Home?

I woke up one evening to a late summer sun that lives far beyond

its days of regular hours of light

to be situated in movement, in dynamism,

flitting between my lands of illusion and perceived reality.

I searched for landscapes that I’ve known to see by virtue of comfort

in between content sleep and momentary awakenings.

When I travel,

there are reassuring dim lights outlining mounds of back-lit mountains

with their own gaudy colours and early night's chatter.

My father in the front seat:

awake and seriously holding a conversation with the driver while

the speakers float in a language 

I comprehend at the most intimate level.

I woke up in a car racing back ‘home’.. Or what I should call home.

It took me three whole minutes to realise where I was

after the remnants of deep slumber

resting itself in the nooks of my breasts awoke

to transience.

Ten months in this city

and I still wake up from every deep slumber

to unfamiliarity.

Why, the dogs here never stop. 

They don’t have the time to stop.

They’re smiling and following the tug on their leash

following their human who has taught them to sit up straight and act like a dog,

to not lick the faces of people they love and act like a dog.

Don’t jump on her, those clothes will get dirty! Act like a good dog!  

They apologise for their furry companions sometimes,

‘I’m so sorry, He loves people.’ they say

and I want to just strip free of the collars round my neck,

strained attempts to ridiculous decorum

and roll by their side and fight in the mud;

because

familiarity to me is turning into my street

and whistling to have five street mongrels at my side.

They jump, they paw, they lick

and I could wash their freaking ticks away if I ever contracted any

But their love stays on across the seas for all the times they've listened to me

with crooked ears and curious eyes.

And so,

every single time I see a well-behaved dog outside my window

after a slumber so deep that I don’t realise where I am,

I miss being home where chaos was more unruly with herself,

flirting with the orderliness of monotony...

I finally understand what homesickness really means.

But now, I'm not sure I know what home means.

-Hemu

Hello From the Other Side: America Diaries

17th December 2015 | Columbus | Ohio

My good people,

It's been a good 133 days since I relocated for my Masters to the United States. One hundred and thirty three days. It has taken me as long to get back to writing here as well. There are those loose, shaggy scribbles in a little poetry book that takes the beating of my ambivalent being that I can't quite share here for it's not the most understood pieces I have ever written, even to myself. I'll get there in a bit and resume that side of writing but tonight, for some strange reason, I thought I'd tell you about the little things of my life here. The little things because they are always the most important.

This country is beautiful in many ways. I have a great bunch of department friends who have been nothing short of lovely and helpful. I'm biting into this new dessert of independence and as incredible as it is, sometimes I take a step back and stare at the sweet cake for a while because too much of it makes me delirious in confusing ways. This tryst with earning one's own bread, making one's own bed, home, academics and thoughts is overwhelming. I'm making friends across different age-groups and it's absolutely engaging to see how differently they think, design, draw and formulate their thoughts. It's interesting to see their priorities, their opinions and their life goals. For someone in her mid-twenties, it pushes me a step back to rehearse and look through my own life, shuffle through my memories and throw away unnecessary ones and concentrating on my life ahead. I have been advised on how to network, the kind of boots to buy, to get home early and suggested the restaurants with good food. I have people who help me by telling me how many layers of clothes I should wear in the winter because well, coming from Madras, one is clearly incapable of making a rational choice in the face of the deadly cold.

There are the little intriguingly alluring things about my own self reflecting off of my ethnicity that I hadn't realised is beautiful until now. I had two cops asking me where my accent is from when I was making peace with a personal pizza place down my street. As stupid as it sounds, I didn't think I had an accent when I spoke English in India even as we could make out the state from which a person is from based on their 'accent'. Now, I represent a whole. My downstairs neighbour on the first night that we met on the porch of our apartment, cracked up at the way I pronounced some words (in a good way). He'd type a word on his phone and ask me to pronounce it. And then he'd laugh and I'd laugh at the way he'd laugh. That was a very good introductory night with no airs or complexities.

