Post Card from a photo

 

 

 

 

This post card was made by a dear and very talented friend Kenny Allen of a photograph I had taken of a tea picker while visiting the lush green tea garden in Nuwara Eliya, Sri Lanka.

 Thank you Kenny!.

 

 

Life of a bird.

      Two pigeons with cherished dream,

strive in the scorching heat .

They gather twigs and build a nest  on a tree top.

      She  lays an egg and he gathers food,

fluttering  back and forth in sand and heat .

She then sits  in incubation,

watchful eyes keeping vigil, day and night.

   Then ,one morn, with a change of heart ( or mind)

she leaves the egg forlorn .

Instant, four snarling ravens

 devour  every bit discarding  just the shell.

    Timid pigeons ,witness the scene,

helpless! hopeless !

Life that they hope to raise ends in a second.

                                                        JULY 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tribute

Heart rendering gratitude to you, my beloved swami,

on your glorious 89^th !

Complete surrender to thy will is my earnest desire and pursuit.

At thy divine lotus feet I offer, devotion utterly pure

and pledge  selfless service to  all in distress.

You, who is infinite bliss, in whose refuge is peace,

my  ‘Premaswarupa’,  in you I seek to be

and attain liberty.

                                         23/11/2014

WINTER SONNET

     Far into dim oblivion

Have the rainbow shades of yester years faded.

That final short conversation,

In reality a confession

 hauntingly remains

as lingering reminiscence.

     Eyes now are wary for want of a glimpse,

Palate bland of taste.

The mind is a vagabond of thoughts

And the heart questions,

‘Will there ever be  summer ?’

12/11/2014

Thoughts

Through silently fleeting moments,
through  mundane life's chores,
through calm and cacophony,
through actions seen from the wide glass of a window,
THOUGHT  takes flight ,
soars high,to recall that smile, those stolen glances
and bring momentary happiness!

Identity!

Identity

 

The silent hill now speaks in unison,

 

she's  the mother with  children gathered , seeking a roof,

 

for, strange  it is to be an outsider in one’s own home ;

 

to be questioned of identity,

 

and, to have to explain  ethnicity, in one's own country.

 

The air now is anguish and anxiety,

 

complacency  was tested to the brim,

 

the hill  endured  all disgrace with grace,

 

now, in  dignity, she demands  

 

 deprived right and identity!

 

                                                   Written on 14/8/2013.

Ep

No, no words are needed,

Not  physical presence either!

Just the memory of  stolen glances,

 the chivalry of holding doors,

the searching look and the gentle smile,

is by far, enough! 

Blood

It was blood, your blood,

pristine , crystalline  ruby

that  adorned my palm.

Yes!  you  oozed out blood,

your energy , your  palpitation , your  life force

and, in all generosity, gifted  me

but  in a dream.

Wish

Soul wished to speak to the soul,

awaken divinity

and unlock the  Universe.

But, the gross mind

wrapped in ego

shut the door

and, instead asked,

‘Do you need help?’

Life

Every  moment an appreciation.
The eyes see ,
 the mind fathoms,
 the heart loves.
His creation, His wonder.
Life indeed is beautiful!

Door Keepers

You and I, we're, ‘door keepers',

each other's, ‘official tenders’,

an honor bestowed by the 'door';

gracious, merciful door,

that read the ’unquotable’ and graced this grace.

Lucky, lucky us!

Now, we exchange monosyllables.

‘Thanks!’ ‘come!’, ‘go!’,

that's our conversation

in a span of eight hours.

'SIREY BARA'

‘Sirey Bara’, that was how the villagers addressed him, ‘Sirey’, his name and ‘ Bara’, uncle; ‘big’ uncle to be precise.

He was a man of the village, rugged and rustic, whose permeated sweat   smelt of the Earth he tilled. That wasn’t his profession but a passion and hence done  with all the tenderness.  For the love he bestowed, in return he was blest with abundance. His harvest was always a plenty. It didn’t matter whether that particular year there was hailstorm, or drought. His piece of land was ‘green’ and bountiful come rain or shine. And, his generous heart knew no bounds. If not in the field he would be seen him with a bundle of his harvest of vegetables and fruit wobbling down the cobbled steps on his round of distribution. His list know no discrimination, it was kind of first come, first serve. The house nearest would get a giant’s share and the last, the least, but, he’d make it a point to give all. For little children, it was freshly plucked guavas, oranges or cucumber and for the ladies of the house, it was green vegetables, squash, red hot chilies, potatoes, tomatoes and pumpkin. ‘Sirey Bara’s sight therefore  was a warm welcome to all. You’d know he was coming from a distance by his loud proclamation. He had no refinement or gentleness, therefore, he didn’t speak, he growled! ‘Oi , la yo talai, bharkhar bari baata tipeko.’ (Take this, it’s for you, freshly plucked from the field). The village folks didn’t mind at all, they knew him too well to do so. He was a man with a heart of gold; his unkempt ways was not a bother.

