervous for #Ironmancd2016. The clock is ticking! #Trainerroad #ironmantraining #swimbikerun #paincave #Vo2maxintervals #desitriathlete #triathlontraining #ironmanprep #digdeep #triathlete

A post shared by Shray Kandhari (@desitriathlete) on Jul 12, 2016 at 7:50pm PDT

Renting a bike for me to ride and chase Shray became very difficult besides we needed to be alert in order to not hit any happy picnicker on Belle Isle. One fine day while trying to avoid hitting other people I rode so close to the side walk while Shray was trying to fetch a bottle from the bike, that I lost my balance and fell on the edge of the sidewalk scraping my shin and my palms.

~15 mile run in the heat with @jahnavimahanta on the bike - a minor accident and a bruised knee. She carried 3 bottles for me and acted as my route planner/tour guide for #detroitriverwalk and #belleisle while I slogged it out . 11 more weeks to #ironmancda2016. #desitriathlete #ironmantraining #longrun #mobot

A post shared by Shray Kandhari (@desitriathlete) on May 30, 2016 at 2:31pm PDT

I was furious at myself and at Shray because he was so immersed in running that he did not know what had to be done at the spur of the moment. The only reflex he had was to move away quickly. Luckily, he fell on grass while I crash landed on concrete. I threatened him that I would not cook for him and I was done making rotis . He better find a cook for himself. I was angry that I sunburnt my body and now got a scarred shin. However, the anger was short lived and we laughed back home again.

IT IS A SHAME FOR A MAN TO GROW OLD WITHOUT SEEING THE BEAUTY AND STRENGTH OF WHICH HIS BODY IS CAPABLE. It's been a while since I got a long run in( because of a fracture) . Today's 10 miles which isn't super long by any standards and wasn't easy for me was the first step in getting ready for #ironmanlouisville . It's sort of unfortunate that 4 weeks from an Ironman race I'm in the worst shape I've been in the entire year . But still gotta keep my eyes on the prize and keep training and going to give it my all. And a huge shoutout @jahnavimahanta , she cycled while I ran and carried water for me . <3 #instafit #desitriathlete #ironmantraining #longrun #swimbikerun #runner #triathlontraining #trilife #triathlete #fitfam #fitlife #keepthosefeetmoving #ironmanprep #bike #motivation #consitency #onedayatatime

A post shared by Shray Kandhari (@desitriathlete) on Sep 10, 2016 at 10:34am PDT

The training for Coeur D' Alene was going on in full swing. Shray biked 6 hours on the weekends on the trainer. It was monotonous and he did not get the actual feeling of riding a bike on the road which was supposed to be the turf where he would be riding in Coeur D' Alene. Therefore one weekend, around 4 weeks before the Ironman event he decided to ride his bike on Hines Drive, a trail in Dearborn closed to traffic on weekends. He went with his friend Derrick and had decided to ride a good 60 miles on his bike and perfect his aero position. However as luck would have it, Shray was distracted for a fraction of a second by a group of cyclists near by while his front wheel was sucked too close to Derrick's bike by a phenomena called Draft, that resulted his front wheel hitting the rear wheel of Derrick's bike because of which he flung out into the air after the impact and landed on his right arm. The impact had rendered him unconscious for a second or two and he woke up with a dizziness in his head and nausea. He later told me that he had no recollection of the moment when he flung off the bike.The first reaction of every sane person would be to make sure he is alright but Shray later told me that he made sure after he regained consciousness that his bike was was unscathed. He drove back home with Derrick with a swollen hand and bruised legs. I was afraid that it could be a fracture and without much further ado I immediately took him to the emergency after dropping Derrick. After the initial mandatory X-ray, a young south Asian looking Doctor presumably one of our kind from the subcontinent, came in and declared the painfully obvious in the most lackadaisical way one could ever say to a starry eyed Ironman aspirant," Hey dude! You broke your arm".

Although it was not hard to believe that he broke his arm considering the fact that it was swollen but we still had some hope somewhere in our subconscious that it could be ligament tear or muscle tear that could at least make Coeur D'Alene a reality. I had tried to console myself by giving myself the benefit of the doubt and that since I was not trained in medicine, I could not be sure that it was a fracture but the callous declaration by the Doctor shattered any iota of hope we had in our minds. Coeur D'Alene was impossible now, how could one possibly swim, run or bike with a broken right arm. After he was discharged from the ER, it was impossible for him to walk without feeling tremors rising from his broken arm that sent painful sensations throughout his body.
Hopeless, drained of all our energy and with a heavy cast on his right forearm we came back home but we still had to make the Ironman dream a reality. Shray broke down in the ER, he broke down with the earnestness of a little child who was being denied his dream. A year of dedication, sincerity, all the time in which his pastime turned into his passion was all in vain, all went down the drain in a fraction of a second. His mother consoled him and so did my parents, and all his friends on Social media, however no amount of consoling or euphemism could make his Ironman a reality now. But we had forgotten one thing, we are Brown resourceful people. We were just taken aback by an unfortunate incident but brown people have infested the world by their resourcefulness, tenacity and resilience. We realized who we are and started doing some research to get our money back. There after we calculated how many days approximately it would take for Shray to recover and be cast free. The answer was exactly a month and half and he had to schedule an appointment with the Orthopaedic surgeon to make sure that he did not have further damage on his bone that could possibly require a surgical correction. We decided to ask Ironman franchise for our money back and took a risk in registering for Ironman Louisville in Kentucky. As much hard as it was for us to bear in our minds that Coeur D' Alene was impossible, but we were hopeful that Louisville was not. I feel the heavens had heard Shray's passionate plea for intervention and had sparked a self realization phase that made us research and calculate the time needed for Shray's hand to recover.

