Category: Capturing a memory (Page 2 of 2)

Finding Home

May 7, 2018 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

The sun shone brightly, hovering in the clear sky. It was just 9 am but the heat made it feel as if it was noon. Determined to ride for another half an hour I pedaled on. I was riding from Phuket to a town called Phang Nga.
I had taken this route a few days ago to reach Phuket. That ride was made special by this woman who made the most lovingly prepared meal I had eaten in Thailand.
Today, as I was on the same road, I wished to stop to see her again and eat her food.
However, it is tricky to spot a little shop that you only vaguely remember. My inability to read Thai made it even more difficult to find her shop.
I moved on slowly, battling the sun’s ire.

At one moment, I just had a feeling that she was close by. I looked around and saw a little shop that could be hers.
I took a U-Turn and approached the shop.

And I found her, sitting on a chair with her cheeks resting on her palm.

She smiled with inexplicable delight.
It seemed as if she was already expecting me. Maybe she had seen me pass by across the road and knew I would make a U-turn and come to her.

I gestured to the eggs, rice and mortar and pestle to remind her of what she had made for me a few days ago.

‘Ok Ok’ she said smilingly.

I was brought a cold glass of water by her daughter. The table-fan was turned towards me. I eased myself as if I had reached home. Nonchalantly I plugged in
my phone to charge.

Within minutes, I had her signature fried rice in front of me. I prayed for her well being and ate to my heart’s content. Halfway through I asked her if she can make me another one to take with me.

She gladly agreed and got working.
I don’t recall seeing anyone cook with so much love for an absolute stranger.
Soon, I had the take away pack with me.
I quickly rose to get my Polaroid camera.

I asked her if I could take a picture of her and her daughter.
And that feminine blush that signals an affirmative surfaced on her face!

I clicked a picture and left it with them.
I felt so at home that I no longer felt there was a transaction involved.
As I got up to leave, I remembered that I hadn’t paid for the meal.
I paid them 60 Baht as they curiously stared at the photograph.

Just before I got on my bike, the daughter came running to me with a Thai orange. I accepted it happily and moved on.

I had seen Thai oranges in markets many times. They look a bit shriveled up as compared to Oranges back in India. I was never interested to try them. But today I had one with me.
I tasted it, only to be blown away by the flavour. It leans more to the sweeter side than citrus. It was a phenomenal experience.

I am sitting with the peel of orange in my hand, smiling.
I wonder how I could just sense that the lady’s shop was nearby.
How she knew I would take a U turn and come to eat at her place?
And why I felt so at home in her little shop?

I realized that a home is not just a physical location. It is a place where someone is waiting for you expectantly.
Today, I found a little home in a foreign land.
A home I might never come back to again,
But I’ve leased out a place in my heart for it.

Replenishing Nostalgia

April 27, 2018 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

Meeting your old school friends is a special experience, isn’t it?
One of the reasons why we share such a special bond with them is because many of the significant ‘firsts’ in our life happened in their presence. That first crush, first night out, bunking a lecture for the first time, shoplifting, and that heartbreak you thought would pain you your whole life.
The list can go on and on.

Most often when we meet our old friends, we have so many memories to reminisce that we keep talking about the good old times for hours on end.
And since we meet only briefly for lack of time and physical proximity, the little time together is just enough to let nostalgia take over us.
In the presence of old friends we discover where we come from and who we truly are. It’s something you cannot expect from friends you meet later in your life.

But there is an issue with the premise of meeting old friends. The brief time we meet for barely gives us time to create new memories. Still drowning in the warmth of nostalgia, we seldom find time to do something new together.
Shouldn’t we be creating fresh memories so that we keep feeding the nostalgia box?
Or would we still be reminiscing the same good old days all our lives?

To have memorable friendships early on in life is a gift. It is one of the most resilient bonds in human relationships.
I believe there should be a steady pursuit among old friends to create things together in the new reality we live in.
Technology has enabled us to connect and collaborate in wizardly ways.

Among old friends, the collective expertise of a diverse background should be harnessed to cultivate a fresh playground, the new-old school, a supportive environment that enables us to thrive like a rainforest.

