Mundane Musings: 2008

Giving

Some people have to be givers; it is their very essence, their dharma.
Even if it means bleeding themselves empty.
Not for them the acknowledgement or the accolades.
They are mothers, nurturers.
A mother nourishes and gives even if the child may bite back.
Nothing can take that away from her.
There is no other way she can be.
Her baby grows up to go away and she helps him/her go away.
Somewhere, the letting go happens the moment she gives birth,
At some level she is always bidding adieu
To the infant,
The toddler,
The child,
The youth
And finally the grown adult.
Every mother surely goes through at least one humbling moment
When they accept that they are just the vessel for a life to take existence.
That the life growing inside is independent of their desires.
It’s humbling to know that the child chose that one woman to come into this world from the billions on this planet
For all her flaws and deficiencies that life chose her
To bring her the unbridled joy of knowing that she is the world to him/her.
These givers are not miserly, they don’t give for the recognition it brings or the reputation they will gain,
They give as easily as they breathe and without thought.
Their cup never runs dry
It is not a conscious thought of giving something that is theirs;
They truly live the fact that nothing is their own

Girlhood (2008)

Something about little girls walking hand in hand evokes a smile. Perhaps a sense of innocence and friendship. Reminds me of little lambs gamboling in complete abandon The light steps have a ballet like ethereal beauty. The arms interlocked in a fierce statement of undying friendship unleashes nostalgic memories of my girlhood. A time when best friends were for keeps.

A colony of clouds (4th September 2005)

The rains chatter softly
AS they splash through the clouds
Gurgling, giggling and caressing
The leaves, trucks and the grass
They come from some cloud
Which one I do not know
Sometimes the growling dark ones
At other times the pale ones
Behind the grey,, there is sunshine
And happy colonies of fluffy clouds
Snowy white, bright and cheerful
Theirs is a bustling town
Of shifting sculptures
I spot a Krishna frolicking
And there’s a cherub
A smiley lion cub, a flowing fountain

The Myna’s song (2005)

What’ s the song you sing?
What’s the story you weave?
Where do you come from?
And where do you go, little black one?

Come, take me with you

Let me be your wings
As you soar over notes
Let me drench myself
In your timeless melody

Let me be the breeze
On which your music floats
Let me be the passionate gulmohur
Caressed in the fragrance of your tunes

Let me sway with the palm leaves
as they smile to your tunes

On my way home (2008)

Some days are beautiful, just like that.
I feel alive as I weave in and out of a thousand footsteps.
My soul flits as lightly as a bird between branches.
As I sing my favorite songs in my head.
The sunset never looked more vibrant
Than it did now through the graying smog.
I see the mild moon waiting in the wings for her cue.
I hear the cackle of a hundred birds
As they call over the din of the maddening blare
Flying home to their nests to snuggle closely with their mates.
I think of my children and see their smiling faces
As I walk through the crowd.
I hear their laughter and can’t wait to play with them

7th August 1994

My friend, you are my ray to a better me
I cry out for you
And when you gently cradle me
I claw at you and rip away your face
I slash you
I whip mercilessly at you
Why am I angry at you?

I AM ME (sometime in 1994)

I am me
Just saying these words lightens me
I feel an exuberance and freedom so total
I think of a lark in the skies
I feel the elements in me
A joy coursing through my blood
Words cannot fully express such vitality
It’s beautiful and I seem to rise above the everyday pettiness of life
I am far away from the traditional concepts of nobility and purity but I embody a totally different philosophy of those concepts
I feel true and I feel alive
It’s a heady feeling and I am intoxicated on the joy of being

Gone too soon ( sometime in 1994)

From the rising of the sun
To the going down of the same
I think of you
Every breath I take sends me one moment farther away from you
We just began a life
All the laughter and melody we made
Passed in a blur the moment you left me
Like a rainbow dancing across the sky
Like a shooting star across the seven seas
Like the fleeting whiff of a familiar scent
You were gone too soon

By the weeping willow ( sometime in 1994)

By the weeping willow I sat
The wind played the flute in its hollow
I sighed
Mellowly the warm gentle carresses
Traced lines
On my weather beaten brow

By the weeping willow I sat
Recollecting the times I sought
Expression of sadness
In the wind
Beneath its boughs

sometime in 1994

Like a spider caught in it’s own fabricated web, I am lost
I don’t know where to turn
I’m being cornered in the deceptive gossamer threads by the moment
I panic and engulf myself more and more deeply
What a contradiction of existence
Despair and hopelessness
Yet a desire to love and not just exist
Pull me in all directions till
I’m overwhelmed by nausea
Exhausted and drained
I just let myself be stretched
I scream and my voice is lost in the searing
Violation of myself

a love song (sometime in 1996)

As dawn breaks over my window
I stir lightly
The cool of the morning nudges me
I go in deeper into my bed
The birds of the day sing a song
I slowly feel the day awakening

I reach for you by my side
You are not there
With the understanding
Of an older woman
I breathe a prayer for you and me
As I awake from my reverie

The groaning motherland (sometime in 2006)

The country gathers all
In the billowing folds of her sari
Like a wide hipped mother
Embracing her many children
She groans and moves about
The filth and rubbish heaped on her
Uncomplaining and accepting
Of the increasing burden
Her wayward children
Frolick in the much
As she silently sheds her tears
One day, she’ll give way
To the relentless deluge of waste
Her rivers and lakes are drying
And the birds and animals she sheltered
Are dying or running away
She tries to hold on to them
But knows they won’t stay
One knee bends as she moves to clean
Not long before the other one crumbles
And soon she’ll be sprawled
Face down in the waste

