Fallen Leaf … Standing Trees

Seeing life through the lens of a fallen leaf,

Or through the scope of standing trees…

I stand at the far end in fog and mist,

Line of sight is straight, frames freeze;

A moment is caught in the standing trees,

A lifetime is captured by a fallen leaf…

Moment is momentous, monumental is minute,

Does it matter…big small long or brief;

Fallen… colour may be faded fawn,

Standing… shade is gallant green…

Life is seasons of myriad hues,

Faded, Gallant… many more and in-between.

Fallen Leaf Pic: William Smith

There Was A Tree, There Was An Island

I am the Tree, I am the Island…

In air, In water, and on ground,

I am in, I am out, I am within…

Real or Reflection, seen or unseen;

My leaves sway, shimmer, and seek…

My roots soak, sink, and surrender,

Longing to merge, melt, and meet…

Some will soothe, others shock, stab, and shatter;

Insides surface as outsides submerge…

In tight embraces, truths emerge,

The tree in me is shaken…

The island in me is broken,

Soil of memories clings to roots that now rot…

Waves gnaw, chip away every bit and mote;

Soon my sap seeps and saps…

I dissolve – I am particles, I am pieces,

Yes, there was a tree, there was an island…

Nothing ever remains except reminiscences.

Tree Island

pic: Gavin Hard castle

S I S T E R

‘Sister’…the word echoes and evokes all that is good and beautiful.

Sister gives us love akin to parents, shares strength of a brother, and brings happiness like a friend. She is our go-to person – in joy and in sorrow. She gives us her shoulder to cry on, stretches her hand to pull us up, keeps our secrets like her own…sister is our ‘man-friday’ in woman’s clothing.

Sister is a person for all seasons. A selfless soul, she gives all of herself and more…mostly unseen,  unsaid, and unacknowledged.

Some sisters laugh and slap our backs, some hide their smiles and slap nothing; few offer ‘kadha’*, others snatch and finish off our beer in a gulp. Aren’t they amazing?

Good that we can’t choose our sisters, for we will not have any others.

Our sisters paint beauty and create joy in our lives.

(I write this on behalf of all my bros and friends, and dedicate it to all our Sisters: sisters born to our parents, and sisters who left their homes to make our homes).

* Kadha: an Indian herbal concoction

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Middle Muddle

I never meddle, but plight of the middle needles.

Mind-boggling, if not maddening. Amidst motley of ‘mids’, it’s a medley of ‘middles’.

Malady or melody…depends:

It is a mystery why the mid-wife is a wife only in the mid;

It is an enigma whether ‘midnight’s children’ are born on this or ‘the other side of midnight’;

Even if it is a wily woman lurking in the shadows, behind every shady deal is a sinister ‘middle-man’;

While one end devours and the other discards, the middle alone fights battle-of-the-bulge;

Facts: It is always the mid-riff which is reported bare on a bike; Middle names are lost like middle-ages; Medium-spicy always turns out to be low-bland, like mid-day meals;

Having lost youth’s charm, and lacking wisdom of the old, the misfit middle-aged try to be both, and land up in no man’s/woman’s land;

Caught in the middle, like pendulums they perpetually swing from end to end, as if caught between ‘goodbye’ and ‘I love you’;

The moment we mingle middle with class, we assign it to the mundane; sensing the mood, even Modi has abandoned it;

Glory is of the elder, love is with the younger, and leftovers of both for the mere middle;

The middle-of-the-road always gets it – hook from the ‘left’, hit from the ‘right’;

A hit is a hit, but it is amazing over the mid-wicket; Out is out, but it stumps when ball hits the middle;

The mean is never mean, the median adheres to the median, and the mode is always a model, yet the central tendency of being in the middle is scoffed at;

No one wants them (even though they have their advantages): middle seat in airlines, middle berth in trains, a puncture in the middle of the journey, a slap in the middle of the road; the notable exception being a fiendish fart in the middle of a politician’s lecture;

