My Memory of YOU

 Its been almost 3 years since my sister and I lost our mother. But her memories just come and grip us every now and then and coincidentally, at the same time! I think, its this time of the year that the mind floods with her memories and they keep reminding us of her last days in March 2021.

Since I wrote this poem originally in my mother tongue, Marathi, I've also translated it into English, myself because automated translations never seem to do justice to the original works.

तुझी आठवण

वार्‍याच्या एका हलक्या लाटेबरोबर, 

मनाच्या काठावर अचानक येऊन बसते…

तुझी आठवण. 

तू असतीस तर हे म्हणाली असतीस, 

तू असतीस तर हे केलं असतं, 

याची आठवण करून देते…

तुझी आठवण. 

ओळखीच्या रस्त्यांवरून चालताना, 

एका अनोळखी वळणावर डोकावते...

संध्याकाळची रात्र होताना

काळोखाच्या चादरीवर चांदण्या वेचत राहते. 

तू लिहिलेल्या पुस्तकात तुला शोधायला निघते…

पण भेटते स्वतःलाच तुझ्या गोष्टींमध्ये!

तू असतीस तर तुलाही माझ्या कवितेत 

तुझा उल्लेख सापडला असता!

आणि अशीच पुन्हा एकदा कागदाच्या सुगंधात 

अचानक एका ओळीवर थांबून

हळूच हाक मारते…

तुझी आठवण!

- नताशा बेडेकर

My memory of YOU

Drifting with a wave of the breeze,

she sits unknowingly

on the edge of the mind —

my memory of YOU.

She reminds me

of what you would have said…

what we could have done together, 

if only you were here…

Walking down familiar roads,

she peeps from behind an unfamiliar bend.

As the evening turns older and wiser,

she plucks stars from

the night’s dark blanket.

I set out to find you,

through your book,

but end up finding myself

in the stories you've written.

How I wish you could have found yourself

in the lines of my poems…

if only you were here…

And then once again,

in the fragrance of timeworn diary pages,

suddenly she pauses upon a sentence,

and calls out to me…

my memory of YOU.

:: Rajgad, Pune (2017) :: 

Sunny Side Up

At sunset hour, on a lazy Friday, I look out from my balcony to the horizon. I love how the sun drenched facades of the buildings shimmer in the golden light. I wish to be right there, soaking up the sunshine.

I see the Zaafarana park down below. Nice and green grass, with sun rays filtering through the branches of the Ghaf trees. I wish I could just fly down and land on my toes exactly on that sunlit spot.

I quickly change into my sports clothes and trainers, to catch that magic show. But somehow by the time I reach there, the magic witnessed from the balcony is nowhere to be found.

Similarly, as I drive past those same sun-facing buildings on some evenings when I drop my son to football, I decide to stop by and feel the sun’s warmth on my skin. But again, the charm of the balcony view is lost.

Isn't it the same with most things in life, I wonder! Everything that looks attractive and shiny from a distance, may not be as exciting when you go close enough to touch it! We spend so much effort and energy trying to run after such seemingly phenomenal moments, when in reality they can just be calmly dealt with at our own pace. Some things are best experienced from far, giving them the correct space and a comfortable distance.

I have come to realise now, sometimes it's just better to be a spectator than trying to be the artist or the director, so as not to spoil the beauty of a rare naturally magical moment, with its sunny side up!

Where do old birds go to die...

A few months ago, one old laughing dove came to my garden in the morning. He seemed very thirsty. We generally get a lot of laughing doves to sip on the cool waters of the bird bath. This one looked particularly pensive. I watched him from my window. He drank water and then crawled quietly under the raised decking of the zen garden. I thought he wanted to rest in the shade, so I postponed watering the garden to leave him undisturbed. 

After a few hours, my cat woke up and lazily walked into the garden, stretching out and yawning at every step. She began sniffing suspiciously under the decking. I ran outdoors to save the bird from this “serial killer hunter tigress” cat of mine. But the bird seemed to be still asleep. He wasn't moving at all !!! 

I remembered him drinking a lot of water earlier that morning …And at that moment, I realised he had been sipping his last water. He had breathed his last…He came to my garden to go into deep slumber forever…

I secretly buried him later that day  in one of the flower beds of the community garden. I did not tell anyone. Somewhere I thought, a bird dying in my garden could be a bad omen. 

Where do old birds go to die? This line from the book “The Ministry of Utmost Happiness” by Arundhati Roy, had made me go into quiet contemplation for many days.

And then I realised, the old bird came to my garden to die… He felt comfortable, breathing his last, closing his eyes for the last time , in the soothing shades of my garden! I watched him lay unmoving on the moist bed of soil and leaves. 

I  have had many great memories with laughing doves in this place. A pair had their nest on the terrace of my earlier penthouse. They have even made an appearance in my book, Amaira, the little woman, posing for one of the pictures that compliment a poem! 

I have also watched many laughing doves stop laughing when they were caught by my extremely agile cat. I have seen them being dragged around , hanging out of her blood stained mouth. , with their feathers falling one by one. While I cannot blame the cat for her natural instincts, I was relieved that this dove at least wasn't murdered.  

So when death seems near, just like us humans, old birds try to fly to a calm place, where they feel comfortable to let it all go. He passed away silently, peacefully in his favourite spot. I'd like to believe that. 

Rest in peace, you laughing dove.

Keep laughing.

:: As featured in my book , Amaira, the little woman ::
 

:: Illustrated by my son Abhiir when he was 6 ::