A 'Septi' Pin Saga

The ubiquitous 'septi' pin, (written the way it is prounounced) in most Bengali households, found an indispensable position in the lives of middle class families and my grandparents' home, wasn't an exception. 

These simple septi pins made inroads into our everyday lives. You could find a bunch of shining septi pins  sitting  conspicuously within a small bowl or tray on the dressing table or lazing around carelessly, on study tables and glass or wooden shelves in the restroom. 

They found a place of pride along with the creams , hair clips, bangles and intricate vermilion holders; ones that seemed popular were holders with the carvings of ' Lokkhi thakur' ( Goddess Lakshmi), the fish or the elephant's head, each considered to be auspicious in our culture.

Then of course, you could find some septi pins enclosed in a tiny container and kept in the ' Thakur ghar' . These were kept aside for our ' Laddu Gopal's (infant Krishna) wardrobe.
What amused me was the versatility of the septi pins that ranged from miniature to finger length sizes. You could depend on these shining minions of steel for multiple activities , from fixing diapers to wardrobe malfunctions!

You could have a neighbor dropping in for tea and while he engaged in an animated discussion on Marxism or his appreciation for Bossa Nova , the eyes would invariably be drawn to his sling bag held together by a pair of septi pins. 

The average Bengali woman's obsession for starched cotton sarees that were pleated to perfection, lent the septi pin even more reason for reliable companionship. They dangled from gold bangles for ready use. ' Ay ! Amar septi pin gulo ke niyechhe ? ' (Hey! Who took my safety pins?)was a question heard too often. 

Some septi pins however, outlived their use , lying rusty and bent in less visible corners , but never discarded and while they were strewn with intentional carelessness, they waited; just in case they could be used for a rainy day!

Then, it was used by young creative minds in the household, looped together as  neck chains or  danglers for the ears. Simple and effective! There was no shame in using septi pins , they were essential to routine everyday life.

Such was the thought association with septi pins, that a house bereft of these seemed alien. Whoever invented the safety pin , couldn't have possibly imagined that it would weave itself into our cultural fabric. 

Septi pins are still found in our homes , perhaps not used as frequently as before but I can say with conviction that they're far from being redundant yet. They've seen generations go by and they've served  their purpose most effectively. They can still be found on dressing tables, alongside imported perfumes and sunglasses now..

The Devil

The devil awaits you
In the rising tides of vanity.
Sleep with open eyes
In your satin and silken couch.

The devil bathes you
In the slippery suds of insanity.
Do not tread
On reeds of humanity.

The devil nourishes you
In cold corridors of corruption.
Build not your castle
On curses and corpses.

The devil invites you
Into his sack of sloth.
Remind yourself
Of promises you made.

The devil urges you
To show affection to avarice.
But do not steal
A poor man's meal.

The devil guides you
To be a sauntering saprophyte.
Give credit to yourself
For not being a parasite.

The devil tempts you
With the incinerating inks of power.
Be kind to seek
Justice for the weak.

The devil tricks you
In hallowed halls of pride.
Look at the mirror
Of truth and reason.

The devil seduces you
With bright, beguiling lights.
Don't be fooled
With myopic treats.

The devil tosses you
On the wild waves of wrath.
Guide gently then
With wisdom and peace.

The devil draws you
Towards bloody brutality.
Take a long sip
From the cup of compassion.

The devil drags you
To treason and tyranny.
Do not quench your thirst
With mankind's blood.

Then the devil disappears
As judgement day arrives.
A plate full of karma and solitude
Is all that you have.

M.Neog
( Dew drops)

Child of the Mountains

Throbbing heart and trembling legs,
Soul stretching out again,
A rendezvous it begs,
So I rise, I ascend again.

For I know you rest at Eagle Peak,
And it is I who must come to seek,
Something tells me I know the way,
A blessed union in snow and rain.
So I rise, I ascend again.

Pounding heart and aching feet,
Face exposed to sleet,
Man and frost meet.
Then you send the mist my way,
So I rise, I ascend again.

Winds cutting through, air now thinner,
Heart pounding, legs trembling,
But you taught me to be a winner.
So I rise, I ascend again.

Fuzzy mind playing hopscotch,
With bursts of euphoria and melancholy,
Fighting back, breathing hard..
So I rise, I ascend again.

Lumbering through the countless bends,
Paths slushy and rugged,
Your presence in the magnolia blossoms,
Makes this trail blessed.
So I rise, I ascend again.

Lips blue, fingers stiff,
Throbbing heart and trembling legs,
I stop to ask, what if..
Yet the soul outstretched, begs
So I rise, I ascend again.

In loops and excruciating gradients, I find
Unabashed streams bathing ferns
Racing down a moss covered hill side.
So I rise, I ascend again.

A tragopan's song greets,
The frost trodden mountain feet
And my arrival to the summit.
Pain ceased, soul quenched,
With healing mountain mist.

So I kiss your feet,
And bring you love
From where you once belonged.
Days and nights I have longed,
For a union in the clouds above.

It may be long till I come again,
Heart pounding, legs trembling,
To meet you at Eagle Peak.
O mother of mothers ! I am but
A child of the mountains ..
So I shall rise, I shall ascend again.

M.Neog
( Dew drops)

I Am..

A tiny speck,
In your vastness..
A small spark,
In your myriad folds..
A conscious dream,
In your spectrum..
A shining droplet,
In your oceans..
A sharp gravel,
In your mighty mountains..
A drop of dew,
In your morning freshness..
A living atom,
In your unbiased embrace..
Finding refuge,
In your timelessness.

