Wanderings...

Long ago I had visited a home in a small town nestled in Himalayas. In the household there was an invalid man, his second wife(as first had died a painful death through burns and it was rumored that it was a dowry death, which in India means that a bride is abused and tortured and sometimes she accidentally burns in the kitchen while cooking! It is easy to prove that she died while cooking and was not burnt to death by an angry husband or a malicious in law), a teen aged girl( is daughter) and her younger brother living with their spinster aunt. Even when they extended a warm welcome with the wife and her sister-in-law slaving in the kitchen( wife being ordered around by the much married looking sister-in-law, why is it so with spinsters that they look more married than married women?), dark with soot, whipping up delicious food.

The projected happy family just didn't hold as there was a lingering shadow of frustrations, pain and anger. The son would sing melodious songs as we had tea in an over decorated living room with wife's embroidered table clothes and daughter's paintings made during the class tenth summer holiday at the local art teacher's coaching class. The man was all politeness and manners so much so that it failed to convince! Something about that sad little home was quiet bitter and quiet hidden. The wife had wrinkles on her weather beaten face, weathering that age and surviving suspended without security and love brings about. The smiles were stretched too far, brittle almost to the breaking point, it is easy to read the story that faces tell, just have to look a bit longer and deeper.

The wife, completely over run by her sister-in-law, most probably hailed from an economically weaker background. Children had the same pale aura of being repressed. When a mother is suppressed and smothered, children draw from this state and with the blossoming of their youth there is a wilting of spirit that is unmistakable. Was it this interference of a controlling spinster that lingered so heavily everywhere, in the kitchen, in tiny bedrooms and the kitchen garden with a parrot caged near guava tree, or was it the silent suffering of a woman who died by fire that hovered over this house that was painstakingly projected as a happy house but peace evaded it like water on lotus leaf. Now, the daughter is happily married and the house hold that I have not visited for a while might be a little lighter with children free of the silent agony.

Yesterday,I took Jayani to two drawing competitions. She is wonderful with colours and paints. The work she does is quiet matured for her age and I have appreciated her always. When she did not win any prize yesterday, she was disappointed. What she did was paint by imagination. At one place she painted the usual mountains, setting sun and trees, at the other she made a huge flower that she often makes at home with multi coloured petals. The flower she erased as she was impatient with colouring the whole thing and made stringy creepers at four corners. She was disheartened that she did not get any prize for this. I told him that she had not done the flower with care as she was impatient, she did not take criticism well as she was saying again and again that mamma did not like my painting.

I had a delicate balancing to do here, I know her potential is immense yet she does not like practicing and it is this I wanted to instill through this experience. I gave her an old letter of my brother where he had sketched a mouse with a bag that is spilling grains on path. He used to write these stories for my son in his engineering days and send them. Son had mastered drawing this mouse and would get prizes for this. She tells me why did you not tell that I had to practice a thing for a competition, I said it's not late, you have to learn to practice all things as human mind is made that way that if you do not practice, you forget! She seems to have understood this and the visit to the art competitions was not a waste. At these moments I often doubt myself. I thought about the praise I shower her with when she comes up with those beautifully executed works, she is a natural, sometimes such talent cant 'perform' on demand, but as a child it means a lot to hger to 'win' I do not want to take that joy away from her, so I gave her the clue to winning such competitions where children draw what they have practiced and perfected at home. Hope I am not wrong and her natural talent is not disturbed but enhanced with the practice and discipline...


Cold sunshine drips down the window
Inhale the white flower and the wild rose

Birds nest, bees roam
My heart too wanders, sun-dappled lanes of memory..

Dusty, damp, dark streets, sun filters in
Turning dust to gold, a solitary tear to ice...

Jayani rubbing nose with her fave kitty

A strange poem...

I fall sharply
Cutting the sky beneath cliff
You catch me by your lips
My name
Hangs there sandwiched
between the fall and impact...


