Words

I have cherished words all of my life. With a heart brimming with gladness, with tempestuous eyes or with a soaring spirit, I have loved words. The joy of seeing the teacher’s note on an essay or on the first publication in a newspaper was all an inheritance from words.

The gurgling of the brook, the quaint little town of pines, the soliloquy of the minstrel or the pied beauty of autumn - paint pictures through words. The chant of the ‘Om’ and the ‘I can do it’ self-fulfilling prophecy radiates the incredible power  of words.

The sanctity and serenity emanating from words have mysteriously enriched life in ways indescribable. Spoken or tacit, written or unwritten, words have added meaning and ecstasy beyond words.

Dreams Unbounded

I was sitting by a small window in an attic with a view of the hills and the horizon. In my hands, I had a book which was about clouds and their beauty. To my extreme amazement, as I read the book, the sky in front of me changed to the same translucent shades I was reading about. The view was enchanting - the pastel pinks, the restrained teals and muted oranges all engulfed by the delicate cerulean. On leaving the kingdom of slumber, I realized that this was a dream.This was back in my college days, but it bewildered me since then as I wondered how a dream could be so splendidly ethereal.

I found my answer recently on seeing a picture taken by one of my friends from school in Barapani, Shillong. Growing up in Meghalaya – the abode of the clouds, clouds of every colour graced so many twilight skies. They are part of my fabric and the dream was only an extension of real magic of that land. 

During the same period, I had another dream that was absolutely mystifying. In that dream someone had given me a small figurine of a female form. It was about two inches in height and very slender. I tried but couldn’t identify who it was. After a long time and a lot of searching (all in my dream ) I suddenly noticed that she was holding a Veena*. That day I woke up with a smile.

When I saw the picture of the clouds posted by Devyani on Facebook and came to the realization of the truth of my beautiful dream about a month back, I wondered why I never saw such dreams ever again. This was at bedtime and magic struck again. This time I saw myself riding a cycle passing by a serene structure that some told me is a ‘Buddhist Church’. The building was about five stories high and made of wood with a burnished finish. The place exuded a divine grace as it rose up high behind me. I kept turning back to look at it, while riding the cycle by beautiful green gardens that were in front of it. I woke up with hopes that someday this place with extend into reality.

*Veena - A musical instrument played by the Indian goddess of learning, Saraswati
Photo courtesy: Devyani Sen

.......................***Providence***.........................

The morning dew

O’er the green grass,

Leaves of every hue

Fate’s image cast

A last wish,

A fancied tint,

Orange, yellowish

Or still a green hint

Candles burn brilliant

Ere the flames go down,

A conquest vibrant

Ere they renounce the crown

A Spring’s awakening,

A Mid-Summer night’s dream

The most winsome -

Man’s favorite season, Autumn

Magic

The miracle moon mirrors

The magic of her eyes

To mythical lands

Of myriads of mirages,

Of mystique

And muses

The shimmering moon steals

The sparkle of her stares

To sacred seas

Of seraphinas,

Of soothing sands

And silvery silences

The glistening moon gifts

The glint of her gaze

To starry skies

Of salvation,

Of the surreal

And sages

*Seraphina (from Seraphim): An angel of the highest order

Heterodoxy

My first attempt at a piece of verse, from when I was in my 11th standard. I don't remember all of it, but wanted to share what I do.

No walls separate one man from another,
No ill-feelings we carry,
No ill-feelings for one another,
And we speak in voices free

We don't say-
I, You, He or She,
We say 'We' - In unison!
Communion is decree

This is all a dream,
And truth is reality,
Pandora opened the box of troubles,
And there's wide-spread calamity

'Hope' still comes to preserve our integrity,
Making our dreams real for posterity


* 'Hope' is the fairy that came out last from Pandora's 'Box of Troubles'

Untitled

Ek ehsaas puraana sa,

Naye andaaz mein aayaa

Ek saaz jo kho gaya tha,

Nayi aawaaz ne gungunayaa

Ek anjaam,

Nayaa aaghaz layaa

An old feeling,

A new spring

A melody gone missing,

A fresh humming

A closing,

Ushers a new beginning

Silence

The sun shines,
The seconds strike,
The silica spies
A sylvan stance,
As I sip my swirls
On my silent seat

Surrendering
To my screaming soul,
While I seek
The soul of Silence,
For some significance
In solitary stupor

Surreal moments
When the lips don't split,
Are silently seeping,
Soaking the heart,
In this surfing sojourn

Bravery, thy name is Babycakes!!!

Today wasn’t just another fairy tale; it was a little more than that. Today a princess just refused to let the dragon carry her away…..

Two months back a dear friend of mine, Babycakes (both of us call each other by that name for the last five plus years since I have known her) was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma, a kind of cancer. The first thing she told me after breaking the news of her sickness was, ‘it’s really not a big deal, stay off of Google’. If that sounds fearless, read on.

