വേർപാടും ഓർമ്മപ്പെടുത്തലുകളും

 ഒരു വിഷു പുലരി കൂടി വരവായിരിക്കുന്നു. എൻ്റെ അച്ഛമ്മയുടെ മുഖം അവസാനമായി കണ്ടത് കഴിഞ്ഞ വിഷുവിന് ആണ്. ജീവിതത്തിലെ പ്രിയപ്പെട്ട ഓർമ്മകൾ എല്ലാം വിഷുവുമായി ബന്ധപ്പെട്ടതായിരുന്നെങ്കിലും, കഴിഞ്ഞ വിഷുവിനു ശേഷം ഓർമകൾക്ക് എല്ലാം വല്ലാത്ത ഭാരം നിറഞ്ഞിരിക്കുന്നു.

അച്ഛമ്മയുടെ വേർപാടിന്  ശേഷം ഏകദേശം ഒരു വർഷം തികയുമ്പോൾ ,  "കുഞ്ഞുകാര്യങ്ങളുടെ ഒടേതമ്പുരാനിൽ" വായിച്ചപോലെ ഈ പ്രപഞ്ചത്തിൽ അച്ഛമ്മയുടെ ആകൃതിയിലുള്ള ഒരു ശൂന്യം രൂപം പ്രാപിച്ചിട്ട്‌ ഒരു വർഷം ആവുന്നു. ആ ശൂന്യതയുടെ ആഴത്തിലേക്ക് അലിഞ്ഞില്ലാതാകാത്ത ഒരു  ദിവസം പോലും ഇല്ല.

 വേനൽ ചൂട് കാരണം "സഞ്ചാരമടിക്കുന്ന", "സോഡാ സർവത്ത്" വാങ്ങാൻ പറയുന്ന, "ചുറുമ്പൻ" മുടി ഇഷ്ട്ടമുള്ള, "എകരം" വെച്ച പേരക്കുട്ടികളുടെ ശിരസിൽ സ്നേഹത്തോടെ ചുംബിക്കുന്ന, വിളക്ക് കൊളുത്താൻ നേരത്ത് "ചേപ്ര" ആയി നടക്കുന്ന എന്നെ  ശകാരിക്കുന്ന, കുഞ്ഞു ഫോണിൽ പൈസ തീർന്നോ എന്ന്  നൂറു വട്ടം പരിശോധിപ്പിക്കുന്ന, "എൻ്റെ കുട്ടി" എന്നാണ് വരുക എന്ന വീണ്ടും വീണ്ടും ചോദിക്കുന്ന, "ഇത്തിരീം കൂടി കഴിക്കെടാ" എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞു വീണ്ടും വീണ്ടും ഭക്ഷണം തരുന്ന, എല്ലാവർക്കും  വേണ്ടി കുഞ്ഞു തോർത്തുകൾ സൂക്ഷിക്കുന്ന, ഒരു അലമാര മുഴുവൻ കാലത്തിൻ്റെ ഓർമ്മ കോപ്പുകൾ കരുതുന്ന, ആരും കാണാതെ നോട്ടുകൾ ചുരുട്ടി കയ്യിൽ വെച്ച് തരുന്ന, തുരുതുരെ സ്നേഹം നിറഞ്ഞ ഉമ്മകൾ തരുന്ന എൻ്റെ ജീവനായിരുന്ന  അച്ഛമ്മയുടെ മുഖം ഒരിക്കലും മറക്കാൻ കഴിയില്ല.

നീളൻ ചന്ദനകുറികളിലും , തിമിരം പളുങ്കു ഗോട്ടികളാക്കിയ പാതിയടഞ്ഞ നിഷ്കളങ്കമായ കണ്ണുകളിലും , കാച്ചിയ എണ്ണ ചൂടുവെള്ളത്തിൽ കലരുമ്പോൾ ഉള്ള ഗന്ധത്തിലും , നന്മ നിറഞ്ഞ ഗ്രാമ്യഭാഷയുടെ  സൂക്ഷ്മഭേദങ്ങളിലും ,  ആകസ്മികമായ കരുതലുകളിലും , സ്നേഹവാക്കുകളിലും , ഉദരത്തിലെ കുഞ്ഞു മറുകിലും , കണ്ണാടിയിൽ കാണുന്ന മുഖത്തിൻ്റെ  അസമത്വതയിലും, ഓർമകളുടെ അനന്തമായ മടങ്ങിവരുകളിലുമെല്ലാം ഞാൻ അച്ഛമ്മയുടെ ജീവചൈതന്ന്യം അനുഭവിക്കാറുണ്ട്. ആ സ്നേഹക്കടലിൽ അലിഞ്ഞില്ലാതായവരാണ് ഞാനും, എനിക്ക് പ്രിയപ്പെട്ടവരും. ജീവനുള്ളടത്തോളം കാലം ഹൃദയത്തിൽ ആ മുഖം ഉണ്ടാവും, അത്രകണ്ട് ആത്മാവിൻ്റെ ഒരംശമായി ഓർമവെച്ച കാലം തൊട്ട് കൂടെയുണ്ടായിരുന്നു വെളിച്ചമാണ് എൻ്റെ അച്ഛമ്മ.

