Autumn and Adelaide

Its autumn in Adelaide. The streets and sidewalks are covered with layers of dry leaves that fly and flutter around as they fall out of favour from the trees that are found in abundance in every nook and turn of this quiet city- that its natives like to call – the city of festival, with a hint of pride in the way they say it.

 

One of these days, you might get burnt in the sun consequently leading sudden appearance of small red spots on your face or you might get completely drowned in the heavy rain that will promise to give you seven successive sneezes, owing to the erratic weather, whose mood swings more than a woman with PMS. Of course, no one can win over London when it comes to the anxious weather but for the moment, Adelaide is London enough for me as I haven’t been to London yet.

 

I carry my umbrella and my sun glasses wherever I go. These days, I also never forget to put my long scarf and the sunscreen cream in my bag before I leave home. The stuffs that fill my hand bag are ironic to each other and if they were to be living beings, they would have in no way tolerated the presence of their anti-being. And yes, suppose, just suppose- If you were to judge me by the things I carry in my bag, you could very much conclude of me being a bit on the crazier part of life. But I’m not. Dude I live in Adelaide and its Autumn.

 

Adelaide is definitely not the most summery and springy city on earth and by that I mean it is not a very vibrant and lively place to see, from a position where I am in right now. In fact its quite the opposite. Adelaide is just like autumn. Its quiet, its streets are empty. In the residential areas, you will probably have to bring your lunch and sit for the whole afternoon in a round about or a pavement bench munching away, to glimpse more than 30 pedestrians in the street, discounting yourself.

 

There aren’t many tall buildings in Adelaide, save for a half dozen in the main city square. The city square begs to differ from other major cities of Australia by remaining polite, firm and simple to every single person that comes to it, with a hope of future.

 

Adelaide’s traffic isn’t that bad yet. It doesn’t gobble up your valuable hours and half an hours when you are on your way to a job interview, an important meeting or a window shopping at Rundle Mall with a mate. The number of cars on the road look just fine, fine enough to be safe enough while driving.

 

As you pass by a stranger in a street, in a park or any touristic place, they say ‘Hello’ to you with a smile that looks very obvious and natural for some reason. In fact this is the first thing I learnt in Adelaide.

 

My friends and relatives sometimes ask me about the shopping stores and fashion trend in Adelaide and also about other Nepalese here. My reply to their first concern would be that there are lots of stores boasting enormous amounts of clothes, shoes, bags, accessories and technology and what not, mostly manufactured in China. Some are made in Australia and some are made in anonymous places. The clothes( I am talking about women’s) can be found of every possible colour and design. At times, it takes me more than a minute to figure out what kind of cloth is it that I am looking at and how am I supposed to wear it and with what and where and so on?

 

There are clothes with never seen before size of holes, cut outs and missing parts(the design might have been intentional but count that one assuming I am a fashion dumb ) at unexpected places and people are seen flaunting them with so much ease and attitude. But despite the minimalistic and well, unusual designs, they don’t look even a bit of vulgar, to me at least. They dress down themselves so well to an elegant level even in a dress that threatens to carry all the stars of the universe. Even the clothes know they are in adelaide and they are always in love with aura of autumn that is intertwined with the spirit of this Adelaide no matter which time of year they get shipped into this city. They all are so subtle and simple.

 

Now about the second concern of my beloveds, I haven’t met any Nepali as of yet except for few whom I knew even before I footed on this South Australian capital some three months ago. They say, there are around 5000 Nepalese in Adelaide but I haven’t met even a single person. Thats strange. Why is everyone quiet and restful like Autumn?

 

 

