Thought

The other side of the window sill

filtered through

A seemingly thick gauge

Of premonition

Skewing imagery

Suiting the ever prevalent inner dialogue

Stretching the truth into obliteration.

It matters not the many veils

That beautify the captures

When one refracted thought

Could cloud the reality.

The foreground of wilted viewpoint

Make bright calendula look like smudges of color

When what exists reduces to blurred pixels

Of cross stitch like distortion

Smearing out of a crystal clarity.

Reminding the brutality

That most things we choose to behold

We choose to behold as we are, and as we see.

The curse - Of a side effect

When I first came to the Land of Liberty, I came with all my preconditioning of my  conservative small town, Indian upbringing. My entire view of the world was to be adjusted to alarmingly new perspectives and Advertising was one of those culture shocks I faced. Growing up, I saw the Indian media take very politically correct jibes at the competitors and exaggeration was a way of the sales pitch. Tall claims could be made without legal repercussions. When I first saw a print Ad of a seasonal allergy medication in one of the magazines here in the US, I had to pause and notice. The said Ad had graphics from the competitor's label and made a substantiated claim about a clinical study wherein they performed better than the opponent. "Interesting" I thought to myself. There are probably reasons why the first world remains the first world. They have made their evolution through things. The other thing that caught my attention was the disclaimer labels - often noting allergy information, manufacturing plant information and a list of side effects for all the drugs.  The info would read "Side effects include nausea, diarrhea, dizziness, weight gain, loss of appetite, liver dysfunction etc etc etc..." I was amazed at the transparency of the information that is provided to a consumer.

Well, I am into the second paragraph and really didn't start scratching the surface of my ponder yet - Focus dear child, focus! So back on track, I did experience a ironic side effect to a medication that was supposed to combat flu while aiding a good night's sleep. My usual go to Advil was tossed aside in favor of Nyquil. The bug needed a strong contender and I was half dreaming about the blissful sleep I'd be lulled into as I washed in the sharp tasting potion down the throat. Half an hour passes, nothing happens, except I feel a little hazy, like one might feel under influence. An hour, and then two. No sleep in sight. I probably counted sheep till I could name my count in the infinite selection and focused on my breath to a point where I got super alert. But sleep eluded me like water in a desert. Then I faintly remember relating every tale I ever wanted to relate to, to the significant other that was kept force awaken to give me company. Poor thing complied to the sickness and health vow by and large. After a while, I realized I cannot hold 'not resisting sleep' against a soul that slogged his backside off for near 15 hrs during the day.

It was wee hours, like 3 Am perhaps, and I was still thinking up all remedies I ever heard of that could convince the slumber fairies to bestow their grace upon me. Then suddenly, I remembered the poem "The dark night of the soul" - now if you, by chance are a spiritual connoisseur, you probably heard a thing or two about that poem and the interpretation and about the deep set meaning it has into awakening the soul to some sort of ascension. That godforsaken NyQuil did induce some side effects for sure,  the most unthought ones for sure, as I was in some sort of spiritual ego trip envisioning going through my very own "Dark night of the soul" - My previous night's google search history even claims that I looked up for the many available poetic and spiritual interpretations of the said work.

Now, I'll cut the chase for you. Cause it's been a solid three days ago and the strain of the good ole Flu still lingers around like a strong fragrance used by a fashionista with a brazen sense of style and Moi feels the bug as intensely as the day I got hit by it. So, I did wake around 9 am the next morning presuming I fell asleep around sunrise. The first thing I did upon opening my eyes was the zombie float to my laptop to search up NyQuil side effects.

Down under all side effects I spot "Insomnia" - Holy Ravioli, guacamole, puranpoli....who would have thunk??

And thus, I first hand, experience the dark night of the side effect.

All hail the ironies of life!