The splints are of ! But I'm still in a short arm cast . #ironmancda2016 is out of the question. Will have the registration refunded and maybe defer to Maryland or Louisville . But prior to that the orthopedic has asked for a CT scan as there might be a possibility for surgery. Hopefully not, fingers crossed! If it's a surgery, I guess I have to wait till next year to race . Also took the 8 min test somehow ,FTP is down by 10 watts and I got dizzy at the end of it , so much for not working out for 10 days after a fracture. And I obviously cannot swim or run ,so lots of indoor training on #trainerroad. It's disappointing that I fractured my arm 4 weeks before my first ironman but there is no point sulking now. I'm back at it . #Trainerroad #ftptest #triathleteproblems #ironmantraining #ironmanprep #dontstop #dontgiveup #stayatit #fracture #indoortrainer #paincave #hustle

A post shared by Shray Kandhari (@desitriathlete) on Aug 2, 2016 at 5:46pm PDT

Ironman Louisville was supposed to be held on October 9th. Shray could not train at all until his hand recovered. He could not run or swim, however he somehow managed to bike indoors on his trainer. Meanwhile, I as the better half made sure even throughout our hectic schedule that he ate rich food and turmeric milk which we jokingly nicknamed "tiki chicki turmeric latte" with a shot of vanilla. Humor in everyday lives made those days and the pain bearable. I could not comprehend Shray's superhuman pain tolerance threshold because a mere sight of a syringe brings out the pug in me who is afraid to go to the vet. He endured the pain those days without shoving any pills down his gullet. He was however having a lot of "desi" food with ghee, full fat milk, chicken roti; he was basically eating NUTRITION in capital letters. He chowed down capsules of supplements such as calcium, fish oil and multivitamins, consumed freshly pressed orange juice 64 ounces of which adorned the door of our fridge and somehow subdued his cringe face to gulp beetroot kale juice. I also brought a high calorie vegetable, plantain that is so ubiquitous in my native state's cuisine that it is prescribed by doctors to every patient suffering from malnutrition and diseases of the bowels. I made mashed plantain, salmon, lentils, rice and chicken one day, a very quintessential Assamese dinner while the other day we "bhangra-d" to our very humdrum Punjabi dinner, roti, chicken, "palak paneer". The turmeric latte was an essential evening drink after supper until the last visit to the orthopedic who assured Shray that he could race provided he preserved himself by hibernating in a proverbial ivory tower until it was time for him to race.

The cast is finally fuckin off . The bone hasn't healed completely, still gotta be cautious and my wrist is super stiff at the moment. Even better news is the doc said I can race #IMlouisville on Oct 9th. Have 5 more weeks to get back my running legs and be ready to run a freaking marathon after 6 weeks of no running. Any pointers? I probably can't swim for the next 2 to 3 weeks due to a super stiff wrist:/ so for now even completing the race would be an accomplishment, time goals are out of the window. But beyond excited to get back to the #trilife. #desitriathlete #fracture #ironmanprep #ironmantraining #swimbikerun #IMlouisville #backtothegrind #xray

A post shared by Shray Kandhari (@desitriathlete) on Sep 1, 2016 at 8:56am PDT

Finally the day arrived, Ironman Louisville was knocking on our door. The anti climactic event now was, I fell sick with severe cold that I had perhaps contracted from one of my colleagues at work. I fell ill and Shray's fear of contracting the same illness made him cranky and terribly helpless. He felt he was chased by a bad omen that put impediments on his way every time he was about to reach his desired goal. To avoid contracting cold from me, he brought surgical masks which I wore while I rode with him in the car. I had read that if the phlegm was green it was contagious and I did not have green phlegm yet. I was not contagious but we were not ready to take a chance.

I was in a trance, in a denial mode, because all I could think was how to breathe better without getting a sore throat. I carried a box of tissues with me everywhere, did not care if it made me look shabby, I did not care for my outward appearance because no matter how hard I tried to look good, the glow would never come on my face, I still looked shabby. The thought that Shray was finally going to race dawned upon me the day we woke up at twilight. He was completely in his own frame of mind where he had a singular goal of going to the first transition unscathed, preserved and in one piece, thereafter taking the plunge to swim, then transitioning to the bike and following the routine. I was very proud of him since he endured all the pain to again bounce back and race, to claim his rightful title of Ironman.

