Wrath

Why do I feel it?

This tremor in the gut!

These seismic waves

That swallow things as whole..

Into the crevices of rage.

Why do I feed it?

Throwing thoughts of spite

For it to munch upon.

The fiery fangs

Licking me in..

Little do I know

It consumes me,

Leaving a rubble of remorse.

Do I plough gall, sow bane 

And foresee boons of love?

Do I spread grudge

And anticipate joy?

Stroke my ego,

Nurture my loathe

And expect bliss to unfold.

How naive, how lame!

Why do I rip this out..

This livid anger

Enraged in emotion.

What do I seek? What do I sustain?

 

Downpour

He teases the senses..
Heart beats lighter, in anticipation.
He changes the ambience..
Invisible winds blow music in the ear,
While caressing the skin with nimble strokes!
Life's scene changes tint.
With a hazy look smeared all along!
Window panes drip sweat like droplets..
Perhaps from the sultriness he brings in tow.
Sunshine falls pale as a lesser parallel for joy
For he masks it with his cool!
They say mynahs croon, peacocks dance..
I hear those sounds! I feel that rhythm.
Trees sway like tipsy dancers in a celebration.
I draw the curtains, and open the windows
To a blast of freshness mingled
With the smell of wet earth!
Dopamine rises sans falling in love
As the soul responds to his tingling touch!
A droplet escapes and lands on the skin..
Elixir of joy infuses into the being.
Shun the guards, toss the rain coats..
Let nectar from the heavens flood the insides!
Mighty monsoon, shower your grace
On Earth and me alike.

(Picture - rain bearers in Scottish highlands - Summer 2013)
 

Dusk

Seep in slyly..

Like a screen on my cares!

Swaddle me gently,

In your warm embrace!

Silken touch

Of your deep layers..

Camouflage the light

As my saving grace.

Sullen, sedate, your darkened gaze

Guards me from the plight of days!

Let there be no dawn to face,

Let there be no world to fight!

Melt me in your raven guise

Rest on my lashes

Lull me to sleep!

Let me escape in peace so deep.

Evoke cozy dreams,

Of calm and quiet -

Let there be no world to fight.

Dusk, alight on the horizon of my gaze

Swaddle me gently 

In your warm embrace.

(Picture - Dusk in south Mumbai, captured from a high rise - winter 2008)

Ponder

Number 6 is ruled by the planet Venus which is also 'Sukra' from the Indian Paradigm I look at. Planet Sukra is the head of fine arts and beauty and the guru of Demons. He is supposed to be talented, artistic, attractive and....LAZY. The capitalization is just for added drama and intensity and not to shout at ye all ardent readers of the blog. That being said, this particulR blog entry should'nt have happened for the capitalized reason, but is happening for the non-capitalized ones and I'll give you a moment for you can get over my egotism before you are obligated to proceed further.

As I gingerly exit the third month in Mera Bharat Mahan, I had been examining life at a very different and interesting angle. It could be for the mere fact that I don't have a household to run, clothes to iron, or meals cook or a wheel to steer.  I came here with a suitcase of clothes..four to 5 pairs for me and the kid, inclusive of our night suits and I get startled to take a long, scrutinizing look at bales and bales of fabric that seems to multiply in the dark and flood all my storage. I live out of the suitcase, but those bales of fabric, transformed into garments of different patterns mockingly leer at me when I attempt to clean my living room. The other day, I thought I had the clutter under control when I painstakingly washed and folded the last of my clothes, but wait...I made a horrific discovery of the clothes left in the dryer for a day too long.

The flash back was devoid of abundance..it was borderline moderation, with clothes in possesion having the same number as days in the week. I had an alarmingly serious fetish for Lucknow work Salwar sets, that were sewn in white over delicate pastles. The earrings were demure studs, the footwear was simple and practical confined to a pair or two. Each weekend, on my days off from work, I used to hand wash them, apply starch and send them pronto to the washerwoman who ironed them  with a coal-amber filled iron box.  These days, I seem to have clothes numbered for the days of the month..or may be a few consecutive months and the greed for new clothes never satiates. And, no sire, it does't stop there...it goes in multiplication of bags, bindis, nail polish bottles et al..but the attention they get, or the joy they give is inversely proportionate to their number. Are we heading towards monsterous consummerism and shallow pleasure seeking!? The ponderer ponders and salutes the minimalists around..if there are any, that is!

