it is not the wine that is bad.. it is our tastes that are unhinged and peculiar.. Ms C moves in to our wondrous abode.. you will recognize it not now.. she comes with a refrigerator specifically dedicated to wine.. it hums silently under the stairs.. and beacons to us its bottled purple treasures.. the kitchen is equipped enough now to host many an iron chef episode.. the energy is palpable.. the waft and weave of our life continues..
we are just back from Boston.. Sam and Ru are discovering the immeasurable delights of shopping in mammoth grocery stores.. the very Frankensteinian pleasure of using an insinkerator.. the thirty day return back policy on everything from cell phone service to underwear.. and professors who actually impart knowledge and alter one’s perception..
we drive to the Cape.. New England has truly taken on its namesake’s weather.. rain and clouds and more of the same for days on end.. Mimi’s house on the hill is leaking from its pores.. Satya has strategically arranged pots to collect the rhythmically falling drip.. the sea is a study in silvers and greys.. it blends with a similar hued sky.. the horizon is non existent.. we walk barefoot along the beach in the coarse sand through seaweed and shells and burnt firewood.. our feet are exfoliated.. the sea gulls gawk.. then squawk.. and as we approach.. show off the width of their spans as they take flight.. in town we are still barefoot.. we walk down main street Provincetown sloshing through small ponds of water on the sidewalk and the road.. did I mention it was raining.. and of course that most illusory of all inventions the umbrella is no where to be found.. or at least the strangest ones are at hand.. Satya finds a purple one.. Ru a peach.. Sam gets a stunted black.. and I.. Mimi’s granddaughters’ rainbow coloured twelve inches in diameter one.. it is quite a sight.. we are a spectacle.. and the mosquitoes.. they are the size of large oranges.. I kid you not.. I had thought I was conversant with all mosquito attack tactics.. but these left me at sea.. because of their size.. they shoot themselves straight at you.. get into you hair.. and then they proceed to suck your brain blood.. we retreated in great disarray to safer climes..
the times have been one of much change.. Golan gets married in Israel to Tam.. and the crew attends their wedding.. we are unable to make it since the boundaries of our existence are restrained by some very physical documentation.. so also Shees.. in Canada.. but we are bound within the confines of our American greatland.. Alexi and Tri return from a biking tour from Italy.. they are coloured golden and are full of tales of wine and adventure.. some family has left the fold and some more has moved in.. it is a continuous process.. change brings with it much inner ferment.. people move on.. move up.. move down.. move left and right.. they move out of sight.. out of speech.. out of the multitude.. but never out of our mind.. the pleasure of our so called loosely held universe is that we are all out and about and complacent and not.. and complement each other.. and we progress as such.. the threads that bind us are made of our meetings and our experiences.. and everything that goes with it.. it is an interesting predicament to let people go.. as much as it is to let them in.. one lives with the pain of the first.. as much as one looks forward to the pleasure of the latter.. one ultimately learns to live with pain.. it is like an hot Indian green chilli.. you bite into one and it is hell.. then you are numb.. but ultimately you are strangely cleansed..
a wedding in the fold.. Mo gets married in India.. we could not make it.. neither could his American in laws.. we attend the festivities in Arizona instead.. Mo is aglow.. and his wife Jamie is more such.. he is my little brother.. an intimate gathering in the sands of the desert.. we eat.. we drink.. and we show them a little of the of the New York spirit.. we snatch the mike from the yodeller.. and belt out a very drunken ‘New York New York’.. Mo and Jamie dance.. momentarily.. we are photographed.. the in laws make references to us being from New York to explain it all away.. and the stars bless us all.. it is magic..
I read Kafka and Beckett in synchronicity.. I understand nothing.. and yet the subconsciousness picks up bits of meaning.. my dreams are tinted by their perceptions.. when Staya calls my mind is still wandering.. Mit’s heart stops beating.. he was a true friend.. a true gentleman.. and a true architect.. he is gone.. one of our own.. I wander seeking remembrance.. I consider my life to be just beginning.. how can his have ended.. it is beyond comprehension.. the numbness sets in.. Satya and I many oceans away have a Wake for him.. we talk.. we sing.. we imbibe.. we vent.. we reminisce.. we feel the minuteness of the human eternity..
No comments:
Post a Comment