Solitude

She spots him from the window of the coffee shop and looks at him with great interest. His visual inspires a million thoughts in her and they bring along with them some deeply buried memories of school days. Her mind conjures up poems she had committed to memory. Sometimes she wonders if those many things that she'd heard and read in the past come back to her by themselves, haunting her present or if she has this psychic ability to connect dots and make profound sense out of random and utterly ordinary sights that cross her mind.

Behold her, single in the field, 

Yon solitary Highland Lass! 

Reaping and singing by herself; 

Stop here, or gently pass! 

Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 

And sings a melancholy strain; 

O listen! for the Vale profound 

Is overflowing with the sound. 

Bits and pieces of 'The solitary reaper' seem to fit into the sight before her - the old man, with his wares and words, sitting by the sidewalk and lost in his crossword puzzle, firmly there, but oblivious in his thought, immersed in the mundane task of making a living, but living his life all the same. She makes up stories  around him - he probably has very supportive kids that are begging him to give up his toil and retire, or he has no kids at all and is supporting himself? - The many tales that she weaves around him entertain her while she gets lost in the intensity of the man’s concentration on the task ahead of him.  This Dusty little pavement doesn’t hold a candle to the Scottish highlands nor does the task of selling inexpensive hoisery parallel  with reaping a harvest amid soul stirring nature, but she somehow sees the visual in poetic perfection. The eyes of the beholder, they say - and she senses a strange pride in the way her eyes present to her angles to the soul of her universe.

Picture courtesy - Dhiren Shah. 

Evasion

She glides around her day like a superwoman, juggling work and home like an ace. She doesn't even realize how much she accomplishes being a multi-tasker, for her focus is never on herself but on the job ahead of her. This morning, she sits in her cubicle a little too long, gazing at the art work her son made for mother's day. Mackerel clouds almost shaped like a fish and a caption amid them reading "I love you to the sky and back" She smiles as she tries to settle the unrest in her heart and spine. Somethings bother her to no end...they get under her skin. She, being the gentle soul, always disregards her discomforts to accommodate others. A blunt pain keeps at her lower spine and she shuts her eyes to ease it, trying to convince herself to ignore the twinge in the vertebrae. "I am absolutely fine" she reassures herself - this phrase comes handy every time she encounters a strain, be it physical or emotional. These words let her spread out her boundaries, rising her threshold for the many afflictions of life - Broken promises, disappointments, insults, deceits, heartbreaks - "I am absolutely fine" is the one magic pill of words that cures all her worldly ailments. She reflects upon the many encroachments on her soul and quickly shuts them off. For nothing qualifies as a hurt if you tell yourself it isn't - fib your way through the hindrances of life with the magical four letters " I am absolutely fine"

Today the talisman isn't working. The caffeine isn't working either. Her pain in the spine resonates with the unaddressed, often ignored pain in the heart. She doesn't give up easily. She tries to deep breath and meditate on the drawing her son made - looking at her insides as scales of unhealed wounds denied with vehemence. But today she decides differently.

"I am not fine" she makes an admission at last. I need a break. She quickly grabs her purse and steps out to finally address those scales long ignored, to nurse that back ache and heart ache. Because she discovers that the worst kind of lies are the lies we tell ourselves.

Picture Courtesy - Chaitanya Kanni

Unfinished

They were meant to be, that bound souls were supposed to meet, to fill in some craters, some petty dents sustained while lost in the woods of life. Those kindred spirits were to dwell here upon the weirdness of existence. They were supposed to catch up or complain - to bare it all without filters, so the other could collect their gripes and somehow stretch them around and soothe them into acceptance. They were to look through the view, contemplating upon their challenges, to seek counsel and provide solace. They were to laugh till they cry and then cry some cause they have to do that too, to somehow flush out the frozen heartaches. They were supposed to thrive in each other's company, lending a shoulder to lean upon, or the much needed ear - cause what are intense emotions worth unless they are shared with someone? That laughter, those tears, those hopes and fears - they all need an audience or a witness to coax those feelings into everlasting smiles or bearable burdens.