 In return 'Sirey Bara' was served home brewed millet and rice liquor in plenty. By the time he returned home, it was dusk and his feet far more unstable. Sometimes you’d see village boys giving him a helping hand with a ‘dhipri’( homemade  lamp). However, the old man had his pride, the minute they tried holding his hand, he’d protest loud and bold. ‘Na chu malai, mo hirnu sakchu, bujis’ (Don’t dare touch me, I can walk, understand?’) Even in that drunken state he didn’t wish to believe that he needed help, ego reigned supreme.

Like any other man of the village his day started with a big aluminum ‘mug’ of ‘Chang’, (‘home made liquor of rice or millet) and like them, he didn’t walk, he wobbled!  He didn’t talk either, he babbled, because, by the time the Sun was in her full glory, he’d have gulped countless mugs of ‘chang’. That was his source of sustenance, untainted happiness and even satisfaction.  ‘Sirey Bara’ always wore a smile on his face. He didn’t care if his blackened uneven teeth that protruded from his parted lips frightened little children who’d run into the arms of their mother the minute he appeared. Instead, he’d shout, ‘Eeeeeeeeeeeey, yo ta  bhagcha po malai dhekhera. La, la yo tolai , na ru, na ru. Mo ta bara po ta hau!’ (He seems to be running away seeing me. Take, take, this is for you. Don’t cry. I’m uncle, you see.)

 He owned acres of land but was content with his rustic ways. The idea of progressing as the world understands never struck him. Had he desired, he could have made a fortune but such a thought never struck him. His intellect was always numbed under the influence of the brew that he so dearly loved.  His wife and children were kept within the confines of the village provided with bare necessities. They were beauties no doubt and often victims of exploitation who with the passage of time and experience learnt their own art of survival. Often you’d hear tales of his daughter’s courtship and elopement that stirred the village folks’ normal life spicing it up with hot gossip but Sirey Bara didn’t budge. His life flowed in natural rhythm, such ebb and flow were for the village folks to experience, not the ‘old man’.

Eternal he reigned for a good ninety years till icy cold death decided that it was time for ‘Bara’ to move on; he had had too much ‘chang’ and contentment in this world. Now, it was time for change.

The village today is a lost soul, craving to hear his ringing laughter and thumping feet, However, she’ll have to make do with just his memories.

The Whys.

India as is known is a land of many greatness; great history, heritage, philosophy, spiritualism, mahatmas and  gurus,  yet, after every trip home I’m left feeling  perplexed. The land of my birth with such rich history unfortunately, fails to provide me with the comfort and ease of home coming.

  Our great philosophy preaches of the land being an abode of peace and in stark contrast is reality.

  The minute you step foot on the Indian soil there’s noise, screeches to the decibel that paralyzes your senses. Yet to everyone around, this chaos appears natural and they are one with the flow.  

  While waiting to board the connecting flight, I seek for a quiet corner with a Reader’s Digest hoping to read but to my utter dismay this isn’t a place for reading. There’s a battle of announcements of arrivals and departures and movement your eyes can hardly keep pace with. People in my homeland it appears  do not know the ‘art of soft speech’, they either yell or scream. We don’t exchange friendly smiles, we glare or stare. Why I wonder, do we have to be so cynical and scared.

   To add to it, we have flies and mosquitoes in profusion desperate to seek  alien blood and patience. Sad but true, the first hour in my homeland is aching, my mind is a confusion and the brain ceases to think.  I muster whatever needed courage to board the next plane with a consolation that things won’t be that bad. Yes, things aren’t that bad, the view of the place that bred me uplift my spirit, every lane has a memory buried deep and I’m glad to be back but such a feeling is momentary.

  Day two is for running errands and that is when reality hits hard. The land of ethics and discipline lacks both in the work atmosphere. Ask for suggestion and you are given wrong advice, ask for assistance, you are ripped. For reasons unknown, there’s this lurking self centeredness. The first thought in everyone’s mind is to have the better of you since you are living ‘abroad’.

  Second point of disappointment is lack of work culture. There’s no sense of time, commitment, dedication and duty. You talk and take innumerable tea breaks . Taking breaks and passing work is working in the Indian context.

  Then you have endless list of holidays and strikes. In the one week that I was in India, three days were non working days; a fisherman was beaten up so the ‘Leftist’ called for a strike, the bankers were unhappy so their union called for a strike, it was Rabindranath Tagore’s death anniversary so his patriots decided on a holiday. And mind you, all of these were overnight decisions. No, it’s not important if your life comes to a standstill with these instant decisions. You are meant to be flexible and fit in; after all you are in a land of diversity.

