Sitting on the window seat of
Rough grey Shahabad stone
In a house that stands no more
Looking out past the garden
of multi hued fragrant roses
to the road beyond the short wall
abandoned in the heavy afternoon heat
but for a reluctant cycle rickshaw
un-oiled wheels groaning sluggishly
and a hand cart pushing hawker or two
calling out their wares, Munjal A Munjal!
Chheetey waley mauz! Aam liyo aam!
loud cries piercing the thick heat waves
and the dreams of drowsy housewives
who lethargically call out, trudging to the gate,
to spend some of their abundant time haggling,
a buyer and seller's much looked for pleasure.
and in the dahlans of whitewashed houses,
behind blinds of wettened vetiver mats,
through which, flow cooled scented breezes,
families escape from heat in siestas,
or sitting on takhts resting on large gau takia's
or while away afternoons, gossiping indolently,
muslin clad grandmother's eating paan from silver paandaans
and younger members drinking glasses of aab shola
or enjoying shakkar gutli, rasal or benishaan
while on the dahlaan's edge drinking water cools
in earthenware surahis scented with rose petals
and on aangans enclosed within high walls,
as mamas , sprinkle the ground with water
sizzling heat escapes from
the sun-baked earth.
and as the day cools, and the scorching sun
reflected in the silent Musi glows
behind Osmania hospital's graceful domes
it's time for cries of motiya bahar to echo
fragrant white flowers to be threaded in chains
to decorate and perfume long dark braids
and as evening culminates into starry night
and the raat rani spreads its rich boquet
the dastarkhan is spread for the last repast
a blend of dakhni and mughlai cuisine
that might conclude with delicious khubani ka meetha
as a bustling metropolis rushes, expands and grows,
days of grace and beauty, in an old world,
of arches, domes, minarets, sumptuous palaces,
stone bridges over a slowly meandering river,
with its own courtly manners and hospitalty,
where time was ample, and tradition treasured,
and behind the high walls of ancient dewris,
stories of genies and fabulous treasures whispered,
are swallowed up
to linger on.......................... only
in memory
Author notes
If you have enjoyed this poem do read these two poems from Old Poetry by Sarojini Naidu the nightingale of India who grew up in the city of Hyderabad and whose words describe it so much better than i ever could, most of this poem originated in the comment I left on her poem which i can say truly evoked these memories.
oldpoetry.com/poetry/27193
oldpoetry.com/poetry/27194
Glossary of Terms
Shahabad stone: stone found in the quarries of Shahabad often used rough and unpolished in the older houses of Hyderabad.
Munjal: Palm fruit
Chheetey waley Mauz: Bananas with sprinkling of black dots supposed to be the sweetest
Am liyo am: Mangoes take mangoes
dahlan: in the old Hyderabad the main room used as an all purpose room used to be open on one side which was covered by blinds to let in the breeze. many of these houses still remain
shakkar gutli, rasal or benishaan: Deliciously fragrant and sweet mangoes, found usually in Hyderabad.
takht: sofas were rare in many of the older homes and often wide beds without any head or footboards were used both to sleep and for guests to sit on. These beds had long round cushions to rest on called gau takias.
paan: betel leaf
Aab shola: a sweet sour drink made out of raw mangoes first boiled or roasted on hot coals
surahi: eartenware container for cooling water,
mamas: Maidservants, some often serving the same family for generations.
aangan: the dahlan which was raised extended into the aangan or courtyard which was slightly lower, the kitchen and bathrooms were often on one side of the courtyard, some courtyards had fruit (often guava) or flowering trees and shrubs.
Motiya: Indian Jasmine or Natural Jasmine
raat rani: Night jasmine,
Khubani ka Meetha: a sweet jam like dish made from apricots,garnished with custard, often served only in parties
dastarkhan: A cloth spread on the ground to serve food on, used only while eating on the ground.
Written June 8th, 2005
In a list
What did you think
Comments
1 - 14 of 14
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perfect~
Oh I could just envison this sweetie
It was beautiful...and nostalgic and somewhat to me sad also
You have such wonderful imagery in this poem it made me feel like I was there
Sorry I haven't been by sooner I will try to catch up
I have up some new ones too do come see me & hope all is well with you
Hugs n love
Susan~~~
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stunning!
