Watching by the Window

He watches her from a distance. She isn't exactly graceful. Her head buried in a small cap and a warm muffler around the neck. It's the same jacket which comes out every year as winter approaches. She trots, doesn't walk and sometimes trips. He sips his coffee soundlessly. They're standing inside the tiny shop, she rushes in takes off her cap and down tumble nothing. The hair is all gone. Just a pixie remains. He starts but doesn't comment. She catches the expression but doesn't comment either. 

Resurgence

Back from the beyond,
Nights turn into day,
Seasons turn
We watch
The leaves dripping
Creating pools of soft mud
While the grasshoppers come out to play

Secret serenades being sung
Hidden from sight we wait
For re-emergence
Vapor rises softly
Whispering unspeakable words
Into ears eager to lap up
Unimaginable thoughts

And still we stay hidden from sight
Alone and together

Inertia

After all the running is done
We stop.
There is stillness and an ellipse.
We give in
Sometimes surrender.

We let silence drown our voices
We swim towards limpid pools (of tranquility)

We then come to rest
And remain so

Godot (Waiting)

Childhood hides, under covers

Dreams are listless, lifeless now

But through a peep hole, inside the heart,

Childhood watches

The time of reckoning

Will come again

Laughter reeks 

In silent places

And merriness rings out clear

In the wilderness 

A voice 

Rises above the restless noon

Childhood is just around the corner,

It awaits the second coming

A return to naivety

Innocence and lack of gloom  

Happiness is a streak of red across the sky, when dying embers ignite the half night, half day.

And a song for the night

Listening to two versions of a song I was introduced to by my brother. I love the lyrics, with it's many layered interpretation. Though I usually am biased towards originals, but the cover version is equally beautiful in this case.

Here goes:

and...

Waiting for the truth to prevail

I have spent a large part of my life, waiting for the true nature of my being to emerge. To the tell the truth of my existence and do away with the image I project. I have no idea what sort of an image I project, but it isn't what I am (or so I think and I believe a lot of us do). But to the world that is what I am.
This is my defense mechanism, but isn't that true of everyone? People hide their vulnerabilities, the insecurities behind a mask and carry on the daily charade of pretending to be someone. But then, don't our actions also define who we are? It isn't just our thoughts but are actions too, that make us who we are.
Why wait then for a true self to emerge? What we do with each second is shaping who we are. It's a scary thought sometimes, since I enjoy lazying around and killing time, but I am shaping my present, my future and my identity by choosing to behave in a certain manner. It is so easy to think that when the time comes to show my true colours, I will. What if that time never comes. I will become who I am letting myself turn into. It's an essential thought to hold onto to, because that's what life has taught me over the years. The moment of truth, the miracle, the epiphany may never come, it is up to me to seize the day.

Just a reminder to self, life is short, don't let it pass you by. 

Waiting for the truth to prevail

I have spent a large part of my life, waiting for the true nature of my being to emerge. To the tell the truth of my existence and do away with the image I project. I have no idea what sort of an image I project, but it isn't what I am (or so I think and I believe a lot of us do). But to the world that is what I am.
This is my defense mechanism, but isn't that true of everyone? People hide their vulnerabilities, the insecurities behind a mask and carry on the daily charade of pretending to be someone. But then, don't our actions also define who we are? It isn't just our thoughts but are actions too, that make us who we are.
Why wait then for a true self to emerge? What we do with each second is shaping who we are. It's a scary thought sometimes, since I enjoy lazying around and killing time, but I am shaping my present, my future and my identity by choosing to behave in a certain manner. It is so easy to think that when the time comes to show my true colours, I will. What if that time never comes. I will become who I am letting myself turn into. It's an essential thought to hold onto to, because that's what life has taught me over the years. The moment of truth, the miracle, the epiphany may never come, it is up to me to seize the day.

Just a reminder to self, life is short, don't let it pass you by. 

Every once in a while we plunge into an abyss and then plunge deeper to retrieve ourselves. 

We stand on the edge of a tidal wave, threatening to sweep away the stable ground where now we stand, feet firm. A wave of large magnitude and a looming gloom. All humanity swept away in a moment of anger and hatred and overwhelming evil, which dwells in the heart of the lonely, the frustrated, the unable. Where lies the ray of hope, who is the redeemer, what is redemption for that matter?
How it tears apart the fabric of society, lays bare, ugly patches and wounds which were once in a shroud. Hope we pray for you, come to us, alleviate the suffering.

