The Tree Hugger

Down in the valley
She skips around
In childlike bliss
'The tree hugger'
They call her!
She loves like she's never been hurt
She says 'forever' is a hoax
Uttered by weak bodies
And pretentious minds
While their flesh tingles
And thoughts feign holiness.
"Love like the tree"
She suggests.
"Or love the tree, it's even better"
She whispers..
Like she is revealing a road map to some treasure.
There's no tab on giving or taking
Nor a profit and loss balance sheet
Keeping accounts 
In a commerce dubbed as love.
"Forever is a trick" She opines
To open doors to your certitude.
"Don't fall prey to those words"
She pleads.
"They are a dime a dozen"
"come join me and hug a tree"
The tree hugger whispers
Like she is giving away some fortune.
May be because the tree doesn't talk.
May be because she feels safe 
When there aren't webs of deciet
Spread to catch prey
Woven with empty vows
Darned together with the threads of 'forever'
"Transient, those vows, those oaths" 
She murmurs.
"Hug a tree, he won't stab you in the back"
As the tree hugger skips by
Unscathed in the path of love.
Or may be she pretends to be unscathed
As she hugs a tree that won't stab her in the back.

pictured - A still from the movie Dear Zindagi

Bystander Diaries - What we do is what they learn.

It was a typical spring day in the valley, warm dry and raining pollen. Yes, it was more like a slight dusting of snow, but you get the drift. It was intense, visible and sinus wracking. The first born called me upon the end of her school day. It was the typical bargain. We should go out and get her an Ike's sandwich. I was in a mood to fulfill her wishes despite the raging allergies. Upon pulling into the humongous parking lot that was half empty a whiff of the allergens hit me like a rubber club on the back of my head. I pleaded to be left back in the parked car so I could shield myself from nature's onslaught. The first born hesitantly stepped out and peeked in again saying 

"It's not fun without you" 

Now, it isn't every day that a teen says fun and you in the same sentence to the parent. I am sure you are nodding your head in agreement if you had experienced it first hand. Unable to say no to that nicety, I stepped out throwing caution to air, quiet literally (if I had to use that buzz word 'literally' that every one and their brother's neighbors use these days)  

As we approached the sandwich place, I saw a hefty old man nuzzled into a wrought iron chair, his chin tucked into his chest, looking every bit peaceful as the Buddha. Even in his sitting posture, I could get a sense of how tall he was, as his long legs lay entwined at their feet, his knees pointing outward, making the chair diminish in its dimension. But what really caught my attention wasn't his austere face, or the matted hair and shoes, or even the soiled clothes. He had bruises on his face, protruding bruises that looked fresh and quiet painful. Raised pebble like blood red spots between his eyes, on the forehead and cheekbones looked like distracting adornments on his sanguine face. He was oblivious to the world. Sleeping in a nonchalance that looked impossible to me, from the way his bruises appeared. Right next to him I spotted a noisy sibling duo, two toddler brothers raging in an argument about something. They didn't register into my mind as much as the old man did as a part of me was wondering about the source, symmetry and the rawness of those wounds on the man's face and how he could look so at peace, without as much as a wrinkle of pain on his face. 

I held the door open to the younger one of the brothers and let him walk into the shop, where I spotted the mother of these two young men. After my own kid was let in to place her order, I settled in a chair opposite to the older kid, lost in reading a book.

When I heard the door screech, I looked up to see if my kid came out with her order. It was the woman. She walked out, settled in the chair with the boys and started eating her sandwich. By this time, I hadn't noticed, the old man was up. 
"DO you want to share my sandwich?" the woman asked him while simultaneously pulling out one half of her meal. The old man came forward with eager hands and quickly got to munching it - with the same nonchalance intact. Now my gaze darted to the older of the kids. He looked at what was unfolding with great absorption. A part of me was half guessing that he would open his mouth and say something - Be curious about the wounds perhaps?, Express disgust about the appearance? We can trust the kids to do such things - unfiltered blurting out of what ever crosses their mind. Just then the mother pulled out a banana from her bag and handed it to the old man. The kid's open mouth closed firmly, still intent in observing the man chewing his food noisily. 

