Bubbles

I had left the cocoon of family, of my known world three years back, but this city had someone, as though waiting to embrace me and say “I am here for you sweetheart!!” An unknown place, an unknown culture, I was not sure how to react and what those words really meant. I was touched; yet, I was hesitant to accept all the affection that was being showered on me. I felt like a Princess as Jerry calls me, but I had to fight to remain grounded to the reality that I am an alien to this place.

Jerry had lost his daughter Natalie years back, a loss that is only corporal. Natalie is like sunshine, a zillion bubble of light, which might be shrouded in the dark clouds some days, but persists to shower life on her world, all day, every day. I do not have her dazzle but I do have the strength, strong as that of wind. May be that was what Jerry found in me – he said I was his daughter, the Indian Princess!! A day, a moment was engraved in my life. Did Jerry find the Wind to blow his Bubble?!

It was scheduled to be a day of celebration, a day of donation to the cause of wetland research. A boat, named ORWNatalie was destined to float on the Olentangy River, to carry the researchers closer to the troubled Nature!! The boat named after Natalie was to bring new life afloat. Somehow, at some moments of remembrance by all that knew this lovely lady, a teardrop reached my cheeks. I had never seen a father in such loss, a mother so grievous, a brother so proud of his sister but in so much pain as his quivering voice. I had never been with a family that mourned and remembered the loss of their daughter!!!

But there I was, thousands of miles away from my family, embraced by a new family. I felt helpless, I felt distressed. Can I ever make it up for them? I am no gymnast, not a winning danseur, but I am a daughter and I can be a daughter.

Light passes through Bubbles and Light passes through Wind, too…..

Photography by Jaideep Banerjee

The Colorful People

Every place has its own color. While every country tries to unite its Culture across the state borders, every corner of it still has a fragrance and hue of the people that live in it. Coming to this country to me, may be due to my utter naivety of the world, meant only to come among Whites!! Some more pink, some yellow or some more paler than that...but the shade of the skin was akin to white in my mind. While light skin has continued to mean superiority for ages, we have persisted to ignore the illumination of the dark.

For whatever reason, everything in this "developed" part of the world had to fall in place and time. Breach of time, dishonesty,littering in the streets, hunger, homelessness - these words had seemed so unfamiliar and unacceptable for months. What it means to be in the United States of America was all shine and glory. But then I was told to be scared, too! Getting back late at night, walking alone in the alleys, being alone - if any of these are true, I am expected to be scared and cautious - not of darkness alone, but of dark people, too. I see them everywhere in the city streets, in the markets, in the libraries, at the eateries, at school and I always see them so colorful. They manage to talk aloud likeh there is no one around, they burst into laughter as if laughing their heart out, they can dress so colorful as in motley, they speak an English I hardly can follow, they swing to music at all moments and adeptly balance everything on their hip! They are huge, tall and big to me....and I know some who have even bigger hearts. They will call you "honey" at every approach and be the most comforting stranger in your pain. They do not always seem to be rich in money though, their dresses are creased, oddly bright or torn, often. But they have an aura of carelessness, and a contrast so starking to the larger paler population. They are impoverished, vulnerable, may be victims, too, of fear and being feared!

In our city, these oddly big, motley loud people commonly serve to carry the pedestrians on the city public transport systems. Limited to the Campus area, I often took the same bus to the same place for a year and became acquainted with a black man. I began with caution as had been advised while travelling on these buses. May be it was me or may be it was the student in me, this person would always talk to me. He was funny but he was kind, too. He would see a heavy bag on me and drop me far ahead of the stop. He also knew my regular companion and would ask about his absence some days. He said he wanted to visit India after he has saved enough. He was never silent on those travels and never was he without a smile. He would made me wonder at his energy and lightheartedness. I began to call him "Bus kaku" as I would have in my hometown. Of course, never called him aloud..but I wish I could. I have a car now and do not travel on the bus as much now. I have a secured seat, a more familiar person for the drive. But I miss the laughter, I miss his incessant words that were gibberish to me, I miss the long talks with him in those 15 minutes, and above all I miss his Color!!

Friend

Turning around time and again, looking back through the haze of years

It was you who held my hand, wiping away yours and my tears

Oh Friend you have been with me since then ----

The first awkward step in school and cinema

Through the screams at “Enkushe” and the pride of “Sesher Kobita”.

You cheered my defiance of the world, you feared my heartbreaks,

Oh Friend you stood by me at the rickshaw stand, patient for the last bus, listened till the end ----

Your forms have changed to the open eyes

The bob-haired tom boy, the specs and pigtails, the shy vermillion

The hints of moustache, the wrinkled shirt, the evolving of a man.

All I need to know its you

Oh Friend is your warmth ----

Not the pair of trinkets you gave me once, nor songs of Rabindranath

You gifted me your years of care, a zillion memories so close to the heart.

Your praises have been with me so have been your rebuke

Oh friend I fear to go to school now, stranger to me is the Rickshaw stand

I dread to be the adolescent and tread the path without you.

The seat beside now holds a creaseless shirt, an i-phone

The chewed corner of my handkerchief to him is so unknown

Oh Friend will you care to stop me like then

From tearing the threads off the cloth

Oh friend I need your warmth, I need your hand now and again and again.