A Tribute to all Bua's

During the time of our fathers, relationships were an unspoken bond and strictly hierarchic. The eldest's word was law and everyone obeyed. It was a time of joint families. 


Days would start with the early rising sun and end when the kerosene lanterns were lit. 


Culture and tradition ruled and duties were paramount.


It was in this environment that one's values and beliefs were forged to later on become a way of life.  


The self-imposed structure was a limitation and a strength, all rolled into one. 


Nothing much changed during our time. 


The same values and beliefs endured; to support and hold us up at times of loss and pain, and to bind us whenever we became overwhelmed by the craving to be free and soar like birds in the blue skies above. 


Within our self-ordained structure of duties we could do as we pleased.


And within these, all Bua's always had a special place.... 


10th Feb, 96
                      
                                  The Woman in White


A sense of time and a call
With a realization 
It was time to go.


No one knows for certain 
Yet for some the knowledge manifests itself
As a deep and poignant longing
To meet the ones you care for.


              *          *          *


Frail, yet autocratic
Almost a queen
As she had been earlier.
She had a rigid code of conduct for herself
Yet totally flexible for the ones she loved.


Today 
Dressed in sparkling white
She dances under the towering bunions.
Each sparkle a star
Shimmering in a song
Which was her very own,
Serene, quiet, insidious.
For she loved each one
With the passion of a mother.


For us now as we are
What remains
Is what she was and will remain:


Particles in time
Scattered with the loved
Each different
And yet hauntingly similar,
Treasured, honored and joyously alive
Generating a legacy
That will not die.


               *               *               *

June 2011;


Another journey came to an end
After a travel
Of more than half a century.


Today
The dancing statues
Stand forlorn
And there is a wildness in the grass.
The dahlias droop 
Shriveled in the cold winter frost.  


It is said:
She is at peace now
And her time with us was over.
She is gone
Leaving deep and strong roots behind.


And we wait
For when the spring comes
The flowers in her garden will bloom
And the grass will come alive
And the birds will echo her song to the winds
Once again.


             

Ramgarh - the re-visit

Dec 30 ~ Jan 3, 2012.


It was during college that a close friend had shared:

"Bau, you know where I live there is this house on the top of the hill. It is my dream that I live there one day."

And after graduation he not only fulfilled his dream but went on to achieve great things in life.

And so it is with many of us.

As children we want all that life can give and more. Nothing is outside the reach of our wants. As we grow up the barriers build up restricting our thoughts

And yet anything we really, truly want with all hearts will always be there for us.


                      


 The House on the Hill

From Gagar:
The snow-capped peaks
Stood glinting and sparkling in the winter sunlight
Far away in the distance.

It was a state-welcome making us proud.

As I looked around
There rose a sudden tinge of melancholy
And sadness
At the mushrooming concrete all around.
Then the feeling
Fluttered like a trapped bird and faded away.

It was a wilderness under domestication.

And seen that night
Was the beautiful and deadly
Orange garland of death
Glowing as it smoldered and flickered in the darkness
On the sloping hills across:
A forest fire was in the making.

           *                   *                    *

A note of discord;
Had something diminished, changed?

Intuitively:
No!

The intangible:
It lived and was alive.
It was the roar in the sound of the fire
As it burned brightly in the fireplace;
It glowed in the flickering flames
As they rushed up the chimney;
It was the sigh of the wind
As it blew through the pines;
It glistened
In the early morning frost
As it lay covering the canopy and the grass.

It was the substance of nascent dreams
Rising like the floating cumulus clouds
From the soft murmur of the flowing water far below
To touch the blue skies above in benediction
And love
Giving birth to aspirations and dreams.

Then
Softly shaping them into reality.

And as I sat quietly on the grassy hill terrace
Under the gentle warmth of the sun
Looking at the rising smoke
Of the dying forest fire on the slope across
It quietly seeped into my being
And became a gateway
Leading me by the hand
To those islands
Of tranquility, peace and harmony
That lay within.

From that repose
I watched as the moments flowed by
Weaving themselves into a fabric
Of endless time
Just flowing on and on....

             *                *                 *

In this land where legends dwell
Each dream or aspiration fulfilled
Becomes a pathway
Leading to these simple miracles of nature:
The smell of the pines, murmur of the streams,
And whispers of the wind
For us to experience, cherish and preserve.

And as we share it
Our wants, aspirations, desires dissolve
And we become a part of it forever.



This is for good friends and excellent hosts:
Rajen & Anjli; & of course "Mata's Prerna"

 
  

RAMGARH - The Visit

It seems a long, long time ago...

It was a coming together of many things that changed those moments and that period from the common-place into a fairy tale.

It was as if the grouping of families, ages and the swaying pines created an instrument for the blowing winds, the mountains and the snow covered peaks to string those moments into a song.

In our different ways we all heard it.

With some it stayed and with others it took wings and flew away into the valleys from where it had been born .....

to lie in wait for the next coming together... 

