The Persian

I woke up from a deep snooze with a feeling that a cat was watching me intently. I have a God given gift wherein I can and have slept off anywhere and everywhere without a second thought. I usually find myself wake up with people milling around me and me clutching my bag as if it’s going to be plundered.

I come awake on a train which I was on already so no surprises there. During that part of my life, I moved a lot on trains, buses, cycles and bikes. This journey was slightly different since I was seven months pregnant.

A little boy sat on the seat opposite me on the train. I had seen a similar cast of features, with the noble brow, magnolia clear skin, big but not protruding eyes, aquiline nose and strong jaw with a determined mouth to know this wasn’t an Indian. It was a face from the former land of Persia, or Iran.

I smiled, automatically. I said hi, to which the little boy nodded seriously and responded. He kept scrutinising me and told me, my stomach looked like a watermelon. It was weird but just that morning I had thought the same to myself while looking at my baby bump. Nothing could hide it, I didn’t try to hide it and entered rooms bump proudly leading the way. I ate whatever took my fancy, I slept and catnapped at random hours and in general did whatever everyone who came into my orbit told me. Not all of it was silly, a lot of it was smart stuff, and of course, people did mention that my bump would ride high or low depending on the baby’s gender.

So, both of us looked at the watermelon for a bit. I noticed my baby’s dad smoking near a door. He smiled and sent a thums up my way. I smiled back and noticed the Persian had noticed the interlude. He told me he had met the dad and asked me how old I was. I told him I was 21. He told me his brother was 21. He pointed to another part of the compartment, where two young men were sitting, watching us. He told me they were S and R. He was X. I told him, it’s interesting all of you are named after Persian kings. He smiled at me and said, that he lived in Pune, India. He also informed me, Persia was no longer Persia, it was Iran. His family had left Iran years ago and come to India. He was born in the port of Navsari and since he was the only one in the family who was born on Indian soil he was something special at home. I noticed his brothers’ slightly worried looks. Since he was probably only 10, I guessed the elder boys had gotten used to being default parents too.

I mean, they did try to call him back to their designated seats. But he was a natural born traveller and had gone to every part of the general compartment, he got shooed out of the first compartment since the TC recognised him. He had spoken to everyone around him in the adjoining seats and chosen to wait for me to wake up from my snooze so he could speak to me.

I was a bit surprised. I had been reading up Dr. Spock and speaking to mothers with little kids. They mentioned burping, poop colours, gas, and foods that I could feed the baby and how I must keep my schedule organised around the baby so my household didn’t fall apart. And yet surprisingly none of them mentioned what does one do if one’s child is naturally spirited. I idly wondered what X’s mom was like. Having a last baby who was as garrulous as this one must be wringing her out. Turned out he was allowed to rule the roost. His house was his kingdom and his mom pretty much let him have his way.

By now it was lunch time. My baby bump growled, loudly. Actually my stomach was guilty of that. But he was struck by this rumble. He told me, your watermelon is hungry. I grimaced. I hated feeling hungry. He told me we would go look for some food. I told him, we are not exactly wandering the Sahara, why are we foraging for food? It will come to us. He gave me a stern look. He recognised growling tummies, since he worked up a very healthy appetite. We walked to the pantry car where we weren’t allowed to be. He told them I was his friend and I was hungry and needed something at once.

We walked back with fried potatoes from the pantry. Silence followed since we were both very attentive to our snack. The compartment full of people waited for their designated meals, which we got too. X helped me finish mine and offered to finish french fries for his brothers who told him where to go in precise terms.

Later, my baby’s dad wanted to join me on the seat next to me. But X offered him his own seat with his brothers. Which was taken with a wry glance in my direction. Then we proceeded to have a random conversation, told each other stories, I listened to his opinion about everything under the sun and we reached the city of Pune.

As the station drew closer, both of us were silent. I guess he felt like I did, we were coming home. I had always marveled at the resilience of people who left homelands and went away to seek their fortunes across various parts of the world. But I guess if they were fearless and sweet like X, nothing would seem like a challenge.

