Pick-me-ups

Rustom ki razai

Genre- Dessert in words

This is like walking into a painting, Sara muttered under hear breath to Sanjiv who was three steps behind. He was more acustomed to carpeted offices where windows were sealed with extra rubber, where only sounds not frowned upon was of steam jutting out into beverage cups turning dairy into foam, where every activity that was a direct connect to human nature was outsourced to someone less priviledged. Someone watered the plants, another agency removed the lint from the upholstery. 

Sara’s romantic view of the cotton worker’s 10x10 shed was more like a discarded mural from Sanjiv's office. The one where his office thought they were promoting local artisans and the artisan felt he was infusing the grey atmosphere with specks of colour.

Aray you are here, collecting his loose unstitched attire Rustom got up to welcome his guests. Work hardened his hands, and softened his smile as he lifted the lid of the Earthen pot and offered them water. Sheepishly, Sara explained what they wanted. It gets very cold in a few months. Can you make us a Razai? Short winters, cheap heaters, mechanised blankets had dwindled interest in Rustom’s handmade Razais’. It was perhaps Sara’s grounded demeanour that prevented cynicism. 

Ofcourse his smile brightened as he opened his small notebook to take the measurements. As they walked out Sanjiv lifted the handkerchief which he used to prevent the micro-threads from disturbing him. Sara handed out the money. Shouldn’t you have waited? the process driven boss couldn’t contain his doubts. I could also have floated a tender. Sara was snickering at the difference in their worlds. Trust, my world runs on it. She didn’t want to annoy him as he had taken time out of his very busy schedule for their decided let’s do something together each month. I have only given him money; he will give me handmade razai but before that he’s planted a picture in my head to paint. A modern day chariot that signified her husband’s status- their luxury car drove them back to their house. Their house had his precision, but her personality. Corners adorned with nature inspired words, drawings, sonnets, and couplets. By the time he could collect his papers, she had heated up the kettle. Sip some slowness with me, she poured his favourite Kahwa. You still flirt the same, their together activity had managed to bring a smile out of him. I will be late, there is a conference he said before shutting the door behind him.

The phone rang, ready hai. Sara recognised Rustom’s voice, ok I will send the car to pick it up tomorrow. She thanked him profusely excited in anticipation of her handmade razai.  The detailing brought out rows of smiles on Sara’s face. A collection of flowers in one corner, a flock of birds to indicate the top, scattered leaves, Rustom had really worked magic on this piece. The children sat around as she explained how handmade embroidery was done. Wow mom, the generation used to pre-made everything caught on her appreciation. Can we make a drawing, yes of course if you each want one, then you can give me a drawing or your comic character and we can get that stitched on your own razai?. Can mine have pockets for the books? She squealed. Books or sweets? her brother pinched her as he teased.  

Sanjiv was late as usual coming back home, being the captain of his ship his time was never his. The children sat around and updated their day’s activities as he wound down with a drink. Next morning, Sara had forgotten Sanjiv’s routine as she rushed to start her day and send the children off. The night had been blissful. Heavy cotton filled razai had almost absorbed all her aches and pains. Usually by the time the children went to school, Sanjiv’s own work priorities or his mobile assistant took over his day. She sat down with her cup when the pindrop silence from the room struck her. Isn’t he getting ready? By this time, he is normally smashing doors always late for something. She got up to check.

She sent a sick leave message from his phone before turning it off. The Razai had cocooned her husband who was obviously in much needed deep sleep. A sight to behold, before she called up Rustom again, thanked him for his handmade Razai and told him that she will send the Spiderman’s picture for reference.