This ponder should've been longer..it should be, infact! But the number 6 gets back into the lazy groove..but here's food for thought! Should'nt life be simpler to be happier? On long look at my wardrobe, and the answer is crystal clear. Here's to a simpler menu for Life..simplicity is beauty and moderation is merry! Bad rhyme...I know, I know :-) 

Verse

The heap...
Of broken, scattered thoughts
Like a buldozed home
Of love and dreams!

The bricks, loose and  chipped
Faling apart, from the shelter of  peace!
Was it adamence or naivety?
Was it  arrogance or folly?
That tore the nest!
The birds fly haywire
Life's joys all crumpled.

Ego..a mighty nasty thing,
That leaves just one to love!
Oneself!
Alone and abandoned
In our first love and last love...
Self love.

Quiz

Last night, between tending to a sick child and feeling the onset of a viral inside my gut, I had a very nocturnal bout of restlessness. Normally it happens to be 'energy' instead of restlessness but tossing n turning between the sheets got a little too much when I pulled out my companion in loneliness - the screen that unfolds the world infront of me. My dependency on Google got to an alarmingly funny level that the other day I absentmindedly opened my home page to locate my wrist watch on Google search..and no, I did not make this up :-D

Now, the profoundness that strikes me usually does so post the odd hours and last night wasn't any different. I quickly got into a soul searching, spiritual mode and pondered upon how one could guage one's spiritual progress in life. According to my relegious and spiritual beliefs, the soul reincarnates and transitions from one body to another till it reaches the point of salvation. Different branches and schools of thought perceive this whole reincarnation thingie in different perspectives but they all seem to agree on a couple of things - that Salvation or Nirvana is the ultimate  destination of the soul and spiritual progress is the one that takes us towards it.

No matter how much we learn or earn, the moment our soul discards our body, we are supposed to find a new outfit and learn and earn ( unless we find ourselves in the lap of Queen Elizabeth as her great grandchild or for that matter, in the lap of the neighborhood landlord, in wich case, earning becomes optional ;-)) Spirituality, on other hand, is something that is carried forward. You make 80 percent progress til this birth, and in your next, though you start from your alphabet in worldly leaning, you start at eighty one percent in spiritual front. Cool! Isn't it?

So, in a jiffy my curiosity and google dependency all rolled up into one and I did a silly search to see if there was anyway to findout my own spiritual progress. Google doesn't disappoint. Does it? And I did get a few pages of results..primarily from Christian websites, urging me to take a quiz and gauge my  spirituality. I picked up a legitimate looking option on the first page, and clicked on it. Indeed, there was - a quiz that could tell me the miles I had travelled on my path to nirvana and I sincerely took the quiz. Now if anyone is taking one such quizes, do you guys give honest answers or the ones that might give you the result you are seeking? There were hypothetical situations and options for the way one would react to them. I picked the loftiest of the options, my guilt complex warning me that those idealistic paths might not be the ones an average human being might choose in reality.

I waited for the result page with baited breath, feeling the closest to the gates of heaven and basking in a self induced glory of being an elevated soul...but the computer asks me if I am single and want to mingle...with souls at my spiritual level of course! (Insert a wicked, helpless laughter) I chose tge 'No' option. Do you think it left me there? No freaking way!! it wanted me to enter my mobile number and email address so I can be texted or emailed my spiritual graph along with profiles of 'likeminded' spiritual sous :-)) Ironical as life gets,  So much for spirituality and its benchmark!  The wicked, helpless laughter somehow eased my nerves and shortly after shutting the iPad case clsed, I slipped into slumber tgat cared less about the spiritual growth or compatibility with like minded souls on the world wide web!

