Sushegat

Online I teach French to a Dubai based student. The family is from Goa. Behind each soft, musical sound of French, I hence hear the unique rhythms of Goa.

For a Maharashtrian, the 1961 annexation of Goa is not a very pleasant memory. Very proud Marathis are of the valour of the stalwarts who suffered hugely, even embraced martyrdom for the liberation of Goa.

Despite such harsh history, it has to be admitted that Goa indeed is magical charm. No, no, one does not have to guzzle the famous "feni" to thus get intoxicated with the Goan 'spirit'. Nor does one have to go the 'hippie' hashish way to attain the Goan 'nirvana'. I suppose, that is the touristy Goa, right?

The real Goa is the 'sushegat' sense. May be, it is the old world buildings, the winding narrow roads with the greenest canopy, the tingle of the Konkani dialect, the unique fêtes-n-floats, and the gentle 'ghazal' of the sun-kissed sea waves, Goa always gives you the feel that Time itself seems to relax here. The Spanish 'siesta-fiesta' scheme seems to suit superbly to the Goan 'sushegat' mood, right?

There is a calm, quiet, laid-back feel to Goa. It is not the Lotus Eaters' subtle but sure death wish that Tennyson captured superbly. Rather there seems to be a mood of contentment, a happy, no (y)earning laid-back life style without the harrying hurry of the metro cities.

Goa forever seems to be in a time warp wrapped in the pre-Industrial, agrarian self-sufficient barter existence full of leisure, the quiet, contented dream Marx' Manifesto outlines. The ideal 'sushegat' sensation wherein you have loads of time on hand to curl in a corner swing, sipping a coffee, eating a cashew nut now and then, with a great book, the Spanish guitar or some such great music on the loop, and your pet peacefully nestling at your feet! That is h(e)aven indeed!

Pratima@ You may think that every holiday I must hurry to Goa. Well, forget such rushing, I have never been there. See the power of imagination fed by great texts and superb videos? Well, yet another 'sushegat'  item on my long wish list, hopefully soon to be fulfilled!

Why blog?

 Yes, I blog, and with utmost regularity. Why? There are a few reasons behind it. To begin with, I started writing these blogs since the Mother's Day in 2021. It is hence a tribute to Aai. In a way, the blog and its regularity are an emotional response.

Yet another reason is that it is a mode of communication. There are many regular readers who read my stuff without fail. Not everyday may they get back to me. But, yes, a connect is created, and to me it matters.

A blog is more like a diary one shares. Well, I can say with some confidence that I have so far never repeated a theme. I have, moreover, tried to introduce different perspectives as well. In other words, instead of blah-blah-ing about the social media, I have tried in my own small, little way to sensitize it.

Yes, the blog allows me some creative space to experiment with forms, modes, expressions. Oh, yes, none is judgemental in response which is quite encouraging. Dear Reader, given such indulgence on your part, let me not stretch it a bit too far, right? Here hence is the full stop. See you tomorrow!

Pratima@ I was told that once the viewership reaches one lakh, Google monetises a blog, it seems. I could not care less. Money and market matters matter not much, right? Your response sure does!

Silence: An Acrostic

 "The rest," sighed Hamlet, "is silence", and fell forever 'mum'! Critics have interpreted that cryptic quote in many ways. Let us not right now get in to these "wise saws" to quote yet another Shakespearean pithy expression. Let us instead try an acrostic on "silence". An attempt after many silences indeed!

Silence: An acrostic 

Sweet sister of wisdom

Indeed 'a-kin' to death

Likened often to boredom

Ever an antidote to wasted breath!

Not merely golden as deifi(n)ed by tradition

Certain an opp to hide idle exhibition

Enough empty chatter is apt end 'pose-ition'!

Pratima@ Wise sounds a fool till (s)he opens his/her mouth, the chat app(-erture)! The rest, the remaining, better be silence, a rest indeed to the listener's ear!

In the name of the rose

 The title of our blog, an obvious take on the nomenclature of the great Umberto Eco novel, is an echo of the idea dedicated to this flower. Oh, yes, June is the 'month' of the rose! Now, as noted in one of our earlier blogs, not only are there 'days', but also 'months' celebrating some concept or the other. Hence the association of the month with the flower. 

I suppose, the moment a rose is mentioned, for sure we remember the unique shape, the special texture, the distinctive fragrance of this flower. Its range of colours, very aggressively marketed in the Valentine week, is wondrous as well.

Yet, unlike any other flower, the rare most quality of a rose is that this beauty blooms amidst thorns. Hence the rose symbolises all that is attractive yet unattainable. Every language on the earth would sure have a proverb of the 'no pains, no gains' variety associated with this special flower.

The rose, anyways, is deeply symbolic. For Christianity, it symbolises the perfect Trinity as the shape of a rose about to bloom has this triune structure. For the lovelorn, a rose is always the Robert Burns declaration, 'my love is like a red, red rose'.