The curse - Of too many choices

Late winter becomes tricky in this place. The much needed rains either overwhelm the weather forecast or totally elude us, giving subtle jitters about a potential water shortage in the warmer months. This year, the nature gods are in a mood of giving. The incessant rains kind of remind me of what my London bred friend once said about the weather out there. "It is grey all the time, so grey that it gets to you" I seem to resonate with that "getting to you" sentiment right now - as the late winter tricks of the trade unfold themselves inside and out and a strong flu strain does the rounds.

It is an interesting combination, to have wet, 'seasonal active disorder' inducing scenes spread outside as a flu bug takes over the insides of you, quiet literally, making you run to the nearest over the counter aisle, filling in the shopping cart with all possible remedies to combat the bug. Hot tea brewing in copious amounts to be used as the drainex equivalent to unclog the congestion and just like that, a couple of days slip by where you do nothing, or rather not have the energy to do anything. It is in such instances that I remember the Telly, the piece of electronics that doesn't get its due in this household, thanks to the inability of yours truly to sit in a place for periods longer than fifteen minutes. The headache didn't allow me to focus too much on the reading material that seems to just multiply in the dark, thanks to the all powerful Amazon prime, where gratification of thumbing through the book you fancy is just a few clicks away. Amid all this sensory overload, I finally get to sync Prime videos to the telly - after being a prime patron for a period of years that I lost count of.

When I enter the wonderland of prime videos, I feel a little dazed at the sheer enormity of this whole thing. Talk about being a frog in the well and being blissfully unaware of all the happenings of the world out there. It takes me no time to realize that Prime videos kind of puts Netflix to some sort of complex and I mentally get a grip over the giant that Amazon has become. "No wonder" I say to myself.  "Jeff deserves it." I flip the up and down arrows to explore all there is, periodically clicking on a title to see if it entices me enough to punch the "watch" button. The list seems to be daunting - near exhaustive so to speak, that going through the titles and log lines constitutes of some sort of a prelude to the entertainment I was seeking. As my grey cells skim through the choices, a background thread of the good old Doordarshan days make a flash in my mind's eye. The way we used to flock around the television to get a fix of the Saturday's regional and the Sunday's Hindi movies respectively. A sizable portion of a whole nation used to plan their weekends around these two features and what ever was offered, irrespective of the quality or the watachability of the content,  used to be consumed. Amusingly, I saw how the abundance of the the millennia that I so often rant about in my mind while raising my kids also gets into the lives of the co-existing gen x veterans like me. I for once, sense how too much of something can be deterrent to happiness first hand. We seem to have one too many of every possible choice out there, that it numbs and desensitizes us to the vastness of our own resources.

I couldn't really watch much on prime, partly due to that antsy condition I am born with which doesn't allow me to sit still for long, that goes hand in hand with the inability to look at movies and TV as a part of entertainment. I think there is a weirdo in me that cannot seek to be entertained. The weirdo demands food for thought. I did end up watching a movie - The words. Who could resist a title like that? and a ponder over that experience demands another entry here in my lonesome virtual mindspace, wherein I type what Anne Lamott calls the "Shitty first drafts" without a single care. There isn't a need to sound smart, or a want to be understood - now that is liberating, among the many curses of the modern life, upon which I intend to ponder in the coming days.

It drives home a very important lesson for me. That simplicity is a talisman that unlocks a peaceful, content life. The less things, the more clarity. No wonder, back in the day, the blessed day of moderation, our predecessors led lives much different than ours. It is probably just on the solid ground of the mantra of needing less and living more.

Discover

There's a thought

Simmering in the insides

Taken over by the obvious

The Physical, the mundane.

There's a power

Like an ember shrouded by soot

Once in a while, emitting a shimmer

Cutting through the darkness of the palpable

There's a vision 

Overwhelmed by the view

Of the perceivable, the attractive,

Lying there unattended.

There's a treasure

In you and you and you and me

The fortune that connects

Prevails but gets overlooked

There's a word, a phrase

Perhaps a whole entire book

Every where out there

In you and you and you and me 

Let it spring out

Spreading the light

Sharing, healing and helping.

