Trouble is up!

 "Poor elemen

Elemen got boo-boo

Poor elemen

Elemen pink

Elemen go walkie?

Dora come

Elemen go

Dont cry..

Dora cry..

Mommy! Mommy!"

"Argh! Why is there a child in our house?!" Peter groaned in the master bedroom. Neil was not the types to stir.

"Someone please stop the cries!"  

Peter's request went unanswered. 

"Mommy  Elemen

Mommy Dora boo-boo"

" Oh! That's my child!" Realization hit Peter. 

Parenthood was new to Peter and Neil. Eight years of paperwork after revolution, Yes votes. Even more effort into being recognized as responsible parents. The savings needed. Neil had bit down the humiliation and stayed in his job just for Dora. Somewhere in the fight, Peter forgot the end goal. He was not ready to be a mom. Neil loved children. He loved Neil. But your own child? That was so far from his own comfort zone.

"Ma..... ma.. ma..."

Marriages are just painful. Where was the partnership when you really needed it? Peter was groggy and irritation was waking up in him before his brain was. He saw the clock turn the numbers to 3:00 AM.

"Why 3:00 AM?!

Do children come pre-programmed to wake up in the devil hour, or are the horror movies real?"

Neil, snored. Peter knew his sleep was now a dream. He sighed. Accepting his reality. Not all acceptance needs to come with grace.

The cries were now in F-sharp.

"Alright. Alright!" 

Peter stepped onto what he thought was solid floor, but the sharp pain shooting up his foot said otherwise. 

He screamed matching Dora's F-sharp. 

"Fucking Danes and their god-awful Legos!"

His curses followed him to Dora's room.

She stood holding the slats on the crib. Her big beady black eyes in their narrow eyelids held just one drop of tear precariously. Her straight black hair, messy with the stirring in the crib. She held her pink elephant in her right hand. Her pink and blue onsies matched the bedsheets dotted with elephants.

At the sight of Peter, she resumed her cry.

"Mommy mommy Dora boo boo"

"Yes sweetie, mommy is here." Assured Peter picking her up. In his half draped navy robe Dora found a spot to snuggle. Her snot warmly dripped onto Peter's shoulder.

Strangely Peter didn't mind. Eight months on, Dora finally had chosen to call Peter and Neil mommy. Both were happy with just the acceptance. Whatever the parent they were, she was finally their daughter.

Tonight he was happy that all he had to do was hold her. And soon Dora fell asleep in her mommy's arms.

"Yes sweetie, sum of all my troubles you are. Now go to sleep."

Peter was a happy mommy.

To my dear EX

 I sure wasted tears.

Many a nights in fear.

A life without you. Unimaginable!

Oh! The future, the loneliness. Terrible.

Faint signs at the start.

Your words could cut my heart.

Guile was mastered to an art.

We were falling apart.

What wasted times!

The end was milk and limes.

Cacophony, fights, woe my precious prime.

Even this poem has better rhyme.

Sure, you will say you are better.

I never knew such an expert quitter.

At size XXL, you claim to be fitter.

Your kind words sour and bitter.

Ah! look. Thank goodness I got away.

Leave, don't leave, perennially I would sway.

Air fresher, life lighter, better days.

Goodbye! Live! Don't ever cross paths - I say.

Let's talk about Emma

He was not ready. He knew she was upset, but not in a million years would he have guessed Emma would be the cause of any trouble in his life. He was bewildered and at a loss of words. Well he wasn't at loss of words, just that any word would spell doom for him in this present moment. Jenna was in one of those moods. He was sifting through his list of escape tactics in his mind. His aloofness was starting to drive her up the wall. Her growing impatient had reached her foot and it started tapping ominously against the tiles. 

Tap, tap tap, tap, tap tap.. 

Time was ticking, he knew it, more he delayed, more volatile the situation was bound to be. 

He felt parched of words, parched of spirit, parched in general, stranded in a desert of the right thing to say.

" Baby..." he started.

" Baby.. why do we have to talk about Emma?". He looked at her sheepishly, large puppy eyes should have diffused the situation, but not today.

"On a first name basis are we?" she knit her bows so tight, her hands fishing, defences engaged, missiles getting ready, waiting for a trigger from him.

Oh! SHIT - was all he could think to himself now. The sirens were blaring in his mind. Fidgeting, sweat pooling in unspoken places. 

MAY DAY MAY DAY! - He heard his alter ego and his sanity huddle into the imaginary situation room. He knew she was wrong, but he would dare not utter that phrase unless he wished an early grave for himself. He decided to use sweetness as his last defence.

"Baby, I was 15... Emma was the poster. 

She means nothing to me darling. 

If I had met you, I would have never seen Harry Potter. 

You are so much beautiful than Emma, honey. 

You are a complete woman, you are independent, strong, talented and drop-dead gorgeous. Baby, you mean the world to me. 

You complete me." He had even used Tom Cruise on her today. He bravely looked at her.

She burst out laughing! 

He had been played! 

They both laughed. His more nervous. 

Was it really over, or was it a practice session? He would know soon enough.

Brown soul shoes

 Everything was suave and chic and a good dose of bling. Glamour suited her. Every word uttered was precious reinforced by the thumbs ups, the likes, the hugs & kisses. All virtual cheers, all showing the world how wonderful, charming, cute, happening she was. This was her world. She ruled this space. She mattered. She was the trend. And she wanted more.

She sat up on her bed hugging her knees in indecision. Her pink sheets with unicorn motifs complimented her new silk jammies. The coordination was deliberate, designed and well executed to look effortless. A hip song of some man and his car being the largest in the city, of him being the dirtiest man played loudly in the background. Her short-shorts were the newest on the block with the ripped back pockets. Save few threads, the structural integrity of the shorts was a point which was under deep research by some physicists.  A lock of hair protested in her hands and she won the battle putting it aside and taming it with a clip.

"What to donate?" she  declared to the empty room. 

"Right, lets see .." Pointing an imaginary gun at the series of cupboards, and aiming at each row and making  mental note. 

She felt magnanimous. She could already see the poor girls wearing her super-trendy clothes and feeling awesome about themselves. She thought of giving up the green one, the one with gold prints.  Oooh! the purple ones with silver fishes on them, everyone would love those! The cause was floods or fire or something in some part of the world she had never heard of. That never mattered. She would ask her manager. Maybe she could pack some water-proof gear that were so-oh!-last-year from a brand that had troubling image these days. Their lead designer was caught with some child. That fool! He ruined a good contract for her. 

