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Poet Laura: What are we celebrating now?

By Dheepa R. Maturi 12 Comments

rubber duck on window sill

A Rubber Duck at the Right Time

My husband usually comes up with the fun and games for our family. I’m the let’s follow-our-routine, eat-our-veggies, and write-our-thank-you-cards parent.

But while cleaning out a closet one day, I found an adorably absurd little rubber duck (origin still unknown) dressed in (of all things) a military uniform, and I invented a family game on the spot—one that would continue for a decade and beyond.

It’s simple, I explained to the kids. I’ll hide the duck somewhere in the house. When you find it, you hide it from me, and so on.

From that day onward, the duck remained in motion, showing up in conventional places at first—cupboards, dressers, closets—and then in increasingly unusual ones—balanced atop light fixtures, perched within house plants, and once, a bit disturbingly, stashed in the microwave.

Military rubber duck in fruit bowl

During one of my mother’s visits, I found myself forced to explain its presence inside the bin of rice she was pouring into the cooker.

She was charmed and delighted by my description of our game . . . and hooked. To my surprise, my serious mother—advocate of practicality, wielder of spreadsheets—demanded to be included in the rotation. At that moment, I remembered her stories of her childhood—stories I’d found difficult to believe—about her enjoyment of games, involvement in sports, obsession with jump-rope and jacks. Contrary to how I knew her as an adult, as a young person, she’d loved to play.

And thus, the duck began to travel beyond Indiana to my mother’s house in Ohio, to Florida when she moved, and to a series of California dorm rooms before returning to me and repeating its circuit, again and again.

Each time I stumbled across the tiny yellow creature in a preposterous pose and place, it startled me and made me chuckle. Just as important as affording amusement, it tugged me out of my routine, out of my usual seriousness. It made me pause and feel the sheer sweetness of being connected by laughter with these people I adored.

Military rubber duck in plant

I suspect my mother felt the same way. During the final months of her life, while she lay confined to a hospital bed in our family room, the boys continued to hide the duck for her benefit. It emerged from packets of bandages, bins of pill bottles, stacks of insurance paperwork. Even through her pain, even though every part of her body hurt, she laughed, every time.

When she died, the little duck remained on a table in the sickroom for a week before I tucked it into a drawer. I couldn’t bear to play hide-the-duck with the boys anymore. I couldn’t bear to play anything.

***

During my childhood visits to India, I was always surprised by the number of holidays that were celebrated, often multiple ones in a single week. Each one had its own particular meaning and associated songs, decor, and best of all, treats. In my snarky teenage years, I remember rolling my eyes and asking, So, what are we celebrating now?

Back home in the U.S., our family didn’t observe that entire roster of holidays, but we certainly observed many: Pongal to express gratitude for food and harvest, Holi to welcome the spring, Navratri to honor the divine feminine, Vinayaka Chathurthi to appreciate our many blessings. And of course, we observed Diwali, now recognized as an official New York City public school holiday, to celebrate the power of light to dispel darkness and ignorance.

Only in adulthood did I begin to understand the value of regular celebration, throughout the whole year. I came to realize that during these holidays, it was natural and indeed, expected, to drop out of routine, to take stock of what was happening in my life, to view the big picture. They reminded me how much I missed when I merely pushed through my task list instead of paying attention to living.

Imagining my mother now, following those celebratory traditions, making delectable jilidigaya and murukku and kesari, she doesn’t look as she did in the last months of her life, or even the latest years. When she comes to mind these days, she’s young—younger than my own kids, slender and willowy, wearing a bouquet of jasmine in her long braid and delicate anklets that chime as she walks. She’s the girl who loved to play.

I’ve begun to wonder if she might be playing with me now. I traveled to England last month—a long-anticipated trip, replete with library collections and theater performances and specialized museums like the Jane Austen Centre. As I made my way through that small house in Bath, modeled after Austen’s own, my eyes passed over a bookcase and caught a flash of bright yellow.

Approaching, I peered through the rippled glass . . . and saw a smiling rubber duck, dressed as Jane Austen.

Jane Austen rubber duck

A few days later at the British Museum, in the gift shop outside the Egyptology section, I found a bin full of rubber duck-pharaohs. Then, I saw rubber ducks everywhere—on window sills, hotel front desks, restaurant tills—dressed as farmers, pirates, doctors, zombies, and of course, as Shakespeare.