The choice of activity can vary from person to person. For instance, I choose to write handwritten letters to my friends in this day and age. And we question, challenge, educate and inspire each other with each letter exchange.
The choice of engagement is in our hands depending on mutual interests.

Friends must always strive to make fresh memories, collaborate, create stuff and go through challenging experiences together. That’s when things can go wrong. And that’s how the best memories are made.
There are many ‘first’ yet to be experienced together if we choose to imagine the possibilities.
And that’s how we can keep feeding the nostalgia box.

In the interest of creating newer stories today, so that they can serve as nostalgia of the future.

Imagine.

Begin.

The Best Position

April 26, 2018 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

A little boy and his father were walking down the road home. The boy’s shoulders were weighed down by disappointment.
His shoes were covered in a layer of dust after the sports day proceedings in school. He dragged his feet along wearing a dejected look on his face. The proud father put his hand around his son and patted in a consolatory manner.

‘What’s the matter Son?’

‘Nothing dad. I am just a bit disappointed.’

‘About what my boy?’

‘ Well, because I couldn’t get the best position in the 100 meter race.’

The father smiled. And asked,

‘What happened in the race?’

‘As soon as I heard the gunshot, I started running. I was behind three other runners. But one of them tripped and fell down. So I stopped to help him get up. I started running again as soon as I could.
But by then I was trailing behind four other kids. I could barely overtake one of the runners. And I missed out on being on the podium position.’

Consolingly his father ruffled his hair and asked,
‘Son, What’s the best position to be in?’

‘ The first position dad? The Gold medal position !’

The father looked into his son’s eyes and explained,
‘For me, the best position
Is to be in a position to help.
You chose to help a friend stand up and run again.
At that moment, you might have lost a few seconds, lost the race,
But you won the hearts of everyone witnessing the incident.’

The boy looked at his father and smiled without abandon.

‘I’m proud of you son. You’ve taught so many people a wonderful lesson by your compassionate action’

With an uplifted spirit he replied,
‘I will always strive to help when I can dad.’

‘But not in an examination okay !’ joked his father.

Both Father and son walked smilingly towards the ice cream shop to celebrate.
They bought three ice creams.
Two to eat, one to share.

Indeed,
What a position to be in.
To be able to be of help!

The Eternal Journey

April 23, 2018 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

Shafts of sunbeams shine through the roof of an open wooden hut. As I enter the hut gingerly I see a little girl in a pink frock,
wonder-struck.
A busy carpenter bee digs up a home in one of the wooden roof beams. Little woody construction debris falls through the sunlit shafts onto the little ballerina’s arena. It feels like raining confetti to her. She gently raises to stand on her feet and swirls like a Sufi in trance.
I decide to sit down gently to watch.
She chuckles and dances experiencing this novel stimulus.
Oh the wonder in her eyes !

Inadvertently I sneeze and spoil the moment.
She looks at me and runs to her mother’s lap. All snuggled up she investigates me with a beckoning gaze of her left eye.
I assuringly go to her and extend my finger. I am met with a shy pinky finger handshake.
A strong breeze makes its way through the thick forest. The leaves sway and clap in appreciation of the moment.

Over the course of the day we become closer friends. We discover our mutual love for smelling flowers and singing lullabies.

As night sets in, I feel the conquest of a bout of cold in my body. I try my hand at lighting up a fire. I heat up some water in a camping pan for a gargle.

The baby’s mother comes close and asks,

‘How do you feel?’
‘My cold would heal in the warmth of your daughter’s company’.
‘ In our village in France this weather is considered to be summer!’
‘ Well in India this is quite a cold winter !’

Both her and I look at the baby dotingly. She tries to put kindling inside the little camp fire.
‘Comme ca?’ she asks us.
We nod smilingly.

The jungle is abuzz with grapevine as fireflies flirt in pitch darkness. I choose a spot under an open canopy.
As I gargle, the funny noise grabs the baby’s attention. She follows the sound and finds me behind a thin outgrowth.
I take her in my lap, take a sip of hot water and turn my head up to gargle. She cannot stop giggling. And I do it again. Sip and look up.
She looks up too.
And I find her,
Wonderstruck. Again.
As my eyes open up beyond the banal, I finally see what she sees.
A beautiful array of stars, falling on us,
Slowly
Just like the wooden dust from the carpenter bees, falling through the sunlit beam.