Pen-friend

Genre- Dark serenity

It sold like hot cakes, there are people who have placed their orders, they have left notes. Her words echoed bouncing off one mould ridden wall on to the ceiling. The ceiling much like their life was now exposed, specks of old paint added a bright contrast to the roughness of the natural browns. He tightened the sheet of cloth around himself, words bit pieces off him now. They stung, they pained every sense of his being. All sentences whether spelt right and grammatically correct were ridden with suspicion. Life had taken him down roads whose bright lights hid shady monsters. She slowed herself dragged and shunned by one and all, she had perfected the art of being her own melody. Usually not without a song or a word of praise, she spoke simply. It is true they loved it, every word, we sold every single copy. Even your draft which I had kept on the shelf by mistake, I told one customer it was ridden with spelling mistakes. He said its ok, he will make sense. This is a list of orders, hundred more copies. Slowly he sliced himself out of the sheet, afraid to show his smile. The change of skin colour – gave away his elation. Here take a bite, he enjoyed the first meal in days. Soon enough they were cracking up, covers out, bellies full. It had been years since laughter filled their room. I haven’t read it, do you know? The final version. I had written so many drafts that all the words blurred by the time the final was done. It fell off me like a dried leaf which had taken all nutrition added to my being and was out.

I have spoken to Ms. Jhelum, she said she will have the prints ready in two days. I asked for five hundred, we may get more orders. Did you read it? He looked sheepishly. No. I didn’t get the time and I didn’t want to influence you with my version. Let’s read it together. Hmm ok, he was far more accommodating today with the burden of failure off his chest.

As she read each line she saw the some of the flush leave his skin. Till he turned like the sheet of paper he wrote on, pale, blank and weightless. This is not what I wrote, it is beautiful but it is not what I wrote. She read a few verses from the middle. The curves from the side of his mouth travelled up and formed frown lines. It…its not different from what I thought but I didn’t write it like this. What does that mean? She asked nibbling another piece from the loaf of bread. Well, writing is not like turning on a tap. Most people see it like that, she said. Yes, but there is usually a collection of thoughts. On good days, they are like an Army- coherent, flowing without ripples. On most days, they are a motley crew, each thought dragging me down its own road. As it unwinds, another one jumps in screaming for efforts to stretch in its direction. That is the most time-consuming process in writing. There are no mistakes. Each wrong word can lead to a new chain of thought. 

Is that why you lose your sense of self, time, food when you write? She was standing in the middle of his mind. Yes, the leaky roofs, the torn clothes, the unpaid bills they pale in comparison to the abundance which is in my mind when I write. Then how is it that you don’t recognise your own work? They stared at each other, no answers. The thoughts and style of writing is familiar but these are lanes I bypassed. He pressed his face in his palm. Why don’t you try again, she suggested? After I leave to meet Ms. Jhelum try writing a page.  Ok but how will that help. Maybe you’re imagining that you didn’t write this, and you did after all. She handed a shiny new pen, try this. Ok.

He was bent over, sheets of paper decorated the floor. She sneaked up, let’s see. She read line by line. This is what I wrote, nothing’s changed. They knew it was something else. Let it be, sometimes the answers come with the wind that we have closed the windows for, she opened the window. Being with him, she had started making unobvious connections of her own. He laid out two plates and served from the dish she had picked up on the way. Hot food was a luxury; it was after years that both of them had rested after a peaceful meal. He had sprung up, the unanswered question played havoc with his mind. Bent over pages again, he had given in to his familiar tools. The old torn notebook, his old ink-filled pen. Pressures of his thumb and two fingers had almost indented the metallic tube of the pen. It was mid-morning by the time she awoke, he was resting besides the pages. She started reading aloud. He awoke to her voice. Tiny arcs accentuated the corners of his mouth, this has changed. A gust of wind tore through the cotton curtains.

The pen rolled on the floor, a drop of ink spill left its signature as it fell from the ink-pot which had mostly dried up.

Moccasins

Genre- Life experiences  

Karma walked into work with his usual flamboyant stride. He didn’t need a spring in his step. He usually needed a pat on the head to keep the two feet firmly on the ground. Upbeat was not a mood in Karma’s life, upbeat was him. When life gives you lemons make lemonade, be positive, happiness increases when you share it, all the sayings that picked people up when they were down and out described an average day in Karma’s life. He wasn’t without his share of grey clouds over his heads, just that he had realised it either took a few seconds or a lifelong to pick himself up. He chose seconds. In adopting this attitude, he had developed a knack for blowing out many a grey clouds from those around him. 

