Impermanence - Part Two

Turning around, she saw solid wall formed by the ivy she had breached through, and as she tried to take a step toward her only exit, her feet remained glued to the stone ground. She turned to the child who smiled and gestured her toward the fountain. She took a step forward, her feet magically unglued, and moved further into the depth of the mysterious park. Each step she took felt like she was wading through soft ground covered in cloudy water, as if the ground could turn to quicksand and swallow her up. A scream rose silently through her throat as she felt slime snake around her toes, its weedy claws caressing her feet. She treaded through the murky softness guided by the light of her umbrella and paws of the little child who held her fingers. Just before reaching their destination, her feet landed on her fear, a puddle of quicksand which quickly swallowed her.

Rosa lay flat on her back, her nightmare running as a vivid motion picture, frame by frame behind closed eyelids. She hugged her body and slowly opened her eyes to find them staring into blinding sunlight. A warm hand touched her forehead and she turned her gaze towards the angelic face beside her. She blinked once and then again, to adjust the haze that had covered her eyes, and tried to bring the face to focus. Her nightmare or was it a pathway to this bizarre dream and she was still living it to visit this heavenly being. She let the gentle hands guide her up and walk to a bench under a weeping willow. Rosa touched the woman’s silky, white hair, caressed her soft, coffee skin and continued to stare shamelessly, unsure of everything. 
 

Kissed by the flowing, leafy hair of the willow, Rosa listened to the soft lull of the woman’s voice as she revealed the nature of things. Trickles from the fountain reached her ears, the exact one she had seen with the child or was it the puppy?  Just as a whisper of wind embraced her cheeks, bringing with it fragrances unknown, Rosa recognized that this was not heaven nor earth, not planet nor star, not dream nor reality. A form sat next to her in the image of a woman, but she felt merged into the illusion. The woman was there, with her angelic face, love in her smile, warmth in her embrace, a woman with no story or label, nor perceived connection. Rosa accepted with an open heart in this formless association. Nature of things as in that moment were just as is, with nothing but overwhelming love.

To Be Continued...

Impermanence - Part One

Rosa looked out of her bedroom window and watched the rain patter down hard onto the sidewalks.  Each drop merged in the rivulets as they snaked their way from streets into underground channels, skirting all that lay in the path - pebbles, a runaway paper boat, a black puppy. Rosa watched the doleful creature exposed to the elements, its shaggy fur matted and soaked, its floppy ears drooped in sadness. She grabbed her yellow umbrella and charged out her front door, but when she reached the side street, the dog had roved away. She treaded down the alley circling to the back of her house where she spotted shaggy tail disappear down a bend. Her feet splashed through the twisted path, another turn just before she saw the dog disappear through an arched doorway.

Rosa followed and found herself in a courtyard swathed in ivies of pink bougainvillea, lush in their wet beauty. A bark directed her attention to the south wall of the ivy and she balanced her yellow umbrella at an angle, parted the green and pink wet curtain and peeked in. Behind it she saw the puppy beckoning her in with its short, staccato barks, as if to share his shelter. Rosa folded her umbrella and ducked in through the ivy curtain, her hair catching sprinkles of rainwater and pink flowers. Inside the shelter, she bent down to the puppy with her hands reaching out as if in friendship.

As soon as her fingers touched the wet paws, in the blink of her eye everything changed around her. She found herself in a dark room holding tiny fingers of a small child standing next to her. Her yellow umbrella stood as tower in the child’s hand, glowing like a street lamp. The child opened it and like the sun, her umbrella illuminated the world around them.

Rosa froze in her place, her eyes unblinking, absorbing all that surrounded her. The little den had transformed into a park with a dancing fountain in its center. She saw sculptures scattered throughout, partially hidden in hedges that were pruned to shapes of mythical creatures. She spotted a unicorn and a couple of elephants with a baby’s body. Thin, tall trees towered over her, their tops too high for her to see. Not a drop of water reflected on the park surface, only sunshine from what used to be her umbrella bathed her with its radiance. Music of rainwater reached her ears as if from a faraway land, its romance gradually fading.

To Be Continued... 
 
 

Vicissitudes

the season is changing

there are transformations happening all around

transitions are hard, you or me

suffering happens before cleansing begins

we are strong, you and me

we come out victorious, no matter what 

seasons change

to make way for new beginnings

life changes

to open new doors

we feel the low before reaching high

the climb is hard but the peak is sublime

we are strong, you and I

we need the transitions before we can be whole 

our lives are cycles

with transitions and victories

emotions are bitter and then they are sweet

evolution goes on, the world changes

we are strong, you and I

we embrace the deviations, in season and life

we flow in harmony to the music of the world 

Hang in there!

we are part of a constant change

and the beauty we can carry within us

from each end to the new beginning.

