View

They sit across each other, sipping on their coffee. "So how's life treating you these days?" He asks. "I cannot put a finger on it!" she replies back. They have a bond that cannot be classified under any conventional nomenclature. They share the comfort of siblings and the proximity of close friends without ever delving too much into each other's lives. The encounters are few, but the exchange of words often unearth abstruse realities of life, be it about love, loss, parenting or personal challenges.
She knows she could seek advice, bare it before him like she feels it but her words elude her this time. The feelings crossing her mind escape the clarity of symbols and that's what she particularly seeks to solve in this rendezvous.

"I feel stuck" she manages, avoiding eye contact. He smiles. "That's how this age is supposed to feel, no biggie" He dismisses her concern. "Try to write it out" he offers. "I am sure you can find yourself in the confines of your writings, and you don't even need to share it with anyone except yourself."

This conversation isn't going anywhere she wants it to go. They absentmindedly nurse on their coffee mugs when she says it in a trance "I feel like I am on a dead end - like one of those 'not a through street' signs you spot when you are lost" - She feels a bit of a relief to have said that much. She does feel lost..or more importantly stuck, like she could identify before.

"When you cannot go forward, go up.When you go up, you have a clearer view of things"

She reflects upon the lines and a light floods her insides. They smile and get lost in the reverie of life, those souls that connect at a level that cannot be named.


Photo Credit - Chandra Elango, somewhere in NZ.

Zen

She is an expert at pushing her limits. She doesn't really head the senate or figure out complex quadratic equations, nor does she take her SUV to get to the city to make money - for herself, for someone else or both. Instead, she basks in the glory of the passe, humdrum oddities. Putting up with an audacious teen for instance, or trying to use her imagination into understanding why a particular neighbor is always grumpy. She saves her jibes and sarcasm for very special occasions, often letting others take a lead. She apologizes a little too often, and recurrently offers thanks for the smallest of things. She can be viewed as a birdbrain, for her trusting nature can be borderline gullible from where you look at it. She talks politely, holds doors open for all and sundry and smiles at every passerby. She seems to have struck a cord with the world by simply letting it be and by letting herself being slotted into a non entity. Her nonchalance startles herself sometimes - "Is this coming of age?" she wonders. The constant counting, haggling and disagreements around her, over trivialities, charm her to no end. She soaks in without a protest and cogitates about things on a higher plane. Letting the world lead is viewed as fulfilling from where she sees it. She could be a dog for all practical purposes, more than a human being. A dog that doesn't hold on to past hurts or keep tabs on the the trespasses done onto her. She believes happiness comes form within and lets absolutely nothing or no one disrupt it for her. You probably spot her once in a while, riding a tram or buying groceries at the local farmer's market. I wish to meet her too...somewhere out there, or in here, if possible!

From where she sees It

Lisa holds her book snugly in her hand. Sitting in the passenger seat is an opportunity she avails to her heart's content. Today she decides to complete her book that had been sitting a tad too long on her night stand. The vehicle picks up momentum as her eyes lazily graze the scene outside.
'The book'! she remembers and opens it and buries her nose inside it. This decides to be the 'out of the ordinary' book anyway....or Lisa probably hand picks the works that she deems worthy of her attention. She silently gasps a little too often, looking up to sink in the depth of the words that flood her insides with revelations, emotions or just plain awe.

Suddenly a long forgotten strain of music erupts on the radio, as if she needs enough props to divert her 'as short as a toddler' attention span. A series of events from the past come flooding as the music travels into her untapped, subconscious memory. She marvels at the word play, at the choice of instruments in the orchestra and the delicate voice that renders it, holding just long enough onto the words that need emphasis creating a bedlam of thoughts in Lisa's mind.

She absentmindedly leans on to the window and her eyes travel to the sky. She spots a California bald eagle. "Wow" she exclaims out loud remembering how she read that these magnificent birds make their appearance in her part of the world during winter months..."Is this a sign?" she wonders, just as she spots another eagle tracing the path the of the first one.