It was meant to be. But it might not be....cause sometimes they are too busy. Sometimes one of them might exit unannounced. Sometimes they might consider it a bit too much or plan it to an exhaustion that plonks at execution. Cause sometimes, they might lose their plot or just be so caught in their conceptions or lack there of that they might never cross the road or even meet the other mid way, or worse yet, they might nurse a miscommunication tad much and smother their empathy to non existence.

Here's the silence, clad in emptiness,  mourning all those unrealized 'Meant to Bes.'

Picture courtesy - Dhiren Shah. Wildernest, Chorla.

Genuine

Eva gets a call from the same number for the umpteenth time, a number she cannot recognize. She picks it up wondering if it is an important call that shouldn't be missed. "Hello" a female voice responds. "How are you Eva? I had been trying to reach you for long to say thanks" the voice continues. Eva places the exotic accent. "Oh hello there Sana" She greets cheerfully. "Why do I need to be thanked?" she wonders aloud. "For my job recommendation" Sana replies.

Eva experiences a blanked out moment. She recollects recommending Sana to a trainee opening in a friend's work place months ago. It paid a meager stipend but Sana was looking to get back to work after a long hiatus. "I am so sorry" she manages. I never knew you got a placement there. It wasn't a big deal. I found about the trainee position and thought about you. Glad you fit right in" She sounds very happy for Sana.

"May I come by tomorrow to see you?" Sana asks. "I would like to say thanks in person" 

"I would love to see you, but hey, there's nothing much to thank here. I am sure they loved you enough to offer you a permanent position" 

"But I was there in the first place because you cared to recommend me" Sana insists. They have a chuckle about this blame game and decide to meet the next day.

Sana shows up with a vase of white buttercup roses, luscious and lively. "I know you are a nature lover, but I had to buy you something that didn't die the moment I turn my back on you. I want you to look at these silk flowers and remember me as often as you can" she quips. 

"Look at them...how natural they look" Eva offers genuine praise. Besides white is my favorite color. It fits so well into my shabby chic living space" 

They catch up on life. Eva remembers how Sana, in their last meeting months ago, comes to pay for some medicines she got her from a friend's apothecary, though Eva keeps telling her that it was a chicken feed of an amount and she shouldn't bother. Sana relates a Burmese fable to Eva about the Owl, crow and koel. When owl gets hurt, he seeks help from crow. Crow knows of koel that treats ailments and takes his friend owl to her. Koel suggests a remedy that cures the owl and asks for her payment. Owl promises to pay it later and crow vouches for the owl. Later when it is time to pay, the owl refuses to pay the koel. As a result, crow ends up repaying his friend's dues by tending to koel's eggs.

"I don't want to ever be like the owl" Sana adds, and make someone pay for my dues no matter how small. Eva smiles and accepts the money, won over by how Sana thinks through the minutest of things and puts a wonderful perspective to them. It is these little things that Sana does that makes Eva get a sense of the person Sana is....Honest, considerate, reliable and very thoughtful. Eva kind of senses why Sana is so readily welcomed into the work space. She feel certain that Sana does bigger things with as much love and care as she does the smaller ones.

After the ladies catch up on their lives, Sana takes leave, thanking her again and apologizing yet again for not bringing her real flowers. They both joke and laugh over the matter and part ways.

Eva places the flowers on her whitewashed coffee table. The sunlight filtering through the windows hit the petals and lend them a grace only light could lend. They look lit from within...She admires them, gently stroking on the lush lifelikeness of the buttercups. From where she sees it, a gesture of gratitude couldn't be any more heart touching than these beauties she's feasting her eyes upon.

"Blessed are the ones that give without remembering, Blessed are the ones that get without forgetting" Her dad's favorite quote rings in her ears as she spends a moment devouring the wee joys of life.

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.