A Rural Life

Untie my wind-tangled curls

in the cold mountain waterfall,
when silvery rounded pebbles
leave a mossy kiss on my bare feet.

Discover winding unknown ways
through gurgling giggling waters,
on the gentle rhythmic strum of
swaying coconut palms.

Coucal’s songs echo musically,
from the shaded green valley foliage.
Promise me a brown-winged appearance
reserved only for the lucky few!

As bamboo leaves rustle,
over the emerald green pond,
catch a blurry blue flight of a kingfisher,
on the stony fabric all around.

An apprehensive dive
into the flowing river,
knows not what
toes aflutter might step on...

As a dry leaf drifts
upon the rippled water sheet,
let my heart tune in
to hum at the same frequency...

Along the mangrove-fringed backwaters
Steer the boat calmly forward,
as eagles and black ducks fly low
to touch the ruffled wild waves.

An idyllic lighthouse gracefully poses,
upon the blue-grey muffled horizon,
watchful of the angry roaring sea
that bursts onto fish -flavoured coasts.

From the wise ocean to the knowing river,
the still lake to the restless stream,
memories freeze within raindrops,
then overflow from many -a kohl-lined eye.

A life less urban,
wrapped in the rustic rural,
with bitter sweet festive emotions,
I get to savour one year at a time!

:: Family gatherings with monsoon escapades in the Western Ghats in India this summer ::

#vagamon #indianmonsoon #rurallife #kerala #naturescapes

Soothing Shades of Childhood

Our childhood spaces leave a deep psychological imprint on our minds. My childhood garden has shaped me as a Poet, an Artist and as a Landscape Architect. It's only now that I realise this connection that began sprouting in those early days.

Those tall trees, flowers, birds, squirrels, our cats, the swing, the balcony, the ladder short cut, the back door, the water tank with fish, the terrace, the stone pathways , the creepers, the dappled sunlight and all that magic in the soothing “shade”of our home, is a nostalgic collection of memories we shall carry in our hearts forever.

In our mind lanes, my sister , my cousins and I continue to celebrate our childhood garden and our family home, not just one last time, but over and over, before saying a final goodbye to it in the real world.

I cannot describe it in any other language but my mother tongue!

सावली 

चिक्कूच्या झाडावर चढून, 

पुन्हा एकदा खाली पडूयात!

हौदात पाय बुडवून, 

गुपचूप दुपारी मासे पकडूयात.

झुडपातल्या फटीतून 

शेजारी जाऊयात,

पुन्हा एकदा त्यांच्या झाडाचे 

चोरून पेरू खाऊयात!

चाफ्याची फुले वेचुन,

ऊंच शिडीवरून 

चोर दरवाज्याने गच्चीत लपून बसूयात!

आईच्या चाहाचा एक 

गरम घोट घेऊयात... 

मोगरा फुललेला असताना,

कोकीळ गुलमोहराच्या फांद्यांवर गात असायचा. 

संक्रांतीचा वेल आकाशाला भिड़ायचा!

चला पुन्हा एकदा ती गाणी एकूयात!

लहानपणीच्या आठवणीत 

कायमचे रमून जाऊयात!

जिन्याखाली भातुकली मांडूयात,

आवळा सुपारी खाता खाता,

पत्त्यांचे तीनशेचार डाव खेळूयात!

पावसाळ्यात छत्री घेऊन, 

टाकीत पाणी भरले का ते बघूयात,

उन्हाळ्यात पापड मिरच्यांचा सोबत 

गार गादीवर चांदण्या मोजूयात. 

लाडके मांजर आणि झोका,

खिडकीतून खोलीत येणारा दुष्ट पिवळा बोका!

मागच्या दाराने त्याला बागेत हाकलूयात.

हे सारे परत एकदा उपभोगूयात.

आज जगात कुठेही असलो, 

तरी मनात आपण सगळे लहानपणीच्या सावलीतच फिरतो...

पुन्हा एकदा एकत्र राहून बघूयात.

ते दिवस शेवटचे जगून घेऊयात!