Sharp wind lifted my hair just above my brown jacket as I jogged on gritty red sand. I jogged to run past an older woman, walking faster than me. A forced thing to confirm my younger age. Jogging I crossed her many times till she would briskly walk past me when I resumed walking. The bliss of gentle fog laden morning changed into the compulsion to compete. My eyes grazed the yellow and orange marigolds lined by the road and suddenly I could disengage from this forced thing of running ahead of her. Was thinking, isn't is same in all the things. We always have a choice from things that engulf us like the pseudopodia of an amoeba, we always have a choice of taking our thoughts and attention to things that blossoms into some thing beautiful. I picked up my old hobby again today and it is such a divine feeling, of joy, peace and contentment of creation. Here is the painting that I have been busy with today. Another older one that I had painted when Jayani was a new born.

Facebook update: I even wrote a blog on that yesterday but then I had disengaged my self through nature-taking in the bright yellow beauty of marigolds, when we stood side by side waiting for lights to tun green, I complimented her on her stamina and she complimented me on my running, saying I can't run now. We shook hands and told our names. Morning frustrations of watching her walk past me changed into a possibility of a new friendship!

Morning...

Got up at four and the good thing about getting up so early is you are filled with bright energy all day. Meditated for a while and burned some incense and camphor as my throat felt hoarse. I hurry to the kitchen then, start the water for tea and warm up the milk on the stove. I have kicked out the microwave as it was becoming the favourite haunt of tiny cockroaches. Can't spray insecticide in there, can I? Eggs for boiling replace the tea and I make a crisp 'parantha' with folded dough and bishops seeds and a bit of salt, I smear it with honey for son and float some chocos for daughter, both have different breakfasts. Next, I slice the buns and put jam for one and butter for the other and place them in their lunch boxes, this is less elaborate than some things I send and which are brought back untouched, so this! I place these on a tray with two glasses of water and try to wake them up. they dig still deeper into the blankets, I bring my boiled egg and tea to the bed to keep at the constant song of 'get up Jayu, get up Animesh, it's your work not mine to get ready', to no avail. Then I read the clock to them, it's six fifteen, now you will miss the bus, no effect. I zip to start the geyser for hot water and bring in their uniforms, socks, underwear and spread them on bed. Again, the same song, get up, you will miss the bus, I think they dream of missing the bus. I manage to make Jayu sit up and place the water glass near her lips, she sips a little and opens an eye. I spoon chocos and then the eggs and place the tooth brush with paste in her hand. Next, I give her a bath and ask her to dress and smear some cream, she obliges. Meanwhile son has arrived to have his break fast and whines about everything. I write a note in Jayai's diary about the money she has to carry for buying crayons and then com her hair. We rush out with the belt in hand...

Sun Worship

Worship of sun in Aryan vedic rites always felt like an ancient ritual to please the elements. Looking deeper, it seems that at some subtle level all the energy and matter work very closely (every living thing has derived energy from solar energy) so at some level gross expression of respect and gratitude is a form of communication.

A flower that I had floated in a crystal bowl draws its petals inwards in the night even when it is not attached to the plant and is away from sunlight. How come the cells of this flower detect the sunset? What is the necessity in a plucked cosmos to draw its petals at night? Maybe cells of our body, with the proven fact that each cell has memory and gray matter, communicate with the source of energy. It is just a thought that consciously aligning our mind and spirit to this subtle communication , brings us into balance and harmony with nature and elements. Maybe this was the reason that all the ancient religions had rituals where they revered the nature. Have also observed that when we communicate the need to be healed to nature, it is herd by some intelligence and works out somehow. When I venture out in sun, I sens its rays and feel that they cleanse all negativity, it seems we should not fear elements but know that they are an integral part of our being, this way the elements work to keep us disease free and young. Dunno, came to me as I was watching sunlight bath treetops in mellow pale glow.

