Springtime symphony and sweet childhood fantasy of romance

Its homecoming in springtime after a good 11 years. And boy! Did I miss this time of the year all these years away from home? You bet I did. Though strangely, I always took it for granted when I had been at home years ago.

My earliest memories of springtime in Assam dates back to our childhood days to a season which was just perfect-the days and nights were rendered equal and it would be neither too cold nor too warm ... the weather would be fresh and clear, warm and sunny yet had the first few showers of the year for the dry leafless trees to bud out new green foliage slowly making them blossom into a variety of colorful blooms in red, pink and yellow... the cunning cuckoo birds cooing their way to the crows' nests to lay their eggs... the brain-fever birds would whistle bou koka kote (mom where's dad?) constantly, till one starts whistling with them without even knowing it... while the exotic orchids and other sweet smelling flowers of spring would bloom their best, the fragrant breeze transforming the environment into an earthly paradise...

I remember the times when we would visit both my parents native places in upper Assam during springtime. Around mid-April, with the first day of Bohag starting the Assamese new year, the Bohag Bihu or Rongali Bihu would usher in a period of great fun, merriment and colours, marking the arrival of the spring season. Young girls would colour their palms and feet with saffron pigments of freshly ground jetuka (henna leaves)... women folk would prepare assamese delicacies and snacks like pitha (dry rice cakes stuffed with sweetened coconut or sesame seeds) and laaroos (sweetened sesame or coconut balls) in every household, some women in the villages even weaving homemade bihuwans (white cotton veils with red floral patterns) to be presented to their near and dear ones as a gift expressing love and respect. During those bihu days, everyone would adorn new traditional attires like dhoti, saador-mekhela, present bihuwans to elders and loved ones, invite each other for feasts, functions and fairs organized at several places, setting a mood of festivity and gaiety all throughout Assam. The whole atmosphere would inspire unbounded joy and enthusiasm expressed through dances, songs, and other festivities. Hundreds of young unmarried men and women in the village would be seen moving about in groups, gaily dressed to perform Bihu dance. Pretty young girls would dance brisk and sensuously moving their hips, arms and the upper parts of their bodies to the rhythm of the wild beats of dhol (hollow musical drums) and to the lusty tunes of pépa (buffalo hornpipes) and gogona (another musical instrument made of bamboo), all of these played by the handsome young men. Young couples in love would sing and dance to songs woven around themes of romance expressing love for their sweethearts, whole day long, sometimes late into the night in open fields, roadsides, on specially constructed stages or performing from house to house. The young lissome girls would dress in their best traditional muga mekhela saador (a two-piece skirt-and-shawl set, woven out of golden silk fibers with red floral patterns) and red blouses, kopou phul (a beautiful white and purple colored long orchid) adorning their jet-black hair tied in neat buns and jetuka-tinted palms. The men would wear white cotton dhotis and muga (golden silk) kurtas and tie bihuwans around their heads and waists.

Every year my sister and I would gleefully listen to the romantic escapades of at least 1 young couple in the vicinity of our grandparents' neighbourhood, who would elope and get married during this time of the year... as if it was almost like a tradition that had to be followed with each passing year. And being the hard-core romantic I am, I would think to myself that one day when I grow up, I would fall in love and get married only at this time of the year, my lover carrying me in his arms into a sunset of a happily ever after future together.

Alas! Our childhood dreams and wishes doesn't always come true. My husband is neither from Assam, nor did we get married in Spring. And knowing him, I can tell, he might find all of this stupid, ridiculous and far from anything that is his idea of romance. But the fact remains that in the evenings when I go up to our terrace after sunset to feel the cool spring breeze caress my face, to let the cacophony of the songs of the various migratory birds deafen my ears to all the other sounds of civilization and to fill my nostrils and lungs with the unpolluted air mixed with the fragrance of the many spring flowers, my childhood fantasy flashes back in my mind. And it brings a smile on my lips, a sparkle in my eyes and a spring in my steps. Skipping a beat in a heart, I think of my husband who is far far away, buried in his books nose-deep at the moment...

