A Walk With The Moon

The young woman loves sitting and listening to her mother’s reminisces. The lively glimpses into the life of a joint-family and its pros and cons. That’s why she often gently tugs her into the swirling mass of cheery nostalgia. And her mother never fails her. The older woman gladly plunges into her vivid past, merrily trotting down the familiar, dusty lanes and often fishes out something that has unknowingly left a deep mark on her.

Sometimes the simplicity of the incidents baffles her. But then again, when she sits alone and ponders over them, she realises how simple life probably was at the time and how uncomplicated the common human minds used to be.

She sat at the ledge, thinking about her mother’s family home. To her, it’s her mama bari, in other words, her uncle’s home. She has never met her grandfather. He has passed away long before her mother was married. So mama took over all the responsibilities, being the elder child and a son. It is over 3 centuries old now, the sprawling ancestral home with traditional, old-school architecture, large, airy rooms, full-length windows… dark crimson flooring serving as the base for thick, sturdy walls and high ceilings, from which, rickety fans hung down precariously. Long, winding veranda circles along the inner side of the house and overlooks the ground floor. Even on the hottest of summer days, the house maintains its pleasant, peaceful atmosphere, perhaps because of its untainted make.

Today the dilapidated house has nothing much left in it. Or perhaps, that is how it appears to the outsider’s eyes. But to her mother, it is a treasure trove of memories, it is her home, her childhood, her shelter and an indispensable part of her beautiful past.

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Whenever the young woman visits her mama bari, she gets lost in those web of enchanting stories. To her, the house is like Gandalf, a wise old man who is centuries old. It’s rustic, chipping walls have witnessed generations of happiness and sadness… a silent onlooker to history forever changing colours and taking shape – from black and white to sepia, from sepia to chrome and now, from chrome to HD. As a child, she used to believe the house has some mysterious doorway or a secret portal that leads to a magical land. She only needs to find out where it is. So she would take her little sister along and sneak into every hidden corner of the house. But she could never get access to the rooms behind the locked doors. They still remain mysteriously closed to her.

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Sometimes while walking around the house, she carefully takes in the sealed off staircases, locked and abandoned rooms and the dreary corridors… and then suddenly, the cobwebs recede, the house is washed with lively light, a sudden tinkering laughter is heard from behind one of the closed doors, someone calls her mother from the second floor, her young, beautiful mother runs up the staircase, two steps at a time to meet that distant voice, someone is washing up near the choubachha or the water tank, her nanibuni (mama’s wife) is calling out to the maid from the kitchen, “didiiiii, o didiiii.” Oh and right there, by the entrance, mama is coming back from his shop. The house is merrily buzzing with life and each soul is writing a different story which converges and diverges in time.

Someone calls her from behind and the lively scenes recede, leaving behind a strange echo. She turns and walks back into her gran’s room. Her mother is sitting on the ancient bed, she joins her. She eagerly looks at her mother and mutters in disbelief, “I still don’t believe it. It is impossible Ma. You cannot possibly do something like that.” Her mother gives her a wistful smile. “When I was your age, I used to. The moon used to be my constant companion throughout the night.” So the young woman smiles at her mother’s sparkling eyes and says, “Tell me more.”

“Well, there is always magic in simplicity my darling,” she said. “Whether you believe it or not, that is completely up to you.”

Her eyes grew dreamy and her voice took on a certain youthful chirpiness as she started narrating the past. Every night, before going to bed, she used to open all the windows overlooking the west. Located close to the banks of the Ganges, pleasant breeze often infiltrated the balmy nights. Deep into the night, the room used to glow bright silver as the moon shone directly at it.

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Her mother said, “Even if I was fast asleep, the moon would softly wake me up with its persistent light shining unto me. Then as it gently drifted across the sky, I would follow it with my eyes. Sometimes it played hide-and-seek with me, cheekily hiding behind a dark cloud as I waited for it to show itself.” The daughter smiled affectionately at her mother’s excitement. Her mother continued, “Often, while waiting for it to come out, I used to drift off to sleep. Sometimes I would wake up as it shows itself, sometimes I did not. Serves it right, for making me wait so long!” chided her mother with complete gusto. “And this used to be our secret little game with each other, every single night for so many years.”

