Hello dearest Reader,
March is marching past us briskly. The festival which is closest to my heart splashed us with colours and euphoria. India, at least the northern parts celebrated Holi with joy under the blazing sun. Heat is at a different level this time of the year. At least Mumbai was reeling under it’s assault.
I on the other hand played Holi early this year - in Feb, when I visited Barsana. When the actual day of festivities arrived in March, I was down with a severe viral infection. Cough, cold, antibiotics and deadly weakness stopped me from playing with colours the way I do. I had an inkling in Barsana, that this year I would be usurped by the One who coloured me first and He will ensure that I play with no one else. I restricted myself to my home and played with flower petals with my folks. One two legged and the other four. Sneezing and sniffling.
But March was also about family reunion. We had a marriage in the house. And the family I got married to, gathered together in Kolkata to celebrate the newest union. My Thakurpo (brother-in-law) got hitched and our women clan got another of their kind. It was such fun to meet everyone, gorge on Bengali traditional delicacies and deck up like a chandelier in its full glow. Every thing was over the top but it was the vibe of the occasion. The saree I wore, was the one I wore when I got married to the House of Hariths (Gotro-clan). It evoked nostalgia, reminded me of decisions taken decades back and made me misty to see another girl walking the same path.
You know these are occasions where you think of the roads not taken, but also are reminded of the beauty of the journey undertaken. The lessons learnt, the relationships forged, the tears shed and the laughters shared. It reminds you of the responsibilities you shoulder, and those that you pass on. The family stories that were shared with you, the recipes which were handed over, family gossips, and the hallowed family legends - grandmother in laws and grand pa in laws and their chronicles. It was like a gossamer thread binding us all.
If you see the picture above, you’d see it’s all the women who got married to this family and some born to this but got married to others (or will be) in one frame. It was a surreal feeling to see that all these ladies nurtured this family as their own. Traditions were woven and facts became lores as these women passed on the baton of values and the essence of this clan to every new entrant.
New relationships were formed. First time my newest sister in law called me Boro boudi (eldest sister in law), and I realised that I have become a part of the fabric of this clan in the last twenty years. My aunts in laws, my sister in laws, my mother in law ( how much I missed the presence of Thama, Kutti Thama and Chini Thama - grandma in laws) a merry jumble in this delicious concoction. And I realised how women not only stand as pillars of the past, they shoulder the present and nurture the future. And I somehow have become a part of this huge jigsaw - married to the eldest of the eldest, becoming boro bou of a generation.As I returned back to Mumbai, I was filled to the brim with joy and love.
Ending this letter with a lore from Vrindavan It is said, when you’re coloured in black (the colour of Krishna) no other colour can touch you. I have started understanding the truest essence of that expression. I am no super human. There are times I feel tired, exhausted to the bone, worried sick, or outright lazy. But something is shifting within. A love of a deeper kind, a joy which is not skin deep but soaks your soul, an urge which shakes your existence - is slowly creeping and often catching me unaware. I am watching it as stealthily as it is approaching me. I’m waiting patiently for it’s embrace.
Wishing that all the colours of this world grace your life. May you feel the completeness of being part of the larger fabric of the universe . Till another story….good bye.
Always yours,
Pocket full of life
