Old Sliver

Today I came across my old silver rings and bracelets and other silver stuff. Silver that has turned black. The rings I wore as a teenager.. stuff that defined my spirit then. I always liked gray more than golden. It has a depth I used to say.

One particular rose ring that a silversmith created for me and a silver pen; I found them again today after a couple of years. I keep them such that I find them again after every some while. It reminds me of those times I wore silver. The younger me had more layers sometimes I feel. Silver would make me feel that the metal is able to reflect those dark corners in my mind, those blanks in my sentences, those poems I left incomplete. The gray said it all about me.

Today sometimes I find that old silver and wear a ring or two for sometime. Every time I keep it back. It doesn't return the spirit I once had. It only gives me a memory of what I was.

:)

I don't know what life was like before I became a mother on 18th May, 2010. I used to blog then.. and if nothing at all I miss that element of my earlier life a lot. I will not blame it on time or the toddler who was a baby once for not letting me blog. Some experiences are too fulfilling and leave no space for words to fill in and explain how it felt.

I can't explain the tear that rolled down my cheek when I heard my son's first cry.

I can't explain how good it feels..

But blog I will..whenever I can.

It takes strength to create and stupidity to devastate. The waves called me out. I have been listening to their rhythm every night. The waves missed the rhythm of my beats. Long hair open, running free like the ocean foam grey in the midnight. Feel of the sand under my feet again..footprint or no footprint..I was there at the sea last night.

Lost

Do you feel lost in your own lane sometimes? The block had a home, your home somewhere down there. You return back home one day and realise you are lost in your own lane. You can't just find the home at all. It is maybe like you have outgrown your old t-shirt. Your home has outgrown you, or you have outgrown the home.

I am not returning today. I am on my way to a discovery. Is it the wooden twigs that I need to find for the nest or is it the hollow in that bark? Or maybe if I look harder I might find myself in some lost time with some lost home.

I am not returning back from here. I am on my way to a discovery.

I will be there

23rd November, 2009

I will rest under the flowers in your meadow.

Under the green young blades of the grass and the flaming yellows of the orange flowers

That way I can be with you even more

I will be there in the dew drops on the lotus leaf in your pond

In the wind that warms you with the morning sun

I will be that single ray of sun that travels across the white thickness of the clouds and touches you every morning.

Bring me home

My beak under my wing
I can hear the raindrops on my roof still
the bright orange,cutting the sky
some shade of yellow I can see still

Bring me home
to the shade of green
to the warmth of a heart
the cavity in the tree bark

The color of my skin,
on the touch of my fingers ,
the walls of the house,
like my flesh and blood,
come alive.

Lost

When you hear from someone you used to know sometime long back in your life, it also means you meet yourself from another time. You left yourself behind to become the new you. It's not like you are sad about who you are now. It's only about how you wish you could have also retained the old you.

Sometimes it is also about how you could have done better then. The situation you were in that time and thought it to be boring and now treasure as a memory; you wish you could have done better. Today my harmonium teacher visited my parents place. He knew he wouldn't get to meet me. He knows I am married. He is 80 years old.I didn't have his contact details and couldn't invite him for wedding.

I spoke to him on phone. He was happy to hear about how I was doing. Then said that I sound the same I used to in school. I shouldn't have given up on music. To make him feel better I said I would sometime in my life pursue it again.

I know that person they are talking about. I remember the old yellowish picture.I know those fading black lines too well. If I hold a pencil again, I will be able to trace the lines.

Fight if you must.

People and their stories amaze me. Every time my maid gets beaten blue by her husband, I feel lack of education makes him the beast. She sits chatting with my mother. Home is where the hell is. Poverty, hunger, trampled ego at the construction site where the man works must be the trigger.

People like me only write about such tragedies on their blog. When things take a disturbing turn.. we write. What else do you do when you see abuse in a house of literates? Why does the Indian Male like to control? The manner is sophisticated in the house of a doctor or engineer. Words draw the lines and cut the wings. The women from cultured, socially accomplished families listen. The moment these educated women raise their voice they are disgraceful.

The woman has to be like that. Willing to sacrifice for her family’s good. Walk barefoot up the hill to please the lord. Sit submissively as the father-in-law roars senselessly. The woman as a girl was adored by her parents and thought as a thinking person whose heart broke too. For the love she feels for her husband and her parents she shuts her mouth. In the family of literates her career, hopes and self-respect are nonexistent.

What makes some of us so insensitive? Every person is born to achieve to her fullest potential. Why are we so fond of cages? I know someone who is in her fifties and loves her life a lot. She wears shorts and loves gardening. The minute that phone rings and the man is about to come home she covers herself in sari from head to toe.

Fight if you must. People who care will love you still. You bore a child. People say nothing is as painful as that. You cared for that life with all your might, as it grew inside you. You promised yourself you will never let it happen to your daughter.