Choice

If words were playmates

I'd tag along with

Fun, wonder and adventure

If words were a buffet

I'd heap my plate

With sharing and gratitude

If words were jewels

I'd wear love around my neck 

And compassion studded on my ears

If words were an abode

I'd pitch my tent by peace and contentment

If they were suitors

I'd serenade unconditional and eternal
If words were friends
I'd choose cherish and support

If words were wedding vows

I'd slip duty and devotion 

As solitaires on my fingers.

If words were garbage

I'd discard judgement and hate

If words were a muse

In nature and creation I'd douse
If words were companions
I'd walk hand in hand with reflection and solitude.

And if they were to define me

These meager words

I'd merge with silence

And connect with the source.

Then I'd renounce my precious words

For I don't need them for once.

Pictured - The mighty tree by the window, Elphinston heritage building.

Allegory

Let's not confine, define

Determine

What could be and couldn't be.

Let the flow emerge

Out of the bounds of the box

Devising pavers 

Out of Polythene.

Hours of merriment, 

Out of the ordinary.

Let's forge

Orderly chaos

Joining mind and mischief

Meeting at the crossroads

Of a red carpet welcome

To this marvel called life,

Streaming with seamed ziplocs.

Let's not confine, define

Determine

Our learning to the sorted and the smart

To volumes of research and thesis

Let's not fit our lesson plans

Into institutions and universities

Instead

Let the inner child reign

Through the sharp turns and blind spots

Galloping the spirit like a winning steed

Feigning funnels as amplifiers

To announce

The victory on our existence.

The 'Mid century Modern' Appeal

2019 kicked off with a lot of intent. I mean, intent was always there in this humble existence but there was a certain grit to manifest things that took form alongside of the noble intentions, that often eluded the dreamer in me. To kick start things, I met with a lot of manifesters around me (if that is a word or not, I hope I conveyed what I intended to convey) For starters, I wanted to start small. "Let's get a writing desk" I thought to myself. Now, the desk in question needed a view, and it isn't a view of the neighbor's garbage containers I was aspiring to have, so things got a little complicated. I skimmed around the perimeter of the house and identified a huge window in the huge guest room down stairs. "I need a room of my own" I announced, "I am fed up of not knowing my own boundaries" The man of the house (Bless his heart) in the sentiment to never deny anything I ask for, said "But ofcourse you need a room of your own, and you have the master suite" 
Now if that isn't manipulation, I don't know what is. I promptly presented my counter argument. " I said I want a room of my own, my space, my desk and my view...something I don't intend to share with anyone, yourself included"

The first born was eavesdropping on the conversation like she normally does on every word I breath. "You are so preposterous mother" She inserted her teen eye roll for added effect. Thankfully a part of my manifestation manifesto was also to stay silent unless the situation absolutely demanded. So I silently ignored her instigation and went on my mission. "I want a mid century modern desk by this window" I announced. "Huh?" came another condescending  interjection paired with the characteristic eye roll from the first born. "Where do you get your fancy ideas from?" 
I ignored it again, much to the first born's dismay. She tried to up her irritation meter but I continued to ignore her while I got on to an online second hand market, looking for a roll top secretary desk, preferably made in the mid century, preferably in like new condition and with all the drawers sliding out well and the keys in full function. 

Soon enough I was eyeing the object of my desire - a near mint secretary desk with a roll top and a functional key in tow. I initiated a conversation with the seller and somewhere down the line, I figured that I needed to drive out of my way to lug it home, or needed to pay as much as for the object itself to get it delivered. Both options seemed far fetched and I promptly resumed my search to find something more manifestable(If there's such a word or if you know what I mean;))

The next time around I found something that had some character to it, it wasn't in mint condition, the key was missing and it needed come TLC..Now, TLC is something that I voluntarily give to everything I cross paths with, why wouldn't I, in the name of holy spirit, not give it to a desk that would aid my sanity? As my writings are my lifeline and when I engage in the soliloquy to preserve the last of my endangered grey matter, this blessed desk was to bear the burden of it all, quite literally and figuratively...

