A Drop Of Nostalgia!!!

         
            Hey friends, I really loved the response on my last story. I am glad you guys liked it. It inspires me to write more and to keep experimenting.

Picture courtesy- Photographed by Anirudh Mathur- on Facebook and @project_am on Instagram 

               Today is about a routine day at work which was unexpectedly changed to a wonderful trip of nostalgia. Yeah. And the drug for that was actually the drop of rain. I live in Ahmedabad which is probably one of the hottest cities in India. The weather in summers is so hot and dry that it leaves you parched every minute. Exhausted and exasperated with such weather I was carrying on with my routine of seeing patients in the afternoon. Since my room needs darkness to enhance and enable me to see patients more effectively, I had the blinds drawn in my room. Suddenly the counsellor came in, a petite little girl in her early twenties with long hair with drops of water dripping from the fringe of hair framing her beautiful round face and a few droplets on her cheeks. She had a certain amount of happiness and satiety on her face, the one which you may see on a face of a thirsty traveler in a desert after finding an oasis. I asked her, “Where have you been? And what makes you so chirpy?” She exclaimed, “Ma’m, it’s the first rains. It has started raining. I went out to soak myself in the first rains and I am so happy”. Suddenly the mention of rains lit my face up too. I think I too had that look of satiety on my face. I knew I wasn’t going anywhere for the next few hours until I finished my patients and probably the rain would stop by then, but I still had that smile plastered on my face.

              I finished seeing the patient whom I was seeing and on the pretext of drinking water, I got up and treated myself to the pitter-patter of the rain drops on the metal ledge of the window, opened the blinds and absorbed the freshness that the rains brought to the exterior. The roads seemed to be enjoying the bath and the amount of vehicles treading and the hum-drum of the traffic seemed to have reduced. I could see the asopalav tree, swaying in the wind flapping its long wet leaves in the first rains, as if dancing to the music that the rain drops created. Inside the shade of the same tree, I could see a drenched pigeon trying to find some shade and protecting itself from the rain, a little scared or probably just hiding. Just while I was lost in this frenzy of the first rains, I was reminded that I still have a lot of patients to see. I went back to my seat and carried on with my job, this time with a different kind of satisfaction beaming on my face, the satisfaction of the sign that summers have ended, of the thought of onset of cooler days, or just of the first rains.

                 I know after reading so much you may think that here goes another one, who can’t stop about the rains and will have all sort of romantic stuff written about the rains. Actually no! I hate rainy days as much as I love them (Yeah, I have a love-hate relationship with rains). But there is no denial that to even the toughest of us the thought of the end of summers gets to us, the earthy, misty and intriguing smell of the wet soil gets to us, the pitter patter of the droplets while you are protected inside gets to us, the hot cup of tea while its chilling outside gets to us. I stepped out of the hospital and shielded my bag in vain to protect my laptop and ran to my car and started driving. The traffic was going slow and the to and fro movement of the wipers on the windscreen seemed to be working as a time machine drifting me to the experiences of the first rains in all these years. I started getting flashes of times from my childhood, to my hostel days, to the days I used to work in Mumbai, to those days when I was full of romance, to the days I got stuck in the rains and so on and so forth.

                 I remembered how as children we used to change into our shorts to the terrace on the 10^th floor of our building and would dance and splash in the water. How the road leading to our building used to be waterlogged all the time and the passing bus or car used to create waves and how we loved playing in that dirty waterlogged muddy water. How we would be left early from the school with an announcement that the rain is uncontrolled and to ensure we reached home safely, we were being left early followed by our squeals of excitement as though we had won a lottery. We would walk our ways to home, with our school bags drenched, treading in the waterlogged streets and saving ourselves from the manholes that never seemed to do their job (of draining water). How after reaching home, we were coaxed to get back in the house or else would fall ill, would have to empty our bags to find the books that we would have wrapped in a polythene bag to save from drenching, soaking in the dirty muddy water. We would leave the books to dry in fan making our room look like a total mess, with clothes drying on the ceiling and books on the floor. We would wait for the rains to stop to sail our paper boats in the water and hey, there used to be competitions for that. How on a rainy night we would pray to keep the rains and the streets to be waterlogged so as to get a leave from school and the first thing to do in the morning was to check if our prayers were answered.