Her thoughts switched through her wardrobe faster than light could reach the corners. She remembered them all. That was her special talent. She was lucky with picking the next trend. She looked good in everything! 

Her moderate fame and jingling posh money had given her the confidence she never had. Her own narration however varied from reality, well rehearsed and well vocalized a million times even before she ever got to narrate her story. 

She had already made herself the princess Di of our times. This donation, with the right coverage would put her on the same career path as Oprah! It was about playing the game right. Keeping the right image.  But, that's the thing, all the jazz aside, true character shows through the shoes you wear. Her true character lay hidden in a box. Still stained with grass and pigsty stains. She hid those shoes, too common, a dull brown, too country. They reeked of a the country air, fresh and green and unscented of Chanel No.5. There was no character to them, too innocent looking, especially the discolored light pink threads that made her fall in love with them the first time. Too guilty to part with her true self, betraying all those who put her here. Nana who gave all her savings for the trip to the city and Marcus who promised to wait. 

As she scrutinized every nook and corner in her room, she never touched that corner. Even as she piled and piled things for donation, she deliberately ignored that part of her soul. 

Hidden in a large cardboard box with gold motifs and light pink hearts lay those shoes. Those shoes loved the sun as much as her. They could hear the rustle. Many days had past, months or years, The shoes couldn't count. But, they waited with patience for a chance to step on soft grass again, breath fresh air again, feel the muddy scents again. Though they detested the filth of the pigs, but after this much time away, they even missed the scent. They lay there, hearing the rustle, hoping it was their day. They missed her little feet. She had very tough nails. She never cut them correctly. They might have pushed back on her nails with an intent once or twice. They did not regret that at all. One should know to cut their nails!

More rustling.

They became even more attentive. Closer than ever. 

Thud!

She was surely very close now! They tossed and turned and tumbled. They were ready for their moment in light again!

They found themselves rolling, banging against the walls of the box.

The light never came that night. Silence gain. Somehow it was warmer tonight. But still no light. Their heart sank, aching to be on their ground again.

Tonight, she lay there, curled up, on the pretty pink unicorns and her glossy silk jammies hugging her shoe box. Far more tightly for her comfort.  Still not ready to admit to herself that she wanted to go home.

The square

It was daunting to walk across that square in those first weeks. This square lay in the middle of the city, surrounded by a place of god, and behind the place of law. The gray imposing walls matched the gloomy, gray Irish skies more often than not. They grayness was a far cry from the crisp,warming months leading to sultry Indian summers that I had just left behind.  A sunless chill hit me every time I walked through this square. It was not as much the square, but that it led from a very broad, open streets to a series of alleys. At the first glance, it always felt like a dead end. Whenever I walked into this square, the street seemed to narrow in on me and the dark pubs and alleyways exiting the square made me feel even more claustrophobic. On most of those early days, backed with the weight of prejudice and typical Indian upbringing,  I could feel my body tense with anxiety of an impending attack by a wayward drunk. I would scurry along, in a hurry, to get out of there, reach wherever it was I was sleeping tonight, back to warmth and bright electric lights of my current AirBnB. Temporary accommodation days.

Two years, to this St. Paddy's day, I could remember my trip from India. My entire comfort zone was packed in my 23 Kilo suitcase. It felt heavier with the memories. Scared, determined for a new start I had left my life I had known and built over 30 odd years. I swiped and swiped through the old albums I had scanned in the days leading to my departure. It was a desperate, last minute attempt to pack all the memories of my entire life on the 15 GB free space provided by Google. Sadly, there is no storage for Amma's idli, cutney and kaai haalu (coconut milk side-dish, sweet and fragrant), or for Anna calling me "Putta (little one, I am 30+, but my dad still calls me that)! Putta!" every morning, or for the baby smell from my 3 month old nephew. 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw and heavy cloud part and blue-green waters appear. Then, I saw the emerald island. Much of it is blur now, but not the friendly banter of the immigration officer. 

He asked -"How ye doin'?"

I almost blurted my entire life history and emotional health, surprised by his kindness to actually care about my well-being. I would learn over the years that this was very Irish, you are not expected to reply to the question at all, simply consider this as an exaggerated hello, and ask the same question back, and say - not too bad if you feel too energetic that day. 

Even before I even summarized my life history in an audible reply he went on.

"Oh! You here from India, are ye? Here for  much sunshine?"

I replied, despite my internal doubts that a wrong word here could send me back home, worst get me arrested! My sarcasm leaks out when I am nervous. Despite my best efforts, I heard my sarcasm replying.

"Ya... and I am here for sunshine & warmth for sure". 

We both laughed and I warmed up in my heart under the four warm layers for the first time since I had left home.

I was in Cork, Ireland. Walked out of nearly empty airport, saw nearly empty streets, swaying drunks here and there. Wondering if I was truly in the most drunk country in the whole world. No, it was just after Paddy's day parade. I was lucky I got a taxi! Irish flags were here and there. I tilted my head 90 degrees and saw Indian flag, felt a little relieved.

Slowly, warmed by the heater my kind AirBnB host had left on for hours expecting me, I realized I am finally in Ireland! Enthusiasm filled me, I looked into my little notebook where I listed all the things I wanted to do. Then, the fear of being in a new country with new culture took over. Over the next days, the enthusias­m would wax and wane in a battle with anxiety and fear. I would walk across the gray square on the way to work, coming across many strange faces, still unable to discern their features. Being an Indian woman,  I was trained in stranger-danger. I would stare down at every stranger, especially a man with laser-eyes. A warning look to not try funny business. Strangely I got a -" hello! how are ye! ", at times. I was left bewildered. Did I know them? Was I expected to answer to strangers? My instinct would blare out my mental alarm system - STRANGER-DANGER!! Do nothing! Do not engage! Do not look! Walk away as soon as you can!

Who would have predicted that I would come to love this Irish quirk of saying hello to all. You never knew if you were running into a cousin here.

