O CHILDHOOD

O childhood
I was again lost in your innocence
When you didn’t ask me why
Your anger looks so complete
For both of us
That it doesn’t need words
Like that expression on your face
As natural, as reactive,
As life is supposed to be
You speak when you feel
You react when you have to
A freedom so natural to us
Yet we have to crave for it
In a life, driven by compulsions
We have almost forgotten
What it is about being a human
Our broken souls do cry inside
But in a painted world
Where we selectively cry
As it is invitational to its semiotics
And so to our inhibitions
When I see you o childhood
I realize what I have lost in life
And I go through this grind so often

©SantoshChaubey

O CHILDHOOD

(An August 2010 work, rearranged and rewritten today.)

Sometimes beginning the day with a whisper,
Sometimes with a cry,
Sometimes gaping in the void,
At times beginning it with an innocent invite.

Cruising into the myopic state of your bionic reflections,
Jaded by the hyperemia,
The ephemeral circumvention of the moment,
Drawn away from the routine empirical hysteria.

To the cerebral existence of the self-efficacious creation,
To that fleeting vision,
You never knew when it took you into its embrace,
As you just reacted naturally, like you do always.

The sudden trance that it takes you into,
Away from the oversized clutches of the trite,
Dragging away, disconnected,
Liberating to the elementary momentary amnesia.

There comes a time,
When debates become primordial,
When the need of solutions become unreal.

O childhood,
Why don’t you stay forever transcending me,
To the realms of that fading Ideal.

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey - http://severallyalone.blogspot.com

O CHILDHOOD

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

‘BAMBAIYA MITHAI’ OR ‘BUDHIYA KE BAAL’ OR COTTON CANDY

Last week, when my sister clicked this photograph in Shirdi and sent me, the first thought that came to my mind was similar to what she had her in mind as well while clicking it – ‘Bambaiya Mithai’, the sweet from Bombay.

It’s not that it was after a long time that I had seen it. This one is a famous street confection made from sugar (and air) and vendors can be seen selling it, in streets, on beaches, on busy tourist spots, near public hangover spots and during festivities. It is children’s favourite but elders love it as well. Yes, I don’t remember when I had it last time after my childhood, but that doesn’t make for any story here.

Coincidentally, when my sister sent it through Whatsapp that day, the frame of the TV I was watching was showing a character eating it and calling it ‘Budhiya Ke Baal’, the old lady’s hairs.

Cotton Candy

I cannot say if I hadn’t heard the term before, but I could not recall it. For me and my childhood in Varanasi in 1980s and early 1990s, it was the pinkish sweet ‘Bambaiya Mithai’. We were told so by the elders. The vendor would tell us so. And our curiosity never went beyond imagining and being told that the sugary sweet originated from Mumbai (Bombay then).

The little sweet bagged memories of cotton candy, as it is called universally, much beyond our Bombay link, was available to us mostly in small plastic pouches, unlike the big ones as shown in this photograph. It was not that the bigger ones were not available then, but were always a luxury. Even the street vendor would not bring the big sized ones in his stock as very few would buy them.

Later, during our senior school days, we came to know about this spun-sugar confection was European in origin and was not available to all as its preparation was difficult. But the machines in the 20th Century made it a household name, so much so, that in Varanasi, thousands of miles away from the European cities, we would call it by a name that was in no way related to it. We also came to know that the sweet was available in different flavors and colours.

But, for us, in our childhood days, it was the small pink heap, prepared from thin strands of liquefied sugar, that weaved into our memories our purest of childhood emotions, the innocence to think of that small packet not costing much as the most prized possession of the moment.

The small packets of coloured spun-sugar were one of the spinning wheels of our edacious excursions. The childhood appetite is always big for such delicacies and being made mostly of air, our ‘Bambaiya Mithai’ was always insufficient to quench our desire for it. Added to it was the rationing imposed by the elders in the family.

This photograph and the TV frame brought back those memories and I responded back to my childhood with smiling thoughts on its inquisitiveness on ‘Budhiya Ke Baal’ and ‘Bambaiya Mithai’. I did some secondary research but the only Hindi name that I could come across for cotton candy was ‘Budhiya Ke Baal’. Not a single page showed any related information on ‘Bambaiya Mithai’.

True, I was long aware that the old lady’s hairs got first trimming and shaping in Europe, I never got bothered about its Hindi name, in my mother-tongue. And now, I came to know that the name we called it by had no rational to exist.

