I wish to raise a toast to the author and the universe…we have achieved another milestone today. The first draft of a beautiful book stands completed. It has existed for seven years in the world and now stands with a twin in another language.
Sometimes, books translate themselves. All we are left with are aching limbs. And a big smile.
Why do I choose to celebrate?
Because, we don’t say thank you enough.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…dear higher power of love.
For choosing me as a medium for transforming another gem.
I pray that it sparkles as brightly in the new language as it did in the mothertongue.
Only time will tell.
May more words grace my way.
‘There are moments, when whatever be the attitude of the body, the soul is on its knees.’ Victor Hugo.
Two bright young women: one graduating in both Computational Mathematics and Astro Physics, another securing her dual degrees in Pure Mathematics and Physics. The former looking forward to starting her doctoral studies in Machine Learning and the latter, her PhD in Mathematics… Both love the colour of the seas, the taste of fish and their mothers’ cooking. They are good friends who hail from two opposite corners of a country- across the globe- far from where their University is situated.
This is a toast to youth and their dreams. Their love and their kindness. Their indomitable spirits and sense of being inclusive. Their beauty of hearts. Their brilliance and hard work. Their loveliness.
Children, I am so proud of you! I pen my prayers for you:
പെട്ടെന്നാണ് മഴ പെയ്തത്. മണ്ണ് നനഞ്ഞ് സുഗന്ധം ഉയർന്നു. മകൾ തുള്ളി ചാടി മഴയത്തിറങ്ങി. ‘നല്ല മണം !’ അത് കവികളും മറ്റും പാടി പുകഴ്ത്തിയ വാസന. ആംഗലേയത്തിൽ ‘PETRICHOR’ എന്ന് പറയും. (പെട്രിക്കോ എന്ന് വാച്യഭാഷ ) വീട്ടു മുറ്റത്തിലെ കൂവളം തണുത്ത കാറ്റിൽ ആടുന്നു. ‘പനി പിടിക്കും…അകത്തോട്ടു വാ…’ അത് പറഞ്ഞിട്ട് ഞാൻ പശ്ചാത്തപിച്ചു! ഇത് പണ്ട്, എന്നോട് മൂത്തവർ ചൊല്ലിയത്! ഞാൻ തീരെ വകവയ്ക്കാത്തത് ! ‘നനഞ്ഞോ …അത് കഴിഞ്ഞു കുളിക്കണം കേട്ടോ!’ ഞാൻ മാറ്റി പറഞ്ഞു. ‘മൂത്തവർ ചൊല്ലും മുതുനെല്ലിക്ക ആദ്യം കയ്ക്കും, പിന്നെ മധുരിക്കും!’ ഞാൻ നെല്ലിക്ക സ്മരണകളിലോട്ടു പോയി.
നല്ല പിങ്ക് നിറത്തിൽ അയല്പക്കത്തെ മരത്തിന്റെ ചുവട്ടിൽ പടർന്നു കിടക്കുന്ന കായ്കൾ…അതേതു നെല്ലിക്കയായിരുന്നു? എന്തൊരു നല്ല മണമായിരുന്നു ആ പിഞ്ചു കൊച്ചു നെല്ലിക്കയ്ക്ക്! സ്കൂളിൽ കൂട്ടുകാരി കൊണ്ട് വരുന്ന ഉപ്പും മുളകും കൂട്ടിയുള്ള ലൗലോലിക്കയുടെ കൊതിയോർമ്മകൾ! പിന്നെ നല്ല വലിയ നെല്ലിക്ക: ശരിക്കും കയ്പുള്ള വക. ശങ്കരാചാര്യന്റെ കഥ പറയുമ്പോൾ അമ്മ പറഞ്ഞു തന്ന സുവർണ്ണ നെല്ലിക്ക…ഉപ്പിലിട്ട നെല്ലിക്ക കൊടുത്ത പാവപ്പെട്ട സ്ത്രീ…കുട്ടിയായ ശങ്കരൻ ചൊല്ലിയ കനക ധാര സ്ത്രോത്രം. എന്റെ അമ്മയുടെ കഥയിൽ, സ്വർണ്ണ നെല്ലിക്കയാണ് വർഷിക്കപ്പെട്ടത് എന്ന് മാത്രം!
