Loose Change

There's an unexplainable connection between the mountain skies and the man When do you stop his phone number? When do you delete the mail id? When do you…. Stop thinking about all of this? When do you stop looking at a hot guy and wanting to share it with him? Because, after all, he was your best friend and understood and indulged all your idiocies. When do you stop wanting to share a recipe that you have nailed to perfection?  When do you stop looking out of the window of the moving car and then look towards the passenger seat to smile at him? When do you stop saying ‘we’ and switch to ‘I’? When do you….

There is this strong independent woman inside me, who sometimes feels it to be unreal. I have a full life, contributing to the society, doing my own bit. Can drive, cook, do basic first aid, can manage finances (reasonably well)...how is it that with all these positives, the only thought that is always always overriding all this is how much I miss the man.  The other half, the one with whom my thoughts and sentences were complete. Who made me laugh, who understood and noticed small details that would fool everyone else.    The man did love the winter light     Jotting down a list of things (in no particular order), that I miss about him - His hands - the man had the most beautiful hands that I have seen till date. Long artistic fingers that bore truth to his love for working with them - be it the sourdoughs that he learnt via YouTube or his leather work or the ferments or the photography or the hand-crafted diaries or his cooking or his ferments - That broken to...

We have had a long weekend break for Diwali. 6 days where I had planned to catch up on all work in the first couple of days. Then read those books that I have been itching to reach, for the next 2 days. And of course, go for long walks and resume my yoga.  That was the plan.  What I hadn't planned for, was the grief.  Making marigold garlands to string across doorways was left midway. As I remembered how Tonmoy would not celebrate anything, but participate in everything that I'd do. So the garlands would not be strung on ordinary thread, but the one he used for his leather work. The waxed string would hold the shape better. I would then use the same threads to string up the flowers to dry, which would then be powdered and kept for Holi.  Diyas were washed and dried and wicks made with cotton. And both were left separate. The urge to light a lamp was overshadowed with the sadness that surrounds me like a cloud. One that holds me in a space where the heaviness wears me...

Days pass by and it seems like yesterday, but also aeons since I lost my partner. My best friend. How do you explain this grief that refuses to go away? Grief that seems to have made a home in a tiny space in your heart? Grief that 'allows' you to laugh, but also makes you feel strange about that laughter. Just when you think you are  figuring things out, taking one tiny step forward, and feeling like you are moving ahead...wham! The paperwork starts... Sending his death certificate - over and over again - looking at his age stated on the certificate - 53 years 10 months 6 days, and having it committed to your memory. Letting people know that yes, you are  the only surviving member who is still alive... And then doing it all over again.  And again. And once more. Days when the pain in your leg is outweighed by the pain in your heart. Pain that doesn't allow sleep to help your body run away from that pain, even for a moment. Days when you would like to join your yoga class...

    About 5 months and a little more since I lost my best friend, my confidante, my life partner. And since then, I have tried to find solace in different things. Gardening and making the space all that we spoke of. Together.  Making cheeses in flavours that I think will work. Making plum confit with the abundance from our garden.  Manosh would always talk about my understanding of flavours and how I would love experimenting with different ingredients and creating something completely new.   Trying to do things that we loved doing together. But doing them alone.  Resuming cooking and enjoying the flavours as I keep experimenting with different ingredients in my food. And somewhere feeling...that am I moving on? Am I not keeping his memory alive in me?  And then, another voice makes me go and look and his photograph and have this conversation. Ask him if he feels this way?  No clear answers as I stumble along. Finding and charting my way through th...

Gardens to me are sacred spaces Where new beginnings happen every day Where things die a little each day Where the soil gives you something everyday Where the weather laughs at you each day... In the midst of it all, One finds peace One searches for joy One reaches out to the Earth Hoping... For something she knows not what For that one thing that only the Earth can give And strangely, The Earth understands this plea And gives... Every single time. Just like Mother