Window Connection

 The dark night started to fade into different shades of orange when I got off the overnight bus I took from Dandeli to come back to Bengaluru. It was somewhere around 5:45 a.m. when I reached Bengaluru, and with a backpack and two handbags full of clothes, I walked towards the Kempegowda Bus Station. There I saw a bus to Ramamurthy Nagar waiting for me; the driver was revving the engine as if about to race, which he eventually did and came in first as there was no competition. I got into the bus, scanned the QR code to validate my pass, and took the window seat.

 

After a while, a few other passengers got in, and the much-anticipated race started. As the bus moved forward, its windows vibrated, creating a sense of music our teeth create on a winter morning, and that is when I heard someone singing, not so clearly but close to a whisper in a silent room. After concentrating hard on that voice, I found out that it was none other than the old man sitting in front of me; he was wearing a green and white striped woollen monkey cap and had wrapped himself in a grey shawl. I couldn’t see his face, but the extension of his spectacles made a good foreground on the cap he was wearing. The swift movement of the bus on the few good roads in Bengaluru helped intensify his voice a bit, which helped my ears identify the song he was singing. The song he was singing was "Chhu kar mere mann ko Kiya tuney kya ishaara." It felt like he was missing his special someone, and it was evident in his voice. After singing few lines he paused for a while and I felt it was my duty to keep Kishore Kumar vibe alive in the bus at this hour, so I started singing with a mellow voice trying to match the Old man’s voice "Kehna hai, Kehna hai, aaj tumse a Pehli baar o o o tumhi toh laayi o Jeevan may mere.." and the old man started moving his head it was like an approval from him. I ended up singing the few lines I knew, and the vibe we created continued to fill the air of near silence inside the bus, and its cradle-like movement just synced with our voices. Then he sang "Roopa Tera Mastaana" to which I replied with the song dear to my father, "Neele Neele ambar par." As my singing ended, we both sat quietly for a while, and I started observing him. He had a black backpack, and I too had one with me at the same time. I wondered if he was my older version who had travelled back in time to this very moment. My thoughts just started to build up, but the bus stopped; it was the old man’s stop.

 

He took his backpack and got down, and while getting down, he gave me a look with a smile as if we knew each other before. He was wearing specs with high-powered glass, and I could see the colour of his eyes clearly. Maybe this short journey was meant to be.

Thank you for reading.

Darshan Shanbhag

P.S. My brain played the song “Ore manwa tu toh bawara hai” while writing this.

Birds of Happiness: Part 1

 It was the sixth day of the new year, and Archit, who was tired of working, wanted to read a book that he had not read in a long time, Norwegian Wood, which was written by Haruki Murakami (* interesting fact: this book was translated twice into English, and Archit had the one translated by Jay Rubin). He had only read the first chapter of the book. So what he does is, at around 5 p.m., he shuts down his laptop and goes to the terrace of his rented place in Bengaluru. Along with the book, he also takes with him sticky notes and a pen to write down any line or word he likes from the book.

He begins re-reading chapter 1 because he had only read the first chapter a few weeks before.As he starts reading, he finds a beautiful line that reminds him of the person he met during his trip to Chennai and Pondicherry. He starts writing that line from the book on the sticky note, which says: "Deep within her own pupils, a heavy, black liquid swirled in a strange whirlpool pattern." He sticks that note to the very page of the book where he read that line in such a way that one could go back to that line at any point in time just by turning the page with the help of the sticky note. As he continues to read, he walks around the terrace, humming in his mind the song by The Beatles called, wait for it, "Norwegian Wood." 

*Humming… "I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me?" And suddenly he stops; his attention goes towards an old man who is on a different building exactly diagonal to him, where he is cleaning his terrace, and at the same time he hears birds chirping at a distance. Archit shifted to Bengaluru 4-5 months ago and had hardly been to the terrace of his building, and even if he did, it was during the night. So this was the first time he went to the terrace when there was some light from the sun lighting it up. This was also the first time he realised that there was a big cage, or one could say it was a bird house full of birds, on the terrace of another building. And that was the terrace of the building the old man was cleaning. He was bald, with a thick white beard on the lower end of his face, which looked like a crescent moon, and his eyes were lit by the orangish sky. With earphones on, he was brooming the terrace area, and it looked like he moved in a way as if he was about to hit a hook step on a beat.

