wednesday night
the third
vaiśākha
“unmeasured in words or the movement of the mind,
that one untainted
open space.
enter now."
from 16th century tamil poem
an almost full moon of vaiśākha is blooming in the sky.
i see it through the leafless branches of the rudra palash tree outside the eastern window in my room.
day and night, i sit at my desk by this window working on pictures, reading books,
watching and listening to stories, interviews and songs.
but most of all simply gazing out.
at the sweet chaos of green leaves and sunlight dripping between them.
at birds, so many of them, flying in and flying out of branches.
and at the tree-lined path that quietly leads into the main road ahead.
in the evenings, the air rings with the happy noise of children playing outside.
and as the last shards of daylight fade from the walls,
the spring breeze comes in, lifting the curtains.
.
this new house
and everything it offers,
a gift.
i was unknowingly waiting for.
.
my heart swells
and softly explodes into an ache, an urge.
so i’m returning here, once more. after slipping away again and again.
to fill this quiet white place with that ache, that urge.
to answer to its whisper of - ‘sometimes, remember me’
. . .
friday morning
the twelfth
vaiśākha
“ordinarily, i go to the woods alone,
with not a single friend,
for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable.
i don't really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds
or hugging the old black oak tree.
i have my way of praying,
as you no doubt have yours.
besides, when i am alone i can become invisible.
i can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds,
until the foxes run by unconcerned.
i can hear the almost unbearable sound of the roses singing.
if you have ever gone to the woods with me,
i must love you very much."
mary oliver
glimpses of our morning wandering an old, wrinkled garden, where
she climbs the champa tree,
an old man gathers a bouquet of madhumalati flowers,
we see two young butterflies practice fluttering in the air,
pomegranates half-eaten by birds still hang on the tree,
an assembly of green papayas are deep in conversation,
the sun and wind frolic between the palm branches,
bees hover busily in the hummingbird bush,
and
tiny clover flowers rise their yellow heads along the overgrown paths
where, a riotous world camouflaged in quietness awaits.
for you to add to its quiet rioting.
. . .
saturday afternoon
the seventh
vaiśākha
“the finest of pleasures are always the unexpected ones.”
erin morgenstern
the last week of april brought us a heatwave.
the days were relentlessly hot with power cuts in between.
in the afternoons, we reached for the coolness of the bare floor.
my papa’s old bamboo hand-fan offering some relief.
now, may has come.
and somewhere, far away it must be raining,
as moist breezes migrate into our world
turning our mornings and nights unexpectedly pleasant.
.
it’s friday morning, and i’m struck in traffic with a colleague, on our way to a photoshoot
a dragonfly comes and perches on my skirt.
about six seconds - of black wings on black pleats - small, abrupt joy.
at home, i harvest mint springs from our little garden
and sip mint water all through the day.
pigeons, parrots and mynas visit our window grill in search of shade.
between work, i lift up my eyes and watch their activity.
like one takes time out to attend unheralded houseguests.
.
these days, we seem to often come across dandelions,
growing on the hillside, in the gardens, by the duck pond.
like tiny wishes waiting.
saanjh always notices them.
fetching some to gift me.
some others, she loves to blow into emptiness.
sweet, unpredictable emptiness.
.
may has come
breathing from one day into another,
bleeding small (unexpected) joy.
. . .
friday morning
the twenty second
chaitra
“voices
above the white clouds
skylarks”
kyoroku
thursday morning
the fourteenth
chaitra
“meeting the messenger on the road and opening the letter
the spring breeze”
kitō
treading back to my quiet white place here after a year
with me, spring has returned too.
staining the world in its beautiful colours.
as i sit ushering words out of my mind,
the scent from champas on my desk comes to kiss my nose, again and again.
and ustad amir khan sings his khayal on the player as if,
he too is being touched by the sweetness of this spring morning.
.
we welcomed the first day of chaitra with flowers in our hair.
fragrant mogras woven into gajras with hands that move slowly - two blooms at a time.
a skill i learnt in childhood from my neighbours, which feels like an asset now.
later we took pictures.
maybe a little of the day's fragrance is clasped inside the photograph now.
.
over the weekend, we went to an adventure sport park
it was our first time there and saanjh’s trying those stunts.
but she surprised us with her undaunted spirit
going about everything in the sweltering afternoon sun with a broad grin on her face.
by the end of our day there, her cheeks resembled a just-ripening tomato.
and our hearts the fully ripened ones.
the wild grass she picked for me from the park
now sways lightly in the southern breeze by the window.
another reminder of another beautiful spring day.
.
when i step into our little balcony garden to water my plants
i see new roses blooming.
i've been collecting all our roses this season and decorating my mood-board with them.
so far, thirteen and counting.
yesterday, saanjh and i spent our entire evening and way past our bedtimes, watercolouring.
today, all those small flowers painted on paper greet me with their myriad hues.
nothing else to ask for.
the mind seems blissfully maddened with spring feelings.
. . .