SPIRIT LOVER
Your eyes are a window to my soul,
Our soul, we are one.
Spirit Lover you keep me alive
I need you by my side
Love is so deep,
Your ghostly presence keeps,
You are the one for me.
CHORUS
Spirit Lover,
Stay, never go away.
I feel so blue,
When I am not alone with you.
Young death of a young heart,
Cut short, we live apart.
The love I breathe is only for you
CHORUS
Spirit Lover,
Stay, never go away.
I feel so blue,
When I am not alone with you.
The music we make,
The words I write, day and night.
May the veil of illusions disappear
So that I will shed no more tears
CHORUS
Spirit Lover,
Stay, never go away.
I feel so blue,
When I am not alone with you.
When death releases me,
Spirit Lover together, we will finally be.
(COPYRIGHT SUBRATA SAHA (RG) 2010)
Sunday, 20 May 2012
LETTERS TO LONDON
Letters To London
Dear O2
Centre,
You sparkle
like a white shade of brilliant sheen in the sun that glows at high noon,
sitting on the peninsula
of Greenwich
To reach
you one must travel to your heart by the Greenwich Jubilee tube artery. You are
part of London
Today
tickets have sold out for this particular gig. A record breaker so they say at
the box office.
So many
people like tiny ants scurrying along to enter the vastness of your chamber. A
nest of entertainers to entertain the crowd in this creative hub.
I am inside
the creative womb, the monument to the Millennium, an artistic venue. I sit up
there with the Gods as I watch the stage from a far. Watch the camaraderie of people
who have come here to be connected by the music. The energy and vibrations that
echo in this huge arena of Europe .
The band
appears. A rock band to rock the masses. Guitar blazing, drums drumming,
singers singing and everyone sways with the music.
The solid
roof fills with music echoes in the air. I feel uplifted in the caverns of
space, sound and time. The energy, vibrations, a vortex of acoustic sounds that
resonate every cell in my body. My atoms come alive!
Yet not so
long ago you were a sight for sore eyes. A disgrace conjured up by the Tories.
A huge hole in the public purse. You were the “Millennium Dome” or the “Millennium
Doom”?
Described
by some as a blamange sitting in your own moat of mud around the Thames . The river passing you by, meandering like a
silver snake, hissing and cursing you.
A big
circus tent top with your own clowns laughing at you. You were shamed and
disgraced. No one knew what to do with you.
A British embarrassment.
.
Then the
Queen ushered in the Millennium. She was at your helm that night of 31st
December 1999 to steer you through the next thousand years. The huge hull of
your boat coming into land, to be moored and anchored by the Thames .
.
Today you
can be many things to the mind’s eye if you wish.
A sport complex,
a music venue, a museum, a film set, a place to eat and dine serving the most
mouth-watering, flavoured cuisine.
Ahh I
remember the Tutankumun exhibition of
gold. You shone of all the gold artefacts that blinded my eyes. Like Aladdin’s
Cave you came alive with so many hidden Egyptian treasures. It felt like
Tutankumun himself could arise from his grave. You are the Egyptian pyramid of
the 21st century.
Another
treasure you housed was the Millennium Star. A twinkling gem that showed purity
and splendour and left people to stare in awe .How unbelievable it was that
robbers tried to rob your priceless heart. Like something from a James Bond
movie they never got away with their dirty deed.
Many great
bands have passed under your vast bowers and your acoustic sound system is
second to none. Led Zeppelin, Prince, and
the SpiceGirls all have played here. Michael Jackson announced his final
curtain call here but never made it - empty stage empty without him. No final
bow here for MJ.
The concert
has now finished. The applause and the encores are over. People slowly start to
leave. I feel exhilarated. I have enjoyed your show and I hope to see many
more. A powerhouse of sound and energy to tingle my ears.
Now in 2012
you are the centre of attention again. So many Olympians will come to compete
in the London Olympics to compete for gold. The world will be watching with
anticipation and bated breath.
I will be
watching too as the “sunlight “of the Olympic Torch touches your skin and warms
you once again.
Subrata
Saha ( May 2012)
30-30-30
MY INDIAN FAMILY CHRISTMAS
MY INDIAN FAMILY
CHRISTMAS.
Recently a work colleague of mine asked me whether
as a British born Asian did my family and I celebrate Christmas in this country
and what did it actually mean to me?
I thought it was a very interesting question
and something to ponder about.
