Something for the first time II

 

July 2014 we moved into this house we live in now. As it often happens, some of the junk had been left behind by the landlord/previous occupants. I had to get rid of a lot of trash left on the patio and in the garage. I could not bring myself to throw away a few broken trellises that sat there though. I have no clue why. Not that they were pretty or costly or unique in any way or I thought I'd fix them. They just sat there and I let them. Rotting, collecting dust, exposed to weather elements - Texas sun, summer rain, what little winter wind there is, but mostly sun and rain. Every time I worked in the yard or just sat with my smoke and drink, watching the overgrown grass, thinking I'd mow it this weekend, distracted by rabbits grazing on grass, hummingbirds attacking and dodging each other on the nectar feeder, birds on the birdbath, etc. I just sat there, sometimes on the phone, staring at the traffic on 99, and many chain store signs on the other side of the highway, beyond the little water retention pond behind the house. Every now and again, my eyesight would wander from the trellises to the dirty patio corner to row of bushes beyond and back, a thought would cross my mind, I would put them out this trash day, or oh, I forgot again, today is Tuesday, the trash is gone, ok, I'll put them out for Friday pick up. But for one or the other reason I just procrastinated. And sat there making mental notes for responses to stupid, sometimes funny or interesting, but mostly stupid Facebook posts and comments. Other times I'd be looking at the birds but actually thinking about a client, or a lender situation and suddenly coming to my senses admonishing myself for wasting time out in the yard instead of replying to that email or writing one to follow up on another matter. Then the mind would reply and admonish back as to why did I waste all these years in the line of work that I have never enjoyed except it pays the bills. Then someone, my wife, or one of the children or a friend or family would call or some other interruption would make me go inside. The internal conversations would be triggered and go on almost every evening I'd be out back with my tea and cigarette, and invariably the response to what else would I do if not continue with work I do not like at all and continue doing, would be, wish I were some kind of an artist. Now this is not out of the blue. I have dabbled in calligraphy, wood working, painting, gardening/landscaping, even a short film, etc. for years but never considered myself good at anything. Whatever it is that has kept me from any creative pursuit was now on the defensive every passing day as my mind would exhort me to just go do something. Just do whatever it is that I'd like, not quitting what I was doing for "work" but just beginning to do whatever it is I'd like - scroll sawing, painting, digging up the yard and designing a garden, etc. And then I'd think of my son's comments when I decided to give Uber a shot a few weeks ago. He said something to the effect that anybody can do all these things you do. (He was referring to my other stints - as security guard, a courier, a delivery driver, etc.) You're a capable man, challenge yourself, etc., etc. His reprimand about challenging myself stuck. A few days ago, upon one of those flitting glances on the trellises, it happened. Reason and opportunity to challenge myself converged. And I thought and thought without any solution how to put them back in shape that they can be of use. But they were in such bad shape, there was no way they could be useful anymore. There was a sort of a parallel between them used up trellises and myself. They had served their purpose and were no good any longer. So had I, I thought. We both needed drastic re-purposing, becoming useful again in some way, or perish. From then on, every time I sat back out, I'd think about finding some other purpose for them. And it was torturous because this was becoming an obsession. And I, a full grown man well on the other side of 50s was stuck, on the one hand with challenging myself and on the other, obsessed about re-purposing the stupid trellises. Or was it it me who was stupid. Anyways, this past weekend a few of  the beer caps I had been saving for I never knew what got used, this happened. Trellises got salvaged in crude wall art for garage. It's my turn now ...

For the first time...

When was the last time you did something for the first time. I've come across this "new age"y kind of question several times over last couple of years. While I set it aside every time, at least it seemed I was setting it aside, it stayed in the back of my mind reminding me now and again a few things I had always wanted to experiment with.

One of them being participating in an art car parade. Now I say participating as if I'm totally informed and a regular spectator and an enthusiast of the event. Let alone participating, I've never even attended one. Every year on the weekend of the parade something or the other comes up that I find a reason enough to put off going to the parade. One of the hurdles has always been finding somebody who'd enjoy going to this kind of event with me.

This year, this past weekend I thought it was enough of excuses, I've got to go this time. The night before, I dropped off my wife to JK, back at home, I made hot tea, lit a cigarette and sat in the garage while waiting for her to call or text asking me to go get her. (Those not familiar: JK is short for Jamaat Khana, a place of worship that Shia Ismaili Muslims attend). I had an hour and a half or so. As I sat there smoking and sipping tea, I looked at the car in the driveway, it was twilight kind of time, the light and reflection on the hood made me get up, look for the colors and brush, an image of an Eagle sat there on the work bench with so may other references I had collected for scroll saw. I wiped the dust off the hood and before she called I had this Eagle's image staring at me from the hood of my old Camry.

