Custard Apple

She broke open a favourite fruit of the season: custard apple. Its rough, greenish-black exterior looking like a cell-diagram given to us for drawing rehearsals back in high school for Botany classes. Its coagulated, messy interior. Some were messy, some popped out like eyes covered with phlegm-coloured flesh and sat inside safely until they were carefully opened. 

Eating this fruit is a painstakingly pleasurable task- the niceness of the fruit is realised only when it is put into the mouth, and sucked, suavely balancing the seed and its yummy flesh. Very little flesh gets into the tongue though, most of the time. Quite a slimy indulgence it is: unable to enjoy it, in its fullness- yet there is a stealthily, irresistible inquisitiveness associated with custard dearest. She sat with a fork or a spoon and relished the fruit of the season. She ate it so often that, she had mastered the art of eating it! She cupped her hands and held the fruit and dug deep, sucked and licked the flesh up. She ate up all the coagulated mess and spat out its black seeds. Before, she could discard the peel, she would look into it, one last time, and scrape the remains out, and experience child-like delight. Her fruity meal is complete, like how words flow out of mind, and heart and a piece of writing is extrapolated. 

A fall to remember and a Vijayadasami account:-

A year full of sins and goodness ready to be surrendered one more time. Ready to shed ignorance and take on the light of awareness and enlightenment; on this day Vijayadasami: when good wins over evil- the sign of empowerment- only with knowledge.

Goddess Saraswathi seems to be easily the uncontroversial forms of godhead. Her face so serene, she is coyly seated on a white lotus: Beautiful as she is, immaculate is her colour- the purest form of white. While other forms are invoked for various other material reasons, Goddess Saraswathi, who has four hands and rides on a white swan; her blessings are invoked for intelligence, performing arts, knowledge and eloquence. 

Mookambika temple in Kollur, Karnataka state of India, is one of the frequently visited temples in South India. The deity here is our very own subject of today's post- Goddess Saraswathi. As little children, we are taken to this temple in Udipi district of Karnataka state only so that there is a free flow of speech and knowledge, both being Her forms. My mom repeatedly tells me that I fell down at this temple and apparently hurt my lips. I faintly remember this incident though. However I can still picture my swollen lips and how they fed me with the 'prasadam'(sacrament prepared in the temple). Mom immediately follows this story up by saying, "it is good you fell down there and quite appropriately hurt your lips of all the parts; after all, it was only at the feet of the Goddess of Knowledge!"

The books and my sruthi box ( an electronic box that figuratively represents the tunes of instruments like the tambura and harmonium) were taken out from the auspicious Pooja (offering of prayers). As a conclusive act, songs in praise of the eclectically beautiful lady forms were sung, and this post, written. 

Thank You Vakdevi (Godess of Wisdom- one of the synonyms for Saraswathi Devi) for all Your blessings, from the fall to this date- I shall ever remain grateful and committed to You.

Characters

Different people assume importance at different stages
Different people become important at various points in time;
However a distinctly strange thing happens:
Each one come in, play their part;
And then depart 
Before they appear next, the previous characters would have been long gone...
Pure, seamless, Transition.
Quaint, yet quintessence of life this is.

Tasting security

 Her mom had reasonably long hair that reached till the bottom of her sari's blouse. She used to always have her hair plaited. As a little kid she sucked her left thumb; holding on to a tuft of her mom's plaits. Up until the age of 5 or even 6, she used to carefully wrap her mom's plaits around her thumb each time her mom carried her; making it all the more easily accessible for her to peacefully suck her thumb. Obviously she was prevented from doing this, at least in public; albeit she found solace in the act. Eventually, as she grew up, she reserved this act of solace only for the nights. She made it a point to sleep only with her mom almost, always, only so she could catch hold of her tresses; not realising she was a 'big girl' now! She went on this way until class 10!

Her left thumb would almost be sore until its knuckle; with the wetness of her mouth's saliva. A certain sense of safe and protected feeling enveloped her always when she was in contact with her mom's hair. Come to think of it now, while reminiscing those days, she still lives in astonishment about the fact that she used to suck her thumb till class 10! Was it the feel of her mom's hair or was it its smell or was it a sense of insecurity? Whatever it was, it tasted damn good!!

Mom and her

No ostentation. But she ogled about everything ethnic. That makes her chic. Now what, she isn't the heartthrob really, yet certain to get heads turn around at her. She wouldn't wear exposing attire, yet her eyes steal the show instantaneously, almost always! Her smile captivating, her voice mildly husky, her figure not model-like, yet has her curves right. Basically, everything that would bloody attract attention. Oh yes, and her talking was no less than sweet- no exaggeration. Fan following to her had equal number of men, boys, women and girls. Yet things weren't just as hunky-dory for her. There were enough clouds amidst multiple streaks of silver lining. More often misunderstood she was, for all her bundle of niceties- just like her mother. She found herself beginning to acquire her mom's traits, so much so that she was advancing in age, only to become like her mom, fully: perhaps because she could never get enough of her mom, at various points in time...she was turning out to be her mom, personified.

Inside the cupboard

Her place of worship was the cupboard- no rituals- devoid of inhibitions- devoid of even clothes at times- devoid of anything ostentatious- just her God and her. He stood inside, with multiple dispositions- sometimes smiling, sometimes grumpy and long-faced, sometimes laughing! At every point during a given day, she had one of the doors of the cupboard open- just to take a peek and check Him out- as though it was her boyfriend who stood there all day. Sometimes, child-like delight ensued, sometimes no reaction at all- just an innate sense of assurance that He is around, right there for her. 

Of late, something quaint had been happening quite often though- She saw her God smile at her each time she stood teary-eyed before Him; and each time she was excited- She saw Him sulking and looking disinterested. Until she got a friendly response from her God, she would hang around there- What's more, she even put a mirror right in front of her God and watched herself romance with The Lord, her Krishna.

A rabbit inside the moon

Sultry nights got cousins and I to the terrace to sleep every night

As kids we enjoyed the time together

Watching the sky 

Connecting every cloud to a country or a continent!

Lying down, we'd tell each other:

Hey look, this one resembles India

Kashmir to Kanyakumari-

The geography is just right!

And that one, slightly wide with a tapering end-

Is totally like North America...!

Just before we shut our eyes,

One peek towards the moon-

And we spot a rabbit inside it!

Sensing cliffs and craters could be what everyone else does

But as a child, I always saw a rabbit, perched on the surface of the moon

Years have passed by, I have evolved with time,

So have states in India increased in number 

Yet the rabbit still remains- perched- 

I can see its long ear lobes

Against the background of the whitish-grey backdrop:

The moon- with a rabbit inside!