              Also sends me to the lane when I lived in hostel and the rains there would mean firstly shielding your room with the sprinkles of rain water in the room drenching either your bed or your cupboard with crumpled balls of newspaper or sheets of plastic, and then going to the roof with your BFFs and singing the most romantic songs on the top of our voices longing for some loved one to sing the for us. It also meant getting dirty playing some sport like volley ball or cricket in the sludge. Also there was the worry of drying the clothes, and not having enough of clean dry clothes to wear. It also meant the mouldy walls of the hostel room with its mucky smell. The lines to get hot water from the geyser and fighting for the hot pakoras (vegetable croquets) made by the canteen guy.

Romance in the rain

                  Rains in Mumbai were great as well. I vividly remember my first rainy season in Mumbai, and also the very first rains with the person I loved. For the first time I understood the romance in the rains. Bunking the class and going to Bandstand with an army of clouds invading the blue sky, just to start shooting the rain droplets at the most perfect timing as we reached the sea face. Watching the waves of the Arabian Sea rise higher and higher before they succumbed to the shore and broke themselves in the arms of the stony walls of the sea face, and hearing the roar of the clouds as if giving a dramatic background score to the entire scene. The greys had never looked so beautiful. In the midst of such amazing atmosphere sitting close to the person you love with his arms around your shoulder and munching on piping hot roasted corn cob and sipping hot cups of coffee. Priceless!!! I could wish for that moment to never end and go on forever. For the first time I could understand how pages and pages would be written about romance in the rains. It was the most secure that I had ever felt in my life in spite of the dramatic happenings of the nature. It was the most amazing contrast that I had come across, thunder and roaring on the outside and calm, peace and safe in the inside.

                But the rains weren’t always this sexy in Mumbai. There were times when I got stuck in a train overflowing with ladies squishing your body and screaming in your ears, stuck in midway due to the smog and rains outside, making you scared as to would you be able to reach home safely. There were times that due to heavy rains no cabs or rickshaws would give you a ride and you were stuck in the road unable to walk due to rains and long distances and stranded on a dark lonely street knowing not what to do and shit scared. There were times that the rains and the open gutters made the street so yucky that it would end up soiling your clothes and you ended up working the whole day in such wet soiled clothes looking like a piece of crap. There were days when a reckless driver unaware of the people walking on the streets would splash muddy water all over your dress unaware of the fact that you were supposed to give your presentation in front of the whole class that day. But there were also days when you would go on a long drive with your loved one just sitting and listening to music and watching the rains fall on the windscreens and the wiper-blades wiping them off.

Picture courtesy- Another excellent photograph by Anirudh Mathur

               My favorite part is though the time after the rains have stopped and the morning after that, when the smog of pollution has been washed down. The roads, the plants, the buildings are beaming and flaunting their squeaking cleanliness and shining with the gem like droplets of rain over them. It seems as if God has switched on a different filter for viewing things for us and everything seems beautiful in that light and shine. There is a different freshness in the air and some sort of an enthusiasm which urges you towards hope. It is a perfect metaphor for the saying that “After Darkness shall come the Light”.  

             Well, good and bad experiences but I wouldn’t agree with someone who says they absolutely hate the rains, although I do make that statement quite a lot of times, but the mention of rain does manage to bring a smile on our faces. It’s the sheer genes in us that come from our farmer ancestors that make us consciously or subconsciously relieved that the rains have arrived, the summers have ended, the season of fertility (pun intended) has come and everything would be suddenly be squeaky clean and fresh. This is my story of nostalgia about rains. What’s yours??? 

A Silken Thread that weaves lives...

                Today what I am going to write about is a very inspirational story. I have tried to do it as authentic as I can. I tried getting the pictures myself with some useful tips from my friend. It’s a new genre that I am trying here and I hope you guys will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed collecting material for this and writing this piece.