As the young woman listened to the story, she wondered whether she has been looking for magic in the wrong places. Perhaps her mother is right. Perhaps there is magic in the simplest of things, things that we often tend to overlook in our busy course of life.

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.”  ― Roald Dahl

PS. Dedicated to my mother and to that unforgettable past, that shall forever remain. Always have faith!

 

Drifting into the Light

Sitting close by the window, she stretched out her aged hand towards the table and took out a loose sheet of paper. With a lot of love and care, she started folding it. In a minute it was ready. Her eyes shone as she assessed the tiny paper boat. A beautiful smile lit up her face as her eyes grew distant. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes.

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The sky was slightly overcast. She was sitting on the stairs, crying. Her small palms covered her face and tiny drops of tears trickled from in-between her fingers and fell onto her lovely dress, creating a tiny pool of drench. Her little body shook with emotions and fervor. She felt terribly lost and her little heart was brimming with grief.

After a very long time, attempting to wipe away the big fat tears with the back of her tiny hands, she opened her eyes and looked up. She stopped for a moment and looked around. There were two men talking by a tea shop, the smell of freshly brewed tea and bread wafted through the air. A small boy, at the end of the staircase, was playing with some beautiful round glass balls. They were marbles, some of them were exquisite colors. The sun reflected through them and created motley patterns on the ground. She kept watching the boy play. Some left-over drops of tears still trickled down her untidy cheeks but she was oblivious to them.

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She watched intently as his hands arranged the marbles into various shapes with great skill before he started hitting them with another marble. After some time she noticed that his hands have stopped what they were doing and in order to figure out what had led him to do so, she looked up to his face. A pair of clear, sparkling eyes looked straight back at her and she was slightly taken aback by the directness of it all. She froze in place, not knowing how to react and felt as if she has been caught stealing. Moments ticked by and she could feel her heart beating close to her ears. And then, out of the blue, the boy’s face broke into a brilliant smile. And it looked like perfect sunshine.

She awkwardly smiled back and he held out a marble to her. She took it from him and her smile grew. It reflected a serene green light as the sun sparkled through it. She held it tightly in her fist. He stood there thinking for a while. She got up, caught hold his hand and pulled him down the stairs. He followed without questioning. In an instant, they tore through the winding alleys and the fields to the place she loved the most in the world. They almost ran into it when they saw it. He abruptly pulled to a stop and caught hold of her dress just when she was about to tumble into the water. They fell down on the grass laughing. Lounging there for a while, they made figures out of grass. And then suddenly, an idea struck him.

He tore two sheets of paper from his notebook and started folding them. She watched with curiosity as he made two paper boats. One he handed to her and the other he held in his hand and smiled. They carefully walked towards the lake and bent down at the water’s edge. He gently dropped the boat onto the water surface and lightly worked with his hand, urging the boat further into the lake. Looking at him, she followed his lead, her boat lightly towing his into the lake. The weather was sweet and balmy as they sat there watching the two boats sailing into the setting sun. The light lapping of the golden water and the chirping birds returning home from somewhere afar, the moment felt magical.

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She forgot all about her sorrow and looked at her reflection into the water. Her tear-strained face nestled in between cascades of untidy hair. But she found her reflection rather beautiful and smiled at herself. Then suddenly she noticed a smiling face looking back at her from the reflection. He had noticed what she was doing and had popped up beside her. She grinned back and splashed some water at him. He sat back shocked. She was quite sure he was angry with her. Her face fell. Then suddenly, in a flash, he splashed water on her and started laughing. She squealed and splashed water back at him. They kept playing for a while until they realized they are hopelessly drenched.

Climbing back onto the field, they sat under a tree,  then edged closer to each other to keep warm. He brought out the marbles and taught her how to play with them. As the evening drew to a close, she was almost as good as him at the game. It was time for them to go back home. They intertwined their pinkies and promised to each other without uttering a word, they will forever remain the best of friends and the strongest of well-wishers to each other. She saw him smile as his warm eyes reflected the setting sun and she closed her eyes.