My parents were brought up in the state of West
Bengal in Calcutta
When I asked my parents how they celebrated
Christmas in India it seemed
very simple in comparison to Britain
My parents did not recall anything about
Christmas cards, Christmas trees, Santa Stockings, Christmas dinner, presents,
or midnight mass, or the Queen speech. And the term for “White Christmas”
well? There is rarely any snow around
the month of December.
I don’t want to give the impression that
Christmas is not celebrated in India
In Southern India Christians often put out
small burning clay lamps on the flat roofs of their homes to show their
neighbours that Jesus is the light of the world: a little bit like Hindus do
when celebrating Diwali. Christians in Mumbai display a manger in front of a
window to display the Nativity scene.
In North West India Christians of the Bhil folk
go out at night to sing carols.
Santa Claus is known as “Christmas Baba” in
Hindi and “Christmas Thaathaa” in Tamil.
When my parent married and came to live in this
country in the sixties and seventies they began to adopt some of Britain Britain
Along side Christmas we still celebrate our own
Hindu festivals like Diwali. Diwali (meaning the Festival Light and celebrating
rescuing of Sita from the demon Ravana by her husband Rama and coming back home
to reclaim their kingdom and the start of a new golden age for the world) is
like our Christmas and we also a celebrate the coming of a New Year and new
beginning.
Christmas had a greater meaning when my brother
and I were born. Since Christmas was celebrated at our schools we obviously
wanted to celebrate Christmas at home. I still remember Santa Claus coming to
my nursery and handing out Christmas presents or the carol singing we did at
school. I remember receiving cards and presents from school friends and the
Nativity plays that I took part in. I still feel Christmas is thoroughly
enjoyed by kids. It was certainly the case for my brother and me. One of the
earliest memories for me is when my mum bought a Christmas tree for the first
time and we decorated it with tinsel and ornaments. Placed on top of that tree
was a beautiful star angel. I still remember that amazing star angel. For years
as a child I loved wrapping presents with my mum for my family members. But the
best bit was seeing the joy on my brothers little face when he opened his
presents. He used to be so excited
The other delightful memory was when one
Christmas my mother was away in India
Christmas made my childhood memories very rich
and exciting
We also had traditional Christmas dinners,
though we had chicken instead of turkey. We pulled crackers and my brother and
I laughed at the jokes inside while wearing our paper hats. Family did come
round to visit and we would watch the Queens Speech and watch “The Snowman”
every year.
When my late grandmother came from India
There of course some subtle differences. For
example we never went to midnight mass and we never sent Christmas cards to India- only to our relatives in America
Now that my brother and I are adults Christmas
for us is still important but it has now toned down a little. We still have our
traditional Christmas dinner and wine, we still watch the Queen speech.
Nowadays we send Christmas e-cards by e-mail to friends. We give each other
presents. We mainly give each other money and clothes now! We don’t even have a
Christmas tree now but may still put up some decorations. Friends and family
still come round. Since I became vegetarian I am the only family member now to
have “veggie Christmas”.
I really believe we will get more into
Christmas when my parents become grandparents. It will be like reliving my childhood
again but through my future children. Tradition will pass on. As I said
children find Christmas the most exciting and I believe the next generation of
my family more so then ever.
I feel
doubly blessed that we can celebrate Diwali and Christmas one after the other.
Diwali is celebrated towards the end of October. Both celebrations means that
family and friends come together and I like that. I love being surrounded by
people I love and who love me. It is time for great warmth and joy which we lack
in modern times.
I have notice the theme of light is found in
Diwali and Christmas. At Diwali we light little oil lamps and at Christmas we
also light candles. Light can heal. Light and love.
Prayers are important at Christmas as well as
Diwali. I truly believe in the power of prayer.
I love Christmas because it celebrates the
birth of Jesus. Many people forget that. Perhaps Christmas is too
commercialised in the Western world. Jesus was born into this world to spread
the good news. He was the saviour and light of this world. The message or good
tidings he brought to us is just as relevant in his day and as well as ours. He
spread the goods news of the Kingdom
Of God
Diwali holds a similar message. When Rama
returned to his kingdom with his wife Sita it was start of a “golden age” on
earth.
This Christmas I will remember the good things
in my life and how I am blessed. I will pray for this world and wish peace and
happiness on everyone.
And to little kids everywhere Santa Claus
really does exist!
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
SUBRATA SAHA.
ROBERT JOHNSON BLUES
ROBERT JOHNSON’S BLUES JOURNEY
I come home
from a long a hard days work in the
cotton fields. I have been working up to my neck in sweat and dirt all day
picking those darn dry cotton off their buds. I come home to my faithful dog
Butch and to my woman. Walk right into the kitchen and call out my baby’s name.