 

Archit liked the way the birds chirped in sync with the sound of the broom that came out of each stroke of the broom on the floor. He came out of the symphony of brooms and birds and wanted to see the birds. So he moves closer to the old man’s building, trying to seek the old man’s attention to ask permission to come there and see the birds. He was a bit scared to ask the old man, so he tried to stare at the old man and read his book as if trying to telepathically convey his message, and, after a while of dancing glances, the old man looks at Archit, and Archit throws out the words that were stuck at the brink of his lips: "Sir, "Can I come there to watch the birds?" And the old man takes off his right earphone and asks, "What?" Then Archit breathes out the bit of fear he had and asks again. "Can I come there and see the birds?" he asked, to which the old man replied, "Sure, sure."

So Archit, without even acknowledging the old man’s answer, runs down to his home, keeps his book, stickies, and pen, and goes to the old man’s terrace.

 

Archit sees the big cage filled with birds of different colours and sizes sitting in pairs, fighting, kissing, and hanging upside down. Beside this cage stood the old man with a broom in his hand, smiling just enough to build a curved bridge across the ends of his lips. The first words that Archit uttered after looking at the man were "Thank you, sir." The old man comes close to Archit and asks, "What do you do?"

Archit responds:

 

Archit: I am an engineer.

 

Old man: Where do you work?

 

I work at Tata Motors.

 

So they continue talking and asking each other questions.

 

Archit looks at the birds and asks:

 

A: Have you named these birds?

 

Old man replies:

O: No, they don’t have particular names. They are called love birds, and if you see them, they are in pairs.

 

Yes, I noticed that.

 

There was another cage with a few birds beside the bigger birdhouse.

O: The birds in here are called cocktail birds, and if you notice, these birds have spikey hair.

 

A: Yes, they look cool.

 

Archit starts asking more questions, trying to learn more about the old man and the birds.

A: By the way, sir, do you do this daily? I mean cleaning the terrace, the bird house, and preparing food for the birds.

 

O: Yes, I do this every day, both in the morning and evening; it takes me an hour to clean this bird house, provide them food, and also prepare food for the next day.

 

A: Food for next day?

 

O: Yes, I need to soak the wheat grains in water for a day so that they are soft enough the next day for the birds to eat.

 

A: Ohh! Interesting. By the way, sir, why did you seal the upper part of the cage?

 

O: We have too many cats around here, and they try to catch the birds or scratch them, so I, with the help of my son, have put this up to protect them.

 

A: Sir, How long have you been a resident of Bangalore?

 

O: I am from Chennai, and I moved here 40 years ago. I worked in HAL as a security officer. I retired in 2012. Since then, Bengaluru is my home, and I built this place a few years ago. My younger son and his wife live with me, and my elder son stays away.

 

A: Nice, sir, so when you are not here, who feeds the birds?

 

O: It is because of these birds I don’t go anywhere. My son goes to work everyday, my daughter-in-law goes to office for 3 days in a week and My grandchildren go to school. My partner also left me here with these birds and she must be smiling looking at me from above serving these love birds said the Old man with a smile on his face.

 

A: with a sad face sorry, sir.

 

O: Hey, please don’t be. You know, whenever a bird tries to console another bird, it reminds me of Indu and myself trying to talk to each other after a fight.

 

A: *smiles* Oh, that's so sweet.

 

Archit realises he didn’t introduce himself and tells

 

A: Sir, *laughs* I forgot to introduce myself; my name is Archit.

 

O: Oh yeah (laughs) I'm Bhakthanandeshwar, but a guy at school couldn't spell my name, so he wrote it as Bhakthan; ever since, my name has been Bhakthan.

A: *laughs* and after a pause asks "Sir, is it okay if I visit you and the birds sometime?".