She just started chemotherapy to ‘zap it out’ as she puts it, and while it was not possible to prevent her hair from falling off, she wanted to do it on her terms. She took it all off today in a celebratory event.

As I parked my car in one of the back roads near Kenneth Square, and headed uphill to the venue, I walked through a sidewalk sandwiched with flowers on both sides. When I reached the venue for the event, Flickerwood Wine Cellars, she was there, dressed in a beautiful grey dress and a pinkish yarn-dyed coat with the ultimate piece of chunky jewelry, looking like every bit the celebrity in her own right.

Big hugs and a few fun pictures later, she took her seat on a tall bar-stool and sipped a frozen Margarita as the hair dresser started taking her hair off. Wait! It doesn’t end there – she did it in stages – this time it was a fun Mohawk, and guess what, even though she wasn’t buying our words ( especially the ‘you look like Justin Bieber’ compliment), she looked even cooler….nah…Hotter!!!

She took a break and consoled someone who was getting emotional, socialized a little more and took more pictures before taking it all off in the next round. Her two young children were standing side by side, trying to fight back tears through smiles and hugging each other intermittently. Her mom was throwing compliments about how whether she liked it or not, she looked great. I’ve always thought that she had the most vivaciously animated face that I have seen, and taking the hair off only took it to an even higher superlative by increasing focus on it.

I left soon after and as I walked downhill through the same road, I couldn’t see the flowers anymore since it was dark. But I knew that they were there, I could feel them. It was only a matter of the sun rising again to see them. And the sun would definitely rise again

….and she will live happily ever after!

Black or White - It don't matter!!!

I have been reading a little bit of Sufi poetry for some time now. This is a poem in Saraiki (a dialect of Punjabi) composed by a great Sufi Poet Hazrat Khwaja Ghulam Farid. I made a very humble attempt to translate it in its essence, so my friends could feel its beauty too.

“Kis wal akheya wey Majnu nu,
O teri Laila disdi kaali Ve
Majnu ney jawaab ditta,
O teri akh na dekhan wali

Je tu dekhen meri akh naal
Teri surat na jaaye sambhaali Ve

Ved vi chitte te Quran vi chitti,
Vich siyahi rakh ditti kaali Ve
Ghulam Farid jitthe akhiyaan lagiyaan,
Otthe kya gori kya kaali Ve!”

Translation:

‘Oh Majnu, what’s wrong with your sight

Your Laila looks as dark as the night’

- When someone said with spite

He said:

- Let me shed some light

With my eyes, when you see,

She’s a form of divine beauty

The Vedas are white, the Quran is white,

It’s the black ink that makes them shine bright, 

Ghulam Farid says -when you love someone,

It don’t matter if you’re black or white

Happy Friendship Day!!!

Reflections!!!

Tried my hand at some Urdu expression and the English one just happened!

Khumaar

Ek ajeeb si bechaini

Kuch kar guzarne ki chaahat,

Apne wajood ki talaash

Ya dil ki raahat ?

Dil mein hai hulchul

Man mein laakhon khayal,

Inhe khwaab kahoon

Ya uljhe hue saawal ?

Kahin toh leke jayega

Ye khumaar,

Shayaad hai koi jagah

Gul-e-gulzar

***

Haze

A fuzzy restlessness

To do or die – A desire,

A quest for myself

Or my heart’s composure?

The heart is edgy

The mind  - a flock of reflections,

Are these dreams

Or bewildered questions?

This whirl will lead me somewhere

Through this haze,

Of a thousand flowers

Maybe there’s some place

***

A Walk To Remember -II ....Joy is like the rain...

‘I saw raindrops on my window

Joy is like the rain’ 

When we were little, this was one of the hymns that we would sing at the top of our voices, our cacophonous symphony being conducted by one of the nuns, from our school St. Mary’s, on the piano. It took us a few years, to truly realize the charm of the showers, and the glee that it filled our hearts with.

Shillong is not too far from Cherrapunjee and Mawsynram, both of which had the distinction of qualifying as the wettest place on earth, for several years. So the town itself experienced spells of rain that sometimes stretched into a week. Those would be the days and nights of an unceasing, whining, drizzly kind of rain. The dampness pervaded everything from shoes to books to mattresses. The only thing that it couldn’t dampen was our young minds. They sprang up, as lush as the greens, with its touch. The most enjoyable part of the rains was again and of course, our walks to and from school.

Dark Brightness

Blue, green, red, golden
Mottled colours
I made your rockets, chocolates
Your electric-sparklers

Your child's visage
Reveals my age
But your child's mind
Doesn't bind
My revelations of God's rage
My value of my daily wage

When your purchased colors
Painted your skies
Mine faded forever
Did you hear my cries?
Or just bangs and blasts?