In the meanwhile, my kid came out and I got up to leave. I waited for the mother to make an eye contact with me. I wanted to flash a smile of approval. Our eyes didn't meet and I left the place, not knowing I was smiling to myself.

"That kid learned a very important lesson today" I told my daughter and narrated the whole incident to her. "The man looked scary amma" She added. "But should we withdraw the empathy we have just because they look scary?" I asked her. "The system kind of makes you cynical" she added. "They preach about caution, stranger danger, not trusting others etcetera. isn't it daunting to heed to that and to your own heart at the same time?" 

I fell silent. It was my turn to figure out. "May be we shouldn't let our caution cloud our humanity" I said to her. "May be we'll intuitively know when something is dangerous" I continued. But there's as much trust as there is suspicion. There's as much empathy as there is indifference.

"I was kind of surprised she left those kids alone beside that man" She added. I smiled again. There is a new layer to the observation that skipped my mind. That is a mother that didn't let the world get to her. "Bless" I thought, now knowing that this stepping out braving the allergies was beneficial to me. We both walked back smiling and sniffling and probably a tad bit more evolved just by being bystanders to someone's kindness.

Parenting is such slippery slope. One can only wonder how one can teach pole opposite sentiments at the same time.

I Read...

I read
The unsaid, the unheard
The silence between words
The space between breaths.
I read the slight sway 
Of black berry leaves by my window.
The perched humming bird 
Resting on those twigs, upon
Devouring those white blooms.
I read the miracle of those snow white petals
Morphing into ink black fruit.

I read the lazy lumber of snails
The filters of clouds that foretell
The sky's temperament for the day!
I read my teen's hormonal tantrums
The toddler's unruly demands!
I read the frustration 
Of a stranger trying to cut me off
In a line.
The boredom of the kid dragged to a shopping spree.
I read without a personal narrative
Without filters of premonitions
Judgement.
I read with wonder
With awe, with love.
I then, read more - 
The many symbols, the literal ones
Whisking me away to another world
That I might never see.
I read with tears welling in my eyes
With the bliss of finding words to my feelings
In a stranger's articulation.
I read the random abstract
With scary precision.

I pause and process
And realize
That I write 
By the virtue of reading!
That's reading at a whole new level
When I read myself like never before.
I am glad
I read!

I write....

By the virtue
Of stringing words 
With the flowers of feelings
I live
A Thousand lives.
Countless secondhand emotions
Find refuge
In my fingertips
Flowing straight
From the arteries of my heart!

I sense the flutters of love
The jitters of hopelessness
The pungency of betrayal - 
Only ones that are closest to you
Can subject you to!
Who else can shatter the heart?
Except those that you let hold it
In their reluctant hands,
Wishing that love 
Can be conjured out of
Someone who doesn't have it?

I crawl like a critter
Caring not, if I'd be trampled under a tire
Or a preoccupied foot step 
Or even a conscious one for that matter!
I fly like a bird
Searching for twine to weave a nest.
I slither like the stream
Washing away grime
Of polished stones
With something as fluid 
As water drops gushing in a flow.

I feel the smile of a child
Upon seeing the mom
His heart break 
When she leaves him in daycare -
Glassy eyed
Helpless acceptance.
I sense a teen's frustration
Of being lonely
In a group -
Trying to belong
Pleas of wanting to be left alone
While pining for attention.

I watch still things
Till I sense a movement in them
I see the untold
The mundane, the useless
That escapes the gaze 
Of a determined eye
With focus on the prize.
Then I write
Till all that heaviness
The intensity
Washes out in words
Purging out the torment
Of feeling a million sensations
That aren't mine
But mine - 
As I live a thousand lives.
I am glad!
I write...