  Organization , discipline and patience are ‘foreign’ words; the roads are a swarm of rickshaws, vehicles of all sizes , pedestrians, cyclists and ‘cows’ with everyone huffing and puffing to go first. No rules of any sort prevail. In a land of overpopulation the ‘me’ and ‘I’ dominate. No one wants to compromise or even consider.

  The concept of malls may have crept in but how about mall etiquette? Why does music have to blare? Why do announcements have to be made? Can’t our people read and understand for themselves? Why do we have to push? Can't we wait for our turn? Why do security people have to check at every entrance and exit? Why do sale tags have to be put when there’s no sale? And, why can’t people be pleasant?
 Everyone looks so angry…wonder why.

LORETO CELEBRATES

I dream.

I dream in ecstasy and  fantasy
I see a world of myriad hues,
a rainbow, a ribbon
whirling , twirling,
in loops and   hoops
I’m a chaste, cumulous puff, in the open blue.
I drift, swift ,far and beyond.

STUDENT MEMORIES

            

And Esther Rises

Yes, the 'phoenix 'has risen
 from the ashes, 'her' ashes!
Delicate, gray powdery residues
are now a 'golden brown,'
molded to perfection,
after the purgation.

The purgation was needed,

Indeed, it was.
How else would the 'purification' take place.
The 'redemption' after  repentance.

Endured pain,

was a 'purifying pyre '

that sanctified and brought forth

a 'burning transformation'.

Now, the dust no longer hangs lose.

Esther, takes 'wings' and sets forth,
for a sweeping  upward soar.

By the Pool

With the submergence of the thirsty soul

in  the soothing blue,

crystalline thoughts emerge,

floating in ripples.

They pulsate at the epicenter,
the vision is sublime.


Then, there's manifestation like a whirlpool,

gripping energy strikes at the root.
Mind battles the body 
for the emergence of supreme light,
the essence of life.

DEAD BIRD

In the mid-day heat of summer,

a bird dropped dead,

was  it  parched, starved, or scorched?

the reason-
mysterious for me, valid for the bird.

Lifeless it lay on the steaming concrete,

puny, gray thing,

 demure and delicate.
relieved to be released.

Soon, the janitor

dumped it in a yard

to decay or be bull dozed,

mechanical, dutiful act. 

Tiny gray bird,

her  soul escaped
unaware.

Coffee with an ALIEN!

‘Will you believe me if I say I had a chit- chat with an alien?

 Will you not consider me strange if I say I had an alien over for tea?

Will you accept me if I say I enjoy the company of the ‘other?’…

An evening on the lawn beside a faint, shimmering pool, the setting is calm and serene, gentle, soft breeze brings in the balmy, lulling effect. The rustle of the leaves and the hustle of cars are the only two noticeable movements. The Sun kisses the land on the horizon; birds head to their nest and men return to their family, the day’s chores are done, now it’s time to retire. In a distance you hear the ‘adan’, an evening call for prayer. Yes, it’s a perfectly set evening, a time for reflection, submission.

The scene is set, flickering flames of the perfumed candle fights a silent battle with the gentle wind that in spite of its gentleness is in an effort to devour the ‘light’. Mats are spread and the group finally comes to its actual number of 14. We sit in calm and awe, anticipating. There’s a kind of urgency and  unrest as to what the outcome will be, for the fourteen here are together for a different reason. No it’s not a kitty party or a social night of dance and merry making. It’s an evening of establishing harmony. We wish to acknowledge the presence of all living beings with whom we share this plane. In particular we’d like to acknowledge the presence of the invisible, see them in some form and establish a connection. We though uninvited have resolved to  enter their realm in peace of course!

Therefore, this evening is an extra ordinary one. The session begins with an introduction of each other, general queries on the existence of spirits, forces unknown, on life and the future of the world. Finally, with an invocation of the higher force, the delve begins. At first it is the conscious at play, we submit our selves to our mind, the highest realm of thought, then as it takes control we are gradually oblivious of our physical surrounding. Senses are numb and we as light as air balloons. We brave it to the world of unknown and it is indeed exhilarating. 

In the vastness of space, we imagine opening a door, walking down steps, twenty to be precise, and feeling the presence of ‘the other’. We are now in the world of the extra terrestrial. I  invite one of them, any one of  them to show me his/her presence . I ask for a conversation, the mind hovers back and forth, back and forth. Music that was set to play at the beginning of the meditation is loud and soft, soft and loud.  In the excitement of the whole event, I confess being distracted, therefore I do not recall seeing any form. However, the voice rung clearly in my ears, a voice of assurance and my hands were profuse with energy. At the end of it, there was a feeling of contentment and inner peace. 

To what extent I rely on my experience, I cannot say, but I do know that the feeling was memorable, a thing to ponder on and explore. With time, maturity will definitely be attained on the galactic, the aliens and the extra terrestrial.