             It’s about this amazing person that I had an opportunity to meet by chance. I just went there as an obligation to catch up with a friend, her being short of time and I ended up having this inspiring conversation with this lady and now I am inspired to share her story with the world.

After a little bit of searching her home in my own city, I finally reached this house which had cemented grey plaster and a small rusty red colored iron gate to it. I opened the latch and the gate squeaked open. I introduced myself, to a man who opened the door and he let me in. He told me that they were waiting for me upstairs. I went upstairs looking around and admiring the beauty and the vintage look of the beautifully decorated home. I went upstairs and was led into the room where my friend and a very elderly lady were sitting. I greeted my friend and introduced myself to the lady. And then I sat down.  My friend was admiring this bright pink saree with golden motifs in it with one end of the saree in her hand, trying to feel the silkiness of the material and the other end of the saree was in the hand of this lady.

           This lady who must be around 75-80 year old with salt and pepper silky hair tied in a tiny bun behind her head, with twigs of hair flying loose. She had a kind and a sweet face with a beautiful smile. She had the grandmotherly warmth to her persona which reminded me of my grand ma. The wrinkles that cascaded over her facial features could not hide the glow and shine of her milky complexion. And her eyes lit up while she opened up each one of her creations in front of us. There was this sparkle in her eyes that would defy her age. Her eyes, her talk and the elan with which she showcased each garment made by her, exuded passion, the kind of which is difficult to see in people of our generation, and for the generation that she came from it is a rare case. She belonged to a generation when ladies of the house usually took the role of taking care of the home and family, but she has managed to keep her passion alive and has been translating it into beautiful clothes which fulfill dreams, right from a little girl wearing dress for the first time, to a bride aspiring to look perfect for her husband on the most special day of her life, to an elderly lady wanting to look classic in a vintage saree on her 50th wedding anniversary. She would make each and every dress/saree that you dream of into a reality. It revealed to me the pride that she had for each one of her hand-crafted wonders. She kept opening one after another piece of these amazing hand-woven textiles which were embroidered with colorful silken threads. The weave was so fine and the feel, so soft and feathery. Each one of them was decorated with variety of the knots and stitches. While she explained to us the details of each cloth and the complexity of the art of embroidering each piece and how much hard work goes into it, and my jaw dropped in awe. She, so delicately cared about each piece of hers, that when my friend was trying it on and the train was entangled in her foot, she didn’t fail to reprimand her to ‘Take care of it’.

             Then she showed us some of the designs that she was preparing for the exhibition of hers. I asked her what exhibition are you talking about, Aunty? To which she got very excited and started describing it. She started narrating how the entire year they make special pieces for their exhibition in Mumbai, which comes once in a year in June and how all her clothes are picked up like Hot Cross Buns. She said this time it starts on the 23rd to 25th of June. But her excitement wasn’t about how she makes huge profits from it but it was about how all the members of her family, including her sons, daughters, brothers and their wives, cousins, and all together 50 odd people gather to help her pull through those most eventful 3 days of her year. Her excitement was about how fulfilled she felt about the immense appreciation and frenzy over the articles of beauty that she creates. Finally after emptying almost her entire collection of clothes, my friend decided on a few pieces that she was keen to buy. I was so awed by her creations that in spite of having no intentions to buy anything, I ended up buying a few pieces for myself.