Even though it is the longest, you can’t raise the poor middle finger, lest you are booked for being illegal or immoral;

Whereas the mad flings with mids* or maidens cause the mid-air collisions, the ‘midsummer night’s dream’ becomes a midwinter nightmare for the jilted;

The middle-east today is so west, it has none of the middle and little of the east; And in that County why is it only Middlesex, even if no one is counting?;

Don’t come running to me with your mid-life crisis when I am in the middle of nowhere.  My signboard is succinct:

“Don’t disturb, I am in the middle of something” (read- I am enjoying ‘nothing’ more than I had enjoyed ‘anything’)

*weeds

Disclaimer: I have written this in good humour, not to ridicule anyone. I believe we can laugh at ourselves.

Pic: Gabriela Pala, pexels.com

girl in forest

SUSHANT SINGH RAJPUT… An Ephemeral Creature Of Transient Times…

Sushant Singh Rajput… A brilliant star in quest of stars, now in a galaxy faraway. 

His last thoughts (?) in my words:

An ephemeral creature of transient times…

I lived in the world of soulful quiet;

Firefly of the future, my soul found wings…

In life lost and stars-kissed light.

                 Words echoing from my deepest depths…

                 I owe to those who took my breath away;

                Living now, now dead…

                Neither regret, nor rejoice, nothing to say.

 Nothing like forever old and forever new…

For not in moments, in memories I live;

Born to die and born yet again…

Nothing to forget, yet nothing to believe.

              Past a beautiful lie, Present was existential angst…

              Future but an agonized quest;

             Scorched soul sitting on pierced wings…

             Flies me to distant shores- dark, day, or twilight.

 Nano particle in the void of time n space…

Infinity ensconced in a fleeting second;

Effervescent, enchanting, exhilarating…

Yet, in palm, are life n times ever held?

              An ephemeral creature of transient times…

             I lived in the world of soulful quiet;

            Firefly of the future, my soul found wings…

            In life lost and stars-kissed light.

Note: I wrote this poem in January this year. Didn’t know my words will echo the life and times of Sushant- a brilliant star, his astronomical quests, and perhaps his thoughts and emotions just before his journey to the faraway galaxy.

When Some we appreciate, Some self-depreciate.

WHEN SOME WE APPRECIATE, SOME SELF-DEPRECIATE.

IS IT THE LOUSY FEELING I CALL ‘GUILOUSY’?

 Under the shower I was seized with an uncomfortable thought- should we refrain from praising some, because some other wise ones take it otherwise? They don’t express it, but the sulking and ruing are in the air; we feel their absent presence… like ghosts.

They feel slighted merely because some one else is delighted. Desperate, they love praise heaped upon themselves, even if undeserved; but recoil in jealousy, if not horror, when someone else is applauded, particularly when that someone is close or known.

Is it inferiority complex? Or guilt? Or jealousy?

Or is it guilt-jealousy combo…the lousy feeling I call ‘Guilousy’?

But how to assuage their hurt? Their deeds or lack of them are so awesome, one can’t voice admiration…for the mouth is agape in astonishment. : )

                      chimpanzee pic: pixabay.com

Sundowners at Sunset ! My Lockdown & Quarantine Musings…Journey from Serious to Hilarious.

I suggest savour the end-piece before the beginning. As Jacques Torres said-“Life is short. Eat dessert first” 🍨😊

After enjoying more than 2 months of Guwahati lockdown, now I am relishing Bangalore’s 14 days mandatory home-quarantine. And I feel freer than ever…not suffocation, but spirit soaring in the solitude. The silence 🤐 is eloquent 🗣, the limits and limitations are liberating. What with the wondering mind, wandering imagination, free flying thoughts…you get the drift. 🕺