A lot of my American friends found it weird that you can make tea with ginger in it and asked me what it was called, the beverage itself. I would say it's tea and they'd go on to ask what chai is. It makes me grin when they say chai-tea, the redundancy tickling me and the great cultural and linguistic exchanges we have had over the last three months is nothing short of adorable, learning cultures off each other and rubbing off each other's minds with so many conversations. I sometimes hit the nearby bar that has a great number of same-sex couple turnout and I've had some very happy and freeing conversations with some of them. There are so many new sights, sounds and happenings! Some mornings, there is a bagpiper on my university grounds playing his music as I rush to my department. He just stands in the middle of the large central grounds called 'The Oval' and plays it in no rush, no hurry and in so much momentousness of an ordinary day. On that note, there is something very liberating about dancing to soul music between 1960-1973 at a bank-turned-club too. Dancing with a random stranger that night, it took me almost fifteen minutes to explain my name to him and you know what? They find the name and its meaning beautiful, fully. I can't remember the last time I felt a new sense of indulgence in my own name.

As much as the music, sounds and noises make my day, I am also making peace with my own silence and of late, Frederic Chopin has been my most musical and emotional aide. This composition in particular has pulled me through so many nights and I have been cramming my diary with so many thoughts that this new country offers, making so much art as the first Fall brushed by and now, I can't as easily sketch in the cold as my fingers get numb too quickly but I attempt still, as my lines fail to be straight. But since the wavering has a story in itself, I let it be and let myself go ahead with the colours and the imperfect lines. I'm consciously documenting my life here and it's simply amazing to see how different everything is and how it's just as similar too. People care, people love and people are nice. My building's janitor is a lovely lady with a timid smile and it takes me back to times in school where our 'ayahs' would smile at us with so much love and a sense of responsibility. My professors are a fun bunch and I even play soccer with one of them and some other new people of late; and most often, even if I'm probably the worst one on the field, I can't stop myself from smiling simply because this experience is exhilarating and joyful.

Does all this replace home and India? No. It doesn't. I miss being back home. I miss my parents, my marvelous mongrels on the road and the roadside tea shops. I miss that Cheta and his tea, the Marwari chaat shop and the fresh juice shop at Annanagar Roundabout. I miss Ayyapan temple and my charming grandparents, my best friends' houses I barge into after they tell me specifically not to come and their families. Oddly, I miss that hot humidity too. I miss how I knew people and dogs on every street, Bhai's grocery store and my college mates who are all now in different directions. There are nights here that runs on a thin line between being alone and being in solitude. But tonight is one of those nights I'm thankful for all the newness that has found home within me. I'm glad for the experiences that is chiseling me into a stronger, hopefully better and more evolved person. The word 'home' is going through some beautiful transitions and I can't wait to see its more morphed and understandable state soon.

A belated 'Hello America!'. Life is beautiful tonight with Chopin's nocturne in the background, yellow lights warming me up even as the temperature hits below zero outside.

Until next time!
Hemu

My apartment currently :) 

Home

  How could I forget that night? It was exactly ten days since my grandfather had passed away. I was close to 1400KM away from home at Bombay, unable to sleep; merely staring at the wall a little before midnight. There was a sense of melancholy and wishful dreaming over my head. My teammates were fast asleep, heads buried in makeshift pillows. It was January; the floor was as cold as ice but yet, vaguely comforting.

  Silence screeched as the wall suddenly lit up to life, reflecting the warm hues of an oriflamme presence somewhere. The sound of the crackling rose up to the second floor apartment where we lay as the fog lifted, disintegrating into nothingness in the face of the bonfire built out of all which held people back.

   Bhoghi, the harvest festival, had dawned. It was midnight as heavy drumming began to sound, awakening the sleeping souls to stare out into the dark; where below, there lay a mound of light and lilt. Smiles cast invitations even when we couldn't see. We ran, our flip-flops slapping the bare mosaic flooring. The sound of the dholaks and laughter intensified with every step of ours, the excitement building. I rolled out only stopping to a reckless halt before the fire. The flames, a feet away leaped about, taller than I was, a fourteen year old girl in disarray. A Sardar, otherwise camouflaged by his beard and black turban smiled through it, holding out sweetmeats to me.The flames blazed higher, smoke spiraling into the vast sky charring the past and ready for the future.