The logistics were figured out soon enough. The man of the house thought through excuses to not use his SUV to lug it home...that's the thing about OCD clean men, they keep their surroundings pristine and wouldn't want an near abandoned piece of furniture to rattle in their car trunk making scuffs and dents to their prized leather seats and interiors. Now, he was facilitating my space, so I had to honor his and I arranged for a lug. Behind all this unfolding, a pesky voice inside my head kept whispering to me that this wasn't going to happen. I swear, I had this strongest of intuitions that the seller was going to have some sort of a "Seller's remorse" and guess what? 
Like most of the times, my intuition did come true. The next morning he emails me saying he decided against parting with his prized antique. I for once did have a doubt about what prompted him to think his almost irrelevant desk is going to fetch him moolah that might aid a retirement. It probably is yours truly's enthusiasm around the said object :)

Back on track - but this threw things off track. I was spending prodigious amounts of time to figure a little detail and it didn't make me feel very proud of the way I was using my time. I had to manifest things and I had to - Pronto. So, I promptly decided that staying married to this idea of a Scandinavian Danish or Swedish made  mid century modern piece of furniture isn't going to pay in the long run. Just as I broadened my horizons, I found this solid teak writing desk that didn't look anything like what I previously wanted, but actually looked more practical and manifestable. 


A few emails down, I was almost there...well, 'almost' being the operative word. And guess what happens? The seller comes back to me saying a local consignment offered him 3 times his asking price...I tried all I could to be my graceful best and said I didn't want to step on his toes if he decides to flake out on his commitment to sell it to me. He did comeback saying he would honor the price, just because....

I jumped on the offer, paid a little more than the asking price to have it lugged to my doorstep, sight unseen. I am known for that kind of decisions, and guess what? The universe has a way of letting trusting people like me win. The other inhabitants of the house were equally pleased with the desk - the man even went to whistle slightly and said "Things happen for a reason, look where your MCM craze landed you - what a handsome desk this!"

The desk, in all honesty, arrived like a dream posing as a desk and as we speak, it gives me this immense sense of belonging and completion while it sits by the window offering me a view of the side yard while housing my paraphernalia and this device that records my banter. It has tell tale signs of a well served past and the TLC it needs, it would get from its current owner, without even having to ask for it. 

I feel like I am operating my own 'Restoration Hardware' and while I type away, I remember my time in Edinburgh where I spotted the cafe in which JK Rowling typed her Potter script during her struggling days. No I am not drawing a parallel between my Goddess and me, that audacity I don't have, but I am just going to say that in my own humble way, like I operate my own humble 'Restoration hardware' I would also sing elaborate praises of my literary Goddess, thinking of how she would have manifested Mr.Potter and his whole shebang in that head of hers - all of this tied down to a desk, a used, not needed one that gets a new lease of life in my little personal space.

Talk about an invisible network like the central nervous system connecting the cosmos...Sorry people, I couldn't resist inserting my spiritual side to the materialistic and mundane :)

Pictured - The Desk that could have been. Please keep checking back for a preview of the  desk that Is :)

A predictable short story

It's been a week of his travels. When she opens the door for him, he gives her the same boyish grin. She doesn't smile back.

BAM... and he knows she is cross about something. 

She gets to unpacking his bags. He holds out a box in front of her, as casually as he is giving her something that she dropped on the floor. Her eyes dart from the box to his as he walks away absentmindedly. She places it next to the suitcase and mumbles "I don't like surprises, I told you a million times" 

He doesn't answer and gets on the phone with someone. 

She looks visibly irritated and he keeps observing her from the corner of his eyes. She drops the clothes on the bed and opens the box. A dainty watch peeks out, with a mother of pearl face and intricately enameled strap. "It's called the Taj" He says. "It looks identical to the one you got me last month, how can you not remember what you had bought a few weeks ago? " She snaps back, her soft voice raising an octave. 