Animal

I was on my way back from my first trip to the mountains. A month spent in pristine air, some times very little air and definitely very few people, apart from fellow trekkers. I’d been carried up impossible seeming roads on rickety buses and wondered what feat of willpower kept them together on the rocky road, for stable roads were few and far.

At every point were the valleys, the trees, the seemingly continuous mountain ranges and the sudden views of a chocolate layer cake mountain topped with ice and snow. It was very different from the last part of the trip, which was to a holy place seemingly at the roof of the world. Though, not really because there were higher points to access. At that height, it was white, black and silver. Even the trees didn’t bother with chlorophyll. They just survived. In craggy nooks, in slivers of earth in rocks. It was a place that seemed inhospitable but once there I found it difficult to leave.

I could understand someone crawling into a cave or grotto in such a place and living a life of austerity or actually rich abundance. On the way back, I picked some silver ferns, some lichens and petrified mushrooms from a much lower level as mementoes of my time out before returning to a city life where the daily commute may kill your soul much before you actually die.

The train was packed to the gills. The trekking group was divided up and I was given a seat by myself in a different compartment. By now after having seen so much natural bounty which was also incredibly powerful and survival of many species, I was feeling confident and top of my game. I’d been in the mountains. City life could not permeate my armor.

I put up my bag on the bunk above the single seat I was given and sat down and saw my co-passenger. She hadn’t been there a moment before. I won’t claim she appeared out of the blue, since this isn’t a ghost story. She wasn’t there one moment and the next moment she was and I noticed her. Simple, right?

So we exchanged pleasantaries and I found out she was traveling from the north, to my city, Pune. I was a bit surprised that she was travelling alone. She seemed like a home maker who hadn’t travelled much. Her clothes were of the rural belt, simple, traditional salwar kameez, a dupatta over her head and arms loaded with gold bangles. I wondered about her security, but it seemed, nobody would be able to get those bangles off if she didn’t want them taken.

A bit later, after the train was moving steadily and the journey was pretty much underway, she spoke. She asked me what I was doing. I told her I’d just finished graduation. I told her of my trip to the mountains. She was surprised that I had gone off to the mountains without a reason, as in not on a honeymoon. I asked her rather cheekily if that was the only reason. She replied, usually.

She went on to tell me about her daughter who was approximately my age, maybe younger who was married and had recently had a baby girl. She had been to the mountains for her honeymoon. She had returned to the city of Pune with her husband and his family and then there had been a long silence after that.

I wanted to ask for details, but I didn’t think I should rush it, besides who wants a conversation to turn into an interrogation? If anything were to be mentioned she would tell me. She proceeded with the story then. Her daughter called one day to tell her she was pregnant. She also told her mother quite matter of factly that her husband had left home. He had chosen to go to an ashram and become an inmate. His family had supported his decision to leave and offered her the option of staying with them or joining him at the ashram. She chose to stay at his house.

By now it was clear to me I had been given the broad details. I’d heard of this ashram and back then it was a gargantuan machine which seemed to swallow people up whole. At least that’s what I used to think prior to going to the mountains. Now I was not so sure. Since I wasn’t sure I could not make the usual noises expected in this particular situation. I waited for more.

Which came of course. A year or so later, her daughter called up again, telling her she had had a baby girl. Her mother was delighted and offered to come down and stay with her or bring her back home for a few days, but it wasn’t going to happen. She had been called as a courtesy. It was just a call, to let her know all was well, a baby was born…

Another phone call happened, just a bit earlier this time. When the baby would be around nine months old. The daughter called, her husband was dying. In fact, by the time her mother would get there, he would be dead. She asked her mother to come and fetch her and her baby girl. Her mother told her she could send her dad or brothers over. But her daughter simply said, no, you come. Only you.

We both sat in silence looking out of the common window our single seats shared. I wanted to say something…you know, wise, erudite, knowing, comforting, generic, platitude, but luckily for me it wasn’t something I could come up with. So I shut up and waited.

I heard her sniffle once or twice. A hand wearing gold bangles like a manacle lifted up to her face, the dupatta covering her head wiped at tears which had pooled at the corner of her eyes. I didn’t know if it was polite to watch her do this, I didn’t know if it was impolite to look away. Or should I smile sympathetically? That seemed like the creepiest thing to do, ever.