How spiritual are you!? If you are weird enough to think in my lines, Ponder upon it if you fell the urge, but shut off your screen before you indulge your soul into that thought :-))

Aaaannnd...it is a two digit milestone :-) Happy Birthday Doodling Words :-)

Dis n Dat - Reloaded

It's been a good 8 weeks in India and time seems to take a new paradigm in the land of Charminar. I travel a neat 45 minutes in the four wheeler to drop off the kid at school and walk into what seems like an ocean of white ( accented with green) clad boys and girls with bright faces. Some of them spot tell tale signs of adolescence - tall lanky frames, facial hair and acne punctuated features, with endless limbs. Some linger in the threshold of babyness and childhood sporting chubby cheeks, rotund midriffs and a gait that resembles that of 'Baloo the Bear' from Jungle Book. Bright yellow school busses form serpentine lines, much like railway carriages attached with vestibules, leaving narrow crannies between  them for these endless army of children and the occasional parent like me that march in. Parents and caregivers walk past with a brisk gait and a preoccupation of getting back to work or chores, looking through the passersby in an absentminded gaze. As I drift past the huge blocks of structures that  house these bright faces, traces of sanskrit hymns sung in perfect melody travel through the senses, engulfing the being with a warmth that seeps through the ears. The vastness of the campus, the stacks of concrete, the generous ground sprinkled with random nets, poles and basket ball hoops suck me into a surreal world that seems to exist independently on its own. A little world wrapped into the coziness of  a campus, ironically, in that very expanse. Random vehicles form a bedlam and a griddle lock that never seems to melt, but somewhere, somehow, it all keeps moving ahead. I pause and fill my lungs with a greedy breath and look around. A middle school guy wishes me "Good Morning Ma'am" probably mistaking me for one of the staff members and quickly, like a fragrance penetrating into thin air, a cluster of "Good Mornings" follow. I turn back, my gaze peeping through the thick, tinted lenses of my coolers and let out a laugh and acknowledge the greeting. It would be a few minutes past the hour, and the campus with the numerous maintenance staff wrapped in fluid bottle green and black bordered sarees, accessorized with bright skins and striking bindis try and maintain the harmony while kids of all shapes, sizes and ages walk in with hopes to get armed to take over the world. I walk to the entrance and look back, enthralled at this whole arrangement that whispers inspiration into my otherwise mundane routine.

Dis n Dat

     It is ironical that I start my ponder with SMS lingo in tow, while I have a hodge podge of inspirations rummaging my greys (not the variety that should have occurred here in there in the crowning glory by now, but were safely eluded thus far with some streak of lucky genes, me thinks) but the ones that shimmer and shine (figuratively) inside the head. Ever since I set my foot on the land of Ganges and the mighty Himalayan ranges, inspiration struck me from all eight directions, and without any Ruth (which, by the way is not a female as the capitalized name would suggest - but a certain feeling of compassion and pity) Ironically, yet again - the writer in me got flustered by the chronic onset of inspirations. While any other self proclaimed writer worth his or her salt would have been ecstatic at the prospect of ruthless bludgeoning by blog worthy ideas, Moi was lost and lonely amid the tempest in this tea pot sized brain chambers. Ask me why and I'd tell you that it was a sheer lack of time. Ironically, once more - though my current routine had cut off a major chunk of scrubbing and rubbing, mopping and chopping in and around the kitchen and the rest of the house, I continue to feel a certain time crunch that feels sorer than the abdominal flab, post numerous crunches of the physical kind.
   
     I tried to record the bits and pieces to chew the cud at a more appropriate time, while the crunch of time eased into a more relaxed wasting state - but nothing like that looked even remotely possible in the immediate future. Elated at the mile stone of a decade of chronic thinker chronicles, better known as Blog Blah Blah, the moniker,  by the way, sounds pathetic (for the lack of a better or brutal word) I have taken a vow to punch in few keys and use the keypad like a punch bag to let it go, let it go, don't hold it back any more (in Elsa and Ana style! And pardon my lack of knowledge in Frozen, except for these two names and the bits and pieces of lyrics caught from the vocals of my eight year old, singing in full throated falsetto, trying to sound like Adel Dazeem.) Ohh...It isn't Adel Dazeem, is it? Aha, and can't vertigo be quoted a reason for murdering names? - Anyhow (saying which reminds me of a certain petite lady that taught us Math and Physics in high school in the dark ages) What's in a name after all? A rose is a rose is a rose and a blog is a blog is a blog - unless it is a blog that lacks Ruth (not  a lady, mind you! - just a reminder) and calls itself with the most absurd of names in the history of blogs. Now, does being a decade younger while naming it qualify for a wee bit of stupidity in nomenclature? - May be, may be not! - So, off I go, all in the middle of a mind blowing balderdash of a blog post, vowing to keep the ball rolling and the blog growling!

