Broken Crayons Still Color by Shalaka Kulkarni

broken crayons still color shalaka kulkarni

CONTENTS

Magoa

ii.

Setsunai

iii.

Eshajouri

iv.

Mizpah

Augenblick

vi.

Shatapavali

vii.

Viraha

viii.

Ukiyo

ix.

Nazm

Firaaq

xi.

Kasatari

xii.

Mazzaroth

xiii.

Ikigai

xiv.

Vorfreude

xv.

Intebah

xvi.

Phosphenes

xvii.

Satori

xviii.

Anomaly

xix.

Quiromancia

xx.

Comilona

xxi.

Straviag

xxii.

Cicatrix

xxiii.

Pareidolia

xxiv.

Moxie

xxv.

Unelma

xxvi.

Kilig

xxvii.

Paracosm

xxviii.

Marasim

xxix.

Magari

xxx.

Totsiens

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MAGOA

a Portuguese word for the heartbreaking feeling that leaves long-lasting traces, visible in gestures and facial expressions

so much love, lost in hope. so much hope, lost in longing. so much longing, dragged by distance. so much distance, lost in time. so much time. breathed with hearts. so many hearts, lost in transition. so many transitions, lost in words. so many words. so many exclamations. rooted in the heart. and many more â&#x20AC;&#x201C; gentle on the skin, deep in the eyes like the state of the art!

// gentle

SETSUNAI 切ない

a Japanese term which implies something once bright, now faded. It is the painful twinge at the edge of a memory, the joy in the knowledge that everything is temporary

I know the days when you prefer pop over metal and the tiny moles on the back of your neck nicknames of your grandparents, your kitchen’s broken vents usually you wear blues on tuesdays because mondays aren’t over yet. as you say – do darker coffees really help? I sit back on the bean counting days in descent, decoding patterns on the fresh walls tiny moles, pop lyrics, darker coffees – engraved in cement.

doesn’t feel like, but have you really left? no, I know it was what it was nothing more nothing less I guess but yeah, you, sneak in swiftly no knock knock no ringing the bell no 100 words no cold/mess for I have been concentrating to put your habits in acrylics and tarpaulins on walls and wood for a change, as I dread another no, longing for a yes.

// patterns

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ESHAJOURI

a Mandarin expression which states we meet only to part

wish I could post you a letter filled with nothing but my favourite songs covering it in a chocolate wrapper preferably bournville if I ever post it and when you receive it bite the alphabets and relish the lyrics always keep that in mind I designed this rhyme close your eyes. you’d see, see green, sea blue, and the stars, how they shine for you close your eyes.

close your eyes. baby its cold outside. it’s cold outside. close your eyes. tell me how does it feel, how does it feel? to be without a home like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone. baby, life is ours, we live it our way all these words I don’t just say because every night, every night it’s just the same as I close my eyes – all my dreams, fall like rain all upon a downtown train. all upon a downtown train.

don’t you worry about the distance I’m right there if you get lonely give the songs another listen

// distance

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MISPAH

a Hebrew word which literally means watchtower, triggered by the deep emotional bond between people, especially those separated by distance or death

the day dadi lost track of cake and time, she started quitting conversations and crosswords mid-way 7 down correct, 4 across umm? 12 down stuck, 16 across blank, 22 down scribbles 76 across the expiry plank my dadu keeps going back to the unsolved grey blocks every. single. day. kills hours looking at page two every. single. day. and so does his Mohammad Rafi mix tape, a rusty cassette. his cerebral cigarette. it’s been eight years and my dadu hasn’t sold off his raddi yet.

// unsolved The Alipore Post - National Poetry Writing Month

AUGENBLICK

a German term for ‘in the blink of an eye’, a decisive moment in the time that is fleeting, eventful and incredibly significant.

you told me I look beautiful in my birth dress as I was building a constellation of freckles down your neck interrupting the design twice, you said, thank you for being a torchbearer in a lyrical baritone with a rushed peck that moment felt like an age-old Japanese whiskey in a Glencairn glass that moment felt like Nietzsche’s raw thought or a combination of both. that moment felt like a milestone. but more than that it felt like home // home

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SHATAPAVLI /

a Marathi term which is a combination of shata “hundred” and paaul “step”, which literally means “walking 100 steps”

a few years from now, I will give you a call on one hell of starry night what happened, why all of a sudden, you’d ask. I wouldn’t have an answer to that. I would switch topics from how I still prefer kokum on the rocks to how’s my Harry Potter music box do you still do texts as you bite your nails and on a scale of 1 to 10, how well your Marathi fails

you’d smirk, maybe giggle. ‘you need to revise’ I’d say drying the salt in my eyes. not to make you feel bad neither to make you realise but to live it once that we could have walked a little more, may be just a hundred steps dissolving my eyes in brine

would take a pause there

fifty yours and fifty mine.

to quiz you again on what ‘shatapawli’ meant

fifty yours and fifty mine.

