Monday 31 March 2014

Another spring morning...
















Another spring morning...
Yet another lovely March day
The air smelling finally of sweet blossoms
The gossiping birds stirring the calmth
The unsettled mist wander around aimlessly.
While the earth lets out a heaving sigh, now and again
Just another spring morning...

My raw wounds come alive
I am reminded of the many years spent without you
I am reminded of the shadow play of death
The wreckage it left..
The deliberate attempts to strike a deal with death
The ruins, the void that we became after you left so suddenly.


I see the sun rise a bit more on the east
I see the spring blossoms spread around, looking ethereal,
In a cloud of mystical fog, the promise of new life
Their shadows fall like the veins of life
On the graves of the unknown below
In a parody of nature, life and death
Join palms and offer a silent prayer.

Yes, it is yet another spring morning
Where life carries on with it's routine abandon
I am hurt when I think of the years without you
The years of being broken and lost.
Of stumbling and falling in the dark
Of not knowing if the midnight will ever end
If the morning will ever come.

Then just as I was about to reel in my grief
And go into that dark place in my soul
The warm haze of sun hit my eyes
And I feel the warmth of your gaze
I feel your palms on my temple
Caressing my worries away.
The gentle flutter of the spring blossoms in the morning breeze
And I feel, I hear your gentle whisper.

Yes another March morning...
Let the sun rise , let it trace the sky and drown in the ocean like everyday
I don't feel that time should stop any more
And that I am far from you.
I know you are here, I know you live on
As the voice of my soul
As the wind in my wings
As the strength of my being.
Yet another spring morning...
Let it blossom!

Thursday 13 March 2014

In the wing of a prayer

God knows what happened to MH 370’ a few people said on Monday at work, in a spreading sense of shock. Today that is frighteningly laced with a sense of impending tragedy and translates as ‘I hope God knows what happened to MH 370 at least’.
Mysterious happenings always make headlines, but I hope for no reason such headlines repeat. For a global citizen, air travel is routine, nothing more.
You check in, fly, check out. Simple as that.
On those long haul flights we lean back and stare at the route map from the comforts of our padded recline-able seats.
Flying over the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Indian Ocean…Canada, China, Turkey, Oman, Afghanistan, France…
It is all routine.
To think the people aboard the MH 370 must have done the same, sends a shiver down my spine.
No one in their wildest dreams might think that there is a remote , no matter however remote, but a remote possibility that your mighty Boeing bird can just disappear off the face of the earth in a matter of minutes. Without a trace. Without a trail. Without a sound.
 
Global panic sets in. Countries pool in resources and do their best (allegedly) to find wreckage, a trace. Conspiracy theories spread rife all over the web. Endless permutations and combinations of speculative explanations are circulated. And after nearly a week still nothing.
The loved ones of the people aboard MH 370 have no option but to wait. Wait for what? It seems now they just wait for bad news or far worse no news.
Detaching ourselves for a minute from the emotional element here, let us evaluate. A big plane , on flight mid-air can logically only come down. If it comes down, it will land somewhere. If it lands somewhere we claim to have the technology and resources, the brawn and the brain to track it but yet it has not been found. Why? Simple questions with seemingly no answers.
And that is the mystery. The fact that families claim the phones of the passengers aboard has been ringing when they tried yet no answer, if true, suggests a catastrophe or a mass behaviour (the most hopeful scenario!). And this deepens the mystery.
Either way the loved ones wait for news, some news. And I hope from the depths of my heart they do get some news. I hope we all get some news about MH 370. I hope we are told MH 370 didn’t just vanish off the face of the earth ina split second for no apparent reason. I hope they will find evidence to explain what exactly happened to this aircraft. I hope to hear good news that the flight has been found with all aboard intact and alive. But if not that I hope there is some news, for the sake of the loved ones; so that the rest of their lives is not an endless wait for someone to return.
It is human nature I guess. We fear the unexplainable. We don’t like ambiguity. We fear we cannot figure everything out. We fear we may never know.
 
So be it.
I am going to hold onto my prayers, to know, for MH 370 and for the loved ones of all aboard.

