Passion…unbridled

“We are all stories in the end. Just make it a good one.”

Unknown

Languishing at my parents’ home on a spring afternoon

Praying the schizophrenic weather would end soon

I rummaged through the attic, damp and cold,

Risking illness by coming in contact with mold

Searching for inspiration in objects hidden

In the folds of oblivion, including those forbidden

To my eyes when I was young, for some reason

My curiosity for them had dimmed with each season-

I found an old notebook, its pages dog-eared

Yellowed with age, with turmeric stains smeared

Filled with notes written in cursive writing elegant

Using a fountain pen, the kind that is no longer prevalent..

 

I need not explain that my curiosity was piqued 

The notebook was exciting, of juicy secrets it reeked

I turned the first page, to find out to who it belonged

It had to be a woman, I thought, I was not wrong

The name was old-fashioned, unfamiliar to me

It was someone from the turn of the last century

Dated early 1900s, a chronicle it appeared to be

Of my ancestors and their checkered history

The story started  several centuries before

Based on verbal anecdotes and family lore

As I read, I imagined, through ages, the tradition

Of grandmothers telling bedtime stories to grandchildren

Weaving fantasy and hyperbole in their narration

Of actual events, seamlessly merging fact with fiction

This is how the notebook read, with generous inclusion

Of superstitious beliefs and divine interventions

Skipping centuries, going back and forth in time

Written with a sense of humor, it captivated my mind..

 

Such a precious treasure I had never seen

The writer, my relative, had understanding keen

Of the vagaries of human nature, her opinion

Uncannily nailed the truth in every situation

I was beyond fascinated, I had not known

How the seeds of my family had been sown

I had to preserve this, so the diary I scanned

And saved to my computer; I could not stand

The thought of ever losing it, this would be the narrative

I would share with my progeny, as long as I live..

 

(This is completely imaginary, though I wish there was such a notebook)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In this world there is no action

That you can take without repercussion

Whatever path you happen to choose

You win some, and some you lose

So when I made a leap across the ocean

A mixed bag I got with immigration

There were many gains, I cannot deny

But some poignant losses darken my sky..

**

The sights, smells and sounds that were so unique

To India, close my throat so I can barely speak-

The much awaited first monsoon shower

Teasing the summer sun with its cooling power

The sensual smell of wet earth, the exhilaration

Of getting wet in the first rain of the season

 

Enjoying steaming tea and watching children float

Through rivulets of rainwater their paper boats..

 

Here it rains often, and I reminisce again

How I have lost the magic of monsoon rain

**

Strolling  through the gardens on summer nights

When the temperature for comfort was just right

Taking in the scent of jasmine, intoxicating-

I keep searching fragrant flowers in hopes of replicating

That strong and sweet odour- but in vain

Added that to my list of lost things again….

**

The palpable feeling of excitement in the air

Before Diwali; enthusiastic people everywhere

The aroma of sweetmeats, the communal celebration

Those fireworks and lights, lighting up the nation-

 

Though Diwali I celebrate with Indians settled here

That collective spirit I miss, it’s simply not there

**

I can go on and on, there are many more

Experiences I have lost, it’s hard to keep score

 

My solution to these losses is to revive

These memories is to spend time in person, live

In India during the seasons that I miss

The trials of travel are worth the feelings of bliss

That engulf me when my lost experiences I gain

If only once in few years; that lessens my pain. 

 

(This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Browsing through art exhibits I found

I was always searching around

For the artist’s interpretation to comprehend

The painting, for many times I could not even pretend

To understand what the spread of colors signified

It appeared to be a secret code to which access was denied

Nor do I find abstract art visually appealing

Might be too deep for me, to fathom the artist’s feeling.