But my call isn’t answered. Where could my baby be?
I see Butch sitting in the hallway. “Where’s mama Butch?” He looks at me sadly with
his sad doggy brown eyes. I feel confused.
I walk up
the old rickety staircase of our old shack and walk straight into bedroom. Butch
follows closely on my heels.The metal framed bed is made up. The house looks
clean: the washing been done, the floors swept and there are vases of flowers
on every window sill. No dust at all. No sir, no dust at all. But I can’t find
my baby.
Then I
realise something. I am hungry. I spent a whole day working and a man has gotta have some food in his belly. He gotta have something to eat! There is no
cooking smells. By baby’s cooking is the best in the Mississippi
I see a
brown crisp envelope resting lightly on the green patchwork quilt of our bed. I
walk over and pick it up. I put the envelope to my nose and smell the "lily of
the valley" perfume that my baby wears. The sweet,
fragrant smell is as familiar to me as she is.
fragrant smell is as familiar to me as she is.
I feel anxious.
Something isn’t right. The house to too quiet. So quiet I can hear a crow
calling in the distance. I don’t know if I should open the letter. But I do and
the shock hits me like a fast freight train.
She’s gone
and left me for another man!!
I walk over
to her dresser and wardrobe. Everything is gone. Her flowery dresses, her hair
brush, mirror and perfume…..she even took the secret 100 dollars bills tashed
away in the secret compartment of our draw. She really, truly has gone and left
me. I can’t understand why?
I need to
think. I need to find out why she left me. How long had she been having an affair?
Whose this other guy? Was she not happy with me? She had been my sweet heart
and baby since we were in our teens. I gotta find her!!!.
My name is
Robert Johnson. I am that famous blues guitarist from years ago and this is my
short story of how I travelled across the States to find my baby. Because she
is gone and I am gonna get her back.
Next
morning I take a few things and place them in the trunk of my Terraplane. I lock
up the shack of our house and Butch goes to stay with the neighbours. I am
going to travel from here to Chicago
I know my Baby’s
gone to Chicago Chicago and Chicago
I as I
drive across the dry barren landscape I feel as desolate as the scenery before
me. I feel so sad, my is heart broken. I feel like crying. I feel so confused.
What did that man have that I did not have? I try to make my baby happy in
anyways that I could. I provided her, worked so hard to make her happy to earn
her love. Ok I did not have much money but once I became a famous Blues
musician that would have been no problem. No siree – no problem at all.
Ok I am
dreamer. But I believe in my music.Its God’s gift to me. I want to spread my
music to the world. People need to hear what I have to say! I want to make
people happy. This is my vocation, my life, my purpose.
I should
have spent more time with her. I guess me working on the land and playing at
jook joints all night probably didn’t help. She must have been lonely and then
turned to her lover instead. She had a lot of church going friends. Did she
meet him there?
I see dark
clouds in the horizon and soon the heavens pour. The rain is beating heavily on
the bonnet on my Terraplane. Like a steady beat of my broken heart. Again I
feel like crying and I want the rain to mingle with my tears.
I soon
arrive at my first stop: my friend Willie Johnson’s house. His house is so
welcoming and homely. There is a light on in his kitchen.
I park the
Terraplane carefully in the driveway. I go up to the front door and knock.
Willie Johnson opens the door and there is a huge welcoming smile on his face.
“Bob my
man. Its so great to see you!!. Come on in my kitchen”.
Seated at
the wooden kitchen table with a cold beer in my hand I tell Willie Johnson my
sorrow. The fire is a blazing and the room is warm and inviting.
Willie
Johnson listens. “You know Bob you must go to Chicago
Next day I
get into my Terraplane and drive away again. I soon reach the Route 66 again.
I think of
the first the time I met my baby. She was only 17. She heard me in the barn a
playing my wooden guitar. She said she was hypnotised by the music I played.
Bewitched. She was transfixed. She came into the barn and sat down and listened
on a bale of hay.
As my
fingers worked their magic across the fret board, gently creating that blue
melodic sound, we fell in love. She fell in love with my music and she fell in
love with me.
I soon stop
at my second point in my journey: a motel in the middle of no where.
After
checking in I see the motel has a live band playing from eight o’clock onward.
I have my
guitar, so why not? I speak to the landlord and he wants me to demonstrate my
musician qualities. So I do and I audition for him. That night I get the gig.
