Thursday, June 14, 2018

NEXT YEAR OF NO MANGOES


The Jadhavs have shifted to a new neighborhood. Their modest bungalow is supposed to make way for a multilevel apartment. Fortunes have changed overnight for the much deserving Jadhavs. Long live their ambition and long live their prayers for a good life. We are happy for them.

Jadhavs and we have been neighbors for almost twelve years. We saw their son grow up from a toddler to a teenager. Evolution has been an integral part for the Jadhavs, our locality and of course the neighborhood & ties we shared.

As news spread about the Jadhavs planning to make their bungalow available for demolition, real estate developers started queuing up at their doors. The Jadhavs must have rejoiced the opportunity of handpicking a developer, who promised to not only raze their bungalow but also flatten the existing piece of land. Apart from the deals, which were finalized on paper, the Jadhavs seemed to have made another deal. This one turned out to be of lethal nature.

Their property comprises three trees; the mango, the jackfruit and the Indian bael. Of all the trees, the mango tree has been a consistent favorite for many reasons. Year after year, we have consumed these mangoes; sometimes in secret and sometimes with due permission of the Jadhavs. We’ve spent many afternoons, staying sleepless, only to spot a mango drop and hop over it. Never did the mangoes betray our excitement of wanting to consume them more.


But as mentioned above, apart from the deals, which were finalized on paper, the Jadhavs seemed to have made another deal. This one turned out to be of lethal nature. According to this deal, the mango tree has to go and make way for the multilevel apartment. Mowing down of the mango tree means there will be a ‘next year of no mangoes’. In short, we will have to do away with all the emotions, we held for the mango tree.

In this situation, I am reminded of a song sung by Manna Dey in Bengali. In that song, the singer questions – when a human is murdered, the court decides upon a punishment; but when a rose is mutilated, who is supposed to convey the sentence to hold someone responsible. The felling of the mango tree is a depiction of human brutality on nature’s precious gifts.

Not many years back, I remember, Jadhav’s little one Yash coming down to our home and inviting us for a mango buying festival. He had collected all the mangoes, put it in a bamboo basket and was selling them. Every mango turned out to be sweet, juicy and worthy of repeat.

All these memories will remain unchanged. But what will not remain unchanged is the fate of that mango tree. For those, who took up the task of chopping the branches off, tearing the leaves apart and ripping the tree were ruthless in their act.

To conclude, tired people won’t ever get the chance to seek shelter beneath this tree. There will be no tree at all. All the adventures of spotting a mango will also draw to a painful end. As we progress with our life, we will be reminded of a mango tree, which stood here. We will choose to not forget about jackfruit. Maybe we will be reminded about the next year of no mangoes.

-Virtuous Vociferous | June 14 | June Blog-2 | 2018

Monday, June 04, 2018

PURNESH@PANCHGANI


Purnesh@Panchgani
The memories will never fade.

The photographs will find their way to the soft board.

The fireflies will continue flying between trees.

The temperatures will keep dropping.

I will untiringly travel back to Panchgani.
I will excitingly travel back to Panchgani.
I will repeatedly travel back to Panchgani.



Destinations, which echo in the mind, body and soul are where we should keep going back to rediscover ourselves. This is what, I, as Purnesh, a normal human being, minus all the pseudonyms thinks. This is what, I, as a writer, minus the titles of a creative director, a copywriter, an artist thinks. This is what, I, as an observant, minus the tags of a blogger, a hobbyist photographer, a fan of Instagram feeds thinks. The experience being so magical; I associate my name with the place, which moves something extremely deep within me. Just three days of stay, the third proper vacation, the second awesome accommodation at the hill station, leaves me with so much to ponder about, write for and continue imagining with.

Pouring in Panchgani
Little am I aware about the restaurant, which sounds like a pure vegetarian restaurant; they serve me the best chicken thali for lunch. My eyes try to stretch as far as the abyss of the valley is. The roof vibrates, the temperature drops, the blowing breeze turns extremely cold, the aroma of wet mud diffuses. The rains are here. The camera, lies unpacked in the hotel room; the mobile rings to rescue. The first glimpse of raindrops, in their full glory, make a straight entry into the memory card. The white car, parked just outside the restaurant now wears a shiny look; the heavy downpour has left it look like a new one, a renewed version of its old freshness. Once again, a confirmation, Purnesh@Panchgani; happy, thankful to self.

Excuse the limited but happy space
Only two cars are parked in the limited space that the hotel offers. Other guests join in; families, lovers, kids. None of them loud. Everyone aware about maintaining the serenity, sanity of this sleepy hill station, which is now busy soaking the rains. The texture of the water run, wet mud is worth a thousand more glances. The noon has turned cloudy again. The rains return to calm the valleys, which are losing out their patience to the scorching sun. The absence of an air condition doesn’t bother. Unfolding the blanket, I celebrate the short but satisfying afternoon siesta. Once again, an assurance, Purnesh@Panchgani; at ease, at peace with self.

Auto-focus to manual focus
For the first time in last five years, the camera shifts gears from auto-focus to manual focus. I as the hobbyist photographer chooses to go rapidly footloose; shoots curtains, windows, flowers, people, greens, doors, guests, kids, empty bottles of wine, a newly gifted coffee mug, lobbies, guests, birds, smoke, homes, hotels, dish antenna, raw mango, black cat. Every time, I release the shutter, a new story is revealed. Once again, an imagination, Purnesh@Panchgani; capturing, creating freely.

In company of the two varieties of wine 
Those two bottles of wine, Satori Tempranillo and Wonder Wyne (Apple Wine), add up to the splendid experience that Panchgani already is. I pour myself from both, raise a solo toast to myself; both are successful in giving me a high. I switch off the lights and the night takes over. Two stories keep me busy throughout the night, by appearing as dreams (sounds strange but true); the third one crawls in from a lost conversation in space. Once again, an inspiration, Purnesh@Panchgani; sleeping, dreaming.

The dinners are served; purely non vegetarian on the first night, purely vegetarian on the second night. Before the hunger pangs set in, stories make sure to engage. Stories about crabs, germs, ghosts, betrayal, deceit, backstabbing, conning, revenge, hatred, spirituality, reincarnation, realities. Once again, a delight, Purnesh@Panchgani; eating, relishing.

Fireflies fill the skies. The caretaker of the hotel mentions that they are common when it rains. He says, he is sure of seeing more in the coming nights. I smile at him. The smile makes him converse more about the owners of the hotel, his modest family, the kind of guests who keep checking in. I am staring up there between trees, up in the skies, into the open garden area and beyond; the fireflies are putting up a stunning show for me. Once again, a visual treat, Purnesh@Panchgani; spotting fireflies, expecting more fireflies.

Before I gear up to drive out of the hill station; sometime around 6 AM, the mind is racing back to the night before. A couple of candles after being lit, release an aroma, which fill the senses with innumerable desires. Someday I shall live them. Once again, a surety, Purnesh@Panchgani; seeking, telling.

Releasing the shutter
I take another turn. I am home. The day goes by. The evening disappears. The night takes over. I switch on the laptop to insert the memory card. A little window leads me to the folder of PANCHGANI JUNE 1 AND 2. I find myself. Standing solo, in front of a mirror, in the hotel room, releasing the shutter and a thought jumping out of my mind – Purnesh@Panchgani; ready to return again. Where else? But to Panchgani, for writing many sequels hereafter of Purnesh@Panchgani.

-Virtuous Vociferous | June 04 | June Blog-1 | 2018