I have lost count how many times I have read this book growing up. As a city girl, I yearned to see the beauty of nature that Bibhutibhusan Bandopadhyay describes in Aronyak. He conjured up rural Bengal right in my bedroom with the magic of his words. I truly believe Bibhutibhusan played a major role in opening my eyes to the splendor of nature.
The story follows the journey of a young man named Satyacharan. Unable to find a job in Kolkata after completing his undergraduate degree, Satyacharan accepts a job as a manager in a forested land in the remote parts of rural Bihar, neighboring state of West Bengal. As the young man creates a life for himself far from everything he has ever known, he becomes aware of the vast beauty of nature that surrounds him along with the innate goodness of the villagers who become dear to him over time. The story is about opening of Satyacharan’s sensibilities to the beauty of nature. It is one of the astounding realizations that we are surrounded by inexplicable beauty if we have the eye to look for it. The simplest of wildflowers that bloom every year without fanfare contributes to the glory of nature. Every little composite creates the big picture. Satyacharan discovers it as he falls in love with his surroundings. I discovered it with him as I read Bibhutibhusan’s descriptions of each unknown flower, blades of grass, sunlight shimmering on the foliage, and human kindness.
Maintaining the World Language Collection at my library is my responsibility. I lovingly look at the books in different languages and marvel at the vast wisdom and treasure that these books contain that is locked away from me because of language barrier. But it makes me happy that our diverse community can find themselves in their public library.
Our library system fulfilled my request of including Bengali books in our collection. I visit the collection often to see if I find anything new. I found Aronyak nestled between books by Humayun Ahmed and Jayanta De. I touched it. It took me back many years, reminding me of summer afternoons, our cool bedroom, ma’s presence, and my thirteen year old self completely immersed in the pages of Aronyak, roaming the forests of Bihar with Satyacharan, discovering nature, worshipping nature, finding the divine in nature.
One thing about the Galapagos was that we never had bad weather. I would open my eyes, look out of the window of the hotel and be dazzled by clear blue sky, a few errant fluffy clouds, and golden sunshine.
On the fourth day, our morning was free as we were going to meet our guide for Los Tuneles snorkeling tour at 11:20 am at our lobby. The tour agency who had arranged our trip suggested we take the morning to go visit flamingos in Flamingo Lagoon which was no more than 10 minutes walk from our hotel. So we did and were rewarded with a body of water filled with these pink, long legged, graceful birds either looking for food or just being – still, stoic. Just standing there looking at the flamingos and the stillness evoked a sense of calm. There was no one around us, not a sound. It was just the three of us and a lagoon full of birds.
We met our guide for the day, Carlos. at the dock who took us on a boat and explained to us about dry landing and wet landing before we started our journey to the lava tunnels under water where we were going to be snorkeling to see the various species of marine life of the Galapagos. Before we went to the dock, we were taken to a store to get wet suits and snorkeling gear. I am not a swimmer and very uncomfortable in water but I was determined to try snorkeling so I took my gear as well. Again, after an hour or so we arrived at the tunnels, the captain cut the engine and Carlos asked us to suit up and jump in.
I jumped in after Sean and immediately suffered a panic attack. It was in the middle of the ocean. I am claustrophobic. I had never snorkeled in my life and when the snorkel clamped my nose my brain panicked. I climbed back on the boat while the others went away from it to see the various forms of life under water. A universe that exists with all its splendor but we don’t get to see it unless we go on such snorkeling or scuba diving trips. The group was gone for more than 45 minutes and when they came back their excitement was palpable. They swam with sea turtles, dance with sea lions, and ducked way down to see white tip sharks at the sandy bottom. Even stoic Ryan kept saying “That was something else.”
While I was waiting for them on the boat, I saw a few sea turtles lazily swim by me. The most fun to witness was how a sea lion was playing with two snorkelers right next to our boat. Two young men were bobbing up and down near us, looking out for the sea lion. The sea lion popped up near them, turned its head to see where they were and slid under water again to encircle them. It was so clear that he was playing with the two humans. When the group was gone I sat by myself on the boat, lamenting my lack of confidence in water but I looked around me and gave thanks. I was sitting on a gently rocking boat in crystal clear, aquamarine water, under a brilliant blue sky. Everything was quiet, still. I could hear my thoughts and the occasional birdsong. Sea turtles floated by gently, gracefully. Colorful fish came close to the surface, perhaps to show me their beauty as a consolation prize. I felt lucky.