Soon its
7pm and the joint starts to fill. Everyone is waiting for a good show. I have
already been introduced to the band and it’s agreed I will have a solo spot for
the evening.
I play the
Blues that night with all my passion. I don’t know what is it about the Blues. It touches the heart and soul. I can be me, when I sing the Blues.
Everybody
listens to my music, just the way my baby first did when we first met.
I go to my
motel room after the show and sit on the bed. Is she lying in her lovers arms
the way she use to lie in my arms? Is he whispering sweet nothings in her ear?
Will she have her lover’s child? I can’t take this anymore. I can’t stop these
tormenting thoughts running through my mind. I hate her lover and I hate her
for what she is doing to me. It’s just evil and cruel. How com someone who said
she loved me just leave me? How could she do this to me Lord? Is she worth
getting back? Should I find another woman? Those love letters she wrote her friend
boy. She used to write letters like that to me so many years ago. How could
that man steal her heart?
I can’t
stand this torment. I can’t stand this pain anymore. I want it to end. I have
to find her. I have to bring her back. I hate this room. I feel so lonely in
this bed. Its so dark and silent outside. I can hear a wolf in the distant.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I am on the
move again in my Terraplane. Down highway route 66. Suddenly I see smoke: lots
of thick black smoke. I stop my motor by a fork in the road under a tree – my
third stop in my journey to find her.
My motors
died on me. Man! Why now? Why this moment? I feel so mad! But it’s my fault. I
forgot to load the petrol.
I sit down
by the side of the road on the dirt, head in my hands. I will have to walk to Chicago Chicago
So I take
my guitar and my suitcase and what money I have and start to walk. I walk and
walk my blues away.
I begin to
think. There is a legend that says that I met the Devil at the Crossroads in
the form of huge black man. I says to him I want to be the greatest Blues
player that ever lived. He grinned at me and said I could be but I have to
trade my soul. So I agreed. Is this story real or a myth? I will leave that
question unanswered.
I arrive at
the fourth stop in my journey. I arrive in Chicago Chicago
She begs me
to leave again. The next thing I know HE returns home. Her lover and me have a
bloody fight and then I can’t remember much else after that……………
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
My love has
been in vain. I lost my baby forever. I sit at the bar with a glass of whisky
in my hand. I drown in my blues. I drowns my sorrows away. My head hurts with
the bruise on my forehead.. I feel I have been punched bad, but I can’t feel
the pain. I just feel the pain of my heart. She won’t come back to me. I want to cry and
wring my hands. I feel lost in this joint with cigarette smoke and low lights.
I am in my own private hell. The devil may as well take my soul now. Earlier
another woman comes up to me and wants to flirt with me. I ain’t having it. I
just want to be with my beautiful wife.
My
beautiful gorgeous wife……..
She broke
my heart……….
What will I
do? How can I carry on now? I just want to die. I want to fade away.
I leave the
joint and go into a nearby church my fifth stop in my journey. I need to pray. I need to pray to my Good
Lord.
I sit
before the image of his son and pray in God home. And then I hear the answer
in my prayers. I see the one thing that
gives me fulfilment. The one true love in my life, who has never let me down.
Who has been by my side from day one.
A sudden
sense of peace descends upon me and I feel a comfort that no woman’s arms can
give me now.
My music is
that comfort. My God given music is my vocation,my wife and trusty loyal guitar
my girlfriend. I am in Chicago for a reason and that’s not to get my baby back
but to bring the Mississippi Delta Blues to the city – a city like Chicago and
then to spread the music to the world.
And that is
what I am gonna do. My journey has only just begun. My love indeed has not been
in vain……
By Subrata
Saha ( 22/04/2011)
YELLOW MOUNTAINS
As we climb
the steeped rugged surface of the mountain path I stopped for a moment to catch
my breath. The scenery was spectacular. The mountains looked like luscious
green – grey monuments jutting into sky to touch the sun-kissed rays of light
reflecting through the wispy clouds of mist.
My ever
present guide on this journey Changming gently said “Dear lady this place is
truly a heavenly bliss. As our great Tang poet Li Bai said in his famous poetry
prose:-
Thousands of feet high towers the Yellow Mountains
With its thirty-two magnificent peaks,
Blooming like golden lotus flowers,
Amidst red crags and rock columns.
With its thirty-two magnificent peaks,
Blooming like golden lotus flowers,
Amidst red crags and rock columns.
It is
a beautiful poem don’t you think? And here we are now seeing what he wrote with
our own eyes!”