Let it manifest into words

Into love.

Vista point

Even as I type my ponder in prose, if I might call it that myself, I am half tempted to write a verse, if I might call it that myself, like I did countless times before. But for the love of long, compound sentences and for the love of someone named the "little one" who urges me to shun my temptation to write the so called verse, cause that little someone finds it utterly non-decipherable, which of course must be a euphemism for nonsense, I resist the urge and persist in prose.

I know, that's getting a little cheesy, this rhyme thingie. Just this morning, I was saying to myself "Don't sweat the small things" while I was trying to manifest a writing desk by the window of my bedroom, wherein a decently meager view of some nature occurs in the otherwise concretey suburbs of the lovely golden state . That desk did manifest by the way, and all that is left is for me to sit there and manifest the next NY times bestseller. But that's beyond the point, and a little delusional perhaps (I'll check with the Little one on that thought) - I did further think of a post script for the "Don't sweat the small things" sentiment which went "All things are small things" - now I need a separate blog post to ponder on that after thought, but for now, I'll cease to sound like the presumptuous teen and get back to sounding less presumptuous. So, for now, it is about the vista point, and about the vista point in so called prose, presumably in some polished prose.

A few winters ago, I found myself in Las Vegas for Thanksgiving break. We ganged up with near and dear and parked ourselves leisure in The Venetian. Now, If I were more regular or religious with my  travel logs, I'd have pondered on and on about my experience in Venice, Italia,  and not the replica that was so flawlessly created in the city of sin. I heard the same friend of mine that came to Vegas tell me when we were in Venice as to how the replica had created a bar for her and Venice didn't really measure up to that bar. Before I digress and make it about Venice, let me get right on track. The replica was immaculate, and why not? Probably just like silk flowers that look flawless when pitched against their natural counterparts. Anyway, the ambiance of the hotel, probably the recreation of twilight to an eerie perfection, drew me towards it like a powerful magnet. On one of the lamp posts in the said replica, a bird sat perched. For some strange reason, it tweeted the same exact moment I passed by. I stood there, tracing the sound waves and freezing my eyeballs on the bird there - for a moment, in all honesty, forgetting that I was in a make believe world and that bird could have been a part of it. I saw it croon in ease, its feathers ruffling ever so slightly, its fluffy belly inflating as it opened its tiny beak to call for me and then it goes back to its perfect perch. It took me a moment of intense observation to understand that it wasn't real and my awe for it grew even more.

The next morning, I woke up before the rest, probably in the wee hours and embarked on a sole walk in the company of myself, to take another look at the bird, secretly and foolishly fearing that it might have flown away. When I got there, sure it was right there, and sure it charmed me again with that tweet. I sat by the bench in full view of the bird, cranking my neck and being immensely charmed by the creativity that went into it. Completely discounting the fact that it isn't the original.

Up until lately, I had this awe for man created stuff - be it music, art, literature, architecture or anything else that falls in the premise. But I cannot trace back the connection I felt toward nature. For as long as I can recollect, I was the happiest in the company of flora and fauna. But somehow, there was this subconscious "taking for granted" I did with the Almighty's creation. In a very amusing way, this 'taking for granted'ness reminded me of how us humans take the most precious, priceless things for granted - a drink of pure water, a whiff of fresh air or even a mother's love, that we so often just get blind to, never ever pausing to reciprocate or to even feel it in the truest essence.

The other day, I see the almond tree in the front yard doing a full blown display of blooms. I saw it from the open blinds of my window freezing all thought, all personal narration and naming and just experiencing that creation that sprung out of drab soil, peeking in full glory out of dead looking branches. Not a trace of a leaf. It looked like a promise, a reassurance of abundance, a little sign of the infinite creation manifesting right there in front of me. "How can we ever beat that intelligence" I had said out loud. Probably in a whisper. The significant other that was in the ear shot, looked at where I was looking and smiled like he agreed. Suddenly it occurred to me, that all we need to know is right there inside of us, waiting to teach us, to get us closer to our source, only and only if we adjust our visors, and our vista points.