Today was special he had declared it as ‘be like it is your last day on Earth’ a week before. Ridiculous, temptress, wild, traditional, stiff upper lip, a jester, an iron-clad warrior (a job which now drones and surveillance screens had stolen) even a wedding dress, clothes with holes- everyone had turned out as their interpretation of his theme. Tulsi had taken the challenge to the opposite pole. Her head bobbing out of a carefully tied up sack. A gunny bag, a few scowled, some expressed surprise, yet she walked unhinged. Someone once told me I’d look good in a sack bag- I thought I would try it. Used to her gentle ways of poking at societies swollen belly, Karma showed a thumps up. Karma’s own choice of shoes was no less extraordinary, he was strutting in six-inch-high heels. Did you practise? Tulsi was toying with his confidence. Ofcourse not, I always operate from supreme self-confidence, chin up Karma delayed his smile to emphasise his point. Feeding off each other, today their workplace full of usual everyday tension, same workplace just devoid of back breaking stress. Karma had managed to lighten everyone up. One of the walls he had turned into the ‘Wall of being’ – everyday people could fill it with pieces of their personality that work had no space for. Tasha kept the child in her alive by picking up pebbles along the way which she pasted in one corner, Tushar turned his hatred for clients into two quick lines, Tara turned what caught her attention during her car ride into single line doodles, Vaastav liked boxes of things he bought, tore apart pieces of statutory warning of his cigarette box and pinned it above Nidhi’s beautifully crafted Rose drawing. Contrasts, contradictions to the reputation of efficiency their company had built over the last decade.

Karma managed the wall just as he managed their company’s personality with the outside world- their look and feel, their tone of communication, their playfulness as workstyle yet their seriousness about delivering quality. Tik-tok he walked confidently across the meeting rooms to present their latest pitch to the clients who had been waiting to see what he had in mind for their product. If they had been surprised by the six-inch heels beneath his formal trousers, they kept it to themselves. Creative companies were known for their odd ducks. He flowed from one end of the board to the other, till one of the lady clients couldn’t bear being outshone in the parade of heels. She rose and more than usual emphasised her presence using her walk. At the board it was battle of sheer intellectual delight. She kept on throwing adjectives tearing the campaign apart. Not one to be disgraceful, Karma kept it together took her feedback and offered corrections by end of the week.

The wall of being, lifted Karma as he walked past. It was just a dull few moments he said to himself as the contrast of Nidhi's rose fluttering over Vaastav's Smoking is inurious to health torn pack dawned on him . After all he was human, he had worked months on the campaign. He set-up a session with Sudhir. The boss had vantage view of work as well as people. Are those blahniks? I will have to check; Karma was surprised that Sudhir started with his choice of shoes. Check, they are yours right? Is it a known name, Karma continued as he eased one of the shoes out? They are a fashion statement. Then probably not. I usually pick up, he said looking around for the name. No there is no name of the shop. Pick up from where? About the campaign, Karma continued. Sudhir was intrigued but they had a deadline. I saw the feedback, I think it was more about the statement. What statement, Karma was confused unaware that his mild mannered smell the roses turned people the wrong way. I think the lady boss just reacted to your power dressing. I will ask Shaila to just tweak the campaign, I think I know exactly what needs to be done. Then I can move on ‘the no sugar candy’. What has the world come to? They both were laughing by the time Karma had shown himself out.

The week had passed peacefully. The new client had taken Sudhir’s feedback and Karma was at it again, charming a new set of clients about a campaign which made their no-sugar candy more exciting to them than their countless tasting sessions. Sudhir walked in just as they were closing in on their punchlines, seeing grown-up adults bouncing around the board room tables he chose high fives instead of his usual firm handshake. Why settle the bouncing ball?

Green-tea their disguised elixir brewed to perfect strength followed. Are these wafer clouds? Sudhir was looking at Karma’s feet again. Karma was again tugging at his left shoes with his right foot. They are old, he continued before Sudhir expressed suspicion. No they are a local shoe-makers. They were eating out of your hands, Sudhir had his hand on Karma’s shoulders, that is two new clients this month. We can’t rest easy, last six months have been low. Karma did not rely on external motivation.