    Slowly, the other state gymnasts descended the stairs and gathered around smiling, laughing and chattering away. Girls who would otherwise be dressed like dolls before the floor exercise performances began to dance in baggy pajamas and disheveled hair holding hands. My hands slowly slipped into theirs, strangers I didn't know in a place I wasn't really acquainted with. All I knew then was that the sound synced with my heartbeat and that the dance came from within.

It didn't matter that midnight in a strange place that I was holding hands and dancing with strangers. It didn't matter how close I was to the fire that night because I didn't feel any heat, only the warmth. It didn't matter that night that my grandfather was dead. I learned to laugh out loud again after a ten-day hiatus. It didn't matter that I was celebrating the festival away from home because, that moment in the dark when all our eyes met lingering with joy, shining in untamed light, I felt at home.  

Source: GOOGLE IMAGES. I do not own this image.  

~Hemu

The Girl Who Catches Stars in Her Hair

I know a girl whose hands are always full
with misery and poetry, love in vain and abyss infinite.
Yet, she settles down to catch the evading stars every night
and because her hands are full,
the stars perch themselves on her hair
so that she may smile.

Original Artwork by Hemalatha Venkatraman | Copyrighted | Do not use without permission 

| I have been going about with pet projects on my art and writing blogs where I put up one inked sketch as a part of the Inktober Challenge throughout October. On this blog's Facebook page, (Street of Smiles) I've putting up one poem a day for as long as I can. I collaborated both the projects for the day, combining my art and poetry. Please do let know what you think of it. :) My art blog can be found at Hemu's Art Blog! ) Thanks and cheers! |


Penned and sketched by
Hemu 

Hold You

Source: Google Images 

I'm not the type of girl
who'll squeal and hug you hard
in trepidation
of thunderbolts clapping across the skies.
Instead,
I'll be staring at the clouds light up
  whilst holding out,
the piercing rain slash my breasts;
in comfort.
I'm the kind of girl
who'll smile and hold you though,
if these forces scare you;
  without judgement or question.
Who said boys can't be afraid of the
  rumblings far above our heads?

~Hemu

Grey

It was a silent night. But she heard through it. The silence spoke, much louder than any noise would. She gripped on to her shawl, pulling it much tighter, upsetting her hair as it flew with the blowing wind, her soft curls being carried along like a feather along its destined path. In the darkness she groped, trying to stay more warm as the bay window revealed the radiance of the full moon above, in total brilliance of the borrowed rainbow.. shooting around it : a halo, and beyond her, dark shadows.The moonlight streamed through the glass panes to catch the sight of her face, looking resigned, in deep contemplation.. thinking along with the waves that crashed the shores, basking in the gold of the sand, that which she was looking through the open windows . White froth lashed in collective efforts to wash the sand off the shore, only to be left alone, to conquer the air inside and the wind outside.. To brave through it, not knowing whether to be let carried away on the outside or burst from inside. Either ways, the air had it's way. She saw her there, as the froth struggling along the beach, not knowing what to do. The intense light refused to hide behind the trees she saw from above her bedroom window. Nothing could hide the light now. She thought she could. She thought. She closed her eyes to see the haziness shine in a more blurred way, in a way she could never comprehend. In a way she'll never overcome. In a way that forced her to open her eyes, to stare at the light hitting her eyes, again.

                       She searched the floor for her slippers, to skip into the cozy bed, to escape into the world of dreams, avoiding light and eloping reality. It was what she had been doing for over a year now. It was a cold and windy night, the open windows welcomed it to bring her out of the warmth of fake illusions. The chimes danced to the wind's love and broke the silence, yet causing the eerie feeling of silence at the same time. The notes soothed her ears and the chill that ran down her spine brought her back to earth, as she proceeded to look for her slippers. Once she got into the smugness of her woolen shoes, she got up leaving behind a warm cushion falling to the cold, meeting the floor. Clutching her pajamas up, she waded through her gloating emotions, to quickly hide behind the covers of the huge empty bed, yet,one that was welcoming. She got in and lay still, afraid that even a twitch of her rosy lips might startle her or push her back into untrue incidents, what she wanted to happen.