Fried chicken with inspiration on side.

Ike is bald. he almost looks like a human in a igloo costume. He has bushy brows like Alladin's Jeanie and a goatie that stands out along with his eyebrows and smile. Ike has a personality. He is someone that someone like me cannot not notice. Why would someone like me notice him? Because of the wordage he uses. He runs a sandwich place across the street, and as finicky as I am with trying new foods, he froze me in tracks. Cause the hoarding to his business reads - Ike's love and sandwiches. The sucker for love and sandwiches that I am, I had to gingerly step out of my finicky eater tag and walk right in. The menu on the wall reads like fine fiction, and the sucker for quirk falls flat already, sight unseen of the wares. Though it is only fair to add that Ike didn't disappoint me with his culinary creations.

I predicted to be a regular at that place, but given my attention span, I did kind of not go back up until last week. It is a record of sorts that I decide to try a fried chicken sandwich the last time I was there. This borderline vegan for life makes the knee jerk decision out of a whim to try what? Fried chicken for love of the holy spirit. We went in and ordered our entrees. The first born refused to budge and got her Murray school house eggplant sandwich and I, still feeling as brave as I did a while ago, went ahead and placed my order for the, drumm roll -  fried chicken sandwich. Ike had a lovely name for it - He called it James and the Giant peach. He dressed it with barbecue sauce and some sort of cheddar. Gourmet already - and it somehow felt like it was severed with a generous side of inspiration.

When I took a bite, I tried all I could to be in the moment and let each and every layer of that yumminess burst on my taste buds. The barbecue sauce had a smokey flavor that I could have done without, but the fried chicken? It tasted bland. Like nothing. I carefully peeled the sandwich apart to look at the nugget. It was there alright. Looking just like one of the nuggets my nephew used to gobble up one after the other.  But out of nowhere I had inspiration hit me like a wall of bricks. I wish I listened to my inner voice and made some memos to ponder upon those flashes of wisdom, but I hope it'll all come back again, when I stay still and be present. Suddenly I was missing my laptop. In that very instant, I'd have churned up some great tidbits of gyaan - but here I am , hours later, after attending to the monotonous and the mundane, to purge out the urge to type.

Fried chicken. Consumed by a confirmed, bonafide, finicky, 'I'll ask you so many questions about the broth that you'd question your own trust in your vegetable soup' dissecting vegetarian. Did I tell you Ike is full of personality? He somehow inspired me, for the first time in for ever - and literally for ever - to taste poultry. And why not? When he recreated it in an all vegan glory!

Post script - I'd heard about numerous vegan places that serve vegan meat dishes - but I'd never ever budged to try them. Call it folly, skepticism or plain old snobbish, but let me grant it to Ike for pushing me over the edge.

For now that is a huge leap. A rebellion of sorts. To try a dish that could be crafted out of soy but comes with 'chicken' in the moniker. I think I get negotiable once in a while, specially when the likes of Ike serenade me with a personality, the right words and plenty of  imagination.

Recap

On this day, thirteen years ago, I had no clue what the coming years had to offer - it was hands down, the happiest day of my life. Between a tiring labor and an exciting new beginning as a mother, I was overwhelmed at the best and numb with cluelessness at the worst. My life had changed that day, my priorities had changed and my identity did as well - I was never to be the same again and boy do I get amazed at what all had conspired between that day and this!

The first born was a clingy child - happy, easy to manage, but clingy, like super glue - I doubt if much had changed since then, after thirteen winters to our back. She had opened new perspectives to my world and made me evolve in the way I loved. 'Unconditional" They say - such a misused, misconstrued term. Only a mother is supposed to know it and execute it. At two and a half, she got her first time out. She did something rude to her grandmother. "She is too young to understand" my MIL insisted. I believed differently. I wanted to drive home the point sooner than later, that we need to be considerate.

