Two Scribbles, A Memory

Twenty three and half years

Distilled, few black dots on white

Two scribbles, The End.

I penned this little poem last year on this day. This was the day we signed our divorce papers at the mediator's office. The document had exactly 24 pages and we had to initial each page, and sign at the end. As I was going through the motions, my heart was hurting very much. Every page I initialed and gave to him, I felt like I was tearing away a piece of me. But I did it, then walked out of the office, managed to smile a goodbye as well. Then I drove to a holiday party. My friends had put together a fantastic spread, but my time spent with them is just a blur. I remember talking a lot about my marriage and the papers, may be I had bored the hell out of them. But they all were very compassionate, and made me feel very cared for. I will remain ever grateful for their love and kindness during that time.

So how do I feel today? Well, I can give you a good comparison. The great poet Rabindranath Tagore had penned poetry for every possible emotion that we humans can ever face, and gave it an appropriate tune as well. Today two songs come to mind that can aptly depict then and now. My Bengali friends will understand the beauty of the lyrics and their appropriateness. I have attempted to translate the lyrics for my non-Bengali friends. Please forgive me if I cannot make justice to the poet's intensity.

Last year, at this time, I felt I was tossing about in the ocean, within a raging storm, pelting rain and high ferocious waves, with no flotation device. I was bobbing up and down, gasping for air, barely managing to keep afloat. I was feeling like I was drowning - scared, very sad, distraught, distressed, depressed, confused - feeling like there was no way out of this. The attachment to the 23+ years of life was severe, and as it was being amputated, the wound was bleeding profusely. I was lost and exhausted, totally devoid of strength.

Where is the end for this road? What is at that end?

All this desire, all this effort, where does this lead to?
Where is the end for this road? What is at that end?

Waves of tears fill my heart and throat, 

All I see in front is darkness

They say that there is a bank out there, a beach somewhere to land on

But where is it?
Where is the end for this road? What is at that end?

Today I look back at my life and it is like an elaborate illusion

I understand that there is no end to craving

That is why my heart fears so

This boat is wandering rudderless with broken and torn sails, and with no destination.

Where is the end for this road? What is at that end?

- Translation and faults are all mine

This year, it is different. I find myself on a raft, still mid-ocean. The raging storm is gone, the waves are quieter, though sometimes they still get high. There is some sunshine, some fog. I have enough supplies on the raft to keep me going for a while. However, I do not have a compass or a map or oars. So, I am sitting here, learning to be patient with myself and my emotions, learning to trust the great healer that is Time. And a part of me is gently saying goodbye to the past, with some pain still throbbing. I will not return, I know. Metamorphosis is happening, it is very slow and it is very raw. When the wind touches my skin, it singes me.

When my steps will fall on this path no more,

Then will I stop rowing my boat to the shore,

I will end my trades and settle my debts

My visit will cease to the market place 

Remember me not then, beloved

Call not for me from those distant stars.

When dust will collect on this harp of mine

When the doors will hide behind the thorny vine,

The garden, the garb of the weeds will wear

And moss will cover the banks of the mere 

Remember me not then, beloved

Call not for me from those distant stars.

The same melody the flute will play 

The days will course in the unchanged way

Boats will be laden from the same pier,

Shepherds will frolic,

And cattle will graze in the same manner

Remember me not then, beloved

Call not for me from those distant stars.

Who is it that says I am not there that morning?

You will call me by a new name,

I will be there to join in every game

You will encircle me with renewed ties

And I will come and go as usual – the eternal I  

Remember me not then, beloved

Call not for me from those distant stars.

- Translated by Ratna De