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When she reopened them, she was back by the window, the paper boat perched comfortably on her lap and the setting sun was almost nearing the horizon.

The Birch Tree

She sat by the window, staring into space. Several minutes passed by. Then she slowly raised her palm into the sunlight and took a good look at her gradually but surely withering hands, following every weather-beaten line and wrinkle with her eyes. Her face still radiated strength and confidence. But her body refused to cooperate now. The old woman did not have much strength in her legs to get up and walk till the kitchen or the bathroom. Her big, tired eyes looked droopy and distant.

“Ma, the nurse has come to get you ready for the day. Please co-operate with her,” she heard her daughter-in-law say. She always cooperated. When had she ever not! She chose not to say anything and continued to stare outside.
A small boy had come out from one of the buildings. He was searching for something among the bushes. Must be the ball they use to play with. Those boys used to play cricket all the time before. Nowadays they were hardly seen outside, constantly hooked on that remote and the television set. God only knows what kind of fun that was! No running around, no hide-and-seek, no climbing trees…
She recalled her youthful days. When she was young, even at the age of eighteen or nineteen, she used to run around with her friends and siblings, playing on the fields and roads. That used to be the simplest kind of fun!

She sighed. Life does not remain as simple forever. That is the biggest irony. That was the era of the black and whites, where everything was in just two colours. Today the world is full of high definition gradients. But why is it then that the world is not as vibrant and beautiful?
The boy must have found what he was looking for. He straightened up and walked back into the building. The old woman tried to see what was in his hand. Looked like something bigger than a ball. Oh, but her eyes had grown so weak and sensitive. She could not make out what it was even after squinting.
She shifted her focus back to the stub right across the building. There used to be a beautiful birch tree here, tall, regal and quaint. She used to stand at this window and keep looking at it merrily swaying in the wind. When she had first learnt how to use a camera she had hopped around excited, like a joyous school child. And that birch tree had been her first subject. Her husband had subtly chided her for not taking shots of human beings and the dear ones, of him and the children. She did not want to tell him, this tree was what she loved the most. And it had always loved her back, silently, gently as it swayed in the breeze and smiled at her.

She felt a gentle tug from behind. The nurse had come. The old woman was fond of this girl. Beautiful golden hair and pleasant eyes, she remembered the day she had confided in her something quite amusing… or so she felt at the time.
Initially, when she had joined as her nurse and attendant, she used to remain quiet and attentive at all times. The old woman preferred it that way, too much interaction was not her forte. One day when she got a little chatty, she asked the girl about herself and the girl transformed into a completely different person. “I am a huge, huge fan of yours,” she gushed. She went on to talk about her humble past. She admitted that she has read all of her works. When she saw the advertisement for this post, she immediately applied for it and got through. Then she added sheepishly, “I have seen you on covers of your books and on Tv. I have had a girl crush on you ever since.”
The old woman’s amusement knew no bounds. She was spellbound for some time before she could gather herself back together. Once she felt she has found her voice, she said she was humbled by the amount of affection the girl has been harbouring for her. Presently she was quite old and unfortunately not inclined towards women that way. To her surprise, the nurse giggled and said, she had no such intentions herself and she was talking about a moment of the past.
Quite relieved, she asked the nurse why was she still serving her then. She could do something more interesting than serve an old worn-out woman. She had thought for a moment before replying, “It is perhaps because I am being selfish. I expect to learn a lot from you and talk about various things. I want to know and understand your mind from up close, the mind that has created such wonders and has stirred up something deep inside me. I wish to pick your mind.” And all of this she confessed with such subtle honesty, the old woman was quite moved.
Since then, the girl had been her constant companion, reading to her, talking and sharing insights and experiences, while the old woman advised and guided her.

Today, the old woman was quite lost in her thoughts. The girl understood that and silently went about her chores. She did not disturb her. While leaving, she quietly pecked her cheek and closed the door behind her. The old woman kept staring at the stub of the bygone birch tree.