 

 

NORMAL

What is normal?

We strive for it all our lives and stray from it when it’s there. Like a wave it comes and goes and we desire and deter its oscillating presence in our lives as a constant.

It’s our desires we run after, desire to move forward, to take great leaps, to climb higher, to return to earth, to find satisfaction and a full circle back, our desire to be normal. It’s a continuous motion as the proverbial wheel of time.

With normal we define boredom, so we strive for change and excitement. Sometimes it’s our own doing or nature takes charge and throws the curve ball in our direction changing our normal to an undesirable state. As if getting stuck with lemons which we can either let turn sour, wither and rot relying on the so called destiny, or we can find a way to make orange juice. It’s all in our hands, as Lawrence of Arabia declared, “Nothing is written.”

Nothing happens for a reason. It just happens and when it happens, we aspire to change, so we can find for normalcy.

Life takes its turns with bends, curves, hills and U-turns. Like a garden it flourishes or dies, grows new and deeper roots, blooms and sheds, living by the seasons. Normal is what we see and define with our own sense of what we think is normal. A flower blooming in fall and trees shedding leaves in spring may not be normal for us, but this is how we choose to define it.  Change hemispheres and perspective, suddenly normal seasons become different. It’s how we interpret and define normal, what we as individual being part of a society define normal.

Normal is what it is, in the eye of its beholder and somewhat skewed by the society that eye belongs to. We are all born normal, only depends from what perspective one identifies it to call it otherwise. 

LOVE

Love is…

Not saying “I Love You”
or showering them with hugs and kisses galore

Love is…

showing you care by being a part of their life
expressing your concern when they hurt
sharing in their joy when good things happen

Love is…

calling on the land line just to hear their voice (static free)
swaddling them into a tight squeeze when you meet after a long gap
blinking tears wedged in your eyes every time they say goodbye

Love is…

listening… to their dreams, desires, nothingness
encouraging their aspirations
standing by them regardless of your opinions
consoling their heartbreaks or disappointments

Love is…

not saying, “I Love You”
but genuinely loving and it will naturally shine J

 

Time Warp

Since the change, it’s been a feeling of being in a time warp, just like driving through a school zone suddenly decelerating to 20 mph during drop off and pickup times. From behind my wheel, I look to my right and my left at other drivers as if they were distant stars from a star trek episode, racing with me at warp speed. But that is an illusion as we all drift through in slow motion, impatiently gliding forward, intent on accelerating as soon as the road sign indicates, until the next school zone hits us, and the time warp wraps us in again.

Similarly, life here moves along at steady pace with daily, mundane routines of outdoors and the indoors, until suddenly, just like the drivers on these massive highways, the velocity of my life picks up and I find myself swerving around the labyrinths as visitors weave in and out, or I maneuver between vacations, entertaining, or putting out fires in the maintenance of the house. Fleetingly this stage subsides, spiraling down like the complicated off ramps onto the stop and go service roads with their U-turns and cross roads, before it comes to a halt and the time warp begins.

So is it this place with its shifty soil, too porous to hold anything with might? Its skeletons of houses and construction cranes dotting the skyline that is fast pacing the road to evolution, including the heat of the housing market with its surging prices igniting them into a hot air balloon? Then there is the gun toting, entitlement culture that adds fear to migrants, may they be from within the country or perhaps it’s the belief system that puts any non-believer on the defensive. Can one really put down roots here and be held firm in this culture?

There’s yes, the beautiful sunsets with magnificent, pinkish hues that splash against the clear blue sky, the performance of the black, parking lot birds lined up on transmission lines and suddenly pirouetting in flocks into a ballet as if to celebrate the closure of a beautiful day. The short uncomfortable months palatable in exchange of more temperate climate throughout the year adds to its allure. The coolness of the morning like a baby’s fresh breath, the serenade of the mocking birds, and the fragrances of the magnolias all add substance to each chapter of my new life here.

It may be this place or just the phase. Life is an evolution, a discovery as its new chapters unfold. Tomorrow it may not be this place or yet another phase in my chapters, my story will continue to move forward gathering memories, hording only the beautiful ones. It’s not the place or the phase but the cliché – a journey. It’s the experiences we learn from, the sounds and smells we pick up along the away, the new friendships and relationships we secure.

