A letter unsent to a friend: A letter to no one

Dear …………

Hope this letter finds you well. I thought of writing to you because I like to write and I like the thought that you , with that calm on your face, would be reading it. That the depth in those eyes would scan across the length of it, and probably lead to a knowing smile.
In a way it is like a conversation, just that your response would be delayed, thoughtful or probably silent.
That actually does not matter, not over the years, not when we shall meet again after travelling across the skies, the oceans, the moons.

It is a letter, a letter which makes you realize that the response does not matter, what matters is the process of writing the letter itself, to feel the words appear before you as an inner voice dictates your fingers. It is almost cathartic, or perhaps I wish for it to be so, we all do things with a selfish purpose indeed. I think I look for happiness through expression, I also look for you.

Then maybe- I am just voicing a random thought- maybe those Communication Models are to be blamed, to be blamed for building that desire of a tangible response. Such cunning strategy forcing us to surround ourselves with that which can give us a conspicuous nod.

Even when we travel, we travel with the hope of re-connecting with what we are born connected with. Are you not connected with the tree whose branches sway above you, are you not connected to the squirrel that darts across the road? We are all connected, shall always be.

At times, I accept that loneliness is a myth, no one is alone ever, it is just a make-believe so that the societal structures would sustain. But then, don’t we work so hard, put in conscious efforts to be lonely? To live, to eat, to sleep, to travel in cabins, in boxes, that separate us even from our soul. To live in an isolated luxury, a poisonous privilege indeed. We seem to have forgotten the company of the insects, the birds, the clouds, Oh yes, the clouds! The clouds do tell us much, so many stories, so much that is beyond and hidden from the naked eye.

The clouds, my friend, reveal bit-by-bit, but we do not wish for this ethereal company, neither of the leaves, nor the water. Do you ever hear the ocean as you stand in the midst of great noise? I do, it tells me of the vastness of that which I don’t understand but am a minute part of it nevertheless, I influence it as much as it influences me.

I just wanted to remind you, that you are freer than you think you are, so am I, and even if you never write back, I would know your response, I would hear it without your having uttered a word. For if we wish to be connected, we stay connected, I choose to have you in my life still.

I have reached a point where I don’t know why I am writing this, primarily because I thought of you.

You might not want to understand this and dismiss this, you must, no one is to be forced to have an accurate understanding of another’s rant.

Love Always

Poornima

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Counter Trouble- Create Art

So what do you do when you feel that the world has come to an end?

What do you do when you delve in self-pity and misery, as if there is no tomorrow?

You remind yourself of the many stories around you, the wide variety of emotions, facts and fiction which surround you, there is much more in the world beyond you and its great!

To counter troublesome thoughts- create art

To feel good- create art

To share joy- create art

SO here’s one for stories, stories we all are, stories we live with.

poornima sardana story poster

Daily Musings

For a few months, I had been writing daily posts on facebook based on what I experienced each day. On looking back at it, I cannot really think of a sole purpose for doing so. On one level it was a selfish pursuit in giving vent to overwhelming thoughts, on typing it out and reading it, I found comfort as well as feedback. At times it entertained others, at times I am certain it must have not been pleasant. There are some posts which I now feel are mere rambling or sermons, while some serve to make others smile, or reminders of things forgotten. I feel writing and reading both heal, connect and are a shared experience between people. Where some of them unfortunately turned into egotist monologues, I do feel that there were some which got me warmth and affection from people through messages on how what they read did touch them or their lives in certain ways.Anyhow, I thought i would post a few of those here as well. I am placing them together, as if in continuity, for in many ways they are indeed coming from the same place:

“He appeared all of a sudden, almost out of nowhere. A thin little boy, with big eyes and long fingers. I was in an auto-rickshaw holding on to the tiny pair of shoes I had just purchased for my niece, and he was my surprise acquaintance at the traffic signal. I thought he would ask for money, he did not. He kept looking at me, and wrapped his fingers around my wrist. I smiled and asked him to not do so. He did it again, I asked him to not do so again. He did so the third time and I gave him a fake stern look which made him giggle. I was certain he would do so yet again, I did not know the reason behind this play, was he wanting to tease me, or express something I was blinded towards, whatever the cause, I knew this was now a game which I did not wish to lose, so I was ready this time, the moment he tried to place his fingers again, I caught hold of them. We both started laughing. The light turned green, off to my destination, he too moved on…While carring footwear for a child, I met another, who standing barefoot on that road, asked me to question what just happened and why”

“My heart sank as I saw them take her in that closed vehicle, hidden from our eyes, I could not dare to think how scared she must be.
They refused to listen to me, they refused to let her be, they refused to agree on the fact that she is a quiet peaceful soul who harms no one. They pulled her mercilessly as she fought for her freedom and with a final tug of their relentless weapon, threw her in the caged darkness.

