A Haiku and a Tanka (almost:)

Haiku #2

The bees came in May-

to drink honey only they could see.

Come, my dates are ready.

(~says the date palm tree)

**********

Tanka #1 

Erase my edges.

Soften me, O! Dragonfly.

Smudge me to oblivion;

where I can be you or me,

Frangipani or blue sky.

(~ say I as I attempt to write a Tanka but can't seem to whittle off the extra syllable in line 3!)

**********

Dear Readers,

The date palm trees in Doha are pregnant with ripe fruit now. The first photo was made in May when the blossoms were hosting boisterous parties for honey bees.

This year, dragonflies have been regular visitors--I'm not sure why. Perhaps all the quietness induced by Covid is responsible. I'm not complaining--I'm grateful for such good looking visitors who sit still on branches for hours so that novice photographers like me can click to our hearts' content.

Wishing you all a healthy and happy weekend.

Stay safe and enjoy nature and her bounteous beauty.

Warm regards

Arti

Tagore's Birthday and Flowers of Neem with a dash of #Hindi Poetry

When on Thursday morn, I sat outside

under our neem tree 

with a beautiful book 

and a cup of chai, 

I didn't know it was Tagore's birthday. 

The fragrant blooms of neem were busy 

dropping off its branches and carpeting 

the mat, the book and me. 

A few even plopped into my tea! 

There was something beautiful about that moment. 

I started scribbling a few lines and before I knew it, 

I was typing out an Insta post of poetry. 

The friend whose book it is, called a couple of hours later to say

it was Buddha Purnima that day.

And she added that the 7th of May

is also Rabindra Nath Tagore's birthday. 

O! how co-incidental, I thought.

I had to share that which I wrote, I thought.

A few lines-

I'll call them poetry

Just because:)

They're in Hindi

Yes, that which I wrote.

The title is not.

It's called Flowers of Neem

A translation I feel

will not bring out the flavour

of feelings that only Hindi can reveal

you see there are things:

subtle and sublime;

long lost yet found

ethereal yet ground

almost like water vapour

which one can only savour

in ones own mother tongue

or perhaps--

I am just a rubbish translator!

So, for the readers of English who visit,

I have shared a bit

of Moon inspired lines

plus

some ideas to dine

with an easy recipe of rasam.

You'll find it all after this poem

recited in a voice that is mine:)

A recital: Neem ke Phool

नीम की फुलझढ़ियों
की बेफ़िक्री देखिए
कभी Tagore से उभरती हैं
तो कभी चाय की चुस्कियाँ में डूब जाती हैं

नज़ारा कुछ ऐसा है आज चटाई का
कि बिखर बिखर के वो नादान
सेज सजाऐ जाती हैं
और इंतज़ार की एक मीठी सी
धुन गुनगुनाऐ जाती हैं

पर कोई इन डालियों से पूछे
सबर का सिला
एक मुद्त का इंतज़ार
और फिर बहार
वो भी बस पल भर की
मालूम नहीं मुझे कि वो
किस तरह
अपने सभी फूल नयौछावर कर
धूप के आँगन में खिलखिलाऐ जाती हैं

शायद मुझसे ज़्यादा सयानी हैं
नीम की डालियाँ
वो जानती हैं
अपने फूलों की फ़ितरत
बिखरने के लिए ही तो खिलते हैं वो

--आरती 

The Moon was not yet high

not yet full in the sky.

She was taking time to dress

in her evanescence. 

If lines scribbled in notebooks

could rise and rustle up dishes,

I'd sit waiting for Moon forever

and build delicious dinner castle wishes

in my head and tell the husband to imagine it all with me

but sadly none of that

was going to happen on my mat

under the neem tree.

So, onward to the kitchen I proceeded with my powers

to turn into scrumptious my basket of recently dried neem flowers.

A quick google search was all it took

and a rummage in many a nook

to find all the essentials to cook

dinner of rasam with rice:

jaggery, tamarind and ghee,

plus curry leaves on sprigs that had been picked already

from the tree that grows past my kitchen door

next to the forest of Canna Lily.

