Olive Branch - Part One

Roma took one step at a time carefully hooking her big toes around the knots of the trunk.  She picked a sturdy branch extending outward covered with lush green of the leaves and the tiny fruits.  Crawling on all fours, she paced to the center of the branch before setting her tiny behind down.  Her feet dangling 20 feet above the ground, she reached over and plucked the little fruits to collect in the pouch she had tied to her jeans.  Satisfied with her pickings, she looked up at the sky laced through the leaves, down at the empty ground hardened over the months.  Her eyes wandering, she absently reached inside her pouch and popped the green fruit in her mouth, slowly rolling it around and over her tongue relishing its tanginess before biting into its meat.

Hearing a rustle below her she spotted Gino walking off, his knee-length pants hanging low, his dark overgrown hair ruffled and dusty.  The seed in her mouth twisted and turned, beckoning her, tempting her until she gave in.  She waited for the right moment, formed a circle with her lips, sucked and using tongue and air as her tools, aimed the seed right on his head.

Gino looked up annoyed as he rubbed his head and yelled a few curses.  She burst out in shrill laughter and asked where he was headed.  Without answering, he proceeded to climb up the tree and soon he was dangling his short legs and dirty cracked feet next to her soft ones.  She shared her pickings and both concentrated on rolling the fruit within the confines of their mouths, chewing off the meaty parts and spitting out the seed to the ground.  They competed to see who could aim farthest and argued over the distance of where their seed landed.  The sun slowly began its descent, the birds started to fly back to their nests, the mosquitoes started their slow drone whispering secrets in their little ears.  Roma started her own descent down the tree and sadly headed home.  Gino sat on his branch to watch Roma and the sun go down and under a shawl of darkness, as his tummy began to rumble he decided to head home too.

Early in the morning, the orchard buzzed with activity with Roma’s father shouting out orders and men perched up high on ladders loosely attached to the branches.  Women carried baskets to collect the tiny green fruit, placing and replacing them under each tree.  Roma ran around trying to catch the fruits or climb up to harvest the fruit with own hands ignoring her mother’s cries.  She whirled between trees hiding from her mother and looking for the tallest and hardest branch to climb.  Her father shouted for her to stay out of the workers’ way but her ears ringed with a different music.

She went in search for Gino and found him balancing on one of the ladders, his little hands judicially shaking a low branch to let the fruits fall on the net spread out below.  She called out to him to come play with him, but he continued his shaking.  Pouting she ordered him to come down and threatened to complain to her father that he was not doing a good job.  He dutifully lowered his body one rung at a time until he found firm ground and stood facing her.  She grabbed his hand and dragged him outside the orchard, towards the hill, to an open field where the two collapsed on the rough grass, out of breath.  Under a clear blue sky, sitting on rustic land and surrounded by fresh country air, the two sat playing hand clapping games or word games before switching to running and catching in vastness that surrounded them.  The day ended quickly and the two headed home dragging their legs, shoulders slumped and heads lowered.

The next day of the harvest, the buzz of activity continued in the orchard, but Gino was nowhere in sight.  Roma walked, ran, searched with no result until she noticed that his family also had not come to pick the fruits.  She went up to her father and asked of their absence and was shocked to receive a reprimand instead.  He commanded her not see the boy again, that he belonged to a low-class family of thieves and if he ever caught her near that little rascal she will be grounded.  In tears, Roma ran to her room and stayed there all afternoon until her mother coaxed her to come out for dinner.

 

To Be Continued.....

MANJI BED

Knots of a manji bed

intricate web of connection…

A knows B who is related to C

C is connected to D who has ties with E

E is linked with F who is attached to G

G is associated with H who is joined with I!

And I know many from each one of these knots

with some I am tied and others I choose not,

the manji bed is a medley of connections

where everyone knows everyone else

 

ties that are binding, but some may come loose

with too much pressure, by chance or I choose.

I is joined with H who is associated with G

G is attached to F who is linked with E

E has ties with D who is connected to C

C is related to B who knows A.

We all know so many everyday

through long strings or firm knots,

the manji bed is like a delicate web

uniting and binding the whole lot.

Each string held taut to hold us within its frame

making a foundation to embrace the endgame.