The music continues in the background, bits and pieces of the lovely lyric begs her for her undivided attention. Just then, Lisa spots a name board placed conspicuously to the corner of a building that looks like a huge, inverted moving box. "The father's house" the board reads. Nothing else - Lisa wonders what a business named "The father's house" would offer to the patrons! "How cool would it be to walk into a store named your father's house and discover that ragged doll, rattan chair or the stainless steel plate rack that mounted on to the side of the kitchen in your father's home? Or a ghost of a fun time being had by the family around the board game or dinner table?"

She snaps back into reality, determined to complete the book. Just as she finishes the next page, she wonders when those blank canvasses in her bedroom closet would see the light of the day bathed in her imagination. "I have become so much of a voyeur" her thoughts taunt her, as she spots a herd of jet black birds making a horizontal "Mexican wave" in the air parallel to her ride. "Show offs" she rolls her eyes in mock sarcasm marveling at the symmetry of those flecks of black in the sky. She has seen these herds before, lounging on the electric cables last year around the same time. She makes a mental note to google them once she reaches home. She lets out a deep exhale and gives up on the book. The margin of the road sports a carpet of dandelions, some in bloom and some burst into the airy white balls. "some see a weed, some see a wish" - Random social media wisdom pops in her head as she lets out a quiet giggle.

Lisa lives that moment, suspended in a sensory overload, wondering if creating something would mean any more than devouring the beauty of what exists around her.

Inspired by true events.

Photo - Donner lake, NV by Chandra Elango

Life

It really isn't more than how you look at it -

Dozens of crayons, sporting messy smudges 

From cozily snuggling into the pencil case.

Then those little pots of color

Catching those many condiments

And concoctions of yummy ingredients

Simmering on the cook top.

Random handmade finds, hanging as reminders

Of life lived.

Those reams of un-shredded junk mail

Unread rows of books waiting to be devoured,

Amid punctuation of a rusted routine.

And the magical occurance

Of piles and piles of plates and garments

Await their scrub or clean

To fall back into a loop of just that.

Little feet gliding through a disarray of building blocks

Leaving tell tale signs of toddlerhood

A freehand doodle with a Sharpie

Or those tacky ketchup smudges on a snow-white tee!

Amidst all this color, clutter and chaos

Another page flips by

In this blitz of existence.

Transparent

Agile like a critter, dense like fog,

The opacity of those masquerading thoughts.

Those carefully wrapped musings,

Hurts huddled into bundles 

Camouflaging in masks of smiles,

In 'care-not' make believes.

The many red herrings

Thrown world's way-

Unveil them.

Let those frozen tatters

Thaw into tears.

Escape, reveal and revel

It's okay - to let those vulnerabilities

Bypass the brave guises.

Even heroes have a right to whimper

And let the transparency

Welcome in, the light of truth.

Picture Courtesy - Chaitanya Kanni

Mundane

She steps back and examines the sheets, and then walks to the beds and irons out all the creases with the palms of her hands. One last look and the pesky perfectionist in her that occasionally surfaces pushing aside the wabisabi loving free spirit lets out a whistle or something that sounds like one. She never really got how to whistle, but she tries - like she keeps trying how to wrap the flat sheet over the fitted sheet to utter perfection. "A coin should bounce on it" a bit of information she absorbed from the magazine in the Doctor's waiting room echoes in her ears.

"Make the bed early in the morning. when we walk into a room and see a made bed, our day starts with the same 'made' feeling" Her grandfather used to say. Bits and pieces of his mundane observations come to her every now and then as she tries to figure out the neglected little bits of life. When she first discovers the fitted sheet, she discovers a joy similar to the cliched sliced bread. "What jugaad!" She is as amused at the invention as she is hassled at the complexity of folding it to perfection. She would recollect how her grandfather folded his towels or dusted his prized books in the book case. She does not give up. Ambitious she isn't but passion is an entirely different ball of wax. Besides, it seems to have seeped into her through her gene pool or perhaps through taking in the nitty gritty of her Grandfather's personality. A 'how to video' is the need of the hour.