// suddenly

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VIRAHA /

a Hindi word for the realisation of love post-separation

despair, more of love settled in my strained eyes without a line of kohl grief, more of love with nowhere to go, glued in my lungs wanting to cry from the bottom of my soul words, more of love craving for a flow raw and unsteady on lined papers, poetry to feel whole love, as love, as an idiotic term

stuck as a lump heavy in my chest heavier in my throat anger, no. no anger. whatsoever. I am glad I don’t sail in that boat no matter how tempting it is to ring a bell, or drop a text. because you once said, it’s not important to be strong but to feel so. and trust me, that advice has been a beautiful wreck.

// advice

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UKIYO

a Japanese term for a place of fleeting beauty, living in the moment, detached from the bothers of life it’s been a while we spent some time you, me and fairy lights at cafe sublime. come, let’s go, I heard today they are serving some mulled wine. I won’t frown if you are late, honestly I have always loved to wait – from moonlight to sunshine I'll forget to grab a book to look into your eyes – crack a few puns, fill our finger spaces and breathe your vibe later when I go home, I’ll probably jot a rhyme but once we reach let’s order some beans and some pour to dine rain tastes sweeter with a plate of mud

and my lines bitter with a bowl of coffee so I just want to compensate I know it was what it was, I guess but love, you’ve been a fleeting beauty and you can’t un-muse yourself and I'm totally fine. you can’t un-muse yourself, no, no. that’s my cloud nine. remember I have always loved to wait, from moonlight to sunshine? I have always loved to wait and words have been my perfect bait, or maybe my pristine crime. you, me and fairy lights at cafe sublime? one more time?

// lines The Alipore Post - National Poetry Writing Month

NAZM

it is, in major part of the Urdu poetry, that is normally written in rhymed verse and also in modern prose style poems in the galis of chandni chowk, there’s a new definition of silence, and absurd feelings in its mosques, temples and havelis, round arches, high facades and carved ceilings you take a step closer and walk towards the bazaars of dilli-6 sneaking through the narrow bylines of the Mughal tribe and stay there. take ten deep breaths and inhale it’s vibrant vibe. move on to the the heart of old houses, catch Urdu air floating like rainbow bubbles music of the soul, intertwined in shayaris and ghazals place your ears on those patchy, color worn,

sandstone bricks, you’d take in the aroma and hear the sound of rotis being roasted, jalebis being fried, shawarmas being rolled and chillis being dried. slowly move on to the other, look up, observe the fleet of pigeons at every 10 meters, and spot the one with a bruised neck, remember he used to teleport our letters. this unkempt, chaotic paradise, is peace, is tranquillity. and as you close your eyes to consume the beauty of it, in every word of this nazm, so endear I hope you find me here. and bury me there.

// silence The Alipore Post - National Poetry Writing Month

FIRAAQ /

/ ‫ف راق‬

an Urdu word for separation and longing

I shut my laptop at 11 pm, had jalapeno nachos with freshly cut tomato, made a mayo and schezwan dip spilled black coffee decorated my home diner played some jazz, and a few blues and forgot to clean up my eyeliner. tried reading some articles on how to get over crap but found it irrelevant browsed through a few old polaroids and one long scroll, a gallant chat and trust me, it was a live reverie, your presence can’t match that.

after 4 hours of staring at the empty spaces on my on my quaint wall thinking we would’ve look nicer on them, with wooden frames after all. couldn’t disappoint the conversations and polaroids, trust me, it was a long queue finally slept at around dawn yesterday, I mean the black coffee keeps me awake, not you.

// yesterday

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KASATARI /

a word for somehow in Marathi

way back in the 90s, every sunday, aai would summon for a hot plate of dosas nobody ever turned up in the first call and I curled up on a comfortable couch watching TV as I asked for more sambhar from across the hall just like that I made dosas for brunch today and sambhar, with kadipattas kasatari, I mean somehow managed it in the end! I tried creating similar memories of a 90s middle-class weekend. well I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even match the shape or the taste, forget the rest!