We had picked up his packets the day earlier and went in the morning the next day to drop his bike off at the transition. He slipped into his wet suit and we followed him as if we were raring to say a bye to a friend at an airport. As the bugle sounded, there was a cacophony of splashes due to a throng of athletes kicking in water. Everyone was raring to go; although one would not be so raring to swim in the waters of the Ohio river which is dubious for its bad water quality. Shray's friend, Charles jokingly said that Shray would finally be swimming in the Ganges of America. Ganges in the lower riparian region is a putrid sludge of dirty water from tanneries, dead bodies from Haridwar, and a host of other polluting effluent. Ohio river was not as bad but it was no where close to the crystal clear glacier fed water of lake Coeur D' Alene.

Shray did fabulously in the swim leg. His friend Charles was earnestly watching his times on the app and inquired after Shray by tagging me to questions on social media. Mohita and I tried to get a good glimpse of Shray at the swimto bike transition point, but it was rather difficult to make out a single person from among a sea of athletes attired in similar looking wet suits and caps, a sea of black and orange caps. Allow me to add a pun here, Orange was the new cap.

Mohita, Akhil, Rimly, Bijal, Sagar and I went back to the hotel for siesta after a hearty brunch in downtown.

We hoped to come back after Shray transitioned into the running leg. After all he would take a good 4 hours to run a whole marathon. I would have refused to budge after biking 112 miles, I would have ordered volunteers to carry me on a stretcher to the finish line. The greasy food had lulled us to such a deep sleep that finally we had to be woken up by a worried Mohita who was afraid that we would miss Shray crossing the finish line and would have to be at the receiving end of his infamous anger that frequently involved hurling things and generously laced with choicest Delhi cuss words such as BC, MC coupled with Fucks. If one got money for the number of times Shray cussed one would be running to the banks with his ill gotten wealth. We made it quite close to the predicted finish time. Unluckily for Shray he had some GI issue due to salt imbalance owing to excessive intake of fluids and hence excessive urination that made his groin painful and his run agonizing.

In the run course

Shray at the finish line.

We waited patiently for him at the finish line. Everyone was longing to have a glimpse of him, and we waited with bated breaths. Everyone looked alike with similar tri-suits; Shray had worn a white trisuit with green and orange tiles on the torso so we jokingly called him a united nations flag, a suit representing any flag from every country in this world. I went live on Facebook streaming all the finishes, most of them beamed of accomplishments since it was their debut race while others beamed of maturity and success since this was another feather added to their hat of accomplishments. I saw Shray coming, but I had not seen what he brought with him, he went down on his knees and proposed to me. We became the cynosure of all the bystanders and onlookers. The feeling was cathartic, I could not hold back my tears, because firstly the joy of your better half achieving what he had desired for a long time and secondly he proposed to me with a ring. I knew we were getting married under the glaring eyes of our near and dear ones and would have a ring exchange traditional ceremony but I had never thought he would ask me out publicly like that. Although earlier I had come to know about his plan to propose to me at Coeur D' Alene, he had told me in a fit of rage when we had a fight, and since he could not race the Ironman at Coeur D' Alene, I had lost all hope that anything fancy of that kind would ever be in the cards. I did not know who was around me or where I was going, I covered my eyes in happiness and tears of joy. Shray was an Ironman and I was officially the Ironmate with well developed tapezius mucles.

Quest for the horizon

2015-08-23T02:28:00.003+05:30

Quest for the horizon.

Have you got Swag?

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. But what if you are riddled with insatiable hunger that intensifies more as you thought you had doused the first pangs of an empty mind that hankers after excellence and after the horizon. Homo Sapiens have since time immemorial pushed the boundaries of his capabilities, we have continuously challenged ourselves, we have reached great heights and still have greater milestones to achieve. We have hanged precariously from a precipice in the Himalayas in the quest for excellence, dived into the deepest trenches of our blue oceans and have also conquered space. It is the human mind, that dreams these once impossible dreams but his perseverance, grit and determination help him making those dreams a reality. I have spoken at length about human mind because I witnessed great physical feats accomplished by people of all ages at the half ironman in Muncie Indiana. I had laughed my boyfriend’s desire to complete an Ironman as a passing fad, just a flash in the pan. But I have known this boy for long and they say when a person from the Afghan plains, sets his mind to something, he achieves it. I jokingly say that rather than physical feats, he should be very good at chess and board games since the most notorious maternal uncle in our mythology belonged to his ancestral land. So my liaison with him can be best described as love between Bharat varsha’s extremums, Gandhar and Pragjyotishpur. Well contemporarily, I am actually a “khar khuwa, elehua suali(is this not the classic cliched Assamese stereotype?)”, who has no desire to push her boundaries but he is the maniac who continuously challenges his boundaries in the quest for his horizon.

Friendship.

Shray and his friend Shariq had planned in 2014 to complete the Iron Man by 2016. The entire year from 2014 November to June 2015 was spent in race preparation. He bought a triathlon bike in November and since then life has revolved around powertrains, carbon fibre bikes, race prep, running pace, open water swimming, running gear, cycling shorts and swimsuit. I could not fathom how a person could swim 1.2 miles/1.92 kms, run a half marathon 13.1 mile/20.96 kms and cycle 56 miles/89.9 kms, all one after the other. Swim coaches were hard to find, but that problem was solved via social media, cycling needed perseverance and running to train in temperate winters has always been atrocious.

