Believing in it, is more difficult
To memorize the names, is easier
Forgetting most of them, is more difficult
Feeling the presence of someone is easier
To be that presence, is more difficult
Walking on predicted trail is easier
Traversing a prolonged distance, is more difficult
Falling in love impulsively is easier
Re-living that very moment, every moment, is more difficult.
This poem is dedicated to the market on route 9, near Hadley post office, Amherst. When I reached Amherst, the first question I asked is, where can I get mustard oil. It was so difficult to find that in Whole foods, Walmart or in any other grocery store. Salma and I got to know that there is some market on route 9 where we can get that. We boarded on the bus and reached Northampton. We called the store and asked the directions. The lady said that we have crossed the market, so we kept walking in the opposite direction. W passed the Connecticut river and again I called at the store, the lady asked us to stand right there and wait. She came to pick us up and took us to the store. That store was everything that I was missing about India. From Pani Puris to Sambhar, from Bournvita to Mehendi cones, what not. And that soothing music in the background. Not only Indian, it had Turkish delights, South-east Asian food ingredients like bamboo shoots, Thai curry powder, etc. That was the world for us. We would visit that shop every weekend and carry loads of things for our house. Sometimes, I used to visit that store just to be there, to eat jalebis and remember my times in India. I could get Rohu, as well as a scaling machine to peel that Rohu fish. I could get my chutneys for the Dahi vada, I could get everything. There was also another store - Casablanca. We could get Halal meat from Casablanca for Salma, and keema too. That's how we made Kababs. I was so very attached with this market that I called the owners of the International food market for dinner. Rita had come with some home grown mangoes and she told me how she enjoys running this store. How she finds that joy on everybody's faces when they get what they want.She would try hard to know exactly what they wanted, she would ask you to describe it. One time, I was looking for Coriander leaves and she asked me to describe it. I somehow tried and she exclaimed, "cilantro"!
Market carries a social life, where you interact with people, where you create a niche for yourself, to indulge in that nostalgia. That market on route 9 would have my fondest memories.
Today, I got to know that that market has been burned down.
The greek word for 'return' is nostos. Algos means 'suffering'. So nostalgia is a suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return. - Milan Kundera, Ignorance.
This route used to take us to the International market. It would have our memories too. Salma's laughter and my cooking plans.
Somewhere, it would be missing us too.
Because forgetting is more difficult.
Nishpriha , You are unbeatable literature queen. First you choose very interesting title than add short and sweet poem after that you mention that this poem is dedicated to the market on route 9, it’s something different and most of the readers read the whole article to satisfy their curiosity. Then you beautifully explained the different color of market on route no 9 with your personal experience. The best part of this article is that the readers also travel with you though I never heard about route 9 market; I easily travel with your words and when I decided to visit this place in future you suddenly blast “Today, I got to know that that market has been burned down”. And then I realized that this whole article is written to describe an incidence. Super great.
ReplyDeleteThank you Dhrudip! I am glad you liked it.
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