The Cardboard Box

a small cardboard box
filled with old dust -
I discover
sounds of laughter,
feelings engraved on paper,
a heart's outburst in words,
smells of tender moments,
of  wars, joys and tears,
birthday cards, love letters,
neatly folded notes,
roads not taken,
roads made or found,
and long-forgotten roads,
I grope around
to find my way
to rest a while,
on precious memories,
tucked into a little
cardboard box,
that speaks of trails
that lead to me.

Watching Sadness

it begins
with a
big swirl
in my heart
gaining momentum
as it spirals
down to connect
with the navel,
sucking up
my insides -
a Finger of God,
drawing its path
into my eyes,
where it explodes
unto its
watery end.
and then....
Silence.
Calm.
Bare.
to start
another story,
to draw
another path,
again.
Always.

This Moment

at the point
when I drift away
on a thought,
when something
stops me
and I come back
to my breath
to my source,
is the moment
when
I leave
I arrive
I live
I die
I come home
to this moment -
this moment
is all that I have.

A Walk in the Clouds

I would give anything
to take a walk in the clouds,
to see a rainbow bend backwards
and hug itself around;
watch a star-spangled canopy
wrap the earth warm at night;
wait for the morning sun
to unwrap its gifts with light;
see water and earth explode
to send stardust adrift,
feel the breath of life fill
in every atom, a perfect fit;
Oh, how I would love
to take a walk in the clouds,
to wake up from my slumber,
untangle my heart, from its shroud.

Gratitude

Like a little spider
hanging in mid-air
waiting and watching;
time and patience
s..t..r..e..t..c..h..e..d
to what seems
like eternity...
I weave dreams,
with silken strands
of love and hope,
bound by memories -
shimmering dewdrops,
a string of pearls -
I open my eyes and see
my sleeping baby
wrapped tight -
a bundle of peace and delight;
I wake up with you
in your arms, my love,
singed by your warm skin
against mine; sublime!
I listen to your heartbeat
sing with mine;
simple pleasures
on a gloomy day,
as heartaches dissolve
and fade away,
a deep gratitude
oozes from inside,
to fill me up this morn,
I am thankful to be ALIVE!

Every once in a while....

every once in a while
You raise your hand
to create, to nurture,
to destroy, to guide,
as we stop, stay or wander,
in our journey of life;
bewildered we stand,
as we watch Your act
is it love, hope or anger?
because we've broken a pact?
"global warming", screams a voice,
"nature's balance", rues another,
"life's cycle", claims a third,
"God's wrath", warns a fourth;
my heart swings to one
and then to the other,
as it tries to wrench out
a thin trickle of hope;
every once in a while
when You raise your hand,
I shudder, I yearn,
I look within, I learn,
as I stop, stay or wander,
in my journey of life,
but does it really matter, I wonder,
as it all is, but Life?

The Pilgrimage

I was 12 or 13 years old when I went to Badrinath with my mother, sister and grandfather (mother's father). It was supposed to be a pilgrimage to all the Prayags and ultimately to Badrinath.I don't know why we went except to "see God" in the temples - that was what my grandfather told us. It was his dream to go on that pilgrimage and I guess we tagged along.

Today, 30 years later, around the same time of the year that we were there, the news on all the TV channels speaks of the flash floods and disaster that struck the very same route that we took. We did not go to Kedarnath then because it was a very tedious trip and we had to trek on foot then, unlike now. An eerie feeling creeps into me today, as I relive those moments when we made the trip to the very same places.

After 30 years, I still remember vividly today, the bus journey that we took from Delhi to Haridwar, Rishikesh, Rudraprayag, Devaprayag, Karnaprayag, Joshimath and Badrinath.I don't remember how long the trip was, but I remember how we lived together as a family - the whole bus-load of people and the driver, for all those days - from start to finish. There was a huge family from Karnataka and they occupied most of the bus.

There was a cook and his helper who travelled with us with vegetables, provisions, vessels, stove etc. At every point in the journey, the bus would stop by the side of a road, and these people would cook and serve us piping hot food in that cold! We were the only ones who could speak fluent Hindi with the driver and so became the ones to communicate everything to him! That was a privilege for my sister and me! We made good friends with the driver, took photos with him (I still have that one somewhere!) and wrote letters to him too, even after we came back to Madras. When we were not eating, the only thing I could remember doing was listening to loud devotional music in Hindi, that he  blasted all through the journey!

