Once upon a Tote

Once upon a Tote

I stumble upon stuff galore

Unsent letters, Unspent notes

Stashed up chamomile tea pouches

That took a beating 

Around the confines of the bag.

Once upon a tote

A lip balm found an invisible cranny

To expire and smell rancid

By the time I rediscover it.

Random receipts from the grocery store

That slip through the cracks of memory

Gift cards that are perhaps used up

Or never used.

Once upon a tote

A novella takes refuge

like it were a rescue camp to start anew

In the hands that lovingly caress her

And flip through her pages like 

Her nerve endings are being aroused

Like she is being made love to!

Once upon a tote

Numerous need-its

Perish, never to see sunlight again.

Perhaps, somewhat like the possessions 

We chase to make us complete

The baggage we accumulate 

In wishful thinking 

Of a brighter tomorrow

On the other side of this dusk.

Once upon a tote

Resides the urgency, the panic

The over preparation 

That consumes our days

While they slip by

Like unsent letters and unspent notes.

Like rancid lip balms and crumbled tea pouches.

This 'Once upon a tote',

Upon the peg of the future

Hangs for dear life

Wiling away the present

In the ironic absence

Of wanting to get there

While existing here.

 Pic Courtesy - Musa Ortac - Pexels.

And it Begins.

I walk to drop the kid to school today. I do it every day, or I am supposed to do. I took a break past couple of days due to some acute pain in the back. 

Today, I didn't want to make it a crunch for the rest of the family. I didn't want to piggyback on the neighbors for the drop/ pick duties.

I didn't want to drop either. I wish the pain understands timing and it doesn't encroach the daily grind. It doesn't. It cares less. So it was my turn to rise to the occasion and understand the timing and not let pain do any encroachments, though truth be told, I loved the pause I took, which wouldn't have happened if not for the pain.

I step out and it felt like Mother Nature was all set to reward me for my will to step out. The whole place felt like there was an outdoor air conditioner  running to keep the breeze cool and not cold. And there was an ambient lighting set up to make the visual look bright but not hot. I remember it is September and wonder if the naming concepts are understood by Nature or if Nature is understood by the naming concepts us humans adapted- cause, it was only a couple of days ago that the sun burned my skin ruthlessly while piercing, poking and itching the exposed skin on my legs while I walked to pick up the kid. 

Come September and the whole vibe changes - looks like Summer is backing off, taking a bow and saying "Until next year" and fall is ready to fall onto me like a blessing waiting to happen. 

I mean, September is a special month - and at the risk of sounding utterly narcissistic, I have to admit, the speciality of the month has nothing to do with the fact that it happens to be my birthday month. September is stand alone cool - and my birth occurring in this month has nothing to do with the standalone coolness. But instead of going around in circles and bothering my non existent readership (hello - readership! That gave up on me like I gave up on this blog - I totally get y'all. Don't feel bad that you abandoned me) I should admit that I took a vow to resurrect  my writing escapades no matter how much I seem to write out of the blog, by the virtue of writing for a living.

There's a beauty in things that we do without a binding and a co-dependent equation. And the whole essence of the beauty lies in the fact that we do such things due to one driving factor - love. Unconditional love. 

And I for one thing, am an unconditional lover. No, I don't need any validations and testimonials on that belief cause I know and I don't need another pair of eyes to examine it or another heart to acknowledge it. When we are silent, and we care to honestly look at ourselves, we hit ground breaking, life changing revelations.

Oh, and the weather I tell you - is stellar. If I had been any younger, or any agiler, I would have broken into a song dance sequence right there, smack dab in the center of the side walk but I swear, I held my rapture intact till I came home to dance instead, in words and expressions - right here on Doodling words. Art is a kind of dance if we come to think about it, Thought too. Life too. Vows too...

And on that note, I vow to dance, step in step of this madness called life. With love in tow - everything is a happy dance.

Photo by Tobi from Pexels

 

Verse

 

When you ask for my phone

I hesitate.

You insist and persist.

