my everyday rāga

 my everyday rāga

i live like the sun and the moon
doing the same things, everyday.

there are no events
no promise of adventure.
every moment, an ordinary devotion.

as i awake and look out my window
a morning star winks at me, before it goes
chasing the night sky into some faraway world.

after a bath and a glass of water,
i open my doors to a new day
and let our home fill up with the echo of hindustani ragas.
in the balcony, as i sweep fallen leaves and dried tulsi florets
the wind teases me, scattering them back all over.
i smile. familiar with the play. and resume sweeping.

the scent of freshly crushed spices in the kitchen
work their intoxication into my cooking.
and most days, my stay in the kitchen
goes beyond making breakfasts and lunches.
there are snacks, happy messes and
mithais made with saanjh by my side.

when the sun is high in the sky
i sit in the balcony letting its warmth heal my knotted shoulders.
there are things to make or mend.
like today, a new razai is beginning to become
a loving birthday gift for our starchild.

at dusk, i light our evening lamp
make dinner and meditate upon the setting sun,
the changing shapes of clouds,
the grazing cows with their tinkling bells,
the coming of the stars and moon.
and my soulmate’s return, who washes away my loneliness
and refills my day with his music.

at bedtime, as the world sleeps to the lullaby of the night
i elope from my tired body to tryst with my thoughts.
sometimes, on my way i meet midnight
other times, i stumble into dawn.