It rained on the way to JK and back and in the next couple of hours the Eagle was half gone, washed away in the rain. But I had the answer to the question, "when was the last time I did something for the first time". I also understood if the answer carries words like, "just last week", "just the other day", etc. the pleasure multiplies a few times when you answer the question.

Saturday, I went to the parade by myself. Part of me said I shouldn't have missed it all these years. I should've been here every year. Another part kind of consoled, there's a time and place for everything. May be there's a reason I am here this time. For the next, I don't know I think a good couple of hours, may be more, I was transported in another world. In front of me were the exquisitely designed moving things they called art cars. But there were bees and birds and beasts and sea creatures and movie characters and plain happy abstract designs and a lot of happy, some weird people, well actually a whole lot of weird people and I didn't think of or miss anything or anybody during that time.

The surge of inspirations, and ideas, for my own art car was keeping me afloat. No "high" like that. At one point I was like sleepwalking. It was entirely another world. The whole experience confirmed and validated I don't belong to the world everybody thinks I belong to. I've always felt I'm a sort of a misfit. I'm doing time. I don't qualify for parole or pardon. But this past Saturday I learned I can be free now and again. And if I be at it, soon I'll be totally free. I've got a whole bunch of things I got to do for the first time. The first one being free and not feel guilty about it; not depend on anybody to join me to freedom; be clear of all rut and routine and enjoy the freedom. 

  https://www.google.com/search?q=houston+artcar+parade&client=firefox-a&hs=7M3&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&channel=fflb&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=fHORUZwTjbGrAdz8gIAH&ved=0CAoQ_AUoAQ&biw=1280&bih=681

Here's the Eagle off the hood of my car. 

The picture above got uploaded with the Eagle. I'm leaving it there. It's the name of my brother's business I scroll sawed this past week.

Now let's see when will be the next time I do something for the first time.

So when was the last time you did something for the first time???

Wohi loag mujh sey bichhad gaey...

A few days ago I was on the road again late in the evening. CDs were scratched and getting stuck. Legends was not playing legends as it is happening more often lately. They're trying to attract a younger crowd of listeners and playing numbers from the 90s and later years. NPR and KPFT also at times begin boring you with same old too political or too superficially altruistic programming. I stumbled upon the Desi station. And this night it was Moeen Peerzada's program. I hate the guy's guts. He's too khudpasand as they say. Just as I was about to move away this guy, we'll call him Mr. H, called in. Sounded like a frequent caller and the hosts sounded like they knew him well. After a few minutes of chat that didn't mean anything to me, he began reading a ghazal that sounded familiar. It got my ear and I called the station. (I'm not the sort who'd keep radio station numbers stored but for a reason that I'd write about some other day I had this one.) And the host took the call on air and far as I could figure they didn't even have that 7-sec delay. Told him I wanted to talk off the air and requested for the caller's number for I had to have that ghazal. Mr. H also wouldn't want to give the number on air. So I got the number off the air on agreeing that I'd call in the morning.

That I did and am glad that I did. Mr. H is sure an interesting man. After a few minutes of customary pleasantries we learned that we were from same part of town back home and had worked at one point in time for same employer. We had a few other common situations we had experienced. I learned that he's in the north east and listens over on internet to the desi radios here in Houston and Dallas and other cities, calls in and reads poems and prose and shares interesting information on the lives and times of famous literary folks, particularly from Indo-Pak subcontinent. Interesting man, Mr. H.

Here's the ghazal that he read again, and I jotted it down. Though it is not fair to some people in your life who've given their entire self away to you and yours, yet to a sha'er, Aitbar Sajid in this case, that doesn't matter. He'd express what he'd want to. And the guys like me, and some gals too, them women may be more so, would just go wild listening and reading them and taking them to the heart. So here goes:

Jo Khayal thay, na qias thay, wohi loag mujh sey bichhad gaey
Jo muhabbaton ki asaas thay, wohi loag mujh sey bichhad gaey

Jinhein manta hi nahi yeh dil, wohi loag hein merey humsafar
Mujhey har tarah say jo raas thay, wohi loag mujh sey bichhad gaey

Mujhey lamha bhar ki rafaqaton ke sarab aur sataengay
Meri umr bhar ki jo piyas thay, wohi loag mujh sey bichhad gaey

Yeh khayal sarey hein aarzi, yeh gulab sarey hein kaghazi
Gul i arzoo ki jo baas thay, wohi loag mujh sey bichhad gaey

Jinhein kar saka na qabool mein, woh shareek i rah i safar huay
Jo meri talab, meri aas thay, wohi loag mujh sey bichhad gaey

Meri dhadkano kay qareeb thay, meri chah thay, merey khwab thay
Woh jo roz o shab merey paas thay, wohi................................................

Now, let me see if I can find a sung version over on youtube and see if I can post the link here.
Here it is, not the sung one but, say recited. Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_2RQsu-2QM

Tenaha, Carthage, Jefferson.

Appleby, Texas.

Redland Drive In Theatre

Nacogdoches