Mundane Things

I was talking to a friend during our evening walk and mentioned that how as a newly married woman I had found a question about maintainance money very awkward. She replies, but I get it too, and I was quiet for a moment as I had thought that is was funny to be getting money that one would spend on oneself from the husband. In fact my take on the issue was that once the intense phase of infant care and early childhood are over a woman should earn to contribute towards the family kitty. In this of course I had never taken into account the massive housework that is single handedly done by Indian housewives. I do not know about the finer points about these factors that grant spending ability to a woman in these situations but truly it had never occurred to me. Her forceful point that women who take care of the house should have some money solely kept aside for their own care sounded very logical. She gets massages and facial done with the money, with the rest she keeps saving it till a bigger amount is there, here, she showed me, 'these ear rings I got with this saving!' Well, either I am dumb or I can silently hope that practicality and worldly ways dawn upon me before I hit forty.

The Rabindranath novel I was reading speaks of these feminist issues, am amazed that the issues are still contemporary. The central character, Kumudini refuses to accept precious jewelry that her husband gifts her as he continuously tries to show her side of the family down, she accepts a crumpled paper with cardamom seeds that a child gives her with joy. She is completely reliant on her husband and yet she struggles to resist the attempts by the husband to control her.She is shown to be brought up lovingly by her brother and this instills in her the confidence to turn down that which is given to her without respect.

Commonwealth Games with Kids

Was at the stadium yesterday to see the diving, there were children watching with frequent squabbling over seats as the techniques were quiet complex and each even had many rounds. Was quiet amazed at the spectrum of people commonwealth is attracting, while waiting for the lost and found volunteers, I sat on the grass. A while later a foreigner came and sat near by me. I was quiet flustered with tracing back the steps to try and find out the purse and needed some thing to take my mind off this trying to go back and figure out where exactly I dropped it. I asked his nationality and he told he was German, I said but Germany is not taking part in these games(are the common wealth games so popular!) Well, he tells me that he is a diver and was in the national team of Germany. In the state of extreme frustration my next question was, are you still diving, well no, he was an engineer with no time for this hobby and was in India to see the Taj and the usual golden triangle of Jaipur, Agra and Delhi. I suggested the HO HO buses moving across Delhi for tourists and locals as a safe bet. His colleagues working with Delhi Metro and so from Singapore he was visiting Delhi, I compared the plastic nature of Singapore to the natural diversity of India, a good way of taking out the frustration! Then about the Berlin wall coming down and just as he mentioned north and south Korea, I could speak of the dictators there as I had read in a blog recently about the horrors of dictatorship in Korea. Indeed it seemed that Korea was an alien planet with such stone age practices. How much we learn each day about the world from social networks and the blogs and how much can be learned about a whole civilization is a few minutes! The potential of human interaction never ceases to amaze me. He asked me again and again if I was an Indian, do I look some other nationality? The minutes were ticking by and whole family was scattered, my son by me on the logs, husband and daughter waiting at a parking place as Delhi is a virtual fortress these days. Now, I will remember to keep my attention focussed when I go out to a crowded place with the kids.

It was heartening to be received with politeness by the police and the paramilitary forces deployed there. The volunteers were very courteous and friendly and that made me realise that events like these commonwealth games instill a deep sense of responsibility and unity in people. People from across the world are visiting the stadias and enjoy the hard work of players. Even when the day brought frustration due to my own carelessness, it was a learning experience to receive help and sympathy from other humans.

Pic: Is unrelated to post, beautiful Nainital in Himalaya.

Scattered Poems...

Sad Days
Sadness has quaint ways
stelthy feet
sneaking in quietly... quietly
Spreading like honey
on each thought coating all
In dazed, dull perception



Can you Heal?


Broken China
Torn wings
Soul feels shredded
Ever danced on broken glass?