Another Paddy's day is here, two years on. What changed between now and then is perhaps time, and me. Last Sunday, I found myself walking down the same gray square. There are far fewer people for a Sunday, thanks to the lock-down. I look up at the impressive church and the swanky Sunday crowd catching on local gossip after Sunday mass. On other days I see the neatly pressed suits and stylish dresses of the litigators out for a smoke behind the courthouse. I look ahead and invariably taste in my mouth the sweet, sour and nicely spicy, hot pad Thai from Malay Kitchen, closest thing to homemade rasam (spicy, tangy and sweet broth soup from South of India, very specific to each home). In one of those narrow streets sits my favorite charity shop, Irish cancer Society, showcasing all of my current fashion sensibilities. Many a winter nights have been spent in the cozy pub Raven, around the corner, with warm people having a bit of craic. On this Sunday, I find myself rejoicing the blooming daisies in the little garden of St. Francis church, on the corner of the square. On my previous trips in these two years, ever so often, I have run into a friend or the other, or made a new friend here. I have enquired of many a strangers on how they were doing, without expecting a reply. How very Cork-ian of me! 

I am going home this day. It is warm. Spring is here. Home, not an AirBnB, well lit and feels like my space. I see another face, fresh off the boat. Much like my two-year past self she is scurrying along this square, avoiding eye contact. She gave a sheepish smile of familiarity to me. I returned a big smile, knowing exactly what she was going through, having an imaginary conversation with her, telling her- "It's going to be fine. You are going to be fine. You are in Cork now. Give it a little time. It's all going to be grand."

[The opinions here are mine and mine only. I do not intend to offend anyone. This is not a reflection of any class of people. The writing here, is in good faith.]

Festive feasts

 

I could hear the plonks & clanks in the kitchen. It is the wee hours on Ganesh chaturthi - the festival of the elephant headed god with a bursting stomach. 

"Shree!" Amma is calling.

I sneak in deeper into my blanket. I am awake, but I just want to snooze.

"Shree! Wake up it is 6am already!"

"Argh! Why do I have to wake up at 6 am! Why do Indian gods have to have everything at sunrise." I protest from my bed. Arguing with Amma. Hoping my reluctance annoys her and she lets me be.

"Shree! You need to wake up before the pooja (prayers) start. Clean up, wash take a bath. Come help me out."

She never needs my help & I don't want to help, I wish my sister was never married, I would have another lazy soul to compete against.

Its 6:30. After a few more reminders I am up. Oiling my hair. Readying for a bath. There are rules. Dad is donning the silk panche (dhoti/ waist cloth) and a shalya (shawl). He looks handsome as ever. Mom is still in her nightdress, which has been transfor­med to the holy clothing which is clean & pure to cook the food for gods in. 

Mom hands me my new festival clothes. She keeps them with the ceremonial vermilion in the bathroom.

"Don't touch them till you have had a bath Shree!" She reminds me.

I am ready. I bow to the gods. I feel pretty. I am signed up as a solider and help dad and mom with odd jobs. Mostly dad. Mom has always been a one woman army.

Hunger is difficult to battle. It has been six hours since that sole glass of milk, a poor substitute for my daily breakfast. Why do Indian gods like hungry cranky devotees?

Ah well. I can smell the fried sweet stuffed flatbread. Now I see fresh fruits. So difficult to listen to dad chanting in Sanskrit all the glorious names of the god when all I want is a bite of all the food on offer to the gods placed inconviniently in front of me.

Dad says the last chants. Mom and I stand besides him looking perfect in our new festive clothes. We are missing my sister again. 

He blows the conch, sounds the bells and ends the prayers.

It is now time to feast.

The banana leaf is laid out. Mom serves everything. I am overwhelmed. An hour back I wanted it all. Now I am just too tired to eat. 

All that changes the minute the sweet payasam (rice pudding) touches my lips. I eat in the order I am taught. rice pudding, spiced rice, rice with lentils & ghee, the chickpeas and pomegranate salad, beans, fried papad followed by a generous serving of sweet stuffed flatbread with milk. The list goes on.

I cannot eat a morsel more.

Amma serves rice and curd on my banana leaf.

"No more! Amma!" I look pleadingly at my mother.

"Eat Shree. Today is festival." 

My protests are in vain.

Slowly, steadily, sometimes forcibly, I am done. I wash my hands & clean up after everyone reluctantly.

The banana leaves are in the bin.

I sit now, solidly, resonating with the overfed elephant headed god with my full, nearly bursting tummy. 

Thinking to myself, with satisfaction - the best feasts are the festive feasts.

Summer Mangoes

 I ran shouting -"wait for me! wait for me!"

Disappearing feet were all I could see.

Feeling the pebbles under my naked feet,

sweating, rushing in the sultry summer heat.

Panting I looked around. No one.

"Anna! Seetu! Anyone?" My heart sinking hoping for someone.

I would not cry, I am big now.

No. No! Amma will hit me, I have to hold my tears somehow.

I walked and walked to the lonely mango tree.

In my moment of privacy, I let my tears free.

Under the shade, a line of ants.

Up in the tree the sun enchants.

Thru my burning eyes, I see them bursting with life.

Green, a tint of yellow. Five for me, for them five.

Mouth is watering, Oh!  The joy!

They left me, so now, only I will enjoy.

The green one.. bitter skin, but the electrifying sourness!

Oh! I look back at that mango tree with a mischievous fondness.

Just perfect

 This was during the time we could be part of a crowd. That was a long time ago. I knew my life was perfect. The year would be perfect. 

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

After tonight...

Just the previous week, I had made it to my perfect job title with six figures on my part check. 

I had made it.

I was that guy, tall.. ok.. 5ft 6 is tall in a lot of Asian countries.. smart. 

My gold plated, 24 diamond watch that absorbed sunlight. My new red car with horse power to blow skirts off.

She was the one last important piece to my perfect life. She could manage everything. A perfect compliment and a trophy on my arms. She could write from our apartment if she still wanted to. There is no need for her to go to the shop. Very common job. Not needed once we get married.

She of course will say yes. Who could refuse me?

What a loss to all those exes who missed an opportunity in me. 

Look where I am now!

The clock was ticking. Everything was perfect. I was just waiting for the fireworks at midnight. I would ask her then with this badass diamond surrounded by platinum.

The moment came. She was not standing the way I would have liked her to, but it would have to do. No time to waste or the perfect moment will pass.

The fireworks started.

 I pulled her close to me and whispered in her ear - Honey! Will you marry me?

On cue! Perfect! Fireworks.. purple, pink, white, yellow and green. Shimmering in the diamond in my hand.

I was kneeling.

She would gasp and say yes!..

Any second now..

The tears didn't make sense.