Rural Indiana, near the event site

We booked a dingy hotel in Muncie Indiana where the race took place. Muncie is a quaint little town surrounded by unending corn farms that sometimes seem to kiss the sky in the horizon. Most of the hotels were booked hence we had to settle for that one which was not at all appealing. I was not at all surprised to see a friendly smiling sardar jee greeting us while his boss seemed to come from the land beyond the Dandakarniya forests, he was Mr Reddy. We were not at all appalled by familiar Indian faces in rural Indiana, because statistically Indians should be everywhere; given our large population, our indomitable spirit and determination, in the future we might as well find a Mr Ghantashala selling Biryani on the moon. The day of the race dawned upon us pretty early. We had gone to the race site the day before to collect bibs, packets and take an overall look at the race course. Many people were trying to get acclimatized with the water of the creek where the swim course was set up by the organizers. It was midsummer in June and the weather was balmy and perfect for fun outing on the beach by the creek. I would rather drink and be merry like the star crossed lovers in midsummer night’s dream than cycle 56miles only to push the limits of my endurance. My personal achievement of a half marathon seems so minuscule and child like after watching people as old as 73 attempting Ironman and completing it in respectable time. We woke up at 4 am in the morning, and after collecting all the indispensable things for the race- tri bikes, bibs, bodysuit, packets, balms, we set out for the race site. I was supposed to be the moral support for those two boys and so I was. I did my job perfectly well, chronicling their maiden journey to ironmanhood. I carried a camera, my phone , a bottle of water and some spare cash. I broadcasted parts of their race on snapchat, took candid pictures of the boys and updated social media, besides praying for their well being. As we inched closer to the start of the race, I felt what a great physical and mental feat these two people I know, would accomplish. The first part of the race was the swim, and as the bugle was blown, hordes of swimmers in their age group waded through the shallow beach and embraced the choppy waters like happy ducks

Everyone was in bodysuit so it was very hard for me to identify my wards from afar as I positioned myself to take some exciting pictures. The sun shone brightly and it was not cloudy at all which was very great for me but for the swimmers it was a little difficult to navigate in the turbulent waters. After the swim, everyone hurriedly went to the section where volunteers stripped them of their suits and the athletes ran to take their bikes for the cycling course. Cycling 56 miles would be approximately cycling to Jagiroad from Guwahati. I spent my time taking pictures, and eating delicious grilled chicken and enjoying the sweet midsummer day; the weather was perfect, it was hot but not muggy, I was not sweating like a pig.

The swim course.

The trees were green and friends and families of the participants thronged the venue, hence it bore the look of a fair. I really missed my near and dear ones that day and wished if they were with me. But I nevertheless took full advantage of the solitude and imbibed the joy from the atmosphere. After the athletes had splashed in the waters to complete the 2 km swim course ,the creek returned back to being calm. It reminded me so much of our beloved Deepor beel and numerous beels we have back home in Assam. I wondered if we organise a triathlon back home in one of those water bodies, would it be an incentive for people to preserve our fragile environment and not destroy which is what we have been doing.

Family thronging the venue.

I was very excited to listen to the the rustle of the bike wheels. Since I am a cycling enthusiast, I wanted to ride a similar bike and feel the wind in my hair. But at those speeds of 60 km/hr I was sure it wouldn’t be as romantic as had I envisioned it to be.

Almost there!!

However it also reminded me of Jo Jeeta Wahi Sikandar’s cycling race, I had watched as a toddler with my paternal aunts. The professional athletes had carbon fibre wheels that cost as much as 1900 dollars and I must comment that those wheels looked really gorgeous and emanated a very exciting sound.

As the cycling leg of the race inched closer to the termination point, I grew a bit impatient, since each time I took a picture of an athlete, thinking him to be Shray , it turned out to be someone else. Most people wore Rudy project helmets hence looked like they were all uniformly dressed mannequins manufactured in a plant in China and rolling out of the assembly line on their bikes. I finally found Shray on his bike and he was hurriedly cycling his way to the end of the bike leg. He put his bike back on the racks and quickly set out for the run leg of the race. I could not fathom how could a human body endure so much pounding and pain for 6 hours and still function flawlessly. He told me later that the half marathon felt as if he was running on wobbly jelly legs. However, the spirit of the local people and the volunteers was incredible. The smiles on those faces, ringing bells and colorful stations decorated creatively would of course alleviate any one of the pain of the race. I am a hopeful person , had it been me doing the race, my sole driver while completing each milestone one step at a time would have been hope.

Rightly said!