A dizzying cascade of stars,
unfurling,
Falling from a height beyond,
Promising to never arrive.

She cannot look away.
And I dare not sneeze.

Through her, I learn to truly see.

And now,
I too am wonder-struck.
Watching the same sky with new eyes,
Realising how far into the Jungle I had to travel to realise,
The extent of
Our eternal cosmic travel.

When Ginger meets Galangal

April 15, 2018 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

It would be appropriate to say that it was my taste buds that led me to Thailand.
I remember the day when I first tasted Thai Red Curry in a restaurant in Delhi.
The chef inside me had a culinary awakening.
The mild, citrus and exotic flavour of the Thai red curry, the lilting fragrance of the blend of herbs and coconut milk made my knees go weak.
The feeling was akin to finding a treasure by accident.
But since I had no idea about what spices constitute this scintillating flavour, I assumed it was not possible to cook it at home.

When I reached Thailand, I was expecting to be greeted by this flavor. Much to my disappointment, I never got to see it mentioned anywhere on the menu at street shops. Over the course of biking around for two weeks in Thailand, I felt a bit dejected inside and wished for Indian food instead.
But where would I find Indian food in rural Thailand?

Two days ago, I went to a bicycle shop in Chiang Mai to tune up my bike.
In passing, the shop owner mentioned that there was an Indian restaurant close by. My nose pointed to the direction of the restaurant like a compass. Soon I found myself sitting with a plate of Vegetable Pulao, Dal Makhani and a buttery-soft Naan.
The first bite felt like homecoming.
Oh the perfect blend of spices from home!
Cumin spluttered at the perfect temperature, the hint of ginger julliennes and flakes of Kasoori Methi bringing the Basmati rice to life. A dollop of cream on dal simmered slowly overnight garnished with coriander.
I ate with a joy I didn’t expect to emanate from me. Funnily enough, I found myself to be patriotic in that moment!
Disillusioned by the prospect of finding the Thai red curry, I was ready to make peace with our own diverse cooking style back home.
But the chef in me still clung on to hope.

That night I got biking around Chiang Mai to discover the city. To my delight, I found a local roadside eatery labelled as Vegetarian-Vegan Friendly.
I walked in, hoping to find what led me to the country in the first place.
I looked at the menu and there it was :
Thai red curry with brown rice: 60 Baht

I ordered and waited patiently.
As the food was served, I could already smell the flavor I had experienced in Delhi.
The first spoonful felt like arrival!
The melange of coconut milk with the perfectly compatible combination of Lemongrass, Kaffir Lime leaf and Galangal spiced to perfection with obliquely slit red chillies.
That was the moment when I truly felt,
‘I’m in the Thailand that I always dreamt of’
I ate with a smile all throughout. The three lady chefs behind the counter knew what a difference they’d made to my day!
‘Aroy!'(Delicious in Thai) I complimented from my table.
They accepted it with giggles and grace.

Sitting back at the hostel after the meal, I wondered about the unsolicited culinary delight the day had turned out to be.

India and Thailand have had historical connections that can be traced back into many millennia. They’re long lost brothers belonging to the same family in a sense.
Much like Ginger and Galangal.
Ginger is a staple spice in the Indian household. Its earthy, strong and spicy flavour lends many Indian dishes a distinctive taste.
While Galangal, from the same family as ginger, looks similar but has a completely contrasting flavor. A much used ingredient in Northern Thai cuisine, it has an aromatic and citrus flavor with a signature aftertaste.

Today, through food,
I found myself in India while being far away from home
But I also found myself right in the heart of Thailand, courtesy the Thai Red Curry.

Now, I wonder where am I,
At home or at the destination that I seeked far away from home?

Maybe,
I am at neither.
Maybe,
I am just,
at the right place!

Beautiful Inside.

