It is a name, a name in an Indian Hindu family belonging to an Assamese Muttuock community. It is the name of my lovely ‘beti’ (daughter), who always accompany me as a guide, a beautiful realisation of motherhood for the second time.
In Assamese the term ‘Chanasya’ stands for “Chandrataap”. Chandrataap is a sacred piece of cloth in white with red pleated border. It is a kind of a shroud – close to God, close to the holiness. The picture below shows the Chandratap hung above tied to the pillars. These are stitched in various sizes, often in a squared shape.
The people of the Assamese community offer prayers in namghar or in thaan, or in sattras. All these places have significant role in making the belief system of faith, of hope, of union with God.
I miss my dear daughter, but somewhere when I recall her good name, I take solace in the thought that she is safe in her heavenly abode.
I wonder, if pain was a person, what adjectives would qualify for its personification.
The physical appearance is of a human figure, rather than moveable limbs with saddle joints or ball & socket joints, it is more than any elastic that would stretch in a never ending way. It is dark with no eyes. I don’t see any clothing on the darkest body that I have ever know; even light fails to pass through. It crawls creepily through the mind and deeply set its roots like an octopus.
It is mayhem. A chaos inside all the parts of the body, even the tiniest of the atoms; produces ripples enough to creat a tsunami in the the over all complex of a person. However, no another person feels what it is. As a mark of understanding one may emphtaise but never can understand the pain.
The mechanism of pain is similar to a churning butter. It churns and churns an individual untill it twirls the inner core leaving nothing to drain out. Still, pain ventures in, squeezes the person like a cloth hung upon a string for drying.
Pain is fear, fear that engulfs the rational part of a person. Pain is egoistic, it’s self respect is damaged when one does not grief. It resides in the superego and exhibits in grief.
Pain is an inexhaustible flame that devours without killing the being, so that degrees of burns is felt, burns the being once again so that healing does occur in the wounds. The physical of a being responds to the trauma that pain inflicts upon. It drains up tears, it gradually converts a lively being into a lifeless thing: dead, stare ghastly, spread angled limbs, bloody.
Pain is loss, it is screaming at nothingness at the same time it is silent, silence witnessed before a gushing wind that sweeps away everything. Pain is aiming pointlessly at an unseen point, into the infinity. Pain is deaf to all kind of frequencies in the universe, infact immune to any vibrations. Pain is grand and its grandeur multiplies in memories.
Pain is a relief to the heap of emotions that looks for a vent. Pain ends when one is determined to ‘let go’.
Indelible feeling while travelling in a fast moving bus on a rainy day that made my tears threaten the eyes to fall or not to, to roll or not to, on the slight wrinkled cheeks of 40. “Am I still romantic?” the thought swayed my mind recalling the best moments spend with Be. The conductor’s garbled voice broke my momentary epiphany that made me aware that I need to get down.
Therefore, transportation is possible.
Descending down from the bus, I looked at the gloaming sky that let the birds chirrup all around, someone reminding the others in the flock, “It’s getting darker, we need to go back home.” I hummed the tune, “Kya huwa Tera waada…..woh Kasam , who irada….bhulaga Dil, usdin tumhe, jisdin jindagi ka aakhiri din hoga…” (What happened to your promise, that vow, that intention…heart will forget, the day my life ends…). My feet took the rhythm of the song on the pavement that was filled with water here and there, which was often accompanied by splash on the ground from the moving vehicles on the road. I looked at the bridge and then the watch, ten past five it read. I walked a little faster with the thought that if only you were waiting for me here. It had been years that I did not see you.
The white benches placed along the footpath of the bridge where now grey. But there, not many days ago, those chairs were painted green. I left my people somewhere in the other world, and there was no way I could send them the message that I was alive, but in a different world. To the calmer wind I said, “Please send the message of my well being to them”.
White bench now turned Grey…
Somewhere, my heart was still singing the rhythm of the song because, there were no groaning suspicious judgemental eyes trying to catch a sight of me. I, as always, longed to meet you here, away from all. A twin thought too emerged about the inconvenience regarding your transportation to this world, because you were late to reach on time. My hope to see you was endless. It was, as if I were meant only to wait. But, it’s okay because hope too is there in waiting.
I quitely took a seat on one of the benches and stared at the tall buildings those were painted in the vast canvas- the purple sky embracing whatever is on it. At the backdrop of the tall buildings were the multiple flyovers. It started drizzling, perhaps the grey patches of clouds were unnoticed by me. Accompanied the rain, was the humid breeze that made my waist length hair more frizzy. “Be, wil you be late?” I asked to Be, as if I was in a telepathic conversation with him.
“Me, I won’t be late this time” a heavy voice whispered into my ears.
Seated, I turned around to find Be smiling at me while holding a folded umbrella. “Do you still want the drizzle tease your skin?” he continued.
Words fail usually, but this time I said smilingly, “Yes, let us both be under the bigger umbrella,than the one in your hands.” He understood what I meant was the sky.
Within no time, I broke in his arms letting my trembling tears mixed with the raindrops on his navy blue blazer. With a warm kiss placed on the temple his arms tightened around me. The bulge of stomach that he once had would not allow his hands around me, but now after the surgery at the age of 50, he was better. However, his stomach missed my pokes. I smiled, with a relaxed heart I said, “I miss you Be.”
He kept his promise.
He kept his promise. We were there to live the days we have it here untill the next thunderbolt that would roar, without a warning, behind the fourth pillar of the bridge, and then within fraction of seconds we would be transported back to the world of questions, a parallel universe.
Goodbye brings a hope to meet once again. But for me, how can I say goodbye when I know that I would never meet one more time. It is REALLY HARD.
I am standing at an edge of a lane, staring at a pathway. As I walk through the way, I go on building courage to face her. I don’t want questions anymore invading my mind while well knowing that I would never find any answers to those.
I am actually waiting to have a glance, even it is for JUST ONCE. I am very unsure of, if only I could make out the presence of my 75 days old daughter around the grave where she is laid. It has been eight months that I have not seen her. By now her small unsteady footsteps would be confident. How longingly my ears yearn to hear soft feeble voice calling me “ma”. Then, in reality it is not a time for adieu.
If only I had another chance to meet you. If only I could see your sparkling eyes. If only I could touch you. If only I could take you once again in my barren arms. If, if only I could say to you, "Stay with me for some more time". There would definitely not be a heartbreaking farewell, but a note "Goodbye, soon to meet you again".
I always ponder what an overwhelming feeling would be, untill I experienced one. Taking care of the flower plants is my leisure time. Staring and wondering at them gives me satisfaction to my soul. I AM RELAXED.
Pleasure was oozing while I looked at the lovely leafy plants in the pots that I kept on the verandah. Now it was the time for pouring water to them and clean the weeds out from the soil. The peace lilies were green, the dark purple verbinas radiated their smiles, while I look at the newly planted Christmas flower plants I see a lot of hairy roots at the nodes signifying that they are OK now. I will have immense joy when the night queen will bloom, and the mother of thousands plants will though take long time to have bulb like flowers…I will still wait. The snake plants purify the air around me, while the areca palm beautify the courtyard. And out of all, the many leafy plants whose names I still have yet not known, enthuse life in me.
At the end of the row, besides the ‘togor phul’, known as Crape Jasmine in English, stands stout the Bougainville. That day I saw only the lone brown stems with the tips capped with little cow dung cakes for better sprouts. You know, cow dung is a good manure for plants. I usually bring bag full of dried dung from the field where I go for morning walks. And later, mixed them well with soil. It’s common for us to that for planting.
Suddenly my eyes caught at the small baby leaves at the nodes of the ville. Aww! Such lovely is the feeling. “I thought you may not survive, but somewhere I still hoped” I said to them with teary eyes. I added, “It took long two months for the leaves to sprout. Oh God! Thankyou.”
That was my joy. I was waiting and waiting, and at last I got to know that they were alive. Very soon in the next season, I expect one or two flowers in them. Imagine, dark pink flowers on the branches will catch everyone’s attention. This is an elated experience of one of my favourite moments. Binging life to the plants have been an unending source of joy for me. It tells me that my little jia baby is happy while the grief in me knows well that I could not keep her soul intact in her body. I am injured to the core of my soul..whatever deepest depth a human have. Yet embracing these baby leaves on the Bougainville stems, emanates satisfaction to the part of love kept for her, the part of longingness felt for her.
Describe one simple thing you do that brings joy to your life.
When I look at the plants grow at home, my soul swings in tranquility. The racing heart of mine, finds peace and solace. And thereby, smile pulls up on my lips with a spark in my eyes. I AM RELAXED.
“As they too smile at me”
Gardening is not more satisfied than any other thing that I do. It is since I saw my daughter for the last time, I took to gardening. When I take care of the plants, I feel like I take care of my daughter as she is now a part of the nature. I remember the following line that I once taught in my classroom to the ninth grade students.
“No motion has she now/ She neither hears nor sees;”
Wordsworth’s A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal
Spending time with my flower pots, nurturing them satisfy my longing motherhood. The amount of time I would have given to her, I spend with these flowers instead. These flower plants at my courtyard are a bliss to me, which I never fail in the morning and evening to have a glance at them. I look at them and smile, hoping that they too smile at me. If only they could speak, they would say, “We were eagerly waiting for you, mommy.” With same fondness, I say to them, “I reached back, I will be with you.”
I miss my delight (Chanasya), but somewhere these flowers hanging from the pots on the grills of my verandah, send the message that they are there for me. These flower pots radiate sparkling sense of affection in the empty corridor of my heart. I am learning to embrace their company as I learn to take joy in little things.
Unedited picture with raw setting…I still smile as I look at you.🌸💖
Fantastic news is always embedded with excitement. Amazingly is the manner in which this fantastic news is received.
You get some great, amazingly fantastic news. What’s the first thing you do?
So how will a receiver react on receiving fantastic news amazingly? With exhilaration, right?I am not an exception to any other individual because I too respond the same common way not with trepidation but vary in the degree of expression.
When the news break into my ears with surprise, I lead an expression of adrenaline rush that would pump out speed like electricity that brings my hands to hold the mouth and utter “Oh My, unbelievable!” But the irony is the moment of surprise is actually an anticlimax of a pleasant note of something amusing.
On receiving an enticing news, for instance arrival of the lover, I would blush.At once a lot of chosen memory would surface causing tingling on the earlobes. Smiles would radiate expressing my happiness reaching the seventh shore. I go on talking at a streak for sometime with myself and prepare my mind for the day, most of the time building castles in the air.
These are my favourites.Perhaps when dark clouds hover the fantasticity would be experienced would be a different perspective at all. Let me wait for another prompt then 😉.
Sprinkled feathers 