GROWING UP - IV

                   INSIGHTS.....


And the insights slowly grew upon one ....

The music was always there. Its resonance however lived and reverberated only through our experiencing it. 

Each moment of bubbling joy or heartfelt grief, though poignant in itself, became eternal only when shared with another. 

A beautiful sunset could be enjoyed by oneself,  but attained grace only when gifted to someone who cared.


And so....




                   The Lonely Path to Togetherness




The music, when I lived it
Had no limits
Except the ones I set;


Though alone
The ones I belonged to were many;
And
The Ones I could choose to belong to
Were limitless. 


And then
In a moment of deep contemplation
And peace,
The realization:
There is no one I could not belong to,
No one really outside of me.


        *            *             *            *


And birthing from there
In togetherness
Those few moments:


My twelve year old son 
Sitting on my lap,
Holding him close, gently,
With my cheek against his shoulder.


And smelling him growing up
In his quick and genuine smile
At his seventh class teacher
Being promoted along with him
To the eighth.


Moments of quiet joy and peace
Shared, fulfilling.


A few moments
Of growing up together
And being at home.

Growing up III

                  
                        The Re-birth


And it came back with a rush ......


Tumbling over thoughts, over feelings, rushing with a life which was its very own. Without the need of any external stimuli it flowed out as words in waves of joyous expression! 


It was tumultous and unstoppable - flowing around and over barriers, free once again.


And infected by it, life and the people around, seemed to dance to the wild music that flowed from it. 


                The Flowing River

Then
It became in realization
And in its in-substantiality,
So vast , all-pervasive,
That within it
I could hear the joyous laughter
Cascading in a waterfall
Of fantasies, dreams, longings,
First becoming possible
And possibilities turning into realities.
Transcending all self-made barriers
Returning each to oneself
And beyond.


For mercifully
Human beings do not,
Cannot change.


And in our struggle,
So unnecessary, so human,
For domination, for survival,
The essence of being
Cannot be.


For though the drumming raindrops,
The blue-black sky, the twinkling stars,
The raging blizzard are without,
Their song
With its subtle haunting music
Elusive, uncageable,
Springs from within us;


An indolent gentle breeze
Enveloping, embracing,
Intermingling;
Creating, and in the act
Generating itself, becoming more.


An environment, unlimited,
Except by ourselves.


And yet 
It is not ours to own.
We, as a part of it,
Go way beyond survival or domination.
A part which always is
And will be.


And to hear 
And be part of the music
We just have to sit
And listen.

Growing up - II

A Melding....

Those were periods when the moments seemed to fuse into one another and there existed only a swirling darkness. And the sound of my footsteps echoed in the silence trapped within the recesses of that darkness.

The environment, the skies, the moon and stars did not exist any longer.

A gentle drape of quietness born out of nothing covered all.

And from all that nothingness came the birth of a new beginning....

Tendrils of a Root -

The Re-birth

From what was all around

And within

There came to be

The tendril of a root.

A coming alive of a part of me:

Innocent, frail,

Yet much stronger

In it's insubstantiality;

A part of the music,

Equally subtle, haunting, will-o'-the-wisp.

Fertile, virgin ground

As long as I could help it grow

Within it

The essence of the possibilities

Dormant within and around.

The tendril:

Within me,

And yet not mine.

Carrying within it the hushed sounds

Of the sifting desert sands,

The cadence of the raindrops

Drumming against the windowpane

Under grey darkening skies;

The turbulence of a snow blizzard

Cupped in the stillness and silence

Of the towering snow-clad peaks.

And the songs,

Flowing in the wholeness

Not of the self

But transcendental;

A linking with all life around.

* * *

And then

In the whirlwind of life

It got lost;

Leaving behind a sense of loss

Undefinable, undeniable,

Devastating in its permanence.

Life swept into a whirlpool

Deeper and deeper

Accumulating more and more

And being

Less and less.

A lassitude

Drowsy in the sleepy warmth

A desire to curl-up and sleep

And in that sleep

To wander and probe gently

Into the remnants

Of the lingering loss and disappointment.

* * *

Then

One day

When,

From an innocent sea of frustration, anger and despair

A tear welled out

Then another and another

To become a river flowing from four hundred sources

Soothing and cleansing,

It came alive

Soaring into the skies on the rustling winds

Carrying the hushed sounds of the sifting sands,

And the haunting, subtle, will-'o-the-wisp music;

To be heard once again...

Growing Up - I

The Teens...


From the gentle caring shadow of a mother or a doting father it was a gradual movement away into an alien environment. We had all seen the power, the strength that was wielded by the elders and this had nurtured the desire within each to grow up and be like them.


And yet what was happening was all too different. Unable to understand, we had come face to face with uncertainty for the first time in our lives. And we had not yet learnt to cope.


The fear was stark - it was a period of raw vulnerability.


For some who had the strength of an emotional security handed down through generations it was easier. For the system of values was almost a 'kavaj' - an armor.


Almost....It was easier, yes, but the uncertainty still had to be faced......




                            NOSTALGIA


The long walks
Alone.
Hunched in a greatcoat  
Against the cold.


Learning to be alone
In an adolescent wilderness
Without adolescents.


Learning in those years
To be with myself.


Moments of searing loneliness
Shared
During those walks 
With the deep blue sky, the stars,
The waxing moon,
And the echoing footsteps
On dimly lit streets.


The beginning of a communion
Which was to last almost a lifetime.


Coming to know the music
Subtle, haunting,
With a will-o'-the-wisp presence;
And the slow blending into it
Of the skies, the stars, the moon
And echoing footsteps,
Weaving an invisible fabric
Of peace, tranquility and harmony.


Never realizing the gentle, quiet threads
Invisible in their incandescence
Which flowed into me from the two brightest stars
In my galaxy: 
Loving, protective, encouraging
Nurturing 
And letting me grow up into my own self.  








Photo: Courtesy - Night Colours by Rasins

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.