the gloaming

I always think of the gloaming as a place (like a glen, a clearing in the glen, as in "they went into the gloaming and were lost") until I remember it's a time--it's just twilight, that strange gloomy time. 

Here's Max, my big goofball, my KoolAid guy, hanging out with me at the end of a long day when I went in to work and took meetings (office plants are watered and doing fine) and also weeded and trimmed in the secret garden. It looks lush now although the only color deer will consistently allow us are spikes, dragon's breath, and geraniums, there are some roses and white phlox in there too. 

I went into the plant section when I stopped for groceries earlier, and the attendant tipped me off to a giant sale coming next week. Will I be brave enough to replace some perennials then? We shall see. Also mums are in the store already and I'm not ready for that.

Pic: Max in the gloaming.

a recording

I can't claim K.L. Saigal as a favorite--in fact I remember laughing about his face on this precise album cover with my sister (rude, I know). He's of my grandparents' generation, but my parents grew up on his music and loved him. This is an LP, they listened to him on old Gramaphone records--one song to a side. He's considered to be a bit of a bridge between hindustani classical and film music.

I don't know why I'm blabbing so much instead of just saying that I played this album and in the cool night air with a cricket chorus, it took me right back to nights in my childhood--being in bed and hearing snatches of my parents post-bedtime life as they played music and chatted in the living room.

I thought I'd just play a few songs, but I'm on the second side now enjoying the absolute romanticism of Urdu lyrics: Jab dil hi toot gaya, hum jeeke kya karenge? (Now that my heart is broken what could I accomplish even if I continued to live?)  

This was such a prized possession for my mom... I'm sad thinking why she's in a season of giving her favorite things away. I'm so unready for anything to happen. I burst into tears last week when my dad tried to have an end-of-life talk with me. And then I kept going back to it my head on the plane yesterday where I unknowingly picked two dad-centered movies (Atrangi Re and Aftersun, both recommended) and cried some more.

Pic: In the solarium at night playing old records.

poyi-ostha

Back home, it's inauspicious to say you're leaving--you're supposed to say, "I'll go and come" (meaning I'm leaving now, but I'm coming back later). "Poyi-Ostha in Telugu; "poyitu-vaaren" in Tamil. Guess I've left and come back to one of my homes.

It felt so good to see Big A's dear face when he picked us up at the airport, such a shriek I did shriek. Max is huge and can now bark, Huck is her crazy-dainty self, everyone was just so excited to see each other. 

I've since watered the zillion plants; cleaned the things other people don't care/know to clean; unpacked our suitcases; refilled the hot tub; cleaned the tiled floors (the big vacuum is tomorrow); cleaned the space around Scout's memorial, etc. etc. I'm not sleepy in the least. Might read and/or do some laundry next. 

Pic: I brought some of the old vinyl records from my mom's collection back with me. She loves music and used to have shelves and shelves of records--now only a couple of suitcases since my parents moved in with my sister some years ago.  Some of the albums have numbers pasted on the corner: This is from when my mom organized them into genres and had my sister and me help by cutting numbers out of an old calendar (this was before home printers) to catalog them.

out...

Somehow I didn't sleep a wink last night. I guess my sleep schedule is officially fucked in every time zone. 

Anyway, I was up because At dowloaded the new Salman Rushdie--Victory City--on my phone and it mentions people and places I'm connected to (my dad's family claim to be descendants of Krishna Deva Raya's palaiyakars/poligars). I'm finding Rushdie's alternative retelling and the female protagonist spellbinding.

I did sleep for a few hours this morning after packing. When I woke up, I walked in on my mom and Nu watching Taylor Swift videos in the living room--it was adorable. Then it was a quick trip to the temple, delivering a small present for the flower-seller friend's toddler, calling everyone to say goodbye, and the beginning of saying goodbyes at home. Mom and dad rode with us to the airport although non passengers aren't allowed to enter the airport, and it was SO tough saying goodbye. I always thought Scout looked a bit like my dad, and my confused mind is really making a mess of things.

We're now through airport security (which was long, slow, and overly thorough) and at our gate at last. I pulled out my credit card for the first time on this trip when I tried to buy the kids a snack at Starbucks, but they wouldn't accept foreign credit cards (this is an international airport, so I'm mystified). 

Pic: At and Nu: the hungry and passed out edition.

doing better

Everyone's feeling better... 

Yay!

And just in time to travel back...

My kids and parents are quick (and so sweet) to reassure me that although things didn't go according to plan, they're really happy to have had so much time together. We've spent a lot of time watching movies, swapping playlists, and telling old stories these past few days. Not as raucous as when we first arrived, but nice in its own way. 

I wish we were being safer--as a better Maya said, when we know better we should do better--but we haven't been doing that.

Pic: A pic of Nu, mom, and At from my sis. Sis and I finally got some one-on-one time together and she encouraged me to come back without the kids next time. 😆

we could ride backward into memory

we could ride backward         into memory
meeting people      who were bad 
for us,      who        ruined weekends... 

ruined our lives         for nothing stays

illustrated  and  irrefutable,       we were chaste 

with  longing like       determined children

weeping          around a wedding cake

Pic: Near Gingee Fort last week.

got me good

We're those people now, leaving a swathe of sick people in our wake. After years of masking and being careful, I am so disappointed in myself. There are no OTC Covid tests to be had, and the doctor told me to "relax" when I asked for one (At laughed). 

Anyway. I'm sick now. Other people are, thankfully, on the mend. I suppose it's a good thing we already had such a great time, because this part sucks. 

Yesterday, before visiting the temple, I stopped at a street stall to get some flower garlands for an offering. They're made as always with fresh flowers and held together with knotted banana fiber. When I asked how much it cost (the unit of measurement is the span of the flower-seller's forearm),  she held up four fingers: I thought it was four rupees, but she meant forty. Everything is the same except for prices. We had a good laugh together.

Pic: Pushpa (her name translates as "flower") selling flower garlands by the temple. Photo with permission. (Bangalore)