What Am I?

I am the trunk of a tree!

As the trunk, I mature with age, become stronger over time and if my roots are well grounded, I can weather storms and hold on to most of my branches;

Some of my branches, like people in my life will bear fruit, some will toughen and flourish while others, more fragile may wither away or not be able to withstand powerful winds;

As my roots deepen with age just like my relationship with the whole family, they become sturdy and help keep me standing upright against all odds;

Just like the soil nourishes my roots to help them grow and be anchored, the values and principles I hold strong cultivate me to stay resilient.
Just as the trunk of a well grounded tree, I stand strong,
nurtured by the values of my soil,
powered by the roots of my family,
reaching for the sky with flourishing branches of the people in my life.

I am the trunk of a tree!
and I stand strong!

NIWAS

The world was on fire the year I was built. Smoke hazed the landscape hovering above dreamy eyes. Happiness floated above dancers of love and singers of peace. Bell-shaped pants covered legs and colorful bands covered heads under long hair.

I rose from ground up into a bright pink emblem on the street surrounded by empty plots. My cheery façade welcomed the first family into my warm abode. They walked in with pride through solid rot-iron front gate onto the driveway. My baby guava and mango trees extended their delicate green fingers to invite them in. The petite garden inside the boundary wall boasted bright red roses and saffron marigolds surrounded by lush green foliage. From the lawn, the family took a short one step to give blessings to my verandah, partially sheltered from the elements. I invited them indoors by holding the large wooden door ajar and the family stepped into the cozy square sitting room. A door to its left led to the master bedroom but I chose to take them in there later, when they will be ready to turn in for the night. First, the adults reclined on the rattan chairs placed next to the bay windows while the two children sat on the long divan, their feet dangling in excitement on its sides. Celebratory conversation glided around the room as if musical notes floating in the air to a harmonious piano concerto. Words glued to the fresh paint of my walls absorbing their resonance and excitement which I cherish to this day despite numerous coats of varying colors since the first.

The family, energized to carry on the tour, made their way out of the sitting room and entered the large back room. There was no designation for this area, perhaps an all-purpose room where everyone over the years gathered for meals, children played games, the grandmother told stories, mothers helped the children with homework, women gathered to work on sewing projects or household tasks over juicy gossip. This was one room that went through several transformations from being an open area to housing one large piece of furniture to dine on, to a temporary tiny kitchenette for the grandmother and then back to being an empty open space. Its walls today hold the most words buried deep beneath the paint into the thick cement. They carry squeals of laughter, tears of joy, howling of tantrums, moans of pain, sniffles of goodbyes or melancholy. They embrace the most memories.

The family proceeded to a door to the right entering a tiny room labeled as the kitchen. It was always held at the highest esteem compared to other rooms over my lifetime. In the early days when the grandmother lived, shoes were unwelcome in this sacred abode where artful creations were fashioned by the women. Inside the tiny room, a shelf balanced a gas stove and several shelves higher up supported steel and copper dishes. A sink in one corner had been handy for filling up a pot of water for cooking or quickly washing off a glass or a plate, though the large chunk of the washing and cleaning was always done outdoors under the tap in the courtyard in the back.

Advancing in the same line as the kitchen, the family continued towards my walkout. It was divided by a dark grilled railing separating the indoors from outside. The two children ran their hands through its intricate leafy and coil shapes set within the lattice all the way up until it ended by the far wall. A tiny washing sink balanced inconspicuously in a corner of the wall. Diagonally across the expanse of the nameless room, the family gravitated towards a door welcoming them into a spacious room. A king size bed covered half the floor as its massive headboard proudly stood upright offering a grand backdrop for the equally dignified grandmother who claimed the room for all her living years. She breathed her last breath on that very bed in the arms of her youngest son. Over decades as the wheels of time churned, children of multiple generations brightened this space with their wide eyes, warmed it with their cheerful laughter as they huddled under covers circling around the grandmother and the multitude of stories she always weaved.

As I continued my tour, the family noticed the smaller door by the side of the bed that led to the bathroom. Through this washroom was another door perpendicular to the first one that led into a different room. The largest room in the house, the very same we skipped as we entered into the sitting room, the family had come a full circle back to the front of the house. A large bed and a set of bunk beds occupied the space in here where the first young couple with their two children resided. A window from this master bedroom looked out into the garden inviting rosy aroma and musical buzzing into the room.

