Between Worlds

a butterfly
unfurls
her fairy wings,
waking up
forgotten flowers,
flitting between
two worlds -
encased
in the freedom
of what's real
and what's a dream.

A Losar Dream

5th March 2011

It was the most vivid and haunting dreams in all of my better lived and even better understood life; a dream worth sleeping over and waking up for. It stays on to haunt me even at day, at work, in the train amidst the multitude of iPhones, North Face jackets and snow bleached Ugg Boots, and through a child's banter, humming somewhere in my vague sub-conscious state. Images from this dream continue to talk to me, they shake and wake my armchair conscience, and attempt to awaken an excessively over- slept attitude to life and living! These images: the mountaintops in winter, torn prayer flags letting the winds flutter them higher, a rustle in the marketplace, shawl sellers bundling up their ware, young Suraj running up and down the street, and this time, he is wildly gesticulating about something else; No, he does not want us to buy him any food/rations for his family, no, not today! Near the temple entrance, a small flag gently gets unfurled and soon many more follow; a procession gets larger and larger: local Gaddi folks, cab drivers, helpers in guest houses, 'progressive' book/music store folks (also, the streetside hawker of copied Tibetan music and movie CDs!!), women in the elegance of their Chuba, holding toddlers with red noses by their waist, wrapping up all their unsold trinkets and impatiently folding the faded red tarp...

Lamas, young and old, come together in their smaller cliques; octogenarians still want to complete their thousand prostrations in front of the shrine, the old man gently twists more wick for the butter lamps inside the dark greasy room, and the prayer wheels keep whirling. A gong resonates and tears through every molecule of life around; everyone turns back to look towards Tsuglakhang, to the mountains and far beyond- they've always been told that that's where home is, on the other side, far beyond. Apprentices at Norbulingka pause from the intricacy of their Thangka and wood work, while children at the TCV school look to the blue skies. A youth unfurls another flag as the crowds wait in pregnant anticipation of what is to be said. His holiness and the Karmapa emerge as they touch every one, big, small and the infirm along the way. His smile radiates a thousand times more than before and once again reminds everyone of humility and selfless compassion. He joins his hands in prayer as he breaks into a smile; with his childlike laugh, he points to the mountains and beyond as he speaks rapidly in Tibetan. I catch a few words here and there... Nang, Pah-yul.. there is a long moment of silence and then the cathartic surge. The octogenarians prostrate right there, the young start whistling and dancing, and now there is no more shame in the tears flooding the beautiful faces. More flags unfurl, uneasy laughter spreads, the Gaddi folks smile and clap, in bowed respect for what feels like an eternity in a struggle; and for what now feels like the storm, after years and years of unsettling and unresolvable calm.

If this dream were to become true right now, Dharamsala will perhaps never remain the same; the momos will probably be steamed by local Gaddi women, and the butter lamps may continue to glow in the temple complex. Hmm, don't all of these images sound so cliched and overly romantisized?? Every Tibetan brother and sister reading this would so want to smile with their flawless compassion and feel sorry for me and my colorful dream. But then, as long as the heart stays alive with undying determination and yearns for home, there is hope that this dream will and has to become real some day, right? And, so long as we submit ourselves to believe that one nation cannot ever be held accountable for what it has done for decades, can we still go to sleep and wake up and continue to mindlessly wait for this dream to turn into reality? Sure, we all need to move on, do things at our own pace, make our peace and let our circumstances define our actions and inactions. To me, this Losar is not just another new year, but with hope that this dream presents hope; where everyone can wake up to listen, process and believe that standing up for yourself is simply no longer enough, you really need to stand up for someone else as well. And this is for you, Tenzin Tsundue la, Wasfia Nazreen, Ritu Sarin, Tenzin Sonam, Jigme Norbu (Disclaimer: name-dropping here, oh, so wish that I knew them personally!!) and thousands of other Tibetans and those living and dying daily for the cause: I wish for you that you don't ever stop believing in the spirit of Losar amongst everything else that you so selflessly do in your lifetime!

~ Sowmya Sunderarajan

Sowmya is a rehab counselor 
during daylight 
and a life searcher 
through nightlight,
with solace from words.

I had a dream...

I had a dream
a long time ago,
born from a poem
called Dover Beach....

I was standing upon
the white cliffs of Dover,
on the broken edge,
on a full moon night -
a white rose kissed
by a white ribbon spray
tied the primordial knot
of uncertainty;
and the grains of salt
thrown up by the waves
who renewed their vows
to a moon-dusted shore,
sanded my taut skin
like silver stardust
blown through eons,
to wake me up to
a self-forgetting score;
and then I heard
the wind coax the waves
to rise and wash over me
with their melancholy,
was there an escape?
I wondered too,
from the slow cadence
of our human misery;
but the moon still shines,
and the waves part and meet,
as I stood upon
the lonely cliffs of Dover,
where a seagull called
as it learned to fly,
held by the wings
of a virgin earth
and a pregnant sky.

That dream
came true
last night.

Dream Catcher

why do you bleed dear Sky?

when your friend goes down, but for a while?

your heart does speak in many hues,

orange, purple, gold, red and blue;

do you mourn the poignant end today?

or do you hail the brilliant star that held sway?

who will you remember, when the last star is gone?

who will you wish upon, when a new one is born?

will you be the eternal mourner?

or wait in faith for the elusive dream catcher?