    And thus, a decade almost flips past! - The few of you who breath the life into my head and give me the reason to keep at this silly exercise (at the risk of sounding like a cryptic FB status - you all know who you are! ;-) Let me assure you, I am here to stay for a long long way. And don't worry, as one of you opined - I don't have a keen observation like my blog seemingly suggests - cause, I pretty much sleep walk through the rest of it, and no, I kid you not! ;-)

  Just when you think that it couldn't get any more pointless, I'll put the cherry on top!

Tum agar saath dene ka waada karo, Main younhi mast nagme lutaata rahoon!
(If you promise me your company, I'd throw around profound (ahem ahem) verses just this way!

Okay, okay...artistic liberties taken - but the point is, it is all open for debate!

Taking a bow...stay with me for a couple of days as my 10 year land mark arrives!

Long live Blog Blah Blah....

     

Pair

As I age, the one thing that constantly amazes me is the institution of marriage. The more years I put behind me, the more couples I see around me and the more ponders of matrimony that cross my mind - the more intrigued I become. I had the good fortune of crossing paths with a pair in the past few days. When I walk into the oncology department of the speciality hospital over here, assisting my MIL, I see a pair in such harmony that no matter what I do, my eyes constantly graze their chemistry. Their bond overtakes the whole ambience around me. The emaciated man, dressed in a dhoti and bare chested, walks out of the radiation facility sporting a sculpted ribcage. He grabs the piece of cloth and wraps it around his head in an immaculate turban with the dexterity of a young man.

      It is hard to guess their age but they should be well over the wrong side of sixty - both the man and the wife. She has stacks of red glass bangles on her thin wrists - proudly displaying her marital status. Her lined face is anchored with a  precise nose and elaborate nose pins on either side. Her salt and pepper hair is neatly rolled into a tight bun on the nape of her neck. It is hard to say which of them is thinner - or taller. They both look lean and stretched. I search her face now and then, to look for signs of emotion. She looks back at me nonchalantly while waiting for her husband, staring into my eyes with carefully concealed pain. I gather they come in for treatment through  government aided medicare and wonder if they had eaten. The moment I enter into the waiting area, I trace my eyes around the length and breadth to spot them. Her sari, tied a few inches above her ankles, her pallu tightly wrapped around those twigs of shoulders. The other day we walked into a fully occupied room and she scooted up her seat and asked my MIL if she wanted to take her seat :-) I often wondered why young men and women never got up and offered seats to seniors or patients - but was pleasantly surprised to see this old lady graciously offer her seat. We walked past her politely asking her to sit and I held my gaze into hers, for once hoping to see a sign of warming up to me. There was that very nonchalance holding my eye contact. 

     There were many instances when I took my smart phone out to click a pic of them but tucked it back promptly cause I didn't want to breach their privacy. I wanted to reach out to them, give them a hug or convey in some way my awe for their bond, for her dutiful companionship, for their unmistakable love but I held myself back feeling overpowered by their sheer presence. 

Today I was determined to say something to her, or him or both! I didn't see them when I walked in. I tried to capture their traces in my sketch and their spirit in my words. Life is so pretty that even in the face of illness and poverty there are things that stretch beyond 'stuff' - things like loving and being loved, things like grace and courage. If I could, I would put their picture as a definition of marriage :)

Imitation

Found a little time to kill this noon. With due apologies to Georgia O'Keeffe. Soft pastels on sketch pad.