I have harbored many souls, warmed many bodies, cheered many faces. Several generations of the same family have walked within my walls or run through my doors and I carry their legacy, their memories and their love in my hearth. Having stood tall for over forty years I have extended to new heights, cleansed to fresh looks but my foundation remains grounded to the original roots. I will welcome several more generations from this line of family, invite them in to rest, to stay and leave behind a piece of themselves to be ingrained in my walls forever.

True Friend

My dog looks at me with questions in his eyes
I look back with an attempted smile,
he paws me with encouragement
I sit still staring up at the ceiling,
his nose nudges me to rise higher
my mind melts deeper into the dark abyss,
he gently rests his head on my lap
my hand absently pets him, absorbing peace

he nuzzles his warm body close to mine

I feel my spirit float above me
lifting the dark cloud into oblivion

My dog sits up to look with his knowing eyes

I look back and smile with gratitude.

Forgotten Heroine - Conclusion

WARNING: PLEASE READ PART ONE FIRST
Malalai stood ready by the water containers, strips of cloth and a bowl full of brown paste in hand. Bitter, intense odor from the concoction emanated throughout the tent before she covered the bowl with a thick cloth. She had helped her mother grind the sun dried leaves and added the formulaic ingredients into the mixture to make a smooth soothing remedy.

The men outside the pavilion gathered in the open, armed and ready. Malalai heard her father speak in his calm and commanding voice, catching only parts of his speech amidst excitement all around her, inside and out. Gathering from the words she heard and after piecing them together she learned that the British army was marching towards them, charged and ready to attack. Wedding festivities aside, the tribe had to fight, to preserve their honor at any cost. Abandoning the welcome preparations for the groom and his tribe, Malalai’s family geared up to face the attack and defend their land.

The battle was brutal against the British army’s guns and precise strikes. Honored men fell to their knees continuing to fight till their last breath. Under the scorching sun, Malalai went out with a few other women with water and to help the fallen, the injured, and the broken. In the middle of battle, she saw her groom arrive with his large clan, regal on his white horse. Discarding their wedding wares, he and his tribesmen brought out their swords and fell right into step to fight. The British army was now furiously outnumbered, faced by strong Afghan men led by two strong leaders – the chiefs of two prominent tribes.

The fierce sun had started its descent behind the far off mountains. The dry landscape blew dust clouds all around them shrouding the warriors with the earth’s blanket. Blinded in the midst of battle, Malalai ran from one wound to another, applying her paste, soothing the dying with her words, offering the balm of her presence.

In the midst of the heat of the battle, the call of a wounded leader echoed in her ear. Turning around she saw her father fall to the ground and she rushed to his side. She saw hope in his eyes before he closed them forever. The battle carried on with full force and a cacophony of gun fire, steel hitting steel, shouts of commanders, calls of the angry chargers, cries of the wounded, howls of the dying reverberated in the battlefield.

Within hours of her father, Malalai witnessed the massacre of the second chief, the leader of the tribe that she was to be married into, father of her groom. Not long after, one of the wounded informed her of the demise of the man who was to be married to her. Without shedding a drop of tear, she carried on helping those she could and praying for those she could not.

The sun winked before descending further down, leaving a glimmer of light before preparing to rest for the night. Malalai saw the scene before her in the soft light, her tribesmen standing tall but unwilling to carry on, despair painted on their faces. Slowly she saw them begin to fall off like flies dejected and disheartened. Vision of her father’s hopeful eyes swam past her and she stood up. She stood tall as a woman of Afghan and reprimanded her tribesmen. She pontificated on what it was to be an Afghan, to be of the tribe who was led by a great chief, to protect the soil that was their home, to fight until death. She shouted and commanded and led the men of his tribes to charge and drive the foreigners away. She reminded them of their honor. Inspired, the tribesmen rose once again ready to fight until death. Before darkness engulfed the land, whatever was left of the British army had to retreat back across the border, their guns and strategies in tow.