മഴയത്തു തിമിർത്തു കളിച്ച ബാല്യം. കൂട്ടുകാരോടൊപ്പം പാടങ്ങളും മറ്റും ഓടി ചാടി നടന്ന് …നാട് മുഴുവൻ കറങ്ങി തിരിച്ചു വന്നിരുന്ന സുരക്ഷിത ബാല്യം…തോർത്ത് കൊണ്ട് കനാലിലെ വെള്ളത്തിൽ മീൻ പിടിച്ച കുട്ടി കാലം…ഇന്നെന്റെ മകൾക്ക് വിചിത്രമായി തോന്നുന്ന കഥകൾ. ഇപ്പോൾ കുട്ടിയെ തനിച്ചു കളിയ്ക്കാൻ വിടുന്നത് ആലോചിക്കാൻ വയ്യ! എന്റെ കുറ്റമോ അതോ എന്റെ സ്നേഹമോ ?
കുട്ടിക്കാലം ചിലവിട്ട വീട്ടിൽ ഒരു പ്ലാവുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. കൂഴ ചക്കയായിരുന്നു. വരിക്കയോട് കിടപിടിക്കുമ്പോൾ അധഃകൃത വർഗ്ഗമെന്ന മട്ടിലാണ് നാട്ടുകാർ ഞങ്ങളുടെ കൂഴ പ്ലാവിനെ നോക്കിയിരുന്നത്. എന്നാലെന്താ? അത് ഞങ്ങൾക്ക് നല്ല ചക്ക പഴം തന്നു. അമ്മ ചക്ക ഉപ്പേരി വറുത്തു തന്നു.ഞങ്ങൾ ഊഞ്ഞാലിട്ടു കളിച്ചു. പ്ലാവിന്റെ ഇല കൊണ്ട് അടുക്കള പാത്രം ഉണ്ടാക്കി …എല്ലാം കഴിഞ്ഞു, വീട് മാറിയപ്പോൾ, പുതിയ വീട്ടിലെ ഫർണിച്ചറിനായി അതിനെ വെട്ടി. അത് വീണപ്പോൾ ഞങ്ങൾ കരഞ്ഞു. ‘സാരമില്ല, പ്രിയമുള്ള പ്ലാവിനെ പുതിയ വീട്ടിൽ കൂടെ കൊണ്ടുപോകാമല്ലോ’ എന്നാരോ സമാശ്വസിപ്പിച്ചു. ചിതാ ഭസ്മം പോലെയൊരു ഓർമ്മ.