I feel my wants and expectations from self and others reducing, receding…while I delve into the nature within and without. When I have rendezvous with the nature in my nature, the soul breaks into song n dance. Whenever I embrace the nature outside…the sky painted in myriad hues 🌈, the distant blue-green hills 🌲, the silvery-golden moon 🌙, the gloriously orange sunset setting the horizon on fire 🌅, chirping birds 🦜, fluttering butterflies 🦋…the window to the world opens many a windows to my soul. Oh, is the wind caressing me, or is it me caressing the wind ?🌠

Deleting toxic thoughts in tandem with unwanted mails and messages, I am trying to clear the cobwebs crowding my mind. Living with myself and my life, in my time, on my terms…I am coming to terms with myself. Doing away with dependencies small and big, I am keeping and making others safe from me😜

In my own beautiful company and in the spirit of ‘Ekla Chalo Re’ (Walk Alone), I am delighted by the days, lighted by the nights, and always ignited by the thoughts 🚶‍♂️🤔

Not that I am drifting towards ‘Sanyas’(renunciation)…far from it, for I find ‘Nirvana’(enlightenment) in the things material which I love most…reading what I haven’t in my ever-growing list 📚and re-reading what I have📖, furiously writing my unadulterated thoughts, devouring chocolates 🍬like there is no tomorrow (oh..‘temptation’ is so tempting), smelling its exotic aroma while gulping down endless cups of ginger-lemon-mint tea ☕️, listening to unbelievably beautiful lyrics of a Guljar and heavenly music of a Rahman or a Chopin 🎼, and occasionally enjoying a classic movie. But one indulgence I sorely and surely miss is the occasional sunset sundowner with back-slapping, name-calling friends 👥🍻

I think I will always be materialistic as far as these things go; and I hasten to add dark sunglasses, blue blazers, silk scarves, and a hat-at-perfect-angle, to the list. I have no shame in voicing my hedonistically vile vices. Let the style adorn me, if not the substance 😎🎩

To me these material matters matter. For me it will never be “Mind vs Matter”, but: “Man Minds the Matter”. Sometimes material is immaterial, and immaterial is material…who can sit in judgment ? 🧐

I have no quarrels with anyone, but sometimes with myself…which find expression in my prose and poetry. To quote W.B. Yeats: “Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry”. And let me add: Out of love with others we weave dreams; out of love with ourselves we live life. So I dream. So I live 😊

From life flows death. Seriously in a lighter vein, I know none among clan or friends will have the heart to write my obituary.📜 So, to save you the cost, time and trouble of hiring a professional obituary writer, I pen my own obituary. Publish it posthumously by simply replacing ‘I’ with ‘he’, interspersed with ‘Niru’ or ‘bro’ (not ‘bhai’ of the supari fame or ‘bhaiya’ the milkman, please), and “Woh” (for those who were romantically inclined towards me 💗), to introduce variety in the mundane foregoing text. Be stingy in your praise by all means, but a bit you must shower (for it is customary not to criticize the dead, however bad, ugly or both) 😂. And don’t forget to add these immortal lines:

“Oft beaten by life n times, he was a man offbeat but not off-colour 🌈, hence can’t be written-off without an obituary. With many a wild whims and questionable quirks, he insisted on writing ✍️what people didn’t want to read, particularly enjoyed reading about farting habits of fat pet cats🐈possessed by pot-bellied petty pensioners, and freely prescribed pills for piles to priests, peasants and pedants. He was harmless enough not to be noticed, and observant enough to notice the bird-shit sitting quietly on the right of his left eyebrow 👁. He decided early on never to decide what decision was good for him, and that decidedly decided his fate 😔. Some loved him (not his fault), most disliked him (serves them right), and due to his mysteriously enigmatic and unlikely-likeable persona 🧟‍♀️, many are perpetually in the in-between space of neither here nor there…now reluctantly liking him for 23 seconds…then reluctantly disliking him for 43 seconds…and the reluctant cycle keeps repeating 🔄. May his soul RIP sheltered from self.”😎