(3) Write a poem on the theme "saudade". Saudade is a vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist, for something other than the present. It is not an active discontent or poignant sadness but an indolent dreaming wistfulness. It differs from nostalgia in that one can feel saudade for something that might never have happened.
I found that the Portuguese actually celebrate Saudade day on 30 January.
My kind of people.
Shy sweet diffident
Caring and pure
Sensitive ever aware
She was loved yet,
Somewhat closer to the door
Than the inner chambers
Of our blessed family circle.
Why?
Fatherless at thirteen,
flawless beauty
A tad too well educated
For her designated duty
A middle class Bengali
Bride to be
As soon as her widowed mother
Could find a suitable boy.
We don't have debutante balls
At least not back then
When we only aped the west
In baking cakes and puddings.
More's the pity, law of nature dictates
A pretty face is coveted, suitors abounded, her beauty was just budding.
Things didn't end so prettily for her.
She hadn't been brought up to bend
Her instrument was deemed too fine
Strung up taut
Like her violin or sitar.
So humble in self assessment
So proud in dignity and family heritage.
The boy's mother declined.
The suitor honour bound pressed his suit,
A tad lukewarm.
She shivered in disgust
Her fine antennae shuddered in mistrust.
Not until your mother accepts
She checked out of his life.
She left.
To meet her
One true love
Her Father.
The only man
Who kept the faith.
She was my beautiful aunt.
She was and is
My visceral saudade.
I keep seeing her shadow
Cross me by
In corners of
Ancient heartbreak.
Like light borne
On luminiferous ether..
And my oh my
How I smile
Like I could die
Teeth gnashing the skulls
Of agony
Whiplashing my cheeks
For being a thoughtless
Child.
Remembering the memories
Our childish parodies
Of serious Tagore songs
How we would choke back giggles
Tears running down our eyes
You don't know the gift you had
Till it's gone.
She is Alone.
Knowing her, she is
Stuck at the threshold of
Heaven's door
Waiting for a sign.
I hope my grandfather
Holds her in his arms
Clasps the gem
He treasured.
Sweet dreams
Pretty lady
Though on hard floor
You made your bed
Pillaged your own beauty
With pills your pain allayed.
Three days your rotting corpse
Closed doors and windows
Alone surveyed
Aunty too hard...
That last lonely bed.
Come back as
Loving daughter
Or a vivacious niece
Though in this life
You're cold instead.
My eyes that were
Too hard and dry
You gifted them tears by and by
You shattered my
World of cold intellect
My pride in utter self containment
You proved to me the lie
My austere refusal to cry.
Missing you
Memories old and blue
And memories new
That would never be made
Wondering what may have been
If an aunty adored could have
Found in me, a friend?
...
But no,
Your gift was to die.
Your gift was goodbye.
(c) Amrita Valan 2018
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