Months ago they had done the same to her children, which I only got to learn from an eyewitness. SImply picked them up, and they never returned. We did not know where to go and search for them. We felt helpless, but not as much as the mother, who for days roamed around in a state of confusion, or perhaps a state I cannot truly even empathise with.

Those men, men with power, authority, they are ruthless, and rude, with a narrow focus. Fine, someone complained from the Resident Welfare. I am a resident too, and I care for her, I refuse to agree on the complaint that she is harmful. Why is a non inclusive elitist body’s opinion more valuable than mine? Why can your system not be open to dialogue? Who the hell are you to pull that dog this way? Why can you not give me the address of the hospital you are taking the dog to? Why can’t you give me a contact number to ensure our dogs return? WHY? WHY YOU BULKY STUPID MENACE WHY!!

And the great Welfare body, who is much bothered for cleanliness, space and safety, when were you bitten? So one dog, at one place, probably due to your own interference in its space, followed you, and you got scared to death. Work on your lack of empathy, your lack of contact with animals, your lack of common sense. Stop reducing their space with your boundaries, your parking lot, your roads, your this, your that, your control over this Goddamn planet you oaf! And by the way, the twenty-something dogs you bid goodbye today, they are as much residents of this space as you claim to be, ever thought of that, of course not, why would you. Every time they avoid someone from trespassing your household, they just make noise right? Every time your irresponsible sons and daughters deliberately tease or hurt them, thats not your problem right/ Why don’t we call a van to pick up your kids and put them in an obedience cell for a while? They seem to need taming much more than those dogs, dear sir, ma’am.

It si shameful indeed, truly shameful, that while I argued with those men, rest of the neighbourhood comfortably watched. Entertained weren’t you to see someone else’s helplessness, their grief?

They did not take away a dog, they took a part of my life with them, and I shall ensure that each and every one of them gets back to their space, which they deserve before I do. I am sorry, I proved to eb your useless confidante, who couldn’t do anything for you, you would all , when you do return, you would all be animals devoid of the rights of their own body.

Its such a shame, that this is all we can do. Make boundary, take more than possible, get scared of losing that space, remove obstacle, be ruthless, be selfish, be merciless.

The two who were left behind are refusing to leave our home, they are scared, refusing to eat or drink, the roads are empty, go residents go, enjoy your roads, go lie on them, go kiss the roads, you got your well deserved space back, only for yourself…”

“For a moment I thought he was unconscious, he wasn’t.

He lay on the grass in deep slumber. Neither the sounds, nor the people could disrupt his peace. He slept in visible comfort, while the birds hopped on his back. He was one with his surroundings, one with himself.

I would not have wanted to romanticise his state, perhaps he did not have a closed place to go to, he did not have a bed and mattress as I do, but he had an undisrupted sleep in the open, on the grass, next to the lake, beneath the trees, amidst the birds, some thing I fear I might never be able to experience on my own.”

“Four little boys walking with a sense of achievement, pride in every stride. Leader of the pack, holding close to his chest their prized possession. A tiny black fish just caught from the lake. The pet bottle becoming their pet’s cramped abode.

Crows bathing in a puddle. Each waiting patiently for its turn.

Orange dragonflies I meet every day, today a bright red one sat on the giant leaf looking over the green lake.”

“My Brother’s Scooter

My brother and his scooter are an indispensable part of my life, yes together. The scooter parted ways with us physically, and is in someone’s safe hands, but emotionally stands outside the gate, next to the car, there, look carefully, it is smiling as well.

I remember Pune, in the heat, sitting behind my brother on his scooter, I felt like a stud.

I was in school then, and to ride with him was my most exciting activity. When he would take me for buying grocery, I would be gushing with pride. I am the chosen one. Big bro takes me for grocery shopping, I am too kool. Yes I did think like that, my world was simple and the criteria of greatness began and stopped at big brother.

We bought some eatables, and then while he smoked a cigarette, in style, I devoured a Lollipop with just as much of attitude. I hardly remember the conversation, but I remember nodding and agreeing to almost every word. And then the ride back, nothing mattered, neither the sun, nor the baked bum, it was me and bro on the scooter!”