I asked her where she had to go. I offered to escort her there. She smiled sweetly and said, a vehicle would be sent for her. I asked who would be coming to pick her up. She said she was being picked up by the boy’s mother. I did not miss the irony of that…in fact suddenly my mind was working a breakneck speed and I could have told her everything about her life, the situations, the circumstances of it and why she and her daughter were in this predicament. And precisely because I knew with such certainty it seemed I knew nothing at all.

At the train station, we might as well have been strangers. She was cordial, and said goodbye before she was escorted off the train by a man who seemed like a family retainer. Her daughter’s mother-in-law stood at the gate of the station next to a monster truck or SUV…I stood back and watched, curious to see how this would play out. Would these two ladies acknowledge they were up shit creek and show each other compassion or would they just carry on and maybe be more compassionate that way?

It seemed that I may been in the abode of the king or lord of animals and birds, but the animals in the human metropolis would prevail. By definition, man is a social animal. There are qualities which being social confers, you can work better in large groups, you achieve greater success, you can distribute collateral damage over a vaster network and maybe reduce the sting of it. At that moment though man the animal had shown a very mundane and socially acceptable side which was barbaric and shocking and would be ignored.

ghosts of Christmas yet to come…

Disclaimer: No animals, birds, butterflies, angels or demons or humans were hurt while creating this piece. Any offence to any sentiments or value systems or highly developed outrage mechanisms is purely unintentional and definitely a sign of not having ‘woken’ up adequately.

This is a work of fiction…at least I hope so…

Location: Somewhere in an island city. Very specific home, which has french windows on both sides of the house, which opens to the east and the west. Balcony surrounding the house, filled with myriad often surprising plants. Minimal, in fact no furniture except for a very comfortable bed and a very solid work table which shows evidence of writing, painting and handicraft work. The house is perpetually filled with light, although in this particular moment it’s lit up by the light of a moody lantern and a few lamps here and there.

Silence abounds, except when it doesn’t. The preamble of the music leads to…

https://youtu.be/J123lM0RvzM?si=Cp59eMPI4gwsQDi5 (Heaven must be missing an angel by the Tavares)

Simmuli Melo: Hello, hello, hello! Welcome to present viewing of uncertain future. Angel is missing from heaven, she has landed on earth and now is going to do bhoot hoon main act for the behenji who lives in this house.

Annie: What nonsense, men. She’s not behenji. She’s my friend. And who are you? I am the angel for this job.

Simmuli Melo: You are angel, I am alive. Ha ha! I mean not alive, alive, but lively…no, not lively…live from backside of Mumbai…and I am a stuffed doggie.

Annie: I really have to read the fine print on my assignments. What they think, they can give me doggie partners or what?

Simmuli Melo: What doggie partner? I am not partner! I am full time emotional support device for young child, traumatised mental health issues wali mother and…any guest who needs entertainment in their household that only provides freshly cooked food at gunpoint.

Annie: No! That’s too harsh. Okay, so where is the the young child?

Simmuli Melo: She’s dancing queen.

https://youtu.be/l0MgG7-jWyc?si=jGEaLY0RDamyMxTx (dancing queen by Abba)

Annie: This is not dancing, men. This is English Kirtan.

Simmuli Melo: It’s power of the collective. Sing out of tune, sing the wrong line, maybe don’t even sing. But sing…so yes, I guess it is like aarti singing or hymn singing or bhajan kirtan. Oh God! My brain is having to work too much. I need to sit.

Simmul Melo flops down on the floor, since as mentioned before the house has no furniture. Angel Annie who is on a pale blue cloud snuggles in smugly. Simmuli Melo watcher her balefully and realises there’s no place for her on this version of cloud nine and picks up the conversational thread.

Simmuli Melo: So Annie, I knew mental mama when she was younger and fatter. How you know her?

Annie: I lived in the same building as her when she was younger and slimmer. I was old, back then. Well, a very bright old person, I think. But I was alone and we became friends. I liked her company and she liked mine.