Eventually, one woman I met during my trip told me that rubber ducks are currently “having a moment” in England, but I couldn’t help but feel they were a bit of magic sent from my mother, from the sprightly girl in jasmine and silver. I couldn’t help but think she was reminding me to pay attention to my life as I was living it, to savor this lovely, long-awaited trip, and, yes, to keep playing.

Okay, Mom, I got the message.

***

In the West, the end of the year is crowded with holidays, and this year’s holiday season is well underway. Whatever you are celebrating, even if it brings extra to-do lists and chores and chaos, I hope it will also pulls you out of those responsibilities and routines from time to time. I hope it surprises you with moments of gratitude and joy and laughter to take with you into the new year.

I’m thinking of my teenage self asking “What are we celebrating now?” If I could answer her, I’d say, “Hey, kiddo, you said it yourself. We are celebrating NOW. We’re celebrating this sweet, singular, unrepeatable life we share.”

There’s an ancient Indian custom, to wear a touch of ash on one’s forehead. It’s a reminder of the end that comes to every living being. Rather than dampening the spirits, though, I find it actually has the opposite effect. That pause, just to place that bit of ash, brings awareness to the gift of the present, making it somehow visible and tangible.

As I thought about paying attention to time in this way, to feeling, seeing, savoring it, I began to explore via poetry:

One Day, Divided

I took this day
into my hands,
broke it open
with my fingers,
separated it into
minutes—
each one, a pearl.
I gathered a handful,
tossed,
watched it
constellate
into stories—
my stories.
I picked one pearl,
rolled it
’round my palm,
marveled
at its sheen,
divided it into
seconds,
then split it again,
and again.
I made a powder
of time.
As this day
spills
through my fingers,
let me behold
every bit and fleck,
let me witness
how I live
as a creature of time.

—Dheepa R. Maturi

I’m now preparing for the boys’ Thanksgiving visit, and I’ve taken a little yellow duck out of the drawer, to be stowed in their luggage just before they depart. When I see it again, perhaps in a few months, peeking out from an unexpected location, I know it will pull me from routine again and fill me with joy.

And I suspect I’ll hear the chime of silver anklets, and laughter.

***

Your Turn: Prompts

Tweetspeak Poet Laura ChickenIf you’ve enjoyed engaging with the topics in this post, perhaps the following prompts might interest you. If you try one (or both!) perhaps you’ll share with us about it in the comments.

Prompt One: Write your own poem about time as a solid, tangible object. What would it look like to you? What qualities would it possess? How would you interact with it?

Prompt Two: Create a personal holiday—preferably at a different time of year than the holidays you usually celebrate—to step out of your routine and savor your life. Choose activities that make you pay attention: traveling, journaling, cooking a delicious meal, walking through your local park or a national forest.

Featured photo by Garry Knight, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post photos of rubber ducks in action and post by Dheepa Maturi.

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Dheepa R. Maturi
Dheepa R. Maturi
Dheepa R. Maturi is a writer of poetry, essays, and fiction. As an aspiring optimist, she loves to explore themes like connection, hope, and environmental harmony. Dheepa's first novel, entitled 108, combines all of those themes into an eco-thriller. Dheepa's work has appeared in The Indianapolis Review, New York Quarterly, The Fourth River, and the book How to Write a Form Poem and more. Find her at www.DheepaRMaturi.com
Dheepa R. Maturi
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Comments

  1. L.L. Barkat says

    December 1, 2022 at 12:49 pm

    Oooo, Dheepa.

    I could just hear that anklet. It gave me shivers from my toes to my head. (Seriously, not from my head to my toes. And what a shiver it was!)

    I’d love to hear more about some of the Indian celebrations you note. And I love that you are re-seeing them with eyes of gratitude. Maybe a little distance does that for us sometimes? Helps us re-see?

    More than once, I was tickled by this post. Then, suddenly, the tears would rise. I think that’s how grief is, too. Rise and fall. Hide and seek. Ebb and flow. Thanks for writing in such a way as to embody that experience.

    Your rubber duck pictures, can I say, are the cat’s meow! So fun.

    Reply
  2. Dheepa R. Maturi says

    December 1, 2022 at 8:32 pm

    L.L., you made my day! I am so happy you enjoyed this–as well as the photos, which were soooo much fun to take. Completely agree with you about distance allowing us to re-see — and sometimes even to see for the first time. I used to think of my “between-ness” as a blinder, but I’m learning it is actually a lens.

    Reply
  3. Eileen Prince says

    December 1, 2022 at 11:47 pm

    I always feel better after reading your work. Thank you so much for making me smile and think and appreciate life.