 - नताशा बेडेकर

In which She does those Hideous Dances

After 40, I have consciously moved to a slower pace of life, juggling profession, passion and responsibility - Landscape Architecture, Poetry - Art and playing mum, ever trying to achieve the correct work-life balance, often experimenting with new things.

As a result, in my free time, I started socializing with the neighbourhood women and those from the mothers group, who began to invite me to some religious/cultural meet ups. They say, and I agree that after 40, one can easily catch the poppycock about people. I decided to keep an open mind and dive in.

Mostly it has resulted in things completely not signed up for!!

My first reluctant performance at the Onam celebration, with 50 going on 20 women, was a mix of super slow movements of lighting lamps and noiseless clapping, in circles. They were very patient with me while teaching me the steps, as if it was Mohiniyattam though it was not that difficult to pick up. (I can come across as a no nonsense non dancer type.) My mind drifted back to our famous fusion dance at school on MJ's “Black or White’ , self choreographed by our gang of girls - a mix of Bharatnatyam on one side and what we called the “western dance "on the other side. That was a superhit!

Apparently the one being taught to me is a very famous Onam dance, which one of my relatives bragged about having showcased in a YouTube clip. Don't forget to ‘Like ' and ‘Subscribe' to our channel, her husband proudly announced with a toothy grin. This one may have been leaked onto social media, but I silently prayed, not to be tagged!

There was another vague singing while swinging scene at a supposed- to- be- picnic where one of the ‘extra-vert’ mums started singing Bollywood songs so loudly that the kids were getting worried! She then took endless selfies , some may have been videos which may have landed on social media. I don't remember if I joined in the loud singing loudly enough but the song was about never breaking this “fraandship” ;)

There was yet another of those three tiered fondant caked birthday parties where the mums and daughters had to be twinning! Luckily I have two no nonsense boys, away from the twinning and rainbow unicorn ponies! So I was only pulled into a Party mix of Bollywood Rap numbers in Sindhi with Punjabi choreography executed by another famous 50 going on 20 - reel making aunties gang. I managed to survive the limelight without stealing it!

The most recent hideous adulthood dance attack was at a religious event, our entire family was tricked into. It started out with naïve story telling, then warmed up to chanting and suddenly burst into some farmer’s dance about being overjoyed after all the ploughing and seed planting, ready to enjoy the harvest of the season! Ok. I can enjoy some action but this one would have gone better with some wine! The group dance went on and on in circles that expanded and contracted between chants with raised hands.

All this action made up for everything that was missing in our lives ;)

After a polite wrap up and exchange of sweet smiles, that Halloween night when everyone went to bed, “SHE” arrived… out of my wicked mind corner! The envy- green, grape-eating sarcastic evil twin of mine , from a parallel universe! She always wears a shiny green bikini top and a matching frilly micro mini skirt , with a hat full of grapes and wine-smeared purple lips. “Is this the new you?! “She mocks.

What exactly have you BECOME, Nair Aunty!? Oh is this that profound “becoming” of yours… she laughs away…

#justforfun #nooffense #fortyplusgoingontwenty #midlifecrisis #randomness #oopsembarassed #selfintrospection 

:: My evil twin often surfaces in my mind, helping me look at myself from the outside. We all need this reality check from time to time! ::

:: Picture used for illustrative purposes only ::

Wildflower

When unable to re-root,
in dull dry sands,
how many fancy new pots
shall I try to be replanted in!

Away from this unaccustomed earth,
I long to spread my boughs,
standing tall in soils of familiar fragrance,
I’d been calling home…

With foliage touching the vast blue sky,
to be a reflection, I wish,
of a self, deeply implanted
into well known lands, I belong.

Unaware of our own wingspan,
as we attempt to stretch out fully,
standard sized doors are not wide enough…
That's our cue to break free
and let the soul out to breathe…

What may seem like the end,

is perhaps a transformative reset.

For what you are reaching out to
is possibly waiting for you as well!

Unsung Melodies

I am someone who loves to document every bit of my travel stories and life incidents. But sometimes, many events remain undocumented, only because of being so engrossed in that moment or having much fun, that there was no reminder for grabbing the camera to capture them. Such times become memories that we actually never forget. They are the unsung melodies of our life!

