Mora Taara

Mora Taara means My Star in Hindi. It is named after my grandmother Tara, who used to live in a small village in Rajasthan. Only years later did I realise that the time I had pent with her as a child had defined my sense of aesthetics - what beauty is and what it is not. In the village, life was brutal - just marginally better than in a jungle. But lifestyles were simple. In village homes, there was beauty all around. The rough, hand-done walls with their natural textures were gorgeous. The smooth bamboo lathis behind each door to chase away aggressive monkeys who walked the terraces with impunity every afternoon. The unpolished kota stone bed in my grandmother's courtyard, which was a very strange size indeed. As if the king-sized bed married the queen-sized bed and their off-spring exceeded both their expectations. On this bed, Booji, as we all called her, would spread out chillies, mangoes and papads to dry. On summer nights, we slept on it watching the dark village sky. The vintage clocks inside every home in the neighbourhood, the old prayer books, the worn soft bed covers with their faded patterns. Nobody had upholstery. In the mornings, peacocks would visit Booji's house because there was always grain for them on her terrace. They would wait for their turns. Rarely would two peacocks feed together. Booji had a diary in which she collected feathers that had dropped from the plume of various birds. Somehow her favourite were the pigeon feathers which had an unexpected metallic sheen she could never get over. I told her that I loved the tart green parrot ones. The peacock feathers were simply grand but not our favourite. The horse cart would come early in the morning to take us to the railway station while the peacocks were still feeding. ... ...Less