    Reply
    • Dheepa Maturi says

      December 2, 2022 at 12:35 pm

      Eileen, thank you so much for your kind words, and I’m so happy picturing your smile!

      Reply
  4. Laurel Kubecki says

    December 2, 2022 at 2:58 pm

    Hello, I am new here, I absolutely love all the beautiful words arranged into beautiful metaphors, abstract scenes, friendly people, I really like the vybe here and would love to check in more often and learn how to write poetry. So I do have a poem that is somewhat about time, I hope this is where I am supposed to write it. The prompt, I mean. Okay

    TIME Poetry prompt;
    Time stands still, as our love unfolds, through all dimensions,the greatest story that ever got told,
    it’s only merely begun to unfold.we’ve endured struggle and pain like nobody knows,and through it all
    you’ve kept your place, you’re a man I could never replace. The way you taste, the way you feel,the
    way you walk ,your embrace,no way my thoughts of you could ever be erased. side by side till the day
    we die, ill never make you lose your pride, or leave you dissatisfied. Im so happy that we fly, no way to
    divide. like static, energy’s so entwined, were on automatic, ecstatic. The missing fragments of my
    soul, you put them back and made me whole, i’d really also like to admit without you i wouldn’t have
    made this trip and you”re the only man i can honestly say “I really like to ***”, I’d also really
    like to mention that time is in the fourth dimension, and it’s we that flows in one direction, amazingly
    fast, we avoid detection, been humbled from head to toe. Love like this,the kind you never let go. You
    and I, we were meant to be, that, even a deaf, blind man can see… Feelings so strong, its dramatic. I
    didn’t mean to be so erratic, I know its tragic, a bad habit, my bad rabbit. I know you’re real, you made
    me heal ,took away my pain, allowed me to feel. I opened up your eyes, helped you see those bad
    wolves in disguise, realize real lies, that they’ll never lose their evil streak. They only wanna wreck
    you, and lead you off your righteous streak.leave you feeling really weak, with no words to speak,
    don’t look back we never did, straight ahead its all we did, since then we continue to have our souls
    rise, as the sun and tides will forever rise, Our vibrations will never cease to vybe. Synergy, synergize.
    We let our particles collide. Forget Hadron, We make our own atoms. phenomenology were an
    anomaly. Feelings so strong, atomically, astronomically. Till the sunsets, flag is half mast and we
    meet our maker in the sky, let our galaxies collide. Form a black hole, get sucked up and become an
    active galactic nuclei. So till then you and I, till we collide, meet our maker in the sky,
    Written for Marcus Grant, Love Laurel Kubecki
    Ill always love you Xo Love Laurel Kubecki

    Reply
    • Laurel says

      December 2, 2022 at 3:00 pm

      OMG please delete the part that has the expletives! I am trying to edit the post to remove the sentence that is not very appropriate.

      Reply
      • Will Willingham says

        December 2, 2022 at 4:25 pm

        Hi Laurel, I think I got it, but please let us know if there are other edits! 🙂

        Reply
    • Dheepa Maturi says

      December 2, 2022 at 11:35 pm

      Welcome to Tweetspeak, Laurel! And thank you for responding to the prompt and sharing your poetry with us. I love how you’ve taken one moment in time and inventoried everything small, large, and cosmic within it — including the relationship which is the primary topic of your poem. Well done, and so nice to meet you!

      Reply
  5. Laurie Klein says

    December 3, 2022 at 7:42 pm

    Dear Dheepa, what a marvelous post, thank you! I enjoyed every line.

    I have no insightful lines about Time, BUT . . . my beloved and I have taken turns hiding a palm-size, crabby plastic cat for over three decades. It has shown up in my cereal, in his suitcase, on a motel room ledge where we stayed in Bangkok, tucked inside his ski binding atop a mountain, mailed to me from (a stranger he met) in Switzerland with the highly misleading customs notation “figurine” . . . It will likely wind up in the urn of whoever passes first. Talk about the last laugh!

    It’s staring at me right now from my the keys of my vintage Underwood typewriter. Time to hide it again!

    Reply
    • Bethany R. says

      December 4, 2022 at 12:01 am

      What a riot, Laurie! Wishing you a warm holiday season!

      Reply
      • Laurie Klein says

        December 4, 2022 at 1:13 am

        And you, Bethany!

        Reply
    • Dheepa Maturi says

      December 4, 2022 at 8:55 am

      Laurie, you made me Lol! And wow, so impressed with your creativity in the hiding process! Thanks so much for reading and for sharing this with me!

      Reply

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