They were expert drivers and probably the only ones who could navigate the narrow, winding roads on the magnificent Himalayas. I remember how once, for some reason, he had to make a 360 degree turn of the bus on that road, and managed to do it with so much ease, while all our hearts were in our mouths! Down below, in the deep ravine, was the fiery Ganga flowing furiously.....while on the other side were steep mountains that loomed large and ominously over us and our miniscule vehicle.

The Himalayas were absolutely breathtaking and awe-inspiring. For a young girl like me, the size and intensity of the mountains left me stunned and bewitched.....feelings that overrode the fear...I still remember that first sight of the huge mountains and the first feeling I felt! It was first love! Ever since that trip, I have felt a very deep connection with the Himalayas, that is both sacred and special. The feeling I have when I am within the folds of those mountains is much like how a little child would feel to go back and cuddle in her mother's lap. Warm. Secure. Safe. Special. Loved. Bliss. A womb connection.

Every place on the way had a special story that my grandfather told us. He would make us sit with folded hands, on the steps to the river or the confluence at each place and pour three buckets of freezing cold water from the river, on our heads. This happened at all the Prayags - Devaprayag, Rudraprayag, and Karnaprayag. I remember how peaceful the Ganga was at Rishikesh, and how for the first time in my life, I had a bath in a river.....sitting on some boulders and looking at my reflection in the crystal clear waters. I remember with how much force the Ganga flowed in Haridwar, where it came down from the hills.....and how we had to hold on to steel chains to even stand in the waters. I remember how the Mandakini, Alaknanda and Bhagirathy tumbled down the slopes and rushed on.....I remember standing on the Hanuman Jhoola and looking down into the fast-flowing river without fear...

Our last stop in the pilgrimage was Badrinath, where we stayed overnight in a small ashram like place. There was no power, and it was cold, and we cuddled up together under woollen blankets in the darkness. Early next morning, we went to the temple. There was a bit of a queue and we had to cross a small bridge. On the other side, was a hot sulphur spring, where my grandfather again insisted that we should bathe, and so we did! And boy, was it refreshing! I remember how my sister and I were so surprised and watched with wonder as to how there was natural hot water in that freezing cold! And then, when we had changed, we all went into the Badrinath temple. Strangely, I have no memory of how the idol there looked. I remember the priest and how he gave us some sweet prasad of nuts and sugar and how we then went back.

I also remember how the driver told us about the beautiful Valley of Flowers that was close by that we could trek to, and I kept that piece of information safe somewhere in my head, dreaming of going back there someday.

That trip sent me on a quest to find and discover myself in many ways. I started thinking more about God and nature, fear, death, religion, customs and rituals, and much more. To me, that was the beginning, not end, of my pilgrimage.

 But today, when I hear and see all the news about the tragedy, the only questions that keep coming up in my mind are these - why do we go on a pilgrimage? why do we seek something outside of us? why do we think that something exists outside of us? Is this Nature's way of telling us loud and clear, that we should think about what we are doing and why, a little more deeply? Do we have to go to some other place to discover that God exists? Isn't the real pilgrimage, the one within?

So perhaps until we realise that, we will roam here and there looking for that "something", just like the musk deer in the forest.

" We are all searching, roaming the forest like the musk deer, seeking the pleasures without. When we recognize what we are really looking for and begin searching for the lost love within, at that point, the real journey of human life begins."

You can read the full article from which this quote was taken, here:

http://www.radhanathswami.com/2012/04/in-search-of-a-lost-love-lessons-from-the-musk-deer/

I am Me

I am not an ordinary woman with ordinary dreams.
I am not just another woman.
I am not The Woman.
I am just me.

I don't dream of fancy houses in a sprawling town,
with state-of-the-art services and manicured lawns,
I dream of making a home of cob
up in the hills somewhere, with love;
our hands stained by the earth that gave us life,
where we will live even when we die,
a home filled with the smell of sweat and earth,
as we toil with our hearts to raise our hearth.

I don't want gifts that reek of money,
swanky clothes, knick knacks or words of honey;
I want gifts that speak with my heart -
holding hands in silence, or a slow and quiet walk in the dark,
happy to be home and join in the chores,
or share the wanderings of our days and more;
to be with each other when the sun rises and sets,
when time stops to watch us, as we deeply connect.