This rainy season, we took a road trip to Sakleshpur from Bengaluru. Kris and he boys were with the cousins in their uncle’s big car, because they wanted to play road trip games and listen to their favorite tracks. In my sister’s car, it was just me, my sister and my father… Well, in hindsight, actually there was another unseen member traveling with us…my mother’s memories!

It was so natural for us to start listening to old Hindi film songs and some old Marathi “mood songs” from the 70s and 80s . One by one, they kept playing in a rhythm, unfolding one memory after the other… My mother used to listen to these songs while doing her chores. We used to do our annual Diwali cleaning and the same songs would play on an audio tape — side A for one film and side B for another! My father always has many interesting stories to tell about each film song , its music director, lyricist and the singers. His knowledge about movies is outstanding. As my sister drove, I was juggling between being a navigator and playing the songs. Baba was actually the RJ, giving us some trivia with every musical note! Honestly, the journey of about five hours through a hide-n-seek of rain and sun just went by in no time! It was almost like our mother was right there with us, letting us know which song she wanted to hear next..

That weekend, at Mugilu, a homestay in Sakleshpur, the rain never stopped! We had three cottages, separated by a narrow pathway full of wet leaves, ferns, leeches, tall trees swaying in the wind and constant rain! Reaching from one cottage to the other was an adventure in itself! There were four Indie dogs that selflessly kept showing us the way!

On one such drenched evening, the weather called for staying indoors with music, scotch on the rocks and playing cards! This homestay is designed for a screen -free holiday. There were no TVs. The kids were sitting in the balcony, looking at the dance of the tall spice plantations with peppercorns and bay leaves, playing some quizzes and eating onion fritters, noodles and nuts. The grown-ups, on the other hand, got engrossed in many-a- game of poker! Turns out that Baba is actually very good at it! He taught my newly-turned-fourteen son how to play poker. We used UNO cards as fake money and went on with our games as the frivolous windy evening melted into a night spiked with insect buzz! This has been my best unphotographed memory of the trip so far! We just lost the count of time. The dogs came to call us for an extraordinary country style dinner, served at the rain-deck, a five minute walk through the twisty rainy plantations! Of course, the hill treks with cows, muddy streams, leech attacks and strange insect bites also contributed to the ambience. Just that continuous hum of the rain, flavored with old Hindi film songs playing in the background, the humble meals and the most memorable family time was what made this weekend getaway so special!

In the earlier week in Pune, when I met my girls gang from school, the “Gol Gappa Gals”, we spent almost the entire night playing endless laughter-filled games of Pictionary with our unique combination of rosado wine and spicy banana chips! After a laid-back evening swim followed by a giggles-n-gossip stroll by the rolling greens, we spotted a dancing peacock surrounded by four peahens! Again, very special memories undocumented in pictures!

Each time, moistening my lashes, these unsung melodies still continue to play in my mind long after returning to the desert…

The Homecoming

It was early morning. The dawn cracked into a mild orange sky backdrop. The car took us on a bumpy ride along narrow wet streets of Kerala, lined with trees on both sides, their broad leaves peeping in and out of the frame with raindrops carrying the scent of October monsoons. We took the final turn and I could see the bright red of laterite stone juxtaposed against a grey natural plaster finish of fresh concrete. The slope of the roof was slightly more angular and artistic than the other houses. There it stood ---the home from my dreams!

Ever since I was a little girl, I would be fascinated by beautiful houses that lined the hilly streets of Pune, my hometown. On our usual evening strolls, I used to point out my most favourite sloping roofed houses and tell my mother how I wanted to live in such a home someday. My mother used to joke, “Then you must marry a wealthy boy with the most beautiful house”

My inclination towards architecture had begun by then. Who knew, these mind strings that were pulled in childhood would lead to something big!

Architecture college helped me choose my architect husband --- who became the future architect partner of our dream house. And today, after fifteen years I can say, I did marry the man with the most beautiful house, like my mother said!

The terracotta bell at the patio nudged me back to reality from my flashback. The house, as we envisioned, waited right in front of us with its half sloping roof - half terrace, a large double-height space, overlooking a cozy family room, each of the four bedrooms having one special feature, the local earthy material used with the elegance of natural stone and wood and the rustic charm combined with a contemporary planning. It was everything we sketched out during those uncertain times of Covid, hoping for this day to come soon, when we would actually feel the spaces we designed.

