Maitys' Musings

  Letting go, moving away, suppressing memories, hoping to never return, yet aching to find the way back.   Locking up the forgotten door, throwing away the keys, yet searching for them, the rest of life.

  She waited patiently at the end of the long queue in front of the tea garden dispensary. Draped in a faded saree that hung just below her knees, a white bandana covering her oily hair, she carried her child in a sling wrapped around her shoulder. It was the usual hot and stuffy mid-June afternoon in Jabra Tea Estate, a picturesque garden in the foothills of the Himalayas. Jabra in Mirik Block was a hotspot of malaria then and hundreds of tea workers and their families were affected. She looked worried and distracted. The infant had been having high fever for the last three days and was doubtless suffering from malaria. The nurse at the dispensary had asked her to take good care of the baby and feed him some nutritious food instead of the standard tea flowers and rice that they had daily. Taking care of a sick child at home was a luxury for a single mother like her, particularly when she was struggling to attain permanent status as a tea-garden labourer. She was forced to carry

  Chapter 1(part 2)- continued from chapter 1(part 1) Christine was shaken all over as his voice cut through the frozen silence. She took several steps back, she didn't know what he meant, it was just the fierceness in his voice, the urgency. He called out again, “Anala! Anala!” The wrinkles on the man's forehead deepened, “Do not be scared dear princess, I'm a friend, a very old one.” Something like a smile had appeared on his face. Christine still couldn't speak. “I’m Abner.” he said, “You don't know me but I'm here to tell you who you really are.”   “What?” her voice was shaky.   “Sit with me dear princess, will you? There's so much to tell you, and so little time. Sit with me.”   “No.” Christine half whispered half screamed, a muddle of sharp breaths and frenzied heartbeats. Something about this man scared her, something in the way his green eyes looked, something! The mist seemed to be closing up on her, she took brisk backward steps.   “Don't be af

  Jostling Through the crowd Yet In solitary confinement, Seeking your hand That is not there Anymore. As if marooned On an island Of seclusion, Dreaming of The hearth Back home. Longing to be Together- But walking Alone......    

  CHAPTER 1-part 1 It was an October evening. Sunlight still hadn't left the day as Christine walked through the woods, crushing fallen leaves under her feet. The sound of it brought back memories, memories of bright green grass soaking sunshine, of a wooden see-saw that carried them up into the air and back to the ground, just as life would when the gentleness of childhood toughened. The laughter of her long-lost companion – raw and brisk, torn at the edges, crumbled like old paper, echoing down the dimly lit passages of her memory-the memory of her doe-eyed sister, who loved trees, who ran wild like a summer breeze on the same grounds the lifeless trees now looked upon. The trees die a strange kind of death, they come alive by spring, her sister wouldn't. Christine's father had once told her, “Men live once and die a million times as they do.” She hadn't known what he meant until the day she saw her little sister, Elli lie dead, enveloped in white sheets. She had died

She stood there on a bend in the winding road, as our SUV struggled uphill along the gravelly track amidst the weather-beaten barren mountains in the cold desert of Spiti. She carried her little child on her back and waved at us. We were on our way to Kaza from Kibber, the world’s second highest motorable village. As our four-wheeler screeched to a halt, she smiled at us and politely asked for a lift, her face beaming with joy as she squeezed in between the luggage on the backseat of our vehicle. She was coming from Kibber, on her way back to a village near Chicham, about 10km from there. This had been her daily trek for the last 2 weeks. Her mother who stayed in Kibber was sick, and she came every day to take care of her, returning to her in-laws’ place near Chicham before sunset. I was curious and enquired, “Isn’t it too difficult and tiring, making this long, arduous journey every day, and that too with a child on your back?” Her eyes moistened as she looked out the window and s

Crossing the bridge Again, and again Everyday, Puppets on strings, Trudging back To the colorless lives, To stand out in Shadows at sunset.  ------- Andy