My good friend Brian, who has a cameo appearance in my short story ‘looking for a home’ also sent a kind thoughtful poem on Manjula’s second death anniversary.
“remember
we rediscover
step by step
the world you showed me
and remember my hand
is in your hand still
and remember my body
is the hammock of your presence
think of this—love ends
where the void begins
and we pierce the void together.”
Michele Najlis
From the poem A Fernando
On this second anniversary of Manjula slipping away to continue her journey, friends have continued their Kind support.
This from a thoughtful friend in Mumbai
Through the doors in your eyes
I formed my sweet little home
When you left
This life became homeless
The shade of your tresses
Is now not in my destiny
The melody of your dainty feet
Is now not in my destiny
The echo of your laughter
Is no longer here
The fragrance of your aura
Is no longer here
When I think about you
Your thoughts are all that remain in this life
Your memory is what makes me complete the cycle of
Each breath. Each moment. Each day.
You just floated away
Leaving me at the crossroads of life
I remain there stranded
Longing for your return
Neither did you know
Nor did I
That this was all the time that we could get together
In this lifetime
May you be happy in your new world
That is my only wish
With the hope that one day
I will join you once again
In your loving embrace
With you, hand in hand
In that new world.
from Amargani
Thank you, Stephen
and in its original form in Hindi
तेरे नैनों के द्वार से
मुझे एक आशियाना मिला था
तू जब चली गयी
ये ज़िंदगानी बेगानी सी हो गयी
तेरे झुल्फों की चाऊँ
मेरे नसीब में अब नहीं
तेरे चंचल पाऊँ की आहट
अब मेरे नसीब में नहीं
तेरे हँसी की छाया
अब इधर तोह नहीं
तेरे पवन की ख़ुश्बू
अब इधर तो नहीं
तेरी जब याद आये
इस बाकि के ज़िंदगानी में
बस याद तेरी मुझे पार कराये
हर पल। हर सांस। हर दिन
तू जो चल पड़ी
चौराहे पे मुझ को छोड़ कर
मैं बस खड़ा रह गया
तेरी राह देख कर
ना तूने जाना ना मैंने
बस इतना ही साथ था हमारा
इस संसार में
तू खुश रहे अपनी नयी दुनिया में
मेरी बस ये एक तमन्ना है
पर आशा यह है की
मैं फिर से सेहलाऊँगा
तुम्हारी बाहों में
तुम्हारे साथ, हाथ में हाथ
उस नयी दुनिया में
Sowbaghya did a wonderful job helping us remember MAnjula with assistance from Satish and Tanuja and guests, all friends of MAnjula.
Finally providing food on the roof for the crows who just might be Manjula’s soul looking for food on her journey to finding a new body.
We need to cover all bases, in case she hadn’t found a new home, as yet.
Remembering MAnjula who continues giving.
Sowbaghya and I visited the home for elders to sponsor their meals on the 23rd March on the anniversary of Manjula’s soul flying away.
It was a hoot. SB and I misplaced each other before arriving. Then there was the checking Aadhaar (ID) cards, completing the receipt, and at the last moment remembering to write to confirm it was in Manjula’s remembrance.
The guys remembered and others joined in recalling me cycling in the grounds with the giant picture of MAnjula, a year ago on the anniversary of her death.
I promised to return for her birthday in August. We all laughed and joked, very entertaining but I wonder what they really think.
Sowbaghya is preparing for today’s memories of Manjula.
Just two weeks ago I approached the City Corporation for permission to site the garden, the permission letter is ‘in the post.’ 🙃
I had my vaccination a week ago and my fauci mycrosoft implant doesn’t seem to be working.
As I get older and more confused I’ve decided I need one so my sons in London and Vancouver can keep track.
Had it inserted into my bone today and the false tooth will be in place soon. This African model includes a microphone as well as the tracking device.
is proving to be quite a challenge, partly as there is a
“paradox at the heart of the enterprise, the inevitable tension between the distance required for apprehension — for a perspective to emerge in which events can find their proper place — and the pressured immediacy of vivid narrative.” from The Art of Time in Memoir by Sven Birkets.
It’s telling a story when the trauma, the wound of: Manjula’s death, the circumstances leading up to it, the wider context and my powerlessness to act on what was happening is still very much with me and therefore makes it harsh and tender by turns. It’s necessary but hard, so the telling of the tale doesn’t progress at a speed or in ways that I’d like..
It’s about knowing when to focus-in the lens and when to pull back, with both “experience tasted and experience digested.”
In addition, I’m having to write in proper English with the handicap that I’m from Yorkshire.
Manjula, still with me, gently sighs, as she’s seen it all before.
Sowbhagya says when I feel sad and I come here I feel so happy.
This book shares what MAnjula and I thought and reflects what we wanted in our home and life.
Thank you MAnjula.
This book is now in Manjula’s library.
“A pair of silver anklets poured out. He lifted them against the cheek of the evening sky and he shook them to unspool their rhythmic zhan-zhan-zhan. ‘Take them with you,’ was all she said. Years later he realised what she had really given him. The sound of her feet. The preface to her movements.
As I’m now officially a writer. Ha ha. Well I have pen and a blank sheet of paper.
I spend time reading with two perspectives: firstly as the reader, I always was, appreciating the journey I’m being taken on and secondly realising more about how the writer has created and revealed their story.
I quote another book to help reveal why I like the one above.
“This feeling resonated in me. It was the resonance that had lingered on, exactly as it does when the last page is turned of a book which reaches the heart.”
I want Manjula and my story to reach the heart as it did for me.
Me and MYCycle 