The morning sun shone upon the field and bathed the sea of bodies with its harsh rays. In a constellation of beige uniforms and white loose shirt pants, clusters of army helmets next to tribal turbans, men of all shapes and sizes lay in contorted forms, their bloods mingled overnight. Among the scattered bodies the sun’s rays gleamed on a long red scarf. Shrouded under it lay the form of Malalai, her bowl of medicinal paste still in hand. Her body stretched and hand reaching out as if trying to apply the balm to the tribesman next to her, even after her death.

Women and the surviving men of the two tribes buried their fallen, shed tears for their loved ones, honored them for their bravery and took pride in their victory. They honored those who lost their lives by keeping them alive through stories passed down generations. Legend of the losing battle which was saved by a brave and honorable young woman was told and retold across the land with pride.

Forgotten Heroine - Part One

Malalai sat in a corner of the tent, her knees to her chest, chin resting on them. A long scarf covered her head veiling her face from any evil eye. Commotion of activity surrounded her with women of all shapes and sizes rushing, lifting, organizing, cooking, arranging. Through her veil, Malalai spotted her mother spewing orders in her strong, husky voice. She hobbled from one corner to another, assembling clothes, jewelry, dishes, and many trinkets to pack in a trunk as her voice vibrated through the tent.

A grand feast was expected at this daughter’s wedding. It was not just the joining of two young lives, not the union of children of two chiefs or just a wedding ceremony. It was an alliance, the tying of knot between two large families, of two prominent nomadic tribes.

Malalai watched with her greenish gray eyes through her veil from under lowered lashes. Her feet fidgeted in front of her as she adjusted her seat on the sandy ground, moved her chin from one knee to another or crossed and re-crossed her arms around her shins. She itched to get up to help and move about but her body was weighed down. Large oxidized silver earrings with lapis insets dangled down to her shoulders, stretching out her earlobes. A delicate silver chain pinned to the top of her head ending with a tear drop ornament. It hung from her forehead, maroon gemstone sparkling within, just above her round eyes that were thickly lined with kohl. Intricate enamel beads in blues and maroons linked together in a geometric pattern and sat splayed above her chest dangling by a silver chain around her neck. A choker with thick colorful beads strangled her around her neck, making it appear longer. A long necklace with elongated beads and gemstones suspended in elaborate patterns down to her chest, layered in several chains. She brought her hands to her foot to attack an itch under the delicate anklets but her wrists jingled with the collection of bangles and bracelets drawing attention and a glare from her mother.

Malalai helplessly watched from her corner unable to move, tears wedged around her kohl-lined eyes. Her mother had told her how brides were like princesses and must enjoy their special day all adorned in silken clothes and special jewelry. If it was up to her, she would be right in the middle of the commotion, arranging, packing, cleaning, helping, or playing outside and dressed in comfortable clothes. She had no aspiration to be princess or bride or to leave her tribe to belong to another. Her place was with her family she had known all of her 16 winters, discovering new lands, meeting strange people, trading wares from all over.

Lost in her wishful thoughts, Malalai’s ears perked as she heard her father’s growl outside her tent. She raised her head and cocked her head to listen. He was shouting orders for the young men to gather and ready their arms and ammunition. Malalai had seen this in the past when a tribe fired shots in the air to welcome honored guests. She saw her mother straighten up, listen and step out of their cocoon. In a short moment she returned flustered, churning out orders to the younger girls. Everything was hurriedly put away, the center of the pavilion cleared where buckets and water containers were assembled.

Malalai knew what this meant. She discretely started to remove her jewelry pieces one by one lightening her load. Unnoticed she slipped behind a screen and changed into her comfortable daily clothes of long shirt, loose pants and extended chador scarf covering her head.

To be continued…..

After he is gone...

From your mind’s eye you look
after he is gone…

You see the smile diminished with years
sadness set in without tears
loneliness imprinted on his face,
as he walks through the empty rooms in a daze.

From your mind’s eye you look
after he is gone…

You observe a lone meal at the long table
self-prepared at 94, for he was able
with small bowl of green chillie and salt
the spread he set out, but then halt
admiring the yakhni, the rice mound, the haak
looking around the empty chairs for someone to talk

From your mind’s eye you look
after he is gone…

You remember him leaned over his desk
manuscripts sprawled as he looked for the best
correcting and refining, writing in the forgotten script
pausing for sheer chai to take a sip,
conversing on paper with those who parted their ways
moved to lands far, returning to visit after too many days.

