My very own Cherry Blossom

             

  

        

         No, No, I am not talking about the famous Cherry Blossom or sakura of Japan. I am talking about Cherry Blossom in India.  Then I must be dreaming.

     No, I am not.

         The Japanese Cherry Blossom is connected to the Buddhist themes of mortality, mindfulness and living in the present. The cherry blossom reminds us, to pay attention. 

          Travelling to work daily through the same route, seeing the same scenes, knowing on which turn, which cart will cross me. The hurdles in my path are the forever going on repairing, construction work of roads, over bridges. I enjoy this daily routine of travelling to work, to and fro through the same road. Though many people may find this monotonous, but not me. The road through which I travel has still got some green patches of trees left.

          Gulmohar is so rightly called as the Flame of the forest. But here it will have to survive in a forest of concrete. The vibrant tree adapts itself so well even in poor conditions, to endure and delight people with its bountiful beauty. Come summers, the roadside and colony areas become green with the delicate, fern like leaves of the Gulmohar. Filigree patterned, completely covered canopy of light and dark green shades of leaves, dancing with excitement and playing with the sunlight, happy that summer is here.

          The next week I find these pretty delicate looking Gulmohars which are in fact the strongest to brave the scorching heat, the wrath of the summer sun, have sprouted numerous buds, just as if waiting for a cue, for the sun to get even mercilessly hot.

Oh! I tell you, how they love the summer sun.

          In just a couple of days, what do I find? The green canopy of leaves is overshadowed by the bright red, few whitish petals and the happy, gleeful Gulmohar is in full bloom ! Magical, mesmerizing. And it’s the same with every Gulmohar tree. I get to see so many shades of red and orange. There can certainly be no painter in the world like the Creator.

          During my early morning ride to work, when the roads have not yet been tread upon or seen the continuous onslaught of vehicles, I may be the first few to drive on this path. The lanes are transformed. I get the feeling that I am a Princess, going in her carriage and the boulevard is strewn with the enchanting glorious Gulmohars. Their distinct, tangy scent filling the morning air. The flowers falling down with a slight breeze, as if waiting to shower me with their love and captivating beauty.

         I look forward to my ride to work every day to become a Princess and enjoy my very own sakura. Come summers, the Gulmohars wait anxiously to bloom. Come summers I wait anxiously to enjoy my very own Cherry Blossom. Reminding me to be mindful, to live in the present moment, to pay attention. To be grateful for this beautiful, fleeting life and be amazed at the beauty of Nature.

          One of these days, I am going to go to a park which has a huge Gulmohar tree and lie down under it and let the flowers keep falling on me. Will enjoy its enchanting beauty and let Kishore Kumar croon for me in the song from the movie Devata.

                   Gulmohar gar tumhara naam hota…..

                   Mausam-e-gul ko hasaana bhi, hamara kaam hota.

          Should I change my name to Gulmohar?

Happy summers !

Happy my very own Gulmohar (Cherry) Blossom !

                                                                                           

KHADE MOONG KI KHICHDI

                              

                                                                                    

         

A steaming hot thali of khichdi; not the normal, regular one which is generally given to people recuperating.

          This was a special khichdi, khade moong ki khichdi.

          For a girl of 12 years old, to experience the aroma of desi ghee on the khade moong ki khichdi, it felt so divine, blissful.

          If I close my eyes and go back down the memory lane, this tantalizing incident is etched so deep in my heart, my memory; it feels as if I can smell the mix of desi ghee and the khade moog ki khichdi even now. I can see the steam rising from the thali, as if inviting me to touch it, take it in my fingers, eat it, savour it and lick my fingers and exclaim: yummy, this is the best khade moong ki khichdi in the world.

          No side dishes with it on the thali, no pickles, no curd, no papads.

Just khichdi, the special khade moong ki khichdi.

This incident happened when I had by chance gone to my neighbour’s home. I don’t remember for what I had gone, I don’t remember what had happened. I remember nothing, except the khade moong ki khichdi.

          As I was sitting and talking to the neighbour aunty, I saw their daughter in her early twenties sitting, ready to eat her dinner. The thali with, what you all know about was brought.