The next two months were hectic. The whole team was busy servicing the two new clients. Towards the end just as Karma was requesting for a day off, Sudhir walked in, we have an unusual request. The core thinking team Karma, Tulsi, Nidhi sat around as Sudhir briefed them. It is small set-up they have a collection of a dozen handloom weavers. They work in primary colours. They have modernised the designs, used western cuts, it is quite unusual. This will be pro-bono, that doesn’t mean you will do it as charity. Do it like your salary depends on it? Like any other campaign. It will be a palate cleanser for us, Tulsi smiled at this challenge.

Sudhir sat throughout the pitch, something he had not done in the last five years since he left executive duties. The usually jumpy Karma was mellow, but the campaign was full gunpowder, explosive to the core.

Just as the day ended, Karma walked out. Sudhir also packed up. Their winding down was different. Usually Sudhir went to his favourite bar. Karma went for an hour of service at the local temple. Sudhir skipped the bar and drove behind Karma. He walked stealthily just as Karma slipped out of his hand-woven sandals. Sudhir sat across unlacing his high-end pure leather corporate footwear. You are here, Karma was taken aback. Are these yours? Sudhir lifted up normal work wear shoes from the side. How did you know? I followed your energy. Next week we have a wedding destination pitch. Pick accordingly. They both walked into the service and left quietly.

Russian Doll

Genre – Serenity

Technology had no doubt got the human race to get ahead of themselves. Every boundary that was broken also set the human into a collective panic, this will be the end of us. Surely we can’t go further than this. Meanwhile those sitting in the front row seats who were pushing the envelope laughed at the narrow-mindedness of the uninitiated. Money kept flowing out of the old technolgies into new ones. Technological advances could not be curtailed despite the warnings from the experts. 

The crux of evolution was in the conditions. 

A change in the conditions lead to iterative changes in the beings dwelling in those. A literally sentence which scientists took millennia to prove. Changes brought about by the technology slowly impacted the human thinking and the effects percolated to their daily existence. End of para 1

Geeta was struggling with her piece this morning, a rushed day, a little back and forth with the love of her life, clouded her thought process. Tired eyes pierced straight from the glass door of her cabin as it resonated a hesitant knock. Can I help you? She got up, anyway her cushy corporate chair was numbing her senses. The fine lines on his hands gave away that he had by-passed most technological waves simply by sticking to his lane. Handmade toys, he pointed to a jute sack bulging with his wares. Bright rani pink wooden bells with lilac flowers bunched up – this would light up any wall, peels of exhaustion dripped out of his eyes as he pulled out more handmade wonders. A beige and black wooden train, red and yellow police captain, set of drums with sticks, a wooden light bulb with mosaic artwork for light to scatter beauty on blank walls. It was the indigo and pale green doll that she reached out for, straight-face expression less, measured hair strands as if any extra had been cut off lest they go with the direction of the wind. It opened from the waist, and out came another one with a red blouse, sky blue skirt and hair tied neatly in a bun yet the straight mischievous gaze symbolised her own life in a way. The girl which came out from inside was a much needed reminder for Geeta who was feeling trapped in her glass chamber. Every once in a while a butterfly trapped her attention in the middle of boardroom drama. Can I take this? She picked it up with excitement and also the train. The early morning exchange of minds with her partner held weight in her thoughts. His unbiased opinion brought out the dust she had brushed under the carpet. 

Father toy  moved on with his sack stooped over his shoulders, as she closed her purse after handing out his payment. He had done this long enough for his shoulders to appear like a stand that was made to order for this sack. Geeta was out of the cabin in an instant, another fire to be watered down. The file was open at her colleague’s desk as she almost jumped over the typical office partition- aluminium frame with muted colours of handwoven fabric. No no, please I sent the corrected version last night. Kabir went over his inbox, there it was unopened- Urgent please ignore previous email. Sorry, I was… he was stuttering– I know the bar you were at. I have been your age don’t say anything, hangover company time, she smiled. You’re the best Lady boss. Enough, get this over to them quickly before they print one lakh copies and you and I are both at the bar morning to night. She left.