“Have a sweet

I got out of the metro station and was called by the auto rickshaw driver. He quoted a fair amount of price for my destination and I hopped in.

White hair, white moustache and a red gamchha, he drove steadily and with ease. He was quiet and looked straight ahead, when suddenly a brattish driver chose to puzzle others with his car’s acrobatics. The gentleman with red gamchha was taken aback and the auto meandered a bit, before coming on track again. But this was not to be. Now our auto got stuck due to some carefree personnel on motorbikes assuming the road to be only theirs. Sitting on their bikes and eating a snack each, they refused to budge, until this gentleman gave them a polite yet stern sermon.

By the time we reached my destination, he seemed tired and disgruntled. Each day must be so hard on him. I handed over the notes. As he opened them (I had folded the notes together to form a roll) to count the coins, he found a sweet.

He gave me a surprised look. I showed him another which was in my hand and said “toffee”. He gave me a beautiful broad grin and left.

I do not know about him, but his smile made my day.”

“I do not know if all my friends self-examine their breasts at regular intervals, I don’t, and it is not a very prudent state of being.

This is not a call to be paranoid, but just to give your body the importance it deserves, the care it needs and the love with which you could nurture it.

I wonder if we really love our bodies, are we at one with with ours?

The body tells us everything, how many of us really listen to it?

At times we play demonic roles in another’s sense of his or her body as well.

From teasing heavy-breasted classmates to calling the opposite a stick, from making rude gestures at those who are obese, to asking the skinnier ones to put on weight. Someone’s hair seem funny, someone’s nose seems crooked, someone’s ears call for our attention, and someone’s invisible neck makes us laugh. There are many instances, when Humor lies not in the body, but in the perversity of our mind.

I apologise if this sounds like a sermon, that was certainly not the intent. The intent was to remind myself and share with others, the fact that each and every part of me, deserves my respect and care, I cannot treat it as just an extension, it supports me, it helps me be, it empowers me daily, and I cannot just take it for granted.”

“Home made ice-cream is always great! My mother often prepares dessert which is something in between Rabri and kulfi, has the goodness of both. But there is one that she used to make many many years ago, mango ice-cream, that was incredible. I can still recall the taste, have never had something as delightful again. (No, not even CreamBell’s SauchMuchAAm can match this one, trust me!)

But there is one which seems almost like a tradition, the one with Faluda and Roohhafza, I am sure all my aunts know how to prepare this one, and am sure they must have served it to me at least once after dinner, a birthday party perhaps.
Oh, that reminds me of birthday parties! We don’t have those functions anymore, those grand occassions when all your family and friends would come togeher to celebrate.

My birthdays were even more eccentric, since I had very few friends, my brother’s friends would be invited on mine as well. There would be cakes in beautiful shapes, carefully selected return gifts, balloons, laughter and just a lot of people. I would wait for it the entire year, and more so, i would wait for the day to get over, to open the gifts wrapped neatly, and to build mountains of shiny, glittery paper on the floor. To carefully pick up the books and keep them in the cupboard, Noddy and the ginger cake , the 3d comic book on yaks, the anthology of short stories, the mickey mouse watch, the pink scary weird teddy bear, the bright pencil box and above all, the leftover sweets and return gifts, TREASURES.

Days before the occassion, my mother would start preparing packets of sweets to be distributed in school, assisted by my brother and at times cousins as well. A lovely thought though, to give on your birthday, to share joy and happiness, but it was mostly shared with those in my daily vicinity, so I also contributed to their many tooth cavities.

What was most amusing was the fact that on that day, many of my classmates would speak to me, smile at me each time they look at me and guess what, might even want to stand next to me. Celebrity for a day, I guess a colorful dress as contrasted against the uniform, makes you so, or perhaps the special song sung in the assembly for birthday girls does that, or maybe the sweets in your bag, or maybe birthdays just make everyone happy and loving anyway…”

“Pink shoes

I had never thought that I would ever do so, buy pink shoes, but I did. I had thought that if I ever come across such a pair, I would make an ugly face, I did not.

This was around four years ago, or even more, when I had gone to Bangalore. We were in a shopping mall. One glance in their direction and I knew I should wear these.

I went closer and inspected, I gave myself the following justifications:

1. I could not believe that they were available in my feet’s extra large size. This was Divine intervention, I must obey the universe in this case at least.

2. They looked super comfortable. I tried them on, yes they were indeed a great fit.

2. They were quite cheap, I re-checked lest I read a 0 less. No, they were actually well within my budget for casual shoes.

