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Sunday morning: ephemera ============================ The tea swirls brown at a movement of the spoon, the winter has come too mild this year: the crow caws questioningly – it fluffs its feathers to show it is prepared for anything. Sunday morning! Can’t let it go waste! I wake up earlier than ever before, eager for action. Twenty-one things to do – and I don’t know which one to start first. And I go into paralysis. Devang’s voice floats in from the other side “Put the fan on.” What do children dream of? What do they want from a day? Mama bustles around, worried, arranging things and her day – do we have lunch at the club? I had already prepared for lunch? Can you have the kheech for dinner? Won’t it be too heavy? Kakaji is fast asleep. Sufficient, smiling. Life’s ephemera swirls around creating permanent memories to dip into, in hours when nothing moves, nothing happens. Yesterday, spent a few hours with strangers who want to be friends. There is something primal about the desire to meet new people: like the desire to travel to new places: there’s a sense of discovery, but also of starting over, of putting up your best face without the grime of rancour and pettiness which every long-term relationship transverses through. Will you be there to share my pain as we share the pleasures of our evening? Will you understand my silences, the way you nod at the beauty of my words? What does it matter? For today, I look at the loveliness of the women who spend their lives for little girls who mean a world to them. I hear the short hesitant introductions of shy souls, who want to break out but do not know how. Life will, sometime or the other, help them understand that sharing is growing, baring is cleansing….I learnt it from friends who gave even when I held back, who loved even when I withdrew. I wish the temperatures would drop. I love winter, because you seek warmth all the time. You feel like hugging and cuddling – for once, for receiving you know you have to give. I know it will grow cold, but I hope – I know – it will never touch our hearts or our souls….ever… Cheers n warmth ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Night’s Muse ================== A wayward alarm woke me up. And a process of discovery began – First I found it was too cold: I dug deep into the covers, twisted and turned, and could not discover a warm enough nook. Then I lowered the speed of the fan, and a mosquito found me: it hovered and buzzed as per its wont, until I got up and increased the speed of the fan – enough for it to seek less airy crevices. And then I discovered, I was wide-awake…. So I started to write…I thought of the world, then my country and then Salt Lake, where I stay…. Salt Lake was at the edge of the city for years. People were afraid to come here for it was “so far away”, that you would topple over if you ventured all that distance. And so, it was miles away in universal sensibilities too: it was a drawback and one sulked: until one discovered the advantages, and found comfort in the distance. And then, it became a secret one wanted to keep as long as possible. It’s a bit of a town, made by sunshine. Winds luxuriate in its broad avenues, and streets often have petals lying undisturbed long into the mornings. In summers there are puddles of color beneath the summer trees: orange shimmers below the gulmohurs, yellow below the chandelier trees; the lavenders wave at you from high above: after all, something must always make you look up. Winter rolls in here days before it does ten kms away in the city: that little icicle which goes into the throat early in the morning. Coughs and sniffles abound in the house, and sweaters and coats are put out into the sun – which progressively gets paler – and more welcome. Life’s the same – here, or elsewhere. But if you know the difference, you can smile more often here. Continents away, fires and floods disturb someone I discovered a geological nanosecond away. She writes a haiku resplendent with the ecstasy of love; and I can sense the pain of loss and longing she is going through. Saw movies from Israel, Mexico and the USA these past few days and discovered a simple truth – we all seek the same love, that touch, that hug which says “I care”, and the memory of which fills those empty spaces of life when you search for meaning…. The night has its own intoxication: its deep, fruity and velvety in the mouth. One does not want to let go of it. But there’s a bed with a sheet undone. And a morning, which needs to be woken into. And a day, full of promises to keep, but also – full of promise… Love and cheers ~ ~ ~ A Sunday morning in the gardens of Victoria Memorial --------------------------------------------------------- This fine morning, with the cuckoo above our heads and the crows flying around crazily, I discovered a truth. The truth that ran like a thread through human lives and relationships. The truth which said that people who are destined to come together will, the ties which bind people will bind, and strangers who will become friends will. As the gentle breeze shook the leaves and left shaking shadows on the ground, I wondered at the miracle of life and the faith of people, of what draws people together and makes commitments where there are none. Why should each one of us be here? For ourselves, of course. What will keep us together? Our belief that ties which we build should not be broken. Why cannot people and cultures and countries come together like this? With open hearts and minds, with no suspicion or rancor. With no desire but just to be together, sharing, talking about experiences and living together in total happiness and harmony, small slices of our lives. As the loudspeakers let out instructions, we sat beside the silent waters, which had the Memorial shimmering in unsinkable beauty on it, writing; for today that is all that mattered. What is there in this moment but to see the words pouring out beneath my pen and the breeze in my hair and the sun on my shoulders. This morning of waking with the dawn, jogging into the fog, hitting the ball into the nets and the small arms of Devang around my neck ? Papa, five minutes more.? What does rest of the life mean? What does yesterday mean? All that matters is the singara in the fluttering plastic bag, the chadhar on the grass and the fact that I write and am living and breathing words today, at this moment. Where will life take me tomorrow? Where will the winds blow from? In this city of loss and loneliness, whatever one gets has to be held close to one?s heart, for it is the gift for today, and tomorrow may never come. As families converge beneath trees, in front of me, showing off their sons and daughters, for marriage, for alliances, for barter or for sale, fixing deals for the future, seeking desperately for that right and commercially right relationship, I find myself drifting far away from them. For me there is no tomorrow, no deal, no commerce, no right, no wrong, all that matters is this morning, this fine fine morning... Sign in to be able to view sunilb's guestbook and friends list!
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