journey

On the verge

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 4 Comments

The cacophony of relentless hammering thoughts,
Kept echoing in her delirious, confused mind.
A deluge of words, but all twisted in tight knots,
Struggling to hold on, yet breaking in a slow grind.

She wanted to frame those words in beautiful lines,
But they kept escaping her, it felt just like treason.
She wanted to evoke her faithful words sublime,
But her words were gone without any reason.

She sensed she was forgetting to remember ,
Her days were no more clearer than her nights.
With each day she felt like a dying ember,
Fleeting memories vanishing in a bright light.

The people had flocked from far and wide,
They were eager to hear her speak.
They had waited long by her ailing side,
But she could feel, her chances were bleak.

Her eyes once twinkled with abundance of life,
Those empty eyes now searched their face.
Trying to remember her own story of strife,
To reach out once more for some lost trace.

In this vast emptiness one thought kept knocking,
Remembering a voice, a promise, amidst this dilution.
Perhaps he was a lie, her memories merely mocking,
Like her tales, he was but a figment of her imagination.

She kept staring blankly, his face drifting near and far,
From this pain of oblivion, no one could give her relief.
Now so lost, but once she was a poetess, a rising star,
And in her eyes now reflected deep empty pools of grief.

Waiting people ; their impatience, their restlessness ,
She could feel it spreading through her room.
Their failed disguise, their hidden distress,
Hushed whispers of the impending gloom.

Through all the pain of incoherent loss, she waited ,
She waited for him to reach her door, one day.
Through all her struggle of remembering forever muted,
She would not know, it was her words that had pushed him away.

Melting

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 2 Comments
Mountain range

The mountain peaks at dawn, glistening like a white dress,
From my perched window, it seemed to be heaven’s address;
Melting in the warmth of day, the glacier softening its snow,
Meandering along gently forward, yet none could see it flow.

I gazed and gazed and in my heart , I felt some desires
melting away, like the flowing snow!

The sun softly coloured the western sky in molten gold,
I stood transfixed seeing the hues, which the rays had unfold,
Each ray of warm crimson, slowly melting into the deep lake,
Touching the core of every ripple, till it bled red with ache.

I gazed and gazed and in my heart, I felt some deep seeded
anger melting away, like a pain waiting to go!

Evening Azaan from a far away mosque filled the air around,
The praise of Allah permeating and melting ; music profound!
I turned away from the window, and walked into my room,
To light a candle at my altar, to fill it with jasmine bloom.

I gazed and gazed and in my heart, I felt some greed melting
away, with the ebbing echoes by the evening light!

The melting candle at the altar, drops of wax gently pouring,
In meditative silence I waited, to feel the heart beats soaring,
Soaring into those lofty realms where the mind begs to reside,
In the lap of nature, in a world without any forceful divide.

I gazed and gazed and in my heart, I felt some attachments
melting away, in that darkness of the night!

The darkness of the night indulging the sparkling stars,
From dawn to night I stood and stared into a horizon very far.
I melted with the hours and followed the day like a sage,
I learned from every spec bestowed upon earth’s endless stage.

I gazed and gazed and in my heart, I felt some pride melting
away, in that humbling silence of gratitude.

Sail Away

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 4 Comments

At the darkest hour before the dawn, I stood by the sea,
The waves were covered in a burnt-grey sky’s canopy.
In the darkness of that hour, there emerged a lone boat,
With fishermen swaying in motion, to keep the vessel afloat.
The winter wind made me shiver, but I waited in a trance,
Watching the men ready their boat, for the ocean-dance.

Fearful of the swelling waves, fearful of that sombre hour,
I wanted them to wait a while, till the day’s crimson shower.
I called out to them, or so I thought, in my fearful lost state,
They did not wait or stop for me, for I was not a sailor’s mate.
My whisper didn’t reach their ears, my voice did not carry far,
I stood alone with the sky and sea and a lonely northern star.

They were not my own brothers, from near or far-away life,
Yet I felt an oneness with them, I was akin with their strive.
In a heavy rhythmic motion they pulled their seasoned oars,
Pulling their tiny vessel far, far away from the sandy shores.
Their life, fate and friendship entwined with the waters-deep,
In these waves they learn to dance, to smile and to weep.

I stood by the shore, watching them sail away from my vision,
In to the deep, where sky met the sea, or was it but an illusion.
My heart kept echoing to the dark mist, to raise its heavy veil,

Pleading with the sun to rise soon,  then safely they could sail.

Their needs! mere and frugal,their hearts filled with pride,
For each new day they greeted the waves, to play and to ride.