I thought
to myself he is absolutely right. We were climbing Lotus
Mountain – one of many peaks that the Yellow Mountains
I did
wonder why I had to make this journey. The ironic thing is I am scared of
heights. I’ve always had a vertigo problem, but here I was now making this
final journey for me and for my beloved. It had to be done. That’s what lovers
do for each other.
“Come dear
lady”, said Chanming ,“I want to show you something. Your husband loved these
species of flowers. You really need to see them”. Chanming had been a friend
and guide to my husband on these mountains. Now he was being a friend and guide
to me.
Daniel had
been a botanist. We met at University on the same course. We fell in love
whilst studying a passion flower
(Passiflora Incarnata) believe it or not. It really was so romantic! He loved anything to do with plants, nature
and species. He came to China
often to the Yellow Mountains to study its unique diverse wildlife for
his University in London
We walked
over a small ridge and there my eyes widen with sheer joyful delight. There
before us for were hundreds and hundreds of azaleas. The purple haze of flowers made a rich carpet
of delicate purple blossoms drinking in the moisture of the mountain springs.
There were other flowers: camellia, Goddess flowers, orchids, Winter Jasmines
and lilies but the azaleas stood out like proud foot soldiers in their midst.
Daniel
loved azaleas. We grew them in our own back garden. He loved pottering around
in the garden planting his “babies” he called them. Planting the seed, watering
them, nurturing, speaking in soft tones of “plant baby language”. He had such
lovely “green fingers”. I loved his hands: delicate to the touch but strong and
powerful. I miss touching them, caressing them. I miss his arms around my
“delicate swan neck” as he called it. His reassuring touch always made me smile.
His
greenhouse was his castle. I never went in there if I could help it. It was
like a jungle of catus, aloe vera’s, orchids, lilies, etc He was Mowgli in his
very own “Jungle Book”. The memories flash in my mind and each image was like a
colourful photographic imprint that I hope will never fade.
Azalea are associated with the
star sign Sagittarius and Daniel was typical Sagittarius. My beloved was a hard
worker, footloose and fancy free, high spirited and generous: all typical
qualities that a Sagittarius has. Oh I loved him and oh how I miss him.
“There is
something else I want to show you. It is a very special pine tree. Come”, said
Chanming.
We climbed
the myriad of rocks and granite. Each granite or boulder seemed to have a face
that was scowling at me. Up, up, we went following the snake-like coiled path,
like the snake rising up the backbone to bring the kulandi energy into balance.
Suddenly I
stopped. I was getting tired. I needed to rest. This was becoming such an
emotional journey. I wish Daniel was here with me right now. I wish he had not
died. I don’t want to even think how he died. I nursed him during that time. He
was so brave and he died peacefully in my arms. He wanted to find a cure for
all diseases on these beautiful hills. His work was published in every Science
magazine around the world. He wanted people to respect nature and plant life –
not to destroy it but to protect its many purposes mainly medicinal. He would
lecture about it to his students. He was such a passionate man. He wanted the
rainforests to be saved and every fauna to be protected for Mother Earth.
“Dear lady
are you ok?”, said Chanming.
“No”, I
said sob, “It s too much for me. I don’t like heights. I feel like a kite that
no one is holding to keep me steady. I wish Daniel was here”.
“He is here and he is guiding you as I am.
You are not alone. You need to focus. You need to remember why you are doing
this. Look there is a spring not far from here. We should have drink”, said
Chanming.
I nodded
and followed him. Soon we arrived at the spring. Its gurgling bountiful sound of
water was such a comfort. Chanming filled my drinking bottle. The water was
crystal clear and helped to soften my parched throat and relax me. I felt a
huge weight lift off my shoulders as if some grey cloud had finally departed
from my mind. I felt better. I felt refresh to continue on our trek. It true
what they say. The Yellow
Mountain
Finally we
see the Pine Tree. Daniel’s Pine Tree. The one he liked to sit under. These
beautiful trees have a tough existence on these rocks. They are like brave
warriors riding out the tempest of storms on these mountains. There roots go
deep underground and then remain evergreen all year round. It reminds me of my
marriage to Daniel. He was the bark that protected me from the frost and ice. He
was my rock who held me by my roots as I was the branches swaying in the wind
with my green needles piecing the sky . Together we could weather any storm and
I was determined at that moment to conquer Lotus Peak
I see a Yellow Mountain
We soon see
the summit.
“Dear lady
we are here”, said Chanming.