She frowned. Looked right at me. Put her hand on her mouth.

Was she too surprised?!

She bent down and kissed my cheek. 

"Happy new year Mark! I am.. so.. sorry.. I guess we won't be seeing each other anymore.

I want to live my own life Mark. 

I hope you understand."

She walked away!

I still don't get it.. 

It should have been ... perfect.

A hug missed

    I never knew them before. If anything I ran away from them. It must have been the fear that I would expose myself if I indulged in them. There is always an armor, you see. And a hug would have pierced it.

    I was uncomfortable every time someone came too close. Was it my space, or was it my image that I was saving?

    Then, there was a period of chaos. All that was familiar seemed ghostly and all that was fresh was rotten. I struggled and struggled, to fix this decay. But like blight on an old oak, this had gone deep. My strength, my calm and what felt like my life was disappearing inside me. The only thing that stood was the strong armor I had on.

    One day I got a hug.

    I was too tired to notice it at first. Then the warmth flowed in and then the kindness. It felt safe, not because I made it safe, but because I was held in a hug.

    I knew then, I had been wrong and I needed many many more. They were warm rays of sunshine that helped life flow in me.

    Now, in isolation, in a pandemic with shorter winter days, when I need it the most, it is not there again. 

    I miss a hug.

    And I knew years without knowing what they were. And I hug my past self back and say - 

    "You have made it. 

    Good job you! 

    Now you can relax.

    Here is a hug for you."

Magical night

The fire had fizzled between them. She sat puzzled.

"Oh! It is coming again!!"

HICCOUGH

"Darn it!" She stumbled.

HICCOUGH

She drank whatever was in the cup. That felt better. 

The cat started to float away under the lights of the tree. 

The star was twinkling mischievously on the top. 

She was not sure what was happening to the cat.

Must be the broccoli she ate.. 

"Gas." She muttered.

The night only got stranger when the candy cane started to loose its stripes. It can't be called loose exactly, but started to change shapes. It looked like Mark's mustache one second and seal's teeth the next; and then spiky like it was electrocuted.

She rubbed her eyes.

HICCOUGH

One more sip. 

The star twinkled again.

She picked up the phone and called him. There was magic in the air tonight. Christmas was not the time to fight magic.

[Prose]: Shadow and light

Shadows are always beneath a light.
Shadows make light shine bright.

But what happens when shadow meets light?

One more day passed, feeling hopeless and defeated.

Nothing has been in my favour lately,

... nothing.

I have tried and tried to speak out. The frustration is building inside. I could scream, but I would only attract attention. I have become nothing more than a shadow.. ever present, just barely noticable.

Would you notice me if I was gone?..

There is so much I want to say, but words are.. not easy..

A little hope I see everyday, just a bit of light going past me.

I chased the light one day. It danced, it twinkled, it was bright.. sometimes mellow.. but always lit.

Do shadows and light ever go hand in hand?

There is always a shadow even under the flame they said.

I think they are right.

Shadows are essential.

I just need to rise from my doubts. I am needed, I am important. I just need a chance to prove it.

I seeked my chance, once.. twice.. many many times..

But..

But..

The chance doesn't come to me.. it's frustrating..

I am.. it is... Arrrrghhhh.. I need to get out and take my chances!

Yes! I must.

Today I will!

I will prove that I am what you need.

I got up from my dullness.. my feet were on auto-pilot. My pace quickened. My heart was racing. It was exhilarating.. a sense of purpose at last! I knew this time I won't fail.

This time I will make it!

I will prove myself.

I am stronger than this!

It will be obvious.. my worth.. I know it will.. it would be.. because it is me.

I saw the light, pulled it out.. but she seemed confused.. like she did not know me.

She will know soon enough. Of course she would. I have been her shadow for so long now. She needs me. In the rain, in the cold days to watch over her.

I will show her I am her strength. Once she knows who I really am, she will never need to be afraid. I will protect her light. I will let her shine bright everyday.

I tried to open my mouth and tell her all this, but she screamed. I muffled her scream. I tried to talk to her, but she bit me. I held her back. I tried to talk to her. But she was struggling, so I just made her immobile.

Now she was listening. Oh.. wait she is still struggling...

Ok..

Now.. she is fine..

I started to talk, but words seem to come out wrong. I waited for her response, but none were coming.

I checked, her eyes seemed closed. Skin was so warm and filled with her beautiful light. She was always radiant with life. That's what makes her special. Especially in the mornings when she wakes up. I have seen her, her most radiant with the little bit of sunshine through her windows.

I had to work hard for it.. her little glimpse.. I waited a whole week.. on long cold nights ..outside in freezing air.. but she warms me up everytime. My light.

Why was she not responding? I checked.. I patted her cheek again. My hands were smudged with something..

Oh it's blood. Where did that come from?

I am not bleeding.. that's good.

Her face seems ok. She is fine too.

But there is a small pool behind her.. oh.. oh... Oh no!

I..

She..

I didn't.. I wouldn't! ..

How could I?!

This is not ok.. it's not how is meant to be!

It was not me!

I would never..

Not in a million years...

She is my light! My light! I am supposed to protect her!

I will protect her! I will protect her!

I held her. I held her work both my arms. Surely.. surely my love would revive her.

I held her all night long. Her light burning dimly..

It was perfect to be next to her. My whole world was perfect. I have been longing to touch her for so long. Can a shadow touch the light?

I think I just did.

I am happy now. She is in my arms. We will spend the eternity like this in each other's arms.

Just me.. and her..

Just us. Forever.

As we sat like this.. her light was with me. I was protecting her light. I was surrounding her from anything that can take away her light. I was right where I should be.

I woke up. Her light was all within me. But, I still feel empty...

Shadows are always beneath a light.
Shadows make light shine bright.

But what happens when shadow meets light?

Shadow stays and out goes light.

[Prose]: New wrinkles

'I find sadness beautiful. I cannot tolerate people who are artificially too energetic.' I took a long look at his face, I might have attached too much meaning to his face. I might have attributed a deep instinct of human understanding in him, but they all disappeared. Any respect I had, was gone when I realized this man only saw skin deep. His comment was of someone with a sheltered life. Of someone completely unaware of what facing adversity meant. Don't get me wrong, everyone has a different scale of adversity, but some make you hardcore and some crack you right to the core. Through all of these, there is only one true outcome, the outcome of survival and living.