The view from within the time warp looking out is just as compelling as the view from outside looking in. Life suddenly gets a new perspective, from which we can take stock and move on, whether it's this place or beyond.

Feeling (for) Blue

My dog is my companion, the constant who is with me while the rest of the household scurries about with their lives. He listens to my useless, baby talk blabber without judgement, takes me on walks every day, keeps me grounded and disciplined. Together we traverse the neighborhood soaking in the coolness of summer mornings and warmth of winters’ afternoon sun. On these walks we encounter wildlife in their habitat, listen to the incessant chatter of birds, stop to smell the proverbial roses (and sometimes real ones too), or admire a neighbor’s garden. Our paths vary daily, based on what Jazz’s nose picks up in the air – to pay our respects to an unfortunate squirrel that came to an untimely demise crossing the road, or to follow the track of a neighborhood bunny, or to just follow the scents of other dogs. Our steps are determined, yet leisurely as we admire the beauty of the blue above and greenery scattered around the concrete and brick. Our mission is to seek out hidden sounds of nature while trying to drown out the rude noises of aircrafts, cars, lawnmowers and the like.

The routines of twice daily walks are refreshing welcome to my otherwise fluid days. His stubbornness, the prance in his step, the unsuccessful chases of small creatures, all these I will miss. You see, my dog, this beautiful creature who is my best friend, who gives me unconditional love, tolerates me without any judgement, my constant companion, has cancer. Surgery has bought him time, but not long enough.

After he is gone, what will I jump out of bed early for every morning or be dragged away from my screens for his daily walks, who will sit on my lap or paw me to demand love, how will I stay disciplined? Who will make me feel needed? Cuddle time, baby talk, being silly, rough housing, unsure whether to laugh or be angry at a naughty behavior, all these things will fade away from my life after he is gone. How can I keep him with me forever?

So I heard on the radio this morning – I can clone my dog! Yes, I can keep him with me for always. Isn't that just dandy? I can have my cake and eat it too. Jazz can live with me forever. Except, it won’t be him but one that looks and behaves exactly like him. The clone may even get cancer like him, but it won’t be my Jazz.

I love my dog, there’s no doubt about it. But isn’t an important part of love, letting go? Jazz, my handsome, stubborn, sweet, regal, blue beagle will always be one of a kind, and even though he will not be with me for much longer, he will forever be in my heart. No cloned version can replace my Jazz!

 

 

There Is No Soul

My exit from the womb into a new world I morph

into a life incomplete

Fragmented

Dispersed

Scattered

My mission to reunite with each molecule that were once me

But all parts of the body must be ready for the other, all atoms must jump in one direction for desire to be

such is life's great meaning

its purpose in being.

Farm Memories...

The days were long, yet fleeting, hot but refreshing, they were lonely, yet unpredictable.  Mansi sat under the old peepal, on the lone swing.  She tried to make the air around her move as heat hung over like a pall.  A hot breeze brushed her face and moved on. She sat in a lull, feeling her sweat trickling down her temples, into rivulets down her spine, or choosing to remain speckled on her upper lips.  She listened to the dull silence of the afternoon. Her grandfather’s snores bellowed from his room into the garden, competing with the tired roar of the cooler from the side of the house. An occasional bird flittered in the branches above her before landing lazily in its nest.

Mansi waited for the household to stir from their siestas as she incessantly eyed the needles on her tiny wristwatch tick away, a dot at a time. Her uncle’s dog, Sheba, a lean German shepherd, lay curled up by the tree trunk on the hard concrete of the circular patio. Mansi jumped off the swing out from the shade into the sun and sauntered toward the cowshed. Her rubber slippers crunched on the gravely path until they met the soft ground littered with hay and mud.

She swung open the small gate and made her way into the newborns’ pen. Big brown eyes looked up at her with interest, as the two calves sat in their nooks. Mansi kneeled next to one of them, and ran a hand over its soft hide, letting the calf nuzzle her arm. The second stared at them and let out a loud moo. Mansi laughed and offered an arm to be nuzzled by it as well. She talked to the calves, telling them stories of the other animals at the farm, asking them if they missed the cool shades of their mother. She watched them swat away flies with their small tails, as if waving brush strokes in the air for a magnificent, unseen art. They batted their gorgeous, long lashes to blink away bugs and Mansi mocked them.

The gate behind her creaked and as she turned, she saw the farm hands coming in from their break. They picked up buckets from the shelves and walked into the sheds where the cows and buffalos stood, lined up. Mansi got up and followed one of the workers. He helped her get set up beside one cow, took her fingers to place around the udders and guided her to gently milk, each squirt at a time.