The glimpse


I wonder..
Between existence and non-existence; beyond death; if there is a place.
A balcony of sorts in heaven. From where the departed watches us and continues to be with us.
I wonder if that is the safest place. Suspended in eternity, still, warm and light.
They continue to watch over us.

 
In a moment’s journey from breath to breath...
Perched on the wing of a silent, transient prayer
I close my eyes and look around
And there you are…
Towering over the frozen mindscape –
Made of precious memories from the past
Here yesterdays merge with tomorrows
To create today, this moment ....the ‘now’.

 
Where nothing has changed ...
Where nothing ever will
Where the margins of time fades
And converge into a single moment in time
Balloons from our childhood joyfully suspended mid air
Like they have always been...
Books stacked neatly where you always liked them
Your glasses rested on the desk on top of today’s newspaper.

 
And your cup of tea still steaming hot in your hand.
And there you are...
Watching the three of us pensively...
Go about our busy lives...
Laughing, crying, screaming, sobbing ...
We go about gathering the pieces of our lives.
And there you are...
Smiling that way with that glint in your eye...

 
Like you always did...
Looking at each one of us warmly
Your gaze and watch enveloping each of us...
Like a shield...like an armour…
Like you always did
You watch us smiling that smile of yours...with that glint in your eye
Here you are..
Today...here...now.

 
Nothing has changed
You are here...with us
Like you have always been
Watching us...guiding us...guarding us...
In this moment’s journey between breath to breath...
Nothing has changed...and nothing ever will.
Nothing ever will.

Thursday 6 March 2014

They make me cry...


 
I open my eyes to this world everyday, thinking today may be it will be better. I look at the sky everyday, thinking perhaps, today the sun might come out. I open my windows to the street outside...thinking maybe today; the child across the street will sleep peacefully, without being beaten up.
 

Perhaps today, people won’t need reasons to hug each other and when they won’t need an occasion to smile. Today there will be no more accidents, no more angry displays of nature...no storm, no earth quake, no blasts...anywhere in the world.

 May be sometime today if I close my eyes, I might get to listen to that perfect silence inside me.
And then when I step out at the end of a tiring day and look up...I hope there will be a canopy of midnight azure-blue sky spilled with a million stars, blinking their eyes at me…
And if I am lucky, perhaps even, the child across the street might smile at me and I may just stand there watching him fall asleep cradled in the silent arms of the night.
Perhaps, tonight I will go to bed without a single thought in mind and would sleep through, uninterrupted by dreams or nightmares. Floating atop the peace inside me...drifting from one world to another. In perfect silence.
Alas, but this is only a dream! Just a dream and nothing more...
 
I open my eyes today ...and I see suffering. I listen and I hear nothing but screams...
As it is now, the world makes me cry a river inside me …every day.



It is pain- its unbearable pain. I, like many of us, choke on it every day and die a millions deaths every day! I wonder why people are scared to smile; I wonder why there is no respect. I wonder why they are unkind to our planet...I wonder why there is so much bitterness.
Everyday millions of children are born here, with closed eyes and folded palms; with only one dream in their minds; a dream no different to mine...
A dream without wings.
A dream...that will be dead and gone as soon as they  open their eyes.
The starving children homeless and tortured. The killings, sufferings and bloodshed. The screams of abuse at one another.  The mad noise of screaming urban life; the treeless rainforests, waterless riverbeds and lifeless toxic oceans. The struggle for pointless power and wealth and the torture in God’s name and a planet that is slowly wasting into oblivion ...where are we ?
 

 If this is so, I wonder if it is the last flutter. I wonder if it is the last dance.

Tuesday 25 February 2014

An old friend

One of the greatest anomalies of life is that sometimes, certain people appear in your life from nowhere and then dissappear equally into oblivion.And often these people steer the direction of your life without realising it for themselves.

And for vagabonds it is just the norm of life. You meet new people everyday, you make memories that last forever but then you part ways like no big deal with a cow boy walk into the sunset.
But thanks to social networking, you can look up anyone now and re connect. As they say old faces, old memories all ...just a click away!

I recently got back in touch with a childhood friend and I recoiled into a rather nice space and time of my childhood.

