Serendipity, Saunter and Faux paz

The dawn of the new year Gudi Padwa is the Maharashtrian new year’s day. In the early hours of the morning, the Gudi was set up and worshipped. Just after the regular puja was completed. The gathis (sugar wafers that are threaded together to form a garland) were bought the previous evening. This goes with the neem leaves as part of the gudi but there were extra ones to give to any children who would come and also for anyone who would like to eat them. Once the pooja was complete, the house resounded with Kumar Gandharva’s voice and the cassette we had would play through the morning. There was a lavish meal as usual – either shrikhand – puri or pooran poli along with aluchi paatal bhaji, bhaat, varan, bhaji, koshimbir, chutney, lonchi, papad for the family. In the afternoon there would often be music performances nearby and depending on what the plans for the evening were we would go to listen to some classical music. All the day through friends and family would drop by to seek Aji'...

Linguistic negotiations  I found the words from the chapter ‘Exile’ from  'In Other Words' by Jhumpa Lahiri, lingering in my thoughts. Even as I read it my mind was running ahead of me in a parallel universe that houses my own experiences. I feel total empathy  for her estrangement with her mother tongue, Bengali and her comment that her mother tongue feels like a foreign tongue. Having spent several years in non- Marathi speaking regions, I am reminded of the struggle to keep my mother tongue alive. Trying to keep it flowing for my daughter CC; she may not have yearned for it as she had the resilience and the innocent adaptability of the very young to adopt another language and make it her own with remarkable speed. But for me my mother tongue was the bridge between being a young, bumbling parent and my own happy childhood. Language of course formed a large part of it. So with enthusiasm I got her CDs of Marathi plays and story books and sang her songs from the language ...

Forever roses In addition to beautiful memories some other things travelled back with us from Kashmir.  Among them were the famous papier-mâché pen holder in black with an intricate floral design, a massive carpet that came in a few months later, a kangri (the wicker basket enclosing an earthen pot with coals to keep warm) and a branch of a rose bush. The beautiful cane basket, kangri, soon had a money plant cascading down the side of one of the display shelves, right next to the inner living room door. The pretty leaves, pale green and white contrasted beautifully with the dark polished wood of the cabinet and caught everyone’s attention. But this story is about the rose. As soon as we were back it was planted in the garden right next to the large window with a window box of China roses. It was hoped and indeed talked about that the velya gulab (vine rose) would grow tall and strong and cover the sun-shade of the window and fall over to the other side. This would be reminiscent o...

  I have a very special amaltas/kanni konna story! Over our main gate was an arch that was covered with the very charming Madhumalati creeper. It was a wrought iron gate, big enough for a car and a half and had two pillars on either side. On the left was a neem tree and on the right side a bougainvillea in a fabulous orange shade, that I have rarely come across later. Over the years the arch slowly became irreparable. The madhumalati shifted to a pergola inside the garden. Then Papa wanted a flowering tree in the front yard, near the gate, such that he could see it from the verandah! Our verandah provided a tiny sitting area with a swing and two garden chairs and was a favourite with everyone! The gul mohur was a bit further in and seen much better when one was outdoors. What a dilemma! I suggested the amaltas! I was always fond of the golden yellow flowers that looked like jhumkas, chandelier earrings that looked so pretty! So, we went to the local nursery and got a sapling! ...