THE STORY OF INDU-2

Few weeks later I left for her village. With few books and clothes in my shoulder bag I took the state highway connecting my hometown Vadodara and Dabhoi. The highway was flanked by rows of Neem and Gulmohor trees, the trees were fairly tall arching at the top providing shade to the travelers and traffic. It was crimson all over because of the flower on the trees and flower that fell on the road. It had been half an hour of journey by bus; it was time for me to get down at a spot named Kundhela.

No sooner did I alight the bus, within moments it disappeared around the turn of the road. From here on I had to walk on foot. I crossed on to the other side of the road and entered a field. It was the onset of monsoon; the sun not in sight, the sky heavily overcastted, the earth dressed in green and its soil drenched. While walking through the fields the soil would give way and my foot would sink in by a centimeter or so. With every moment fleeting, visibility lessened and I had to pass-by one village (Kundhela) before I could reach Bahranpura, the village where she lived. Far away I could see hazy images of two palm trees which stood inside the periphery of her village. It was almost 45 minutes of walk, from leaving the state highway to reaching her doorstep. It was almost dark; she had just completed her evening prayer. A sense of happiness flashed through her and emerged on her face in the form of a smile. Manubhai appeared on the scene from inside the house and it was once again a joyous reunion.

The next day Manubhai as usual went out for work on the fields, this was the right time to see that plantation happens in the right way so that he could thereafter nurture his crop with manure and water and see that his expectation come true. While at home I would spend my time reading books those I carried along with me. In between when she used to finish her household work she would come and sit with me. Talk about family members in the city, though not much educated, she would ask me, about my career plans. Hers was not a posh house but whatever she had; she would offer it with open heart. The dishes that she made were not five-star but were presented with a sense of belongingness; I could sense the connectivity being present and live. At times when it drizzled, the coolness dropping low, me stationed in my chair, lost in reading, she would surprise me with an aroma filled cup of tea. Fine phase of life speeds up and bring us to the moments of parting. I too had to leave for the city.

   

Once in the city I got busy with my career; my job, my family, my studies kept me too busy. At times I had to move my residence from place to place. Distances have their own role to play in maintaining relations. We got isolated for years. 
   

The next time I met her after almost two decades, she was week, age had demanded its toll, she had food pipe problem. The doctor had suggested a surgery. I was abroad and could not support Manubahi but I asked my family to be there with them. My wife supported to the best of her ability but she (Indubhabhi) was destined to leave us all.

Now, during the night, when I gaze at the sky and look at the stars, I am not sure whether she is there as a star trying to connect with me but when I gaze at my inner self, I find her there on the annals of my memories.

THE STORY OF INDU-1

Recalling childhood memories, I remember that at bed time I used to gaze at the sky, once I asked my mother. Whom do these stars represent? Why are they in the sky? She replied, when good people die their souls take place in the sky as stars. I have often seen falling stars who rush speedily and disappear, as I grew up I came to know they can be meteorite who enter the earth’s atmosphere and get burned out due friction with the earth’s atmosphere. There is another kind of celestial body which moves around the sun and disappear, they visit the sky on timely basis, they are known as comets, different comets appear over varying  span time. For many a comet can be seen once in a lifetime. Halley is one such comet which appears after 74 to 76 years. Like comets in the sky people appear in life and leave behind unforgettable memories. This article is dedicated to my sister-in-law “Indu”.

I was a small child when she married my brother (Manu) and joined our family, she used to stay in the village and I used to stay in the city. Whenever we happened to visit  her my mother would be closer to her and I would be busy gaming with friends, away from home into the fields, in the evening I would at times return home with a bag of tamarind or with a bag of wood apples. 

Come dusk and all activities (in-house and in-farm) would slow down, in the village people usually prefer to have dinner at dusk. The completion of dinner would lead us to family reunion where the elders and the children would exchange talks, ideas and stories. Though the house was big enough to accommodate the whole family; cots would be drawn for few family members who preferred to sleep under the shady neem trees which stood in front of the house. This group of beds was the reunion site. Those day there were no street lights in the village; the only light available was the moonlight that depended on its waxing and waning mood. Laying in the bed as I watched the moon slowly traversing the sky; playing hide and seek through the branches of the neem tree, she (Indu) would be there sitting beside me gently stroking my back, moments later I would be in deep sleep.

My slumber would be lost by the flutter of the birds on the neem trees, the noise of the cattle and the sunlight all around. Day after night and night after day would join together to form a continuous flow of joy and merriment. This flow would come to an end when it was time for me to leave this ambiance for schooling. Few days later the school would be commencing and I would be among a different company of friends. Often I would be stuck with the thought “Why is joyous time always short? Why does a vacation pass so swiftly?”   

