still breathing

still breathing 

 

you are not here
and life still continues to breathe
just like before.
the sun still brightens my days
and the moon perfumes my nights.
my life is still stringed with everyday joys.

i still feel. i still continue to love.

i still continue to touch your hand in your picture.
hoping, feeling you again.
still talk of you to saanjh as if you're with us. home. listening. smiling.
still think of you every time i make your favourite mithai.
still share my overwhelm with you every night listening to our favourite ghazals.

but not every moment i live.

i sometimes forget that you really aren't here.
every month i forget your anniversary, until ma reminds me.

when people who've known us together
ask me how i am in your absence.
i don't really answer that question
because i’m not sure i can explain.
i’m not sure they'll understand.

while you were here,
i lived with you and loved you like i’ll never love anyone
now when you're gone,
i hold you gently in me like i’d hold the most delicate withered flower.
with no less love than when it was fresh.
it has died, but it still breathes, in me. like you do.
there's no space for sadness.
only love.

everyday, yellowed leaves fall off their branch
and their trees live on gracefully.
how can their continued living be a measure of the love they shared together.

.

life goes on into the next day.
and death awaits.
always.

small memories of rain

small memories of rain

V A R Ṣ Ā   R I T U

 śrāvaṇa | bhādra

it's a midsummer’s night
i’m awake, filling my ears
with the intoxication of urdu poetry
and my soul is out, getting wet in the rain.

.

these days, it's raining everyday
between work and play with saanjh
i gaze out the window
and become wet with the falling rain.

muddy streams are running down my head
germinating raw thoughts
and unwritten poems grow like moss
all over me.


.

rains keep me awake all night
inviting my sleep to join it's raas with the earth and wind.
as i lay awaiting its return
i hear them sing and sway and faintly perfume the dark

and somewhere from that fragrant dark
thoughts, nimble and languid, come tiptoeing
and crowd inside me with their lyrics.
hours slither by.
and night softly melts into the kindling sun.

with lilting feet and a rain-drunken heart
my sleep returns to me at daybreak
but by then, i’m too full of untethered thoughts
to go to sleep.

. . .

saturday noontide
the twenty third
āṣāḍha

happy messes

crescent moon  happy messes

wilting bougainvilleas
are a perfect invitation
to make dye-baths and happy messes.

dripping water, soaking socks and all.

. . .

tuesday morning
the twenty seventh
jyeṣṭha

botanical verse n°3

botanical verse  n°3

gathered
from the hillside, outside our home

memory
sunshiny morning
meeting rain-washed flora and fauna
a day soaked with slowness

. . .

sunday mid morning
the twenty sixth
jyeṣṭha

a sunday morning memory

a sunday morning memory

sunday morning was sunshiny
a perfect invitation we'd been hoping for all week long
to take a wander into the hills.

we walked unhurried with a umbrella in hand, just in case
the hillside was laden with wildflowers bloomed by recent rains
akk, lantana, keekar, babool, khair, bougainvillea
and others we didn't know names of.
one beaming flower-bush after the other.

we paused repeatedly to watch rain worms. Many of them.
scurrying away speedily and sometimes contracting from our presence.
to observe algae forming in puddles,
tiny mushrooms growing on sidewalks.
and say hello to a white dog, a mynah and a baby snail.

we picked stones and gathered a few branches
and returned home when the humidity felt too much to bear.
saanjh relished an ice cream and went to nap.
papa watched a movie, while muma went around the house
floating bougainvillea flowers in an enamel bowl,
arranging lantana in glass jars,
hanging a babool branch on the wall
and stringing together it's mustard blooms.

a sweet mood swept into our home and my heart
while the wind, ever present in this house, continued to softly make love to our curtains.

. . .

tuesday noontide
the twenty eighth
jyeṣṭha

this chapter

this chapter

our balcony plants were drizzled with rainwater last night.
i woke up to find liquid kisses on smiling leaves.

.

with every house we've moved
there's always a distinctness.
like the beginning and end of a little era.
changing and evolving something
in me and the way we live.
changes that seem subtle on the outside
but which the heart knows is cardinal.

i see it in the pages of my memory
in the narration of my words,
and even in the colors of my photographs.
evidences and nuances all there
waiting to retrace our unfolding journey.

.

since coming to this house
i feel more nearer to the stars
on a clear night, their song twinkles
unobstructed and removed from tall buildings and city lights.
and on days watercolored with gray clouds
the hills are tumbling with wild poetry
and turning moss colored with every fall of rain.

i’m living my days more intimately with saanjh
making rituals, telling stories and
watching the world outside our window by each other's side.
capturing our everyday more devotedly in photographs
(thanks to our new camera and the breadth of this house).

there's so much i’m in love with.

but i’m also living isolated.
with no one to share the joy born of all that love.
except for my soulmate, i rarely have adult conversations.
the world around me seems ever-busy for heartfelt conversations of the erstwhile kind.
and since i’m not made for causal ones, my heart remains mute.

so i let it whisper through my words here, even if no one's reading.
wrap it in my prayers and cast it into the universe.

and continue to live this chapter, pursuing my karma.

. . .

friday late noon
the twenty fourth
jyeṣṭha

crescent moon / summer solstice

crescent moon  summer solstice

genda (marigold)
home-ground rice flour as rangoli powder
a clear morning after days of cloudiness
and the teasing wind

invoking the essence of the summer solstice with a story, a sun mandala and an ecstatic petal play.
cultivating saanjh's love for seasons and rituals.

. . .

wednesday nightfall
the twenty first
jyeṣṭha

from light to dark

from light to dark

last night, the full bride moon
softly illumated the world
from behind the veil of gossamer clouds.

today, the brightest sun of the year beckoned us awake.
we spent our morning making mandalas
worshipping and inviting the light in.
the wind made its own hymn of the petals
while saanjh offered her own messy homage.

from here, we travel south
towards the dark and into our depths.
may it eclipse us in its wisdom,
ignite the lamp of faith within
and lead us back to light.

. . .

tuesday late noon
the twenty first
jyeṣṭha

lime, jasmine and tulsi blossom tea

lime, jasmine and tulsi blossom tea

the wind is wild outside.
inside, it's flying our curtains high as it can
and scattering dry grass from the amber bottle on the cupboard,
making them float all over the house as i try to gather them back.
a smile sprouts on my lips.

saanjh is taking her midday nap
i brew a little afternoon soirée with lime, jasmine and tulsi blossoms
and sit with the wind.
these moments of quiet solitude bring yin into my days.
inviting me to move around my mind’s meadow
smelling wild thoughts and harvesting ripe ones.

.

after long, the wind is still home.
and that smile on my face lingers a while longer.

. . .

friday evening
the seventeenth
jyeṣṭha

first dusk of summer

first dusk of summer

with the coming of jyeṣṭha, summer is here.
but strangely, this first day has been without the sun.
grey and mute.
it's dusk now, and i sit here alone with the solemn hills watching me.

thoughts fill and overflow my mind
so much to feel.
so much to say.
but sometimes you don't have someone to share with
so i'm letting them hug me. snugly.

as words form and float inside my head
light is waning, outside. inviting the night to break forth with its stars.
slowly the veil of darkness is thickening upon the hills
somewhere on a tree a koel is crying her lullaby
i pull my blanket closer and continue to sit with my thoughts.

soon, night will tenderly close petals of lotuses in ponds
refill rustling minds with sleep
and let the new moon anoint the sky with the advent of grīṣma.

. . .

monday evening
the third
jyeṣṭha

first day of summer

first day of summer

jamuns
and a cloudy day

. . .

monday noontide
the third
jyeṣṭha