Wow Pari… you sure know how to paint a scene with your words! This is just oozing with atmosphere and culture. I’m not sure exactly where this place is that you describe so eloquently… and I’ve never been to India… but I sure feel like I’ve been there now!
Absolutely breathtaking Pari… and that ending is gorgeous… magical… the whole thing is superb!! I’ve been away too long!
~ Lou ..xx 
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This is a lovely write Pari. The end with so many description and then wrapped up with "Swallowed up" has a great effect. So many grand things described as if looking at them while write, so vivid and clear... just swallowed up as memories. Well done my friend. Best wishes and s... ~genielassie~
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exquisite
splendid description, but what can I say, a work of an EASTERN's soul.......keep up.... -
I'm seriously out of applauds or I would ( and you know I'm good for it ) so I'll have to do that when I'm not. GRIN..
I enjoyed this trip through another place-time, I've always admired your skill when it comes to transporting me.. You depict things with such richness, such detail that I find myself almost hearing the noise, the bustle.. the scent of the places you describe.. Oh and.. the Urdu words were wonderful they add to this the tone that it needs to really take someone .elsewere..
¤´¨)
¸.·´ ´´ ·¨)
(¸.·´(¸.·¤hims/Lisa
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Breathtakingly descriptive - you've made me want to be there.
M -
Brilliant!
Your imagery in this write is superb, as I read, it was as if I myself was actually experiencing this part of your life, you have made it possible for your reader to smell, touch, see and hear everything you describe about your time in this place. Memories are a wonderful thing, though that particular time has past, the memories still can be as vivid as if they had happened yesterday.
This is brilliant!
~Katie~
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No Raven the city is Hyderabad in south eastern India on the Deccan plateau... it has its own history traditions culture and language the language is a dialect of urdu called dakhni which is spoken only in Hyderabad.
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That building sounds like an interesting centerpiece of a bustling metropolitan area...I couldn't say that I wasn't confused with all of the Arabic (I guess it's Arabic, correct me if I'm wrong) words interwoven throughout, though
I would like to spend one summer abroad, so that I can be immersed in the culture of another country. It would give me a greater perspective on how to view people, and how not to feel like an expatriate. I feel like I have just taken a trip through your eyes. Fascinating and a well-written piece.
Many blessings,
Raven Aurora
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Summer... interesting imagery... good thing you gave definitions of the words at the end, otherwise I would have panicked and left without commenting. Housewives... neighborhoods... haggling. This sort of reminds me of when I went to Paraguay... it reminds me of THEIR urban market... but we were tourist and everyone was in awe. Especially when we took pictures of some lady's roosters. She went, "The Americans have taken pictures of MY roosters", as if it were something to brag about... and then some 15 year old native tried to get my father... uh... never mind... Sorry about the rant... I should be paying more attention to your poem, but it reminds me of my many trips to Paraguay when I was younger... thanks for giving me material that led to me into reminscing...
Keep writing, Miji -
Ah Pari, as always you transport me on the magic carpet of your vivid scenes, you paint a picture with words that I can see, and remind me of common memories of the hot summer days of life in urban neighborhoods. You have such a tallent for this, you could write great books. I was raised just outside of Boston, and though our places are far appart, the sights, sounds and experiences are much the same in the endless youth of summer. Sweet writing! Sweet reading! Diane
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Beautiful
This is beautiful, tender and sad.
"where time was ample, and tradition treasured,
and behind the high walls of ancient dewris,
stories of genies and fabulous treasures whispered,
are swallowed up"
Do you think we will ever learn?
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yes it was a house I spent many of my summer holidays in much of the afternoons dreaming on that window seat, like many houses it has made way for an apt block
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Hi, a super write , just one question you said in the opening the house that stands no more this would mean in English it is in ruins or is no longer there, but you were in that house?,a lovely descriptive write you took me there, a great pleasure to read, all the best, hugs Di
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