                

This is what happens.....

Time is savage! Full stop. Who ever has come up with it had the humanity at doom. The other day, I was engrossed in the Documentary on Kalachakra initiation done by His Holiness The Dalai lama and wondered why man had to come up the the concept of time in the first place, it was only shackling us to our egos and false identities. But this digression, I didn't plan though my life is by and large unplanned. May be it seeps into my art, this spontaneity, if I could used that as a euphemism for digression. - Art's got to imitate life after all. Any way, it is the fourth day of the fifth month and Moi stands here gasping - Cinco De Mayo already? and it only feels like last night that I had slipped into my prayer room at the strike of twelve on new year's eve and vowed to banish this savage time and ego body out of sight - as both are the hindrances in the path of connecting to our source. It is a few days flipped past May and I didn't trot this way once the April challenge was done with. Guess what? I was missing my cathartic writing and thought I'd do it today. I looked for a pic prop to write about a woman that defies stereotypes and found this young Meryl Streep, in a very unusual pose, to be lost in deep cogitation. Now, unusual is what we want to portray, in case you are wondering where I am going with the prop. But truth be told, my little verse around it got dissipated into this pointless ponder about time. I'll leave esteemed Ms.Streep here anyway. She is uber easy on the eye - and an icon all the same. Perhaps the most successful it gets in her chosen field. As I child, when I first spotted her in a regional Sunday edition sometime in the eighties, I was so smitten by her high cheekbones and broad forehead. Incidentally, we were reading something related to the Helen of troy in some primary school texts and I instantly thought she'd be the best bet to play that part. 

"A face that launched a thousand ships"  The description went but truth be told, my expertise to interpretation wasn't as sharp back in the day, though I could cite under age as a reason.I used to ponder and wonder as to how that expression made sense. How would a face launch ships in the first place? My literal sense of the childhood lens wasn't very effective after all. It took me several years to figure out that her abduction by Paris was said to be the reason for a fleet of a thousand ships to be launched into battle, initiating the Trojan Wars. I don't know why I got to the Helen of Troy but I did. May be I should rechristen this entry as 'Arbitrary' or even 'Arbitration' though the latter doesn't make sense just like this banter. 

Or may be it does. Nothing is said to be a coincidence. When I ponder in solitary bliss, though the world wide web is my witness, there is a certain aplomb that plagues your creativity. Or may be it adorns it! Either way, Ms Streep stays. I'll call it a day and come back again, may be with yet another alluring photograph of hers to pose as my prototype under the "defying stereotype" specimen. 

For now, It is Meryl and Me (please disregard my poor grammar just like you'd disregard my poor writing skills, if you are here, to disregard in the first place!)

Give without counting the cost, fight without healing the wound and blog without weaving a plot - said no one I knew, But let's see if we can get away with attributing it to The Helen of Troy.

On a different but slightly related note, I'd like to add the new favorite quote of mine.

“Solitude gives birth to the original in us, to beauty unfamiliar and perilous - to poetry. But also, it gives birth to the opposite: to the perverse, the illicit, the absurd.”

― Thomas Mann, Death in Venice and Other Tales

Solitude - Let's see if it heals. I won't put my bets on it, but let's see :)

Pic courtesy - www.Iconichistroticalphotos.com

Day 26 - Z - for Zilch

Dear April -  Thank you for the experience, for everything I learned, discovered and expressed with the A-Z challenge as my motivator.

And to the zilch, I add some Tolle wisdom.

Day 25 - Y for Yumm yumm!

Penultimate day of April and A-Z challenge. I get this feeling of accomplishment when I look back at the bygone month. It had been a really wonderful few weeks wherein I loved myself and did the things that feed my soul. They say the things we love as kids would stay with us for ever. I still remember the day of my second grade like it was yesterday, When I pulled out a pencil and tried to sketch  the picture of a medieval looking young lady. The picture adorned one of my notebooks. I still remember the thoughts that occurred to me at that time and the sense of fulfillment I felt when I was able to make a fairly accurate copy of the said lady, for my age and expertise that is. There was no looking back ever-since. It isn't until my third grade that I was bit by the writing bug,I am in thrall every since. My love for writing peaked in my seventh grade (and maintained its status quo), thanks to a teacher that mentored me. But after the love for doodles and words emerged my love to cook.