              She was scared she would awake him to Starr in her fantasies, as much as she loved seeing him and wanted to see him.She lay wide awake, turning her head only to see him standing there. He was there, her boy. A smiling boy of nineteen standing by the post of the bed, leaning against it, his arms crossed across his chest. He stood there with just one foot resting on the floor, while the other balanced on tiptoes, leaving him in total ease of the surroundings. She didn't find it unusual to see him in her dreams... but to see him stand right opposite to her when the moon was just reaching its pinnacle... It was unbelievable. The midnight sky held to its draping cloak of darkness, only to illuminate him in the faint glow of the golden moon. The rays danced along his form and cast a shadow much bigger than himself, though not bigger than what she saw him as, through her dark brown eyes and the curly bangs of hair falling over her face.
      
         He seemed amused. He stood there staring straight into her eyes with a sense of pride and frivolity, like it was the most normal thing for him to appear there, in her bedroom, beyond midnight. She gaped at the uniqueness of his form, the perfection of his pose and the immaculate smile. She snapped out of her thoughts as his smile broadened into a grin and she sat up, holding on to the warm covers.

  " Whatever are you doing here? It's past midnight!"

He smiled and then she heard him talk. The transcending voice.

  "Is that reason enough for barring me from reaching you?"

He hadn't moved. His smile still remained. She saw his soft and tender face from the tiny bits, to form the big picture, through the translucent curtains. His big picture, one that is of elegance and mischievousness. The sight of a baby clad in the clothes of a man.

"But, whatever is the reason? You've never been here before?"
"I thought I was allowed to barge in?"
"I'm not sure about the details of my giving you permission anytime before."
"You may have your living, conscious reasons to think so, I didn't pass them all!"
"What do you mean?",she asked.

  It was the first time he moved ever since he appeared out of the 'black'. He moved slowly in black shoes that merged well with what she saw beyond, noiselessly. He parted the translucent curtains for him to sit there, right opposite to her, as the light flooded in through thin laces and hit his face... light that had grown intense..As intense as the slackness of his body. He sat there, one leg crossed across, on the bed and the other hanging down for the carpet to feel his touch. The touch she yearned for.

 "When are you going to agree?"

She was taken aback. She realized she had been looking at him for moments, whose transition and pace, she didn't know.

"Uh huh?"
"I said, when are you going to agree?"

It seemed to her that he sang. With the notes of the chimes, with the brilliance of the light and the kisses of the wind.

"When am I gonna agree about what?"
"That you love me, of course!"
"WHAT?"
"You heard me very well. I said you love me."
"Is this a proposal because I...?"
"It's a fact!", he interrupted.

She didnt know how to react. Partly overcome by joy, partly by shock, she succumbed to shock, unable to respond. He leaned against the bed with a pillow playing in his hands, He threw it up and down, each time catching it perfectly at its edge. He stretched his legs fully to the leisureness of the bouncy bed. She saw that his shoes were still on... without a spot of dirt. Just like his soul, perhaps. Her thoughts were broken as the furry pillow hit her on her face, filling her with a momentary joy of his smell....

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just got a little preoccupied in thoughts..." she trailed, searching for a possible reason, worth her thoughts at a time like this.
"... of me!", he completed for her, in absoluteness.
"That is not true!"
"Oh yes, it is."
"I don't understand. You turn up at this hour of the night and tell me things I don't seem to comprehend.. It's really confusing."
"No, it isn't. And anyway, your pretense isn't working with me, so beat out of it."

      "Damn!", she thought. How does he know?!

"I just know, because it shows", he said calmly, like he was explaining basic addition to a two year old...
And you should have known better than that."

She pulled herself together in total defense.

"Stop assuming, mate."
"Ah ha, assumption. That's your area of interest,not mine. "
"What do you mean?", she inquired, frowning.
"I mean, you are the one who makes assumptions. You are the one who assumes that I don't like you. You are the one who assumes that I like her. Yes, I do know that."
"How would you know all this?"
"It shows, in many ways that you don't realize."
"I thought I conceal it very well."
"That's what you think. It doesn't get past me.. all your knotty lies about not loving me, not wanting to kiss or hug me.. I can see it all through those glassy eyes of yours."