// comfort

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ÂŠ www.shalaka.net

MAZZAROTH

a biblical Hebrew word literally meaning a garland of crowns, but it is often interpreted as a term for the constellations you are the intertwined musings in your hair knots you are that extra sugar settled in your teapots you are the vibe of adorable airbnb rooms, the nostalgia stuck in your grad classrooms you are the wait before your food arrives, the adrenaline seconds before the 20ft dives you are your imagination, the ideas you seed you are the tiny hearts, you tap on the lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s feed you are the canvas and you are the acrylics you are the football field and the free kicks you are the sailor and you are the sea you are the poet and the poetry you are the moments you create, carving the mark of exclamation you are the things you do, the things you love you are a consolidated constellation

// poetry

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ÂŠ www.shalaka.net

IKIGAI / 生き甲斐

pronounced [ikiɡai]) is a Japanese concept that means “a reason for being”

I turned 27 today and if I had to change anything in my life, it would be nothing but my kitchen’s light bulb and some extra currency at the sri lankan base. a bunch of words, a bunch of poems a bunch of stories, a few roadblocks a few heartbreaks but zero regrets. happy that I write - heavens for my genes happy that I travel beating life’s cacophonies happy that I unravel with experiences and epiphanies I am glad that I'm a melange of people I have loved, and the people I have met. it’s really rare to know thirteen or more born on thirteenth april, I bet. it’s been a rollercoaster, bitter gourd or a chocolate tart and as I gear up for more, I'd like to raise a virtual toast I'd like to take a moment to thank all those protagonists I adore you are my reason for being, you are and I am, therefore.

// if The Alipore Post - National Poetry Writing Month

VORFREUDE

the joyful, intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures

this quarantine life makes me wonder what if my walls could recite Shakespeare sonnets as it’s been a long time, nobody metaphor-ed me to summer days, you see the fridge magnets, stamps and souvenirs could take me to the beaches of bahamas so sultry and france to walk around the eiffel and umpteen the knife paintings could drop some colours in the air and dress me up as a unicorn, I would leak the magical healing techniques, I so wish

or if my cabinet could play drums with spoons and forks, and I’d play the uke, and sing to the tune and we would form a band of our own if the veggies in my fridge replace themselves as digits then I'd have a colourful clock, a healthy new meal schedule but a bigger belly indeed and when my day ends dreaming with these cuties, if the devices at my desk, could automatically switch to zen mode, stop my thoughts, sing me a lullaby maybe and improve my cycle of sleep!

// summer

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INTEBAH / ‫ان تباہ‬

an Urdu word for warning yesterday I went through a few starred messages and sailed a salty sea. I realised how beautiful your smile was, is, could feel your skin, on my screen in 3D. it is as warm as two, two cups of coffee, as black as I like it, tried seizing a few moments of glee. I must say, meringue memories are deadly. I wish my mother warned me about guys like you, at least at forty three.

// mother

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PHOSPHENES

the colourful circles or stars you see after rubbing your eyes you looked beautiful in that serrated nose-pin, totally complements your banarsi saree as you walked forward through the hallway brushing your drenched hair your pitch black kohl winked a momentary ghazal, and you unknowingly dropped an earring, parting the pair you are a surreal dream, I wish to live night and day close to my skin and bones, mind and soul, like a word-ly Urdu bouquet I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to but woke up rubbing my eyes, only to find you on my wallpaper with that green earring on my side.

// green

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ÂŠ www.shalaka.net

SATORI

a Japanese Buddhist term for awakening, “comprehension; understanding” - it is derived from the Japanese verb satoru. In the Zen Buddhist tradition, satori refers to the experience of kenshō, “seeing into one’s true nature”. Ken means “seeing,” shō means “nature” or “essence” I write, rest of the times I'm wrong and window seat is my favourite abode from my nani’s house, to my school classes, from a messy hostel room to corporate arcades from cute cafes to adorable airbnbs from chrome to mozilla safari to explorer and all of my journeys bus, trains, cruises and airplanes from my eyes and my heart, outside in, inside out

impressions and epiphanies epiphanies and perspectives perspectives and poetry poetry and satori entangled in the heart, scattered on the paper sunshine, snowflakes, raindrops my jaw on the frame, palms on the casement a floating mind across a thousand postcodes I write, and rest of the times, I'm wrong, and a window seat is my favourite abode.