At four and a half, I locked her in the garage, now before someone calls the authorities on me, I did keep a watchful eye. That episode, she remembers with great detail and improvises with every narration. I am the badass mom. She knows that. She has umpteen opportunities to point out my badassness. But she also knows I don't care this way or that. Or she probably, secretly believes that I love her unconditionally.

We used to have many mom-daughter dates - specially on Thursdays during her Kindegarten. Fried rice store was her favorite place to eat. To the uninitiated, it is the Thai restaurant two blocks away. To date, that remains her favorite place to eat, alongside of most sandwich places, pizza places and salad bars. Yes, we are the foodie duo. We both love to cook and to eat all the same. We bond over our menu planning escapades. She's wonderful for the ego and also brutal at the same time - the flavor she decides to don is as unpredictable as her adolescent attitude. But I try to stay unfazed. I probably get away with a little pretention when I fail to stay unfazed or go all evil mode and give it back to her. I don't know how being cool works all the time. I am flawed. It doesn't work for me 24 by seven.

She reads me like a book. If I stay calm, she'd come and linger around - she'd probe. She'd cajole a conversation. She has a wicked sense of humor and she makes me chuckle in the worst of my mood swings. As she ages, I get more conscious about how much I preach. I take the other road - of leading by example. I hope I do a good job. We'll all have our regrets. I am trying to minimize my parental regrets and I hope that one day she'd vouch for it.

There's a perpetual list of parental instructions. "Drink water" "Your hands are dry - use moisturizer" "Clean after yourself" "Talk less, be silent, connect to the source" "Keep away your laundry" "Why are your lips so dry? Don't we have enough lip balms manifesting in every goddamned draw?" "No reverence to things you overprivileged brat!" "Read" "Read" "Read".... Thankfully, I never need to prompt her to be respectful or loving toward anyone. It comes naturally to her and that makes up for a very content mother.

She keeps checking if she is as tall as I am. I keep telling her that there are more things to us than our appearances. But then she slants her hand and levels it with my head "See we are the same height" She quips. "That's a parallax error" I quip back. We both laugh.

The other day, we were discussing parenting choices and I told her that every parent wishes the best for their kid, but sometimes they might not seem to be doing it. "No parent is perfect" I added.
She paused and said " But you are perfect mom". In all honesty, I was humbled. I am far from perfect. I seem to be more happy and loving with her when she cleans her room, hangs her coat and empties the dishwasher. In reality, I am not supposed to be that. I feel that unconditional love is a hoax...But then she says I am perfect. May be, it isn't a hoax after all. Some of us tend to love others the way they are, in their task master,' badass mom' glory.

I do try for some perfection moments though - like the recreation of her favorite Thai rice from the fried rice store, pictured above. "You are the best cook mother" She eats a mouthful and proclaims. I know I probably overdid the umami or added a tad much of that soy sauce...But she calls it perfect anyway. Then I come to see where perfection lies. It is always within, always in the way we choose to look at things, in the way we choose to love and live! While she is eager to catch up with my height, I hope I can catch up with her ability to love.

Thirteen years ago, a mother was born, she is far from being perfect or unconditional, but she gets away with both the titles.

Only love. Can transform. The ordinary. Into Extraordinary.

Reverse

I wonder what ran in the minds
Of his folks,
When they named him that!
Did they envision him
Getting on to people's nerves?
Under their skin?
Making them reach out
To cozy cuddles
With the heated blanket
Perhaps with a book that changes their life
Or a thought that breaks their heart!

I wonder what the need was to name him
To begin with-
Isn't it enough to feel him
Running chills in the spine
Seeking solace in hot sips
Of cocoa or herbal tea?
Like it isn't enough
That he hides the Sun
Or hides from.