He makes an appearance with a box. "He opens it and puts the watch next to the one he just got. "Look" He says innocently. "This one is a round faced. The one you have now is oval and this is beige enamel and the one now is white"

She gently snatches the two watches from his hand "Oh yeah, I see the difference" She says, her voice laden with sarcasm. "And I'll probably have to wear both on the same wrist at the same time when I do the dishes, so people notice the difference"

Her jibes go over his head..."You can wear them to the park" He offers genuine suggestions. "No" She snaps back.."When I go to the park, I don't dress like I go to the ball - heck, I don't dress like I go to the ball even when I go to the ball, just in case you have noticed how I dress" 

He walks to her and places his hands on her elbows. She gently pulls herself back. " I don't have a lifestyle for your watches, doctor satchels and expensive jewelry. I don't need another watch, and definitely not another dressy gold one, with rhinestones and pearls, and I don't like surprises - did you hear me?"

"Yes. You don't like dressy things and surprises" he laughs. 

                              *******

"I don't like surprises" She announces firmly while she opens the box. This time, It isn't a  gold toned, dainty one. 

"What is this?" She examines it back and forth. "A sofa on my wrist?" 

He laughs out loud. "Where do you get your comparisons from? How does a ceramic strapped watch look like a sofa to you?"

"I'll do the honors one last time. I don't like surprises. I don't wear watches - now please stop bribing me with your materials every time you travel. It is not romantic nor thought through and I don't miss you one bit anyway. I have so much time to read and write and cook while you are gone. I don't sit in the couch waiting for your goddamned business call to get over so you eat, and guess what? I like the break of not doing it" 

"Let's extend the break" He announces with a smirk. Don't wait for me to eat tonight. Go meditate or watch some TV"

"I don't do it to give you company. I do it because you leave a mess on the dining table. You don't put the left overs in the fridge - forget it actually, You don't even cover them. What covering? You don't even look around to see what all I cooked..you just eat whatever is in your eye span though I tell you a million times that the soup is warming in the crock"

"I'll look for the soup today" He vows. 

"I didn't make any soup. Did you want some?"

"No, I'll eat whatever else you made"

                  *******

That night as he walks into the room, she quickly puts away her book and switches off the reading light. He settles next to her and says

"I thought you didn't make the soup. It is delicious by the way..."

"Now, please don't ask me how I made it. I am in no mood to explain the elaborate process of peeling the butternut squash and pureeing it into soup, at this godforsaken hour. It is not like you are going to recreate it for me tomorrow. I am fed up of your conversations around recipes"

He keeps quiet and smiles.

"Besides, you cannot boil water in the tea kettle for the life of you. Last morning you burned the handle of the kettle because you didn't center the base of the tea kettle on the burner. I'd like to see your engineering degree one day. God knows how such simple laws of physics elude you"

"Oh..I am sorry..I'll buy..."

"Oh Plhease, You don't need to buy me a replacement. I'll go get what I like. I don't like surprises for one thing"

"Sure sure" he responds.

"Good night now" She snaps back and goes to bed. 

                   *********

Trip after trip after trip, he keeps getting her things. A series of beige and plaid scarves in one season, One heady fragrance after another in the next season and flashy fine jewelry in the third.

" I don't like bright, primary colors. And pray, when did you see me in fire engine red and royal blue? This dress looks like  it has the fabric that went into the tent on our wedding day"

" I thought it sets off beautifully against your skin tone" He tries to defend his choice.

"Now, please don't apply your expertise in pairing colors. Keep it confined to writing ABAP Programs or accelerated testcases...leave those mundane and useless things to me. I know what I want and what I wear and I don't like suggestions and feed back there"

"Sure" He adds smiling.

                             ******

She gets the door at 9 in the evening, wondering who it could be at that time. 

He looks at her with his boyish smile.

She doesn't smile back, instead she yells at him

"Why are you here now? Wasn't it a 5 hour drive? Don't you have to start at 5 am to get there again tomorrow morning? How many times do I tell you, like a defective record I DON'T LIKE SURPRISES"

He looks like a kid being chided. "I didn't tell you because I know you wouldn't let me come all the way"

"Why did you have to come all the way anyway?"

"I thought you said your back was hurting"

"Yea, so what? Are you going to swap my back with yours? And I don't even know what kind of a back you have anyway now, with all that driving along the windy roads you just did"

They keep silent the rest of the night, curled with their backs facing each other. None of them sleep..

"Can you take off tomorrow and not drive in the dark at 5?" She asks hoping against hope.