Jan 9, 1996

                                   
RAMGARH    -      30 Dec '95 ~ Jan 1, 1996


Gagar - a few shops and the road
Winding down to Ramgarh.
Hot tea in the biting cold
Gazing at the snow-capped peaks far away.
The sight - awesome and stark
A poem beyond poetry.

The terraced mountainside - denuded
As far as man could reach;
And beyond covered with green conifers
Whispering to each other
As the wind blew through them.

In the silence between
And in between
Could be heard the soundless gurgles
Of the river of tranquility
That flowed all around.

And the young yearning to be pioneers
Busy terrace climbing
And going for a walk - Where??
"There...."
Pointing to the tiny thread of water
Flowing over the rocks a thousand feet below.

A windswept afternoon framed by the clouds,
Bitterly cold.
A drizzle of cold rain, very cold,
And within each drop
A flake of snow, pristine,
A truth of nature
And a promise for the future.

The pioneers at lunch,
Rushing out to collect each flake
And watching it melt away
Without sustenance in their warmth.

The evenings - warm
Cosily wrapped in the sound of the roaring fire.
Or watching the stars twinkling above
A reflection of the stars
Twinkling in the valley below.

Each alone
Yet surrounded by the warmth of others...
We were home.

Sitting here now far away,
With memories of the elation,
The physical exertion
And the peacefulness thereafter.

And before leaving
A sharing
Of the sound of the wind blowing:
A sigh? A moan?
Difficult to describe
Yet an apt epilogue.

The deepening darkness and gloom,
It descended on all when we left
Carrying with us
Experiences
Of a tenous linking of people
Time
And nature
Vital, yearning,
Gentled by the the stllness and the vast silence
That was Ramgarh.

A symphony in harmony.

The Gosammer Link....

I sat quietly remembering my youth when I would lose myself in those periods of intense gloom. It was like walking unending alleys of mindless sadness that led nowhere - walking aimlessly without any direction or destination. 

People around, parents, family, friends would cease to exist or matter. 

Intrusions in those periods by the ones who loved me would cause an eruption of senseless anger. These were periods of acute frustration without cause or reason. 

Pulled out of my reverie, as I sat watching my daughter and her friends having their party,  there occurred a strange understanding, a gossamer linking of their youth and my memories....

19th Dec '95

                

                                      MUSINGS    

Blithe spirits full of vitality , vigour,

And the spontaneity of youth,

Dancing to the music of Whigfield, Rednex and Re-mixes.

Beyond religion, rituals and dogma,

With only their wholeness, complete in themselves;

Confident, vibrant and without any fear in living life.

And yet with their own doubts, questions.

What do I want to be? What should I become?

Abilities and aptitudes at times in conflict.

Their yearnings - deep, poignant penetrating.

An ache rising from within

To pierce the skies.

And longings and desires:

To tear up the green grass in the meadows.

Their dreams and aspirations

Fragile and hazy in the mists of youth;

Yet 

Alive and very real 

In their confidence 

That their dreams and aspirations are.

For each one 

We have objectives, aims and careers

Well defined

Rich in wealth, power and happiness.

As parents, guardians, elders,

If we can,

Let us share in their aspirations

While we live ours.

To share

And become a part of their environment;

To first be a friend.

For only in understanding

Can we be a teacher and a guide.

Not to impose;

Rather help them find

Themselves.

If they stumble,

Let us keep them from falling;

If they cry in frustration

Let us allow them to;

Yet only as long as their tears are healing.

Let us listen and share in their heartaches,

Their joys.

Let us give to them the only treasure

We have without limitation:

Ourselves.

Without impositions, demands,

Freely and with our love.

Let our dreams be:

To cherish them and nurture their aspirations

And in their moments of realization 

When their closeness

To omniscience and eternity

Gives them a glimpse of Truth

To

Without fear or conditions

Set them free.

For though we are the wellspring,

The stream

Has to become a river 

And flow into the ocean beyond.

In setting them free

We will not lose them.

In their shared aspirations 

And love

We will become a part of them

Forever.

The most selfish act of our lives

Yet leaving them with the freedom to be

And present to the miracle of being alive.

               *               *               *               *

A corollary:

If possible look beyond:

Wives, parents, sisters, friends and relatives;

For each stream 

Carrying twinkling moments 

Of shared aspirations and love

Which becomes a river 

And flows into the ocean beyond

Brings each closer to oneself

And fulfilment.

For the destiny of each one

Is pre-destined:

Oneself.

Only the time taken

And the path

Varies.

The Shift.....

As children we were quite often given the puzzle wherein there was this picture of a sardarji. And we were prompted to find the girl in the picture. I remember the exquisite thrill when the pretty young thing appeared suddenly in the picture for us for the first time.

It was the first 'Eureka!' moment truly coming alive in our lives.

It is something to experience rather than learn.

Once it happens you look forward to other such experiences. It becomes an eager wait for us till the next such moment arrives.

And then, sometimes, in the day to day existence for survival we lose our ability to feel...