// window

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ANOMALY

something that deviates from what is standard, normal, or expected

I had a long day at work and this week has been really stressful you know mom keeps asking me to video call as I live alone but should I add more salt to daal or chawal, I don’t know, bro speak up, no no, no, don’t give me that look no, no don’t tell me it’s not normal to talk to seeds and cigarettes

//normal

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QUIROMANCIA

palmistry in Spanish di, overheard at school today about palm history or palmistry so gaze at mine and tell me something please, it better be interesting well, let me see and tell you I am no astrologer or a palm reader but just a verse-maker so let me see, your palms look clement, dainty as a flower bud, covering all the inner noise, nerves, veins and loud blood

to play hide and seek. and when you join both, you can build an air swing, the tiny cross mats on the ground, inviting a little al fresco of you, me and mom just above your wrists enticing it is, but what are mountains and creeks? and shacks and swings, di? mountains are natural elevations and creeks are narrow waterways and shacks are raw huts, and swings are … wait, I can’t elaborate

on your left, there’s a range of mountains, just below your finger spaces with a creek, and a brown moon shining over the peaks, honey, pretty mystique

wait, I can’t elaborate as a verse-maker, hereby I fail let me borrow some science and present you your wonderful here after –

whereas on your right, a bunch of rays have formed a Springfield, and there’s a small shack,

wait, let me trace your palm lines in braille let me trace your palm lines in braille.

// blind

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COMILONA

a Spanish term used as a noun when talking about an abundant spread of food, a big meal

baba, what do we have for dinner tonight? a bread loaf or biscuits would be fine. no beta, we have a bunch of things, but you’ll have to listen to me as I narrate the fantasy feast. take a deep breath, inhale from your stomach and not your chest, close your eyes and dream dream about silver coated thalis full of big big bowls overflowing with curries, raita, papad, big chapatis rasgullas and jalebis

now visit each one by one, and don’t open your eyes just breathe in the fragrance, then lick your fingers and swirl your tongue repeat – breathe in the fragrance, then lick your fingers and swirl your tongue now put a wet towel on your stomach, goodnight, sleep tight – all set for tomorrow you’d wake up hearty and young. and don’t worry about the dishes, I'll get them done.

// fragrant

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STRAVAIG /STRAVAGE

a Spanish word of the irish-scottish origin which means to wander, ramble aimlessly

I'll search for you in violet hills, pink lakes april rains, and august snows In frozen bubbles, cobweb trees city lights, thumb fights, and a shimmering shore I won’t find you there, and I'll come back home for decades, haven’t seen you around, wonder where would you’d be, biting nails, if you ever think of me I'll open my notebook, look at our frame and complete this rhyme no hard feelings, no memories to plough just to surprise time, I'd say it loud – have learnt to live without – buy would love you anyhow!

// surprise

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CICATRIX

the scar of a healed wound

well, I always have had a wild and a restless mind, and I write. I write because my heart gets too heavy to hold, maybe an instance afresh or a memory old. and I don’t know, if I or my words touch hearts, or move souls, trigger goosebumps or ignite some bones. I don’t know

I hope they do. and if they did, I hope you’d write me a note and tell me so. ’cause I don’t write to be known but to find myself and as I hold on to every idea, every concept crafting a wordly show I weave them with colons and punctuations commas and exclamations just to sleep my scars, you know.

// restless

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PAREIDOLIA

the tendency to perceive a specific, often meaningful image in a random or ambiguous visual pattern

bengaluru’s sky is even more wonderful this april, no? a palette of views –like it is ‘beaut’ with all tints of ambers and blues. I visit my terrace everyday to enjoy the tangerine sunsets across the purple skyline black coffee, old melodies and choco chip cookies, try hard to act like wine. wonder if they add a perspective, or awaken my dreams as the setting asterisk, mellows its gleam beams. the god’s cotton candies - they distract me a lot – I play a game with myself, like I played with mom a snail, a lock, a tree and, some more I forgot! the patterns and objects speak to me as I trace the sky’s design language, of serenity and solitude I seize the pictures of the nature’s craft and my soul gets imbued making me wonder, where I stand now, and where I once stood if finding happiness in faraway things is good?

//april

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MOXIE

the force of character, determination, or nerve

my neighbour was a linguist, and an English professor she taught me and my brother eighty five ways – how to transform a sentence, basically eighty five ways to communicate with a set of words figures of speech, tenses, voices, punctuations, conjunctions, interjections, pauses, simple, compound, and complex she’d teach us after our school hours, and requested us to stay late, for homework, till her husband dozed off

sometimes she’d cook extra and bribe us to stay, by a dictation test, or an 800 word essay as I grew up, I understood the daily case of onomatopoeia, every night across the hall, a happily married oxymoron and bruises under her shawl. it took years for her to build her stance, build her voice I asked my mother was there more to it than just a choice? why she didn’t speak up at any given stage? and as a kid I wondered she could have slammed the door, and said the same thing in eighty five different ways!