Finally, Shray completed the half marathon and before him Shariq came running like a wild coyote. Shariq is a born runner,although he was lagging behind Shray in the first two legs of the race, he beat almost everyone who was ahead of him in the half marathon. The best part while standing at the finish line is looking at the expressions of contentment, joy, accomplishment on different faces that come running through the aisle to the finish line. I was praying that no untoward incident should take place, and it did not. A year of training, and cycling in the “pain cave” as I called Shray’s living room, finally bore fruit. Many a times I tried to be the mythological Menaka who seduces Vishwamitra to break his penance but in vain. My lure was slightly different , it was just an invite for ice cream or to go visit some place since we have been working non stop for more than 2 years without any holiday. But as it happened in Mythology my lures fell on deaf ears but now I do not mind since this Vishwamitra completed the half iron man in 5 hour 30 minutes and now is again undergoing his penance to complete the full in the coming year.

Detroit half marathon 2014.

2014-12-08T12:21:00.000+05:30

Detroit Half Marathon 2014.

Marathon, the very word evoked a sense of fear and awe in me. I am no stranger to physical exercise, being a girl from Assam, growing up in the Guwahati of the 90’s and early 2000’s, I got ample opportunity to enjoy nature. Weekend treks to Narakasur hills, at the foothill of which stands my humble home, sunday Bharatnatyam classes, evening cycle rides and running up and down from my house to the “Bari” with our dogs were the routine for us, siblings. Moreover as winter descended upon the valley, badminton nets had to go up, which is, I think a ritual in most homes in Assam but I had never trained seriously for any event. Bharatnatyam with its aramandi pose gave me strong quads but I never seriously practised it with the aim of making it big as a prima ballerina. We were all encouraged to participate in The Abhiruchi day run in Guwahati but in a city which lacks basic amenities, pedestrian paths and parks, running for leisure, is a dream. Moreover, parents put their children in extracurricular activities which might become a muse for the child later in life but it is seen that as a girl grows and enters the throes of womanhood, running or any form of physical activity is just a frivolous hobby. We never cultivated that culture of keeping fit, or incorporating exercise as a part of our daily life. It is only when one is diagnosed with diabetes, a very common lifestyle disease in Assam, we wake up and start rigorous regimes of morning walks and commodified yoga poses taught by commercial Yoga gurus on TV. We the people of Assam take great pride in enjoying our food which was developed in an agrarian culture for the robust farmer family but presently due to our sedentary lifestyles the same food is making us patients of lifestyle diseases.

The enthusiasm to lead a healthy life was lost in the melee of day to day life. I started running seriously since 2012. I joined the gym in the university but I was following the crowd and doing the usual, using the cross training machines while staring at the tv screen. My life changed when I met our coach, Matthew Hammersmith, who is an ultra runner(ran more than 100 miles, ran from Indiana to Michigan), I started to seriously think about running. I also met another wonderful individual Jade Paron, who trained me and I started exercising seriously. At the same time, my very active and outdoorsy boyfriend, maggie took up crossfit and his life changed when he met a fellow Md. Shariq who introduced him to the world of running. I ran my first 5k at the Shamrock and Shenanigans in Ann Arbor and since then have run numerous 5ks and 10ks but Half Marathon was still a dream. I did not have the temperament and perseverance to train consistently for such an event that demands a lot of endurance both mental and physical and a very robust constitution. I was afraid I would get stress fracture or perhaps get mugged by someone during my evening runs. However, I finally signed up for the Detroit event in May along with Maggie. Maggieis a motivator who uses unusual means to motivate me, sometimes like a pedagogical school teacher, but I think those are the only means to drive me to train since I am a little stubborn. He previously ran the Pittsburgh marathon in May 2014 in 4 hours. He had joined a running club in Pittsburgh to prepare for the event. He ran with a pace group that met every sunday in downtown . However, my half marathon training in Troy consisted of just me and my phone application. I started doing 5 ks 3 times a week besides my crossfit class. Towards August I started doing longer runs i.e 7, 8 miles one day in a week besides the 5 k. Sundays according to Maggie my trainer, should be reserved for long runs. I took a break from crossfit because the burgeoning pressure at work along with everything else made me really exhausted. I kept running, but I must say I was not very consistent with my training. I somehow did it, ran the long distances on weekends or on days other than weekends if the bipolar weather of Michigan did not permit me to run outside. The half marathon was on October 19th and as days passed the feeling finally started to sink in. I never practised running long runs with gels, although I should have. I also got plantar fasciitis one evening during my training while I tried to run faster imagining myself to be a lizard skimming a plane of water.

The penultimate day of the race was the running convention day when Maggie and I went to collect our bibs. The convention was held at the CoBO center in Detroit and was modest in comparison to the one at Pittsburgh held in April 2014. There were stalls selling KT tapes, running gear, gels and anything related to running. While inspecting our race packets we found that the lady at the kiosk gave us one extra bib, we hurried back to her to return the extra one and were happy that we prevented some unfortunate news for a fellow participant.