When adversity in different forms hits you, you are definitely unprepared. If something similar happens the second time, its not an adversity anymore, you are mildly aware of the motions and you know the process. Worse yet, you are familiar with the pain and the fatigue associated with the events. Life for a while becomes a collection blur of motions triggered just by the surroundings and the mind just wanders away tucking into safety of sleep, if one is lucky or worse yet a detachment from all reality. Going to bed and not falling asleep become a part of your life, because there is no use, you wake up again and again to the same nightmare. Slowly a lot decays, a lot of hard determination gets eroded, there are many stains on the pillow of muffled cries. It somehow stops mattering what is on the plate, and sometimes nothing really gets to mouth. This is when you have a luxury in adversity to switch off. You become much like a zombie, walking around without a thought, forgetting the purpose of the walk itself, wandering into unknown alleys. Becoming afraid of your own thought is much too common, because there is more doom heading your way, and you know it.

In another adversity, you cannot afford to switch off and walk around like zombie. You are not allowed to rest. You have to be in the moment, because something clings on you to suck the life force out of you. You are firefighting, in the most inefficient way. The fire is only mildly reducing, but you are dying due to sheer stress. Mind cannot think of emotions, you become hard, you become steel and in sometime you collapse. You collapse to a level you cannot get up anymore. In your mind are the images of the burning moment and the sense of urgency has not left your bones. You try hard to get back on your feet, but you collapse again and again. Fatigue of the situation has taken over your body, and the mind goes next. All the bottled up emotions come flooding in, they have metamorphosed into something malevolent now. Unable to recognize your own feelings you are shocked, you find yourself transformed into something bitter and hard and unfeeling. More than unfeeling, it is the inability to express the feelings, and your feelings seem to have been taken over by some force and twisted.

Either ways, at the end, you are not yourself. As much as you want to be, you cannot be. You miss the familiar smile that used to crinkle your face and reach your eyes. You miss the rare tears, that are not hot with anger.  You miss feeling like a normal person who never knew adversity. You miss dreams that don not wake you up with a cold sweat. You miss being normal. In many failed attempts to get back to being normal, you fake laugh, hide your sadness, or let yourself be sympathized and wallow in sympathy. You are frustrated, angry, agitated and just not yourself anymore. People judge you, but rarely see the effort in keeping appearances. Fake laugh, fake attitude and all even you know is fake. This is not the time to be judged, but sadly you are doing more judging than all the world combined. But slowly the acceptance comes.

One day you wake up and the memories of the young you are just memories like of the childhood. On that day, you look at the mirror and find a new person standing. You recognize her as who your thought was the perfect woman, a calmness in her face, tired eyes but with understanding in them, a few more lines here and there. Yes, she does look weak and tired. You understand the cause of it better than anyone else, you were there as she struggled. Something else also has woken up in her that had gone to sleep for a while, her will to live. Surviving is not enough, if you can't really even live. This person in the mirror understands that better than anyone else.

Of course you don not know the answers to the really hard one word questions. You also realize that you never needed to. The priorities just flip here and there, all the dreams you chased, some seem pointless and some seem alright, but one new dream stands apart. This one is a dream you never had before, and you understand fully why you need it to come true. This is the one true dream, the dream to love yourself.  Not in the wild ways that are exciting and adventurous, but love yourself to bring peace and energy back into those eyes. You accept yourself and the decisions you made. Somehow for once you are more understanding of yourself. In a really long while, maybe never before, you are able to be by yourself. The silence outside for once does not bother you anymore, the screaming thoughts have turned to a hum and they do not alarm or scare you anymore. You for the first time listen to yourself, and make a genuine effort to understand this transformation in you. One perhaps calls it solitude, but being alone cannot perturb your feelings anymore. You rather start to enjoy your private soundless conversations, and sometimes you cannot contain that smile anymore. An unfamiliar peace falls upon, and a new vigor awakes. Its not the flashing burning vigor of the past, where you burnt yourself to show your potential. This is new, like a guiding candle that lets you take a steady path, even when the road is not seen enough.

This new person is still you, just a little wiser, just a little calmer, but definitely much stronger and someone you will surely can rely on. Yes, there are flaws, there are many cracks in the mantle, some wounds run deep and are still sore. But, this person is on the way to being better than what you ever were, with love and care and nurture, this is the woman you transform into. Perhaps the adversity was needed to awaken her into existence. Only time will tell, but do not judge her spirit by the new wrinkles on her forehead, she runs deeper than what you see.

Being a moment

I know I am not supposed to be here.
I know this is not the same.
I know, but for a moment let the knowing disappear.
Let me not know what i already know.

Let me stay here this moment.
Let me stay just like this.
I know it will pass, the moment.
But, i want to close my eyes and pretend.

For just this moment, lie to me.
For just this moment, pretend its ok.
For just this moment, my heart, skip a beat.
For just this moment, let me

Let me hold on to thin air.
Let me hold on to a shadow.
Let me feel the warmth of cold rain.
For me pretend it exists.

Let me be like this, a step away from my own darkness.
Let me be like this, a bubble of my own happiness.
Let me pretend to not know what is ahead.
Let me, please let me just be this moment.

[Poetry]: Kill them all!

'Kill them!' she said. 'Kill them all!', she said with more conviction.
There was a perverse joy in her eyes, a perfect future in her vision.
She stomped on them, she jumped with joy.
Her little act had effect, many hundreds died.

She knew they needed to be destroyed, they were pests!
They were not supposed to eat her candy, now the whole lot was infested.
'Kill them!' She shouted with a sadistic pleasure, she was the queen.
This was her ruling and approved by her friends.

The problem seemed small at first, just the few hundred of the minute pests.
But, then after a few hundred that she stomped, she saw the rest.
Something had changed, they were not scattering anymore.
They seemed not scared anymore.

One could, with some effort, feel the pain.
One could, with some effort, hear their cries, in vain.
One could, with some effort, understand their anger.
One could, with no effort at all, sense the danger.

They marched, with a determination, towards unruly feet.
They marched, with vengeance, they would not accept defeat.
They marched, with war cry, 'Kill them!'
They marched, ignoring last pleas of her kind, 'Kill them all!'