28th August 2005

The Buddha sits unmoving
His eyes shut forever
Robed in copper and silver
In a perpetual state of grace
Bestowing a benediction
Blessing all in his serenity
He reminds me of unseen deities
In unseen deltas of the Far East
I know not of his teachings
Learning it is a struggle
For my gluttonous soul
Lost in a labyrinth
And unwilling to be found
With the passing years
I settle on smug cynicism
Forsaking unlived dreams
And mistaking it for life

A New Home July 2006

May the bell ring in each day with joyous music
May the incense permeate through all the corners of this home
May the lamp always be lit, bright and guiding
May the flowers spread their fragrance into our lives
May the house overflow with the bounty of milk, honey and fruit
May the bowl of the house be always filled with grain
May the plants flower and bear fruit
May the wind whistle lilting tunes through the house
May water gurgle through and cleanse the home
May the sun warm this home with his cheerful smile
May the earth mother bless this home
May the chirping of the birds at the sill bring harmony
May the hearth always be lit with warmth
May the sounds of laughter and friendship resonate within

4th September 2005

Now I ’m older and lost
Then I was younger and free
With ideas of peace and love and destiny
Wanting to make a difference
Or willing to rebel endlessly
I believed in the earth mother
And the purifying water goddess
The fire god would cleanse me
And the sun sanctify me
I’d spend evenings in communion
With all the elements flowing
And brave warrior thoughts within
I’d rise up invigorated
And start the fight anew
Today I’m weary, unloving and cruel
Uncaring and hollow
My heart is dry and no more tears flow
I’m older and no longer wiser
Just a crumbling stone
Too old to start afresh
Too young to give all hope away
I wander aimlessly through
The deserts of my soul

Another year gone by

Another year gone by, a few aches and groans added along with a few greys and some more laugh lines. I realize that with the passing years, I have found this ability to laugh more. Nothing is that important or embarassing anymore. Everyone is like me or perhaps I am like all the others. I sleep, eat, think, goof up, cry, laugh and just about do everything else that most people do. Whether it is my spouse, my kids, my parents,my boss,it's the same. Everyone is just another human being playing this game of self importance. In our little insignificant lives, we go about as though every thought, every decision, every spoken word is a critical link. And in the bargain, just add to some misery when things don't go our way.
I figure it is easier to keep things simple.
Complete 31 years of my life and I still feel like me, the thoughts that zip around in my head are not too very different form those that zipped aorund 10 years ago. The only change is that I don't waste too much time thinking about how others will perceive me if they found out all I was thinking.
I know of four other people who share the sane birth day and we couldn't be more different.
And to think we all come from the same source...
I used to hate my birthdays when I was younger, those days I didn't like myself too much. In fact I loathed myself, was ridden with self doubts, had a huge gaping hole in place of self esteem and generally hated pretty much everything about me.It's bee a far cry from those days to today when I am quite happy with who I am. I know there are tons of thing in me that are not perfect but that's fine. hakuna Matata. been watching Lion King lately (courtesy a young kid who loves animal movies, songs and rhymes) and I think it is a fabulous story for practically everybody. It's a movie that never fails to get my peppy.
Wonder what my thoughts would be when I turn 40.
If this blog exists till then, it would be interesting to see how life would have panned out.
I would have never imagined that I would be who I am, where I am.
I never in my wildest thoughts had any picture of a domestic life and funnily enough, I quite enjoy it today. I like doing the laundry, the cleaning and sorting out bills. I hate cooking though. Perhaps it's too late to even begin considering trying it out as a new challenge. I just don't like the pressure of having to churn out something delicious everytime I cook. And personally, I don't think I fancy eating that much. The problem is I have a husband and kid who love food, in fact they live to eat.

Driving Miss Daisy

Bombay is a dreary grey city that moves constantly. Not for her, the lazy swirling mists or gurgling waters. She is in constant churn, with piping horns, toxic fumes and non stop dealing.
Within all this din, there still exists poetry in some isolated pockets within earshot of the local train. This morning, on my way to work, I saw a little patch like that, hidden behind parked tempos close to the Dadar flower market. There was this walled compound over which I could see trees with their leaves swaying to some unheard music. I imagined a little girl running between them in gay abandon, humming along with the unheard melody. She was wearing a pretty frock with little printed flowers and moving lithely as is possible only in a dream. She half embraced the trees as she frolicked like a little lamb. Her loosely tied hair followed her like a trail of mist. I am sure she would have smelled fresh as a daisy with a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her lips. She was completely sure of herself and knew each stone on the ground and would make her usual halt at the little stream that flowed on the outer boundary of the compound. She would stop and peer at her reflection and adjust a few wisps of hair that would have come undone. Then she will dip her feet in the cool waters and give a little gasp of glee after which she would gather the folds of her frock and fade back to her house.
The honking jarred into my day dream and I zoomed right back into the cab waiting for the traffic to move.

midweek ramble

As usual, the i-pod on, I was in a blissful zen like state where everything was nice and easy. I thought to myself that I was a bundle of contradictions. I am a complete sucker for all kinds of mushy, mellow songs, movies, books etc. and at the same time in my personal life, I am anything but mushy. I desist from physical expression of emotions. Not much of a huggy person either, unless I really really mean it I couldn't even think about embracing someone. Find it hard to hold the hands of my kids as well, don't do so unless I'm crossing the street with them.

There are a zillion conversations that happen with me and I wonder if there was some way to capture all the din inside. Some kind of a pensieve (like in the harry potter books), where I could go back and sift through thoughts at various stages.