Curry Tree and Canna Lily

The fragrance of flowers of neem,

when they turn golden in molten ghee

over a slow flame 

is no less magical than a Moon that is full and supreme.

Rasam dark of tamarind and jaggery,

 boiled and bubbled rather properly.

 I tempered it with hing, chillies and mustard.

"Dinner's ready!" I hollered

'Twas a feast to tingle all taste buds:

sour, sweet, hot, bitter and salty.

I'm told this rasam has many a medicinal quality.

The husband and I:

we went for a walk after 

with our masks on and taking all precautions that matter.

Moon was full and strong

and shone brightly all along

the streets, the houses, the cats and the giant dustbins

 of Doha.

And when our walk was done,

we got back:

washed hands;

 sanitised door knob, inches touched and every other centimetre

while Moon,

shining through the paper blind 

of our bedroom window,

whispered,

"Aloha"

***********

As promised, here's the link to an easy recipe:

 Neem Flower Rasam

What follows is a photo gallery 

of the flower 

of the hour

with four simple steps to follow if you have a neem tree flowering in your vicinity.

Step 1: Harvest the flowers

Step 2: Wash the flowers

 Step 3: Dry the flowers: spread out on a kitchen towel and find a sunny spot. Keep covered with muslin cloth to avoid dust

Step 4: Store in an airtight tin or jar

Have a lovely, wholesome, sunshiny and fragrant weekend y'all.
Eat healthy and keep safe and smile and read poetry or dance or just hop like a sparrow 
Do whatever tickles your fancy.
But be kind to yourself; for you see--
 there's only one of you in this world: near and far
xx

February is here

It's been a long break from blogging this time; more than two months. Two whole months of not penning down thoughts or sharing any photos here. Why? I really don't know. 

I've been in a confused state lately--unsure, muddled, questioning every thing, not finding my heart in anything I do. I do it all but there is a part of me that seems to be watching me doing it, like I'm not in the act of living my day to day, like I'm a spectator of my own life, like everything around me is an illusion and I'm supposed to be somewhere else, like my days are happening under water, submerged, unclear, unsure--I can see and hear it all like a scene from a film in a theater, but I'm not part of it, like there's a distance between my senses and what's going on around me, like there's wool filling the gap between life and me, like I'm sort of removed from it all.

Why?

I'm not sure.

All is well. The children are well and healthy. The husband and I are happy and healthy. 

Do you, dear reader, go through cycles of doubt and woolliness when there is no apparent reason for it?

A lot of astronomical phenomenons are keeping the skies busy this week. So perhaps, it's the celestial cycles that are responsible. Or perhaps, it's the useless pandering of a person who has too much time on their hands. 

"Your life has to be bigger than you." an old school friend who I was seeing after more than 25 years last week, said to me.

His words got me thinking even more haphazardly.  What does it mean to live life bigger than me?  

Is keeping a loving home where children grow up to be good human beings enough to qualify me as someone who's lived her life well? Should I have invented something unique, written a great novel, painted a masterpiece, managed a business or saved a life to call my life 'successful'?

Did my grandmother ever feel like I do? Did she ever question if she was doing enough? Did their generation feel lost every now and then?

"Only when you're lost, can you find the way." A wise saying I'd read a while ago pops into my head.

So is feeling lost a good thing?

Do people who feel lost find their way or do they end up getting even more lost?

I look at my husband who works hard to provide for his family every day. He is so clear with what he wants from life and how he's going to do it. I wish I was more like him. But I'm not. 

I'm not sure how long this phase of mine will last, maybe it's already coming to an end--I'm sitting down at my kitchen table and writing today.

I look through old photos I've yet to sort through and the one above catches my eye and makes me laugh. Sometimes, the cows of creativity just don't budge. They have other plans.

So, what does one do when such a phase impales you in its icy grip? One steps out. 