The race day like all other race days is eventful and joyous. A sense of camaraderie and cheerfulness pervades the atmosphere. In all the races that I participated, I met strangers cheering me with claps and songs, which is far away from the sneers and remarks I got as a teenager from onlookers when I ran the cross country at high school. We started from the intersection of Larned and Congress street in Detroit and proceeded east towards Indian village neighbourhood. The weather was perfect and I could not be happier running my first half marathon with Maggie. We had decided on a strategy to run slow initially then increase my pace gradually , and sprint towards the end. But I never seemed to understand this strategy since I wanted to run like a raging bull keeping everyone else behind me after I heard the gunshot(talk about unleashing my inner rhinoceros). We had paced ourselves using a gps watch that beeped each time we went over our pace. While running eastwards in Detroit, we discovered very beautiful neighbourhoods with houses of unique architecture. There were groups of different ethnicities, Polish and Greek, who encouraged the participants with music, claps and also beer. The local church goers also volunteered and provided us with water and gels. Maggie and I got many high fives and flying kisses from babies perched on their fathers’ shoulders. Detroit glowed in the crisp fall weather. The half marathon route then took us to the infamous Belle isle, the island that is connected to Detroit via a bridge and is literally situated between Detroit and Windsor, on the Detroit river. I wonder why someone wanted to make it an independent country sometime in 2009 and garnered a lot of attention due to his ambitious plan. It is a very beautiful island that has a private yacht club, an aquarium, conservatory and a beautiful fountain with lions that remind me of Victoria Memorial, meanwhile a lady caught up with us and started talking incessantly. We later realised that she is a “Bandit”, someone who runs without any BIB for fun. There were scores of volunteers with gels and water on the road. Maggie took this run like a piece of cake and he was surely enjoying eating it. Besides the high fives at Indian village, he drank beer, drank water,ate gels, spoke at length about running with a Bandit, on the other hand I was so serious about it that I decided not to smile, talk or even eat gel and drink water until I crossed the finish line. After Belle isle, the route merged with Jefferson Avenue then diverged into the renovated Detroit riverwalk. The riverwalk run was picturesque, we ran beside a Marina, a little light house and another yacht club. The route merged yet again onto the Jefferson Avenue and as I realised I was getting closer to my goal, I could not wait to get there as soon as possible and celebrate. I never followed the strategy that Maggie had planned for me and thankgoodness he did not push me. The run from Jefferson Avenue to the finish line on felt the longest. When I finally crossed the finish line, I could not believe that I actually ran a 13.1 mile race. I finished my goal in 2 hours and 30 minutes.Although it might seem to be a miniscule feat as compared to marathons, ultra marathons and Iron man events but it was a very big personal milestone for me. After the race ended I heaved a breath of sigh and made full use of my smart phone i.e indulged in clicking many selfies(guilty) and thereafter we rushed to our favourite Yemeni food place in Hamtramck and ate chicken and rice like there was no tomorrow. When someone later asked what is the secret of running and endurance, I just replied BHAAT. A subtle joke pointed at myself but nevertheless is true to a greater extent.

Of Dahlias, Chrysanthemums and Marigolds.

2014-06-30T10:17:00.001+05:30

I have vivid memories of my idyllic childhood spent amidst Dahlias, Chrysanthemums and Marigolds. There were Dianthuses, Hollyhocks, Poppies, Nasturtiums, Pansies, Roses, Water lilies, Tiger lilies, bright Oleanders, Hibiscuses, Jasmines, night Jasmines and wild flowers with tiny little colorful florets in our garden and sometimes clusters of white and pink periwinkle growing uninhibitedly without any tending from us.. When did all of these become a figment of my bright memories, I have had no clue. Now I adore, while I gaze at the midwestern flora and the usual green pastures bedazzled with sprightly dandelions and daffodils. The wild lilac shrubs and the sweet smelling lavender, magnolias,apple trees in spring and summer get long glances of appreciation from me.These seasonal guests bloom for a few days give us extreme olfactory and viewing pleasure and bid us good bye until the next season.

Back home we used to trouble our gardener, Rabha dada or dada, by repeatedly requesting him to bring different perennial flower shrubs, white lotuses and seasonal flowers. I once took his scooty for a jolly ride without his knowledge and on getting back home to a house full of guests, I was greeted by my mother with an inflammed rage borne out of her genuine worry for my well being. She frantically sent out people to look for me in the city while nursing nervous thoughts of kidnappings, accidents and everything bad that could happen to me. I met my angry father on the way home who did not shout at me surprisingly but showed me angry large eyes; I also met a cousin of mine on my way home; he immediately seiged my plans to travel more on dada's scooty by shouting at me and seizing the scooter from my hands. I got the beating of a life time from my mother who depended on victorian corporal punishment with a slick cane in this case a cane meant for supporting sweet peas. I did not make a fuss because no amount of beating could move me then, since I had already developed a thick skin. I just closed my brains to the fact that there was an event in the house and I acknowledged that I was courageous/stupid/adventurous enough to go missing from the house before a joyous event. That was the wild bird in me raring to create a ruckus at my pleasure and at the dismay of others around me.After the sturdy beating my parents felt bad at the sorry figure I cut in the porch lights pouring water on the cane marks on my calves and palms,so they gave me extra pieces of cake. I could care less of the beating because the amount of satisfaction I got by riding the scooter freely for an hour without any intervention, phone calls, the feeling of polluted Guwahati crisp air running through my open wild hair gave me a high of happiness. While dada applauded me for bringing his scooter back without a scratch, he also grimaced at my plight later. He found no time in getting out of his extra schedule and taking his prized scooter away from my reach.
Why a sudden rant about that particular incident and flowers?Probably because I remembered our dada so much after visiting a blog written by the wife of a bureaucrat. Dada also worked for her and he was her not so secret weapon for annual flower shows and her impeccable garden. There was fierce competition among all the flower show veteran ladies of the town over who had the cleanest lawn, whose dahlias were bigger and whose broccoli florets could make the superb annual stir fry. If any big flower won the competition, the winner gleaned and the vanquished sneered but the hero at the end of the day was dada. He was paid handsomely and was usually kidnapped by a few patrons who wanted him to work for them exclusively. His daughter Rima is a pretty girl. She was a very good student who bagged the elementary school scholarship sponsored by the Assam government. I called my mother today while nursing my mushy spaghetti hamstrings due to yesterday's Crossfit class that I was avoiding or rather attending sporadically last week. I got to know that Rima who was that little girl in LP school is now enjoying marital bliss. I was shocked, such a promising young girl married off to the suitable boy of her parents' dreams and now perhaps expecting a confinement.
FINIS