She came back to a message from the ‘him.’ It is not that big a deal, we can do it another day. It is, pack your stuff I will be leaving in an hour, she replied. The exchange with her stuttering colleague, had made her see the human inside. She wrapped up the rest of the work like a speeding bullet, before packing her stuff. Have a good trip, her boss had replied. She picked up his train. The doll rolled over and the second doll fell open near her feet. The last doll was bare, less colour, eyes twinkling smile ear to ear, and hands that flapped and hair that flew out as it emerged out of the confines. 

Molten Lava Cake

Genre- Dark serenity

Wake up, she yelled carrying the great Mt. dirty clothes across the hall. Nirvan- it is time, wake up, this time she stomped up. The yelling was the build-up, she knew that a nudge on the shoulder is what he needed. Mommmmm, he curled up as she shook his cocooned bliss. It is time for light showers, she mumbled as she got up and moved towards the toilet. No wait, it is cold, he jumped straight out knowing his mother would sprinkle a handful of water. Last week was hard, I already know today’s lesson, I have been working on it. You’re not skipping school, she looked back, lips curled into a thin straight line showing her firmness. He slouched and dragged his feet. The toilet door shut gently. 

Biggest task of the day was done. Shunya rushed downstairs. 

There was enough muscle memory for her to get breakfast ready, get the dishes done, wrap up the last day’s reminders. On days the radio played her a here’s the bigger picture song, she managed to pluck a few fresh leaves and flowers to make the breakfast table fragrant. Nirvan slid down, he had recently learnt a rope trick which he often used to jump start his day. I will throw that rope out, Shunya’s concerns often flowed out of her usually mild-mannered form. The effort of hours was consumed in minutes as he gobbled half his meal, carried the other half, stretching his shoe to fit his foot. Slam, the door followed Nirvan as he cycled out of her day.

Copius amounts of tea blends went into Shunya, as she hummed herself in and out of the house and the backyard. She laid out her work wear, carried ingredients for the night’s feast to put in her Solar Oven. Shunya blended well with her name. Nothingness didn’t faze her. She had managed to slow down some experiences in their fast paced world, it turned her internal howls to long sighs. It was borrowed wisdom. Time spent in volunteer activities in her own school days, stayed strong in her memory. She knew it kept one grounded and reminded about the things that are really important in life. Just as she was walking back in to get ready, she thought she heard a knock. Morning rush helps to dismiss many small observations. Shunya took minutes to get ready. Wake-up to make-up, she perked herself up with a kiss to her own reflection and shot out of the house.

Nirvan had inherited her self-contained hand-shake towards life. She found him fixing his footwear as she walked back in the house after work. Mommmm, he sped into her arms at the speed of love. Her heels tired her from head to toe, turned to spring as they balanced this burst from her son. Tiredness gone as she spun him around. You’re growing heavy I may not be able to do this for long, she crumpled his hair. There is so much I have to show you, he announced still wrapped around her waist. Let me freshen up, she walked past his projects to unload her day before she entered his world.