Time Capsule

 In a small sack weaved with dreams,

I kept our songs,
Which sung about you and I
And all we had.
Then the words,
The long and the short ones,

Those rose with the sun,
And slept with the moon.
I kept the best souvenirs,
One of your smiles,
And the warmth of your hand.
Lastly, I kept our love,
tied up the sack tight,
and buried it.

Then to mark the place,
I ripped my heart,
And placed above it.

Again

 Love, you caught me off guard.
And I embraced you,
Like a child playing at a beach.
Your waves took me deep into the ocean,
But I swam back to the shore.

But love, you caught me again.
And I caved into you,
Like a mermaid who loved the depths.
 You took me to the abyss,
And one day you washed me to the shore.

I lied there gasping,
For eons and alone.
Scared of the waves,
And out of breath.

The Tea Trigger

One might wonder how can something as harmless as tea can trigger anyone, for it only gives peace of mind if anything. Time has come to think about "the other side" of tea and I might say it is profound. So to the non-existing readers of this blog, I am trying the "Woolf" way to squeeze in some truth to fiction.

It ticks 7 am, 4 pm and 11 pm at multiple houses and all you can hear are the desperate, arrogant, and sometimes tormented cries for tea in low-frequency voices.

"TEAAAAAA" 

"Where is the TEA" 

"TEAAA"

"It's already past the usual time. Where is the damn TEA?"

Yes, I sympathize with these wails of despair for it is truly a herculean task to boil milk and requires unparalleled skill to drop a spoon full of tea dust to it. Only an iron-born woman with golden hands can do it and a delay in the process would result in a mercilessly perished pile of men.

So, the savior has to rise particularly by the previously mentioned times no matter if she is exhausted or in a death bed, 

OH, THE TEA HAS TO BE SERVED.

(Random rant)

How can it be surprising that the world is running out of good people when the humans are unmitigatedly trying to be harsh with another.No matter how hard you try to be kind to another person, sooner or later you realize that person was only trying to exploit the soul out of you. Like an idiom in my native language which says "digging the wet ground". Tired of being on the wet ground and letting people bludgeon the shovel into the soul. Yes, I do understand that one shouldn't expect a thing in return when you do anything for anyone wholeheartedly, but is it fair to shatter the person who belongs to a sacred minority that is endangered and not the ruthless assholes in this world. 

I don't know. Sometimes I want to implore the world to be kind, but I would be arrantly stupid to believe such a thing for only that concept itself is non-existent.

Clasp of the hues (A short story)

 Her soft breaths on my face were trapped under the dome of her lazy hair strands that seemed golden with the morning rays of the sun, falling in between. Our hands were tangled and all I could see was her cheeks and corner of thin lips that painted a smile. All that golden aura around, the small black mole on her shoulders and the scent of her skin.

Few years ago

I was mad about sketching buildings that never leave my mind and had to cage them inside the dull amber papers of my notebook. Years ago, when I was drawing the interior parts of the Harrington public library, my eyes were stuck on a girl who sat beside the long Victorian glass window. She was reading the poetry of Neruda. Out of all the charcoal portraits on the walls of my small room, the oldest one is of Pablo Neruda’s and his poems put me to trance. If the color of love was blue, Neruda’s lines about love were the shades of blue I’ve never seen before or could ever forget.

I could not see her face, only a little portion of two fingers that were left behind by the long sleeves of that brown sweater for holding the book. For a second, she lowered the book and our eyes met. I wanted those eyes to remember me and not ignore like a stranger. I turned the page and started drawing. I didn’t have to look multiple times.