I don't want to hear sweet nothings and empty words,
or hatred and anger spewed in a space that's so dear,
I want to  hear words that come straight from the belly,
words that breathe love, compassion and empathy;
I want to hear your joys and your sorrows, and
the silent space that connects now, not looking to tomorrows,
I want to know what you ache for, and the dreams you chase,
listen to every cell in your body, seeking love, renewing faith.

I don't want to lie down with you by my side,
for pleasures of the body, or to feel each others' sighs,
I want to know what keeps you alive from inside,
if you'll still love a woman, who's also a man inside and outside;
I want to know if you can sit with it all and see
how beauty flows in everything and just let things be,
I want to know if you can feel me inside, and
still love this woman, with a moustache and hair on her hide.

For I am not an ordinary woman with ordinary dreams.
I am not just another woman.
I am not The Woman.
I am just me.

Grieving, Gardening and Moving Home

Like every other post, I need to write this for myself more than anyone else...to honour the grief that I am feeling now, for many things inside...to let it flow, fill over and trickle down so that it finds a place of its own somewhere...instead of simmering and burning up my insides, or getting buried under layers of justifications, that I as a human being can so easily cook up...

Yes I am grieving. Not because someone has passed on. But because, deep down my heart knows what is coming and what I have to let go of. No one has passed on. But some parts of my life are going to pass on. They will pass on peacefully when I have grieved enough I think. And this post is about my grieving for those parts that have given me so much pleasure and peace all this while. Even as I write this, there is something inside that does not want to let go....it wants to hold on to what is there now, to the comfort of a known, used idea, and something which has become so much a part of ME.

Over the last year or a little more, I have been segregating garbage, composting, and trying so hard to raise a little garden in the space that we have at home. While I have been successful in the first two, raising a garden has been challenging. We have a common small terrace that I share with my neighbour, where we have a small garden. Over the last year, I have been trying to grow some orchids and lilies (we got bulbs from Sikkim where we went for a holiday), tulsi, karpooravalli, desert rose, curry plant, keerai (greens), pudina, coriander, methi, bhindi, tomato, brinjal, basil, turmeric and jasmine. Some plants have survived and grown well, while some sprouted and withered, some grew for a while and then died, some were attacked by pests and some just died for reasons I do not know.

I was introduced to gardening in a very different way, by my son . I have seen my mother, grandmother and mother-in-law raise gardens and spend hours in them. But I did not take to it so much, although I love nature and greenery. To me, gardening was just growing a few plants, watering them, taking care of them and enjoying their produce or growth. This was how I felt until my son opened up a totally different perspective to it. He would talk about hugging trees to say how much he loves them for giving us shade and more, or urge me to not throw away seeds when we cut vegetables for cooking (even if it was a vegetable that would not perhaps grow and survive in the summer heat in Chennai). He would urge me to raise a small garden with the seeds we saved, and spend hours discussing Nature, how it works, how it takes care of itself and us, pollution, global warming and more. But he would also be the one who could not turn off the A/C in the car (because he is very sensitive to heat), or would leave the tap open and put his fingers in the way, to create and watch different trajectories for the water to take before it reached the floor, would want to take the car instead of taking a walk (even to the nearest shop) because he was just too tired of walking, or would suddenly change his mind about food and say to me: "It's ok if I waste this once in a while amma ...you can still put it in the compost." So, yes - Life is full of paradoxes.....and my son has taught me that the only way is to love them, because if there is one, there will always be the other.

With each plant that I helped raise in our little garden, I found immense joy - much like giving birth to a child; and with each one of those tiny creations that did not live longer, I felt deep pain and loss. When I started composting and gardening, I began to touch and feel the earth between my fingers....and with that, I found the lost connection I had with the earth. I healed. Gardening and composting have made me dig deep into myself and find parts that were lying hidden behind all the muck that had collected over the years. They brought me back in touch with myself and reality.

I have also enjoyed a special relationship with my neighbour in this process. She was the one who suggested that we raise a garden to stop people from throwing garbage into our balcony from the top floors. We have stood and chatted about plants and their medicinal value while I tended to my plants. She took care of my plants while I went on holiday, and I took care of hers when she was busy or away. We shared pots, seeds, soil and plants. I spoke to her of composting. Our children shared their excitement of witnessing plants grow, sprout new leaves and bear fruit. We rarely spoke to each other at other times, and yet shared our own special little friendship and community. It was beautiful and I am grateful for what we received and shared, when we needed it.

