Shared moments of joy, intangible, lack physicality and yet have a strange power to create bonds that go beyond space and time. They generate a sweet-sour ache, re-awakening old memories lost in time and an unstoppable urge to go back and walk those streets once again. 

Or just lose oneself in the grandeur of a heritage preserved over centuries or just sit and  watch the twinkling of time reflected on the waves as they drift by. 

Innocence rekindled...

From across the seas I watched
As she ran over cobbled streets

Arms akimbo
Reaching out to clutch the clouds
In the azure skies above.

I saw her
Leaning over the bridge parapet
To wave at the sailors
Atop barges
Riding the waves below
Laughing as they waved back.

Amorphous, vapor like
Her undiluted joy

Spread and scattered.

Free and whole of and in itself

It glistened on each blue-green wave

And rode on the winds

Touching all that lived.

A linking

To an innocence long lost

Rekindled

For those few moments
That were spent together.

The last refuge

To let go...

It is a place to rest, a place to let go and rejuvenate. 

- To allow the fast flowing waters to cleanse us of the dead or the dying - loved ones, our unfulfilled needs, wants and desires. There is much to discard, to leave behind in this river, the waters of which as so many say, remain forever clean and pure.

Carrying our burdens of grief, pain and sadness we light earthen lamps, diyas, and place them on the leaf-boats of the holy peepal tree and to let them float away on the rushing waves as they flow past the banks. 

Legends have it that these help light the wave home for the souls of the departed. Each such diya bobbing away on the waves carries within it remnants of the pain and grief that has accompanied each passing and is now cast away into these waters. 

For dreams that died and unfulfilled desires too, this becomes a final act of  giving up and letting them go, to let the fast flowing waves carry them away to their last places of rest. 

This watching of each such diya rush away on the fast, turbulent waves of the Ganga is the bidding of a final goodbye to all that is gone - and with it, tired and spent, when we immerse ourselves in the cold water of the river, we let go of  any vestiges of remaining regret, emerging refreshed, rejuvenated and perhaps with a hollow feeling, an emptiness, a void which only time will fill.  

March 8, 2017.

Let these moments of quiet weave themselves into a mantle of silence and take us into its fold.

Let the peace from this silence flow into our being.

And wrapped within those folds, when all else disappears, we will sense the stillness and within it, the essence of the music of all creation.  

The Silent Music

When the sound of the water

Falling in a cascade
Overpowers all other sounds
Of violence, fear and anger
And then slowly gentles
Itself,
Will the silence speak.

In the cacaphony of life
And the roar of its anger
The rhythm of its soundless music

Dissipates 
Like an uncared fabric
Worn bare.

Let it be alive
To grow and evolve
So that we may hear the music
And learn to live again.

July 19, 2016

                     Keepers of Destiny

A friend gifted me a tiny booklet on a winter afternoon in Dehradun.

Those first few lines by Vivekanand, touched me somewhere deep down and have clung to memory since..

“Education is the manifestation

                            Of the perfection

                               Inherent in man.” 

                                              

                       …..Monsoon Rivers

The sky is grey and heavy                                                                                            

With the rain in its womb

The first few drops hesitate
And the rest follow in a tumbling rush.

I watch
The drops hit the window pane
And trickle down in streaks
Flowing with gay abandon.                                                                                           

Like children rushing to play                                                                                    

The streaks sparkle, stop suddenly on tiptoe
And change direction…

Slippering across                                                                                                           

Without constraints or boundaries.
Masters of their own destiny.

In the soundless stillness                                                                                       

There is only the sight of raindrops                                                                                

Falling on the leaves                                                                                                   

And shaking them in the rain.

I feel the tug of their exhilaration

And in the whisper of their silence

I hear their rustling laughter.

The fragile fabric of hoarded self-illusions                                                                          

Fragments in the wind                                                                                               

And the song of the monsoon rivers                                                                  

Echoes through the falling rain.                                                                                                 

The raindrops wane                                                                                                                   

And the rainbows peep out                                                                                                       

To dance on the gossamer spray.

          *         *         *

As the monsoon rivers                                                                                                      

Seep into the earth                                                                                                               

They whisper:                                                                                 

“Nurture and sustain                                                        

The tender little shoots

Hold them gently

And give to them of your warmth

For in their tiny palms

They carry their childhood                                                          

And cradled in their innocence

Lies the oneness and the freedom

We all aspire to be.”

                    
       

                  In times to come when they are grown tall

                       And walk their own path

                             We will watch the rain and the wind once again.

                                   And be what we have always been:

                                                 - Keepers of our own destiny.

July 1, 2016

A Parting...

there was never any beginning and there will be no end; 

except when the two meet.

                         

                             "the first step is not the journey,

                                the journey is not the destination,

                                       and yet

                                               where i want to go

                                                       it all becomes one....."

haridwar   -  and a boat of leaves

The current was swift.

Soft peepal leaves

Woven and stitched into a boat

Decked with flowers

Carried the flickering flame.

It danced on the waves

And swirled through the waters.

Holding within our prayers, grief and pain.

The evening aarti glowed

On the opposite shore

And dark shadows moved across

The rushing waters.

The flame, tear-like, 

Glistened once on the wave tips

And was swept away

In the gathering dusk.

The consigning of grief and pain

To the sacred waters

Was complete...

Only the memory

Lingered.

Your journey with us was over.

It was a letting go,

A giving up,

A cleaving away of the carpace

Leaving behind a vulnerable emptiness.

Along with the river

The memory of our togetherness

And the journey flowed on...

December 31, 2015.

                                               .......Departing Stars

The grief of the passing of a close one ebbs reluctantly. One can seldom reconcile and stop grieving. And yet the passing is an undeniable fact of life that touches all our lives.

And being so, the belief that it is not an end but a return to the never-ending peace of one’s origin, uplifts and gives solace.

Sometimes written words lead to the unspoken, creating bridges into the realms of knowledge unknown ... 

Unsaid Goodbyes…

I did not know that it was a parting

And we would never meet again;

That I could never hug you

And feel the warmth of your love

Hold me close.

We never had much

And I wanted to give you the world.

Never knowing that

My being there was enough,

The pain of unsaid goodbyes

Lingers still…

Now 
In the cold winter evenings
When the chill winds freeze the air
And the dew turns to frost

I weave another memory of your love

Into the tapestry of our time together

To keep me warm…

October 20^th, 2015.

An Amber Evening

It was a pre-winter night with the lights and shadows moving with the breeze on the lush green grass. The amber liquid twinkled in the glasses. On the stage swaying figures danced to the music. It was a heady mix of the old and new. The company of close ones gave it an additional flavor tinged with nostalgia.

It was the cocktail party prior to the wedding.

The Ocean Around Us…

The grass is still green 
And there is a bite in the wind
Winter comes.
The moon still shines.
And I have heard the music,
The laughter of children 
And in the quiet of the shining stars
And the silence of the night
I have no regrets.
I have lived and loved
And held destiny in my palm 
And let it go.

The legacy was not mine to keep,
But belonged to all who have lived
And loved
And still do.
For it carried the nectar of bliss,
And eternal peace
Ever flowing.
We could sip from it 
And it would not diminish.
It was a subtle fragrance,
A whiff of eternity, here one moment
And gone the next.
Not ours to own,
And yet there to tap into, to nourish and sustain..