From your mind’s eye you look
after he is gone…

You see a happy old man, who’s brought up his brood
a proud father leading his flock to as far as he could
now like headless chicks, the three carry his legacy to lead
holding their newfound heads high, doing their deed
of spreading the word, “He was a great man – our father,
he is with us no more, but is with our mother.”

From your mind’s eye we will continue to see
for the man he was, not what he could have been
for each generation from here on to admire
for each descendent to learn and aspire.

ADRIFT - Part Three (Final)

WARNING: PLEASE READ PARTS ONE AND TWO FIRST
After a restless night with tossing and turning, Mia woke up with a start. Bathed in brightness by the morning sun beaming through a long window, she found herself in a strange bed in the middle of nowhere. The events of the previous day started to trickle back and she realized that they were not a terrible dream but worse. No land line or cell signal available, she had no choice but TO wait for the inn keeper to return.

Coffee cup in hand, she walked out of the cottage through the patio door and followed a narrow path into the wilderness. Birds chirped happily around her fluttering from branch to branch as if playing a game of catch. Squirrels played the same game of running and chasing scurrying through her path or up on trees. Arriving at an opening she discovered a world of paradise. A stream flowed peacefully down gurgling over smooth pebbles with colorful blooms decorating the banks amidst thick green foliage. Mia breathed in the fresh aromatic nature, found a rock and made herself comfortable on it. Her feet dangled soaking in the cool and clear water and their feeling somehow transcended into her mind.

She reflected on where she was today and what had brought her there. She was happy with Kris but why did she always run away from him? Events of the past year came rushing towards her as the stream gushed over the pebbles. She was the one who had pursued him, asked him out despite her friend Rita’s glare. They had fun times on her yacht and close to shore he had showed off his surfing skills. On land their romance had grown as they shared meals at her cabin watching the sunsets together. He introduced her to his family several months ago and they had welcomed her cheerfully. He asked to meet hers but she had always made excuses – her parents were travelling or too busy to care or what did it matter whether he met them. Over the months his insistence had grown and they had had their first fight. She had thrown him out her house in the middle of the night, and he had slept on the beach that night.

Mia looked down at her feet immersed in the refreshing water and watched the water cleanse her. She remembered as a little girl her nanny had always made her wash her feet after playing outdoors even though she always kept her slippers on. It had made her feel refreshed all over and she was able to spend the few hours of her day in the presence of her parents in a calm manner. They were impressed by her demeanor and had spoiled her with luxuries while her siblings fought for their every needs and desire. The only two things her parents could not give her were their love and attention and when she got these from Kris, she didn’t know how to receive them.

Tears strolled down her cheeks at this sudden realization and Mia sat motionless. What had she done? How could she have been so obtuse? She had been seeking the answer to her journey all over the place, out in the ocean, at the bottom of a wine bottle or in the grand shopping complexes. The answer was simple and it had been staring her in the face all her life.

Their last fight had extended over several weeks. Under a full moon three nights ago, Kris had proposed out on her beach. Without answer she had fled and locked herself in her room leaving him confused. They had reconciled and he had promised not to bring up the proposal again as long as they continued to be together. Then at the deli he had broken his promise and after a short argument, he had walked out. She had never seen him this angry before and now remembered the expression of hurt he wore before he left. Mia suddenly realized what if he had simply walked away to cool down and was coming back. It was she who had left him stranded by driving away and he would have to walk back home.

The sun had risen up higher and Mia rushed back to the inn. She had to go back, to find a ride home and to get her life back. She had had enough of the journey and now was ready for her destiny hoping it was not too late.

THE END

QUOTES

"The first step in a journey is to lose your way." by Galway Kinnell

 

"Fiction reveals truths that reality obscures." by Ralph Waldo Emerson

ADRIFT - Part Two

WARNING: PLEASE READ PART ONE FIRST
A pile of rubble sat in front of Mia, blocking the road. Loose rocks and slimy mud had slid down the mountainside towards the ocean across the road. Her tires screeched to a sudden halt skidding towards the side of the cliff that hung over the ocean. She grabbed her purse and carefully stepped out of her car, walking away from it to observe her situation. Just as she reached a wider part of the road designated as a Vista point, she heard the loud explosion again. She watched in horror as a pile of rubble was happily sliding down from the same spot above but this time it had acquired a prize along the way towards its journey down to the ocean – her car. She stood with her mouth open, her hand over it as if trying to stop a scream from escaping. Her eyes widened as she peered over the cliff spotting a red door smashed up against the rocks down below. The rest of the car was nowhere to be seen, engulfed by the waves and taken out to sea.