One of his kind

It's a special occasion...the air's scented with the sweet smell of love; I am in my best of moods and the object of my affection stands tantalizingly silhouetted against the full moon. There couldn't have been a better ambiance to induce tender loving words. In keeping with the magic of the moment, I lean across and whisper some sweet nothings into his ear. He begs to be pardoned and says, "Why are you whispering?" At moments like this, I am convinced that my husband either suffers from selective blindness (and hearing), or he could be a masochist or could it be that he really doesn't even realize when he blows it all? I feel a bit of a fraud to be picking on him, when I always thought I am crazy about him being in my life, yet deep down inside, I know, he is kinda sweet and charming in his own innocent way. He is helpful and helpless, smart and dumb, not necessarily according to the situation. But still, I can't pretend that he is perfect. He has a few intolerable virtues. For clarification, I have listed a few...

He believes in sharing. The marriage vows seem to have made a profound impact on him as he is suddenly faced with the harsh realities of another being occupying his space, house, bed and everything else. But the context of sharing and its meaning can be very conveniently changed depending entirely on the intricacies of job in hand. He will never meddle in what he considers my domain. He will keep waiting at the dining table for lunch/dinner (as I juggle with the almost-done crispy fried prawns from the stove to the table, bringing together the cutlery and the remaining dishes of the meal and my mobile rings right at that moment) and he might just announce in a humble yet piteous tone, "Honey, where's my glass of water?" My point is not that he has lived in the house much before we have been married without even discovering where the kitchen sink is, but that he thinks I have the stamina and ability to handle all of those mundane things at that same instant because that's my domain.

He has a very good memory. He is brilliant at remembering facts and figures: When was Hailey's Comet last sighted? Where was India's first computer installed? Which is Indian Army's oldest battalion? Which is the 33rd Article of the Constitution? It is obviously unreasonable to expect one so weighed down with relevant data to remember simple facts like our 6 month anniversary, or did we buy a wine-opener for our house the last time we went shopping for household stuff or we have to pay the cable-guy. These things I will have to go through remembering for life.

He tries to improve my memory. Operating on the suspicion that I actually have a good memory but pretend to have a poor one situationally, he'd ask me about things that I have never even seen or heard of before. Things/documents that he'd keep himself, but insist that I kept them safely somewhere, when they are misplaced.

He allows me to make very important decisions...because he has so much respect for my superior wisdom, nice taste and great decision-making skills, he is constantly asking me questions like "Do we need to refill our wine stock?" or "what's for dinner tonight?" or "what car should we buy?"

Advocate of togetherness. He has finally agreed to accept a few things like "our quarter" or "our lawn". But under certain circumstances, the items that were "our" joint concern, suddenly becomes "Your plants aren't looking too healthy" or on another occasion "Your curtains need a wash" or even "My cupboard and my dressing table has no space for my stuff anymore".

He will give me an honest opinion when I don't need it at all. On one occasion when I had just put on a newly purchased 'Patiala Salwar' (those harem-pants variety), he said, "Darling, what's with the joker pants? Please change into something decent." And I never got to wear my sexy 'gladiator flats' to any of the army parties because my husband thought they don't look feminine.

He tries his best to make the marriage work. At least by not even being remotely bothered or concerned about petty things that bother me so much. He is lost in his own world of work, television and sleep.

These things often remind me that I'm not perfect either and there might be so many things about me which he hates, but never complains. I ask myself...Do married people fight? Of course they do. Does this mean they are not in love? Of course it doesn't. The more you love somebody, the madder you can get with him, especially when he has mastered the diabolical art of how to emotionally harass the spouse by not retaliating, not fighting back, not even getting upset with any amount of nagging and yet stay 'happily' married with a cool and content temperament all throughout. And then when I completely lose it and burst into tears, irritable and helpless at his indifferent attitude, with a faraway philosophical gaze he announces, "Silly girl! Come here, come to me.." and hugs me tight wrapping me around with his arms on his chest, and says, "Baby, you have no idea how much I love you. I'm all yours. Now tell me what's bothering you?" That takes away all the complaints from my life. And I think to myself, "He is the one I want to be forever with". Sigh!