He walked in with his structure. The Earth-House, ma, he announced. Earth House she looked at the ball made from his ice-cream stick collection. Held together by left over electricity wires. She pulled a cushion under her as she sat with him to scrutinise his labour. He pulled out sections of his house using extended wires that were curled into hooks. The last section had crumpled pieces of paper. This is the organic garbage section, a pipe feeds in organic material from the house into it every day. He showed her the end of the pipe that finished just as the layer above it ended. He pulled out the second layer as he pushed the garbage layer in. This is water storage. Tick-tock, tick-tock the noise screeched across the room. Shunya’s brows came closer together as she tried to understand these sounds. Nirvan got up. Wait, you stay here. She walked past in her resting clothes. Mom, look there. He had followed her to the backyard and was pointing to a shape that wobbled around the bushes. Shunya was looking at the Solar Oven, the cake she had left for after dinner treat had spilled out of the bowl, the lid slid onto the side. She picked up the solar oven, went back and placed it on the shelf before joining Nirvan at the other end of the yard. Twenty meters ahead the animal that resembled balls of cotton candy joined together was still wobbling around finding its feet. Let’s go, it’s time for dinner, Shunya dragged Nirvan who was endeared by the sights of this breathing pillow. The solar cooked dal and pieces of bread filled them both before they retired to their rooms. Next morning wasn’t usual, Shunya woke up fifteen minutes late. On most days the list of chores circling her brain worked better than any alarm clock. She rolled up her hair in a bun and jumped out. Her face still wet, she yelled out to Nirvan. A few minutes later as she walked in to wake him up, she saw the door ajar. Her voice increased in decibel. She hopped from room to room. The backyard door was slightly open, she stepped out. And there in the grass Nirvan cuddled on his blanket staring at the tiny ball of cotton making bird like sounds. This woke you up, startled that he had grown immune to her loud calls but was responding to bird calls. See mom, it was making these sounds and I got these seeds and it ate them all up. Shunya had never seen Nirvan this awake before. It was a Sunday, so she decided to indulge his bird connection as she sat beside him. The young one now wobbling as tiny twig like feet emerged from under its belly. Chunks of cotton like feathers clumped up to make it look like whipped egg whites. Nirvan sat himself on the breakfast table, as the morning activity made him hungry. Sunny side-up eggs he announced, Shunya  pulled out two eggs from the tray. She was cracking open the second egg, when a tiny hole gave away that the shell could no longer contain its inhabitant. She moved away from the flame, pulled out a plate. Gently she tapped the shell open, a chic wrapped in liquid fell onto the plate. Nirvan was standing right next to her, his mouth and eyes wide open. She gave him a soft kitchen towel, without her telling him what to do, Nirvan was towering over the chic. Softly he cleaned and let it sit. Then on the side he saw the Cake that had spilled out of the Solar Oven. Nirvan tugged at his mom’s robe and pulled her close. Tiny feathers like whipped egg whites stuck to a gel like liquid that had oozed of the Cake.

Knock Knock. The sound came from the backyard.           

Molten Lava Cake

Butterfly effect

Genre- Contentment

54, I counted them. She was boasting, he knew. Whenever she did that he saw her ponytail bob on top of her head as it sprung from its usual position. I know dad, I know my counting. We only learnt till 30 he said. I did it myself after that. He was taken back by her initiative. When you left for work. I opened my book and tried to read the letters. I learnt 40, 50 and added one, two, three, four like you made me do. By now her whole two feet were bobbing with pride. He lifted and placed her on his shoulders. Together they walked out to the small garden. He bent over the bush, half eaten leaves and a cocoon. She squealed, 55. Not yet, he patted her hand and walked past the light pink rose bush. So which colour was the last one? he asked. She pointed and said Yellow. He looked at the Chrysanthemum perked up to its full glory. You have learnt the colours very fast Cham-Cham.

No. 54 was yellow, she said. It had been five years since he became a single father. The first few months were difficult. Slowly they had learnt to grow with Payal’s imprints on their lives. She had raised the flower beds during her pregnancy. Hoping that the colours and vibrancy of the natural world will pass on to her little one. Her scrapbook littered with line drawings of new leaves and coloured roots as she noted each special moment of the little one growing inside. The day Cham-Cham first kicked was also the day the berry bush invited a party of butterflies. Payal filled her mouth with a freshly plucked berry whose sweetness overpowered her already heightened senses. Cham-Cham our little runner took her first steps Neel. She noted, took the liberty of naming the little one after her favourite childhood sweet that baba brought for her every day after work. This can be her nick name till you pick one with a deeper meaning, she wrote on another day. The whole page was filled with drawings of tiny feet and multi-coloured wings. He couldn’t think of a better name.

It was a work call that pulled them back to the living room. He filled up with contentment as remembering Payal's notebook always did, sat on his desk to finish a pile of new assignments. 

Cham-Cham’s 6th Birthday; Venue- Payal’s Garden; Theme- Butterflies; he pressed send to all their loved ones.