// pause

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UNELMA

a Finnish word for dream in a covert corner of your attic, on the graffiti wall you left incomplete in the bookmark, which has rumi’s poetry by heart, and the heart which sings to pink floyd, and the fingers which play six strings and the ones which bake a tart look around, you are not alone. your dreams are lighting up the space it’s high time – for you to embrace look around, feel your vibe, you can’t curb your dreams by design remind, rethink and rekindle remind, rethink and rekindle don’t let this turn into a ghostlore – a haunted house, which would squeak, and screech after years only one thing – all you had to say was “I don’t want to do engineering.” // dream The Alipore Post - National Poetry Writing Month

KILIG

a filipino/tagalog term for the feeling of butterflies in your stomach, usually when something romantic takes place you sneaked in to my hostel at 3 am before our physics paper just because I had made maggi so ordinary we craved for a hike, in ten minutes, packed, snatched, borrowed stuff, was such a larceny you stole a kiss, or two, backstage, before we kicked off the satin symphony baby, do you realise our best of memories and stories so fancy credits the erratic yearns cravings â&#x20AC;&#x201C; our favourite emergency!

// emergency

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ÂŠ www.shalaka.net

PARACOSM

a detailed imaginary world created by a child

I have stayed locked in for a few hours daily since I was seven or eight we had a cosy apartment and my mom had taken up classical music lectures and dad was in the last leg his doctorate they thought this situation would be a recipe for disaster as I'd create a mess in the kitchen or may be dismantle few electronic gadgets they were spot on about the mess, but I constructed bridges and walls, and then, residential complexes, and amusement parks with notebooks, rulers, hot wheels and pens!

to come and reveal my civil instincts, to see if they can view the edifice through my lens. well, they did, and thought I’d be an architect instead – and as I would like to believe, I became one, slightly jumping the fence. just that, I don’t build walls, but just bridges – with words, parks with musings, and societies with observational intricate details – work site may be a bean bag, a graveyard or even a riverbed as I’d like to narrate – I’m an abode of millions and millions of ‘storeys’ in my head

every single day, I'd wait for them

// recipe

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MARASIM

an Urdu term for connections and relationships

today marks eleven years of asking a cute guy out and when I look back, if I could talk to my younger self, I wouldn’t stop her from doing what she did because no regrets, what the heck! because life’s not just what you do, but a lot of things and a lot of people who happen to you. which further build stories and the cycle continues but this occurs on the advent of not love, or relatable lives, but by storytelling, and sharing salty eyes love slides in next over coffee, music and texts it all starts with sharing vulnerabilities – as I like to term – the language of trust.

// language

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MAGARI

an Italian word with no direct English translation, but it’s like saying perhaps/maybe with a sense of hopefulness there’s a six year old living next door, who meets me once in a while around evening, as I capture the city’s tinted skylines today, he was really quiet engrossed in narrating math tables to himself while his mother and I were talking about deaths and the unprecedented times he heard our conversation about sudden demises and souls so sublime. came running, and spoke, spoke in a rushed voice akka, you know nanu lives in the sky no,

so nani told me he’s decorating it up and will be ordering toys for my birthday next thursday but I’m not sure if we will receive them amidst this locked stay. will we mumma? umm, not sure but… no wait, first tell me, mumma, can’t we just book an uber and navigate on the star maps, I guess that would be the fastest possible way!

// map

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TOTSIENS

a south african word for until we meet again; goodbye, adapted by English - tot (weer)siens, from Dutch tot ‘until’ + zien ‘see’. it's been almost 5 years I left home and if I go back even today I feel nothing has changed I am at the gate, about to leave for a friend's place, a party or maybe a night stay I know ma will, ask me to have fun, call me when I reach, eat on time, and give 4 more instructions across the stairway she might slide the door, mentally, but would rush her feet to the balcony lean on the railing lift her glasses, strain her eyes lean on the railing lift her glasses, strain her eyes and with all her heart wave a five to my car, till it fades away, till it fades away // goodbye The Alipore Post - National Poetry Writing Month

shalaka kulkarni www.shalaka.net

The Alipore Post - National Poetry Writing Month

ÂŠ www.shalaka.net