Memories are strange things, you never know when they might walk into your life. Without showing the courtesy to knock- The audacity of the uninvited guest I suppose! I have found myself in the oddest of moments opening doors to the dark grim strger with a leaking bag of rags in his shoulder smelling of a familiar scent from the past. And I have asked who are you like  umpteen times, but with no respect the stranger just pushes me aside and enters like he owns the place…no introduction, no explanations- what can I say, but the audacity speaks for itself again.

 
The other day I was fretting at my desk to meet a deadline, and without a warning, without a sign, in came the stranger again! And this time the scent was that of a five rupee note…
Long back, and I mean, long back, when I was in my primary school in Punjab, I had stumbled upon this five rupee note on the floor on our way home from school. One must remember this was an era when after school street snacking was a big NO-NO at home, when pocket money as rationed.

 Coming back to the note, it was slightly wet and the green of the note was almost deepened by the rain and Mr Gandhi tilted his head and grinned at me through his glasses. My first impulse was to tell my friends who enticed me to the corner snack shop , that I was going to buy them all ‘Kachalu’ – which was semi cooked potato dipped in a  spicy tangy sauce (might not sound much but man o' man nothing like it on a summer evening...) At the time, to me Kachalu was the best food in the world, simply due to the ‘No Street Snack’ policy of parents.

 I looked at the note again, tattered and wet, it wreaked a strange scent. On the little white portion by Mr Smiling Gandhi was a faint scribbling in blue ink , smudged all over. It read- Vicky Loves Reeta…;-) !Amused, at the prospect of trading this epic monument of love for Kachalu I began walking to the shop with my friends. As we were about to cross I saw my classmate Swetha, crying her eyes out outside the gates. We rushed to her and enquired. As luck would have it, it turned out she had lost all her money and had nothing left for the rickshaw…

 Now I clenched my newly found five rupee note inside my palm so tight that , I almost suffocated our Baapuji! Patting her shoulder I was saying ok, hoping that someone would offer her the money and wouldn’t put me in the awkward position of having to part with mine. But as luck would have it again, my best friend Anoop (the Messiah of people in Distress :-)) steps in as and says,” I have an idea…Shwetha, you are so lucky that I am here now, you better pay me back for this….”All of us looked at Anoop bewildered and in anticipation. Her fair face, shot to a brilliant red colour and her eyes widened …

She said " Anju has just found  lost five rupee note and we were about to get Kachalu….but clearly since your ‘Situation’ is more urgent, Anju please give it to her…."

 Now all eyes turn to me ...some narrowing their eyes judgementally. I looked at each of them hoping to hear something that would encourage me to keep it. Everyone else seemed to have been cursed into icy stone by Anoop who stood there playing with ponytails , looking at me in a tone of 'Come on, you heard me! Give it to her or I will throw you in the drain and break your bones!!’

The thought was enough to scare the living daylights out of me..I was a tiny fragile little thing and Anoop was a strong ‘hatti-ghatti’ Punjabi lass with strong arms , a strong grip and a mind that doesn’t think twice!

I opened my palm and looked at the note again. Bappu was still grinning at me from behind his glasses. I stared at him for a while. Slowly, the ‘Rupees 5 ‘was fading away and all I could see was a brighter bigger Bappu. Something about his expression told me to do the 'right thing'. I looked up at Shwetha, smiled and handed over the note to her. She smiled, her face wet with tears and said Thank you. And that made my day! 

 I turned away and started to walk home with a smile on my face. Behind me, I could hear Anoop say to Shwetha’ Yaar, see I told you na! Now you owe me a treat, come on you only need 2 Rs to go home….with the rest you can treat me to Kachalu’.

Now with the enterprising nature that Anoop had since then,I would have surely expected her to claw her way up the corporate ladder and be a CEO by now.But I found her after nearly 20 years and she is a doctor by profession and a lovely mother to twin children. She has grown into a beautiful human being and continues helping people in distress and pain just like good old days.

I wonder if she still thinks of the kachalu stalls.

And me well...I am alright too.
Bappuji still smiles back at me from the Indian rupee notes and then I end up giving it to people.