With tear filled eyes, laden with dreams trickling down as reality, we looked at each other. Now nothing else mattered. The moment that every architect awaits has arrived. All the dots of destiny were joined to form our villa in Kerala --- DIVYAM, as we call our home. Divyam stands for the divine blessings from all our loved ones looking at us from above, with pride--- most importantly my mother and Kris’s grandfather, who would have loved to see this house.

We spent the entire holiday arranging the furniture and artefacts, planting trees, laying the stone tiles piece by piece along the garden paths with our own hands, collecting the fresh rainwater in earthen pots. What a satisfying feeling it was!

Every evening, we used to sit on the front patio, sipping tea, looking at the neighbouring houses light up one by one, with silhouettes of coconut palms swaying in the dark blue sky. What I love about small towns is that everyone's houses have their doors open. The vegetable sellers bring their handcarts every morning with fresh picks of the day. The air is warmed with spices and incense, intercepted by sounds of prayer, soothing the rural ambience.

On the last melancholic evening as I watched mist drift across the Malampuzha hills by sunset, it reminded me of my last evening in Pune, when I was to leave for Abu Dhabi. My mother had handpicked steel utensils for me to start my new life… I think the little shops, hills and narrow lanes connect myriad phases of my life drawing parallels between my hometown and this quaint little town of Palakkad, which now feels like home.

This house has reunited all the fragile relations that had become distant during covid times. A full house filled with light and laughter, fragrance of home cooked food, with a hint of distant temple bells ringing is what completes my life. I could sense her presence with us. I know she would have loved to look out from the corner windows, have breakfast at the dining - side sit out and sip masala tea on the patio every evening.

Returning to Abu Dhabi in a totally different setting was very difficult. But when I close my eyes, I transport myself back to DIVYAM, to the sound of rain on the broad banana leaves and the artistic wall with niches, designed to keep the Diwali lamps. I continue to live at DIVYAM everyday in my daydreams...

My Sister's Library

She was an ardent reader,

while I battled

with shapes and texts.

Hesitantly, once, I opened,

the mysterious front door

to my sister's library.

Into word-lanes,

around each sentence,

soon, a page, then chapter…

With a four-book-worth 

of captivating journeys

every year,

to treasure,

slowly I drifted

to mindful intoxication.

Fulfilled, by year end,

at the back door

I wait,

each time,

to exchange

a whole new self!

Two Cities

I live in two cities ---

at the same time.

For when I close my eyes,

I can soak up the spiced green air

whilst looking at bare naked mountains,

on the desert’s dusty edge…

From inside work towers of frozen glass,

I see lush trees touching misty clouds.

As moistened memories

trickle down kohl-lined eyes,

I carry them along

on my new butterfly wings!

Yes, I live in two cities,

at the same time,

treasuring most,

my mind’s journey in between…

36 Shades of Green

Trailing leaves,

filter soft-green light,

against a sky, about to cry…

The chirpy Champa tree,

her chubby arms open out,

with a display of red-pink bloom.

Crisp dew-laden lawn,

sprinkled with pearls,

carry a scent of the clouds.

Lush dense foliage,

amidst slender young palms,

a new tale, every leaf wants to tell…

Aged barks of old trees,

tucked within twisted boughs,

many a childhood story!

The pebble-lined, wet pathway,

fringed with tender green saplings.

Infused with distant birdsong,

a moist, homesick wind.

Of all, I miss,

the thousand calming shades of green,

silently filling my memory bucket,

drop by drop,

with every tear ---

one for each passing year…

ColourBlind

I seek to be the soul,
not the face.
Alas, you choose to see

the kohl-lined darkness

in my tresses;

the rustic undertones

of my tongue.

From behind dim shadows

of thickened desert palms,

gapes a white mirage

that continues to mock me…

Somewhere in between

these baffling shades of grey,

my mute wordwar
gets wrapped

under sands of doubt.

In these colourcoded lands,

how my creative colourful landscapes

silently wish,

for a world that is colourblind!