Simmuli Melo: So, today program is Ghost of Christmas yet to come. You look young. You are not ghost, you are angel. Why are you here?

Mental Mama : (entering room with towel wrapped around her head) Because she is the only one I can think of when I think of my future. As an older lady.

Simmuli Melo (transfixed by the sight of Menntal Mama’s wrapped up head) : Okay. When do we get to unwrap you? Or the towel travels everywhere?

Annie: No, she’s probably taking one of her legendary head baths.

Simmuli Melo: Yes, I suppose there is more head than hair on it right now.

Mental Mama: Simmuli Melo, as always, your rudeness has transcended into stuffed toy heaven too, it seems. But as with a lot of people with no boundaries, you are partially right. My head doesn’t have much on it these days. What’s in it is hassling me more.

Simmuli Melo (speaking in what she mistakenly believes is a stage whisper): I could have sworn that even the inside of your head doesn’t have much in it…but who am I to say anything? Besides I have to try to be supportive, na?

Mental Mama: Oh there is plenty in my head! Some of which is stuff I am trying really hard to unload. Other stuff is very useful stuff, which I apply once in a while, more so now since I am all by myself and don’t encounter folks at every step who object to my thoughts, my application of my thoughts and my version of reality.

Annie: That’s pretty much why you’ve lived up to the title of mental mama in this piece…

Mental Mama: Yep.

Simmuli Melo: So, tell me, Mental Mama are you glad to see me?

Mental Mama: Yes. I remember the first time we met. You promptly declared yourself married to our stuffed tiger Sheru and put him through agonising despair.

Simmuli Melo: How sweet of you to remember! Sad he lost his insides in that washing machine you insisted on putting him in. Why did you do that, why?

Mental Mama: My sympathies, but I have to wash clothes, stuffed animals, and emotional support companions in a washing machine once every few years.

Annie: No, men. Just put dust cover on them. It’s okay. Why to wash?

Mental Mama: Dry clean?

Annie: Too expensive.

Simmuli Melo: And now, back to me again. So how did I help you to find your mental bliss, peace, solace?

Mental Mama: Well, you helped me by allowing me to say the rudest things ever, as said by you, (Simmuli says) and being snide, snarky and wickedly funny, while at the same time not saying them as myself.

Simmuli Melo: Ah like talking bear Ted?

Mental Mama: Yes, in a way. You were the voice the turmoil in my head chose to express itself. Annie, so who sent you? Don’t you have a message for me? And don’t you have to deliver it silently like the ghost who met Ebenezer Scrooge?

Annie: No, these days ghostly encounters have to have a lot of talking involved. You could misunderstand, re.

Mental Mama: Misunderstand what? You don’t look like Annie when I knew her, you’re much younger, but your voice and your value system is still the same.

Annie: No, no, it’s like that only now. No more silent ghosts. They have to talk, express themselves and convey the message to the person they visit. No grey area ,anymore… Keep it black or white…

https://youtu.be/F2AitTPI5U0?si=YyP28S2RhQ61-rBM

Simmuli Melo: Black or white? Now there’s black, white, brown, coffee milk, and honorary tiger too! People say they are LGBTQIA+…Black and white is basic!

Mental Mama: Probably, and a lot of us are going back to the basics by saying out loud who they are, what they believe in and not wanting to ‘integrate’ or be more palatable or acceptable. They can be themselves.

Annie: So you chose to be yourself too and have mental health issues now?

Mental Mama: I’ve always suspected I had them. It’s just that beginning the second innings makes it more difficult to lie. in fact you don’t need to lie about yourself and your place in the world anymore. No need to be a square peg in a round whole or marketable. There is only one option. Take a good hard look at oneself and start working on that raw material. By the time I kick the bucket, hopefully something good may come out of this particular life in this part of the multiverse.

Simmula Melo: Achha, what you are doing in another part of multiverse?

Mental Mama: I am driving a train across Saturn. I am growing potatoes on Neptune. I am…

Simmuli Melo: Bas! Whose idea is multiverse? Haan? Tell me now.

