Showing posts with label wayfaring seasons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wayfaring seasons. Show all posts
small memories of pre-spring
Small Memories of Pre-spring
tuesday morning
the fourteenth
phalguna
it's dusk,
we're standing in our balcony
waiting for papa’s return.
he's bringing home our very own new scooter.
the breeze moves shyly around our forms
as we watch sparrows snuggle deeper into tree shadows, singing bedtime lullabies
and hear peals of laughter from children playing downstairs.
when papa comes, he honks
and we rush out the door with our pooja thali.
in the parking, we anoint the scooter with a swastik, light a lamp,
and make the moment auspicious.
there's a box of mithai to sweeten the celebration
mayur takes saanjh for a little ride around our block.
high up in the sky, a new moon and a bright star
lighten the darkening sky
and make our evening even more special.
. . .
days that are simple
that make me feel
quietly fulfilling me as i'm. doing what i do.
mopping floors, sunning plants,
making spice tea for my sick girl,
maneuvering our living around a tight budget,
seeping with unwritten poetry,
sewing from old things,
loosing myself in my own darkness,
and letting tears kindle me into light.
. . .
with phālguna, the indian year
is slowly coming to a close.
everyday i rise to the morning birds
incessantly rehearsing their spring song.
and the lone mango tree on the hill
turning red-brown with young leaves.
i sit this afternoon, making notes
for my new customised hindu calendar
even as the wind, moving between our curtains, begins to play a vasanta rāga.
waiting for the moon
waiting for the moon
i sit under the stars, waiting for the moon.
it's late tonight.
with me in my balcony, two new roses await too.
the cool śiśira purvai comes and goes
and far on the hillroad, moving vehicles create haikus with their light.
like flowers blooming on a summer's night
my body is fragrant with contentment
being here, having enough time in my day
and space inside me, for waiting
whenever the moon is late.
. . .
sunday night
the nineteenth
māgha
the night feels mine alone
the night feels mine alone
as darkness falls
somewhere inside me, i rise.
the night feels mine alone.
a february afternoon memory
a february afternoon memory
just back from an abhyanga snan
and drying my hairs in the sun.
a slow, warm breeze comes and touches me
as i lay by the open door, on the naked floor.
the afternoon is thick with silence
except for the call of the february birds.
. . .
wednesday afternoon
the fifteenth
māgha
in silence
in silence
milk bubbles dance over bright orange shreds of carrots
with one hand i balance saanjh on my hips
and with the other stir the condensing mixture.
we stand there like that for few more minutes,
she, watching on curiously and i, stirring.
we repeat this often in between doing other things
sweeping, changing sheets, sunning achaars,
bathing saanjh and cutting her nails.
after three hours, it's lunch time and gajar ka halwa is ready.
we sit down to eat and saanjh asks for a story.
i create a new one. of a mermaid and a little girl.
the story continues as we take a brief stroll around the house after lunch.
then it's nap time. a little laughter, a little persistence and saanjh's asleep.
i call mayur and remember to attend mails
once done, i sit down by myself after a full morning.
and watch sunlight growing on the balcony floor.
these days, i'm without words.
silence eclipses me like sunlight on the floor.
everything inside remains unspoken, simmering.
sometimes it's relieving to forget words, to lose them
and immerse yourself in doing things silently.
in time, saanjh will wake and there will be stories to tell and things to do
until then, i have a burning lamp and
a bottle of flowers on the windowsill
to sit with, in silence.
. . .
thursday afternoon
the twelfth
pauṣa
a pauṣa afternoon
a pauṣa afternoon
the south winds of pauṣa have returned.
all afternoon, tossing curtains
scattering fallen leaves and
carrying in the scent of roses from the balcony.
i sit by the door sewing potlis from an old sari,
saanjh's blowing bubbles
and just like that these sweet january days
trickle into our hearts.
december
december
until last year, was full of lucid magic for me.
with your choosing this month,
to pass onto an unknown journey
you've stirred it with memories of you
and the fathomless magic of death.
now, soft with remembrance,
i'm welcoming december in a place, inside me
where all magic truly happens.
small memories of winter
small memories of winter
it's the first day of winter.
and already evening has come tiptoeing,
wearing new moon for a smile.
we've lit earthen lamps in our balcony
and sit watching their soft flames conversing with the stars.
i tell saanjh how this evening is made special on the ghats of varanasi
with millions of lamps glowing by the riverside
amidst chants and a dense smoke of devotion rising from many hearts.
dev diwali. a festival i'm ethereally drawn to
without ever being physically present
by the ganga to partake in the celebrations.
when her papa returned from work, saanjh lit sparkles sitting in his lap
countless stars came sprinkling out, flooding the night.
as i stood watching, i felt myself turning fluid like a river
amidst the glowing lamps, the new moon,
all the stars in the sky and dancing out of those sparkles
and my own my chanting heart.
later that night i learnt that we were celebrating on the wrong day
the festival was a fortnight ago.
but i couldn't dust off what the night had brought.
so it's magic stayed. real.