Alive Again...


Earlier my journeys into myself
Confused, uncaring, accepting,
Directionless.


Fragments of an earlier time
Of living within and yet sharing without;
A period aeons past in memory
Natural,
Flowing into a sea of tranquility:
Alive, joyous, creative;
And then something happened;
Not suddenly, 
But gradually over the years......
Why?


The acceptance of the realization:
Perhaps,
It was just a part of growing up,
Inevitable, natural, not to be undone.


          *               *               *


Now
In these moments of heightened awareness
As I journey into myself,
Walking up the sloping hill
Reaching the peak
To see the mist snuggled cosily 
In the folds of the valley below,
I become the first beam of sunlight
Gently warming it awake.
And it wakes with a flurry
Rising up into the lightening sky.


Far below I can see the silver thread
Of an undulating stream.
A part of me not known before,
Or perhaps lost in memory
And reborn today.


And the cave still there as before:
Dark, foetid, fearful.
Fear not of the graveyards
Or the terrifying beings of a child's imagination
But fear of doing, of being,
Of inadequacies, of doubts and uncertainties,
Imprisoned within those moments of
"What could be and what could have been."


I am yet unable to keep my knees from trembling
When I came face to face with these fears;
Yet
I also know
That soon I will speak the words:


"I say and so I will."


In that moment 
I will touch, feel, smell, see and hear them,
And one by one they will flow within me
And become mine
In completion.


No longer fears -
Rather inadequacies become adequate
And doubts dissolved 
As if never there.


For within one
Nothing dies.
Moments once lived, never change;
They become eternal as they are.


Only perceptions change;
Different facets of the same truth.

The Yellow Sands and the desolation......

BITS Pilani - 1966...

The desert sands stretched as far as one could see. The road meandered through the yellow dunes, rocks and scattered thorny bushes. Stunted keekars stood like lost sentinels guarding that emptiness.

Drip irrigation was something only read about in articles on Israel and still a long way away in the future.

The oasis of the campus consisted of buildings with typically colonial arches and faded yellow and white structures. The gardens though were lush and green. The trees with their red flowers spread their branches over neatly laid out roads.

Unknown to us, each moment there was an experience, forging links that were to last a lifetime. Time and distance had no essence in this closeness that was developing. The strands forming the bonds were flexible and could pick-up and let-go at will. These in the future were to form the basis of our relationships.

And thrown into that cauldron of life was also the intensity of youth. And it carried with it the un-chartered depths of anger, joy, laughter, despair - and a passionate search for answers to the purpose of life.

We would lie on the lush lawns of the Saraswati Temple, listening in melancholy to the throaty rendering of 'Mere hatheel Shyam..'

Or listen in the darkening silence to the resounding calls of the peacocks, lost in their loneliness, looking for a mate.

And the outcome from one such period flows below:

Life.... 1969?

Life

Like holes in the cheese

Cliche riddled.

Truths dusty and lost in the smog of years

To become half-believed

Half truths.

It's like sailing on an emerald sea

Of increasing stillness;

An indifference that nothing shakes.

And those islands:

Isolated pangs of remorse, joy, pity,

Of emotion and feeling

Decreasing

And becoming far between.

And finally

To lie still on the glassy sea

Like some ancient mariner,

Lost

Without his albatross

And to die

Of slow decay

In stagnation.

The Winter of '95

It was cold...

At nights the fog rolled in. In a few moments it would cover the trees in a cloak of white. All pervasive and silent, it would sweep over the roads reducing the street lights to a dim orange glow.

People walked the streets with their heads down, hurrying to the warmth of their homes.

The days were grey and damp. The mist fell in a fine spray gently covering the windshields making it difficult to drive.

And in that clammy cold there existed this warmth. Vital and full of life it was impervious to all and continued to glow. Akin to the room heaters with rods used in those days it enveloped people in its orange warmth. It flowed from one person to another carrying its glowing warmth in the form of words and gestures shared.....

Dec 28, '95

TO A WIFE AND A MOTHER

It started with an interview

Followed by stolen kisses,

And golden moments in the winter sunlight.

And then we were married

Two young ones on a honeymoon!

Today our married life has turned a half cycle.

We are older and much in life has gone by;

Yet much remains.

The yearning to weave the moonbeams

Into a garland for you

Has mellowed.

Over the times

A mingling of thoughts, of moments shared:

An intimacy beyond sex, beyond individuality,

Birthed a togetherness,

Yet leaving each an individual, whole and complete.

Today

What you give to us everyday

Is your love.

And you do it by doing.

You and your best creations in life

Fill me with deep joy and gratitude.

For today and now, even when away,

All three are with me and I am home.

For this and all that is to be

Let my love and our moments together

In tenderness

Be within you as life goes on.

For then

They will fill you with a sense of peacefulness

And tranquility.

And in the growing darkness of winter

When the fogs roll onto the streets

And the roads are damp and clammy

They will walk by your side and keep you warm.