MATE - Final

There was no such thing as a soul mate, Ria declared and that there were no perfect mates.  She pointed to her story trapped inside the black jacketed device and proclaimed that soul mates only lived inside such devices or within leaves of paperbacks.  Real life did not present ideal mates.  Then as if an afterthought she stated that her beloved, the one she had been searching for at the station was not going to show up.  Her reality was a fantasy.

Simi shook her head, the balls of her eyes staring straight at her travel companion.  Her innocent eyes blinked and politely disagreed with a knowing gleam.  She stated that her soul mate completed her by perfecting her imperfections.  She knew he was not flawless but neither was she and together they became unflawed.  If she was the Ying, then he was her Yang.  If she was the right hand, then he was the left hand.  She declared that she had put all her trust into her heart and firmly believed her heart never lied.  She confessed that she knew nothing of the fictional world but had faith in love, the most absolute of all feelings.

“I was married once”, Ria shared, and continued to share how foolishly she had thought her beloved was her soul mate.  Continuing her story as her gaze travelled to the passing lush fields outside she told Simi how the romance had started out smoothly, the sweeping off feet, flowers every week, travelling to exotic lands to discover new things and each other.  She discovered over time that he was not all she imagined, not the perfect man-god but a mere human with all his short-comings.  She was in love and might even have felt whole with him but they did not see eye to eye.  Their relationship was flawed and so was their belief that they were meant for each other.  Disappointed, she left him and decided to dive into the men in her fictional world, who lived up to her expectations.  “If he was my soul mate, then why were we not perfect?” She challenged.

Simi rolled her eyes and spoke softly.  Her observation shocked Ria and the audacity to profess that Ria did not seem to live in the real world at all.  Reality was not perfect, neither our soul mates, but two imperfects make their one world absolute.  She put her feet up on the berth, put her bag by the window and reclined to rest her head on it.  Her eyelids closed, she said, “I believe.”

Ria shook her head, opened her book and returned to the world of her characters, people who were more real and more perfect, just the kind she likes to get to know.  The train chugged away lulling its passengers to sleep as the light began to fade outside.  With a screech, the train came to a tired halt surrounded by pitch darkness.  Soft glow of a single light pole from a deserted platform entered Ria’s cabin and she stole a glance from her fictional story to observe real life on the station.  A handful of passengers disembarked with their load, some to stretch their legs before getting back on.  She spotted a young man in stone washed jeans, tight black t-shirt over an obviously muscular body climb into their carriage.  A few moments later there was a soft knock on her cabin door.

Simi leapt up from her sleeping form and unlocked the door.  It slid open and Simi fell into the muscular arms of the young man.  He stepped in, stopped to lean outside the door to pick up a large suitcase and lugged that in.  Simi gave a sideways glance to Ria and with a smile she mouthed, “soul mate…I believe.”

The End

I AM A WOMAN

In memory of the unfortunate victim of gang rape in New Delhi, India

I am not a plant

but a fertile soil

I am not a doormat

but a welcoming breeze

I am not a branch

but a sturdy tree

I am not an object

but the breath of family

I am not a vessel

but the music of life

I am not the darkness

but the radiating light

I am a girl

I am a woman
A daughter
A mother
A sister
A wife

The giver and keeper of life!

MATE - Part Two

Simi kept a keen eye out for Pritam, her beloved while her fingers twirled around the bow on her purse.  The plan was to meet in the train, he had his ticket and she had hers and one whistle had already gone off, but he was nowhere in sight. Then, with a final whistle piercing through the station, the train carriage jerked as the engine made its first move to pull it out of its home.  She searched once more through her small window, within the bustle of the crowd on the long platform, her hand ready to wave him down to her location.

The train moved slowly before picking up speed finally leaving the station behind.   The view from her window changed to a staggered skyline of multi-story houses, laundry drying on lines on the terraces, transmission wires networking over neighborhoods to extend beyond their limits, children walking, running or playing close to the railway tracks. 

A deep sigh escaping her thin, rosy lips, Simi leaned back into her seat.  Noticing the figure crouched in front of her, she offered her name and proceeded to make conversation with a deluge of questions.  Ria looked up, gave a curt greeting before returning to the screen in front of her.  Unperturbed, Simi continued to chatter commenting on the scenes they passed outside.  From the chaotic landscape to the unattended children so close to the tracks, but Ria offered no response.