Slash the trusting heart
Numb senses and smile
Work- rest- work
Things will be fine

Don't weep or else
You hurt us with those tears
Who asked you to trust?
Not us, so dance
But slowly on the shards
And remember...
Don't weep
Its not tasteful
Not ladylike
Just smile
And dance slow
And yes,
You can let the blood flow


God

I want to ask you
How can you stay untouched
As children suffer
They say that your will is most potent
Then answer me why the innoc ent suffer?

Is it your wish to see suffering
Is it so essential to existence?
But, explain to me those that yet have to live
Why they die?
Hindu says past birth

Still I question
Is it your wish to see misery
As they say, not a leaf moves till you wish
Is this your wish then?
To see children starving, brutal rapes and murders

Animals are a kinder lot then
tell me it is not your wish or will
that wanders the earth like a possessed fiend
Give it a name, so that I gather
That leaves tremble without your will too...
And devils roam unchained by your will

My creator cannot have such wishes I believe
Unless there is some rhyme or reason to it
Explain to me this pain
And that you do not will or wish it





Evolution
From green of grass to that of matrix
Fields, farming, sweat and toil
transformed to hum of the AC, heat of the PC
A hollow tree bark, sleep, an open book spread on the chest
Ah the colours, the pop ups, and all that's yet unseen
A life away from life, a sedation, from realities, from self?
Like a dream, life away from life
Human dream grew wings and evolved
A silk cocoon it wove a net
And drawn across the blue planet
Is this world wide web-bedspread
To dream, to dream on days and nights...



A little breeze kisses my lips
And warms my heart today
It speaks of the sweet winter morns
And dusty autumn days

Of swirling leaves and tender petals
And white clouds on sunny noons
Pale damp moments plucked randomly
Pressed in my diary days

I long to lie in a field of daisies
And watch the shadows of the day
Just lie and laze and watch the play
Of the blue stark sky and white clouds

And hold a hand next to my face
Drowning into seamless sleep
Of ripe days and nights
And Jasmine white moments
Fragrant and deep!


Life passed by me
And, I was lost in plucking out thorns
As nights come to me I draw my stained hands over my eyes
I weave dreams to forget the thorns embedded in flesh
Morning comes to me with its naked bruised body
And I bury my trembling dreams quickly to pull out more thorns
The mornings teach my nights that there are no dreams
And my nights keep silent to retain their secrets,
of a little beauty and a little hidden happiness
Morning is restless to pour its wisdom on my night's dreams
My night resists faintly, the stark brutality of survival creeping in
Mornings strangling my nights
Reality drowning my dreams
Is that life?

See!

My soft feet have turned coarse
I wandered from shore to shore
Eyes that sang of love and sweetness
Are tired and sore.

Still I wore cloaks and painted the face
to delude the self creating false grace
In passion, in beauty, in mind
every moment engaged.

A moment then came to me humbly
spreading it's simple wares
A cloud, mild sun and a gentle torrent
See ....feel.

Not a thought in mind, none in heart
just the breeze, the flowers of white fragrance
It took to take the I apart and prod gently saying-
See.

Just see and be
Just see and be


Blossoming

A Winter song in my heart

I lie on well-worn carpet of memories

Gazing at the empty sky

For Spring is soon to blossom

Far off, the frozen stars wait...

With bated breaths

To know the fate of our love

And the first stirrings of warm sweetness are my secret

They will wait a zillion years to know

That I loved you

With dazzling sun weaving breeze into my hair

And a warm moment of our love

Thawing the frozen warp and weft,

A secret blossoming zillion years across the frozen stars



To the yellow moon I say
tell me today,
To the gentle breeze I say
say what I say,
To the soil and sky I pray
take my thoughts
And plant them far away
Where a field of daisies
And my dreams stay.


In the toothless smile of an infant
In delicate veins of green leaf
In gurgling of a torrent
In the rustling of dry leaves

Reflection of eternity
Caught in a mirror
That cracks
And shatters the moment

In to fragments
That escape thought
Still, make sense
Not to mind
But to heart