Today in Five Senses
©March 15th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Today, there’s rain and damp earth, and my bulbs have begun to bloom – bright yellow flowers pushing out from the ground on rich, green stems, and shy, purple flowers just beginning to make their appearance. And my new-growing bulbs drink long, cool draughts of air and water, and soak in sunlight, while the moisture makes all the red-brown-breasted robins come out in droves, and thirstily sip the rain drops on the leaves and on tree-bark. They look fat and happy, ready to populate the world with more robins. And the rich, fat, wriggly worms poke their heads out, diving into earth and making more rich, brown earth, themselves, and the robins love them for it, so much that they snack busily on them, and it’s all part of the sun-bright, rain-dimmed days that make the Spring both joyous and gray.
And I look out and am glad.
The day wears on, as days have done since I left teaching, with things to do at home, and also time to write in between.
A friend visits – he’s teaching my daughter the drums. (She got a four-piece drum-set, to which our friend added a proper bass-drum and a tom-tom) . It thrills me to hear her play – this is just her fourth lesson, but her six years of dancing kathak (a North-Indian classical dance form), and her innate musicality and rhythmic intelligence are a great asset, so she’s learning fast.
Last week, I sneaked into her room and played, and found to my delight, that I was able to sing and play simple drum beats, with high-hat, tom, and the bass drum, while singing my favorite Beatles songs. Yes, I, am fortunate to have been a musician for as long as I’ve been aware that I was one, which was when I began to sing in tune at age two and a half. I cannot wait until we can play songs together – she, and my husband and I taking turns on guitar, bass and drums.
I listen, and hear the familiar patterns of a twelve-eight feel, ta-ki-ta, ta-ki-ta, ta-ki-ta, ta-ki-ta. I later learn they were practising a song that she and I know and love, the Smokey Robinson song, “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me,” which was later sung by The Beatles. There’s a comforting, nostalgic feeling that sweeps over me when I hear it. Reminds me of when I was young and full of happiness, because life was opening up for me in my twenties, and I remember listening to a cassette-tape that my future husband had sent me of The Bobs singing their brilliant a cappella version of it. I remember, looking back, that my eyes felt like they held the sun, and my skin felt like silk, and fit me well, my blood felt right, and flowed laughingly in my veins, and my heart beat faster because I was in love, and was loved back.
Now, here I am, years later, having gone through ups and downs, but what I remember are mostly the ups, which feel so fragrant and linger so long in my mind that they feel as if they happened only yesterday. I remember the downs, but only as if they had happened to someone else in a dream who resembled me, and whose chaotic heart I could not harness during times of turbulence.
So, it’s time to make Indian masala chai for the four of us.
I chop fresh strips of ginger and dice them, and pop them in two cups of boiling water, adding cloves and cardamom pods, and crushed black pepper. The air is fragrant and thrills my senses. What I need now is a stick of cinnamon, or better still, crushed cinnamon. And lo! Here it is, right under my nose. Inhale that, but do it gently, and from afar – you can damage your nose and lungs seriously if you do anything more than just take a whiff of its happy-making smell. Toss that in the ebullient water, and add some black tea leaves — enough for four people (four teaspoons will do). Let that come to a boil. Now add six teaspoons of brown sugar, and then two cups of milk, stirring the whole time, turning down the blue-white flame.
Oops! I turned it off by mistake. I try turning it on again, and I get that horrid smell, stinky as hell, that tells me the gas hasn’t been lit, though it’s on. Quick, fix that! Good!
Open the door to the backyard, and let the stinky smell, and our dog, out. Holly’s both happy that the air smells good, and irked that it’s rainy. Ah well. All that lovely, curly, Standard-Poodle hair will get messed up. Got to brush her tonight into a nice cloud of soft poodley fur.
Back to the tea. Yup. it’s done! Let me waft the scent your way. Can you smell it? Now, strain the tea into four cups with a tea-strainer. Serve it steaming hot to your family and visiting drum-teacher friend. Set out plantain chips, and sweet-peanut crunchies. Heat up a spinach triangle for your husband, who needs something more sustaining after a long day.
Inhale the tea, then sip. Ahhh!
Feel that steaming liquid heal something within you – dismissing the malaise that might have crept up unawares, and looked over your shoulder.
Get back to other work, now!
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