3. I needed one such pair to wear every day. It would look good with most of my clothes.

4. They had a cute button on them, which won my heart.

5. This was probably the first and last time I have liked pink in shoes, I might never again feel such awe.

My mother also approved of those and we got them home. I wore them through thick and thin. They have been through a lot.

One day while travelling in Metro, when I finally managed to get off at RAJIV cHOWK I came out and realized that the buttons had stayed back with the crowd. I continued to wear them without the buttons, they still looked great.

They eventually started wearing off from inside, their colour faded but I did not give up. They started opening up from sides, there was a tiny hole right at the tip, but I did not give up
until
the rains last year.

It was then that they caused me to slip, and I realized, that it was time I allow their soles to rest in peace.

I don’t think I will ever again find shoes with that perfect shape and that perfect shade, but whenever I come across an old photograph with those shoes on, it makes me happy, it makes me enjoy the fact that I could appreciate pink beyond being pink.”

“I was searching for Nariyal Paani, hoping that it would cure my mother of her illness. I have lately begun to associate magical attributes with nariyal paani, considering it has been a great support each time I have had to treat a disgruntled stomach. Anyhow, I was talking to a friend who accompanied me in the search, and was recounting what all we were to do, nariyal paani, medicine, tailor shop collect stuff.

An elderly gentleman, who resembled my nanaji a bit (pink cheeks, white hair, the cloth bag), turned back and said, baaki donon tum dekho, nariyal paani to bhai main bhi piyunga.

I couldn’t help but giggle like my niece, and said that I would let him know if I find anyone selling the same. the one who stands close to our house was not here today.

After a long walk, we did find naariyal paani. We were delighted. I took four, I knew I would run into him.

At the corner near our house, I saw him again, but not alone. He was with a group of gentlemen, discussing something. He saw me, and I think I saw him rise a bit from the bench, as if anticipating something. I moved closer and foolishly told him about the shop. I did not know how to offer nariyal paani to only one amongst so many.

He smiled and said, he would go to that shop then.
I came back with the extra nariyal, feelig stupid and regretting my lack of spontaneity. I should have offered it to him, so what if he had his friends along. They could have had a sip from it as well.

This extra nariyal is right now sitting and staring at me in the kitchen, and I am hoping against hope that i run into him sometime soon, soon enough to have nariyal paani together, with his gleaming eyes, and my giggles…”

“There was so much noise in the empty room, that I had to meander on the roads.

It is advisable to walk on the pavements right outside the shops, to make way in between the parking, through people, through lives, through their stories.

Four men playing cards behind the Volkswagen. Chai ke cup, tambaaku aur dher sari shaan.

A man was washing his feet with water filled in a crumpled plastic bottle. Pehle kabhi it must have been sealed with pristine drinking water, khaas minerals ke saath. Khair ab to bottle purani ho chuki hai, some would have crumpled it a bit more to render it suitable for the dustbin. This man continued to wash his feet, on the sidewalk. The water formed a narrow stream which joined a puddle, black puddle, dark and shallow, in which a white dog played merrily. He needed no company, he found himself.

A familiar shop, the employee smiled at me. We exchanged greetings, kucch idhar udhar ki baatein, ek chhoti mulaqat. I had not gone in to buy anything, he knew I wouldn’t. We spoke of mountains, people and fruits.

Sadak kinaare coffee, seeing with a little clarity, a few passers-by, an elderly man and his grandson. Haath chhuda kar chhote janaab ghoomein gol-gol. Dadaji kabhi hadkayein to kabhi chhoote hansi unki anmol.”

The upside-down box

Walking on the road, I came across an open carton. Brown in color, it was lying upside down. Passers by could not have cared less, but I was much intrigued.

An upside down box, holds but too many possibilities.

There could be rats, and bats and cats,
shoes, or lace or hats!

There could be mangoes, cherries and lychees too,
may be a bunch of bananas, an apple or two;

Therefore, when I could resist no longer, and my curiosity got the better of me, I kicked it softly. This was to keep a safe distance lest it hid racoons, or lions, or who knows, an army of baboons?

Anything, anything can be hidden by a box my friend.

And there they were, dark brown and with a beautiful yellow streak, half a dozen muffins, or slightly more.

I wondered why the dogs had not figured it out. And as if thoughts are louder than the spoken word, and as if, dogs and I share a special bond, came running for treat dogs of colors black and white, some being short, some with commendable height.

Some feasted, some watched, some shared the find, they disappeared in minutes, only the carton left behind.

I went up to it and turned it upside down, who knows what appears next, an elephant or clown?