Simi finally took the hint and relaxed back to gaze outside at the world passing them by.  Concrete jungle became sparser until all she could see were lush green fields ripe for harvest.  Dots of bright colors appeared at intervals hunched over with scythes in hand.  She admired the hard labor these men and women in the fields endured to feed the nation.  Her life had been of luxury where delicacies magically appeared at the table or her special requests accommodated without pause.  It was Pritam who opened a whole new world for her and helped her realize how she took so much for granted.

Simi turned to Ria again and asked if she was reading a romance novel, receiving a nod and a “mhhmm” in response.  Cheerfully, she went on to share, “I used to read those all the time, until I began to live it in real life...”  Ria lowered her e-reader as Simi declared, “…until I met my soul mate.”   Ria closed the flap, and looked up with arched eyebrows at her cabin mate.

to be continued.....

MATE - Part One

Ria’s one eye looked down at the tickets, the other up ahead down the corridor.  She squinted to read the numbers near and far, in her hand to match the ones on the cabin door.  With relief she slid the door, entered and set the bulk she carried down on the left berth.  Taking account of her duffle bag, backpack, a small suitcase and a laptop case, she carefully tucked them under the seat.  Extricating her e-reader from her oversize shoulder bag, she cuddled up in the corner, next to the window and soon was absorbed in a world of fantasy or was it a fantastic world?

Her head bobbed when her car pulled and tugged with a jerk as the engine connected.  She placed her feet up on her seat, knees drawn to her chest and relaxed her head back to read the words digitally appearing on her lap.  Cacophony of noise surrounded her as passengers looked for their cabins or seats, coolies harried to shed their loads, children screamed playfully or cried in fear with parents shouting at them to keep up.  A whistle resounded over the humdrum of the station as the train called all to attention.

Ria, oblivious to all activity around her virtually turned her electronic pages as she scanned words after lines after paragraphs.  Passengers boarded and settled in cabins adjoining hers or down the corridor, their chatter floating into her quiet abode.  Strangers introduced themselves all around her, inquiring of destinations, their missions, then divulging deeper into personal matters.  Before their parting each had learned of the other’s life story, their hopes and dreams coupled with all the miseries that befell them.  They had become lifelong friends but in their haste of pouring out intricate details of their lives, neither had bothered to exchange any contact details.  Strangers no more, parting as intimate friends, they remained strangers at last.

Ria ignored all the banter enjoying the recluse of her quiet cabin and the conversations in the fiction on her lap.  The door to her cabin slid open and a young girl breathlessly stepped in.  Ria gave a quick scan with a sideways glance at the new occupant before returning to the glow that radiated words from her lap.  The girl’s neatly braided hair had some escaped strands that flirted with her eyelashes.  Simply dressed in designer jeans that hugged her hips and red V-neck t-shirt that hugged her breasts, she sat down by the window, across from Ria.  Placing her medium sized red, white and blue kate spade bag on her lap, she leaned forward to look out through the bars of the window onto the platform, into the sea of people.  Her fingers fidgeted with the ostentatious red bow on her purse as her eyes darted back to front looking at both lengths of the station.

 

To be continued....

Motion in Stillness

A gust of wind scooped her off her feet, swirled and twirled her up above the clouds, across the ocean, over the mountains, past the pristine fields of red roses in bloom before depositing her on soft sand in the middle of arid land.

She licked her lips and squinted out into an endless horizon.  Her disheveled hair blinded her partially as it clung to her sticky skin, slithering towards her openings into her ears, up her nostrils, through her clenched teeth.  She turned and looked towards a luminous sandy hill, her eyes peering from under the awning of her shaky hand.  Her body whirled in circles to find direction before collapsing in disillusion on the soft, brown, sandy carpet.

Another gust blew around her, lifting up the earthy grains as they danced in circles heading nowhere.  The rim of her flowing skirt rose to join the dance, but her fingers clutched to hold it down.  She looked up at the open, clear sky feeling the weight of gravity grounding her.  Vastness of the circular dome invited her to expand, beckoned her fidgety feet into its limitless expanse while keeping her rooted in its circular confines.

A princess in a glass globe, her world was perfect and perfectly encased.

 

Wind in a Box

INSPIRED BY ONE OF JOSEPH CORNELL'S BOXES


It was all mapped out for her – school, husband, children;

she followed, listened, obeyed, submitted, and then she was 50.