I feel a
sense of relief. I feel like Edmund Hillary and Tenzing who conquered Mount Everest . I have made it at last.
As we come
up to the plateau I see before me the most splendid site. The Yellow Mountains
I walk up
to the railing and lowered my backpack. I take out what I need to. I brought
two brass locks with me. I had them especially made after Daniel died. One had
my name engraved in and the other had Daniel’s. This is why I have come to
Lotus peak. I came here to see the mountains Daniel loved and studied and I
came for us.
“Are you
ready”, said Chanming.
“Yes I am.
I am so glad we did not take the lift. I am so glad I climbed”, I tell him.
“Of course!
You laboured for your love by climbing this wonderful mountain and now you must
finish the final act and verse”
I nodded.
I walk up
to the railing and slowly lock the locks together on the railing: two lovers
finally binded and entwined for eternity. There are other locks left by other
people and the all came perhaps for the same reason. This is the best present I
can give my Valentine on Valentine’s Day today.
“This is
for us Daniel. This is for our love and may it last forever through time and
space. May no key ever unlock it and I
love you dear husband and I know I will see you one day again”.
With that I
feel Daniel’s presence beside me and his hand touching my “swan neck”. He is
here with me forever. I smile at Chanming . He smiles back.
Suddenly I
see a bird. I recognise it at once. It the Yellow Mountain
My journey
had finished. Now I must continue my husband’s work.
As I climb
down the mountain with Chanming , I realise I am no longer scared of heights. It
is a miracle indeed and I feel healed.
By Subrata
Saha
(
14/02/2011)
30-30-30
CHOCOLATE COVERED BISCUIT
Green
Chocolate Biscuit
I look at
the last piece of green – foiled chocolate on its silver plate. Most of the
guests at the dinner party have ate most of the chocolate delights from the
silver platter but there is this just one piece, just one piece of “heaven’s
delight” left.
I quickly
glance around. Nobody will see me take it. I will be discreet. I feel no guilt.
I have never felt guilt eating
chocolate.
I slowly
edge closer to the plate and gently touch the textured green foil. It feels
smooth and creased in my hand. I slowly open the wrapper……its like opening
Pandora’s Box, but inside there will no sadness – just chocolate delight.
There I
have opened it. The dark round object is sitting in the palm of my hand. Nobody
has seen me yet.
I smell the
delicious aroma of a thousand coco beans. I would like to know the ancient
secrets of the creators of this piece of chocolate. What secret ingredients did
they use from the Gods?
Slowly I
bring this edible delight to my lips and take a bite – just a small bite into
the crunchy soft texture. I feel like Eve in the Garden of Eden taking a bite
out of the forbidden fruit.
My taste
buds explode with sugar sweetness and my senses come alive.
Nobody has
seen me yet.
I quickly
devour the evidence and sweep away the crumbs.
I never give my last Rolo to anyone. I have had
my “taste of heaven”.
SUBRATA. X
FAREWELL AT THE CAFE ROUGE
FAREWELL AT
THE CAFÉ ROUGE
As I sit
quietly at my polished wooden table, I watch the cream in my ceramic rimmed
gold coffee cup swirling in circles of despair, like my thoughts.
I look
around the Café Rouge and I really cannot believe I am back here again with all
its memories and memorabilia on the walls.
He is
fashionable late as always. Jack always left me hanging somewhere in mid-air in
suspense. That’s was what our relationship was like. I was the last to know …. He knew how to keep
me guessing…….until the last frugal moment…But that’s what made Jack so
exciting, so unpredictable and surprising.
But the
last time he just went too far... He left me but it wasn’t his fault. The grief
is still too much to bear even now.
Maybe I
should leave. The Café is so beautiful: our favourite place in the world. It
reminds of our time in Paris Eiffel Tower , visiting the Louvre Gallery to watch Mona Lisa
smile, the magnificent Arc De Triomphe, the clear Glass Pyramid and walking by
the Seine gazing at the impressively carved
structure of the Notre Dame Cathedral.
We loved the song by Gary Moore “Parisienne Walkways”. It was our song.
This Café Rouge is our soul connection to Paris
I glance
out of window. The sunlight pours onto my face. It’s a strange sort of sunlight
and has no warmth and the light does not dazzle my eyes or blind me. There are
no cars or people on the street today: just a strange eerie silence. The leaves
on the trees are the brightest green and the buildings on the main street are
glowing with light. I feel like I am lost in all this time and space.
There are
people in the café but they don’t notice me. They sit at polished wooden tables
with its plush red leather seats. The conversations they are having are hushed
tones of silent sound and not audible to any normal human ear.