She settles on the floor crisscross applesauce and spreads the fitted sheet in front, carefully overlapping their edges and tucking the sides in, like crafting origami. The king sized sheet folds into the size of a notebook, except thicker. She look at the perfect square and lets out a whistle, or something that sounds like one - adding the imperfect accent to her perfectly ordinary existence.

Picture courtesy - Diren Shah. Pench National park, Cottage in the jungle.

Reward

A boring trip to run errands - that's what it was. She dragged her feet along, tucking her smartphone carefully into her denim pocket when she caught his eye. A look lock that made her freeze in her tracks for a flash of a second. "The evening is going to get transformed after all" She thought to herself. The hopeless romantic that she is, She secretly hoped to, and found ways to fall in love. She had a winning streak. She was addicted to the dopamine rise and had to have it at every opportunity!

Just as she broke out of the trance of being held in intense eye contact, she realized he was staring at her, askance. A slight disapproval? Suspicion? She could neither guess nor give up. His saucer like eyes charmed her a little too much. It was love at first sight and she was determined to find a way into his heart!
The charmer continued to pout..but the eye contact intensified. Out of the blue, her spontaneity found it's way into her playful mind. She winked at him and flashed the brightest smile she could manage...
4, 3, 2, 1....She counted while his bright peepers shone a tad brighter and the corners of his mouth hugged the side of his face. That was a smile that could materialize rainbows on a dull sky.
"Yes!" She hissed under her breath. A day transformed as the baby boy squealed and waved at her clinging to his father's shoulder.

Inspired by true events.

Picture Courtesy - Chandra Elango. Queenstown NZ.

Ponder

The waters glisten in pristine pride, sporting the occasional boat being rafted across the aquamarine surface. The bridges stand firm, their gigantic pillars looking like they are floating atop the glassy river, kissing their own hazy reflection. He looks longingly at the familiar sight, the one that existed in front of him all his growing years. This morning, the familiarity taunts him a little, questioning him where his awe was when he woke up to this sight, blind to it, in the rush of growing up.
This morning, the scenery taunts him too...those three bridges connecting the banks like threads of the regrets connecting him to his past. He lets himself tangle into those threads, wondering about all the bridges that were built, burnt and blurred in the daily grind of toil and turmoil. His bridges - that melted into the fog of life.

Finally, the mist in the horizon clears, gathering into his eyes.

"Better late than never" - rings a distinct voice from within as he struggles to bring the bridges into focus.


Featuring Godavari and the road cum rail Bridge - Pic Courtesy - Sudhakar Yeluri.

Grit

She spots them -
Sporting gleeful spirits,
Determined to figure it out.
The slanted circle
Rotating in the spin of those youthful gaits,
Now faltering
Landing on the mulch.
Playful mirth
Fills the chill winter breeze.
They go on..
Amid all those attempts
Being guided by the lady behind the lens
"This way! Legs Inside! Roll at once"
She dispenses instructions.
The bystander looks through
Smiling. Soaking it all in.
They keep at it, failing, falling,
Flapping around in joy!
Ah, the Physics of Fun.

Safeguard

She pulls it together
Snugly on her slender shoulders
The warmth engulfing her
Like the heat from the furnace
Fighting the winter’s sinewy touch.
The texture of her wrap
Gently rugged, little wisps of thread
Offering respite in a forlorn night..
Like love lost, waiting to be found
On the treshold of hope and despair
The wrap..akin to his strong shoulders
Securely clasping her every emotion
From overflowing into limpidity!

Pic courtesy - Google

Expectations

Here comes a new leaf..
Anticipation makes me flip
Resolutions, vows to be better
To understand more, judge less..
To evolve more, complain seldom.
Smile all I can, crank? Nay never!
I look into my inner self
And give an appreciative nod!
Often wondering what’s in me
That eludes me and reveals itself to you..
The flaws that I am oblivious to..
May those very downfalls
Diffuse into a blur
Making the self as smug
As it perceives itself to be..
May the expectations be only
Of the humbling, lofty kind
That puts me to ground
And earths all the overflowing current!