The SALT-N-PEPPER appeal

I still drool over Richard Gere's poster in his 'salt-n-pepper' do from AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN... the military hunk with the face of a 14-year old and the hair of a 50-year old. This fantasy often embarrasses as well as makes me smile. And quite honestly, I was more than surprised when Shilpa Shetty pretended she had no clue of what was coming when Richard swung her not very long ago, into a clinch which is the stuff female fantasies are made of.

I had always had a strong liking for men with 'distinguished' hair. Most men don't get it, but the 'salt-n-pepper' on guys drives a lot of women wild. Well, call it the 'salt-and-pepper' or the newfound 'gravitas', but losing color doesn't make you an old man... if you don't wear it like Phil Donahue, that is. And if you'd keep it short, please. Thank you!

Most men refuse to admit they're 'gray'. 'Salt-and-pepper' is about all they'll cop to. Of course, they may be just about out of pepper, is another matter. But we all cling to delusions, don't we? Some men may not like the way their gra... I mean, salt-and-pepper looks, and with the Grecian Formula in vogue, they want to go in for a jet-black shade than a cool gray. But if you ask me, they should not colour their hair for a lark, 'coz very soon, they'd have to do it as a monthly chore. And isn't there something sad about habitually locking oneself in the bathroom and doling out dye into your aching hands, adjusting the mirror or your head angles (or both) like some aging junkie? Or worse still, roam around the house with a head-full of mehndi-paste for hours?

Today, in just about any line of work being 'prematurely gray' is an advantage. In fact, in any business, gray equals gravitas. And then again, there are millions of follicle-fetishists out there, and at the first hint of tint they find you and ogle your albino tresses like a hot pair of buns....( the same way I check out and secretly drool over men with short 'salt-n-pepper' hair). This is because, gray hair on a guy says he's mature, stable and sexy, but at the same time he can be relied on.
Think Big B as 'Sexy Sam'... he's swarmed with all those hot babes. Think Tom Cruise in 'the Collateral'.. He might have been the bad guy, but if you talk about his looks, ah! simply irresistible. Think Sean Penn. His fan base doesn't seem to mind his salt-n-pepper one bit. Think George Clooney in Ocean's Thirteen. He seems to be getting more and more drool-able with every passing year... I can't help falling in love with him over and over again..

My advice to all those guys with 'distinguished' hair? Give in to the salt-n-pepper look and make the most of it while you're still young. Better to be 'happily gray' than to be a 'serial dyer'. Remember, there will come a time in the not too distant future when you'd no longer be 'prematurely' gray. People will stop using the word 'distinguished'. By then, you'll have a paunch, a wattle, baggy eyes and sagging skin, and pretty young things won't even take notice of your hair. Only other guys will... the bald ones...

So, if you still think you cannot carry off the 'salt-n-pepper' on your crown, because your name is not George Clooney, just give it a second thought. Trust me, it looks damn hot....

MY ALL TIME FAVOURITE POEM...

I read this poem a long time ago in a Reader's Digest edition. From then on I have always remembered it...as THE WHITE ROSE is my favourite flower... Today I found it in Google search. Here it is for all to read... See the simplicity of the poem and the beauty of the lines...

A White Rose by John Boyle O'Reilly (1844–1890)

THE red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O' the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

HAVE YOU EVER TALKED TO THE WIND ?

HAVE YOU EVER TALKED TO THE WIND ?

While driving along the toll-bridge
or on a highway bike-ride,
Have you ever talked to the wind ?

The wind is in love with you ….
She gushes at you with joy
just to play with your hair …

She breaks into so many pieces
just to shower you with a thousand kisses
She rushes from your left to your right ,
take a turn from behind your neck ,
and whispers your name in your ears a million times….

She moves away , pauses
and rushes back to touch you again……
…. and again……..

Have you ever talked to the wind ????