I decide to make friends with this woolliness and invite her to sip  tulsi and adrak wali chai with me.

Open kitchen door.

Step out.

Nip tips of holy basil.

Wash its tender leaves in sink.

Water in  pan is almost coming up to a boil.

Plonk leaves in.

Scrape ginger and grate it on a palm sized grater while the water starts bubbling.

(hands feel the heat of the stove)

Oh! forgot pepper...

scramble cupboard door open, pour out a few pepper corns into wooden mortar, crush the corns in a hurry as water is boiling angrily by now and threatening to become vapour if I don't get my act together.

In go the crushed pepper,

followed by tea leaves

add milk

add sugar.

Ah! 

Life is beautiful.

I take my cuppa with me to the front of the house where the morning sun lights up petunias and nasturtiums and the asparagus fern. House and garden sparrows chime their songs in the neem tree. Blooms of Frangipani bob their heads with the breeze. I sit and sip. And wonder if life is already bigger than me.

What more can I ask for?

February, my favorite month of the year, is here. So what if January ended with a flu. So what if this stubborn cough refuses to bid adieu. So what if my plans to write a book are still just plans. February is here and look what promises it brings:

Tomatoes will soon start to blush and before long, they'll drape scarlet dupattas to let us know they're ready to be picked.

We've already eaten aaloo-methi (methi from the garden) twice this fortnight. Fenugreek greens show off their white blooms. 

Calendula sprinkle sunshine wherever they bloom

Soil and sun fill these beauties with fire. I've used a couple to make coriander chutney (Coriander Chutney Recipe) which goes amazingly well with methi ki roti (fenugreek bread).

Baby figs flatter my gardening ego:)

Life is beautiful indeed.

And just like that, the woolliness of January dissipates.

I'm not looking for a bigger-than-me-life at the  moment. Life: normal, ordinary and mundane will do me fine.

No, this is not an excuse to be lazy. Or at least I don't think so. It's like tuning into my rhythm. I would like to write that book. And I will. There--I've said it. My first February confession. I'm owning up to my dreams and saying it out loud. I reckon it's the first step in the right direction. 

It's not easy to bring discipline into something that one does which is not satisfying the ego, or making money or being noticed. Walking, practising yoga, meditation, writing and gardening  all fall by the way side when woolliness sets in. The funny thing is that those are the very things. i.e. walking, writing, yoga, gardening  and meditation that help clear out the cob webs of self-doubt.

There's never just one way of looking at things. Right?

Your way of dealing with your doubts will be different from mine. But, I'll share what works for me anyway--when self-doubt raises its tentacles to trap me, I fight it back by simply saying 'well done' to myself for accomplishing day to day chores: a pat for each job done with love --lunches packed for husband and son, dishes washed, kitchen cleaned, laundry sorted, a few pictures clicked, a few chapters read, a cupboard shelf/drawer re-organised--basically any task. No task or act is too small or too insignificant to be noticed and appreciated. 

By the time noon bells chime, I've collected so many well dones for myself that I'm beaming again--ready to welcome my men back from school and office with a hot meal and a ready ear to listen to how their day went by.

This is important. This self-help is essential. 

A friend posted this recently--

"The deep roots never doubt spring will come,"

Marty Rubin.

I try to cobble together this post and promise myself that however loud the voice of resistance is, I will sit and write everyday--a few lines, a page, a poem or perhaps a story, but I will live my life fully by doing things that make me me. I will write and harvest the greens and plant more seeds, and go for long walks and listen to Sufi songs and while I'm doing all this, I'll pat my back and tell myself--"well done for living your ordinary well."

And wherever you are and whatever you're doing or planing to do, do take half an hour out of your busy day to sip a cup of tea/coffee/hot water and sit and stare. Doubts and certainties, pauses and starts are tides of life. They come and they go. 

Sonia (above) sells tea on top of this stunning canyon near Shillong (Meghalaya). It's called Laitlum. A couple of other photos in this post are from there too, clicked in October 2017.

Wishing you all a fabulous February:)