On Cooking Maggie & Finding Love, A Fib called Time, a Poet's autopsy, and Krishna's question.
Issue #003 of Brief Notes on Life by Tarun S. Kuckian
Prologue: This is Issue #003 of Brief Notes on Life. And that’s always a milestone because one may give up after one or two attempts, but the third time is always special - as in love, as in Bilbo Baginns’ adventures in Middle Earth or as in writing a newsletter. I had more time to reflect on what is Brief Notes on Life.
I would not like to compartmentalize the writings here into fiction and non fiction. These are stories, imaginations, experiences and narratives that straddle the narrow line between reality and fiction. Imagine once again, a fisherman in a small boat, meditating on Silence - the space-time between breaths.
Watch him smile as it starts to rain gently. He must hurry home.
He carries the peace with him. Within him.
In Issue #003, you will read about ‘Cooking Maggi and Finding love.’ Love works in mysterious ways. And sometimes you find it while preparing instant noodles on a Saturday evening.
‘A Fib called Time’- Not the ‘I am Time, the End of all Beings’ Time. But the time that threatens from the alarm clock, blinks overhead from the railway indicator and sometimes warns you about an impending birthday.
A Poet’s Autopsy is a short poem.
On a setting Sun: A man has an epiphany on the impermanence of the world and human ego, as he watches the Sun set over the vast Sea.
In Krishna’s question, Lord Krishna seeks an answer from the righteous Prince Yuddhishtra and the usurper Duryodhana on the eve of the terrible Kurushetra war between the two
On Cooking Maggie & Finding Love, A Fib called Time, a Poet's autopsy, and Krishna's question.
Issue #003 of Brief Notes on Life by Tarun S. Kuckian
Tarun Kuckian
Dec 14
2
Prologue: This is Issue #003 of Brief Notes on Life. And that’s always a milestone because one may give up after one or two attempts, but the third time is always special - as in love, as in Bilbo Baginns’ adventures in Middle Earth or as in writing a newsletter. I had more time to reflect on what is Brief Notes on Life.
I would not like to compartmentalize the writings here into fiction and non fiction. These are stories, imaginations, experiences and narratives that straddle the narrow line between reality and fiction. Imagine once again, a fisherman in a small boat, meditating on Silence - the space-time between breaths.
Watch him smile as it starts to rain gently. He must hurry home.
He carries the peace with him. Within him.
In Issue #003, you will read about ‘Cooking Maggi and Finding love.’ Love works in mysterious ways. And sometimes you find it while preparing instant noodles on a Saturday evening.
‘A Fib called Time’- Not the ‘I am Time, the End of all Beings’ Time. But the time that threatens from the alarm clock, blinks overhead from the railway indicator and sometimes warns you about an impending birthday.
A Poet’s Autopsy is a short poem.
On a setting Sun: A man has an epiphany on the impermanence of the world and human ego, as he watches the Sun set over the vast Sea.
In Krishna’s question, Lord Krishna seeks an answer from the righteous Prince Yuddhishtra and the usurper Duryodhana on the eve of the terrible Kurushetra war between the two sides.
01. Cooking Maggi and Finding Love
I was preparing Maggi on a Saturday evening, when the thought of my wife entered my mind. My wife was a great cook and instant noodles should be the last thing to remind me of her. An Indian kitchen is filled with so many culinary variations and delicacies crafted from the spices (usually stored in the copper and white coloured bell-jars), suited to every taste and palate. The recipes contain concoctions of rare spices and herbs that are closely guarded family secret passed on by mothers to their daughters. In the new household, the mother-in-law and the new bride would bond over the finer discussions on taste and gastronomy.
My wife loved to cook and was accomplished in the culinary arts. I would understand, if it was Biryani1 or Rasgula (Roshogola)2 or any of the delicious dishes she used to prepare that would awaken those tender memories of her in my heart. But, why Maggie? The pre-packaged instant noodles of all things. I was baffled. Maggie is the bachelor's food, and basically an afterthought in a traditional South Indian kitchen and would not have reached there anyway without aggressive marketing. (as my Ajji (Grandmother) used to say- all speed and no soul).
Perhaps it was the cracking, crunching of the cube shaped Maggi bricks, that had triggered some memory of her, or the noodle sticks breaking down in the boiling liquid, the yellow spreading out in the colorless water, giving it the soupy texture. Or the little impatient bubbles popping out, threatening to burst. My mind had latched on to some image and connected it to my wife.
