notes from autumn

      

notes from autumn

thursday night

the second

āśvina

. . .

  notes - is a seasonal diary.

a gathering of our life through six seasons.

breathing inside me,  forever.

celebrating our girl’s tenth birthday.

all the moments lived with her; both remembered and forgotten,

her smiles, and her magic. 

cooking bengali luchi, halwa, dill rice 

going on early morning hill hikes, and 

meeting the waning moon in the west while the golden autumnal sun is rising in the east

scattering our home with the last of the season’s cosmos

discovering a new resturant that instantly became a favourite

losing myself in the soft folds of her handmade world (recommended by a friend)

moving our dining table into the living room by a wooden bench; a little habitat for working, dreaming and sleeping

visiting the annual dastakari haat and bringing home a madurkathi chatai, and jamdani fabric for our new curtains

walking my heart back to some abandoned pursuits 

awaiting diwali

. . .

small memories of pre-spring

Small Memories of Pre-spring

tuesday morning

the fourteenth

phalguna

it's dusk,

we're standing in our balcony 

waiting for papa’s return.

he's bringing home our very own new scooter.

the breeze moves shyly around our forms

as we watch sparrows snuggle deeper into tree shadows, singing bedtime lullabies

and hear peals of laughter from children playing downstairs.

when papa comes, he honks

and we rush out the door with our pooja thali.

in the parking, we anoint the  scooter with a swastik, light a lamp,

and make the moment auspicious. 

there's a box of mithai to sweeten the celebration

mayur takes saanjh for a little ride around our block.

high up in the sky, a new moon and a bright star

lighten the darkening sky

and make our evening even more special. 

. . .

days that are simple

that make me feel

quietly fulfilling me as i'm. doing what i do.

mopping floors, sunning plants,

making spice tea for my sick girl,

maneuvering our living around a tight budget,

seeping with unwritten poetry,

sewing from old things,

loosing myself in my own darkness,

and letting tears kindle me into light.

. . .

with phālguna, the indian year

is slowly coming to a close.

everyday i rise to the morning birds

incessantly rehearsing their spring song.

and the lone mango tree on the hill

turning red-brown with young leaves.

i sit this afternoon, making notes

for my new customised hindu calendar

even as the wind, moving between our curtains, begins to play a vasanta rāga.

small memories of winter

small memories of winter

H E M A N T A   R I T U

 mārgaśīrṣa | pauṣa 

it's the first day of winter.
and already evening has come tiptoeing,
wearing new moon for a smile.
we've lit earthen lamps in our balcony
and sit watching their soft flames conversing with the stars.

i tell saanjh how this evening is made special on the ghats of varanasi
with millions of lamps glowing by the riverside
amidst chants and a dense smoke of devotion rising from many hearts.
dev diwali. a festival i'm ethereally drawn to
without ever being physically present
by the ganga to partake in the celebrations.

when her papa returned from work, saanjh lit sparkles sitting in his lap
countless stars came sprinkling out, flooding the night.
as i stood watching, i felt myself turning fluid like a river
amidst the glowing lamps, the new moon,
all the stars in the sky and dancing out of those sparkles
and my own my chanting heart.

later that night i learnt that we were celebrating on the wrong day
the festival was a fortnight ago.

but i couldn't dust off what the night had brought.
so it's magic stayed. real.

. . .

it's a beautiful december morning
the sun’s tenderly holding the earth
while the birds drench the air with their steady singing.

. . .

as if i'm surrounded on all sides
by a garden overrun with beautiful weeds,
the intoxication of poetry buzzes in my mind
making me restless with joy.

small memories of autumn

small memories of autumn

Ś A R A D   R I T U

āśvina | kārtika 

 

we’re swaddled in a soft morning.
a friendly breeze is blowing outside,
greeting everyone and everything in its wake.
the pigeons in the opposite balcony
seem contend just being there, flying nowhere.
saanjh is playing with her rainbow blocks.
and all i want to do is lay by her side
and do nothing but be.
watching these clouds sojourn the sky
and absorb their music into my veins.

but, life summons me elsewhere.

.

when autumn peeks from the window of rainless days
we make little picnics in our balcony
of curd rice, books and sunshine
sprinkled with slivers of radiant nothingness.

.


evening’s come.
yet again bringing its lingering poetry,
starsong and breeze fragrant with faraway rain.
inside, saanjh and her papa are drenching each other
with their wildness, music and love.
i stand outside in the fading light
taking in the magic of this ordinary day,
one last time.

.

it's a moody hazy morning
the sun’s bright and crisp over the hills
still, everything is cloaked in mist.
yesterday, rain came unheralded
but the late afternoon sun greeted it with kisses,
making each drop shimmer as it fell.

the world outside seems whimsical and saying.
i wonder what feelings are stirring in there.

small memories of fading rain

small memories of fading rain

V A R Ṣ Ā   R I T U 

śrāvaṇa | bhādra

rain is evaporating from the earth
with it, i'm learning to ebb.

.

it’s a balmy afternoon
i wear it's hush like a shawl around me
and sit watching the mid-day sun reflected on our balcony floor.
clouds float by, softening its blaze,
making it feel more moon like.
a moment turns into many.
i stay there as if i belong in it.
in those moments.

slowly, the sun and all those moments disappear behind a pillar's shadow.
and it's time for me to return
to the calendar on my lap. to this week.
to all the preparing, celebrating
and mithai making.
as the festival of my heart approaches.

.

the sun is melting behind the hills
as i stand watching from my balcony
it is as if the sun doesn't go down
but goes in
turning me gold.

small memories of rain

small memories of rain

V A R Ṣ Ā   R I T U

 śrāvaṇa | bhādra

it's a midsummer’s night
i’m awake, filling my ears
with the intoxication of urdu poetry
and my soul is out, getting wet in the rain.

.

these days, it's raining everyday
between work and play with saanjh
i gaze out the window
and become wet with the falling rain.

muddy streams are running down my head
germinating raw thoughts
and unwritten poems grow like moss
all over me.


.

rains keep me awake all night
inviting my sleep to join it's raas with the earth and wind.
as i lay awaiting its return
i hear them sing and sway and faintly perfume the dark

and somewhere from that fragrant dark
thoughts, nimble and languid, come tiptoeing
and crowd inside me with their lyrics.
hours slither by.
and night softly melts into the kindling sun.

with lilting feet and a rain-drunken heart
my sleep returns to me at daybreak
but by then, i’m too full of untethered thoughts
to go to sleep.

. . .

saturday noontide
the twenty third
āṣāḍha

notes from winter

notes from winter

 

H E M A N T A   R I T U
mārgaśīrṣa | pauṣa

this winter was yours
in life, death and memories.
feelings, understanding and new meaning.

i gathered everything that it brought
in my mute words and let it linger inside, unheard.
while my love, light and divine like the sky,
flowed eastward, to meet the rising sun
and live thoughtfully each new day.

notes from autumn

notes from autumn

 

Ś A R A D   R I T U
āśvina | kārtika

celebrating our two year old magic
dusting, deep cleaning and sprinkling our nest with the blessing glow of diyas
working till my bones felt cracked
weaving bedtime stories to fill a desiring, dreaming little heart
making mithai and letting its sweetness linger all through the season
sewing a [first] traditional dress for our daughter, on the eve of diwali
watching, with saanjh, thousands of fairylights bewitch the city streets & our neighborhood with their gossamer spell
escaping into deepti naval’s book of poems, black wind
wayfaring from autumn's richness into winter's sageness