Bhakthan: Smiles and hugs Archit and Tells, please come. I will be very happy. I am also happy to have talked to someone; it feels good.

A: Thank you, sir.

Archit leaves with birds of happiness flying in his head, hitting the right spots in the brain to produce the hormone of happiness.

Thank you for reading.

~ Darshan Shanbhag

Life of Gouramma

It is about Gouramma, who spent her life for other’s happiness.

Gouramma helped clean the backyards of the houses on our campus. She was nearly 60, judging by the wrinkles on her face. Aayi would offer her tea and, she would sit on the plastic chair and share her stories with us; how she was all alone, her early marriage, her husband’s early demise , and many more stories like that. It is still easy for me to recall those red bangles she wore and her smile after every sip of tea she took while she pulled her saree over her head with her other hand. She always shared her story with a smile, as if she had faced the worst and life couldn't hurt her anymore. All the helpers here gathered around her every evening after work to share what was going on in their own lives, and Gouramma being Gouramma used to listen to them, share her stories, most of the times amusing stories to make them laugh. With a big bindi between her eyebrows, a silent smile on her face, she looked as if she was about to transform into a goddess at any moment. As I mentioned earlier, she had spent her life for other’s happiness, when she was young it was for her parents, she sacrificed her life getting married early in her life; after marrying it was for her drunkard husband, she sacrificed her happiness, worked in other’s houses to run her household and continued to do so. Thereafter, she was all alone, accepted her life the way it was, and kept a smile on her face no matter what happened.

We all have a Gouramma in our lives in the form of our mother, sister, wife, friends and colleagues who have sacrificed their happiness, their career, and a peaceful life for us. On this Women's Day, let's remember to appreciate them for all they have done for us over their lives and not stop at a single day.

Happy Women's Day to all the incredible women, ladies, and girls in my life - two days early, but every day is your day.

PS: On the 6th of last month, it was another normal day filled with birds chirping, monkeys bouncing around and leaves from the trees falling in the backyard, but this day didn't have Gouramma in it.

Rain Drop Fetish

 When the Earth's sad clouds cry crystal

as it palpates the ground

I smell the Earth smile

the drop on the leaf blade

trying to embrace the ground

moves with celerity on the leaf's surface

As it magnifies the green

the trees and plants radiate

their true self

And as the wind gushes through the green

the drops gravitate to seek my touch

with my eyes closed and arms wide open

I stand there waiting for the crystals to palpate my skin

feeling them make way down my groove 

and swirl in my button

I feel spasms of pleasure and chills running

down my spine.

~ Darshan Shanbhag

It rained in Dandeli for the last two days; this was something I penned down when I saw a girl enjoy the rain as if it was her last. 

Aayi, Me aani Market

Tell me a better hands-on experience than going to buy vegetables along with your parents I’ll wait. It’s like entering a battleground with the strongest warrior beside you, for me most of the time it was my mother.

Dandeli’s Market is active on Sunday’s hence it’s called Sunday Market. Every Sunday you can find most of the people from Dandeli there searching for fresh vegetables. All the villagers sit there with their fresh vegetables in that soft and diffuse sunlight with large tarpaulins protecting them from the sunlight which is tied to a pole present at the center of the market and the market is all colorful with these plastic tarpaulins of vivid colors providing shade to each and every vegetable vendor sitting over there. That Sunday morning had its own symphony filled with “Aloo bees(20) rupay kilo bees rupay bees rupay bees rupay” that always reminds me of my teacher’s who always shouted at us saying “Is this a fish market” whenever they found our class making noise and we all used to laugh and hiss. Everyone in the market was mostly in pairs, it was either a Father-Daughter pair or the Mother-Son pair. The Parent's primary aim of bringing their children to the market is to show us how to pick perfect vegetables and I am sure everyone has gone through this phase unless and until your parents are “Big Basket” users. Our parents like the perfect guru’s show us which vegetable to pick and which one you shouldn’t along with some tricks. You know what, their true patience is reflected when even after teaching you how to pick vegetables hundred’s of times and yet you pick the wrong one and put it in the basket, they are like “Baccha , Good! well done you are learning” but back of their mind they are pissed and when you are not looking  they exchange the one’s you picked with the good ones and I was no exception to such a situation. I have disappointed my parents so many times that they take me to market only to carry the heavy bags.