" I have to go" he says

Her voice cracks slightly. "I don't know why you do this to me. You are here for five hours and you have to drive ten hours to be here..I keep telling you I don't miss you, why don't you believe me when I say something in that many words? Huh?"

He smiles to himself and keeps silent. "It's okay he says. I can drive back, no biggie"

"Ofcourse it is a biggie, I'll worry myself to no end about how you'd get there and how bad your back gets" she tears up, still facing away.

"It's okay" He adds gently "We got to see each other, That's enough.."

"No sir, It is not enough...you need to put some thought into it. You'll never get how I mean it"

" I do" He adds "Trust me I do. I know you don't miss me, I know you wait for me to finish dinner because I make a mess of things" 

"Good for You" She snaps, and goes to sleep wiping her tears.

                          ******

The next morning he sees her in the kitchen, packing a whole stacks of food into the thermal bag.

"What are you doing?" He asks..."I don't eat that much. Why didn't you sleep? I came so you could rest up a bit"

"Yeah right...I needed you here to rest up, so you could do the dishes, ready the kids to school and scrub the floors, all before taking your 5AM trip back, talk about planning the timing to perfection...No sir, I don't need you to do any of those things, besides - I have high standards for my tasks"

" I know of your standards" He smiles and plays along.

"Please know, for one thing, that I don't miss you AND I don't like surprises"

                         ******

He comes back from his week long trip, She opens the door, looking every bit like Grumpy the dwarf.

As she unpacks his bags, he holds a box out to her...

She rolls her eyes and says "Not another plaid, beige scarf as much as I love plaids, beige or scarfs...I don't like surprises"

"Open it" He prompts

It is a boxy yellow leather bag..

"Where's the sequined coat to go along with it? I'll look like a lady Elvis impersonator while going on my errands to the grocery store or the library, imagine how fun it is going to be! Suddenly her tone changes to a pleading, disappointed one
and how many times Do I tell you, I don't like surprises"

And then She pauses. This is almost futile, this exercise of using his flopped surprises as pretext to get cranky, as a  coping mechanism to her missing him. And she smiles suddenly. May be he is following her instructions and not surprising her after all.... 

Imagine what kind of a surprise it would be if he gave up on surprising her??

They live happily ever after - Him surprising her, and her speaking the pole opposite of what she feels.

Surprisingly, he seems to get that part alright, the unspoken part, beyond the elaborate words she uses to tell him what she wants and feels.

God bless 'Not giving up' on surprising, on not liking to be surprised on each other and everything in between.

Pictured - Noah and Allie, who grind each other's nerves on the surface of a 'crazy about you' simmering beneath.

Guarded

                           

Like a road map to a forbidden treasure

Like an index to book of spells

Scars tell stores

Of forgotten stings

Some tiny, some tremendous

They narrate a whole volume 

Of life lived. 

Like cryptic clues 

To cares and gains

Like windvanes guiding the seas

Scars divulge

The dark interiors

Scars sustained from the rims of hot oven shelves

Burning tattoo like patterns

Scars on knees from bygone days

Of childhood falls and adolescent plays

Scars form hormones blazing the skin

Acne marks unfolding the fledgling

Scars of vaccines,

Surgical incisions announcing the offspring

Scrapes from nasty falls,

Running down the spine

And then some birthmarks 

As a mark of the divine.

Perhaps unhealed from another lifetime.

Scars whisper secrets well kept

Like passwords to guarded possessions.

But these are ones that meet the eye.

Those concealed ones, in the troughs of one's heart

Those scars shrouded, like tombs of angst, 
like unseen lesions

Lay there, in the hollows of the soul's ocean

With debris of shipwrecks

Seeking solace in the stubborn abyss

Invisible, undiminished
 In unfathomable depths.

Alter ego

                                 

I look for familiarity

TO clutch on to, like the soft toy

That manifests into security,

In a distancing world

Where I stand out, like a misfit.

The sea beckons

Shape shifting like only she could

Sometimes like the mist

And then like a tide

Further along, like a typhoon.

Her tiny form sliding on the blade of grass

In her transparent glory

Looking like a solitaire fit for a queen's earlobe.

