Archive for October, 2014

સલૂણી સાંજ

Posted in કાવ્યો by saryu on October 12th, 2014

સલૂણી સાંજ

ક્ષિતિજ  રેખાની  કોરે  બારણાં  દેખાય  છે  આજે,
સખી!  સાજન મળે  એ ધારણાં  દેખાય છે  આજે.

તરસતા  તૂર્ણને   સિંચ્યાં   નશીલા  ઓસથી  લાજે,
સુગંધી   યાદ  પુષ્પો   ત્યારનાં   દેખાય  છે  આજે.

હ્રદયના  સૂર    પ્રીતમ   પ્રેમ  અધ્યાહારમાં   સાજે,
થયા  સંધાન,  તૂટ્યા   તારના   દેખાય  છે   આજે.

પતંગી    આશને   દોરી   મળી’તી    સૈરને   કાજે,
ધરાના  રંગ  ઝાંખા  ક્યારના   દેખાય   છે   આજે.

સમી   સંધ્યાય   શોધે   તારલાના    તેજને    રાજે,
નવા  નક્ષત્ર   ઉત્સુક  ન્યાળતાં   દેખાય  છે   આજે.

સલૂણી  સાંજ  દે  દસ્તક, ને  વિનવે  રાતને  નાજે,
અઢેલા   દ્વાર,   દીવા  પ્યારના   દેખાય  છે  આજે.

——–

સલૂણી=રંગીલી.  તૂર્ણ=કમળ  ઓસ=ઝાકળ

My Mother – My Daughter

Posted in કાવ્યો by saryu on October 1st, 2014

 

My Mother-My Daughter

My mother, Bhagirathi, was born in 1916 in a very small village in India. Her mother, Kastur, a very gentle wise woman, followed all the traditions as a young bahu, a bride of the village. When my mom Bhagirathi was one year old, her mother had to go to some other village for a visit. She was very sick when she returned to her village, but as custom required, she would not pass through the village sitting in a bullock cart, so she walked to her house. In a few days she died. My grandfather was an herbal medicine doctor. He later realized that she had died of pneumonia. Only one year old, my mom Bhagirathi and her siblings were raised in a joint family with other cousins.

My mom’s family migrated to a bigger city when she was a teenager. All through the ups and downs of her life she had felt her mother’s presence. But she was sure when she had the unplanned arrival of my younger sister, Uru. My mom was a working woman and a major wage earner. So after having my brother and me, she was not planning to have any more babies. At the time of my sister’s birth, I was seven years old.

As far as I remember, my mother seemed in some special serene mood in the presence of my little sister. I vividly remember Uru being very much interested in what our mom was wearing. When mom would get dressed up to go to school, my sister used to observe her fondly and comment, “Oho! Bhagirathi looks very good!” My mom would smile and say, “Thank you, mother!”

We were never photographed before. One year, my cousin’s husband came from Mumbai with a camera. That was the only occasion when our family pictures were taken with my four-year-old sister. Those pictures turned out to be a very precious memory.

We took an extremely unlikely trip when my sister was four years old. My mother had left their village a long time ago and had never gone back to visit. There was only one uncle and his son in the village. The son’s first wife couldn’t have children. She had died under mysterious circumstances, and my mother’s family had suspected some mishap caused by the uncle and his son. When that uncle showed up to our house with an invitation to his son’s second wedding, I was sure that my mom would never even consider going. But I heard her saying “Yes,” and with our cousins, we all went to my mom’s village. My little sister was very much engrossed in observing everything that was going on. She was a little sick, so she was hardly interested in food, but she would sit in my mom’s lap or next to her and quietly look around. My mom was surprised by her interest and interaction. Uru was looking around with poise, and my mom was amused to see her. After we returned home, I heard my mom telling her friends that she was not sure what had compelled her to go for a visit to her village after almost twentyfive years, and how my sister was quietly happy in her village.

A few months after our visit to the village, Uru got a fever. My mom thought it was just a little sickness. But by the second day her health got worse very quickly. Two doctors were consulted. My brother was apprehensively urging to the doctors do something more. It was very obvious that our little sister was an angel of my brother’s heart. It seemed like a special connecting chain was binding them snugly. Uru lay there peacefully on her bed. There was no agitation on her face.

It was a tranquil evening. We were all around her bed and saw her close her eyes for the last time with a smile on her face.
Doctors could not revive her.
My little sister went to be with the heavenly father. My parents were devastated. It was heart-wrenching for my brother. I was too young to analyze my feelings, so I cried with the others.
She was with us for five years. The joy and peace she brought to our lives–especially to my mother’s life–seemed like a miracle.

The last time I was with my mother in India, Mom said, “I still feel Uru’s warm presence around me. My intuition says that my mother had come to me as my daughter. It helps me to rejoice in those five years of her life.”

                                    Feelings do not follow the logical rules.
Intuition–the God-given gift–is elite and exceptional.
A fortunate few are given a tender heart to soothe
And some stay dry without . . . .

Saryu Mehta-Parikh.  Austin, Texas. 2014.  saryuparih@yahoo.com www.saryu.wordpress.com

     Inline image 1                             My Sister-Urvashi

One tear drops from the corner of my eye,
Oh! With this song, the memory revives.

We couldn’t bear to hear the song  any more
For my  five-year-old  sister  was  no more.

She used to sing, “Kakadupati raaghav raajaa raam”
Instead of  “Raghupati raaghav raajaa raam.”