When the group came back, we had lunch on the boat. The lunches on the boats were very basic, somewhat plain so that folks with sea sickness had no trouble when the boats sailed. The fare was again plain rice, salad, boiled potatoes, and sautéed tuna steak with fresh lime. But before lunch, the boat took us to another spot for snorkeling only 15 minutes away from the first spot.
After lunch we went to see the lava rock formation on land. We all embarked from the speed boat and made our way on the sharp lava rocks. The Italian family who were with us on the boat said the lava tunnels resembled the bridges in Venice. We looked at the tunnels again and agreed. We looked down at the clear water to see more sea turtles gently gliding away, colorful fish, of course. The cutest, however, was a baby blue-footed boobie whose feet had not turned blue (it had not eaten enough fresh fish containing the pigment carotenoids) but it was just a matter of time. The baby sat there very close to us and our guide kept reminding us not to get too close to it. The baby exhibited no fear for the humans, which made me very happy. The parents sat a little distance away, perhaps to take a break from constantly feeding their very hungry baby. We also saw two Great Blue Heron siblings in a next, their necks extended, awaiting the return of their parents. They looked at us as we passed by them with relative calm. That is the ambiance I remember in the islands – in the people, nature, animals. Even when the sea lions fought with each other for a better spot on the docks to sleep, their fights lasted for a minute or two before they fell into deep sleep again.
I am an anxious person with constantly tight shoulders. On the islands, amidst this stillness, I felt my shoulders relax.
After the walk on the lava arcs, and the unforgettable experience, we were dropped off at our hotel. We strolled along the streets of beautiful Isabela island after dinner, taking in the daily lives of the islanders. We came across a small stadium, brightly lit up and packed with people, cheering on a two teams of senior volley ballers. We learnt that soccer and volley ball were the two major sports in Ecuador along with cycling. Volleyball definitely attracted the islanders as men, women, and children came together to cheer on the teams. We took the long way back to the hotel, looking at the twinkling lights of the restaurants that were away from the main thoroughfare and some tourists like us who were sitting at the tables looking at photos of their days on the phone.
After 8 hours of bumpy ride on our third day at the safari, I decided to stay at the camp instead of joining Sean in an evening safari. We had left Enkawa camp at 6:15 in the morning after witnessing a gorgeous sunrise. We rode all the way to Mara river to see a glimpse of the great migration of animals crossing the river. We saw some dramatic escapadse as I wrote on one of my previous blogs. We waited for hours to see a leopard and finally came back to eat a late lunch after 2:30 pm. Caleb, our wonderful driver and guide, turned to us with his brilliant smile and said, “So, should we go out again at 4:30?” My enthusiastic husband said an enthusiastic ‘sure!’ The other couple in the van also committed to the 4:30 safari to see a sunset in the savanna. I declined to get on that van again. My back declined. Instead, I decided to spend the evening enjoying the vastness in front of my very own glamorous tent.
I wanted to take a nice hot shower, I wanted to take a book, sit outside on the porch and take in the beauty in front of me.
I did just that. After Sean left, I took a luxurious shower, washed my hair, moisturized my body, took my kindle and sat on the camp chair outside our tent to read. It is hard to focus on written words when nature revealed itself in front of me in its resplendent glory. I must have been immersed in the words of Abraham Verghese (I was reading The Covenant of Water) because when I looked up I was startled. Right in front of me there were some zebras grazing. You have to understand I am a city girl. I was raised in the congested city of Kolkata. I live in the suburbs of US now and I get to see my share of deer, fox, rabbits and birds, but I never thought in my wildest (haha, see what I did there?) dreams that I will be sitting close to zebras grazing right in front of me. I will always remember that moment.
The first day we checked into the camp, we saw three wildebeests resting under a tree right in front of our camp. That was a magical moment too till we realized that they come there every day looking for shade during the heat of the day. We became used to their presence, but had never seen zebras that close. When Caleb and Wilson, our driver and spotter, picked us from the airstrip in Mara, they said they will take us on a safari tour before taking us to the Enkewa camp. Within a few minutes we saw a male ostrich prancing not to far from us. We whipped our binoculars out to see the deep pink color of this hindside and his legs. Male ostriches, we were told, turn pink when they look for a mate. Right after that we saw herds of wildebeests and zebras. I remember that moment being full of wonder. We had never seen anything like this before. The next day, however, herds of wildebeests, zebras, topis. antelopes, wild buffaloes, and even families of warthogs would become commonplace. While we appreciated seeing them, we would consider them part of the landscape as we saw animals that did not make them as easily accessible as these others, like lions, elephants, jackals, serval cats, rhinos, cheetas, leopards….