Quarter a bucket-full later, Mansi abandoned the task and returned to the Peepal. She found her grandparents comfortably seated on lounge chairs, refreshed from their naps. On a small table next to them lay a tray decorated with teacups filled to the rim with hot, creamy tea, a tall glass of cold milk pinked with rose syrup, and a plate full of glucose and crackerjack biscuits. Mansi ran up to the empty chair, picked up her glass and gulped down the thick, creamy milk. Resting the empty glass back on the tray, triumphantly, she smiled, pink moustache and all. Her grandmother handed her a handkerchief and Mansi wiped the cream off her lips. Pearly whites sparkled as she displayed a big smile of satisfaction. A breeze began its hesitant journey, offering refreshment, fluttering the leaves above them. Birds chirped their way into the sky to celebrate the breeze.

Mansi walked over to the chicken coop behind the house and watched them strut about as they pecked on seeds on the ground. She walked over to the gardener who handed her a bouquet of roses he had designed, its perfumes leaving a path from the garden to the house. As the sun’s rays weakened their intensity, she changed and dashed to the swimming pool. With a rush of energy and thrill marching in her veins, she climbed the step ladder to the top of the water tank next to the deep end. From its precipice she leapt straight down into the sparkling clarity below, sinking to the blue bottom where her feet found ground. In a single motion she launched herself up, effervescent gurgles sounding in her ears, vision of serenity in front of her goggled eyes, softness of the fluid on her skin, until her head popped back above the surface into the heat and mechanical sounds.

As an adult now, surrounded by mechanical sounds night and day, Mansi travels back to the farm days in her memories to find her quietude. Her ears search for the chirps and twitters amidst the rumble of airplanes overhead, her eyes admire the redness of the roses blooming in the planter outside her house, its fragrance faint but in attendance.

Last Breath

 

 

Like dust, a soft layer of white

Spatters the ground

Its frosty mist frigid and fresh

Mocking bird mocks its muted moan

With copycat songs, chirpy or a drone

Blue Jay interjects with its harsh conjecture

Of wintery splendor concluded 

Like gold, a soft stream of yellow 

Splashes the ground

Its fiery veneer tender and sheen

Mocking bird mocks its glistening luster

With copycat songs, ballad or a whistle

Blue Jay interjects with its severe inference

Of springtide prelude commencing 

Haze of mist takes to air

Earth’s last wintery breath sizzles to sky

A sigh reveals yellow green grass

Buds shoot up, push their way for resurrection

Transformation now looming

Soon all colors will be blooming

Child Bride 1916 - Conclusion

Out on the platform Jeevani found herself standing next to the tall man who was the groom.  Her head ached from all the crying and the commotion around her.  She did not even try to look at his face.  Just as her mother had drilled into her, Jeevani kept her head lowered without making a sound.  Back at the house another ceremony awaited the new bride.  It was past midnight by the time each visitor had seen the bride’s face and paid the bride viewing price as was custom.

Finally, the time came for Janki, no longer Jeevani, to meet her husband.  She was left alone in a room decorated with flowers where she sat in the middle of the bed.  Her mother had tried to explain about this moment, her voice echoing in Janki’s ears, sit quietly with your head covered keeping the chunni hanging down low enough to cover your face.  Keep your head bent and fix your gaze on to your feet.  Act reticent and humble.

Janki suddenly felt a cool breeze, even though it was stifling hot in the room under her heavy adornments.  Ram Lal entered the room without a sound, closing the door behind him.  Janki’s heart skipped a beat as she heard him walk toward her.  The bed creaked under his weight when he sat down on the edge.  Janki could not stop shaking.  Ram Lal put a hand on her shoulder to steady her and articulated his first words.  His voice was kind. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.  I am your husband now and I will take care of you.”

Janki did not move but relaxed a little.  Ram Lal moved up closer and gently lifted the veil to see her face.

“Beautiful.  Just like my sister said you were.”

Janki kept her gaze focused down as he stroked her hand lightly with his forefinger.  She slowly raised her eyelids and for the first time looked at her husband.  His geometric features with a square face, a large triangular nose, and a flat chin gave him a stern look.  The thick, dark mustache extending out to his cheeks added nobility while the large, round eyes below his bushy eyebrows could be scary to a little girl.  He was a grown man, in his twenties, at least ten years older her.  Janki was shocked at first, but then remembering his kind voice and gentle manner, she relaxed.  She took comfort in the warmth of his eyes and the easy smile to match the gentle voice.