Annie: Yeah men, every film of Spiderman has multiverse only. And that Michelle Eoh…

Mental Mama: Yeoh.

Simmuli Melo: Yahoo!

Annie: Yes, that one only, men. So from where this multiverse thing came? https://youtu.be/Ugyrzr5Ds8o?si=9HwKaheKMBHKhbvz

Mental Mama: I think, this multiverse thing is within us, since we think of ourselves in terms of our own lives, what our lives were, how they could be and how they will be. Problem is, when you’re facing what will be as something that will soon be a present day reality there’s little wiggle room. Say if you have the chance to make something great in your life happen, all you have to do is overcome your own mental blocks, would you do that? And when you do that what will you do?

Annie: You breathe.

Simmuli Melo: (drawing deep noisy breath) Yes, good idea. Take past into present and let it become future. Keep breathing so future can be breathable present and turn into past. And then keep breathing even after that…

Mental Mama: Till you stop breathing? I watched my dog do that, a few months ago. All his life concentrated into the last few rattling breaths he took. I can say I have never felt so present in a moment and yet I wished I didn’t have to be there. I kept thinking his death would set me free, it didn’t. It left me with a lot of grief which came from pure love, and I could not push it away by saying that the object of my affection didn’t deserve it. If anything he deserved all the love in the world and I wish I were capable of giving it to him…

Simmuli Melo: Hello, hello! Welcome back to Simmuli Says, and I am your ghostly host with the most…viewers, influences, likes, shares, subscribers. This moment is a very emotional genuine pyaar se bhara moment and I invite you to share with me the sight of an unearthly angel Annie sitting on her rapidly melting cloud nine, trying to hug mental mama who is crying her eyes out and having a hot flush at the same time. So for all those who wish to remix this moment, mujhe tag karo phir jo kuchh karna hai karo!

Mental Mama (laughing through sweat and tears): You realise your insanity is very inspiring to me, don’t you?

Simmuli Melo: Why re? You’re perfeclty capable of having mental meltdown as we all know. I remember one part of your life when ‘bhenchod’ appeared in all your sentences like a comma or even a full stop.

Mental Mama: Yes, that was a very profane period of my life.

Simmuli Melo: You want 5 minutes of therapy for that?

Mental Mama: I believe it was part of my aggrieved entitlement. I felt I had been through so much in terms of bad childhood, I was assured of a great youth with fabulous success tagged on as a perk.

Annie: Nice idea, men. But you only get as much as you can handle, no?

Mental Mama: I believe that is correct.

Simmuli Melo: Just imagine, you got to handle me! Such a privilege.

Mental Mama: Actually all of it…right now I am only grateful.

Annie: Well, so my job is done.

Simmuli Melo: Job? All you did was sit on the cloud and comment once in a while. What you did?

Annie: Simmuli, ghosts of Christmas yet to come have been contract bound to keeping their pieholes shut most of the time. Just seeing them makes people nostalgic, and introspective. The idea is for them to engage themselves. Find out what’s wrong within and heal it.

Simmuli Melo: Arre…if you told me my pie hole would be filled I would have asked mental mama for pie. Can she give me some? Can you, mental mama?

Mental Mama: Sorry, I am sublimating my feeling through art and writing right now. I no longer eat them.

Simmuli Melo (thunderstruck that a new item has appeared on the menu): Eating feelings? Who does that? Why wasn’t I told it can be done? I have so many feelings! I want to eat them all! What I have been missing on…taste of life, taste of Simmuli Melo’s mind…

Annie: I think, readers should be warned that Simmuli Melo is building up to her own Youtube Channel called Simmuli Says.

Mental Mama: Oh God. No. God help those who actually start hailing her as a new age voice of reason.

Annie: Anything can happen, you know. But as she has said, keep breathing is always good advice. See you, mental mama.

Endpiece: The view from the sea shows mental mama in bed huddled under a couple of razais, Annie floating away on cloud nine and Simmuli Melo settling into her new ride, a rocket captained by Flash Gordon, her latest husband in a long line of significant others.

https://youtu.be/x0NVb25p1oU?si=vyryuSKFRSmYGx4U

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