There were so many magical moments. The first time I spotted something orange that turned out to be a pride of lions, or when Sean spotted tall heads of giraffes from a bush and we drove next to them as they calmly looked at us and continued eating. The sun radiating its last light on the scruffy grass of the savanna dotted generously by the dark bodies of wildebeests or striped zebras. The buffalo families glaring at our van in a hostile manner as we drove by them. The curious face of the momma hyena as it interrupted her feasting on a dead wart hog to look at us, the onlookers.
Since I read Wordsworth’s poem, I Wondered Lonely as a Cloud as a child, I ingrained within me these lines:
“For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
In my mind’s eye, I revisit these magical moments. On my walk this morning, my mind had wondered back to the moment when I first saw the ostrich right after getting off our little plane in Mara. The first sighting of lions. the mama rhino whisking her baby away to protect it from us, the little elephant learning to kick tufts of grass from earth to dislodge it, the baby hippo lying on top of mama, the little jackal waiting to eat the remains of the lioness’ kill, the baby cheetahs playing with each other and mom. I have photos. But I also have them in my mind’s eye. I seek upon these moments in solitude and relive them all over again.
I often see on social media that some of my friends who have lost their loved ones, post ‘happy heavenly birthday’ wishes to the departed souls on their birthdays. Today, on ma’s birthday, I can’t post that. She did not believe in so called heaven. An ardent reader and lover of Rabindranath Tagore’s work, she believed in what the bard said. Heaven and hell is right here, on earth and one experiences them in one’s lifetime. Spread kindness, spread joy, spread good feeling. Recognize and worship the divinity within you and in others. You be true and you will experience heaven in your soul. Anger, bitterness, hatred will delve you into the chasm of hell. One doesn’t have to die to experience either.
On her birthday, I am not wishing her a happy heavenly birthday. Instead, my hope is that her energy, which is indestructible, is lighting up the universe in brilliant hues today. I see the energy of both ma and baba in every sunset, in striking color of the fall foliage, in every shining blade of grass, in every wave crashing on the shore. I am sure there will be a stunning sunset in some part of the world today and I know my mother’s energy will add that extra shine to it.
A few of her loved ones celebrated her birthday when she was alive. Nature will celebrate her birthday today as her energy is one with this beautiful earth of ours.
On ma’s birthday, this is my wish – may all of us strive to be kind. May we have empathy. May we recognize and respect the divinity in each of us. These wishes seem like a naive dream as the carnage continues in the world. But what else can we do but hope?
Ma ceased to exist physically. She lives on in my heart.
PS: I read what I wrote and distinctly heard ma’s big laugh. “My energy will brighten a sunset?? I would rather sprinkle my stardust on shiny jewelry, clothes, brighten the lights of a shopping mall. I can spend a little energy on sunsets, flowers, and waves for your sake and your baba’s sake! Who are you writing about? Don’t you know me?” I can almost hear her laughing voice in my head.
Ma was very materialistic. She loved shopping, fashion, make up and lamented the fact that I did not. I love nature, she did not care for it. So all that I wrote about her energy brightening up the universe is what I want to happen. She is probably laughing her head off at the thought of it. But since she did the terrible job of gently going into the night, I get to do what I want on her birthday. Write whatever I want to happen. And I want nature to pour all its beauty into every corner for all of us to see. So there!
I read the quote at the beginning of the novel and wondered if I would be able to handle this book. I also wondered if this book was written for me.
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle,
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
—–W. S. Merwin
Annie Brown, a larger than life personality with her big laugh and huge presence, is a mother of four young children, a loving wife, and a remarkable friend. In short, she is like a sun around whom her family and friend revolve. When Annie suddenly dies due to an aneurysm, the world around her goes off kilter. Her husband Bill Brown does not know how to continue living and caring for their four children, Ali, their oldest has to grow up overnight to care for her siblings, and Annie’s best friend Annemarie does not know how to stay sober without Annie’s firm but loving presence. The story is about a bereaved family’s journey to learn to live with the hole in their lives but that hole is filled with the presence of Annie Brown in their memories. The plot seems simplistic. It is not the plot that carries the story forward, it is the emotion. It is the characters, and realism portrayed in the story. This book was sad and triggering. I often felt engulfed by grief as I read on but I could not stop reading about the lives of Annie Brown’s children, her husband, Bill, and her best friend Annemarie after Annie’s unexpected death. Anna Quindlen is a masterful and nuanced storyteller who can put to words the subtlest human emotions and can bring her stories to life. So much so that I became a part of the Brown family experiencing their loss and their sorrow at losing their mother and wife. I felt this book in my heart more than simply reading it.