Her force hitting the earth in Hale

Or like the ambient mist

Veiling the horizon.

Her grace gurgling along creeks

Her Rhythm, rattling on the rooftop

and slipping through the window pane.

She is agile, versatile

Contained in her container, or

Flowing with the current

Fleeting, filling, fueling

The stubborn earth

With her essence.

She dons the garb of music

Gurgling in my tabletop fountain

She hydrates my insides

slipping through the throat

Nurturing the gut that churns

Numerous puny thoughts.

I become one with her, the Water

She becomes my muse 

I imitate her

My heart flowing like a tributary

Into her vastness

My thoughts shapeshifting

Aspiring to be a bit of what she is

If not the ocean, if not the river

If not the stream or even the creek

I am content

To be a drip in the faucet

Tipping down in monotony

Dreaming of being like Her

Taking shapes of my muse

Now like a dew drop

Now like a lake

Writing on her surface

Now there, now vanishing

Flattering her, with my paltry imitation.

Pic - The pacific coast

Ray

                                                                 

The insides - Paneled, slotted, dark

With one sweep

His halo enters the threshold,

Spreading into nooks and crannies

Seeping through the narrow gaps

Between carefully arranged strips.

Unstoppable, penetrating through the nuts and bolts

That succumb and let go of their standing guard.

His power emerges fluid, illuminating, enlightening

Dissipating the gloom

Of nothingness.

His tender wonder

Travelling light years in a flash

Alight in the abyss

Like the journey from there to here

Was meant to be, just for this conjugation

Bringing the yin into yang

Making completeness out of insufficient

For once, dissolving the vacuum,

Like a coupling between space and surface.

Formless but lending form to everything He touches

Weightlessly aiding creation

Enabling vision

His encompassing aura, akin to Love.

Pictured - The empty barn by Tomales trail at the tip of the peninsula.

Left Unsaid

On Beauty

BY KAHLIL GIBRAN

And a poet said, Speak to us of Beauty.

     And he answered:

     Where shall you seek beauty, and how

shall you find her unless she herself be your

way and your guide?

     And how shall you speak of her except

she be the weaver of your speech?

                 *******

My love for nature isn't something I show. Wait, Perhaps I do, as subtly as Bhansali shows his awe for grandiose backdrops or how Lady Gaga shows her fashion sense. That being said, everyone that knows me even on the surface, knows my love for God's creation. But pray, what could be a more close display of his master craft than the form of a woman? So, nature's most prized creation, the feminine, is my muse for the day. Not just any mind you but a particular one I had the good fortune of beholding. So off I go, as that beauty aids the weave of my words.

When I first saw her, I probably experienced what they really mean when they say "stunning beauty" - I am pretty poker faced if my near and dear are to be believed about how transparent I am with my facial expressions, but something tells me that on that fateful evening, I looked every bit of the 'deer in headlights' when I beheld her form. She comes in and sits in front of me while wishing me. Her voice, her expression, her demeanor kick up her grace a few notches. At this moment, I should probably provide a disclaimer about my orientation, but like I said, it is blasphemy for a nature lover not to love the craft that went into creating a woman. My shuffled mind looks inside for ammunition to play along my awe. "Afreen Afreen" an old strain from my young adult years gently plays in my mind. I stay aware and engage her in the conversation while random Poets from random eras keep whispering their most cherished lines in my ear..

".....a joy for ever.."

"...like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies"

".....I fain to tell the things that I behold, 

But feel my wits to fail, and tongue to fold."

People that know me well also know about the infamous 'toddler's attention span' - So, predictably, I should have gotten over the infatuation right? Wrong!

A friend of mine, years ago, defined stunning beauty for me. "A stunning beauty is something that you can never get over. Every time you see the object of beauty, the first thing that occurs to you is the beauty". (two year old's attention span, notwithstanding) Fair enough, I thought. But what you don't experience you don't understand. And decades down, something magical happens, and poof....and you understand. Talk about the system providing you with answers long before you face the questions.

So again, and again and again - I feel the rapture, the bliss, the beauty, that is a joy forever. 