When the initial shock of discovering her husband’s presumed age wore off, Janki smiled in her timid way.  Ram Lal smiled back and continued to stare at her.  He was admiring this fair-skinned, shy girl who had just become his wife.  He admired her perfect round face with pronounced rotund cheeks and timid, genuine smile.  White, even teeth shone between thick, shapely lips for a fleeting moment until his hand moved from her slight chin to her arm and further down.  He noted the ampleness of the face did not reflect the slenderness of her undeveloped figure.  He admired the way her big brown eyes looked at him with the curiosity of a child and quickly looking down, as if remembering her manners.  She was so young and innocent, and so beautiful.

He helped her shed the heavy, golden load from her person, carefully wrapping the jewelry in a cloth.  Still wearing their silken garb, he held her.  His touch was gentle but curious and the sensation she felt was unlike any other.  He combed his fingers through the length of her hair, tickling the back of her neck, sparking a giggle out of her.  At this he left her and turned out the light.  In the dark, he gently pulled her down on the bed next to him.  With his strong arms encircled around her, she felt safe.  Her heavy eyelids could stay open no longer and Janki fell into a peaceful slumber.

 The END

Child Bride 1916 - Part Four

Jeevani’s new home had a lot more people than she was used to.  It was a joint family of her husband, his parents, and his widowed sister.  A cousin and his family of three children also lived with them.  Jeevani had overheard Amma inquiring about this cousin.

Amma sat crossed legged on the manji bed one late afternoon unraveling yarn.  She rolled the wool into a neat ball while Jeevani held the yarn between her hands sitting beside her.

Biba, the town crier waddled in as the sun was hanging low overhead.  Grabbing the mooda, she forced her large behind onto the small seat.

“Biba, just the woman I wanted to see.”  Amma cried.

“So glad to be welcomed.”  She looked at Jeevani. “Look at her, so grown up.”

Amma leaned forward and asked, “Who is this cousin at Jeevani’s in-laws?”

“Who knows what the truth is?”  Biba dismissed at first.

Amma continued with her wool rolling, as a faint smile formed on her face.  She had planted the seed and everyone knew Biba wouldn’t stay quiet for long.

Jeevani had watched the game of words and silence over her stretched hands as the yarn slowly unraveled around her fingers.

“I heard…”  Biba’s voice dropped conspiratorially.

Jeevani leaned closer on the manji bed trying not to look too interested.

“This cousin was orphaned as an infant.  Ameerni fed him her own milk.”

Amma gasped, “How is that possible?  Was she flowing?”

“Your son-in-law was a month old.  This infant was three months.”  Biba shared.

“Hai rabba.”  Amma stopped rolling.  “So where is he now?”

“Quetta.  Some uncle from his mother’s side took him when he was ten.”

Amma slowly nodded, “So that’s why the family is moving to Quetta.”  She looked at Jeevani and ran a hand on her head, “Taking my daughter far away from me.”

Jeevani recalled Amma’s face from that afternoon.  She remembered the wrinkles around those sad eyes, the crooked frown from a curve in one corner of her mouth and specks of white in the thick dark hair.  Renewed tears started their journey. 

Jeevani suddenly realized that she never learned the cousin’s name and will have to call him Pahji, elder brother.  Relaxing back she recalled her husband’s name that she had learned at the wedding ceremony.  Her mother had reminded her of the age-old custom of never letting his name escape her lips – Ram Lal.  She also understood now the reason for her own new name.  Ram was the name of the legendary warrior king who had defeated the powerful Ravan for abducting his wife, Sita in the great epic, Ramayan. Jeevani remembered now that Ram’s wife was also called Janaki.

According to tradition, her mother had explained that a woman starts a new life when she gets married.  It was natural for Ram Lal’s wife to be named Janaki but somewhere in the Punjabi dialect, an ‘a’ dropped off.  Jeevani Kapur became Janki Khatri.  In her corner in the train, Jeevani realized that not only was she losing her home, her town, her family and friends, she also had to lose the one thing she had that was her own – her name.  Her new life had to start from a clean slate.

The train screeched to a tired halt after a laborious trek through the mountains.  It pulled into Quetta station with a sigh and a shudder.  An explosion of movement erupted around her.  Women searched for their luggage or called for the coolie to lug the baggage out.  At some point a voice called out to Jeevani.  She stood up and, partially blinded by the veil, tried to keep up with her escort.

 

To Be Continued