[Poetry]: Defined lines

A single tear that soils my pillow,
As it reaches it burns a scar deep.
The pain doesn't flow with it, it chokes
The hurt doesn't numb in time, it simmers

Don't mourn, you have lost only what was already dead
Don't cry, you are stronger than ever
Don't fear, there is nothing more that can kill you
Don't hate, because your enemy is not worth it

Don't forget this day oh! Heart.
Do not let the wound heal over time.
Remember this day remember today.
This day the battle lines are drawn,

Today I am defined.

[Travel/Thought]: Shola forests of Ooty - Aavalachi range

Every encounter uncovers the innate desire to be back. The surroundings seem more unreal now than ever before. The tall buildings and their dull grey colors. The protection from elements, while the elements are what make us. I must say, I think I am falling in love. Recently I met someone whoes idea of love was to miss someone dearly when they were apart. What if it is not someone but something. What if every moment you spend away feels like a ringing hollow inside. The quiet the peace and the thrill envelope you only when you are in its presence. Only in its presence do you feel you exist.

It has been weeks since I have returned to the concrete, the loud sounds and the constant chatter of uninteresting kind. Mind drifts back to the harsh sun that gave me my first sun-burn, and the expanse of brown grass. The whole landscape seemed parched in the afternoon sun. Only respite seemed to escape into the intermittent dense forests that spanned only a few meters. As the fury dialed down with the dusk approaching, the birds sang and appeared out of their cool forest spots and chirped around. The temperature that scorched started to drop by few degrees every hour. Soon, I would search for my warm clothes in the backpack.

Avalachi range Shola grassland and forest patch.
Parched by warm sun awaits the cool monsoons. 

My two glorious days working on the fields of Nilgiri forests are imprinted in my being. I am amazed by the wilderness here. You would know you are in deep forests untouched by human beings, when instead of being alarmed by human presence, the animals and birds just seemed curious. I was seen as a object of curiosity by a group of Sambar deer. They observed the two strange creatures walking on two feet messing the tasty grass that grew in the fences inaccessible to them. Even more surprising for me was the few moments I got to spend in the canopy. The forest here holds more mystique than any enchanted forest ever written. The forest type is called Shola. The grassland covers the hill-tops and intermittently dense green patches of forests spring up from nowhere. The forests seem to occupy any part of the landscape that holds the promise of water in the ground. My friend tells me that they also seek protection from the frost that is common here in the early mornings. Grasses may survive the lack of water and the frost, but the little saplings in the forests cannot. Grasses are hardy, they survive the toughest climates. She is clearly mesmerized by the resilience of the grasses. To find a little respite from the sun, I escaped into the dense canopy. The forest floor is rich with old leaves. Such a contrast to the dense grasses outside. Insects crawling everywhere, and gossimers hang here and there even in the tiny spaces in the lichens that are growing on the trees. Life is here everywhere!

In the forest patch, I discovered many mesmerizing things. I love cinnamon and I found the wild ones. I found wild bay leaves. The aroma is definitely more woody and far more richer. Maybe we could not handle the punch and toned the aroma down to suit human taste. I found curious blue berries that my friend tells me is what is called the drinking tree. A few berries are fine, but after a few one would start to hallucinate! A few tasted very good. I stopped. In the canopy I saw a leaf twirl as it fell and miss the forest floor. Surprised, I thought maybe the two berries also are having an effect on me. I dismissed the event. It happened again. A yellow leaf started to twirl and fall towards the ground, mid-fall it flew and perched on a near by branch. It looked at me, first with the right, then with the left eye then sang a little song. A grey-headed canary flycatcher was curious about the intruder in its forest. It did the swoops several times again. While I was having a tete-tate with the canary flycatcher, my friend was busy with extracting fresh honey for us to enjoy. It is not bottled honey, it is fresh out of the hive. Actually it was a part of the hive that you suck the honey from. There are bee larve all over the hive and where there are fewer larve, there is orange pollen. Some patches seemed free from both. Fresh honey is not as sweet as the one in the bottle, it has a slight sting to it. You will know what I mean when you try it. Do make your pick from the bag. Trust me it is worth the experience and you will never regret it. You might however never like bottled honey again.

Fresh honey, with the pollen, glistening honey and the larve.

I wish all classrooms and laboratory spaces were like this. It was the first time that thought hit me. Suddenly I found myself questioning why we left the wilderness. We did not leave the wilderness, we choose to make it more and more comfortable for us. Now we are so comfortable in the little world we created for ourselves, that wilderness seems alien to us. Wilderness is not predictable, it is unforgiving to mistakes and weakness. It daunts us, we feel overpowered and then some survival instinct gone haywire triggers and we decided to tame it. I observed the efforts of taming in Ooty. There are fir trees everywhere before you break into the actual wilderness. Firs are not native to southern India. They were planed here by the British to make the landscape more "home-like". Away from its own natural settings, the firs overtake the landscape from the local plants, unchecked. Another imbalance thanks to misplaced sense of home and aesthetics. In between grasslands, haunting black leafless trees stand. They are bent into submission by the strong winds that blow over the hills. They are not dead, their roots are alive. They await a spell of rain to spring again. These ominous trees are an attempt by the old local government to green a grassland. Most think that the forest should be green full of trees, but grasslands are an ecosystem in the their own right. Our lack of understanding and short-sighted administration decided to make use of waste-land and plant firewood trees. Now only lichens seem capable of interacting with the unruly trees that are overtaking the grasslands and changing the landscape like wildfire.

Only lichens interact with the ghostly fire-wood trees planted to make grasslands more "useful".

Tame the wild. It seems like the slogan of human kind. Ingenuity, creativity, wielding the power of the elements to fight the elements. We are fighting, always. Sadly, the enemy we choose is our own home. We lack the maturity as a species to understand the course of nature and evolution much older than ourselves. To add to it, we lack the patience to understand and comprehend the consequence of our actions. Short-shortsightedness plagues our decisions, that seem already biased by our greed. Ecosystem is fragile, nature is fragile. Grasses maybe resilient, we as a species may be resilient, but all of resilience cannot sustain after repeated misuse. Ecosystems will falter and so will the chances of our future generations. We may see our doom as species, we cannot regenerate, but nature can. Someone aptly said, Earth has survived a lot, it will survive humans. The question is not if the Earth will survive, question simply is - will we?

A little enraged and deep in retrospect, but unable to escape observing the lovely landscape as my friend and I discussed implication of unchecked human activity. I bounced back to my lessons learning about the various trees and plants and eating the wild guavas here. We headed back, sadly to human jungles.