M.Neog
(Dew drops)

My City Bleeds

A hope filled sunrise
Bleeding city in a while
Steely nerves succumb to steel
All mangled, man and steel
Today my city bleeds.
Words of comfort, wads of cash
Heart rending cries
Neither can restore lost lives..
Darkness, pain and apathy
Gifts of corrupt policy
Today my city bleeds..
Lying helpless and pulverized
In an end, most undignified..
Hope, the only weapon
For the still breathing souls..
While the world sleeps,
Tonight, my city bleeds..

M.Neog
(Dew drops)

A Different Story

Did it cross your mind
Cross your mind ever
How that smirk felt
To someone very special
Someone different from you?
Did you ever care
To feel someone's joy
Or stop for a second
To feel that pain
Before you judged or condemned?
Did you ever listen to a whisper
Escaping twitching lips?
Someone different from you
In 'your' world
Has a story different from yours..
Of challenges and victories
In varying degrees..
Join the miniscule dots around you
To frame a soul
Until you feel the force..
The force of love
And then you will find
There was just one story
Read differently..

M. Neog
( Dew drops)

Mother

I've been harboring a strange feeling, one that's beyond description. It has shades of numbness, love, pain, courage, nostalgia and reconciliation, in random order and I do not know in which measure each of these resides within me. It has taken a year to unleash it.

I grew up with the notion that my mother was invincible, a strong woman, who was the driving force behind my strength, my actions and my convictions today.

From being a strict disciplinarian, to a guide and a dear friend, the metamorphosis of our relationship culminated in the deepest bond for eternity.

My visions of Ma as a teacher in a convent school are still so fresh. Ma was a fashion icon in my eyes. Impeccably dressed, she would drop me to school in the scooter and then go to work. Again, I'd be picked up by her after school and brought back home safely. Once, she was unusually late in picking me up. When she did come by , I learnt that her scooter had skidded off the road at a turn. She revved up despite the bruised elbows and bleeding knee because she knew that I'd be waiting. We didn't have cell phones then.

It was unbelievable, her commitment to work at school and at home. She would sit with a mountain of corrections and iron piles of clothes every day. Some divine strength enabled her to shift huge wooden boxes or climb up to the lofts for weekend cleaning.

I loved our outdoor meals under the winter sun, accompanying her to the market or while she supervised the manicured lawns with multiple flower beds. I cherish the music lessons she imparted, carol singing by the fireside, baking with her and many such priceless moments.

She was passionate about music. From ghazals to rock and roll, her repertoire was vast and versatile.
She cared deeply for her pets and other animals. Once, she treated an injured raven till it could resume it's flight. It came back to her even after that.

She will be remembered for her hospitality, her culinary prowess and most importantly, her rich velvety voice..
Looking back, I think her greatest strength was her ability to adapt to situations with ease. She could be scrubbing the house one moment and sprucing up for a party the next moment.
I really miss her sense of humour; at times I thought my head would fall off with laughter!

Nothing remains constant though..change is the only constant , as they say.
Two years ago, she was diagnosed with end stage renal failure. After that, her health started spiralling downwards with heartbreaking rapidity. I felt someone had just smashed my face against the wall and woken me up from a beautiful dream.
Visits to the ICU became too frequent and the condition became irreversible. At the age of 59, she was declared terminally ill..and the truth was irreconcilable.

She knew she would have to go but she fought back. She waited till she met the entire family during the last few days of her life. The ten days she spent in the ICU revealed her actual strength. Not once did she weep before us, despite the unspeakable pain. Every session of dialysis put further strain on an already weakened heart.

Dad stood through all this, stoically. He looked after the house, cooked, visited the ICU twice or thrice daily, stayed up long fearful nights either in the hospital or at home, hoping for a miracle. We still believed that she would pull through it like she had in the past. Time was slipping out and she was surviving on sheer will power. Her mental strength and agility baffled the doctors. It was during this phase that she would guide and instruct us on how we could manage  affairs in her absence..

She had always been meticulous- every thing from books to boxes, was labeled by her. Albums were arranged chronologically. All the files were up to date . Her life could be a lesson in planning and attention to detail.

She was allowed to come home, something that she yearned for towards the end of her hospital stay. The house had been the focus of her life. She did come home like a wounded soldier, in a special ambulance, on the 24th of September, 2014, albeit for a few hours only. She wanted to be impeccably dressed in her final departure, in her favorite red sari, painted nails and kohl lined eyes..her wish was fulfilled. She had told me , " Make sure that I go out in style.." Her words will never be forgotten and her voice will keep ringing in our ears.

It was Mahalaya, the advent of the goddess. Ma chose her time to leave us that evening, three hours after she had arrived home. The gates of heaven opened up for her . She had proved it again - she lived and let go on her own terms. That was the way she was..a mother who did not teach her children to weep ,but to fight back.

I don't know how essential it is to have an emotional outburst, but regard this as one, for the loss of my bravest and most beautiful mother.
May she never know what pain is in all her future lifetimes.
I am the daughter of such a brave woman and my grief cannot be measured by the tears I shed. My sister and I shall remain grateful to her for the courage she infused into us. Ritual grieving can never cease the pain or fill the void.

She said she would feel, see and breathe through her children. She loved the good life, and I'm making sure I live one, for her sake..