Of course  you win!

What's mine in here? 

There are no boundaries.

I feel encroached in thought 

And the tangibles alike -

Phones, laptops, soft toys

And such!

Since you win, you have it your way!

I didn't quiet care how you'd use

Err, or abuse it!

Thinking of the smudges you made 

On my slick oil pastels.

On them and with them

You dab and dabble creating a mess

That I take forever to erase!

Now what did you do?

I don't bother to check.

You come back, pulling me by the wrist.

My sore bones refuse to budge from 

the lean on the headboard

And the stretch on the bed.

But since you persist

I can't resist

Forever!

"You need to look at the sun"

You flash my phone and withdraw it

Before I catch a glimpse.

"You shot the sun?" I enquire

"That's why you should come and see!" 

You persist!

I drag my feet through the foyer

"Look" 

You sherik!

"That isn't the Sun you silly"

"That's the moon".

"Moon?"

"Yes - Sun doesn't rise at Seven PM, does it?"

"Ohhhh..." you emphasise the interjection

Like you finally get what I say!

But the mother in me, soaked in hormones

Internally swoons at the encroachment.

And brings it a paradigm shift!

There are teachers to teach you

Preachers to preach you.

Let me just lead by example!

For you to stop and stare

To capture and Share

The full moon that shines by our home

Moon, Sun, Salamander, Whatever - 

It's enough that you stop!

It's enough that you stare.

It's enough that you pause in this grind

And care to Share!

Pic - By my 8 yr old, captured on my mobile.

This n That - Mary had a little Lamb

Mary - The Holy Godmother. 

Cultures honor Her as the ultimate. Her holding a little babe, veiled and smiling - Perhaps one of the most recognizable visuals known to humankind.

I grew up in a predominantly Hindu place, in a practicing Hindu household - but Mary manifested in the  nooks and crannies of my little world. The name rung here and there - among my mom's students. Among characters in movies and plays and most importantly, Her form graced to greet me everyday I walked into our school campus - that's probably why I She continues to be a strong visual seared into my psyche.

She became synonymous with Mother. With Protecting and nurturing.

Now who hasn't heard the nursery rhyme - Mary had a Little Lamb? The lamb in question was on a stalking of sorts - following Mary everywhere she went, sporting her fleece that's as white as snow. I didn't think of the Lamb as much as I thought of Mary, even though the rhyme conjured up a lumbering little lamb, cute as a button, white as snow and fluffy as cotton -  when all these images and wordage confronted me time and again. Mary continued to be the protagonist. What's up with little lambs anyway - the one in question just follows Mary. Some end up being sheared for their wool. Some end up on the dinner plate. Isn't Lamb a symbol of sacrifice if Mary was a symbol of magnificence?

And then, the sucker for allegories and metaphors that I am, I suddenly, at long last, stumble upon a realtime Mary and a real time lamb. Both in question, very close to my heart - both a part of me, both an extension of me. I suddenly realize, the rhymes and the monikers were metaphors too, masquerading around me since I was a child.  All of a sudden out of the blue, I remember Ramana Maharshi - his words of wisdom, ringing in my head - that Grace is right here, and all we need to do is see it. 

Mary - by the way, isn't always the young, glowing mother - she isn't a female even. She could be an 80 yr old man spotting a silver beard, or a 33 year old man struggling to make his mark. 

And the lamb? The Lamb isn't male or a lamb. He could be a she and the she could be anything but little. 

But the thing is, at long last, Mary and the Lamb go in an infinite loop of having each other. We can't say who is stalking whom or if there's any stalking to begin with. 

Cause sometimes, we don't know where Mary begins or the Lamb ends.

Life is such a copy cat. I wonder if it sports anything original. Sometimes it imitates art. Sometimes it even imitates nursery rhymes. 

Or may be, I got it all mixed up.

But Mary and the Little lamb are mixed up in an entirely different plane, at a different level of evolution.

I just know enough to spot them, and blog about them to keep this going....

Pic - Helena Lopes, Pexels.