*

I feel similarly confused when I try to read

Poetry, which can be complex indeed

Sometimes the expression is so obscure

What the words strung together mean, I am not sure

Again such poetry might be highly appreciated

But my lack of comprehension just makes me frustrated

*

It appears that the superiority of creative expression

Derives from difficulty in comprehension

 

A piece meant to be esoteric and arcane

Gathers praise from critics, rest of us feign

To understand deeper layers and subtexts

While barely grasping the actual context..

*

Maybe I am ignorant, but I certainly prefer

Art that  can reality around me mirror

Elegant paintings with a subject that’s clear

Verses readable on putting in effort sincere

Maybe that’s the prejudice of my scientific mind

Where simplicity and elegance are intertwined!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On a steamy afternoon in the summer

Steeped in soporific languor

Sprawled on the bed, bored out of my mind

Searching for some inspiration, I did find

For healthy living, a unique recommendation-

For the body and the mind’s stimulation

Try something new everyday; move out

Of your comfort zone, and take a new route.

This idea, so elegant in its simplicity

Spurred me on to test its authenticity

*

Taking this idea for a spin the very first day

I decided to tackle fear that came in my way

So ignoring the mental block that popped its head

Telling me I could not bake, I baked cookies instead

The next day I decided to paint on a whim

The experience left me filled with joy to the brim

Then I tried my hand at writing a poem, you know

Leading to this blog, which has continued to grow-

Many such instances I can recount today

I feel much more accomplished, I have to say..

*

That summer afternoon that was supposed to be

The laziest part of the day, became suddenly

The catalyst for change in a positive way

I strive to do something new every day

I am now more adventurous and open-minded

Every day, of this mantra I am reminded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“History is the sum total of things that could have been avoided.”-

Konrad Adenaur

Weighed down by the burden 

Of an unimaginative, rote-based curriculum

Learning historical facts appeared to me

The grandest exercise in futility-

Yesterday was dead; it did not make sense

To spend time on the past, in the presence

Of exciting events taking place everywhere

I looked to the future, why did I have to care

About the dark ages steeped in ignorance

I could not see the world through their lens..

I concentrated all my efforts and energy

On the future, that seemed a clever strategy..

I ignored the five thousand year old history

Of my people, little did I care for my ancestry…

**

As I grow older in a world with shrinking borders

I am exposed to political turmoil and disorder

I have realized all manifest conflicts today

Have their genesis in the pages of yesterday

With time I have realized that, inevitably

In my lifetime I have seen the creation of history

The past is inextricably intertwined

With the present, we humans are destined

To weave a new future on the tapestry

Of the past; thus the importance of history..

**

So I decided to get acquainted with the past

Was afraid my enthusiasm would not last-

I was so wrong; I ended up enthralled

By history of mankind, how we had evolved

The subject that had such a burden been

In school, was fascinating when with new eyes seen-

I see now how history can encourage and inspire

People to follow their ambitions and desires. 

(This photograph was taken at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History, Washington DC.)

 

 

 

I promise you, Mom that I shall be

The woman of substance you’d like me

To be- I have you for inspiration, don’t forget

Though my past might be dotted with some regrets

I promise you with age wisdom I acquire

The more of life I see, the more I require

To look back at your words and actions

To reflect upon all the unpleasant interactions

Of my years as an awkward teenager conflicted

I was by the evil humors of adolescence afflicted

Too immature to realize what you told me

Were pearls of wisdom, but I could not see

Myself, or the world, with eyes that were yours

Reckless and ignorant, I worried you, of course..

 

I am your reflection, I have imbibed

So much of you that even I am surprised

How, despite all my conscious efforts to oppose

You, subconsciously it appears that I chose

To emulate you in many different ways-

Your ideals and values guide me through my days

Your unwavering confidence in me has been

The powerful, but invisible force that has seen

Me sail unscathed through times that were trying

You had moist eyes while my tears were drying..

 

I promise you, Mother, that I have come

A long way from your little girl, I have become

The mistress of my destiny just as you are

Because of you, I have come this far

My final promise to you is that I shall be

The mother to my child that you were to me.

 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.