Later as I sat at the dining table to savor the noodle soup, I closed my eyes and let the aroma fill my mind. There was something unusual, exotic about the smell. A slight tinge of K- flower seeds - a herb from her native state that my wife often used in her cooking. The spice is not usually well known beyond the northern hills where it grows naturally in the wild. It is supposed to be a good for the heart. I rushed to retrieve the packet from the dustbin and read the ingredients of the essence. There was no mention of K- seeds. I returned quietly, and finished my noodle soup.
It had been ten tasteless years since she passed away. My wife still cares about my health.
02. A fib called Time
Our entire existence is defined by time. Not the metaphysical, 'I am the End of all things' -Time; but the 'wind the spring in the wall-clock' or you will miss the bus’ time. We are prisoners of the calendar. The date of birth keeps you on a leash, ( like a rope tied around the cow’s neck and left for grazing), as we measure our life and celebrate the years lived/left.
Our body changes as we grow older, weaker, (deader?). And we believe at some sub-conscious level that controlling time, measuring time, saving time will somehow stall this change/deterioration. And thus, we keep tabs on time. By the year and month and hour and down to the last second. Hypnotized by the miraculous passage of day into night and moments into years.
And before you know, before you can even make sense of it all, the gravestone stands before us. And we wonder where did all the time go.
As I lay on the bed now, frail and old, strange faces crowd around me, waiting. (I am too weak to remember them). From a far- off wall in the next room, the pendulum
strikes - twice, thrice, twelve times. I don't even know what it means.
03. A Poet’s Autopsy
Open me after I die
you will find-
No bones nor veins, neither blood or sinews
But verses of poetry!
I feel like a volcano
About to shower
Bubbling poems -
On unsuspecting listeners.
04. On a Setting Sun
Just like a good book, he thought, the world will one day end. Thousands and millions of years of human ego- the great cities and glorious revolutions, all those industries and monuments of human vanity - reduced to a speck of dust floating in the empty universe.
No one left to tell the tales. No ballads to be sung.
He smiled, got up and tossed a pebble into the water. Then he watched the sun diving into the sea on the far horizon, making a golden splash on the skies. The last remnants of light illuminating the clouds in golden and orange hues. As the first stars came out, he turned back, feeling a bit lighter.
Sea had that effect on him.
05. Krishna’s Question
{I first heard this fable from my father. The great Indian epic Mahabharata is centered around the battle of righteousness and evil, represented by the two branches of Kuru Clan - Pandavas and the Kauravas. The most important book of Hindu faith- The Bhagwad Gita (Song of God) comes from Mahabharata. A lot of stories and folk tales based on Mahabharata and it's characters are narrated and performed in the Indian countryside and towns. Almost every village in India has its own set of moral tales based on the greatest of the epics - Veda Vyasa’s Mahabharata.}
It is the eve of the Kurukshetra war. Both sides - the Kauravas and the Pandavas have assembled their armies and camps on either ends of the battlefield. Lord Krishna, who has vowed not to take part in the battle, but rather act as a charioteer to his friend Arjuna goes to the enemy camp to meet Duryodhana. The eldest of the Kaurava brothers whose villainy born of jealousy and hatred would result in the terrible eighteen-day battle is deep in thoughts.
Krishna smiles at the prince, “Duryodhana , tomorrow the great and fearsome battle of Kurukshetra will begin. Your vanity would lead to the death of many Yodhas (Warrior - heroes) and thousands of soldiers on both sides. Nobody knows if anyone will be left alive after this bloodshed. Before this battle starts, I want to ask you something.”
Duryodhana: “What is it, Lord of Dwarka?"
Krishna: "Son of Gandhari, tell me how many righteous and evil people are there in this world?"
The conceited Duryodhana laughs bitterly, “Krishna, there is nobody who is completely honest and righteous. The entire world is filled with evil and self-centered men.”
Krishna takes his leave and arrives at the Pandava camp to meet the eldest of Pandavas, Yuddhistra.
Yuddhistra, (Dharmaraj) the upholder of Dharma bows to Krishna. “Lord, how may I be of service?”
Krishna: “Dharmraj, you are the wisest of all the royal princes in this land. Despite your well-intentioned attempts at peace, the great battle of Kurukshetra will commence as the Sun rises tomorrow. No one knows how many will become fodder of Kaal(Death). Tell me Dharmaraj, how many good and bad men are there in this world?”
Yuddhistra says , "O Madhusudana, Krishna I cannot think of anyone who is completely evil. Even the worst and the most condemned villian has some goodness in him.
*****
”Epilogue: Here we are at the end of Issue #003 of Brief Notes on Life. Do write to me your thoughts in the comments section. I intend to write two issues per month and it will be completely free.
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