Like a lover’s call the mighty waves thrash on a barren beach,
To woe a sailor and take him away, far from the lands reach.
They unite, hidden from our eyes, there where no one can see,
With no ties of the land, in the lover’s arms a sailor is set free.
In grey fathom less waters, they find rainbow colours hue,
The sparkling sun, dressing the sea, in diamond studded blue.

They sang in chorus, singing a song of faith and fortitude ,
They oared in symphony, filling hearts, with sublime gratitude.
I stood quiet, hearing their song, and seeing them fade away,
The sea was roaring, it was a call , every sailor must obey.
I stood numbed, seeing them go, bidding a silent adieu,
They lived a life of glorious challenges, gifted only to a few.

Sunshine On Sale

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 2 Comments

Every morning when I wake up the bright sunlight filtering in through the blinds make me smile. It reminds me of where I am, I don’t have slatted blinds on my window at home. I am in America and sunshine is celebrated here in a big way. This is essentially a cold country, so when the sun shines and  warmth spreads it makes people come out of their homes to soak in the sun, it gets them busy collecting sunshine. I too am loving the warm glow of sunshine on my bed.

Last Saturday was no different, I gave a lazy-hazy smile to the blinking blinds as I woke up. My dreams from the night were fading slowly as the present day, hour and moment dawned on my sleepy senses. Some fragments of last nights broken dreams were still lingering on. I was crossing the Howrah bridge in a yellow taxi to take a train to leave my city and that train was running on the Brooklyn Bridge taking me from Manhattan to Brooklyn where my daughter was waiting for me at the subway station. Oh what an utter confusion of bridges and places and people. But that is how dreams are most of the time ; memories float in easy in our dreams. All dreams make sense when we add up the cue cards. Bridges connect, they take us from one shore to another and the same bridge brings us back from where the journey began.This apparently disjointed dream made perfect sense to me. I was seeing my own journey, I was missing my daughter, compounded by all the planning from the  previous night to visit the Golden Gate Bridge came in together to bridge-up my dream.

We were all set to drive upto San Francisco city.  ‘A beautiful summer day’ I often hear people say this around me. For our Indian acclimatized body and mind cells… summer days are not essentially beautiful, they are hot and scorching days. Summer is… the heat wave people are experiencing back home in India, summer is…water scarcity, summer is…parched paddy fields, summer is… the time to stay indoors or visit cooler places. In this American summer Chalk and Cheese both shiver. Chalk has brought with him all summer shirts for sunny California,  but his Indian body needs to stay warm. He is now styling up in son’s jackets and hoodies. My  beautiful summer dresses too are still in the suitcase. There is just one way to dress up here, jeans and jacket with walking shoes. Going out for an evening walk or going out to see one of the seventh wonders of the modern world our dress code remains the same. Mark Twain had rightly said “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. ” Mark Twain I can shake your hand on that !

The Golden Gate Bridge is the most internationally recognized symbol of San Francisco city and the state of California. A sight which we have seen in so many movies and television shows was right there in front of our eyes. As we approached the bridge I rolled down the window and took off my glares to catch the bright orange-red colour of the painted steel with my non tinted eyes. Cycling on the bridge is a thing people do, and there were so many cyclists zipping away, it amazed me . My son informed us that he too had cycled on this bridge with his friend and that it was a tiring adventure for them.Chalk gets particularly excited about the cycling idea, he likes new challenges and I can go hiding in a closet in the name of any challenge. There are many viewing points of the bridge, depending from which side of the ocean you stand on. We crossed  the length of the bridge and drove up some winding  hilly roads to reach a breathtakingly beautiful view point.The view was spectacular and the mobile cameras came out capturing the spectacle. Golden Gate Bridge is a suspension bridge which was built in four years time and was completed in the year 1937. There stood the bridge blushing in radiant orange against a crystal blue sky, celebrating the sunshine on sale !

The Piers of San Francisco are another place of tourist interest. The piers are lined up on a long stretch of road, from Pier 1 to Pier 39. These are like huge gateways leading onto  the platforms which are supported on pillars connecting the shore into the water. Once again there were happy people all around… walking, cycling, children playing , or families just sitting on green patches .On this sunny Saturday afternoon Pier 39 was bursting with tourists. Sunshine was definitely on sale today, and people had come out of their homes from far and wide to buy and soak in all the sunshine they could possibly gather. Pier 39 of course has more to offer than sunshine alone, there are shops, restaurants, and a view of the Alcatraz and the San Francisco Bay. Alcatraz , located on an island was a U.S military prison since 1859. The prison closed down in 1963 and now the island and the prison house has opened up for visitors. We did not have any prior bookings or tickets to make the trip to Alcatraz .Chalk was more keen about this tour than Cheese. Maybe we will come back for it another day.