So my Sundays started with my Aayi (mom) sprinkling water on my face to wake me up followed by dragging a sleepy innocent boy like me to market. The only good thing about going to the market with my Aayi was Choc-bar after all the shopping she would buy me Choc-bar which was our secret which we hid from my brother. In my childhood, I had read about Ramesh and Suresh having 50 Apples and 60 Mangoes and I always wondered how did they even finish eating them and at the same time I wanted to meet them badly, I was fortunate enough to have finally met them in the market. Aayi has two rules for vegetable shopping first one is carrying two bags one for delicate vegetables like tomato, green vegetables and another one for the hard ones like kaanda(Onion), batata(Potato) and the second rule is to always have chilre(change). With all the rules ticked, we were ready to start our search for vegetables of superior quality. But before we could even start there’s this creature that always pops up from nowhere and it is none other than your mom’s friend whenever you go to the market you always find them. You see it’s fine if they talk but taking time to talk within which you could have finished shopping now that’s bad, especially when you are standing there under the scorching heat of the sun and watching two ladies discuss a daily soap that ended on a cliffhanger last night as if it were freaking Game of Thrones. Finally, they realize the main purpose of being here in the first place and bid adieu to each other. So it was shopping time now and the very first question that the vegetable vendor gets “Dada Bhindi kithi la (Brother how much for Okra)” and he replies “Vaini arda kilo la 25 aani 1 kilo la 40(sister-in-law it's 25 for half a kilo and 40 for 1 kg)”, isn’t it beautiful the way they give you respect, but there’s one thing you have to notice it’s their business tactics it is just at the level of Starbucks. Starbucks sells a small cup of Espresso at 80 bucks whereas it sells a large at 90 bucks and I am damn sure you will go for the later one, so the same goes with bhindi you are tempted to buy 1 kg and that’s obvious when it comes to human psychology. There’s always this two to three people my mother knows and she is their regular customer, she even remembers where they sit in this crowded place. I have to appreciate her memory power and then there’s me always forgetting the way to my classroom. So this two to three people who Aayi goes to buy every Sunday are like messiahs. If you buy 1kg of onions they add 3 more and sell it for the price of 1 Kg, same goes with all the vegetables and you know what’s the biggest advantage of the open market when compared to a supermarket that’s the free Pudina(Mint), Daniya(Coriander), or Ginger you get when you buy a hefty amount of vegetables from a single vendor. Aayi has certain tricks under her sleeve to pick vegetables which she has taught me. It goes right from judging tomato by its color to breaking bhindi's tip, God knows how many bhindi’s have faced my wrath and yet I have always managed to pick the wrong ones even after breaking so many bhindi tips and discriminating tomatoes by their color. The market is also that place which shows your age is just a number and to never give up. There are people in their old-age and differently-abled people sitting there selling vegetables and my Aayi makes sure I go to them and buy something even if it’s of just a small amount. Aayi was always like this trying to help people in one or the other way. She always told me how she had spent her childhood in poverty and how we should never forget from which stage of life we have reached here and I am sure each and every parent has taught good things to their children based on their past. After all this shopping, negotiating, and meeting Ramesh and Suresh Aayi buys me Choco-bar for helping her carry the bag filled with vegetables and I still remember how each bite of that bar satisfied my sweaty and heated body. 

 

Nowadays Sundays are meant for partying, trekking, binge-watching, and what not but back then this was how a Sunday used to be at least for me. With everything around digitalizing, we are probably going to order everything online. I write this just to make everyone reminisce about their beautiful memories from the past because with this video calls and all the eyes stuck to screens everywhere we somewhere forgot to enjoy such little things. So sometimes take time to visit the past that will bring the curve on your face which you have lost and it also shows you who you really are.  