Everything
about the Café screams of culture and eloquence. The posh ambience and service
is second to none. The waiters are polite and have an angel like smiles on
their faces. Strange that they are the only ones that can see me and not the
other customers?
Ah yes the
customers! They too have come to see their loved ones for the last time like I
have. There is an elderly couple saying goodbye to their two grown up children.
However they do not look elderly. They are dressed in 1940’s finery with the
elderly lady having her hair styled in curls and swept up from behind into a
beautiful maroon coloured hat that sits chicly on her head. The hat has
life-like deep red cherries with green false leaves pinned to it and she is
wearing a well tailored streamlined, maroon coloured suit and maroon coloured lacquered
high heel shoes that you could see your face from. Her nails are painted a deep
red varnish and her make-up shows off her neatly pencilled near -perfect eye
brows.
Her husband
is equally dressed in black tailored outfit with bow tie and a well made bowler
hat. His suit is crisp and clean as is his starch white collared shirt. He is
holding an old-fashioned black umbrella. I smile. Who need‘s an umbrella in the
middle of summer?
Their
children look sad. They are dressed normally like me in casual clothing of
jeans and jumpers. It’s the parents that looked overdressed for THE CAFÉ ROUGE
or maybe then again they are dress correctly for such a refined place of
etiquette and style.
It an
emotional last reunion for this family and it must feel strange to see one’s
parents look so young….
Then there
is a middle aged gentlemen sitting by the polished oak wood pannelled wine bar of
a deep mahagony shade with his dog. He is talking to the bar tender who is
wearing THE CAFÉ ROUGE uniform of deep red waist jacket and emerald green tie.
The wines are exquisite and you can savour any flavour or vintage to your
pleasure. They are made from the finest red and white grapes from Southern France , of the juiciest variety you can find,
grown in a warm hot climate.
Oh the wines
of France France France Medoc and
Chablis to our hearts content. Oh such happy and drunk days as we travelled in
our little car from place to place like two happy travelling wandering
troubadours. Jack and I loved to travel and France
The wine
bar offers many other beverages and alcohols and the pictures on the beige yellow
red-green-rose designs on the walls reflect that. So many paintings of grooved
beer jugs and white froth coming out on top. There is a huge picture behind me
of a champagne glass with yellow liquor in it and a small thin cocktail stick
with an olive to top it off.
Even by the
door there is a champagne bottle in its crystal decanter and scrolls of its
Christmas menus strewn beside it. Christmas? It’s only summer is it not? Maybe
they allow reunions at Christmas?
A boquet of
flower of deep red and purple tuilips sit snugly in its vase of clay. The
flower arrangements are arranged in artistic fashion and the fragment smell feels
like one is indeed in the gardens of Paris
The middle
aged man sitting by the bar with his light yellow Labrador
dog looks sad. He is stroking the dog’s head. He dressed from the 1970’s with
his long dark hair and flared blue coloured jeans. He is wearing a large silver
wrist-watch on his right hand.
“I am going
to miss him. He is the best friend I have ever had”.
“He will be
well looked after”, said the bartender.
There is a
mother sitting in the corner of with her two children. She is dressed from the
1870’s with her gold- coloured silk satin dress with lace. She has no need to
say goodbye. She loves to bring her children here once in a while for small treats.
They are such good children! The little girl has cute bunches in her hair and a
lovely little laced frock and her elder brother is dressed smartly in his beige
suit with his cap firmly on his head. The mother watches over them with a
mother’s pride. They are tucking into sugary snacks of sweet delights.
There is an
Asian couple at another table holding hands. He is wearing a simple cotton
Punjabi suit and she is wearing an indigo silk saris with silvery sequins
stitched gently to the fabric. The husband looks into his wife’s eyes and
gently touches her cheek. He wipes her eyes with one of the fancy folded cream
napkins. They are sitting on wicker chairs of birch bark and between them lies
gently a soft red rose.
Through the
bright glare I finally see a familiar person walking towards the café. His
hands are in his black leather jacket and he is wearing casual blue jeans and a
green polo neck shirt. He is smiling with that heart-warming smile on his face.
My heart
leaps a beat when I see him and there are butterflies in my stomach. The whole
scenario reminds me of our first date after we met at a Start Up night in a
French Olympia Theatre in Paris England Paris
Our first
date would be at the Café Rouge and here we are now again three years later
under such different circumstances.