My mother, father and grandmother who came home, loved to see me tend to a garden and encouraged me to try new things. They helped me identify plants that sprouted that I could not identify, they shared with me how to keep away some insects and pests, gifted me with some plants and cuttings, and I shared my compost with them. I am going to miss seeing my parents almost everyday.....as we will be much further away when we move house. This is going to be the second time (the first move was for about 6 months, when we moved briefly to Bangalore in 1999) that I will be away from them. Yes, we will be in the same city, but I will not get to see them as often as we do now. That hurts a lot, because I have not been away from this area (where we live now) and them since I was in school, which was a long long time ago! The pain is much like a new bride's bidai.

I am going to miss all this and more. I am going to miss my comfort zone. That is what I am grieving about I guess. But in the same vein, I can see some possibilities. Possibilities that make me have faith and renew my trust in the ways of the Universe. Perhaps this is a time for me to explore some boundaries with myself and others. Perhaps it is a time for me to let go of some other things that I have gotten too comfortable with or been holding on to. Perhaps it is a door to other possibilities that I had not even dreamed of. Who knows? And do I need to know?

Yes, I cannot raise a garden in the house we move into perhaps, but I am going to keep my mind open to the possibility of doing that somewhere sometime in the future. I am going to try and continue to compost and segregate garbage and share my compost with others, instead of using it in my own garden. I am going to try and save seeds from the veggies and fruits that we eat, like my son suggested to me. I don't know why, for who or for what, but just want to. I am going to see more of the silver lining in the clouds and enjoy and honour both - the cloud and the light behind! I am going to try and see a garden in something else. I believe that if we look deep enough, we can.

And yet, I am going to dream of being up in the hills somewhere someday and build my own little house of cob, with a garden around......I am going to dream of living in a caravan and traveling the country. I am going to dream.....because to dream is my nature as a human being.....to dream is to live....and to BE......HUMAN!

And Yay! I am not grieving so much anymore! :)

I want to see the Real You

I want to see you
stripped bare
of the many masks
you wear,
when I can see
the shine within
that lies buried
in the sanctum.

I want to see you
look in my eye
and speak
with your heart,
not with your smile,
when I can feel
the throb, the pain,
that trickles inside
through your veins.

I want to see you
in the silent space
that connects
our souls, our cells
and our grace,
when I can be
just another you,
in the mirror we hold
to each other, true.

I want to see you
stand in the fire,
setting flame
to your desire,
when I know
that you love
beyond all that is,
the embers speak
of what is real.

Like Water

If I could be
like water...
plain, no colour,
yet reflect all
the myriad hues
that glow
inside
and outside.

If I could be
like water...
flowing, filling,
to take the shape,
of the vessel
that holds me,
with love
and grace.

If I could be
like water...
gentle and still,
roaring and strong,
becoming the space
where I belong,
always singing
a love song.

If I could be
like water...
filling hearts
as I flow along,
to where I belong,
my whole life
would be
an unsung song.

Like guava seeds in my teeth

Old habits,
old thoughts,
stuck fast
like guava seeds
in my teeth.

Annoying,
tiring,
they put to shame
all efforts
to move on; disdain!

Breath

where do you come from?
where do you go?
quiet, gentle breath
as you flow through slow;
I watch you flow
in and out -
you nourish,
you create,
you destroy,
you tout;
I don't know
your whereabouts,
but I know you are Life -
within, without.

Letting go

Let me rest
for just a while...
a dewdrop
on a dry leaf pile,
a bird on a branch
before it takes flight,
a raindrop that falls
before it runs dry,
a spark that lights
a warm fire at night,
the earth that binds
until a plant rises high,
Let me rest
for just a while...
before I hold on,
help me let go, inside.

In the line of fire

I saw you perched
upon a bare tree,
as dark clouds gathered,
a safe canopy?
I wondered how
you build your nest,
how you sit and wait,
watch and rest,
your home and heart
are in the line of fire,
but you worry not
as you surrender desire.

We are together

We are there
in the river that flows on,
etching its story
on pebbles and rocks
that change its course.
We are together.

We are there
in the wind that blows,
to create a storm,
lifting sand and water
that give it form.
We are together.

We are there
in the fire that lights up
the water and sky,
to destroy, to create,
a melting pot of all life.
We are together.