March 28, 2018 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

On my Bicycle ride from Auroville to Chennai I stopped at a coconut shop I used to frequent years ago. The shop looked a bit run down as compared to how it looked like earlier. I approached the unmanned coconut stand and called out the owner’s name.
‘Saviraj?’ I enquired.
Slowly, an elderly man made his way from his house.
‘Saviraj, do you remember me? I used to come to drink coconuts 5 years ago.’
He nodded smilingly.
In an adorable mix of Tamil and pidgin English he started talking to me.
‘Now enge(where)?’
‘I am cycling from Auroville to Chennai Saviraj’
Meanwhile his wife Sarada came out hearing her husband speak in English.
They both offered me a place to sit. I had a big coconut proffered to me instantly.
They saw my Bicycle loaded up with my luggage and gasped in surprise.
I asked them if I could rest for sometime in the temple across te street.
‘Sleeping here’ said Saviraj pointing to his house.
I laid out my Yoga mat and had a nice nap. In half an hour I awoke to the smell of homemade Dosas. Sarada brought me four thick dosas with the most unique coconut chutney I’ve tasted in my life.

I smiled and accepted the food. It was a delicious feast.
I felt humbled by their spirit of caring. As I was leaving I asked if I could click a Polaroid picture with her.
She blushed and said, ‘Shower no, not look good!’
‘But you’re beautiful. Sooper(Tamil-English slang for remarkable) I said.

Reluctantly she posed and we took a picture.
As the polaroid film developed we waited anxiously. The picture came out great.
‘ Sooper no?’ I asked.
‘Aama(yes)’ she blushed.
I left her with the picture and loaded up my Bicycle to head onward. I was bid goodbye lovingly.

On the way I wondered,
‘She took care of fact that I’d been cycling for 4 hours in the sun and did the best she could to support me. To have such compassion and empathy is the most beautiful asset. It shines through in her eyes. And even if she looked a bit disheveled in the picture because of her household chores, the camera captured the beauty in her spirit.
We often fail to cultivate and realize our own inner beauty. While we are born with the fate of a fixed physical appearance, we also have the opportunity to foster a thriving inner world full of love and compassion. And it is the latter that makes for our true identity.

I hope the picture I left Sarada with keeps reminding her what a caring heart she has. And she realizes the beauty in herself beyond the physical.

Reaching Out

March 22, 2018 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

Today I was playing drums in my practice loft. Deeply engrossed, I kept on playing with all my attention. After a while I sensed the presence of someone else nearby. I looked around to find an Israeli dad and son watching intently from under the loft.
I called them up with an inviting gaze while playing still.
With the one year old baby in his father’s safe arms, they both made their way up to the loft.

The baby had a glimmer in his eyes. He was exposed to such a stimulus for the first time. I played at a low volume to invite the baby closer. His expression was beautiful, equal parts of curiosity and apprehension.
Then I took out the brushes and played even softer to beckon him. Once he felt a bit familiar, he let out a shriek and reached for the drumsticks.
What a moment it was!

He left me reminiscing about the first time I saw someone play a drum set in a shop. Someone was playing inside and I looked at him with the same penetrating gaze as the child.
With equal parts of apprehension and curiosity.

And I am glad,
I reached out for the sticks,
And never put them down.

I hope the little friend I made today
Does the same !

The lifespan of a memory

March 4, 2018 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

Two of my closest friends and I went out for dinner today. One of them had turned 27 and we were celebrating her existence. We made great conversation reminiscing the past, relishing the present and envisioning our future. As the evening came to a close, we had an immediate urge to capture the moment. We had three smartphones and a Polaroid camera in front of us. We chose the latter to capture the moment. As we clicked our first picture, the film emerged from the top of the camera. We found ourselves in absolute awe! We took turns to flap the film and then kept it under a napkin for it to develop. There was a feeling of anticipation to see how the picture would turn out to be. It came out so well that we couldn’t help but click two more.
As we bid goodbye, we fought over who would keep which one of the three pictures we’d clicked.
After we came to an agreement, we saw the bus I had to board approaching us.
Quickly, we took a selfie from a smartphone and shared it instantly among us using the internet.
Now we had two copies of our memories,
One physical, another virtual.

Deep down inside we all knew,
Which one would stand the test of time.
Ironically, it would be the one that will age along with us.
My copy of the poloroid picture is resting safely in my wallet.
My money is clearly ,
on the photograph !

Category: Capturing a memory (Page 2 of 2)

Finding Home

Replenishing Nostalgia

The Best Position

The Eternal Journey

When Ginger meets Galangal

Beautiful Inside.

Reaching Out

The lifespan of a memory

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