Monsoon, interrupted

Of late, I've been robbed of many of my favorite things - reading, blogging, watching the rain, to name a few. Thanks to work piling on heap upon heap, I've been away from my world for what seems like an eternity now. I tried, and not once, to come here and drop in a few lines, but every time the words would evade me. True, it's no fun editing academic stuff, because then all you are left with is finding flaws and correcting them. And it's supposed to stay so for a month more.
The only hints of newness that have stumbled across my way, other than one full day of sale-shopping madness, are these hues of green - the ubiquitous Hyderabadi haleem lacing the city roadsides in colourful, illuminated kiosks, and my potted palm that seems to be making most of the monsoons. At least someone's getting to enjoy the rains!

Garden stories

"To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow."

~ Audrey Hepburn

The balcony garden is shaping up well, albeit a little haphazard. Courtesy our regular visits to the nearest plant nursery, we've already choked half of the balcony with colourful tropical crotons. It was time we brought some hardy flowers to accompany the hibiscus and the rose, both of which, in the most conniving fashion, have morphed into show plants for sometime now. And so came along the red crown of thorns, and a riotous mix of orange and pink bougainvilleas. Now we have winged visitors inspecting the new additions all day - sometimes a lost butterfly flutters from pot to pot checking the traces of nectar, but the more regular ones are the thirsty pigeons who love to draw a sip or two from the muddy waters accumulated in the pot trays. Though I leave a bowl of clean water for them, earthiness is clearly their preference.
Then came the rains one day, a typical mid-summer downpour, much to everyone's relief. The patchy, dust-clad crotons celebrated the most perhaps, the fat drops washing the city's muck off their kaleidoscopic leaves. Who doesn't like to show a spot of true colour, eh?! The balcony soon became a palimpsest of colours - yellow, maroon, green, white.

Indoors, it's my new bamboo that draws all the eyes these days. Come evening, when the lamps are lit, the Buddha candle holder sitting next to it casts an enchanting shadow on the wall behind. As if Buddha himself has come to life! Serenaded by his composed figure looming large in the illuminated corner of the living room, life feels blessed. Surely, not a lot in the world that these small joys can't cure.

August blooms

"Many things grow in the garden that were never sown there."

~ Thomas Fuller

Little by little, inch by inch, the spaces in our new home are being adorned with meaning and life. With the rooms almost done and the last of our shipped boxes waiting to be unpacked, the settling part at least seems to be falling into place. I had kept the garden for the last, for it needs time and patience. Like all things that need love and nurturing do.
Now, I wish, and how desperately, that I had a real garden, one where I could dig into the dirt and let my soul lose in its intoxicating earthiness. But this is a city, or as my favorite cliche would convey it more beautifully, a concrete jungle. And all I have got is a rather huge rectangular balcony where toddlers could play cricket! But the abundant space does allow me to dream of a colorful little balcony garden with rusty, unpretentious terracotta pots. I intend to create a green, breathing pad that would provide a refreshing refuge from the din and decay of the dreary city life. So with the hibiscus, rose and marigold, I dream of painting my balcony with a carnival of colors.

And so August blooms, verb or noun, quite literally.

Old garden

"If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden."

~ Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

An old garden. A rickety, old chair sits amid a jungle of unkempt grass. Its frame veiled by a disheveled vine of common pea. The white star-like flowers light up the surrounding wilderness. Just a few steps away, clumps of pink bougainvillea adorn a rusted gate, crisscrossing homes and boundaries.
As the thunder clouds clap and roar in the distance, I wait for the dainty dance of rain. The garden commands my attention taking up a chunk of my lazy afternoon. A hint of symmetry in asymmetry, a sudden flash of beauty in waywardness. In this dazed, unsure state of life, this old garden inspires me to hope. And today I shall hope for the rain. Some rain.