. . .
it's a beautiful december morning
the sun’s tenderly holding the earth
while the birds drench the air with their steady singing.
. . .
as if i'm surrounded on all sides
by a garden overrun with beautiful weeds,
the intoxication of poetry buzzes in my mind
making me restless with joy.
in my love and his light
in my love and his light
i was sitting in my balcony
as the evening sun sang his last song
to the sky and the hills, to himself and to me
in tunes of steel, mauve, crimson and gold.
even the wind seemed to quieten in reverence.
as i kept gazing, his song became mine too.
and so we sang.
with our silent and saying eyes.
then the stars came, one by one
gently reminding us of the dwindling dusk.
it was time for the sun to leave
and the evening to end.
but our gaze deepened
turning our tune to charcoal and longing.
with each note, we willed, and became the night.
unseen and inseparable.
. . .
tuesday evening
the twenty fifth
āśvina
happy radhashtami
happy radhashtami
a sweet day filled with quiet devotion.
i think of her, the goddess of love,
and listen to her braj geet.
my heart is a celebration.
happy radhashtami
small memories of autumn
small memories of autumn
we’re swaddled in a soft morning.
a friendly breeze is blowing outside,
greeting everyone and everything in its wake.
the pigeons in the opposite balcony
seem contend just being there, flying nowhere.
saanjh is playing with her rainbow blocks.
and all i want to do is lay by her side
and do nothing but be.
watching these clouds sojourn the sky
and absorb their music into my veins.
but, life summons me elsewhere.
.
when autumn peeks from the window of rainless days
we make little picnics in our balcony
of curd rice, books and sunshine
sprinkled with slivers of radiant nothingness.
.
evening’s come.
yet again bringing its lingering poetry,
starsong and breeze fragrant with faraway rain.
inside, saanjh and her papa are drenching each other
with their wildness, music and love.
i stand outside in the fading light
taking in the magic of this ordinary day,
one last time.
.
it's a moody hazy morning
the sun’s bright and crisp over the hills
still, everything is cloaked in mist.
yesterday, rain came unheralded
but the late afternoon sun greeted it with kisses,
making each drop shimmer as it fell.
the world outside seems whimsical and saying.
i wonder what feelings are stirring in there.
white heat
white heat
i’m awake before the sun.
rain is meditating in the pre-dawn gloom
and the trees are still asleep in earth’s ardent arms.
from somewhere in the distance, a peacock calls
anointing the silence
like bells interspersing in a quiet temple.
the world feels intimate offering itself to me.
as i take in,
with each breath, i’m filling with the perfume of dawn.
and my mind begins to whirl, anew.
these days i’m constantly travelling
through the mountains, terrains and oceans of untold emotions.
meeting people who leave a part of them in me,
stirring and shifting my thoughts as i make space for them.
i spin and spin.
becoming another version of myself.
uncontained, i spill. into words.
words that are mostly fragments, making no sense.
but they set ablaze my morning sky with their white heat.
outside, the birds have begun to offer their salutations to the rising light.
. . .
tuesday, pre-dawn
the thirtieth
śrāvaṇa
small memories of fading rain
small memories of fading rain
rain is evaporating from the earth
with it, i'm learning to ebb.
.
it’s a balmy afternoon
i wear it's hush like a shawl around me
and sit watching the mid-day sun reflected on our balcony floor.
clouds float by, softening its blaze,
making it feel more moon like.
a moment turns into many.
i stay there as if i belong in it.
in those moments.
slowly, the sun and all those moments disappear behind a pillar's shadow.
and it's time for me to return
to the calendar on my lap. to this week.
to all the preparing, celebrating
and mithai making.
as the festival of my heart approaches.
.
the sun is melting behind the hills
as i stand watching from my balcony
it is as if the sun doesn't go down
but goes in
turning me gold.
small memories of rain
small memories of rain
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
botanical verse n°3
botanical verse n°3
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