We had lunch at the fisherman’s wharf ( Pier 39 is one part of the fisherman’s wharf complex) and walked around the place looking into the ocean beyond. The sea food restaurants offered pocket friendly delicious sea food platters. The Cheese in me was engrossed observing people, the sun soaked gaiety, the sea lions lying lazily on huge wooden platforms, the prison island far into the sea, the sailboats in waiting ; and I completely forgot to capture these scenic beauties on my camera.The Cheese in me was melting in this happy sunshine afternoon.

Driving back home we saw the beautiful Victorian styled stand alone houses lining up the expensive streets of San Francisco. The houses here do not have name plates, so you don’t get to know if it is a Mannat or Jalsa, whether it houses a Mukesh or a Ratan. The houses here only have numbers,  they belong to the rich no doubt and the identity is held in the number games. I have filled the glass half with my melted cheese stories the other half  of the glass gets filled with the Chalky captures from Chalks camera. With a promise to come back again with more tales from Chalk and Cheese…adieu.

First Day First Show.

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 11 Comments
The scientific method

Chalk and Cheese have packed their bags once again. The readers of my old blogs would be familiar with the Chalk and Cheese series of our travelogs. For the new readers, Chalk is my husband , the firm, reasonable, full of knowledge and no nonsense kind of guy. I am Cheese who melts with or without any reason, highly emotional , and loves to spread a word or two of her travel experiences amongst her readers. Having given the above introduction, let me begin our new travelog. I will try to tell you the stories of our everyday life in  new environment and about the places we visit.

The pandemic and the rules and regulations of different nations had kept the world confined for two long years. Restless travelers are now picking up their bags once again to set foot outside home, to experience the bounties beyond boundaries. Yours truly Chalk and Cheese did the same. We packed with us our little world of necessities and left home  for another home ( our son’s home in the United States). I noticed that many of our fellow passengers were parents  (like us) who had stepped out of their comfort zone just to meet their children who have chosen to live in a different country. As the flight took off from Kolkata airport , sitting on the window seat and looking  out at the lights of the midnight city my heart started humming ” But I’m sad to say, I’m on my way, won’t be back for many a day, My heart is down, I’m turning around,  I had to leave a little girl in….town”. How a mothers heart strings gets pulled at both ends and how she lives with this extended cord is another story altogether. 

The Sun on the west coast of America shined bright and mercilessly into our eyes as our plane touched base in SanFrancisco. Our son was waiting for us at the airport, dazzling with anticipation and happiness. Young men are not very open with their emotions, but this time around he just couldn’t help smiling. As the car ( which was being driven by the son ) rolled out of the parking slot I wishpered ‘ Dugga, Dugga’ in my mind. The high ways in America all look the same to me,year after year, smooth broad roads and zipping big cars in four or five lanes and exit signs marked prominently. But this time around everything looked different in my eyes because my son was behind the wheels. I sat stiff and anxious in the back seat, perhaps my heartbeat  was running faster than the speedometer. Last time I had seen my little  boy behind  the wheels was in his bicycle,  when did the equation change so fast, when did those two wheels turn to four ? I realize that the wheels of time has taken many turns in these years. Today the drivers seat had been taken on by the son and the father sitting beside him was a relaxed man enjoying the drive.

When we entered our son’s very meticulously organized, shinning clean smart home, my eyes blurred with tears. I had a time travel moment. I recalled my parents walking into my first home, first time, so many years back. In my son’s face I saw my own reflection, mirroring a thousand  emotions all at once. The tables had turned, here was my son, my youngest born now a grown up young man giving us his thousand dollar  smile. I stood transfixed in time with choked voice and moist eyes.

As the hours rolled by to the next day I tried to blend in as smoothly as possible into the new life of my son. But I am Cheese after all, I spread unnoticed, I start mothering-up his lifestyle and smart home in my own limited edition ancient ways. I place a fragrant rose next to his 3D printer, I hobble around in the kitchen boiling daal – chawal, I use tissues as ‘poncha’ (the search for a rag cloth was on agenda ), I switched off the air-conditioning and open windows for fresh air. A whiff of cold air hits my face, yet I keep standing at the window looking out at the hills in the distant. We are in a valley, but this valley is no meadow from my story book world. It is the Silicon Valley where ways of life is very different from the one I am used to. Time will tell how much the mother board can get compatable with the changes around her. The micro chip which was once a part of her has grown up into an individual beyond recognition.