And the quote is so apt! I am indeed colored by the absence of my parents. When they were alive, there was thousands of miles between us. We were together once a year for a few weeks. The rest of the times there were phone calls and regular wsapp messages. But now everything I do has traces of their absence. I wonder if their energy is what made tonight’s sunset extra spectacular, or the daffodils are more vibrant because they are now fortified with their hue. It is strange, this absence, this life in my memories, in my actions, in the lense through which I see the world. This absence that stitches colors to my tapestry of life.
I don’t want to sound like a whiner but I will say this: Mother Nature doesn’t always play fair with me. I don’t get every weekend off like many (not all) do. I get every other weekend off because I work at a library and the library is open seven days a week! My weekends are special. We, at the library, look forward to our weekends like souls thirsty for rest and relaxation. Let’s be honest, very few of us get the above stated rest and relaxation because….laundry, dirty house, bills, meal prep for the week and chores! And here is where you will tell me to quit whining. But I will say it anyway. Most the time it RAINS ON MY DAYS OFF! Ok, now that’s out in the universe, let’s move on.
Today was different. I woke up after a restful sleep. The sun was bright and my reading chair was awash in its golden light. The sky was baby blue with pillowy clouds lazily floating by. The tree in my backyard is full of buds and the daffodil bulbs which we discarded from our flower patch in ignorance has bloomed at the edge of our yard. We threw them out there but they come back each year to put a smile on our faces. They bring me joy. There is something special about these exuberant, bright yellow flowers that inspire hope and happiness in me.
For me, they are the first signs of spring. The second sign is the sighting of ants in my bathroom. I think I have written in one of my blogs that the first appearance of ants make me happy. That means spring cannot be far behind. Oh stop with your cringing! I am from India, I have seen worse than ants. I get mad at them as summer progresses though.
I can not stand winter. I love spring because it is full of hope, sunshine, and longer daylights but spring also means I have endured another winter. Fall is beautiful too, but what follows Fall? Not so much. No matter how long I live in this country, I cannot get used to winter.
I wanted to keep this day in my memory. I nodded at the happy daffodils today, watched an amazing performance at a local theater and witnessed a spectacular sunset.
Yesterday, the emails kept coming. Ping…ping…ping. They were from WordPress telling me I had comments on my blogs. That was surprising since this blogsite has been lying dormant for many months. It is not that I don’t think about this space. I think about it all the time. As I drive to work or gym, I formulate in my head, sentences that I would write in the blogs. But when the day is done, I look at my laptop and never turn it on.
Yesterday, my littlest cousin in Kolkata could not sleep so she went to my blogsite and read many of my blogs. Not only that, she kept writing comments on them. My favorite was “I love you so much, Didi.” I read the blogs where she left comments. Some of the blogs were sad, some of them were general observations of life around me. Seeing her comments and the fact that she was reading them thousands of miles away made me feel connected. I have written so much about my life in this space. I have written about my children, my travels, my everyday life that encompasses my joys as well as my grief. I still have not seen a grief counselor, although I am getting closer to the idea but this blogsite has helped me cope by allowing me to write down my feelings. I made those public and readers responded by saying some of those blogs helped them process their grief. That made me feel less alone.
We had beautiful weather this week. The barren trees are sprouting their luminous green, the green that is my absolute favorite. This new green that I get to see every year fills me with hope. This is potential at its finest. What flowers will May bring? How this nascent green will change to a deeper, somber green as the summer progresses till they are leached of their colors and become red and golden? I love this process, this circle of life. And I don’t mind my own transition from somber, deep green to the red and golden of mature years. Sure, I don’t enjoy the new medications that get added to my life, or the daily aches and pains of getting older, but I wonder with some anticipation (and a little dread of losing people I love) how the next phase would be? For the most part, I am eager to move on with life. At certain times, I am wistful. Especially as I see my children become their own people with their own lives. This is what every parent hopes for, yet there is a twinge in my heart as the grip loosens. Did I give them my best? Did I enjoy them to the fullest when they were younger? Why did I complain so much about how busy life was when they were little? Why did I make life so busy? So many questions, so much self critique. However, despite that, I feel so proud of them. Both of them are good people.
Back to weather. Yesterday, Sean and I went for a long walk in a local park. We decided to leave the paved walkway and follow a trail deeper into the woods. I was looking at my feet as I walked, mindful of treacherous roots that poked above the ground dangerously. I had already stumbled a couple of times but managed to stay on my feet. We stopped for a second and I looked around me. Sean was in mid conversation, saying something about his work. I touched his arm, and whispered, “Look! Look around us.” We were surrounded by young royals – trees that were getting their new leaves. The sun tried to peek in through the foliage that rendered the leaves luminous, fluorescent even. There was nobody around us. There was no sound except sweet chirp of birds. I felt insignificant and I felt special all at the same time. Insignificant in front of such majesty and special because I got to witness it.