Far into the horizon she saw the sun starting its journey down, its soft rays glinting over the expanse of the ocean as if winking at her. The view that tourists flock to see, photographers wait to capture, artists get inspiration from, that same view was beginning to spell fear for her. She was all alone in a desolate part of the island, and only minutes before darkness. Her only vehicle that could help complete her journey was now swimming to lands far from her. Even though it was a journey in which she had no idea where she was heading, she had a road and vehicle. In a sudden moment of explosion, even that had tumbled away.

Mia tried to think fast, to come up with a plan of action or inaction. Going back was fruitless she hadn’t seen a man-made structure for hours. Going forward was risky, through or over the rubble and even then no surety of help on the other side. Staying put was certain demise with unpredictable weather, torturous wind, and coal darkness, possibility of more land slide and not to mention the wild animals on the prowl at night. She shivered at all these possibilities and had to make a swift decision. The ocean below her raged, its waves crashing angrily as if to avenge the earth for its rude deposit from the land.

The dust on the debris on the road had settled and she looked more closely noticing a narrow opening in a corner on the mountain side of the road. Looking up at the top of the hill and assured that no more loose rocks were rolling down, she cautiously walked towards the pile of rubble. Not surprised to see anyone or any car stuck on the other side of this infrequently travelled road, she hurried on to find a sign of civilization.

As luck would have it, just as the last rays of the sun were beginning to take their dip down the oceanic horizon, Mia spotted a light. Her jog picked up to a run and she reached a small structure surrounded by a collection of cottages. She arrived there to find a large woman turning the key to lock up for the night. Apparently, Mia had chanced upon an Inn for those who wanted to lose themselves in the wilderness and escape from the real world. All the cottages were sitting vacant and she was going to be the only occupant for the night. She sighed, paid her deposit and walked into the cozy abode where she could collect her nerves after the dreadful day of mishaps and heart breaks.

To be continued…

ADRIFT- part one

He left her sitting there. Her teeth were sinking into the juicy tomato, crunchy carrots, spicy sprouts and flavorful cucumbers sandwiched between two slices of soft and nutty multi-grain. Mia watched him stand up, push the chair violently back and walk out through the tiny door, out of her life. Finishing her lunch, she cleared up the table, grabbed her carrot ginger juice and left the deli. Stepping into her car she got onto the coastal road and drove north.

The ocean on her left spread out into its vast glory with wild waves crawling up to the rocky shore. On her right jagged rocks and dark sandy mud of the mountain range extended upward as if reaching for the sky. She watched the road ahead of her and drove on full speed winding through turns and avoiding fallen rocks. He was not worth it, she kept telling herself.

First time she had seen him was from her yacht, standing on the cliff looking out into the sea. Through her binoculars she had studied him, his square and tanned bare shoulders, biceps that had worked to get their shape, a dimple on his square chin, a slightly crooked nose and eyes that disappeared under a broad forehead. After studying all of him, she had returned her gaze to his eyes and noticed him staring right at her. Through her binoculars their eyes met or so it seemed.

Docking in the marina for the night, she had hopped off to her cottage. Later that evening as she sat with her friends sampling local wines with a spread of cheeses from around the world, her eyes again found him, this time without the help of her binoculars. He seemed to be looking in her direction but he couldn’t have known that it was she who had been spying from the yacht. He walked over to their table and approached her friend, Rita who stood up as soon as she saw him and fell onto him into a hug. He planted a kiss on her cheek and blushing Rita turned to introduce him. Kris had grown up on the island across from Rita’s house and had gone away to study abroad. She had taken his hand and did not want to let go. Thirty seconds of awkward silence later, he had stepped back and taken his hand with him. Rita had sat back down with her stupid smile and star struck eyes and nodded mechanically when her friends suggested he join the group. That was then and almost a year later he had walked out on her at the deli between her sandwich bites.