Chalk meanwhile is quite adaptable to the white boards of life. He finds his own ways of settling down and unwinding himself. Even after soaking hours in bubble baths and red wine his emotional quotient remains dry and Chalk white. But I am sure as the days go by Chalk will bring out the multicolours of his persona and Cheese will definitely  spread the word for her readers. Till then a jet lagged Cheese would like to wind up her story of ‘First day First show’ and catch up on some sleep. 

The valley

Destination Unknown .

/ sangeeta_chakladar / 8 Comments

Destination Unknown .
Sometimes in life we take a journey ,to acquire a ticket for a future date and destination about which we do not have a clear idea. In my faith system we call it Moksha. The ultimate release from the cycle of birth and death. Man struggles through life to get a ticket to moksha, mostly in vain.The path to this is neither well defined nor easy, therefore we keep coming back on earth to serve our time as humans.All cultures ,faith and society has certain path and dictum laid down for us to follow. The journey of life often perceived as an uphill task can do with a helping hand from time to time. Our eagerness to hold on to that support system makes us a very vulnerable race. We walk through this zig zag maze of need, desire, good, bad, tolerance, intolerance , creating our own road maps. Our map in hand each one of us seek a journey. To put my metaphysical thoughts in simpler words, mans quest to eternity has many avenues .Pilgrimage being a simpler road is often taken by many. My journey this time was of a tourist ( being me ) traveling to a pilgrim destination.
The sun was shining bright and happy, reflecting the sparkle on the ocean below.The windmills all along the coastline added wind to our drive on the high way. The speeding car, old romantic songs and the monotony of the topography lulled all my thoughts to a meditative silence. Topography, a word I had learnt and liked since school days. It is a detail of hills, mountains, ups and downs on the surface of the earth. Like the topography of earth my emotional topography too keeps changing all the time. On this particular day I feel like a world traveller, never wanting this drive to finish, never wanting to reach any destination. I want to stretch these few hours of drive to a timeless period. But the fuel tank of the car mercilessly breaks my reverie, the world traveller jolts back to the reality of a petrol station on the side of a dusty road in Gujarat. The car needs to fill up its tank and I need to look for a toilet. Over a period of time most of the high way roads in India have become smooth, pot hole free. But the condition of the public utility services remain dirty and pathetic. Depriving myself of oxygen for a minute or so I finish my business and come out of the toilet feeling horrified. In my mind the stench keeps following me inside the clean ,air conditioned, ‘ Ambi Pure’ sweet scent of the car. Our drive resumes ; this time all romanticism swept underneath the undulating topography of mind and earth. 
The car gains speed and the conversation inside the car changes to a philosophical level of all that is needed to be done for the country, wether it is our duty or the political leaders duty whom we elect every voting year. Conversations of such micro issues often reaches a point where every sentence gets soaked in apathy and is presented with disdain.My brain longs for a respite from this atypical monotone of discussion which was going no where. Even the romantic songs on the music system had gone on a repeat mode. As though in answer to my minds longings I suddenly spot on my side of the window a lake type water body ( back waters from the sea ) and in it wading away majestically about fifty or more white and pink flamingoes. These are migratory birds which flies from cooler climates to warmer places every year. Such grace and beauty in the middle of nowhere lifts my spirits instantly. We get off our car, click pictures, feel mesmerized , get a new lease to conversation and then resume our journey. After seeing these birds appear like magic I am enthused with regained imagination to take my flights of fancy to soaring heights.
Our car reaches destination after a while. We always had a chartered plan of starting point and finishing line, it was only in my mind that I was having this desire of being without a terminating point in this journey. The illusion of endless ness created by the ocean and horizon was playing tricks with my senses, wanting to merge reality with the surreal .

Two temples , one on an island and the other on the shore. Both temples of Lord Krishna . The Lord who had more girlfriends than wives ! We love this God of love, he does not frighten us with dire consequences if we err in our paths. His wit, charm and playfulness is almost human, thus we can identify with him easily. He teaches us to do our duty in life and not focus on the outcome. But the temple priests threaten us ( donate or suffer ) ;the crowds of pilgrims threaten us (give way, or get trampled ),the free roaming cows and bulls threaten us ( with their horns ) .But we have our focus on God, and with this determined focus we finish our darshan and come out feeling victorious! 
With the hint of dusk in the western sky the day is announcing closure. We get back to our waiting car for the return journey.This trip has earned us one ticket on our way to moksha. There are many such tickets to be earned before the final journey begins.There is a creeping doubt in the mind about ones eligibility to get this ticket. Is it all so easy, a drive, a darshan ,and my future is secured ! The mind is wavering between belief and disbelief. With the patience of a hermit, understanding of a saint, and strong will of a true devotee, I have to pave my road ,block by block for the ultimate ‘ destination unknown ‘.