* ‘ഇവിടെ വന്നിരിക്ക്! ഇച്ചിരി എണ്ണ പുരട്ടട്ടെ !’ ഞാൻ പറഞ്ഞു. പുതിയ തലമുറ നെറ്റി ചുളിച്ചു. എങ്കിലും അമ്മൂമ്മയുടെ എണ്ണയുടെ കർപ്പൂര ഗന്ധം അവളെ ആകർഷിച്ചു. തുളസിയും, കുരുമുളകും, കർപ്പൂരവും…എന്ത് നല്ല ഗന്ധം. മഴ നനഞ്ഞ തലമുടിയിൽ ശാസ്ത്രമൊക്കെ തെറ്റിച്ചു ഞാൻ എണ്ണ പുരട്ടി കൊടുത്തു… ‘അമ്മൂമ്മ, ഇന്ന് പപ്പടം തരണേ!’മകൾ വിളിച്ചു പറഞ്ഞു. എത്ര വേഗത്തിലാണ് നഗരത്തിലെ സ്കൂൾ കുട്ടി വീട്ടിലെ അന്തരീക്ഷത്തിൽ അലിഞ്ഞു ചേർന്നത് ! അപ്പോൾ മഴ നല്ല ശക്‌തിയായി പെയ്തു തുടങ്ങി… ആ താളം കേട്ടപ്പോൾ ശങ്കരാചാര്യന്റെ മഹിഷാസുര മർദ്ദിനിയിലെ അനുപമമായ വരികൾ ഓർത്തു പോയി.. മധു മധുരേ മധു കൈടഭഭഞ്ജിനി കൈടഭഭഞ്ജിനി രാസരതേ ജയജയഹേ മഹിഷാസുരാമർദിനി രമ്യകപർദിനി ശൈലസുതേ… **
നോട്ട് : ഉത്തർ പ്രദേശിലെ കന്നൗജിൽ,മുഗൾ രാജാക്കന്മാരുടെ കാലം മുതൽ അത്തർ ഉണ്ടാക്കുന്ന പാരമ്പര്യമുണ്ട്. അവിടെ, മഴയുടെ സ്പർശത്തിൽ കുളിരുന്ന മണ്ണിന്റെ മണത്തിനെ ഒരു itr-e -khakhi യായി , അത്തറായി ഉണ്ടാക്കിയെടുക്കുന്നു.
That day too, they were getting ready for a dinner party. He felt that in their lives, the posturing before the mirror, and the careful checking of the face, were like the oft repeated chorus of a song. These occurred frequently and never changed their nature. The way she sat, the way she combed her hair, the way she would ask stupid questions without turning to look at him…
She pinned up her hair and went to the bathroom to wash her hands.
“Which sari should I wear ?” She asked, “Mohan, just decide finally and tell me…Blue or white?”
“White,” he muttered.
“But I have worn it for Mitra’s party last month. And we cannot rule out the same crowd from being there tonight… “, she said.
He straightened the knot of his tie and pulled on his white coat. Pursing his lips together, he walked away to the verandah.
“Oh, have you finished dressing so fast? I am just about to start…”, she called out.
Pulling a chair near the iron bars of the balcony , he seated himself. The gardener was trimming the henna shrubs of their neighbour’s garden patch using huge scissors.
“Mohan!” The young woman called from inside the house.
“What is it?”
“I have a feeling that those people would be there too for the party tonight.”
“What people?”
“Those people staying above us…”
“Hmm..”
“I heard the sound of the stitching machine in the morning! She must have been stitching her blouse for the party! What is the need for such miserliness? As if there are no good tailors in Calcutta!”
“Hmm…”
“Yet she goes out wearing such ugly blouses! I feel such pity for her husband…Mohan, are you listening?”
“Yes…”
She appeared in the verandah momentarily , looked at him, and then vanished immediately. Her face was caked with rouge and face powder. He felt that it was the face of a cheap doll. He lighted a cigarette.
“She is so proud about the fact that she writes poetry! ‘ I am a poetess, why do I need beauty? ‘ That is her attitude! Now that infuriates me! Even if she is not fair, if she carefully works on her make up, she might escape being utterly plain…But..”
“Even if she does not carefully work on her makeup, I find her beautiful,” he replied.
She appeared outside yet again; this time with a smile.
“Oh, Mohan! Now you are trying to vex me, aren’t you dear? No one can ever think that she is beautiful! Beauty indeed! Haha…”
He stared for a few moments ,emotionless, at his wife’s face and thin frame wrapped in white silk. Then for some reason, he too started laughing.
“I am looking fine, right? There isn’t too much face powder on my face, is it?” She asked.
He made agreeable movements of his head.
“I get mad when I see her vanity,” She waxed on.
“Vanity? Where did she show off her vanity?” He queried.
