‘Six of Cups’ by Neha Bansal: Nostalgic distractions

Memories, heart-wrenching and happy, of the dead and of the living, of the mundane and the sublime, criss-cross Neha Bansal’s latest bunch of poems, ‘Six of Cups’.

Like travellers traversing familiar terrain, the readers recognise the places she takes us along — from ‘Sanchi Stupa’ to ‘Rock Garden, Chandigarh’ — and yet, offers fresh perspectives on the intimate, often overlooked, corners of life. How often have we thought about the “tanginess” of naankhatai, or the preference for a lilac shade over yellow for our cardigans, or about the difference in the tints of green in a rich landscape, or the re-dressing of Barbie to turn them into suitable Indian brides for a ‘Desi Ken’?

In ‘Mt Fuji’, the “majestic” mountain is reflected on the flat terrain of a paper. The minimalist rendition is deceptive of the depth of her evocation of simple grandeur. Looking nostalgically at certain objects, she does not allow the laxity of being non-critical. In ‘Crochet Lace Hankies’, while reflecting on the digital archiving of tangible and material memories, she subtly questions the bringing back of the handcrafting skills with a commercial twist. Her social critique is obvious, but not caustic. Culinary practices, despite their gendered nature, enamour Neha. ‘Mint Chutney’ carries forward the heritage associated with tangible objects like sil-batta — its usage versus its substitute, and the loss of the skill required over the course of time.

In ‘Moong Dal Halwa’, Neha graphically captures the painstaking manner in which her amma cooked for hours the daal with other ingredients. Weaving a tapestry of an inner landscape, the poems capture the ephemeral through the tangible and the universal through the personal. The collection is more than her own reverie — it will be naive to think so simplistically. This is reflected beautifully in ‘Revisiting My Old House’. The old house and the remains of nature seem to belong to each other in the same way as the old grandfather seemed to belong to it.

Yet, in Neha’s poems, change is understood as a necessary part of accepting the passage of time. It is just time travel after which we come refreshed and prepared for newer memory-making. ‘The Letter Box’, ‘Good Old Doordarshan’, ‘Ramlila of My Childhood’ both celebrate and regret the inevitable change.

The poems also include a glossary for culture-specific terms, a thoughtful addition that aims to enrich the reading experience for those unfamiliar with Hindi or Indian culture. Overall, the collection yields a haptic warmth, and the poems are not just cerebral corollaries of mythical rewritings.

— The writer is a research scholar at PU