Pictorial Pune

Monsoon Moods

Slithering snaking country roads,

wrap around my favourite green hills,

where mist enveloped wind clouds,

make way for sparkling waterfalls.

As the cold breeze licks my cheeks

and stirs the bouncy brook,

melting upon silvery wet slopes,
the morning spills into evening.

I wish to be a rice picker,

on this drenched dreamy day.

A fresh green paddy field beckons me,

with myriad rippled water mirrors.

With a cool dip in the mountain stream,

we bathe in monsoon’s romantic spirit.

No Sun, no count of time.

We go on and on and on.

A colourful umbrella, I borrowed,

for that secret bicycle ride in the rain;

A playful jump over muddy puddles,

as raindrops dive into bubbling ponds.

A thorny fence amid endless grassy carpets,

with a pearl drop perched upon its twig;

Wild mushrooms nestled in tree barks,

along deep red mossy brick walls.

Two soaked hornbills in loving conversations,

a shy snail curled up in her shiny shell.

A proud peacock waiting for his rain dance,

looks up to the grey-white yearning skies.

In a sea of multicoloured raincoats,

school children linger at the bus stop.

The leaves of my notebook, cloth-like,

as I hurriedly pen down my dripping thoughts…

~ A collection of beautiful green sights along the country roads of rural India, this refreshing monsoon season.

 

Morning Raga

A lone train coos past the station

and a crumpled newspaper crashes into my balcony.

The bucket gets filled rhythmically, drop by drop,

as pigeons coordinate their evenly spaced hums.

Silver anklets tinkle when She walks

to her baby crying for warm cuddles.

The milkman smiles under his moustache,

and ‘bullets’ away on sun-dusted streets.

Restless tea boils under a cloud of gingery steam;

then She pours it tunefully into steel cups.

Curry leaves sizzle in the oiled pan,

and prayer bells intercept into chants.

Somewhere, a screaming alarm clock is silenced,

as I hear Him sprinkle water on the holy Basil.

The vegetable seller’s loud pleas

set against angry barks of the neighbour’s dog.

As parrots chirrup atop the flame of the forest

and silk curtains quiver on sunlit breeze,

I listen to this morning raga, now wide awake.

~ describing ‘the sound of morning’ in India.

O Hometown

O tiptoeing hours of pre-dawn and snail paced baggage claim. O impatient fellow traveller, the dew laden white winters of Pune await me as well! Dear old sweeping lady, I like the sound your red glass bangles make as you sweep golden dust against the sun.

Good morning, roadside pottery shops, your earthy creations must adorn my balcony!

O floating aromas of breakfast in the air. Tea stalls with sooty copper kettles and fresh pea curry with bread. Smiling head nodding neighbours.  Young scooters, old trucks, mini vans and broken red buses. O wooden hand cart selling parrot – green guavas. I like them sliced with a dash of chilli powder!

O shaded uneven brick pavements and crisp newspaper cones on a weary peanut seller’s cycle. Half grassed backyards with slate tiled paths, many a red ants lined underneath! Dear old car under the leaking tin roofed shed. Hello ginger furred sleepy cat yawning amid the chickoo tree branches. O smiling washing lady, I love the colours of your sari.

O big shopping malls right next to old stone buildings. Quaint little snack shops selling Indianised Chinese treats under the bridges along the dying river. And multi coloured vegetable markets. Ever bright printed fabrics, buttery cookies and cake at the Irani bakery. O mum’s home cooked biryani.

Dear green hills in the middle of the smoked city. I know your foliage hides many a peacock! O enchanting Goddess with a pearl nose ring, seated calmly in the orange temple on the hill.

Hello giant Peepal tree, rooted deep on the edge of the footpath right outside my college. I might still have your dry leaf neatly pressed in my notebook.

My dear university roads and landscapes! It’s here that I have waited for him every apprehensive teenage evening! I can sniff my adolescent monsoon escapades in the wintry wind. I recall my mind’s moods at every bend of this jogging path; my missed heartbeats of that time must be scattered somewhere here!

O Hometown! What is this magical spell that you cast over my soul each year? It makes me go around the world, searching for something that, in the end, I find in the soothing shadows of your shelter.

: : just too homesick today, I guess!