It pays to be the progeny of the artistically inclined. My mother, who had a blockbuster run as a sewing and craft teacher brings her sense of harmony and aesthetic to every thing she touches, including the way she chops vegetables and serves food on the dinner plate. So it was given that some of it seeped into me, just by the virtue of being around her and observing her intently. My mom is the most professional cook ever, and I don't mean it like how every child means about their mom. She is a cut above, no matter whom she is pitched against, and no there isn't any nepotism in that statement. When I first landed my own homemaking gig, I was barely an adult and when I tumbled down the hole and found myself in my own kitchen, it was no less than a wonderland. I was soon to discover my serious passion, cooking. And alongside, I discovered the mighty avocado.

When I first tasted the fruit, I was flabbergasted by the rich, creamy burst of flavor and had a hard time believing that it occurred on a tree. From then on, it became an integral part of my pantry. I somehow try to sneak it into most meals. Whether I smear it on the panini sandwich or toss it along with grilled veggies in that house salad I make. Yesterday, I had this sudden impulse to recreate my favorite appetizer from Cheesecake factory - the Avocado egg rolls. The spontaneity kicked in and I rolled in freshly made dough into the wrapping and stuffed it with garden fresh cherry tomatoes, red onion bits, chunky avocado rounded up with salt pepper and a dash of lemon. The yummy stuffing was securely swaddled in the sheets and fried to enjoy. Even the ever finicky second born finished a roll, without uttering a word! When they eat without talking, I know, they are speechless :-D "This is better than the original" The first born hesitantly said. And no that doesn't qualify as nepotism from my worst, most hard to impress critic. I hope :)

So here's to the wonderful journey so far, the words and drawings from my desk and then the dishes from my kitchen. My life is blessed with these three companions and all the company I share them with.          

Pictured - My very own Avocado egg rolls, served with Thai sweet sour chili dip.

Day 24 - X for eXhaustion....

(....And Xyst)

To the many fluctuations

Of the spirit

From wanting to run, write cook sketch 

And what have you

In an infinite loop

To curling up in bed refusing to budge

Yearning to merge in the myriad

Escaping the confines of this hamster wheel.

Why falter at the end of the xyst?

Play hard and push the limit

We are almost there at the finish line!

The only failure 

They say - is giving up!

So rise.

Be the flour if not the Sun

Be the bread if not the life!

Day 23 - W for What you are seeking .......

Many things in the world are ironical...and the irony sometimes doesn't elude even the Nirvana attained. Incidentally, Buddha's statues are the most sold idols in the planet..so much of irony for someone who was against idol worship. And I for once am not complaining though Idol worship isn't something I advocate or practice.

I always had an affinity to the Buddha - probably because I recollect my history lessons to great detail. I remember being shaken by the story of Asoka the great and how he embraced Buddhism upon witnessing the gore post Kalinga war. When I read about Siddartha the Gautama's own story I was even intrigued. A prince that had it all going for him, and one random incident he witnesses brings him instantly back to the source, when he realizes that everything we desire, own, accumulate and take pride in having is all but a cosmic illusion as the body drops dead one day, and all these things dissolve into nothing. Nirvana didn't come easy to the prince. He renounced the last of his comforts as a royal, including his wife and son, and walked bare feet, doing intense penance to attain the ultimate us believers believe in - Salvation!