Little by little

Little by little

breath by breath

I learn to be tender

like a perfectly cooked mushroom in soy sauce

in a hot summer day by the window of a small kitchen 

that overlooks a dry patch without any green on earth

I run to be soluble

and get diluted in the sea of salt

of sharks and sea shells

like no other

I move to the himalayas 

that proudly flaunts the 

footstep marks of a yeti that never existed 

and there and then I gather myself to freeze 

just enough to remain firm and not flow

but not too dry

that I cant even look up at the sky

when the clouds collide with a bang

and throw up some rain down under

I can grow tall

as tall as the coconut tree 

in the sand

in the driest of all places

and perhaps

bear few fruits of happiness

Little by little

I cursed you

No,

I said No

but you moved ahead with your play

your plans and your prey

I , the prey

you induced me into your food

and submerged me in your hunger

like a monster would

and you filled your belly with my soul

and poured the water of my tears on your lips

to dry up your bewildering thirst

in the name of your own salvation

in the name of god

I was watching you

When the sun of lust rose beneath the earth

and over the human sanity and consciousness

you had me again

piece by piece

inch by inch

counquering them , counting them all

in your cruel fingers

you laughed

you hicupped

and you went to sleep right in front of me and my eyes all naked

you woke up next morning

you put on your mask and your smile

and went to the god

to pray, to wish and demand for more

more of me, more like me

and that moment I cursed that god

I cursed you

in a sweeping corner of my deserted mind

for you to die of eating too much,

drinking too much

and praying just too much

Far away

Its 11 in the night

My bones ache from the long day’s work

The intermingling networks of spider web right above where I sleep

don’t deter me an inch

from curling my back towards the dark corner

and tucking my head into the pillow covered with dust

As I swim through a sea of nostalgia

I realize I like the smell of dust

Because I know

the dust smells like my mother, the dust smells like my father

the dust smells anything but my home

my home far away in a small village

But I also know

I will never get to smell them but this dust on these lonely nights

Its 12 in the night

Sleepless

A pair of wide open eyes

Its 2 in the night

The lice, the mosquitoes and the cockroaches slowly creep into my bed sheet

to sit close with me like no one else does

I look out of the small window

outside, up above in the dark sky

the moon is full and bright

I realize I like moon

because I now

the moon looks like my sister

fair and round, smiling, looking at me as if to say something,

perhaps call me Didi

but I also know the moon is far away just like my sister, just like my village

and I will never reach them again

not in this life

Its 3 in the night

Deep sleep

Silence.

Its 5 in the morning

The birds chirp, the wind blows gently and I wake up and shiver a bit

the morning cold, the dizziness

the worn-out feeling of sleeplessness

don’t deter me from getting up, push my bed sheet aside

and get out of the shallow corner that they call my room

the kitchen, the toilets, the garden, the bedrooms

the study room, the sitting room

and all other rooms with fancy names,

they all are desperately waiting to be sweeped, cleaned, decorated by me

and occupied by the people of this family

but they are not my family

they all smell different

they all look different

and they like to call me Kanchhi knowing that it is not my name

I realize I like my own name and not what they gave me

because I know

my name makes me feel close to my family who live far away in a village

But I also know

I will never hear them call my name again

never

Its 11 in the morning

Cooking, washing and cleaning

and then comes a little food, left over from yesterday.

Its 3 in the afternoon

Work

More work

but the food doesn’t come.

Its 6 in the evening

Cooking, washing and cleaning

and then comes a little food, left over from the morning

Its 11 in the night

My bones ache from the day’s work

Your House

The rusting iron railings on the verandah

Getting old and shaky in your absence

The grimy glasses on the window frame

Lying with layers of dust unattended

The dying rose plant that you planted in the garden

That only has sharp thorns

And the fading color on the wall

Gathering dark green patches at the bottom

This is how your house looks like

Where you once lived with so much joy

The house has surfaced many seasons of pain

Without you, many summers, winters and rain

The road leading to your house

is just as muddy as it was before

The skyscrapers have emerged all around

And the sky has shrunk above the house

making it look smaller and gloomier than ever

like it has lost its soul and become lifeless

Except that there is another tenant in your place

I don’t feel the same for the house now

Strange and mysterious, it appears to me

We’ve had our good memories there and some bad too

But it’s a pity, a shame to see the house in such a state

Sometimes I think

Is it possible for you to move back to that house again?

Un-living

I don’t live a life here

It is too tricky to breathe

Constant

Evaporating thoughts from my mind

Cold

Stubborn feelings

My heart can only bleed

And a full blindness in what I see

The stagnant senses

And the ruminating vagueness in my expressions

I fail to indentify a friend

A stranger had never been this strange

In the lost world

I am succumbing to my misery

And you lay there

Unknown of what I go through

And what I have become

Come back once again

 

 

Come

Come after the sunset

Come after the sunshine

Come whenever you have time

but also come eve when you dont’.

My Lost Sister

The frizzly hair

And a pair of sleepy eyes beneath the thick glasses

gracing up your pretty little face,

with the cute braces-adorned teeth

carrying a back-pack,

and walking in the streets with that carefree air

This is what I remember of you as a child

my sister

and after so many nights,

last night,

after running into you at Durbar Marg

as an almost stranger

on high heels, red lips and a tight fitting lbd

and that blond silky straight hair almost covering your made-up face.

I try to remember and forget

how awkwardly you averted your eyes from my sight

Oh what have u become out of that little innocent girl ?

my sister,

what has your life become since those good old days?

I wont come back…..

It is getting dark in here mama

No candle, no torch and no cigarettes

I can barely see anything around

All I’ve got is a dim moonlight

But I won’t come back home tonight mama

I won’t come back

 

It is getting cold in here mama

No blankets, no jackets and no firewood

I can barely stand on my shivering feet

All I’ve got is a thin shawl around me

But I am going to stick to my choice mama

I feel much better here

 

I am getting really hungry

No rice, No dal and no curry

I can hear my tummy’s desperate cries

All I’ve got is some fresh grass lying around

They don’t smell that bad mama

I think I can feed on them tonight

And all the following nights

A Cup Of Tea

a cup of tea on my table

a cup of tea I savoured in hustle

a cup of tea that I spilled on your shirt

a cup of tea that’s 5 rupee worth

a cup of tea that got really cold

a cup of tea and its story untold

a cup of tea that I never had

a cup of tea that tasted bad

a cup of tea that you made

and a cup of tea that we shared

and a cup of tea that we shared