I wonder what the name serves?
Just a moniker, aiding the menace mind
That needs wordage to identify!
A thread to rattle on
Whining, complaining.
"I can't wait for the spring"
It pouts, with knit eyebrows.
I wonder why the name?
Winter....
When I can just be, and feel him
Freezing a feeling many
As I attempt to make friends with him
And accept him as he is.
The name - I can do without!

Sighting

Eternal 

Suspended through timelessness 

The astral light fixture 

Emitting his beams of delight 

I freeze

And freeze him as a penalty 

In my meagerly smart device 

For once it dawns

Upon my stillness 

My transience 

The fleck I am

Amid the depths of the Master’s creation 

Longing to detach and renounce

To embrace the eternal 

Merging into Wholeness.

Deception

There she is lurking
In Reality clothing
Don't let her body
Touch your soul.
Seductress avantgarde
Enticing you
With a Magical phrase
"I am in love with you"
She would croon
Opening doors to your treasure
Vulnerable you, you'd be plundered
Unceremoniously.
Savage little charmer
Don't let her lies
Become your truths.
May be it requires
To up your guard
Like a dam, holding those waters
Of trust.
Don't let her two faced farce
Become your blueprint
To living life.
Close your eyes
To the eternity within.
Let the outer illusion
Dissipate into nothingness.

Semusing #30 - Yay!

When I decided to join September Musing brigade, I got a bit of myself back - a bit that I thought I lost in the process of a the roller coaster called life. I leaped into it without much contemplation - as I think too much contemplation isn't going to put you in action much. That being said, thanks to this bumpy, hectic ride, I got back my - Spontaneity!

When I look back and reflect at the year so far, I feel this year had been a milestone of sorts. I had been through so much of self discovery and life changing findings. I started my quest into my spiritual side though I had always described myself as a spiritual being. I had read so much more of philosophy, psychology and some of physics and made the best out of everything I was greeted by. In a way, I had come of age :) In a way, I had gathered the courage, the self drive and the yearning to embark on an inner quest and I think this year had been the most important year of all in terms of learning and evolving as a human being.

I know I did a little bit of a cheating and catching up along the way of the month long blogging  journey, but given all the impediments that crossed my path and all the demands on my time, I am kind of proud of myself that I stuck to my commitment. It also increased my blog tally - which, is a surge of sorts in my creative life. It got a little tricky around mid month, when I kept facing one unforeseen time vacuum after the other but I resolved to keep at it, come what may. I look at this completion as a small victory over all the inertia and hindrances that I was face to face with.

Going back to my findings so far, I look at my spiritual journey as ground breaking. It lent a very fresh perspective to life in general and the purpose of life in specific. I looked back and realized I named two of my posts "Surrender" in the past week. I let them be the way they are - as it kind of gives me a sneak preview into my state of mind right now. Surrender to the divine will. Life seems to have suddenly simplified, unraveled itself in all the clarity and wisdom I was fortunate enough to have chanced upon. The wisdom I gathered in books was perfectly supplemented by the situations I was put into all along. Which makes me only marvel a little more at the unfathomable intelligence that kind of has a unique program in place to every creature on earth.

My house if lighter now as well - both the literal and figurative lighter - with only the dark wood sprawling across all the surface. My eclectic, quirky, unexpected abode suddenly transformed into a tranquil, monochromatic space. I miss my spring green walls but am equally drawn into the soft grey and bright beige that got replaced. I look around and gasp, I look behind and gasp again....My life is as insignificant as it can get. I didn't do any discoveries to change the face of human life, I didn't churn up best selling writings nor did I accumulate any material possessions - notwithstanding, I find myself at a strange contentment, a peace that comes from deep within, a sense of achievement that shines in doing the pettiest of things with great passion.

Like I said, I don't have an elaborate list of achievements to my credit, but the little tasks take up, make up for it all. Be it grilling the perfectly moist paneer kebabs or sticking to a blog commitment amid a whirlwind of a month that perhaps put every test it could in my path to see if I'll falter.

I didn't! :) Yay!

PS - If you are still with me, try meditation. Thank me later :)