I don’t go to any building that is designated as a place of worship. The little opening, surrounded by trees, sunlight creating dappled shadows around me was my temple, my church, my mosque. I did not pray. But I gave my thanks.
The most important part of my morning ritual is sitting quietly in front of the photos of my parents with my cup of coffee and staring at their smiling faces. The world around me is quiet, fast asleep. The only sound that I hear is of the heating unit pumping blessed heat in our house on cold, winter mornings. I do this every day, without fail.
Today, as I got up to put my coffee cup away after my morning ritual with my parents, I happened to glance out of the window. I caught the sun rise, accidentally. Everyday, I wake up early and look inward instead of outside. And while I introspect and look back at memories or wipe away tears or question ‘why’ again and again, the sun rises with resplendent glory. I guess, this is nature’s way of balancing sadness with beauty. I will, perhaps, incorporate looking outwards in my morning ritual. After all, life is about balance.
I shared this pond with no one this morning. The resident ducks and Canada geese were nowhere to be seen. The sun was not strong enough for the little turtles to climb up on logs and sun themselves. I stood by the edge of the pond to look for them. They were perhaps snoozing in their nests.
It felt strange and beautiful all at once to find myself alone in this tiny bit of universe. The cerulean sky was sparkling with golden rays of the sun. That color, I have realized, makes me immensely happy. The trees and bushes stood quietly, their reflection in the water somehow doubling their silent presence.
No matter how much I sparkle outside, I struggle most days to get off the couch and put my game face on. However, on days when I feel the gentle sun caressing my face and the splendid blue of the sky penetrating my soul, I feel I will be okay. I get up to face another day. I love, I am loved. I will live today and remain hopeful for tomorrow.
My driver’s license almost feels like a waste these days. Since Ryan started driving, I have relegated the wheels to my two kids so they can go to their jobs, practices and occasionally social engagements. Unless the husband has meetings in far away places, he also works from home. Most days when I am off from work, I am pretty much home bound due to lack of a vehicle. I can always go for walks which I generally do but I did not go anywhere today.
Today I woke up determined to vacuum the house, weed the flower patch, cook dal and sabji, launder the towels and mop the kitchen floor. As I sipped my coffee this morning, I questioned why I put all that on my to-do list on my one day off. That list, on this beautiful morning, seemed ridiculous so I scrapped it. One should be flexible, right?
Instead, I cooked dal and sabji, warned Ryan to hand me back my tablet once I finished cooking. He was finishing a math packet and watching Seinfeld simultaneously – I worry about accuracy of those math problems. He handed my device back without a fight so I could read Emma Donoghue’s The Pull of the Stars (in e-book format). I finished the book, wrote a review on Goodreads and pondered upon the story of Nurse Powers trying to help pregnant women afflicted with Spanish flu in the maternity ward of a hospital in Dublin, Ireland in 1918. The book is relentless, honest and a stark narrative on the condition of women and the expectations that society placed on them.
Anyway, after finishing that heart rending book I needed something light and entertaining. I am also queuing up books for the book club that I hope to start – Light but not Fluffy. And Julie Murphy’s If theShoe Fits seems to be a worthy candidate…..so far.
Between those two books I thought a lot about Sage, once I found out today was National Dog Day. I also thought about our back to back losses. Sage died in 2020 and ma, baba died in 2021. As a Hindu, albeit a non practicing one, my thought goes directly to bad karma. What did I do in this life or my past life so bad to deserve such sorrow? Death is natural and a part of life I know, but this absolute truth is still hard to swallow.
I mindfully set those thoughts aside as I tried to lose myself in Julie Murphy’s story of modern day Cinderella, Ifthe Shoe Fits. The heat is not oppressive today. There is a light breeze. The sky is bright blue and the clouds are snowy white and fluffy. The sun is sweet and golden rays are reflecting the rich, shiny green of the trees and bushes in our backyard. The majestic oak tree at the fringe of our property is lopsided now. Part of its limbs fell on the ground after some severe storms in the past but it still stretches its remaining limbs up to the sky. It is undaunted despite its loss. I think there is a lesson to be learnt there.
I see it. I am still new at it.
No matter, this moment is good. I will take this moment and consider it a blessing.
whatmamathinks 