Jack enters
thorough the window panelled doors and takes a sit opposite me. The windows are
full of reference to Café Rouge. The bold gold lettering is etched in the Times
New Roman style.
I look at
Jack and my eyes fill with emotions and tears. He takes my hands into his
beautifully manicured manly hands and holds them tight. There is love in his
eyes. There is love in mine.
“I can’t do
this. I can’t say goodbye”, I sob.
“I have to
go Rhonda. You have to move on”, said Jack softly.
“Who will I
write plays with? Read books with? Don’t you remember our trips to Paris and our journey around France
“You will
find your way”, said Jack
“No I can’t
do that!” I sob.
“Rhonda you
have to live your life. You have to write our play. You will have the vineyard
and I will always be one step behind you. One day we will be together again in France
“I can’t do
this on my own. I can’t even think of the title of our play!”
I look into
his eyes and know he is telling the truth. We talk more and more of the past,
the present and the future. Soon we order our favourite meal from the red menu
cards: “Filet de Teliapia”. Fillet of tilapia fish steamed with leeks, peppers
and thyme with a tarragon buerre blanc. We eat fresh warm baguettes and
breadsticks washed down with Chablis wine.
The smell
of food and wine wafting through the cafe delights me. There is reference to
food all over the walls. Picture of a French baker baking his crusty soft bread
from a deep clay oven, pictures of painted of scaled fishes artistically placed
in their dishes, pictures of pasta served in rich red tomato sauce. Even the
menu on the blackboard showing the dish of the day ( Caste Conet Cabenet
Sauvignon) in white crispy chalk lettering seems tempting.
Jack chose
this place as our first date and last date in this life. He always knew how to
surprise me, whether it was with his choice of plays, or books, travel or our
plans for the future.
“Would you
like to dance?”, says Jack.
“Yes of
course”, I say. I certainly could not
resist one last dance with my love.
We move to
a vacant space on the floor and entwined in each others arms I rest my head
against his shoulder. Then we dance to the soft sweet music or our song
Parisienne Walkways. In the old days we could dance for hours, until the dawn
broke the sky. Just two of our in our own private heaven as the world went by.
Soon the
music stops and I know the time has come to say goodbye to my love. I need to
go to the washroom.
I stare at the wall decorated with more
pictures of famous French impressionists:- Picasso, Mattise, Monet and see a
huge picture of a blue Eiffel
Tower
Suddenly I
don’t like this café. Its too sad: a dreadful place between here and the
afterlife. A vortex of time and space where nothing moves. A meeting of two
worlds, a place where deceased loved ones say goodbye to their living loved
ones.
I again
think of the elderly couple with their two children. How did they die? Or the
man and his dog by the bar. How did he die? Or the elegant mother and her
children. How did they die? Or the Asian woman saying goodbye to her husband. How
did he die? Those customers still have not noticed me. They are in their own
private worlds making their own private farewells as I have to. But I knew how Jack died. He surprised me
there. He shocked me there. That is the one time he left me grief-stricken. I will never forget the freak accident that
claimed his life.
I now know
I have to go back and face him for one last time in this life.
“Come lets
sit down”, Jack says. He kneels and clasps my hands. “Promise me you will move
on? Do what you must do!”
I look at
him and then see the picture of the black painted crooked ghastly cat with it
six pronounce black whiskers of curved lines on the wall behind him. It stares
at me with its luminous piecing yellow cat eyes. Could it be a sign of bad
luck?
“Yes I
promise. We will be together one day again. You
promise me?” I plead with him
He looks at
me and smiles. “Yes I promise”. From his black leather jacket pocket he pulls
out a postcard.
“Read this
when I leave? One last surprise”, said Jack. “I will always love you and
remember I will only be one step behind you”.
With that I
walk him to the door. He hugs me and kisses me on the lips. Such a tender,
gentle, sweet kiss. Oh how I will miss his warmth and love!
“I love you
Jack”, I say.
He smiles
and let’s goes of my hand. I can’t bear to let go of his hand.
Then he
walks out the door into the sunlight and slowly disappears. Gone to the “other
world” forever and never to return to this world.
I walk back
my seat and look at the postcard. It is the famous picture of The Sunflowers by
the great Van Gogh. (Jack’s favourite artist). I turn it over. There is the
jaded blue joint-up writing in Jack’s familiar hand. For a man he had such beautiful calligraphy.
I read the
words slowly to myself, “Love you forever. I will always be one step behind
you. The title of our play should be “Farewell at the Café Rouge”, Love Jack”
xxx
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