Divinity

In pursuit of eternity 

In search of divinity

Raking ashes, no gust of wind

Rekindles old tales lay buried

We rest in hope of inspiration

Divinity eludes us 

There are strokes and notes

Behind which it hides 

We seek the greatest glory

What Bougainvillea plants can achieve...

Farewell to unrest and a beckoning of new things. A wide horizon and free thoughts. Peace and happiness, immunity to the daily clamour. Mind and heart at rest and a purple bougainvillea hanging from the window. 

She writes little tips for those who care to come by. There are stories in her heart and in her inward eye. She repeats them, mouth shut. Night time brings alive dreams that we cast aside at daytime. Remember to be alive, don't relinquish your birth right. 

Pensieve

There is darkness. He told her to be careful of it. But she wasn't the one to listen to stray words spoken carelessly at dusk.
But when she entered she found darkness in the house. No electricity. No money either to pay. She found him with his drink in a dark corner.  The children were not home yet, and the gloom had already begun to set in. The gloom of approaching night. He was raving about how they had taken away everything from him, and there were hidden threats of abandonment. She wanted to wait for the darkness to ebb, but he didn't. He felt her presence strongly in the dark - "I am leaving, all of you. I am going away."
He left her, but she knew the hollowness of such threats. She proceeded to clean the house. 

The rays are yellow

How happiness comes
Like the first rays of the suns
Reaching corners long unused to light
And to capture it
You cannot close your fists and grasp
You must embrace
With palms wide open
And a heart full of music and sunshine 

Why the preference?

There is respite in words?
Always in silence and withdrawal,
Why the need to converse?
To create noise in the name of expression?


Silence reigns supreme
Submerges you and fills moments with thoughts
It doesn't distract or subtract from the chain that you begin to weave
Inside your head
When you watch a sun, extinguish its embers at sea
Or a moon newly waxing turn dimensions
Through the nights

Its essence is softness
No harsh calling out of facts
Or hurt
Soothing to touch of soul

So many moons ago, each night
Had many voices
Cries and distant sobbing
And yet the darkness wrapped in itself
A dim promise of light
Which would always arrive

Now we only allude, to what used to be
We only have memories and we try not to relive
We are riven by time and distance
And yet we have the strength of collective thoughts
And have triumphed over the dark

The struggle to evade it
To keep the light alive
And let it glow
Brought us this far
And the dazzling light sometimes blinding


We yearned then for silence
A quite space to think and dream
And let imagination take over and guide
Feet and mind
Meandering

Now everything is still - feet and mind
And there is silence, constant companion
And an affinity for wordless conversation
And a sharp yearning for an understanding

************************************
A love for free flowing verse 
A letting loose of thoughts 
And a flow that involves you to the last breath of your being

We start else where and finish where?
Who knows who speaks, who writes and silently weeps?
Whose hidden thoughts you harbor? 
Why not set sail, a bit rudderless and free 

Morning Hymn

Walking with the Lord we are walking in the morning...
The early morning wind brushes your face gently, refreshes and reinvigorated. Tired souls wake up to a new life in the gentle breeze and in the knowledge of its creator. A beautiful path to walk and grateful beginning to the day. 

The Semal is in Bloom

I was born in the early hours of a beautiful spring morning - the time of the year when the city is at its prime. It's stirred by a gentle wind which seems to whisper soft words of new life and reawakening into your ears. I love the feelings it invokes - of vigor, youthfulness and hope. This season will always be special to me. Spring - the harbinger of new beginnings and happiness.
The tree that symbolises this season for me is the fiery semal with red limbs laden with gigantic flowers, which served as lucky charms before exams. Nothing sums up the season as aptly as this poem from our childhood by Kedarnath Agarwal.

Shakespeare on Love

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark, 
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
Within his bending sickle's compass come; 
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved"

We search for hidden delights in Anne Hathaway's garden. A day spent walking in the midst of verdant greens and shady groves. There are trees that talk and tell of sonnets and shed leaves with poetry scribbled across. And the heart rests in the company of a heathen god....

..and lavender patches that infuse the senses with diffused scents. We move at constant slow pace across this patch, taking in what nature has to offer and pause and rest and then reluctantly move on. 


There is a train waiting some miles away to take us back. 

Jolly Flatboatmen

The merry men atop a boat, dance a merry dance. There's singing, dancing and merriment and a merry song.

I love the imagery in this painting and it's something that stayed with me from my last visit to the Met. It has been a while since this image has sat on my desktop, waiting to be uploaded to blog. The air of gaiety and the careless abandon with which the men dance atop the boat is infectious. It cannot but fill your heart with pure joy.

