My precious you!

 

My precious cup of tea – I’m sure I’ll love you till eternity

You comfort me when I’m sick and cold,

And I hope you’ll still be strong & around, when I’m weary and old.

Blue and white, waiting on the shelf, I knew instantly you were to be mine,

Of the set of 4 that I had bought you with, only you stayed

to make my mornings warm & cheerful, my evenings a comforting delight.

When someone holds you, I always try to dissuade,

Will they treat you with the love and care that I do, I’m always afraid.

Your delicate look belies your strength and age,

Not a chip or crack and I’m grateful for that, may your beauty never fade.

Blessings for you to shine, sparkle and preserve your blue

My tea sure tastes best when it’s with you – you add that flavour to it, don’t you?

 

Rains in Mumbai – perspective

The roofs drip waste,
peeling plasters flutter in the wind,
as the asbestos sheets threaten to come crashing.
The stench that defines this place now washed away,
the by-lanes are mini streams and hold a threatening sway.
One room houses, jam & jostle beside the drain,
the temporary tarpaulins covering the roofs, offer little resistance to the rain;
the bricks to stop them too feeble to fight,
just like the people inside.

We fight our battles everyday for a bit of food and shelter,
that offer no comfort for the ill and sick – they might as well have been on the street.
The choking gutters, spreading out our waste like valuables for all to see,
the dampness dampens our spirits, pervades our being,
this claustrophobic slum life in Mumbai is our misery.
Yet, you’re always welcome,
Oh beautiful rain! Your pattering drops momentarily dull our pain,
the accompanying wind tugs at our clothes and our troubles,
isn’t that why we find him so lovable?
As the thunder clouds gather, we feel our spirits lift,
our faces upturned with expectation and smiles,
we realize although a burden, life is still a gift.
And in those precious few moments,
we know we are equal in the eyes of nature – she treats us all the same.
Rain – the life giver!


The privileged
From the cosy confines of my verandah, I watch the rain as my maid serves me tea,
I snuggle deeper into my wicker chair, knowing I can pull out the awning if it threatens to wet me.
The spray off my whitewashed railing wets my face, the gentle breeze grazes my cheek,
I breathe in the scent of the earth, this moment precious, gives me the peace I seek.
The sea in the distance dances her joy, her waves leaping up to touch the drops,
I sense the play and the glee of the firth, one can hear the roar and the joyful mirth.
The sky is a deep hue, the trees verdant green, the earth deep brown, the hitherto dusty leaves sport now a sparkling sheen;
The birds watch from their in the nests, the dance of the plants in the pots,
all the living – old and young, yes we’re all besot.
And for a while all life pauses, to pay homage to this wonder called rain.

(The rain from the perspective of the rich and the poor in Mumbai)

Like a river

I flow, not because I know where to go,
I flow because I need to flow.
I’m restless when I’m bound,
I need to find my rhythm, my life’s very own sound. 

Maybe I know where to go, but I’ll also go where the path takes me perhaps,
To explore some newness, an adventure maybe as I run down that steep valley,
and then take the curve to dance, to take the longer way home, to meet someone by chance?

Sometimes through a shady nook, as I slow down to rest;
the forest embraces me, we spend some time and she sighs, “oh stay”
I laugh, gurgle, and I say with zest,
“See those  boulders, rocks, and grassy patches beyond?;
they’ve been calling out to me all day”.

And so I continue through jungles and flat lands,
to smoothen out a rough stone, to water out that young plant,
to touch your life the way only I can.

 

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To lead a full life, lets be open to  experiences!!

 

My love that follows no rituals

In India, there are many traditional rituals centred around the well-being of husbands. Wives on these designated days, fast from dawn to dusk without consuming even a drop of water. They spend the day praying for the good health and prosperity of their husband.
The region I come from also has this ritual, but I have never celebrated this day in 17 years of my married life. My husband has never once questioned me. Not that I would do it if questioned, but somewhere its credit to him that he has not had the expectation neither felt the need for it.
Love is a feeling that evolves, or rather has its phases. Some days I love him more than most, other days I could be upset and unhappy with him.
I’ve often thought about my love for him and questioned myself especially on this day (almost every year) as to whether I should follow it? Would it make my love for him greater? Would it make it lesser? Would he like it? Does it even make sense? Will I resent it later? Does it prove a point? I’ve only wondered so far, hence I’m thinking maybe I should just try it the coming year. What do you say? 😉
Here’s something I wrote this ‘Karvachauth’ – the designated day this year –
I’ve often wondered why I don’t fast for you,
Is it because I don’t love you as much as other wives their husbands do? 
But I pray for your well being and happiness all year through.
Your friendship gives me strength, takes away my worries, and I have much less to fear.
Our talks, plans of travel and little celebrations, make the mundaneness of life, a lot easier to bear.
Our challenges, our achievements and limitations, with a little compromise we overcome all of it together.
We may not be perfect, but we understand one another,
I accept you as you do me,
I don’t say it often and neither do you, 
But we know the love we share is true.
We walk together through life – literally and figuratively. The feature image is a picture of us trekking together in Nepal. 

Nature’s call

 


 

The first night at Dayara Bugyal was turning difficult. I had been debating for the past 10 minutes or so whether to get out in the cold and pee. After a glance at my watch, my mind reasoned and won over my complaining body, that I would need to get up as it was only 4 am, and that since it was 2 hours to daylight, it made sense to get some more sleep which was possible only after relieving myself. So I struggled out of my sleeping bag, wore my gloves, zipped up my jacket – cursing my age and the related physiological needs, (watching the rest of the family cozy in their sleeping bags made me more miserable) and opened the zip of the tent. My grumbling mind was stunned into silence – there in front of me, were the Earth and heaven in splendor. The calmness of the moment – is impossible to describe, but I shall make an attempt. 

Day was breaking and while there were no rays of the sun, it wasn’t dark either. The wind was blowing gently and silently across the meadows of Dayara Buygal. A blanket of stillness engulfed the whole universe – the stars were still visible, but the sky was now slightly alight – and the silhouette of the mountain range in front of me was striking. It was a moment like no other. It was as if I had been given the opportunity to watch quietly the interactions of nature – as it stretched and shook herself out of slumber. Slowly, flowingly, gracefully – like a little girl still asleep, stretching out her arms above her head, smiling gently to herself – in the midst of a beautiful dream. I walked out enchanted and somewhat hurriedly with my camera to ensure I didn’t miss another moment of this beauty. And when I stood up silently gazing at the mountain range, and feeling the wind grazing my cheek, I felt PEACE. A moment of calm, stillness like no other – yet not solitude but of oneness with nature and infinite peace.

The call of nature forgotten, I reached for my camera and tried to capture what was possible or was this the real call of nature? Take a look at the pic I took.

Morning Blog

Visible are the Srikanth peak and Draupadi Ka danda. Dayara Bugyal is a 4 day trek in the state of Uttarakhand, India