And it was not that only the kids (including me) in my family called it so or only our vendor told us so or only our elders passed on the name, everyone in our locality and acquaintances were familiar with this Hindi name only.

So, it was baffling on how come this Bombay connection came into the picture and made its place in memories of many childhoods and in an area far away from Bombay?

Anyway, I will try to find it later and also the possible fairytale behind it. Now is the time to wind up the writing and finish the new book by Henry Kissinger.

🙂

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

THE PARADOX OF GETTING EDUCATED: EXPRESSIONS ON A DAY IN A MAKESHIFT CLASS – THE COLLAGE

THE PARADOX OF GETTING EDUCATED: EXPRESSIONS ON A DAY IN A MAKESHIFT CLASS - THE COLLAGE

EXPRESSIONS ON A DAY IN A MAKESHIFT CLASS – THE PARADOX OF GETTING EDUCATED

CHILDHOOD IN THE MARGINALISED GHETTOS – A PHOTOGRAPHY SERIES

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©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

IN THE MARGINALISED GHETTOS – THE CAREFREE JOYS OF CHILDHOOD (IV) – RAG PICKERS’ CHILDREN

IN THE MARGINALISED GHETTOS – THE CAREFREE JOYS OF CHILDHOOD (IV) - RAG PICKERS' CHILDREN

CHILDREN IN A RAG PICKERS’ LOCALITY

IN THE MARGINALISED GHETTOS – THE CAREFREE JOYS OF CHILDHOOD

CAREFREE JOYS OF CHILDHOOD – A PHOTOGRAPHY SERIES

(HUMAN EXPRESSIONS)

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©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

CAREFREE JOYS OF CHILDHOOD


http://severallyalone.blogspot.in/2013/09/carefree-joys-of-childhood.html

THE PARADOX OF GETTING EDUCATED-1: THE CHILDHOOD IN THE MARGINALISED GHETTOS

The Paradox of Getting Educated-1-W

THE PARADOX OF GETTING EDUCATED

CHILDHOOD IN THE MARGINALISED GHETTOS

A PHOTOGRAPHY SERIES

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©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

IN THE MARGINALISED GHETTOS – THE CHILDHOOD PARADOX – RAG PICKERS’ CHILDREN

IN THE MARGINALISED GHETTOS - THE CHILDHOOD PARADOX - RAG PICKERS' CHILDREN

CHILDREN IN A RAG PICKERS’ LOCALITY

THE CHILDHOOD PARADOX

IN THE MARGINALISED GHETTOS

(HUMAN EXPRESSIONS)

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©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

IN THE MARGINALISED GHETTOS – THE CHILDHOOD PARADOX

IN THE MARGINALISED GHETTOS - THE CHILDHOOD PARADOX

THE CHILDHOOD PARADOX – IN THE MARGINALISED GHETTOS
(HUMAN EXPRESSIONS)

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©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

CHILDHOOD: OH THAT LOVELY MESS

The quiet restrictions of the playfulness

The unchained joy of the rough surface

Missing like hell the charm of those days

In a life driven by sophisticated excess

A desperate urge in an age of prowess

To meet the child in you and his grace

Living the life in that careful embrace

Oh that paradise and this futile access

Time cannot go back but have your recess

Rediscover the child in you, that lovely mess

Of kin, of friends, of the thoughtless ways

Oh the carefree days, that childhood caress

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

OH SO MY, BLUE, GREEN, YELLOW AND RED

Morning ride, evening break
Fun to go, a run to partake
Oh that round shaped happiness
So many of them but why this mess
The beautiful blue, green, yellow, red
He could not decide which one to take
But the pull was so immaculate
He pleaded again to make his case
Why couldn’t he take each of the shade?
Jumping like a novice dancer fully awake
Mixing in all his wisdom of his age
Punching in the morning shake
Munching with the evening trek
He pleaded again to make his case
Oh so my, blue, green, yellow and red
Blue are my eyes, green is my sun-hat
Yellow of my shirt is so joyfully great
The red of my jacket is so passionate
The beautiful blue, green, yellow, red
So near and dear to me, they all fascinate
Leaving what, what can be my catch?
I am at a loss on choosing from this batch
So I wish to propose if I could have the red
With blue, green and yellow to head
On my morning ride, on my evening break
Out of this logjam, the key to my happiness
Sir, see, it is so simple to iron out this mess

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/