No wonder the Buddha became my hero - My brand ambassador for peace and bliss, my icon for this spiritual journey I embarked upon lately and against my own strong resistance to buying images of Gods and Goddesses that practicing Hindus oh so readily warm up to, I had this urge to sit Him as my companion on this desk where I ponder and sketch and paint. From a long time, I had a unexplainable attraction towards succulents, perhaps another one of those biology lessons did the trick, where in I read about the self sufficiency and hardiness of this plant group. So I created this miniature succulent garden on my writing desk and thought to myself - "All I need is a desktop fountain and a form of the Buddha amid this yearning to bring a fleck of nature to my surface and I have created my perfection" and my quest to spot the perfect Buddha statue commenced.

After the significant other and the rugrats left to pursue their life paths, I pursued mine, albeit on a seemingly silly quest to find the Man of my dreams, sitting still in meditation, offering a blessing with his open palm while doing what he is good at doing. I went to every possible store that could carry a Buddha statue and I wasn't pleased with any of the choices. It was in a way like looking for the perfect man to start a life with ;) And perfection, I realized so long back, is an illusion. Notwithstanding the realization, the hard to please component in my system didn't compromise.

 "His head looks disproportional" I thought looking at one statue.

 "His smile isn't carved like it is supposed to be. His smile should indicate bliss. This doesn't" 

"This one looks off somewhere, he looks tired, and this weighs a ton too" 

The dismissals were brutal and constant but I told to myself that I'll get him on my terms or I won't get him at all. After that affirmation occurred to me, the pursuit kind of skipped my short attention span and I went around doing other things and stopped looking. Until He came seeking me in the most unusual of places, in a form that couldn't have been more perfect.

When I sat myself comfortable on the floors of Barnes and Noble booksellers, reading away like the world ceased to exist, I had a sudden though to walk around to the back of the store, that I usually don't venture into. When I followed the thought and went to the back, I spotted a clearance bin with bunny toys and such - the remnants from the Easter merchandise marked down to make way for some newness. 
The pastel stuff toys looked at me alluringly and I walked closer - inside that rubble, was a spikey little crown peeking out. I thought it could be a garden gnome and pulled it up. Lo and behold, It was the statue of the Buddha, looking every bit in bliss like He is supposed to look, sporting that enigmatic smile, delicately closed eyes, and what looked like a sash of succulents wrapping from his right shoulder, cascading onto his chest. I had seen the Buddha in a variety of interpretations, but never in the world did I see a Buddha sporting succulents on his chest and shoulders. And he was marked down to a song, waiting there for me to come and discover him and take him home. 

As mushy, sentimental and overtly syrupy this sounds, what are the chances of a coincidence that one spots a Buddha with succulent accents for one's table top succulent garden in a book store of all places and in a Easter clearance bin? Zilch I would guess - unless I take it to the next tier of my signature gooey and emotional - I do not believe in coincidences and I cannot be grateful enough for the whole universe that conspired to get the perfect realized Buddha to my humble company.

Here's a toast to the cosmic puzzle, that drops in the perfect fits to every sincere wish you release into the ether.

"what you are seeking is seeking you" Have no doubts.

Long live faith, belief and ethos of the Spiritual seekers. 

And by the way, Perfection isn't an illusion.

Day 21 - U for Unconditional

He shrinks himself

To seep through the slimmest of outlets

Flooding a whole system 

Of heavenly orbs.

I wonder how He does it!

Unconditional - not for once checking

If He is showering his grace

On his lovers that bask in his warmth

Or the grass by the untaken trail

in the deep wilderness

That seems oblivious to his presence.

He maneuvers through the tightest of cracks

Not for once with an expectation

To be let in with open arms.

Not once sulking if He is being unwelcome.

He knows no bounds, conditions, agendas

Just giving, no counting! Such lofty objective of existence

I wonder how He carries it

Without looking at it as a commerce

Ever pausing to question

"What I get for dissipating your darkness?"

May be He demonstrates love in divine symbolism

By leading us into radiance

Banishing the sombre night

With his encompassing light!

pictured - Sunrise over Tomales trail, Ca