I think the most precious compliments we ever get are the ones that remain unsaid. They spring up in random peoples hearts and souls - on the tram, by the sidewalk, (or case in point - a class, when one sees a student's mother )and stay there wrapped, never to be unraveled.

I try consciously to let them know, when such unfiltered appreciation springs up in my heart, almost always. May be I'll email her a video of Rahat fateh ali khan crooning Afreen afreen and say this is what plays in my head every time I see her. 

Reckon she'll ignore me, or worse yet fear me? 

Reckon she'll reply in blush emojis and say "Aww Thank you"

Reckon???

The result shouldn't matter. I am not pursuing her. I just am at a safe distance loving, just for the sake of love.

That shouldn't garner a block, or a shock! That shouldn't :-D

I am sure she'll understand my artistic liberties ;) For what are feeling worth if they aren't professed?

Bananas at Large

A few springs ago, a friend of mine sent a link to a page one of her friends created for her craft website. It was all intriguing and interesting for the creative side of me, but what really caught my attention was the title. It was as off beat as it could ever get and I for once rejoiced in the offbeatness of it that resonated with my own. The title in question was "Elephants remember" and it had the cutest doodle of an elephant underneath- now how do we align this with the thoughts of a crafter's mind? I am sure there's a story behind it. I don't remember asking for it nor putting in the grey matter flex to figure it out like I normally do - but the quirkiness of the title stayed with me, in a way aligning with me more than what it was intended to align with.

I find this whole naming thing very riveting. Right form the moment we are born, we are subjected to it, like we need to put a title to every thing we see, feel and have. It is simplifying in a way and logic defying in another and kind of distracting if I examine it from the new spiritual glasses I had acquired and it is nothing short of amusing in a whole different way,  this quirk of nomenclature. For the longest time I had an identity crisis. My parents' choice to recycle my Grandmother's name didn't sit very well with my sensibilities..but then, no one checked on my sensibilities anyway. An aunt of mine always used to opine that the name we give someone or something makes a huge impact in the 'feel' they generate inside of us. And then Shakespeare came up with the "A rose is a rose is a rose...' sentiment. All said and done, names are a huge deal. A possession we have all our lives that we are constantly reminded of and I think they are the spaces where one can express oneself in the way they wish to be expressed.

I once spotted brand names so unconventional that they require a whole book explaining their coming into being. I spotted a watch company named "rumours" a clothing brand named "vertigo" and a jewelry brand named "Suspicion" - Go figure. I don't really intend to know why they called themselves as such but it would sure make up for a great conversation starter if someone divulged the story behind such names. But the most recent additions in my carefully curated list of quirky names is "Bananas at Large" - I spotted this business driving past the downtown of Marin county and let out a chuckle thinking of a bunch of bananas, hand in hand, running for their lives. It looked like a big establishment and from the facade, I guessed it to be a grocery store. But guess what? This title takes the Oscar for the most unusual name ever...The business actually deals with Musical instruments - those grand pianos that call for a wad cash equivalent to the down payment of a home, guitars, ukuleles, drums etcetera etcetera etcetera.

Bananas at Large - Phew! if that isn't some personality in naming, I don't know what is. Now I can only wonder what I would have named myself if I could have named myself.
Scarecrow at the bar? Dory's Siamese? Lock stock and two lousy blogs? If you get the drift...

But Bananas at large, by and large are going to haunt me till the day of my death.

:)

Transformer

Face those cares with a grin
Sometimes shadows become shades.
Cause walls turn into bridges
When faith combats doubt.
Sobs become smiles 
With a right insight.
Hang in there
Wisdom lies in knowing
Nothing is learnt by giving up.
But learn the distinction
Of giving up and letting go.
Let go - what's meant to be stays.
What isn't stays back 
In the form of the lesson.
Heal, so you don't bleed 
On people that didn't make the wound.
But let the cracks of those hurts
Flood the insides with kindness.
Suffer so you fathom the depths of life
But don't sulk
As Trials turn into triumphs.
Walk that path with trust
Treat their wealth, their time, their mistakes
Like you treat your own.
Listen, noises can turn into music.
Observe - opinions can turn into empathy.
Love. That's the power
That transforms things into new light.