“Imagine! You have never seen that? Lord, men are such fools! Haven’t you seen her walk? The way she holds her head high, never looking down at the ground for a moment? Then that lopsided smile! Her various conceited affectations…I feel so…”
“It is seven thirty now,” He said, getting up from his chair, “We have not yet attained the stature for reaching late at cocktail parties.”
She trilled with fake laughter. Then turning on her heels, she went inside their bedroom.
He heard the tremulous sound of a top whirling from the flat above theirs. It was followed by children’s laughter. He raised his eyes upwards. He wished that she was standing there- leaning against the iron bars of her verandah. What would happen? She might smile at him once. She might query whether his wife was hearty. Were these of any significance?
With a fury that had no obvious cause, he stamped at a flower pot with his shoe clad foot. All the flower pots on their verandah were full of thorny plants.
“I am ready!” His wife announced. She held a vanity bag of silvery satin in her hand.
“What happened to you ?” She asked,”You look so pale!”
He sat down heavily in the chair and looked down; his forehead was ensconced in his hands.
“What happened Mohan?” She asked again. He was extremely irritated by the thick fumes of her heavy perfume.
Without lifting his head he replied, “Please let me sit here for a while. I don’t feel like going anywhere today.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice became sharp, “Not going to the party after committing? You have forgotten all basic manners! You are absolutely fine! I know that. Get up now! Let us leave- it is quarter to eight now.”
The children staying in the flat above them, were still playing with the top: pulling at the thread. That sound rose like a sliver of excruciating pain and then thrummed within his heart.
“I am not going anywhere,” he announced.
“How childish you are, dearest!” She was sweet- talking him now. “It is your boss’s party! As if you have a choice! Can you afford to aggravate him?”
Yet, he continued to look down. He muttered, “I will not go.”
She caressed his hair, and then dropped kisses on his fingers.
“Get up darling!” She whispered softly , “We cannot have him vexed at us…”
He got up and then without glancing at her, crossed over the drawing room and reached the main door. She accompanied him with a smile.
“We have not yet attained the stature of reaching late…”, she teased. As they descended the stairs, she inspected his face. A smile? An angry, brooding silence ? She saw nothing. Consequently, she tried to change the topic of discussion.
“I wish it will not rain tonight! If it rains, even if I take extreme care, my sari will get dirty! The hems will get wet, by the time one gets inside the car! That is what scares me!”
When he started driving, a sudden rain fell all over the lane.
“I told you, did I not!” She trilled, “I knew it! My poor white sari! Oh my poor white sari!”
He thought that if she mentioned that sari one more time, he would most definitely strangle her. His hands started shaking.
“Mohan! What happened to you today? Are you feverish? Your hands are shaking dear!”
“Fever?!” He burst into laughter. Praying that the unwanted laughter would cease soon, she sat there quietly. The rain drops kept dashing against the glass panes.
He kept on laughing for a long time. She realised that he did not love her. ‘Has he ever loved her?’ She wondered to herself. There was no answer to that question.
During the dinner, the host accosted her: “I think that you have become more beautiful…!”
Her eyes overflowed for some reason at that moment.
Perhaps tragedies have a way of throwing us into ice cold water and shocking the hell out of us- albeit temporarily.
But as Eliot wrote presciently, ‘..humankind cannot bear too much reality.’
However, in Indian mythology, in different versions of almost the same story, whether it is Nahusha cursed as a serpent asking Yudhistir about the greatest farce on earth or the Crane asking him on the greatest wonder there is, ( YakshaPrashna-or Baka Prashna), answer is the same:
‘Even when countless people die daily, those who live on, refuse to accept their mortality.’
Of course, the under current philosophy was to live with awareness and make the best of life; discovering what one wanted truly-instead of getting side tracked into collecting the glittering baubles that the crowd seems to seek avariciously.
***
If I could write notes to myself today, I would add this amazing poem by the great Gopal Das Neeraj, called, ” Jeevan Nahin Mara Karta Hai.”
Ministhy S Nair