Good riddance Mia thought as tears started a stroll down her cheeks, but the wind carried them away. She sped through the highway, the top of her convertible down, her shoulder-length hair fighting a battle with the ocean air. Her mind lost to the world and jumbles in her thoughts, a sudden loud boom startled her. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel with both her hands thinking a tire in her car had blown out, but the car was in complete control and behaving fine. Slowing down to look around but seeing nothing she decided to carry on at a manageable speed. Within a couple of kilometers, as she turned a bend in the road, the ocean expanse still spread out on one side and the mountain looming high on her other side, she was greeted by a shocking site.


To continued….

Thirsty River

She dropped on this land just as insignificant as a raindrop during the monsoons. Seventh child in a fleet of daughters to parents who prayed for a son, Varsha melted into her landscape as soon as she was born. A patch of shapeless birthmark on her forehead became further eyesore for her parents and a brand of frequent ridicule from other children. She grew up frail, surviving several asthmatic attacks and cheerfully followed her older sisters, meandering through the neighborhood streets without a vision of where they were going.

Several other attempts for a son had failed with stillborn male children until their mother had nothing left in her to give. One by one, as the sisters were married off, Varsha remained the youngest and unmarriageable. She looked after her unloving elderly parents without complaint and her smile made the air around her shine as if a cloud of misty aura.

Daily chores became harder as her father fell one day into a seizure and lay paralyzed for several years. Her mother’s depression grew deeper and Varsha snaked through her moods. On her mother’s peak days, Varsha surged with joy welling up the gushing delight to the brim of her heart which all cascaded down into a deep gorge when her mother’s turbulent, valley days arrived.

Her father suffered his situation in annoyance, embarrassed for not finishing his duty to marry off his last daughter and angry for not had the fortune of a son to light the fire on his pyre. He unleashed his wrath on Varsha with sharp words, blaming her for his condition and accusing her for giving him wrong medicines to increase his suffering.

Through all adversity, Varsha treaded on with a smile. She felt sad at the loss of her parents as they left her land one after the other, but she adapted to her floating life alone. Cautiously, she began to venture, taking turns into paths she had never endeavored before. One day, picking up a paintbrush, she dabbed a few strokes on her courtyard wall as the setting sun paints the horizon. Completely absorbed into this new discovery she flowed deeper and further towards the splash of colors and soon all the walls in her three room house was covered with her artwork. She discovered a thirst inside her, one that had always existed but never acknowledged. It rose as a desire to be known, a craving to be approved, and a yearning to be part of a whole.

Continuing to flow but with more determination now more than ever, she ventured to newer abodes. Word spread and many flocked to see her work or urged her talent to wash over their homes. Varsha quenched all thirsts with her serene smile and splash of her colors.

One day, a young man from far away flew in to admire her and her work. He offered her a new home and a novel life. She took his hand and flowed towards a new land. What she found there was not the whole she was seeking but the one she had always wanted.

She was insignificant no more but part of a larger family. She was not the forgotten raindrop drifting aimlessly in a river. She had found her ocean with boundless love and renewed desires as a wife and a mother. She continued to brighten everyone’s days with her colors and her smiles and the river in her continued to flow, taking life’s meandering journey in stride and quenching all thirsts.

Window of my Dreams

View through the window
       square and picture perfect,
       calm Pacific beyond
       reflecting the blue sky

lone white cloud swims by
       as birds glide with the breeze,
       their wings spread to claim the sea
       and the land across the shore.

View through the window
       clear and exhuming peace,
       the cycle of waves
       their determined crash onto the cliffs,

jutting rocks braving them
      standing ground to claim their own,
      seals, trees and birds rest
      tourists use them for support.

View inside my window
      clear as night and day,
      a cozy cottage bundles me
      with its fireplace and robes

the rediscovery of love
       comfort of security,
       inspiration from beyond
       or perhaps inside of me.

View inside my dreams
      or inside my reality,
      life the great journey
      floating as in a dream.

Beauty outside my window
      transforms to serenity,
      birds fly home
      with backdrop of setting sun

Songs of the birds
start a melody through my heart--