What I found more interesting though were the various versions the artist had made. And smaller paintings which focused on a section of the same painting. Details are important and that's what really brought this painting to life, the absolute attention to details.
The red kerchief waving merrily in the air, seems to be beckoning me to dive into the painting and join the revelry. 

Growth

It is our great need which made us who we are today. An all consuming passion to break free from what fettered. A desire for open skies and free flight. A compulsion to build and to evolve at the crux of all growth. 

Wishes

I sit in the inner room, where I go unseen. A small room where gifts are brought in and packed, ready to be given to those who need them.

That's when I hear the father and son walk in. The father more timid than the son. They wait at the reception. The lady at the reception walks in with a bag full of goodies for the child. He's around eight ( or maybe younger). Shyly he reaches out for the bag and opens it. There before his eyes is all that he's ever wished for and it fills his heart with happiness. 

He looks up at the lady, but the smile still evades his face. She pokes him - "Don't you smile? I'm sure there's a beautiful set of pearly whites waiting to be revealed." 

"Where is the doll?" 

"For his sister the father explains"

She pulls out the board game that she's put in along with other things. "This is for the two of you" And she shows him how to play. He listens intently and then blesses her with the elusive smile. 

The father and son leave in a while, but they leave behind warmth.  

Folk lore

Some memories are inherited, handed down from mother to daughter to grand daughter.


Lying flat on her back, she watches the clouds float against an azure background, sailing out of sight behind a hill. The breeze is cool and the soft scent of deodar perfumes the garden. Thin pine needles litter the path she starts to move down and then she hears a muffled sound of footfall.

She begins to run and slips on the smooth carpet created by the pine needles and suddenly someone pins her down on the ground with one leap. She thrashes about and pulls hair and feels hers being pulled in return and then soft childish laughter. She bursts into tears while the older one tries to pacify. It was just a small prank to give her a start. Then they take off again, slipping and falling their way home.




(From an older blog - reposted)  

Courage

She was the light of his life for more than thirty years, and much more than his better half. She was partly the limb he lost years ago to an accident, the mother to his children and the completion of his life. And now her loss is keenly felt by all. The children who feel a void in the house, the birds she fed every day, even the plants are wilting in her absence.
And that's when courage takes over. For those who are left behind, pick up the threads of life. They speak words of hope and strength and they work relentlessly, for the lack of work induces thoughts. But time will soon heal all wounds and bury the regret and guilt-of neglect, of hurting, of not acting soon enough and reaching too late.
And so they take control and act with courage and face the long days ahead with cheer. They take comfort in the joys of the mundane. And there is courage in their everyday ordinary acts and their attempts at bringing back cheer and keeping alive memories.

There is no joy in grieving for those who are far apart
There is such a thing as keeping a memory in the heart

Flowers wilt and beauty fades, it is the essence that remains. If  you cannot see it, then who is to blame? 

Family

There is a reason why we are bound together as a unit. To support and nurture each other, to celebrate the good times and to provide relief in times of distress. One unit with shared memories, values, grief and happiness. Dysfunctional, normal, weird, eccentric, happy, unhappy it doesn't matter as long as we have the good fortune of the company of those who have known us all our lives and who know the key to our hearts, understand our silence and value us for who we are.

The only normal we've known all our lives. We stand by each other, come together in times of pain and keep each other in our prayers.

A recent flurry of photos (black and white and otherwise) shared electronically brought back fond memories. For better or worse they are flesh and blood and have suffered you through all stages of life.  A small note of thanks to those who know me best.

Rebirth

The soul is indestructible and eternal. It takes on new form and shape in a continuous stream of being. So then does rebirth have a meaning or even birth for that matter? Is all life one cohesive whole, just energy bound together so tightly that it begins to form tangible boundaries between things. Is there a difference between the animate and the inanimate in fact? Is life just a figment of our perception? And then what bearing does human life have upon the rest of the world? 

For man is not an ordinary life form, solely responsible for inflicting changes upon the face of this planet, that it is still reeling under, and capable of feats that were once in the domain of fairy tales. What does rebirth mean for man - a series of transformation that set him (or her) on a life altering path? A search for meaning ? Are we truly unique in that sense and do our faculties put us at an advantage over the rest of the planet or is it a burden that we must bear?

What appears to me is life is a quest, and there are innumerable questions that seek answers and very rarely does a 42 present itself to us. We are left with questions to grapple with and that's what a large part of life constitutes. 

“Ultimately, man should not ask what the meaning of his life is, but rather must recognize that it is he who is asked. In a word, each man is questioned by life; and he can only answer to life by answering for his own life; to life he can only respond by being responsible.”