 

Children grown and gone, husband passed on

she found herself surrounded by white walls.   Her perfect

life, all mapped out, carefully planned, followed a straight line

and had the richness of clean and white.  She reveled in its comfort

and its security;

 

until one solitary evening, from the whiteness of her room

she looked out her white window and saw blue --

a beautiful blue sky hung high beyond her reach,

it invited her into its serenity, beckoned her to observe its hue

 

of deep solace, as blue as peace.

 

She sauntered up close

to the clean lined edges of her perfect window,

climbed

to leave behind all that was planned

to melt blindly into a new blue bliss….

SILENCE

Shhh… listen to the absence of sound,

Cheerful birds are chirping

No more,
      they have flown away

rippling waters are gushing

no more,
      it stands still in river beds

still air is humid

no more,
      it hangs chilled and dry

falling leaves are rustling

no more,
      yet trees stand tall, bare naked

playful flurries are swift

no more,
      they linger for first snow

we linger and endure,

pause and wait,
      and listen to the sound of silence….

Seasonal Surprise!

The master brushed her long black hair wrapping her in its darkness.  The moon disappeared behind the cloud taking away all light.

The first drop was on her nose, warm and refreshing followed by a downpour.  She listened to the rain and its rhythm as if it was the sound of a flute.  Its music rose high into the sky and flew back to her as a Frisbee.

Her hair stood flat dripping water from its ends as her coat shuddered under the wetness, gleaming in the rain.  She let out a neigh and snorted, “Ooh La! La!  The monsoons are here!”

Samata - Final

Months later with police report filed for the stabbing and the assault, cremation and rituals for the departed performed, Samata collected her tears, rounded up her children and head out to the city.   A friend had given her the contact for a social worker and Samata was determined to take the landlord’s son to court.

A short, petite woman with a straight spine and face as round as the moon, the social worker received the family graciously.  She listened to their narrative of the incident that led to murder done openly in front of witnesses.  But the accused were held in jail overnight and then released after a phone call from the landlord.  She listened to the numerous injustices as large scale as assaults and cheating them of their hard work and of prejudices seemingly minute as a separately designated water source.   Samata stressed that theirs was not an isolated event, or unique case in just her village.  Coming from a tribal village did not make her less human and her educated children deserved as much if not more respect than the landlords and overseers.

Her final plea to the social worker was that even though her husband was no more, she refused to shed anymore tears or mope over her loss.  She was illiterate and had put up with the discrimination, in fact was treated worse than even the beasts in the villager’s cowshed, but her children were literate, earned decent incomes, lived well, and read extensively.  It’s time that people like the landlord and his son learned that people from her caste were not helpless, literate or not, and refused to be continued to be victimized.

Staying true to her name, Samata called for equanimity, equability and equality where with composure and poise all humans are treated equally and the world is in balance.  She demanded justice.

The End

Samata - Part Three

Time stood still as Samata’s husband began his fall to the ground, as if in slow motion.  His son ran to catch him before the crash, cradling his father’s head.  He removed his shirt and pressed it against the wound, watching the once white dirt-ridden fabric turn red instantly.  He looked up to see eyes peering down from the crowd, not an ounce of regret or compassion for the fallen man in them.  His one arm extended towards the standing men asking for help, but no one moved.

Carefully sliding his arms underneath his old man’s body, he scooped his frail body and carried him as if a sleeping baby.  His legs moved swiftly towards the police station a whole mile away, limping from bruises from the fight, tripping over puddles on the muddy path.  Fierce rays of the sun stung on his neck and bare back as rivulets of sweats dribbled down his spine.

At the police station, men in their khaki uniform and a worn down baton stood casually, chatting and shouting out orders for tea.  As they saw a young man carrying a body approach them through the wheat fields, all chatter stopped instantly.  Out of breath and barely able to hang on to his wounded father, the young man tried to explain the incident.  He was directed indoors to a seating area to wait for the head constable as the rest of the policemen stepped aside to avoid his shadow.

The clock on the wall ticked away crawling forward as a centipede, inch by inch, minute by minute.  The old man’s clothes were soaked with blood as his breathing became more laborious.  He murmured in his subconscious, delirious state calling out to his wife, Samata, his daughters, his sons, his parents, his grandparents moving further back to his forefathers.  He called for justice, for equality, for equanimity, for samata before taking his last breath.

 

To be continued.....