Tag Archives: Tagore

185: …

5 Jul

Ma left for Bangalore this morning. The guest bedroom is lifeless, the sheets perfect, the bed made, her purse and bags missing…just traces of her presence left behind every single where.

I hate saying bye; it’s something I despise immensely. Perhaps it’s a good thing I couldn’t get to spend as much time with her this morning since we were all getting ready to leave. As her cab moved along, all I felt was a sense of loss – of seeing her happy, smiling face everywhere; of just being in her solidly strong presence.

Thankfully there was a hectic day at school that took over everything else. I managed to sponge off some positivity from my students as we shared our thoughts and feelings before beginning our day.

She left behind, among pieces of advice, love, strength and joy, this book I almost picked up at a store but kept for later instead – Rabindranath Tagore’s autobiography – which is a keep.

His work is beyond classical and beautiful, something I thoroughly enjoy poring over bit by bit.

“Let your life lightly dance on the edges of
Time like dew on the tip of a leaf.”

159: Surprises

8 Jun

Ever since I’ve gotten to Bangalore, there have been couriers by my name coming my way. The first one was from a jewellery store – the same one A bought my ring from. Of course I was shocked to see it come my way, and as my mind did the usual by default – it flipped and went into overdrive. Who could’ve sent this? Why? What’s in it? This has got to be crazy? Oh dear Lord, I’m married, don’t tell me there’s a creepy secret admirer?! Of course it isn’t a creepy secret admirer, the only one who’d do something like this would be A! Oh, open it already. Just to be safe, I called A up to ask him if he’d sent something for me. All this even before opening the damn package. But you just left, why would I send you jewellery?, A joked. Maybe because there’s a latent strand of romance in you and perhaps you miss me? I urged. All said and done, A confirmed that that package wasn’t from him. Packing up whatever hopes of romance I thought might resurface with this small act, I gathered myself and opened it – to find a box of chocolates. CHOCOLATES in a box from a jewellery store. I’ll let you imagine the feeling it invoked. (PS, I didn’t even have them; the gall!!)

Anyway, another courier came my way, leaving me stumped again.

Inside it lay a collection of Gulzar’s translations of Rabindranath Tagore’s works. I stared at it, and stared at it some more. Who could’ve possibly given me such a precious gift? I eyed ma and asked her upfront, which she denied straightfacedly. I wracked my brain again wondering who could’ve known exactly what I want when I’m looking for peace, quiet, and solitude.

It turns out that the package was indeed from ma – can you imagine my shock, surprise, and sheer delight?! It was stupid of me to even wonder who so painstakingly and thoughtfully extended this gesture of love towards me – of course it had to be ma and only ma.

I’m still at a loss for words, to be very honest. Gifts like these are worth their weight in gold.