          The buttery aroma and the look of the khichdi drew my attention to it. I was just looking at it and kept staring at the thali.

          I don’t remember what the aunt had talked or anything at all. All I thought about was that thali and the mouth watering aroma of that khade moong ki khichdi and desi ghee.

          How do I specifically know that it was khade moong ki khichdi? Because I had heard the aunty tell her daughter that she had made her favourite khade moong ki khichdi that day. I came home and told my mom about this new dish which looked very yummy and smelled divine. I did not tell her about my secret longing to eat it and did not even question her as to why that aunty did not offer me a plate of the khichdi.

          I decided, the next day the khade moong ki khichdi will be on my plate. I tried my hand at making it and it was a disaster. Even after adding a spoonful of desi ghee on my plate of khichdi, it didn’t smell or resemble any bit like the previous night’s khichdi.

          I ate it making faces, half heartedly. Don’t know how my family ate it.

Next day again it was khichdi for dinner. Try, I did, but it didn’t turn out to be that khade moong ki khichdi.

          After a week of khichdi for dinner every night, my mom grumbled that she was very much fit and healthy and didn’t want to eat any more of my experimental khichdi.

          Broken hearted, I didn’t cook khichdi after that. I didn’t know then that I could have gone and asked my neighbour aunty for the recipe or learnt to cook the khichdi from her. Things are pretty much easy and convenient these days with YouTube, Blogs, cooking classes and channels, friends sharing recipes and so on.

          In the later years, I did try my hand again at making the khade moong ki khichdi but it evaded coming to me. It looked like some far-fetched dream, this elusive dish which was rather becoming like some Birbal’s khichdi to me.

Whether I will learn to make the khade moong ki khichdi or not, one thing I have learnt in my life after that incident is for sure.

          Never.  Ever  – sit in front of a 12 year old child and in fact never sit in front of any child, an adult, or an elder, known or unknown person and eat anything without offering them or asking if they would like to have a share in your food.  Had my neighbour aunty or her daughter ( I remembered her name – Pinky) had asked me or had offered me that khade moong ki khichdi that day, some few years back, today my restless soul would have been at peace and satiated. I wouldn’t be stealthily trying my hand to make that khade moong ki khichdi and gobble it all by myself, as my family had had enough of it and have declared that they never want to hear about it, leave alone eat it. They don’t want to be the guinea pigs for my khichdi anymore.

          The day I get to eat that same khade moong ki khichdi with a dollop of desi ghee, which I can definitely recognize by its special aroma and its look,

I tell you,

I will attain Moksha.

* Khada moong – green gram whole

Will I Miss you My Moon?

         Unaware about the celestial magic happening in the sky, the amazing lunar eclipse going on, with just a little bit of the moon left to be engulfed by the earth’s shadow, a man hurriedly riding his bicycle to return home, people scrambling on the bus home bound, while a simple soul like me has parked her car on the road side on the highway to catch a glimpse of this breath taking phenomenon of the sun, earth and moon aligning for the wonder of nature to happen. 

          For me, the moment has stopped and everything can wait, or I’ll have to wait for another hundred years to watch this magic happening again. There, the earth has cast its shadow completely on the moon, and I drive crazily back home to reach in time for the moon to come behind its veil and cast its magic on the earth.

          Without wasting even a second, as soon as I reach home, I nestle in my cozy armchair with my cup of ginger tea, all set to drink in the magical potion of the moon, my moon. In all its resplendent beauty, I see the red moon, completely in awe. With every passing second, mellowing its shade of red and merging into its bright yellow phase, showering the earth with its magical moonlight.

          Does it make me swoon, sway and get dizzy to go in a frenzy to dance to my heart’s content? My heart does that exactly though my body is just a spectator witnessing the reality and never wanting this to end. The moon has broken free from the tentacles of earthy shadows and the entire sky is his now, coming even closer to the earth, to shower its love for everyone to get energized.

          Just like the strings of the universe are pulled by the hands of the almighty, the strings of my heart are pulled by you. Whatever colour your are, red, blue, yellow, white; whatever size you are, full, gibbous, crescent, a sliver or gone in hiding from me; even if you are once in a blue moon for other, for me you will always be my ever and forever, and I will always love you my moon.