 

I quoted,

 “But I love your feet

only because they walked

upon the earth and upon

the wind and upon the waters,

until they found me.”

I walked towards her and kept the paper on the table politely. She raised her face from the book and looked at me. I smiled and slowly walked away. I was thinking about the color of her eyes when it was filled with sunlight. Was it amber? I don’t know, it could be one of the shades I felt while reading Neruda’s poems.

..........

The intermittent noise of the Prussian blue waves, that rises and falls…The sky was somber and heavy like it was holding back the tears with a pounding heart. 

I took a deep breath and filled my lungs with as much air it could take. Standing at the top of the cliff, the cold wind traced the bare skin of my neck. The piece of paper inside my pocket felt foreign to my consciousness. I took it out, the ink was smudged and blots of dried water drops were eminent on them.

The sore on the edge of eyelids made my vision hazy. The swelling of my heart blocked me from breathing the air I was constantly trying to inhale.

I read the words on the paper again.

 

I am sorry. I can't do this anymore.

 

I closed my eyes tight and thought about the way her eyes were filled with sunlight.

Letting the wind conspiring me to join the waves.

 

 

The right swipe (A short story)

 God. When is this Movy going to stop talking about the people she meets on dating
apps incessantly! Every week there is a new soulmate and nationwide lockdown
brought more fishes to these apps than ever. Movy had already found a dozen fishes
who play guitar, love to travel and look like Jesus.

She has been badgering me to join in one of these for ages. I don't know, I was
uncomfortable with it because of it’s uncanny resemblance to online shopping. You look
at the picture, read the descriptions, and add it to the wish list. If only humans were that
blatant, this world would have been a different place.
But then, today after watching Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind for the hundredth
time, I felt lonely...

So lonely that the thought of not finding my Joel Barish felt terrible. So, I downloaded
this bright yellow app when it was only 30 minutes to midnight.

Padma, 24 years. Interested in men. (Erm, not strictly)
I uploaded a profile picture of myself taken from Kodaikanal with the focus on a fern I
was holding to. There were some questions beneath the display picture to answer and a
bio to update. I thought for a few minutes and wrote, "Wes Anderson. Pablo Neruda. Arundhathi Roy
Lord Huron. Sufjan stevens. Frida Kahlo.Ellen Hopkins.If you fancy at least
three persons from these, swiping right might be interesting."

Whoa! I created a UPSC question lite version for people to just decide the direction to
swipe. Movy would roll her eyes back to the brain seeing this. Okay, now it's time for me
to swipe. Last time when I thought about swiping like this, it got me broke for a month.

There are many good-looking people here or is it just Kuji cam! No idea. I kept ignoring
most of them because I felt they were all out of my league. Yes, my insecurity is well
secured. After swiping for quite a while, I found a person who seemed to be a culinary
professional, in his white apron flipping some food from a pan with scarlet flames
blazing from the stove besides. He was literally glowing. A 25 years old, Charlie Iype.
I checked his pictures and most of them were of the foods he cooked. He had few
candids of him reading at a beach. He cooks. He reads. Play the damn cue music. Mr.
Iype, please be my type with this swipe. Okay, I realize why I am single now.
Anyways, muchas gracias Movy bastardo. All the post-Money Heist- Spanish learning
came to use at this hour.

I swiped right and sent a "Hey!". It was 12 AM already. Should I stop this drama and
resume watching Narcos or should I wait for this chef guy to reply? Maybe I'll wait for a
few minutes. I started swiping again and secretly wished all the suggestions to exhaust.
One of the bios was "If you are bad, I am your dad". Ugh. It must be really crowded on
the left side of the village.

Suddenly a new chime made me notice that I got a reply.

 It is a hey with ":)". Perfecto!
So far, the hope bar of Ms. Menon is staying at roaring heights.
Hell, now it is my turn to send something. What shall I send? Come on. It is not a big
deal. Send something, but what is cool, catchy, and not creepy?

Oh no! He sent me a random question, which is a feature of this app that reveals
answers only when both parties answer it. He asked me what my current favorite song
was. 

I typed in, "Take me back to the night we met" by Lord Huron and pressed sent.

Man, I was being honest but right now I have second thoughts. Will he think that I typed
that deliberately? Whatever, calm down Patma. I felt excited to know his favorite song
and I wished for it to be none of Lord Huron's or Sufjan's. I might have a trust issue
then, which is nonsense. I checked his answer and it was Jacob Bank's Caroline.