             We then went downstairs in the living room where we sat down on the dining table for a cup of tea and some snacks. Her drawing room was like a room out of 1960’s. There were beautiful wooden carved sofas with old styled upholstered cushioned seats over it. There was also a beautiful full length mirror on the wall with a teak wood craved frame surrounding it. The entire room spelt beauty, vintage and art in it. I was admiring it when she called us to sit on the dining table. She served us some piping hot bundi (tiny fried flour balls dipped in saffron flavored sugar syrup) and some savoury crunchy mathiyas (fried spicy tortillas). I was so amazed at looking at her knowledge of textiles and her passion for it that I couldn’t stop telling her the same. She was humbled by my compliment and said, it’s just something I do to keep myself busy. I have got a fraction of my mother’s knowledge and talent and I am just taking it forward. Then she proudly said that her mother had so much love for clothes and embroidery that she naturally has it in her genes. I asked her, if her mother did the same work, she was like, “No, no. In those days, where was all this allowed?” But she added that her mother was so fond of making beautiful embroidery anyways that she would make little flowers or motifs of it on each and every frock or dress that she wore. She said that she had love for this work from the very beginning but it translated into profession much later in life after she completed her family responsibilities. She said that she started the work professionally as she really believed in this organization in Baroda that worked for women and children who are victims of sexual or domestic abuse and wanted to donate money for them. To be able to donate money, she had to make some money herself and this is how she started her profession. I was like, “Aunty, that is such a true reason to start something, and probably the good thought that you started it with, has made you so successful.” She just smiled and added, because I started it with the idea of helping someone and doing good for someone, I could never cheat my customers. I would feel like betraying my cause if I would be charging for something more than it’s worth. “What a noble thought!” I wondered. She still continues to do charity for various organizations.

Beautiful textures, colors, knots and embroidery in the making.

              Then our talk drifted to how she manages to get this detailed and intricate embroidery and such silky and beautiful, rich cloth material woven. She said, she makes a design and then her artisans replicate the final patterns. It takes about a month or sometimes more depending on the intricacy of the weave and embroidery. So I asked her, where does she find the artisans from? She said, like a proud mother, that they have been with me since I started, more than 25 years from now. I treat my artisans like my own family. I support them in the times of need like illness and also take part in their happiness like their weddings and birth of their children. I have taken responsibility of their children’s education and their well-being. I would never pay them less or rush them with work. Hence they like working with me. Then she added, “I believe, it is impossible for us to change lives of a lot of people, but I can make a difference in lives of these few people who work for me and help them lead a good life.” And I actually got an opportunity to witness that her artisans called her “Maa”, which is the hindi version of mother, as for them she is the lady, who not only provides them with a steady income, but actually nurtures them and their families and also nurses them in their hour of need.  My jaw dropped in awe and I exclaimed with wonder and amazement “WOW!!! You are an angel.” She quietly brushed off saying, “No its nothing.”

With the artisan- Masterpiece in making!!!

              Then continuing the banter, I asked her, do you keep some young designer who tells who what kind of stuff is in the fashion, what colors are in vogue or what silhouettes are being preferred by the youngsters these days. In short how do you keep up with the fashion that is ever changing? She said, “It’s my passion and my field of interest. When we go to weddings or simply glance out of the window, all I notice is the clothes that a person is wearing.” I was like you really have to like your job to be 24*7 be involved in it. She smiled. Then she added, you would love to go to some foreign land for a vacation. But I prefer going to the small villages in India. There is so much dying art and the artisans are abandoning their generations old art forms, being engulfed by the corporate world. I love going to these villages, appreciate their art, learn from them, try to give them work by trying to incorporate new things in my work. I end up spending much less than a vacation to exotic location, but enjoy myself more than anyone. I just kept listening to her with my mouth gaped in amazement. Each time I go to meet her now, she has a yet another new story to tell and I always end up inspired by her, although it’s impossible for me to share each one of them right now. In addition to that, although she lives in a beautiful home, alone, she is a loving mother, and she proudly declares that her younger son has got her love for textiles in his genes. She has a leads a simple life with her days revolving around her household chores, her clothes and meeting and interacting with new people and touching lives. She is like that golden silken thread that shines through in a weave and imparts meaning to so many lives that she touches. 

She exemplifies that if you have passion you can reach the stars, she proves that it’s never too late to chase your dreams and she lives the saying that ‘A Noble thought can travel very far.’ And even if you can make difference in life of one person, is a big deal. Where was this lady up until now? So many inspirational stories all bundled up in this grand-ma…   

If you are in Mumbai and get a chance to visit her exhibition, please do so, you may be amazed at the kind of beauty her clothes have and you will actually get a glimpse of this serene, beautiful person with a heart of gold!!!

The Exhibition is called Kala-Kutir and is in Matunga area of Mumbai city- 23rd to 26th June