I was already missing the open spaces, clean air, chitter-chatter of the numerous birds, silence of warm afternoons. I realized that everything is running on clock of  daylight, my watch seemed futile. The most precious currency is water, my wallet seemed heavier. A little berry can intoxicate you, another can kill you, the only food is the one you learnt was safe from collective experience of the family, all the food processing and the packaging seemed futile. The only communication is the one that can add more to the survival of the ecosystem, everything else is useless. I am carrying back a silent determination to see that the silence of wild is not taken as absence of protest, but as the silence due to futility of any protest against greed of a species to tame what is born to be wild. In this protest the desk and the offices seem futile. I am hoping as a part of a species, that someday we connect back and grow with nature rather than fight against it. Together is the only way we can ensure we survive, or maybe we will need a one way ticket to another planet altogether, a little more "home-like". Maybe we can make the buildings in brown and green shades there. Fiction is what we are creating every step of advancement, I hope some reality was retained. I hope to get back to reality, I hope to find my way home, close to nature.

Closer to home.

[Thought]: Womanhood is not pads with wings! Happy women's day btw.

I am stunned. I am a woman. No not stunned by a fact like that, but by the international women's day ho hum. One advertisement after another, must programmes are being sponsored not by the diamond or gold or luxury product companies, but by companies that make sanitary pads. Seriously, I am a woman, on woman's day the sight of a sanitary pad for myself is the last thing I want. I wonder how we as a species even got here.

I can't stop wondering about how half of the species accepts walking almost all their lives with diapers of one sort or another! Let me break the rules and tell you what they did not tell in the gender education class that gave free samples of the pads. It was in high school, just a regular day. All the girls from my class were asked to assemble in a room. There were rumors as always. Rumors said they were giving gifts only to girls. We were happy to be favored over the boys, and hoped we get some nice cakes. The meeting was a haze. I understood nothing, I know most understood nothing too. Some girls would stop speaking for a while. We all walked out with indifference and a small packet that did not have cake. Somewhere it was agreed upon by all girls to be hush about the contents. I had bought some of these for my mom and sister, but was ignorant about what it was. Well, the day ended. I don't think I was much educated. The application of the class came many months later. I did not even think about the class, looked at mom helplessly. For the first time in my life I had hoped to find an instruction manual, but had none but motherly advice to go on. It was not that the advice was bad, just that most of it never tallied. Some moms said play as much as you want, others asked to practice restrain. Some brands were supported while others no. No one said anything about so many things. And even today, it is a hush hush talk and even today I wish there was a manual.

I know like many many girls out there, when I had to sit through play time or was desperately hunting for a pad because I was not prepared, I wished I was a guy. No one is ever ashamed of asking for band aid or dettol, why are we made to feel ashamed of asking for a pad? Isn't being hurt not enough,  why is shame taught with it?!

Most of the other times, I am perfectly content with my allotted gender. On those days I wonder what a terrible engineering fiasco this design is. It's unpredictable, messy, bloody, painful and a great source of anxiety. Inspired by the latest movie on Allan Turing, I must say this feels very much like ENIGMA. The operating principles just reset every month to factory settings. Almost like having customized your browser over a month and it crashes, every pointer, bookmark, app deleted. You just start over.

I have been wondering why sometimes women don't plainly state what they want. Why do words get muffled with emotions. As I am growing up, I realize among the million threads my mind is processing, it is very hard to decipher my own feelings. It's mixed with a cocktail of hormones who's stoichiometry changes every few days. Too little time to decipher things. It somehow is not such a problem at all. It makes one wiser, compassionate and a little more human where you on some days have more patience and on some lose your head with others. All in all it is an amazing joy ride, full of experiences.

In the absence of this chaos I think every moment would be boring. An utter lack of drama, passion, romance, music, good food and just so much less color. All conversations would be limited to facts and very few about dreams opinions and long arguments. This is perfect, just a little restricted because of pointless rules from society.

To be a women, I think, is to be so alive every minute that everything else comes to life because of her presence. For her the world is an ordered chaos, it has all the elements that make things interesting. There is a lot of mystery in her world, even for her. She is alive everyday with a new dream. Once she has that dream fixed, she will chase it with such fierce passion that it will make an epic saga, if you care to hear her. What she is not is just five days of a month. To advertise her limitation is a shame to the society that is expected to nurture her.

If you really want to celebrate womanhood, don't limit the symbol to pads with wings. Give her the wings to be herself, to ask what she needs, to be unashamed about herself. Simply let her be, simply let her free. Change the symbol of women's day to just wings, because she just needs freedom to be herself and that is enough.

[Thought]: Unmasked and exposed

One day the bridges broke and tears welled up chocking my words. Anger poured in the drops and they burned my cheek. The episode ended, but I felt calm. Hurt was not in me, the words were out and the tide had subsided. A period, I thought, was dark. A lot changed in me. First there was a crack and then the mask broke entirely.

Have you been here? The light shines brighter on this side. Air is cleaner too. Must be because I hold no thoughts. There are fewer expectations, and even fewer regrets.

I was born. My species, era, country, state, language, family, sex, color, creed, financial status and so many things I take for granted are just coincidence of my birth. My nurture makes my bias for food, habits, preferences and so much more. Somewhere in all these are my thoughts and my self. I wonder where it stops being everything else and starts being just me.

Have you ever pictured yourself, the true self? Not the body you are in now, not the hair, not the eyes none of those will do. You need not even be human. You just are. Perhaps a formless, thoughtful being passing through space and time for now. Quirk must be with you, because you are here now. There is confusion and slight fear, because the self is so ill defined. Without any metric to judge against, it is really hard to give ones true self any form at all.

I am not just a girl, I am not just 5' 4.5", I am not just this and that. I am a sum of all my past, but more importantly I am so many possibilities in the future. But, if all my attributes are stripped, then I am just alive and a mass of my thoughts. That is what makes me unique. My thoughts, that are just mine and no one else's. They stem from the imprints of years, my experiences, my memory, my choices, my stories and my aspirations from myself and from my future. My knowledge, as I test myself to fulfill my own expectations of my being. All of these are really me.

Slowly, I knew I was invisible. Slowly, I chose to not be a metric for anyone else and not accept any other metric for myself. In this I lived like my eyes are closed and like the ostrich no one is watching. I am not watching me. I am free. I can smile, I can live.