So for you bright lights,
Variegated colours
For me pitch blackness,
To live life's hours

This is another one from my angry teens.The fireworks industry in Sivakasi, India employed thousands of child workers and many of them got injured and blinded while working with the hazardous materials, which also shortened their lives. The situation is supposedly much better today with NGO campaigns and government action,even though it seems some units still employ children especially during summer vacations.

Jungfrau Visited

While the sun shines

Make hay,

I knew forever

Not the real way

Fields of green

Turn shades of brown,

As the farmers

Mow them down

Pied beauty

Of lucid purity,

For miles around

Defying serendipity

Orko and the Hunger Games – Reality Style!!!

His name was Orko - it came from the word urchin, Papa said teasingly. Ma had a better explanation – she said it came from the Sanskrit word Arkin meaning ‘radiant with light’. Orko was their third child – the one they decided to adopt as a baby. They had two kids of their own who were big brother and big sister to Orko. The arrival of Orko has brought with it, change in fortunes for the family who were going through some tough times. So, Ma was totally convinced that he was their lucky charm. Orko Chatterjee was two years old now.

Even though he was an outsider, he was treated with much love by all of them, especially Ma. Orko loved Ma the most as well. He would spend long hours just sitting and watching her move around the house doing her chores. She was a tall slender woman and always wore sarees. He loved to play with the folds of her saree and brush against them while trying to devour some of the maternal affection, and give some back in return.

The Triad

These three poems have had a profound and lasting influence on my thinking and way of life. They are part and parcel of me. I am sharing an excerpt from the first, and the other two in full, for your reading or recollecting pleasure.

 

The Dark, Blue Sea by Lord Byron

(I remember scribbling with a pencil, on the inch wide margin on the right of the poem – ‘this poem illustrates the transitoriness of man and permanence of nature’ - Truly humbling!)

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control
Stops with the shore;-upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.

Pied Beauty by G.M.Hopkins

(Our English teacher had explained this poem to us, with an example of how coordinated tops and pants looked better then going monochrome from head to toe. Today’s fashion pundits sure get this concept very well with all the color-blocks. This one never fails to come to my mind, whenever I am on a plane, screening the landscape below. Let’s keep the hope alive that one day we will all see past our differences and cherish one another….. ‘cause that’s what makes us beautiful! )

Glory be to God for dappled things –

For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;

For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;

Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;

And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:

                                Praise him.

Leisure by W.H.Davies

(This is simply beautiful – Just Read It!)

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this is if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

The Coconut

Rugged hair
Browned shell
Takes a lot to break
Let the thought not dwell

Soft inside
Pure and white
Hardened with time
Still feels the bite

Poke a hole
The water trickles
Drop by drop
As the moments drizzle

Freefall

Every time I asked him a question, he took me to a cliff and pushed me over. Just as I would be about to hit the ground, he would leap down and hold me. It seemed to me that he thought of it as a game, but for me it was a complete mystery. Nevertheless, I am unsure why I always agreed to go with him.

This time he told me, 'Let’s go somewhere else'. For a few moments I was relieved, only to realize that we were heading for an even higher cliff. All I could see from the top was darkness. And then like always, he pushed me over. It was a few moments of agonizing freefall. But just as I was about to hit rock bottom, he came and liberated me.

Trance and Transience

For a fleeting moment
Life bloomed
And we grew wings
And floated like butterflies
For a fleeting moment

For a fleeting moment
Life floated
And we grew petals
And bloomed like flowers
For a fleeting moment

Life's fleeting moments
Life's a fleeting moment
We rejoice, we suffer
For a fleeting moment

Skyfall

October 2015, Norristown PA

As she looked into the mirror, the reflection showed deep wrinkles around her eyes and on her forehead. Her skin appeared blotchy and weathered by the passage of time. In her mid-sixties, the only thing that was still gushing and rushing like that of a seventeen year-old was her old heart.

 It was that time of the year again, when the entire skyline would be mottled with leaves of every hue. Leaves probably were the only things, that seemed to be most captivating when they were almost ready to depart this life. However, for her fall was not the fun season it once used to be. It wasn’t a season of fun hay-rides, pumpkin carving and apple-pies. It was a season of lasting heartache, unwept tears and skyfall. But today was different, today held a promise.

Desiderata ( Of Happiness)

 In the midst of the unfortunate events that shook our terra firma in the last month and a half, we had to go on walking our walk and talking our talk, even though something fundamental within us was scarred forever . Like a rush of adrenaline, our coping mechanisms needed to cling to something that would reduce the pain. I found mine in a poem, Desiderata by Max Ehrmann. I was a kid when I first came across it. It had come as a special supplement inside the magazine Competition Success Review. It was printed on a yellow glossy paper with a black border. My eldest brother, who was in high school at that time, had cut and pasted it on his room’s wall.

My second tryst with it was when a teacher had signed my autograph book with few of its lines; and the third and most timely one came at this time of need from a fellow blogger who posted it.  I wanted to transmit forward the serenity of this piece to my friends.

 

 Desiderata by Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amidst the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its shams, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy