Growing in love

Another stint is on its crawl to a finish. At Amrita. How many more? Yesterday was Vishu. I asked Him for a special kaineettam. Told Him that was that. A new beginning. In the very literal sense. Existential sense, to be precise.

There were many such finishes. First was when I used to count days to go to ammoomma during vacations. We were in the concrete woods of Mumbai and she was in 'then God's-Own' Kerala. I still remember her wetting my shoulder on that day (another finish) when we were to return to work, school and 'life' after my sixth class vacations. During the two months I was with her, her routine used to be mine. She would wake up at the 'goddamn' hour of 4.30 a.m. and wash herself in icy waters of a ghastly well. The mornings would make the waters icier. Have cursed her for that, yet have stood with her through the 'trauma' of waking up at that hour, drenching myself and then tucking under her arm before a lit lamp and chanting 'harinamakeerthanam'. She taught me the first 10 slokas of the many slokas. I still know only them. My rituals ended there. With her. Now I don't know when time strikes 4.30 a.m. Lit night lamps cheat me from the joys of the lights of dawn. There are no wells to draw water up from. And a heater strips water of its virgin chill. And me of innocence. Well, sleep too, is a bliss, though. Like ignorance.

The only thing I did that ammoomma didn't was probably roam around the afternoons when she would be in her much-loved siesta. I would tour the kitchen for eatables specially made for my glutton cousins and hike up mango trees that would be laden by then. Then there were the vagabonds (as my grandpa called the neighbourhood kids) who were my closest pals. There was a spot not far away from home from where the lake was visible. There was also a space near where time stood still. To be my love.

May be I learnt my first lessons in love from there. Nature was fiery, yet alluring. It was sublime, too. The women who used to come home for karthika and thiruvathira had a bit of it in them. I used to watch them dance and prance about. At times, I tried to be like them. But never won. I was always on the other side. Kiddish, agile and stupid. Sans all grace. Yet what I love is grace. For things I love are grace.

That morning when we were to return, I was aghast at the grace the woman had. She was in her early sixties, yet her charm took me over. I loved her may be for her sheer beauty. She was very beautiful. So much that in her youth many came seeking her. Her friends equated her to the then reigning Travancore sisters. I was proud that she was my grandma. She was crying. Tears streaming, she asked me to stay back the next year I came for vacations. "Don't go back. You can study here. I will teach you lot of songs," she said. I loved the words. It soothed me. It gave me hope. Back in Mumbai, every day was a year. I longed for a glance of Kerala, for that would mean be close to her, at least for a moment. Now she tells me to come to her. I smile, hug her close and take a kiss from her. Her kiss has this special scent. Of milk, or is it of the mountains?

Well, the day when I would run back to her never came. She vanished in a month. My friend (time) snacked on her for tea. I was informed much later, and all the while I wrote long letters to her asking her to wait for the time when we would be together. I am still waiting. Unkempt. Unloved.

With her gone, Kerala became a piece of land. Love for Mumbai grew as friends came along and took me to the hieghts of romantic ecstasy. I fell more and more in love with love. It healed the wound she made in me. I wanted to stay put. But that was not to be. Another finish was imminent. I rushed to the classroom in that 100-year-old college...where we saved a pigeon from getting stuck in the fan. Where we wrote and sang together. Where we made fun of girls and boys. Where again...time had stood still. College to me is still that one gallery room. Me, my urmi (will she care to read this taking break from her goddamn chemistry research), Kaushik (who might now be touring the Congo), Meghna, Vishnu, Preethi... Oh I didnt want to leave them. Yet I did. To leave for a now-hated land. Coconut groves. Gods in air. Demons on board. Hate abound. I searched for love there, but only heard tales of it. Tried to nurture love. Failed. That was the next finish.

Then there were stops...Chennai, in Coimabtore...where there was love abundant. Why is it that I find love in cities notorious for hatred? But I was value-struck. Shouldn't I be loyal to love? I didnt even realise I got it all wrong. Delhi was another disaster. Though I found love in myself there. There were sojourns. National Museum, Art galleries, Bahai temple, CP streets, Kerala club, ice cream jaunts with Tony, times spent with Sachin, Misha Pillai, Ritu, Ambika, INS canteen and long walks around Parliament Street. There was companionship, too, but it was laced in a bitter sense of indifference. It finished there.

In Kochi, I walked to love's pace. There was this feeling of belonging, everywhere. I belonged to the place. To the words I wrote. And the one I loved. I didn't have love. I was love itself. Finish came as Amrita. I was reluctant. Yet I had made a promise. THE WEEK had to end.

Amrita was a good run. Care, it eluded me here. Love, I sustained. We went about in thin air. For a change, it wasn't time, but the mountains that froze for me. I went back to the gallery classroom. Now it is winding up. For a new chapter. My mind will linger on, in these mountains, my love ingrained on them.

As life's charm drains with every passing hour, I just hope with every finish my quest grows. To be remebered as the one who loved love.
          

To my love divine...

Two years since I walked with Him,
Seems like yesterday though,
He called me his love divine,
I called him mine
And time went on.

He brought me home to peace,
I lost myself there
First to the divine,
And then to Him.
Time picked up speed.


The air and the winds,
The roads we trekked,
Told us to rejoice,
Despite the odds.
Time began its race.

He sheltered me from pain,
And the rain,
Told me to live,
In his love,
Time whroomed.

We fought,
And made,
And cooked,
And ate,
We drank,
And slept,
Till Time raced past.

He brought me,
To the mountains,
Taught me to climb,
He showed me the hill,
And loved me there,
To make it too divine,
Time slowed to look.

We were in elan,
Being lovers of space,
We ran around,
In mirth and joy and pain,
Time looked on.

Then came they,
Calls of the bounteous world,
Their colours bright,
Their tastes tempting, 
He stopped to see and sense,
And I was left alone,
In light,
And Time cried.

I lost my nerve,
I shrieked in pain,
I killed myself,
I called for help,
Time was helpless.
 
He felt my tears,
He sensed my cry,
The divine stabbed,
He saw the blood,
And its colour, love.
Time fainted.

I called out to him,
He couldn't but come,
To help me live,
Take me home,
Again, to peace.
Time smiled.

I lived again in divine,
I went, yonder,
Away from the world,
Time sighed.

He came in search,
Calling me my name,
The love divine,
I became love.
Time stood still.