Wow. It sure is a beautiful song.

The moment was broken by loud late-night rain. Monsoons of Kerala are usually
outrageous romantics. I lowered the speed of the fan and replied that it was a beautiful
song. Then we started bantering about the usual awkward starting lines with strangers
and then about movies.

One hour past midnight and we were talking about Sci-fi movies and poetry. I
wondered why he is not talking about food. Then came the text,

“Where is your home town in Kerala?
(If I may ask)”
“I am from Calicut. And you? (If I may ask)”
“Oh, that’s great because I am from Calicut too.”
Amazing. Now I get it why you love cooking.
“Cool. Though I suck at cooking, I am really proud of our culture of feasting for all the
small joys.”
“True. How delightful! :D “

The typed emojis make me have hots for Mr.Iype. Yes, that’s crazy but when was the
last time I met a person who does not sabotage the passion of communication with all
emojis and stickers!

“Have you watched the movie, Julie & Julia?”
“Yes. I love it. It is really amazing how a biography unwinds through a different person
while giving focus to both characters, it was really inspiring.”

I searched for a Charlie Iype from Calicut on Facebook and I found him easily. I sent a
request to carry over this conversation to the messenger. The app restricted the
conversation time to 24 hours and I felt that is definitely not enough. (:D)

“Glad you sent me a friend request. :))”

The chatter of the rain got lighter. I closed this app and opened Facebook. We have a
mutual friend that I didn’t notice before. It was my first cousin Vyka. She was 6 years
younger than me and went to the same school as Charlie. Then I saw his date of birth…
Charlie was born on 2001. He was just 19 years old and the worst, He went to school
with my sister. Probably classmates. This is weird. Things suddenly got uncomfortable.
My own brother is just 19. God. This is frustrating. I couldn’t understand why he updated
a false age in his profile.
Am I a cougar now? Whoa, lady that’s some exaggeration.
But, does age matter? I mean, Priyanka and Nick were...Shut up. Shut. Up. Don't be that lame. 

He is Vyka’s classmate.
This is absurd.
76 minutes past midnight and I uninstalled the dating app.
Ding.
I got a messenger notification and it is from Charlie. What should I say?
“Hey there!”
...
“I am sorry Charlie. My sister knows you.
I am a bit uncomfortable about this.
No hard feelings. You are really a great guy.
It was a pleasure knowing you.”
“Okay.”
...
“Why does it matter?
We connected pretty fast.”
...
“Sorry. It is okay. No problem.”
...
2.30 AM, I was so tired, guilty and wide awake.
Did I rush into a decision?
Maybe swiping is not that great in any scenario.

Hours passed and I woke up at 11 in the morning. I called Movy and said I had joined
the dating app yesterday and she didn’t let me finish the rest. Not a surprise. She
screamed in excitement and told me about 2 Jesus looking guys she met recently.
When I finally got the gap, I told her everything.

“Shit. That sucks.”
Yes. It did.

Two more days passed and it was again a Sunday with no glory. I woke up and made
tea. It was still raining lightly. I didn’t know which was more concentrated with lethargy,
my heart, or the atmosphere. Sipping the tea, I checked Instagram. Vyka has updated a
story, probably a ‘happy birthday King/queen’. I touched on the circle and it was
something she shared from Iypical underscore charlie.

The thumbnail seemed like he was singing. I played it and he was singing “Take me
back to the night we met” with a caption ‘Midnight musings’. The dim lighting looked so
aesthetic; his features looked like they were on a fresh clay sculpture. A small delta like
flatness on the tip of his nose, subtle small curls of his hair suggesting a due hair cut
and his wide eyes singing along.
And Charlie sings, really well.

I replied to her story with a clap emoji and she responded to it after few minutes,
“I know right! He was my senior at school.”

I sent a follow request to Charlie. I can’t stop thinking about this guy and nothing else
matters.
Within a couple of minutes Charlie accepted it and requested to follow me back.
Happily, approved. Then he texted,

“Hey there, patmaforpresident! :D”
Erm. I know that is a lame Instagram handle name, but it is irresistibly compelling.
“Heyy!”
“I uninstalled the app that night”
“Me too. It was my first and the last time on it.”
“May I know why?”
“You already know.”
“:)”
“<3”