Rose wood Memories of Music, 2012

A Rosewood table has so many things happening on it.....Water as it serinades collected pools of rain, stumbles down running streams of pebble and stone......as the monsoon gathers steam, so does the melody,almost deafening the song of the cuckoo, in its sudden rush of bubble and  fall.....surely the first musical must have been born in the divine lap of nature..

" I,  a Rose Wood Table was born in the wilderness of the Woods, lulled to sleep every night in the silence of the forest with only the high and low notes of the running streams as they did their journey ,calendering different seasons in their musical flow.....Now you can well imagine when one day I heard some of the same sounds come alive all over again....

I must say, it is very creditable for mankind to capture in a room, the essence of nature... Yes, I must tell of a day when, those empty bowls filled with perfumed water spilled forth into the surrounds, with all the notes of my childhood.. as the bearded musician played in harmony..with his magical sticks tapping  in all the water bowls, an orchesthra of symphony n sound,  soothed our ears.

The 'Jal-Tarang' as the instrument is known, is based on the concept of different levels of water, producing a variety of musical notes, as the wooden sticks strike on the bowls ! Such magic can only be the 'song of abandon', a gift of unkempt nature as it passes its seasonal journey, in a gush of eternal youth..!"

Some of the best music, can only be heard when and where the soul is pure and giving, in its compassion..!

Memoirs of a Rosewood Table..Bumble Bee Ramblings, 2012 !

 "I knew one day, there would be problems... This fondness of the children for a beehive in the house garden very near to me and the mistress's passion for trying new dining experiences with her guests! This was a lazy Sunday afternoon which went totally berzerk... Recently the children had introduced a bee box under a hidden twist of heavy spring wines and flowers in a seculaded corner of the garden... Who knew one day the old bumble bee alarm clock could actually be an invitation for a buzzing bee swarm..."

"I was fully enjoying the attention I was getting for a much awaited and noel cuisine afternoon of  honey tasting himalayan recipes... There I was completel y intune with the spirit of the afternoon, all abuzz with expectation of my first guests... "

 "Suddenly the clock announced its time with a buzz and a flutter which was very much like a swarm of honey bees humming in harmony while they worked...

This caught the attention of a bee who decided to investigate on his new found friend... We were suddenly in the company of our garden bees who obviously were not liking so many human beings sharing in the 'honey' of their hardwork... From those laughing sun flowers to smudgy cream and cakes, there was little on the table which was not visited by the bumble bee... A bee carnage on the table and the silence of a quiet afternoon recked by shrieks and screams,

scrambling dogs and spilled food!... We tried to chase our buzzing visitor but with ominous vengeance all it would do, was settle itself on the nearest bush and wait for its next onslot... "

 

  "New experiances can very often be the best learning lessons for each one of us as to how the great big outdoors can suddenly creep into our lives without a warning... "

Moods, 2012..Rosewood Table Memoirs

What we remember about our selves is not often what others recollect in their moments of humour about us. On a day when the haven of my kitchen was exuding the invigourating essence of cinnamon & lime,brewed with honey...asound of a whisper from the creaking corners of my table,the merry tinkle of suger spoons,the spice of forgotten moods,it was all there in the memoirs of my old rosewood table,calendered as per floral creations....

"The Gurungs were special to me, not for the old lace tablecloth which was gifted to me which put behind me all my days of negligence but also for the many moods of the mistress, which I found truely funny, in their childish petulence. There were days of great adamance, when my brown table top, was ablaze with colors of the old barks of the wild set aflame with spring blossoms and the lush greens of the garden.

Her favorite on a sunshine day when everything was as per her liking, were the blooming sunflowers which she always mingled with the brown wood, lest the evil eye caught their laughter..

But I remember a day when the sun was down, there was a soft pitter patter on the window, signs of a gathering storm..as the thunder came in, so did the anger of my mistress..boy ! such wrath on broken promises..maybe be a delayed payment or just her favorite piece of crystal broken..who knows, what made a bad day ?? All I know is, that she did not take too well, to human beings erring on keeping their word. As her anger translated on the table, there was a creation of dried 'ikebana leaves' with a touch of yellow spring in it..!"

The spring of yellow blossoms was to her mind the rising sun of hope, because like I said, the Gurungs were special in many ways..most of all, for their inherent faith in mankind, which always gave them a tomorrow to dream about..!!..( Memoirs of the Old Rosewood Table.)

Dharamsala Miniguide..Memoirs of an old rosewood table..!

It was indeed a great feeling to be out of the back yard of a house, to the buzz of an office..however, this was not to be for long, as I soon found my way to the rented home of the Gurungs at Tapovan, Dharamsala.

The home had a furnished dining room, so as an old rosewood table I was not needed there. After much contemplation my mistress shifted me to the sun porch facing the kitchen garden..above all I became privy to all the pigeon chatter and garden gossip. I relate to you now my first hand experience of the courting romance of the Himalayan white pigeon.

"It was the day the children in the house, the little master Chinkoo and the little girl Nunu, were told strictly not to litter the table top with toys and crayons, as my mistress had kept her precious pickle jars for a sun bask..the fragnance of the mango n chilly ripening in the Himalayan sunshine, a golden yellow was a little intoxicating for me. Early morning, I saw the master fix a strange wooden box on the wall of the porch. My curioisity was fulfilled the next day as, two small pigeons, snowwhite and pure, were very gently put inside this box..a present from the master to my mistress.

Soon, there was laughter, cooing, chitter chatter as the kitchen garden played host to a rising number of pigeons. Much to the dismay of many homes around us, the homing pigeons found this pigeon haunt an interesting hop over to an overnight stay. There was Raja n Rani, my initial white chicks, who were now setting new romance tales a buzz and being the focus of much attention ! A lazy afternoon and then the new generation had arrived..!!"

Many many years later in Vidya Niwas, warm with food inside the dining room, I still miss the chitter chatter of those pigeons of Tapovan and the sun basking pickle jars..!!

On a Khaki Trail..Dharamsala India Miniguide, 2012

As we went up in Dharamsala on a mountain trek, the sound of the rustling leaves brought back memories of those much forgotten college days, on a khaki trail!

The old corridors of Indraprastha College in Delhi, the beautiful surrounds and the sound of merry giggles and buzzing classes. Summer can hit you high and bring with it the sudden desire to chill out on your wardrobe..Fashion, at that time and till today has for me only meant running after a personalised conception of my interests. Something on the table and on the road which, speaks of you and what you are.

I do not remember which book it was or, what triggered it, but I desired so much, a summer khaki pants with a loose shirt..It was what I wanted to wear going on a jungle safari at the Dudhwa National Park (On the Lucknow/Nepal border). There was so much in the market to buy, brown khaki pants of all sizes and shapes, but not to my liking, the rough almost gandhian cotton touch was not there.

..and then on my holiday my mother throwing out a trunk of old clothes of my father in his Roorkee Univ days, so slim while following his passion for billiard. It was magic..there was the khaki pants and shirt I was looking for, so right to the touch..! The 'Wizard of Oooz', my tailor master from the lanes of Lucknow got it right on me.


I still can get into them today, like I said some things never change..!!


For your own furore in the Himalayas, view the video..

Rustle of the Leaves..Himachal Pradesh,India. from arvind gurung on Vimeo.