Back at school I would get busy with studies and someday she would surprise me by an unexpected visit. She would stay overnight and leave the other day. During the few hours she would make me laugh. I really enjoyed her company. As years passed I found, she sensed me growing up and treated me accordingly. She would be friendlier rather than being mischievous. I had cleared my preparatory science. She one day paid a surprise visit and while leaving invited me to be her guest. 

See you next time with "The story of Indu-2"

WHAT IS LIFE?

Newton was curious about the falling apples

Edison was curious about the chick coming to life

The very glimpses of life are felt when a child starts developing his identity. In this process he argues, he protests, he asks for reasons and at times he disagrees.

I never had a chance to be through all these things for the reason I had a strong, lovely, lively and a caring mother who always met my demands with a smile. When I happened to get  cuddled in her strong arms l felt the warmth that every mother carries in her bosom for her child. It has been 15 years she left us for her heavenly abode but the warmth, the love and the memories she has left behind remains intact. I never feel lonely and away from her.

I was born in a farmer family, where education did not matter much. The villagers are persons who live close to nature, away from the hustle and bustle of an urban life. Like every head of the family my grandfather also had a dream that the progeny behind should progress and move ahead with time. Even though being the only child in a big family I was sent to Bombay for convent education.

The city life of Bombay never attracted me and I always yearned for the meadows, the chirping birds, the refreshing gentle breeze, the river beside my village, the jingle of the temple bells, the river banks and the alluring sunrise and sunset in the hill.

The clutter of the city made me feel like a machine whereas the environment of the village made me feel like a human. If I was to be searched during my vacation, there were two places; if not at the river than at the orchard.  The orchard had thirteen shady mango trees. Once sitting underneath one of those trees I was glancing on the water-melon creeper spread on the river banks. A thought flashed in my mind; why does nature work the wrong way. A strong mango tree is given a small fruit where as a creeper is given a hefty one. The thought process was on when a mango hit my head. I came to senses understanding that nature works the right way. What if the mango tree was blessed with a fruit of the size of a water-melon?

I never came back to my village. After completing my education I took up a job and settled down in the city. My parents continued to live in the village. Once I received a call from my younger brother that mother is serious and we are bringing her to the city for medication. I got her admitted and diagnosed, she had double infection. Medication was not working.  I was always at her bed side, she used to talk less.  I asked her “Are you worried”. She said “With you to take care of the family, I have no worries”.  One day she slipped into unconsciousness and left us behind. Money, medicine, doctors, nurses nothing worked. She was destined to leave.

My father, who left us a fortnight ago used to sparingly visit my family. His visit were short lived, come dusk and he wanted to leave for the village. Life for him in the city was slow, he couldn’t find a person of his age group to whom he can relate to, he talked about God, he talked about the village whereas my children talked about computers, movies & partying.

Integration and disintegration are phase found not only in nature but also in human relationship. Everything that I liked, loved, or started loving, slipped away and became a past, leaving me with nothing but to start afresh. Is this process of making, breaking and remaking known as “LIFE”? 

The world of fantasy and the world of reality are distances apart

Life is  a journey not to be looked back but only to be marched ahead.

LIFE IS WHAT WE...

He, who starts, has to stop.

He, who comes, has to go.

He, who takes birth, has to die.

Once a friend called me and asked, whether I was willing to share my accommodation? I regretted for the reason, being alone provides me the freedom and space to live life the way I want. Being alone has provided me the ambiance to think and write; to think about life, its experiences, its purpose, its nature, its benevolence and its demands.

Life at time pushes and pulls, demands and dictates. With me and you sailing like a tiny boat in the ocean with no other option left but to ride the crest and trough that appears and occurs in the ocean.

Life seems to be a journey from nothing to something, a journey from appearing to disappearing, a journey from integration to disintegration, a journey from fusion to fission.

In this process we struggle to maneuver our way through the odds and evens, ups and downs and reach our destinations, our goals, sometimes alone and sometimes with people around us, with people close to us, with people who relate to us, with people who care for us. Having reached the desired destination, we again embark on a new journey.

Staying at one point and one place kills, look at the stagnant water of a lake or a pond, it stinks isn’t it? We can never say a pond to be alive whereas on the other end the river is said to be alive, always moving, giving life to many on its banks and far away. “That which moves, lives and gives life and that which rests dies.” Moving of the lungs oxygenates blood, moving of the heart nourishes every cell in our body and we call ourselves alive.

The sum total of numerous internal small journeys of the lungs from expansion to contraction and again back to expansion, the small journeys of the heart from systolic to diastolic and again back to systolic is what we call as life, likewise externally life is a sum total of the numerous small journey of lending a help hand, lending an attentive ear, caring for somebody, wishing for somebody, still at instances we do feel

LIFE IS WHAT WE START ALONE

LIFE IS WHAT WE LIVE ALONE
 LIFE IS WHAT WE QUIT ALONE