Summer Night

2014-06-30T10:11:00.005+05:30

Your staccato breathing,

the moisture laden air of summer,

My wispy locks spread over your rhythmic chest,

I heard your heart beating like a ticking clock

heralding the future with every beat.

our porcelain bodies shone bright under the moonlight,

peeking through the window.

In the loving silence with interlocked fingers,

we dreamt of a future,

as bright as the stars that adored the sky.

But the gleaming moon troubled my aching eyes

and I once again longed to sleep

in your loving embrace.

For I am in love with the darkness that

pervades when I close my eyes

While I hide you in my bosom embrace,

or while I plant a moist implant

with utmost care on your rugged flesh

Tears

2013-11-04T11:19:00.002+05:30

Somber hues of evening

Cold air sweeps crisp autumn foliage

Her face was like that of a weeping willow,

young but furrowed by lines of crying

The tears of morning dried in the dusk

but the stains remained on the porcelain mounds of her cheeks

How well she wished things would be

How it were a few autumns ago.

When her dream of talking under a brightly lit October sky.

Suddenly came to be true on a moonless night.

Sleep on a no moon day

2013-11-04T08:54:00.003+05:30

Darkness and silence all around

As the background din subside,

The staccato breathing counts time

To the imminent consequence.

The cold so sublime

Sinks in.

The silence is the constant din

Darkness accompanies me

To the sweet sleep awaiting.

Lost childhood, lost innocence

2013-08-23T10:30:00.003+05:30

I cannot believe a chain of events has started rolling and the consequence is inevitable. I still pinch myself or slap my cheeks in the middle of the night to check if I am dreaming, if all these events are a mere figment of my imagination. I had never imagined this day to dawn upon us and that we would be at a juncture when certain choices would erase a large alibi of my childhood years. Urbanization was not the problem and it had largely left us untouched not that we are uncivilized brutes living with the ideals of the medieval period. The sanctity of innocence will be invaded, destroyed and will be replaced by a cosmetic version of ugly concrete monoliths. These events have made me firmly believe that anything is possible under the premise of randomness, coincidence or providence.

After having written almost a paragraph with cohesive idea entailing about my state of dumbfoundedness I am still in the limbo of being not able to accept the reality and the future there after which will obviously be carved as a consequence to what will happen in a
year hence. No amount of tears or inconsolable relentless circumambulation of my minds portal can pacify my frantic mind. A few years ago I could not relate to my mother's sudden outburst at the dinner table while we spoke at length about her father's estate. She would go on and on about the uncountable citrus trees in the "bagaan", the rows and rows of date palm that lined the sides of the large ponds. Those unending paddy fields which were tended to by an army of boys and the army of staff that had very interesting characters. The stories were unending and I usually got bored because my mother had often repeated them and by that time I could recall word by word what she would tell next. There were peculiar and funny nicknames attributed to each person's physical characteristic. We would now find it downright racist, sexist and discriminating but for my mom and her sisters it was outright fun. She never visited her ancestral house after both my maternal parents passed away. The violent 90's swept the valley and the place where her village was situated was one of the epicenters of violent separatist ethnic movement. Indian army would camp at my grandpa's estate during operations having easy access to fruits, water. Random people would just come in and harvest oranges, tons of beetle nuts and coconuts which would then be sold to middlemen. It was a source of free income for some people. Meanwhile due to absence of any caretakers a big jungle with overgrown grass, trees engulfed my mother's house. She went home after 15 or 20 years and broke down looking at the dismal state. Those little boys and girls who she nick named based on their physical traits were now pot bellied fathers and mothers of grown up children. Gone were the ideals her father ingrained in them to exercise and that having a big belly on a man is akin to being pregnant with a bee hive, it was a disgrace. They all cried, she reminisced about her lovely vacations and her childhood. I found all those long talks and discussion about her father's jolly vacation retreat as I called a big fairy tale that was too good or too rural to be true.