There is solitude just within my reach. Now there is peace. Now, even I am not watching, and anyone who is will not believe my intents to be nothing. The biggest deceit is that there is no deceit. The biggest lie is just the plain truth. I am living the truth. I am speaking my thoughts plainly. I am in my own space and no more. I am just me and nothing else. I am living my own life, one dream at a time. I am free and I am me.

I know you won't believe me. But, beyond your disbelief is my truth. You can keep looking deeper, but there is just this. Like the plain truth I am right in front of your eyes unmasked,  exposed and here. It's just the mask on your eyes that won't let you see me. Can you handle to be free from the mask? Or will you feel naked without the charade?

[Thought]: Has Mr. Murphy been visiting you?

So, it was one day where everything was going exactly opposite to what you expected. You put your hands up and say - " OK! I give up, I can't fight this anymore." Yes, Mr. Murphy had visited you.

I wish it was just one day. Mr. Murphy seems to have taken a liking to me, and many on my colleagues in the middle of their PhDs. He has been staying with me for months now. The stay overwhelms me, and no matter what I am doing, plans just don't take off. No, it's not just work. My travel plans, that were on cards for six months, were canceled three weeks before. There were landslides in the place I was to visit. It has never happened before! A family function was also canceled due to extreme unforseen reasons. I also captured the limelight for a brief period because of a huge misunderstanding with a senior colleague. Even when I did not see large damage in the altercation, everyone else seemed overly concerned. That was irritating. While Mr. Murphy has been active, it's not easy to handle him. However, I think I am getting there. Here is my list of steps.

1. Reduce toxic impact: to start with, I thought the period would end soon. The pressure of deadlines got the better off me. I was a little less human than I should have been. I would call this the toxic phase. I would create a zone of toxicity around and I was in the epicenter of it. Many misunderstood me, I tried to explain, but the misunderstandings grew. I finally got tired of letting myself being insulted politely, and I simplified my friends circle. I took out the unnecessary distraction and excess information by getting off social media. Virtual lives are virtual, the reality of everyday life was overwhelming me, so it made sense to root myself to reality and untangle that first.

2. Laugh and surround yourself with easier people: I kept only the brave ones, who could tolerate my toxicity and sarcastic humor, and laugh at themselves close to me. I laughed and joked about my situations, the humor and laughter have a healing effect, which I cannot deny anymore! If you can't laugh, I don't think you can survive. I recommend this over poetry and sadness or other emotions for a while.

3. Fresh perspective to everything: first the situations hit me, then instead of reacting, like I did many times, I stopped. I now keep a little black book, where I rationalize my own thoughts and listen to my own feelings. It sounds like pop psychology, but the only one who knows your situation best is - you. So, listen to your own problems and deal with them one by one. Even the silly ones. Take an allocentric view and listen to yourself. Take the decisions that you can live with. And yes, swallow your pride. Ask sorry if you feel you did wrong, and give compliments to the ones who deserve it. Don't keep a debt of social contracts.

4. Wake up, brush and eat, don't forget to breath: while everyday seems overwhelming, don't let it get you. Simplest thing I do is actually have a list in front of me of the things I just need to do to make my day complete. It may not be the best day, but lying in bed and not starting it is just not going to make it any better! Yes, on that day when gravity to stay in the comfort zone is starting to get better of me, I look at this list. And one by one I tick it off. Item 1: get up. Item 2: brush. Item 3: stretch and move, sweat a little. Item 4; eat breakfast. Item 5: breath. Item 6: work like you love your work even today. Give it 4 hrs. And so on.

5. Learn and commit: yes, everyday is hard. But, the joy of learning something new is exhilarating. So, get a new hobby, not one but three. Let one of them be exercise. Keep it simple, and keep it to the basics. Make it a part of your day, like brush and stretch. After work I took up birding on my way back home. I took up star gazing before dinner. Don't make commitments you can't keep, especially to yourself. Keep the people who can't honor commitments out, don't undervalue your own time!

6. Take reward and escape beaks: while long holidays work for others, for me a break every six weeks seemed best. I need to get out! I miss the sun and fresh air. So I took up trekking. One trek every six weeks or a travel to someplace I have never been before. A low budget is a must for me. These are my rewards and escapes. I am better prepared to tackle my everyday with rejuvenated spirit.

7. Back to the basics: this is the most important one. In work and otherwise, go back to the basics. I look back and check my understanding, I look again at all the results or the lack of them and try to see if it fits the basics. Just like in the check lists, I need to get the step one right, and somehow it will all follow.

But, the one I won't put a number to is from hitchhiker's - "Don't panic". I have written  it down in many places, it helps.

The reason I am even doing all this is because I just don't want to give up fighting just yet. Actually never. I will not give up! I will however learn to live the fight and fight at my pace. I think Mr. Murphy is just here to help me set my pace.

Whatever his intentions, I know I am stronger and calmer at the end of it. Thanks Mr. Murphy!

[Thought]: Expense of dislike and hatred

Everyone has a choice, there is just a small window of choice when one can choose to go down the path of committing to dislike or hate another one. We all have these people, the ones we hate. But, are you prepared for such a commitment?

Truth be told, hating an another is more complicated than loving another. In love the feelings are good, uplifting and they appeal to the good side of you. To hate another on the other hand is to acknowledge the dark feelings of despise, and the betrayal that brought upon such feelings. The pain and the agony would fade, but the mind is unwilling to forgive. At this moment you choose to commit to the anger and hold on to it for the rest of your life. Yes, for the rest of your life! Love may change forms, but hatred can only grow stronger with time. Even when the evidence to the other party's behavior is contrary to your perception, you would suspect ulterior motives and reinforce the commitment to hate. And in this way, hate grows stronger everyday and you uphold the feelings and reiterate the memories and hard wire them. Slowly a part of you is consumed and is obsessed with hating another one.

Hate is reciprocal, most of the time. To be hated with similar intensity every single day is phenomenal. Even if the people you love forget to remember you, your enemy will remember you, everyday. In the obsession of hate, in the best and the worst moments, the enemy will think of you and tick another milestone on one of the sides.

I know I would be honored to be someone's contemporary with such intensity, on the other hand I lack the commitment to such hatred. I have too many things that occupy my day and night, my energy is dedicated to many more things. Truth be told, I never met anyone worthy of my hate. I never let anyone so close to hurt me that deep and work that intensity. I for one, cannot make such commitments easily, so no I really don't hate anyone.