 

Thank you

 

Darshan Shanbhag

  

 

Journey of a whimsical traveller

As my eyes savored the orangish sky
the fishermen trawled 
and sung songs in sync.
as the nets embrace the sand 
fishes in the net wiggled.
as the bigger ones took 
their last flop, 
the smaller ones wiggled
enough to meet the sea.
 
As the skies turn blue
the seagulls palpate the sea.
waves hitting the shore,
seagulls squawking, 
created a sense of symphony

There lied a shell 
hugging the sand tight, 
but as the waves try 
to kiss the shore
the shell tries hard 
hard enough to stay,
but the sand below the shell floods away 
as if the wave pulled the
soul out of it's body.

It was dark, dark enough
for the stars to invade the sky
Everyone sat around the bon-fire
thinking about the day
and crying within for it was all
going to end.
behind those smile were the memories 
they had created and were going
to cherish throughout their life
fire slowly lost it's intensity
so did the faces around it
for their surprise
It was going to be the only best
day of the year.

    

                                            

                                                       

                                                    

                                               

Ps: January 1st 2020, Malvan, Maharashtra

Darshan Shanbhag

The Offer Letter

                                I remember my best friend calling me, to tell me that I got placed in TCS. That memory is still fresh in my mind, I was alone at my home, my parents had gone out for some work. I thought of telling them about this after they come back home but I couldn’t refrain myself and called them to tell that their son finally got placed in a company. I couldn’t get to see their reaction but the intensity and the happiness with which they replied compensated it. That night my father(baba) brought my favorite, I guess everyone’s favorite ‘Kaju Katli’ and that was the first time he brought it.  The last time they were happy because of me was 14 years ago when I had won First prize in the speech competition.

 

         It was yesterday that I watched this movie called ‘Wake Up Sid’, I was late in doing so but better late then never. For those who have not watched it, it’s a movie based on a boy who just completed his studies and lives only on his Dad’s earning, not caring about the future and his goals. Life hits him hard when he is abandoned from his own house and slowly, he discovers his passion, what he is good at and the whole movie is about how he becomes a responsible person and how things fall into places in his life. I mentioned about the movie because there is a scene where he gets his offer letter and meets his dad and gives it to him, Maybe it was just another movie for the two actors and just another scene but for me it reminded me about the day I got my offer letter, that day I was in my room I had received my offer letter through e-mail and without even reading it I just forwarded it with a message to my dad(baba) and even before I could call him to inform him about the mail I had just forwarded him, I got a reply from him saying “Congratulations dear. God bless u”, at that moment everything around me paused for a moment, tears in my eyes, hiding my face from my roommates I somehow managed to come out of it. That was the first time in many years I had done something they could be proud of, being an average child since my childhood I couldn’t give them the happiness of scoring good marks in all the important exams in one’s life.   

 

                  “The secret of life though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight times.” -Paulo Coelho in The Alchemist and all of that makes sense when you try hard to make your parents happy and fail every next time but the efforts you put to win that one time is what matters the most. I have always complained about the things my parents decided for me right from what I should wear to what I should study and what I have to become, they never asked me what I really wanted to be but after all this, I would like to say whatever they choose for you is always the best and be grateful to whatever they have done for you, They are the only ones who support you without expecting anything in return. This mere incident of me getting a job and making my parents happy has changed me a lot maybe the work I am going to do there is not that interesting but everything is worth a try.

 

         Little things that makes us and everyone around us happy in life is what keeps us alive. Maybe sometimes you have to go through tough times to realize its importance. I want to thank all those who have guided me, supported me and helped me to become what I am today. If you have reached reading till here that could be because of two things either you are my close friend or you liked the above written thing whatever maybe the reason all that matters to me is to bring that curve on your face and I hope I have done that if not for a long time at least for a second or two.

 My Aai Baba:

                                                                                  

The Message : 

                                            

                                          

Thank You

 Your feedback and support is what makes me a better writer and brings out the best in me . So do correct me if  I am wrong and don’t forget to share your thoughts. 

Darshan Shanbhag