We are there
in the earth that stands
a witness to history
while we arrive and depart,
to give it life.
We are together.

Dance with Life

"Come, dance with me!"
You beckon -
and take my hand,
as I learn to move
with You and dance;
my heart grows wings,
a new joy rushes in,
when I lose myself
as if in a trance;
Time stops and watches
as we romance,
Life is beautiful
when we learn how to dance!

You walked on.....

You were raw and young,
and full of life,
when you were thrown unawares
into a desolate storm;
you did not give up,
you did not walk away,
you lived life,
and you walked on....

You were an untouchable
when you were gravely ill,
a self-imposed avatar
to shut the world out, to look within;
you did not give up,
you did not walk away,
you lived life,
and you walked on....

You were a man
when you surrendered your youth,
to feed and care for a family
that looked up to you;
you did not give up,
you did not walk away,
you lived life,
and you walked on....

You were a leader
before your time,
the world praised and frowned,
as you stood your ground;
you did not give up,
you did not walk away,
you lived life,
and you walked on...

You are my father
my hero, my guru -
while I faltered and wandered,
you held me close to you;
you did not give up,
you did not walk away,
you lived life,
you walked on...

Today when I think
of the things you've done,
my heart yearns to sing
this wonderful song;
"you did not give up,
you did not walk away,
you lived life, dear father,
and you walked on!"

Bound by Judgement?

I have been thinking about this a lot lately......can we as humans really stop judging people completely? What is the link between intuition and judgement? How can one stop judging another when one is constantly in touch with oneself and tuning into another? Is it really possible to stop judging oneself and another?

Where I stand now, after much churning and pondering is here -

I don't think it is possible to not judge someone, simply because it is in our nature as human beings to judge and make meaning of what we see, feel, think, touch, hear ourselves and another person do. But what I think is possible is what we do with the meaning that we make. That is where the shift happens I feel. If we can judge someone but not take stands...if we can see and listen to what they are showing us or making us feel, but not bind those by our own beliefs and values...if we can trust that they are there in our lives at this moment for a reason that we may not see now, without wanting to hold on or set them free....if we can see them as a stone that causes ripples in our stream of thought, but not worry about the stillness being disturbed......if we can BE with them with our whole being in this given moment, without any fear or worry about the future...then, I think we will all be FREE!

Play Me

I am the viola
as You rest on me,
now drawing, now plucking,
life's vibrato, I feel.

I am the flute
as You caress me,
giving in to You,
life's flow, I feel.

I am the drum
as You dance on me,
rising and falling
life's crescendo, I feel.

I am one with You
as You play me,
resounding with joy
life's song, I feel.

Stained Hands

I wish I didn't
have to wash
the stains
off my hands,
that speak
a thousand stories -
the mysteries,
the struggles,
the joy,
the pain,
of creating
with mud,
with paint,
with ink,
with mudras -
a language of love,
a song of the heart,
an oddyssey of the mind
with no end or start;
I wish they'd stay
in the stains,
in the lines
on my hands -
to speak to your soul
without any words.

Shraddha

When every word is a song, every move is a dance, every emotion is a remembrance, every thought is an offering to the divine; then everything becomes a manifestation of deep gratitude, unshakeable faith, utmost reverence, unquestionable sincerity and unconditional love for what is...an act of "shraddha".....where the purpose of the act fades into oblivion, leaving behind nothing but pure, innocent love that fills up to the brim, overflowing beyond oneself and into everything else that surrounds one's self!

Rain!

the heavens open
to bless the scorched earth,
colours awash
amidst water and dirt;
splashing in puddles
a little child dances,
an old man frowns
to wipe his misty glasses;
a crow darts across
in search of a hearth,
leaves drip and chatter
as rain washes the earth;
my heart longs to fly
to where the earth meets the sky,
to soak in the newness,
and hang old thoughts to dry.

The Journey

To me, this whole journey is about keen AWARENESS....where one stops, watches, accepts and understands everything that comes one's way .....and we are all just at different stages or points in this wonderful journey, with each of us as signposts - reminding, showing or presenting different choices....what we choose, how we choose and why we choose is completely up to us I feel....and there is no right or wrong way, better or worse way...as we are not going anywhere really!....we just traverse diverse paths to reach our own selves - exactly where we started off...
If we can celebrate every connection, every choice, every view on this journey, I feel our journey would be more pleasurable and wonderful.
Thank you all for being a part of my journey.