She sighed. She hadn't expected a night like this. She wanted a night of dreams where there were no questions, no critical answers lying in wait by the one she loves, no talk. Just the meeting of eyes and the connecting of the souls.
      She looked at the boy who sat across her, who had afforded the luxury of honesty.. who had mastered at catching people in their exact line of thought and yet, the state to stay happy and still. He seemed to know what she thought, what she was going to say and when she was lying. She wondered what to say, thinking of his purpose behind the sudden provocation into acceptance of her love for him.

 "Well, what do you expect me to do now?"
" Accept that you love me."
"Why do you want to hear something you already know? You want to see me go through the troubles and embarrassment of having to face you and say so?"
"I don't want you to tell me... tell yourself."
"You make no sense to me, you know!"
"I can see through all that you do. You need to clear that haze in your head. The only way you can do so, is by facing the truth you already know. Create your moments clearly to tell me what you feel."
"Hmmmm...but..."
"Once your head is cleared of this trash, you can think, not assume. Listen, not just hear, Smile and not sigh in retirement. Wake up."
"I know, I've been trying. It doesn't seem to work with me.."
"That's a lie. A blatant answer to avoid effort. A stupid note to start a song with. Don't expect me to come to you, when you can reach me yourself, or you'll never learn to move."
"But... I...", she stammered.
"I said Wake up... Just wake up."

    His firm voice caught her a captive. She saw the times of expectation and false dreams.. All her "love" life, she had been waiting for him to come to her. Waiting in pain for him to see the spark. Waiting in tears to feel her love. Waiting in vain to experience his care. She hadn't budged. She had just stayed still, in fear, awe and love. She decided it was time to move. She got up..

   " Oh yes, I do love you!" she exclaimed, in the loudest voice she had. In the loudest tone that beat all her inner protests of ego and inferiority complex.
    "Oh yes, I do love you!!!"

It felt great. He smiled.

                                                          ****************

"Pardon me!?", he said.

She saw him stand there right next to her, at an arm's length.

"Uh huh..What?"
"I said pardon me, but I didn't exactly hear what you just said."

She turned around to see broad daylight streaming through the window panes of the classroom. Where was the moonlight?

"Oh oh.. nothing. Just wanted to know if you wanted help with those",she said pointing to his open books on his table.
"Haha, no,but thanks. I'm done. So, you got nothing else to say?"
"Erm... no.."
"Good, so, see you around. Bye!"

  He moved. She stood glued to the grey concrete below. She saw him make his way out of the otherwise empty classroom... into the rays and origins of light. She saw him go, for moments... even after his exit. She stared at the half-open door which lay swinging from the impact of his push. She only, still saw him go.

"So, you didnt move, once again, did you?"

She swerved to face the owner of the voice....  the same voice she had heard before.. His hair danced with the wind that blew across...  His lips twisted into a smile. She turned to look at the swinging door and swung around to see his all knowing smile.
She fainted.

~ Hemu


This was my entry at Saarang Writing Awards 2013



              

The Trance

When in your arms, I danced like never before..
With my heart running wild but my prancing movements so slow!
I stood under the light, for a second and not more,
As my body twisted under your control to catch you smiling at me,
on the dance floor..
The world around me faded,
And in the dim, I saw some light..
The only light that I saw, which was you...
The music didn't cease, I didn't move
Yet in your arms, I saw my legs so limp jump up into the air,
and you carried me, and saw me still..
A lot of faces forgotten,
A thousands of thoughts passed by..
Without the depth being encountered,
Nor acknowledgement for it's momentary presence..
Yet, for all that happened,
The memory of time ticked, remained in the dark shadows of the anonymity.
A collection of mere glances, smiles and whispers, I clutched,
As you led me away from the floor under your feet so colourful
into the darkness of the night and the breeze's message.
I felt your breath upon my neck
I realized the smell of you...
When still in an embrace so tight
there, our lips did meet..
In vivacious energy and the graceful movements,
of the dance that did proceed..
I sank into the ground as an unknown mass of mere flesh
for, my soul went, there, with you.
And only after you opened your eyes to look at me did you realize,
that you were lost too!!!

~ Hemu