Loose Change

Spring and summers are rolling around. The mountains while struggling with varied climates, are bursting into their many hued shades of browns, yellows, greens, reds...  Nature at it's finest. Most summers, my phone and camera would be filled with photographs. Lovely no doubt, but a lot of them. This year somehow things are different. While a lot is being seen, not everything is being documented. At least not in a way that can be shared with the wider world. Some of it is just in my heart. Where I carry out silent conversations with the man. Talking about the interplay of light and shadows - his dear love. Showing up in places where one needs to stop, pause, slow down. and breathe. Yes, the tears flow.  Every single time.  Because missing him is such a constant that is hard to describe. Nature though as always forces its way in. With its light, its brightness, its vibrance, colours and life.  Making one laugh out loud at its silliness and gasp at its beauty. And...

This last month has been strange in so many ways. Beginning of the year should mean new beginnings, but the mind shrunk away from that thought. How can it be only 1 year since I lost the man? Has it been just 380 days since the man is no longer a physical part of my everyday life? Seems longer...so much longer...  So what has really changed in this last year? - I have become quieter. The excitement of sharing anything and everything with him...that is gone. The chatterbox has become quieter. A long trip away with so much seen and experienced - and the mind kept telling me that once I reach home, I won't have Manosh to share it with. - I miss speaking in Bangla. Ma would always talk about how much I love the language and how I would miss speaking it if I married a  'non Bengali'  - and I would dismiss it all. Sheer coincidence then that we fell in love and loved speaking in Bangla with each other. So many words, phrases and emotions in a language that don't come through ...

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. - That broken tooth in the fron...

    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...