Sunday, November 4, 2012

...and meanwhile the world is in chaos, one Olive writes to her Popeye.

Dearest Popeye

It's now been more than a year that you have left with your ship. While waves after waves you conquer the mighty ocean and taste the salt flavoured air of many different countries spread across the continents, I, your Olive, still miss you, remember you, and wait for your mails, calls, and precisely your comeback with the same eagerness and desperateness that was there in me exactly at the time when you disconnected the call and your ship sailed away leaving the comforts of my embrace and the safety of the harbour behind. 

I still lead a plain and simple life and the world still continues to do what it was doing. Rising-Falling-and like a phoenix, again Rising up. Against my will, I have finally donated those dog-eared old books to the neighbourhood library. Surprisingly, I feel good about it. I wonder why not I did it all these while! Guess what! Your wheedling was not forceful enough! Damn! How could it be not! 

The fuchsia plant finally is in full bloom. And it still carries the smell of McLeodganj. Crisp and fresh. This season it’s after a long wait. Isn't? And I still continue to make lemon cheesecakes even though it’s that time of the year when carrot cakes are made. And I have not yet finished that maroon pullover. But I am sure you will be happy to know that the matching muffler is long done. I wanted to add some woollen snowflakes in them but I messed the pattern and now those weird shapes look straight in my eyes and make funny faces to me. But boy! Do I get teased! I totally do not. What a win it is! Isn’t?  By the way I have asked Dorji to arrange for a second hand recipe book on soup. He said he will get it post Diwali. I cannot wait for six long months more for you to get me a soup book. Or should have I?

Without my knowing my eyes still tell stories to the people around me and very curiously once in a while they ask me, who is he for whom your eyes are longing for? I stumble and then fumble but all I give them is an answer in return that consists of a silent pressed smile. In your words, the Olive signature smile. The answer also consists of a pair of eyes that blinks as a result of certain surge of something called tears or the like. And my heart, it slows down, beat by beat. 

कुछ मद्धम सांसो के दरमिया 
तेरी यादों ने डेरा डाला है.
आज चाँद भी कुछ इस कदर इतरा के आया
के दूब की घास पर ओस की उस धुन्द्लि सी बूँद ने
कुछ पल और जीने का फ़ैसला लिया है.
इन यादों में तेरा कुछ इस कदर बसेरा है
के मैं भूल भी जाउ तो तू चौखट पर आ के 
मुझे हौले से आवाज़ दे जाता है.

चंद पीले फूल और उनमे वो बैंगनी सी छटा
उलझी उलझी सी ज़ूल्फ़ो में उन पंखुड़ियो का उलझना
तेरी आँखों के वो बदमाश इशारे और तेरा 
तेरी उंगलियो का मेरे बिखरे ज़ुल्फ़ो में पिरोना
और दूर कही सूरज का मेरी आँचल से फिसल जाना.

कभी कभी फ़ुरसत के नर्म छादर में
बेतरतीब तेरे बिना जीना भी-शफ़ाफी है.
दूरिओं में भी महकी नज़दीकिया है.
सच! उम्मीद कितना खूबसूरत है
उम्मीद कितना खूबसूरत है.

Bublé is growing fast. The bone you have bought for him is already finished  I have clicked a photo just now and am about to attach it. But wait, let me not send you any photographs as I am afraid your almost no net connectivity would not let you see it. I better not clog the server.

If time and network finds you, take the ordeal(pleasure?) to make a call. Lemon cheesecakes are in the oven and they now need my complete attention. Will write to you soon again.

With much love