Once upon a time writing to you would come natural, spontaneous, without having to think, a matter of course and unhesitating words would flow like monsoon rain and that was when this Chiquitita was always sure of herself. The meaning and purpose would all fall in place; the mind would not struggle much for choice of words as they were oh, so handy! Remember, the first sharing of the notes taking shape unto bigger notes and then at times nothing less than a few pages would be suffice to say to heart's content? And how an evening would wait for the night to come, be over with it and with hurried steps of morning my words would wait safe in your cupboard dropped from the letter -box-type-inlet and I would wait upon stairs for the very first fresh look of morning on your face, for the entrance slope beneath your steps would be my feast till another morn. The very feel of a Saturday was unwelcome as it would unavoidably be followed by a Sunday and sort of how-shall-I-sing-a- love- song on a holiday with that premises without your presence or an entry!
I was always right to feel you wrote so much better than I ever could-crisp, to the point, intense, utterly meaningful, saying -exactly- what -you- meant, flawless, proficient use of English language you have always reveled to write in. On the other hand my missives would be almost always fumbling with-what-exactly-I-mean, words broken, phrases and profuse use of vernacular in an endeavor to tell almost breathlessly what -I-meant-in fact!!
That time, for sure, is past and all its 'aching joys are no more/and all its dizzy raptures'. But do we always grow in years only? Don't we sometimes overstay in point of time despite space having been lost with passage of time almost like a Sarkari Babu refusing to vacate the quarter long after the transfer?
It’s not possible that you would not have known how every word, gesture, tone, look had power and muscle both to provide me comfort, inspiration or contrary to it-unsure, unsteady boat to sail in the high seas of the popularly known 'system'.After my father it was either my eldest sister or you who helped me understand meaning of a 'vision', an independent thinking, decision making and with sense of commitment for the country. I still am struggling to do -to be a good human being what I told you when you asked me point blank during your first visit to my room : what do you want to be?
I still would whenever I could -have biscuit soaked in glass full of tea: paint an almirah of hostel room myself; heat kadhi pouring in water to increase the quantum; would readily be Miss Paneerwala.
We might now too listen to Hussain Brothers' 'main hawa hoon' and 'chal mere saath hi chal' with equal fervor, go on a vespa scooter ride to university-me sitting on the back; would sit together saying nothing with numerous newspapers sprawled between us; might still on some pretext of urgency beckon you leave your work to clarify a point or sort out what -it -really meant when you uttered something beautiful but not easily comprehensible to me.
I do not see having changed much from so called good and not-good, nor -acceptable truths about me. And for years -though with lesser frequency and only to give vent when the reminiscences pushed me to the wall, I would write to you epistles big and small and never read them again nor those scribbles ever saw them be read by you.
True, we have come a long way –after all a span of twenty seven years is a long time! But all the beauteous things lived, felt together still hold as much of joy as could make all of us dance to the tune of : gallan goriyan de wich toye, aseen marge nee oye hoye..' Time stays not but who says life doesn't stop -it does- on moments of joy, elation, togetherness, love.
Writing to you is not difficult today either as I have overcome quite a bit of self consciousness that would make me struggle so much with words and expressions.
Your 'write something to me...' has put me on trail of lands I have travelled by, city that I had belonged to once-upon-a -time but I am not sad, rather happy to find myself in-command wherever I am, whatever as only that has happened which had to happen starting from a 'que sera sera..' There may not be a 'ring ring' which would cause 'ding dong ding dong', or an SOS but there sure are umpteen times a 'mama mia', 'country roads' and oh! the sweetest of all: Chiquitita!
But somewhere I must stop so let me with 'hasta manana'-till we meet again.
I was always right to feel you wrote so much better than I ever could-crisp, to the point, intense, utterly meaningful, saying -exactly- what -you- meant, flawless, proficient use of English language you have always reveled to write in. On the other hand my missives would be almost always fumbling with-what-exactly-I-mean, words broken, phrases and profuse use of vernacular in an endeavor to tell almost breathlessly what -I-meant-in fact!!
That time, for sure, is past and all its 'aching joys are no more/and all its dizzy raptures'. But do we always grow in years only? Don't we sometimes overstay in point of time despite space having been lost with passage of time almost like a Sarkari Babu refusing to vacate the quarter long after the transfer?
It’s not possible that you would not have known how every word, gesture, tone, look had power and muscle both to provide me comfort, inspiration or contrary to it-unsure, unsteady boat to sail in the high seas of the popularly known 'system'.After my father it was either my eldest sister or you who helped me understand meaning of a 'vision', an independent thinking, decision making and with sense of commitment for the country. I still am struggling to do -to be a good human being what I told you when you asked me point blank during your first visit to my room : what do you want to be?
I still would whenever I could -have biscuit soaked in glass full of tea: paint an almirah of hostel room myself; heat kadhi pouring in water to increase the quantum; would readily be Miss Paneerwala.
We might now too listen to Hussain Brothers' 'main hawa hoon' and 'chal mere saath hi chal' with equal fervor, go on a vespa scooter ride to university-me sitting on the back; would sit together saying nothing with numerous newspapers sprawled between us; might still on some pretext of urgency beckon you leave your work to clarify a point or sort out what -it -really meant when you uttered something beautiful but not easily comprehensible to me.
I do not see having changed much from so called good and not-good, nor -acceptable truths about me. And for years -though with lesser frequency and only to give vent when the reminiscences pushed me to the wall, I would write to you epistles big and small and never read them again nor those scribbles ever saw them be read by you.
True, we have come a long way –after all a span of twenty seven years is a long time! But all the beauteous things lived, felt together still hold as much of joy as could make all of us dance to the tune of : gallan goriyan de wich toye, aseen marge nee oye hoye..' Time stays not but who says life doesn't stop -it does- on moments of joy, elation, togetherness, love.
Writing to you is not difficult today either as I have overcome quite a bit of self consciousness that would make me struggle so much with words and expressions.
Your 'write something to me...' has put me on trail of lands I have travelled by, city that I had belonged to once-upon-a -time but I am not sad, rather happy to find myself in-command wherever I am, whatever as only that has happened which had to happen starting from a 'que sera sera..' There may not be a 'ring ring' which would cause 'ding dong ding dong', or an SOS but there sure are umpteen times a 'mama mia', 'country roads' and oh! the sweetest of all: Chiquitita!
But somewhere I must stop so let me with 'hasta manana'-till we meet again.
Miss Paneerwala has grown and how !
ReplyDeleteNo regrets, because moving on has offered so many opportunities to do things which would make your father Neelam didi and all of us proud of you. Hasta Manana was a small price to pay for all that you achieved. Oh gallan gorian te wich toye and doing masti with kids till three in the morning overshadows all !