Birubari

Now as I forsee the future I will be at the same juncture sharing at length about Birubari with my children and the generation after. I will be rebuked and rebuffed by head strong teenagers to come back to reality and stop living in memories. Wish I could have something to show other than pictures, perhaps a tangible proof of a vibrant and lovely Birubari would suffice to bring them into my world of innocence and my childhood.

Freedom

2013-08-15T00:05:00.000+05:30

I stood at the edge of horizon

To see liberty sparkle our sky

Smiles and jubilation on faces

Ragged by relentless struggle to be free.

Three scores years have passed

And the country still marches ahead,

With strides of pride and diversity

Her compassion is widespread.

Some ailments and maladies

Still ail us,

But we are not what you see,

Presented before the spectators

A disastrous caricatured travesty.

We are unshackling ourselves

Of vestiges of our recent past.

To reach our glorious destiny

With honesty and loyalty steadfast.

Wishes.

2013-08-14T18:55:00.003+05:30

A thousand wishes flood my mind

And desire floods my heart,

A wish to break shackles of monotony

And run midst flower fields.

A strong desire to be summoned As beauteous,

beauty under the clear sky

Whose smile nourishes her mundane life

Whose sparkling eyes never lie.

A desire to be under a star lit sky

And gaze in wonder with baffled eyes.

A thousand wishes flood my mind

To add a smile to impoverished hearts

To scrape away the hardened tears,

For love torn apart.

Souls that wallow in never ending grief,

And wish for happiness to dawn

I wish to shower hope on them

That sadness is forever gone.

Struggling with a dilemma. Give me your answer I will complete the poem.

2013-08-07T22:33:00.002+05:30

Paths forked into two,

My steady pace came to a halt.

The juncture I stood presented me

Two paths on which to tread.

Each lead to my destination

A pretty picture of tomorrow

Each path was inviting

Graveled and shaded with lilacs

that swayed in summer breeze.

The right enticed me with pretty flowers

The left had sublime shade

In dilemma I was flung.

Which path to tread to reach my place

Gifts.

2013-08-05T11:06:00.001+05:30

(Image credit from smb-tech-guide.com)

When gifts are showered, they are done so for a purpose. One does not intend to go to any length to shower a person with expensive gifts(scarves from Burberry? expensive? People who wear hermes will not polish their boots with it). The sole intention behind this sudden magnanimous decision which is supposed to be hard on one's pockets is to satiate one's desire to get an affirmative to enter her personal space. Gifts are never without a purpose. They are made when impromptu decisions are made to meet strangers halfway across the way to a supposed destination, when one burns midnight oil talking incessantly to the stranger as if one were latching on to the call of one's new found flame. Time stands still and everything is unimportant including that hideous creature whom one supposedly calls one's love but is extremely shy to display it proudly to the world that she has one's heart due to her hideous monstrosity. She is just a speck of dust that can be brushed off at any time when the times comes to meet strangers who promise to titillate one's senses in person. The promise of having a clandestine rendezvous with a promising stranger is so exciting that one dexterously plans one's move to bury it in as much soil as one can with the help of friends who are keepers of his secret crypt. Having conducted an eventful rendezvous at a time when the earth enters a new solar year with this promising stranger while keeping the hideous creature crying and longing for trivial things blown out of proportion and for that idea that she is not presentable to the world, one erases each pictorial memory from the modern man's electronic companion i.e. the phone. Excitement of a night when subsided everything was hunky dory and he went back to the hideous creature without any apology and not a sigh of regret.

Charulata demonized into a conniving nymphomaniac version 2.0.

2013-08-05T10:22:00.001+05:30

(Image url from askmen.com The image is not my work it is from askmen.com)

Charulata demanded gifts from her beneficial acquaintance. The conniving nymphomaniac was everyone's dearest girl next door by the day, the nonchalant happy go lucky spouse who was the epitome of good housekeeping but when alcohol coursed through her veins poured by her beneficial acquaintance who would pay for her jolly jaunts and night outs she would transform into a cheaper version of a roadside Aphrodite playing with her usual conniving ways and presenting herself elusive to the approaches of her friend. She would not give in until the gifts were higher. She kept him trying harder for him to trespass her sacred arena. She demanded her body to be scorched by his pent up lust for her in all his and her senses without sedating alcohol diluting the real tension that would scorch their bodies. But the enigma for the sacred arena was for another day, today since her lips were slave to the alcohol paid for by her friend she presented her satisfying services that made him see heaven. Every good thing comes to an end and so did this arrangement when it was time for the roadside Aphrodite to make way home to assume the high pedestal of the epitome of good housekeeping. Taking the benefit of the absence of someone at her temple she satiated her ego which was perhaps a natural vent for all the hopelessness that she is a potential failure or her potential has not been realized yet. A natural actor is like water, she effortlessly transforms herself into her convenient role. Her life moved on and all her benefactors kept a record of their time with her while she was Aphrodite both at her temple and the unusual world outside that existed in the concrete jungle.