It is the national symbol of England since the fifteenth century. Well, England had a centuries old War of Roses! America, however, usurped the flower as its national flower in 1986 with the then President, Ronald Reagan, declaring grandly that they hold the rose dear as a symbol of life, love, devotion, eternity and beauty. Talk of the American expansionist tendencies!

So many texts there are dedicated to this beauty queen. Our blog itself mentions a few. Cute is our very own Sarojini Naidu's poem celebrating the birth of the lotus. In that sonnet, she, too, has a line dedicated to the proud bloom of the rose! 

A rose is a rose is a rose, in brief. So let us end our tribute to it with Juliet's world famous assertion, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet"!

Pratima@Rose vibes are indeed wonderful!

Deadly Death: A Dirge

 What exactly is death? It is a forever ache no medicine can heal. It is a pit in the stomach nothing can fill. It is a loss that makes the soul still.

Yes, we all know that we all are mortal. Yes, death is inevitable. Yet it is terrible to know that the kind touch would never be felt. That face, much loved, can never be seen again. A simple handshake you were quite casual about would never be repeated ever.

In a way, the dead depart once, but for those left behind to carry on living, something dies inside, and reviving/revitalising that within is quite tough. Death is a wild regret, too, for " words left unsaid/ and deeds left incomplete and undone" as opined Harriet Stowe whose critique of the slavery led to sweeping reforms, nay, to the end of the slavery as Abraham Lincoln would say.

Hence, despite Donne's  much celebrated paradoxical reassurance in his sonnet, namely, "Death, thou shalt die", I prefer his sermon which insists, "No man is an island, entire of itself. Everyman is a piece of the continent, a part of the main." Every death diminishes every one, each end finishes all!

Pratima@ True, we should remember the happy memories of the departed rather than grieve. Well, it is this silly heart which chooses not to listen to the clever head!

Monsoon Musings

 The monsoon seems to have arrived on time this year. Sharp on June 7, it joined our mundane lives. It sure bought some respite from the scorching summer heat. 

However, the monsoon season in a metro like city is simply much bother, and no sum of happy memories. For one thing, the drainage system is non-functional during the monsoon. The municipal authorities must clean the entire system on time. Apparently, they do not. 

Hence the roads are eternally inundated during the season with minimum most rains.  There are traffic jams, nay, soggy snarls, and everywhere. Vehicles are water logged. Roads get slippery. The worst season it is for the city traffic, especially for the pedestrians. Sadists among the drivers use the dirty puddles to harass women further by squirting the dirty water as ugly jets. Umbrellas, raincoats are no use against such creeps.  

There is chaos everywhere. The municipal corporation never gives timely permission to cut branches. Hence trees are never felled, they fall. There are centuries old buildings never properly cared for, not to forget the hoardings. Tragedies are waiting to happen everywhere. Electrical outages take ages to normalise. Remember the mosquitoes? They invade!

In brief, the season is nothing romantic in cities. It is sheer harassment, on the contrary. You always feel hence that it should rain only in the catchment areas of dams, and in villages where the farmlands are.  Cities do not deserve rains. "Rain, rain, go away/ to the farms far away" is the city-slickers' prayer every monsoon.

Pratima@ The gusty showers wrap/ the (s)crap around the potholes, on the pathways, against the soles/ souls in the cities. Rain, rain, go away/never again come this way!

And the Sea

 The title of this blog is obviously a take on the famous title by Hemingway. The Hemingway novel is a tribute to the indomitable human spirit. I think when dealing with the sea, one would require a certain toughness. Inevitable it is as the infinite oceans that surround the earth are truly vast, deep and unfathomed. True 'blue' (in all the senses of this term) are the seas every which way!

We know much much more about the space than we know about the seas. Incidentally all these cutsie quotes about 'where the land meets the water' or 'the sand meets the sea' are fine by the seaside. Near the shore, the salt can cure the soul.  Far away from the shores, deep within the ocean, the roar of the sea is not exactly soul soothing. Remember the December, 2004 tsunami? Whoosh, indeed!

There is a brilliant story by Edgar Allan Poe entitled 'A Descent in to the Maelstrom' which deals with the malefic aspect of the ocean. So vivid is Poe's description of the terror that realistically you can feel every twist and each turn of the terrible experience of the narrator.

You do not have to be a Ulysses to understand the trouble that the high seas are. If you want proof, just check  the 'high waves' videos on the YouTube. Unbelievable are the storms that the ships wither. Literally like a  sky high wall are the waves, each crashing against the board capriciously, cruelly, and crudely. The sailor song that goes with such storms is so horrible that it can sent shivers down the spine.

Hence the need to appreciate Columbus who set sail in the Atlantic aboard wind tossed, sails propelled ships Pinta, Niña, and Santa Maria, and without any technological gadgets. Sure he introduced the cruel colonisation that crushed continents, yet his own spirit that 'sea-rched' for a new, unexplored sea route to India  is truly commendable.

Pratima@ All these sea musings are a tribute to my shippie brother Parag, alias Raju, whose birthday falls on June 7 when the Mriga constellation heralds the beginning of the monsoons, an absolute terror on board a ship, I think.