One day  she  was  there, melted  in  our veins.
Then  she  was  gone,  leaving  us  in  pain.

We have  missed  her  a  lot  throughout  our  lives.
Relived  with  this  song  special  moments  of  those  times.
———

This was the only picture of my younger sister and me before she died at the tender age of five.
A film-song from the fifties, rekindled my memories.  Saryu

Posted in કાવ્યો by saryu on October 1st, 2014

Circles of Miracles

The frame of your mind is made too big by your ego,
The painting in that frame seems too small next to ego.
From you to me a wave of compassion,
If I can receive, it becomes a miraculous mission.

Affliction bangs its head in the dark,
At the barriers built of yours and mine.
There the fragile feelings are rashly broken.
The graceful waves are brashly trodden.

Affection travels quite free in elation,
Go take a chance to revel in relations.
Petals of lotus link smile to smile,
In wide open space from eye to eye.

God is a giver, there are very few receivers.
The givers and receivers make the circles of miracles.

——-

અધૂરપ

07 Sep 2014 2 Comments

અધૂરપ-અસંતોષ

મારા   ભાગ્યમાં   કેટલું    રે  સુખ!
મારી  ઝોળીમાં  જેટલું  ઝીલી શકું.
સુખ  મંજરીનો  છમછમ  વરસાદ,
ખોળો પાથરી જે  પ્રેમથી ભરી શકું.

સાત રંગે સજેલ  મેઘધનુને ઉચાટ,
વધુ રંગોને  મેળવું તો લાગું સમ્રાટ.
સતત  અંતરમાં   અરજી  કચવાટ,
વધુ   માંગણીનો  તત્પર  તલસાટ.

સૂર્યમુખી  કહે, નહીં  મોટી કો’ આસ,
મારા રંગીલા ફૂલોમાં  દેજો  સુવાસ.
મીઠો મોગરો  કહે હું  મહેકું આવાસ,
મને  રીજવો  દઈ   રંગીન  લિબાસ.

છતે   દીવે    મારે  ઓરડે   અંધાર,
ખસે   ઓઢણી  તો   રૂહમાં   સવાર.
કંકુ,   કરુણા   સંતોષ    ને  ઉપકાર,
સજે અધૂરપ  સૌ સુખનો  શણગાર,

—–

No happiness without gratitude and appreciation of whatever we have.

 

Soft Yellow Ball

20 Aug 2014 2 Comments

Soft Yellow Ball

We had a soft yellow ball and green little bat;
A rug in her room was a grand play mat.

“Granny! You throw the ball and I hit away;
I know you are slow and I will get away.”

She would laugh and say, “Oh, boy! You are fast.
You surely are the best; now I need some rest.”

In the heart of my heart, I had a suspicion,
Sometimes grandma just let me win.

“I make the tricky moves; I am a checkers champ,
But alas! I am trapped; I hold the tears back.”

Grandma used to say, “Oops! I made a wrong move.
It looks like, boy, you will win soon.”

In the heart of my heart, I have confidence;
Grandma has helped; it is coincidence.

I go out into the world, so aggressive and keen,
The best I can be where no one lets me win.
——-

Vacation time, playing with seven years old Kethan . . . August 2014

 

અરેરાટી—- Shudder

12 Aug 2014 3 Comments

અરેરાટી…

દાની ધરિત્રીની ખુલ્લી પરસાળ,
નિર્જળ લાચારીમાં વ્યાકુળ જુવાળ,
અગન ફોરા ફેંકી કોણે આંતર્યાં?

તામ્રપત્ર ટાંકથી આંક્યા અભિલેખ,
આતુર આશંક આંખ વાંચે આલેખ,
શબ્દ અણીએ હૈયા કોણે કોતર્યાં?

દેવે દીધેલ આત્મ-શાંતિ નિવાસ,
તારા મારાની ચણી મમત દિવાલ,
દ્વાર તાળા મારી કોણે નોતર્યાં?

સરખા ચહેરા સાહે આશાનું સ્મિત,
ભોળા હ્રદયો ચાહે શ્રધ્ધાનું ગીત,
વચન વેચી વેચી કોણે છેતર્યાં?

એકનો સહોદર તે પરનો કસાઈ,
નીતરતા લોહીમાં કોનો એ ભાઈ!
જતન રાખડીના કટકા કોણે કર્યાં?
——-
માનવમાં અકારણ ક્રુરતા કેમ ભરેલી છે! દરેક વ્યક્તિ સ્વજનના મૃત્યુ પર, એક સરખા આંસુ સારે છે.
તો પણ કોઈને, કોઈ મારે છે.

Translation:

Shudder

In the courtyard of the generous earth,
Waterless nervous tidal flow is helpless,
Who threw the obstacle of the fireball?

The inscription on the metal plate,
Fearful eyes read the message,
Who scratched hearts with the sharp words?

God-given peaceful soul-house,
Man built the infatuation walls of yours and mine,
Who puts lock on the door and then invites?

Similar faces adorn similar smiles of hope,
Innocent hearts want songs of faith,
Who deceived by selling the faith?

The brother of one is a murderer of another,
The one in dripping blood, must be someone’s brother.
Who broke the protective rakhi to pieces?
——–

The cruelty in the world is unfathomable. Each one cries on the death of their own–the same tears. Still they kill each other.

(The rakhi is a protective blessed thread tied by a sister to her brother’s right wrist.)

 દિલને હચમચાવી દેતી કવિતા..અને સાચાં સવાલો સામે આવે છે…
સપના

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