Passion...unbridled

Red Hot Poker (Kniphofia)

“Kniphofia /nɪpˈhoʊfiə/, also called red hot poker, is a genus of flowering plants in the family Asphodelaceae, first described as a genus in 1794. It is native to Africa. All plants produce spikes of upright, brightly colored flowers well above the foliage, in shades of red, orange and yellow, often bicoloured.“- Wikipedia

As I strolled through the stretches one day

Of a botanical garden, I found suddenly on my way

That unique flower with its orange and red

Spiked flowers almost towering over my head

And I was reminded of how years ago

We had seen these flowers in a horticulture show

You were in second grade, if my memory serves me right

Fascinated more by the name than the sight

“Red hot poker” was a beautiful flower, you proclaimed

We snapped a photograph, and of course you named

It your favorite flower, and wrote its name meticulously

For your homework; you spelt out “Kniphofia” carefully

You were so excited, but even then I was apprehensive

I wished you had liked a more conventional alternative

I hate to remember maternal instinct was on target

You returned from school next day, quite upset

For writing something strange you were derided

No one could understand why you had decided

To name a flower that hardly looked like one

To be your favorite, they did not know, my son

Of this plant, in ignorance, they made fun

Of you- over the years, you displayed

Non-conformity to tradition in many different ways

Despite my misgivings, I tried to encourage you

To follow your heart, knowing that was the right thing to do..

Now you live far away and meet me

To my great chagrin, only infrequently

You are wildly successful in your profession

That is unconventional- you followed your passion

Seeing the red hot poker today sent me down memory lane

To that first instance when you had suffered pain

For being different in a society that conformity values

That gives you few options from which to choose

I am proud of who you are, and of course

With the flower for a picture I pose

And send it to you instantly, subtexting “Remember?”

You promptly reply, exclaiming “Red Hot Poker!”

And then, “It’s still my favorite, and I know, yours too”

I smile to myself, yes, that is true

If not for this flower I might not have realized

My son’s true potential, I might not have advised

Him to stick to his ideas that were different

This flower made me a better parent..

Quest for the perfect gift

This is that anxiety-provoking time of the year

When people shell out money and continue to fear

Whether the cash they’ve doled out is well-spent

On gifts they have selected for each recipient

There is an element of uncertainty inherent

When you shop for that supposedly perfect present

That appeals to the recipient and to your pocket is kind

Hope their needs match what you have for them in your mind

You worry about your gift screaming of frugality

Or wonder if they would ever figure out the reality

That what you have gifted them had been, in a corner

Languishing, it was received as a gift last year-

Yet another generic gift you could find no use for somehow

You had to recycle it, your finance-savvy conscience would not allow

Any gift to go waste, repackaging is a viable option

You save some dollars, it is a win-win situation

Then there are those impulsively bought knickknacks

During travels abroad, gifting them is a neat hack

But..your friends might not share your eclectic taste

What you loved might be for them a complete waste.

Sometimes you want to give a handcrafted present

You crave some recognition for your talent

But your hopes are dashed when a lukewarm reception

Is all you get for your painstaking effort and selection

Of all the choices that I make in a year

Holiday-gifting is the one I always fear

Once the ordeal is over, I decide I would do

A better job next year, by looking out for clues

That indicate the likes and dislikes of my friends

Some things I remember, but much is forgotten

By the time the next season rolls around-

I still hope some wisdom in gifting I’ve found!

Travel theme: Shimmer

Linking to :https://wheresmybackpack.com/2016/12/17/travel-theme-shimmer/

The Shimmer of the Oslo Fjord, Oslo, Norway

The Shimmering Chinese Lanterns, Longwood Gardens, PA

The shimmer of white marble in the sun- Sheikh Zayed mosque, Abu Dhabi, UAE

Shimmering drops of a water fountain, Longwood Gardens, PA

The Shimmer of Gold- Emirates Palace Hostel, Abu Dhabi, UAE

Walking down the memory lane on a snowy day

On a cold snowy day I sat inside

Watching the world being painted white

With time on my hands and nothing else to do

I decided to take a trip down a memory lane or two

So out came the albums, the collections of memories

Made over the years, I arranged them in series

I watched my old images with a new eye

Starting with pictures of an adolescent, awkward and shy

To a newly wed with a twinkle and a dazzling smile

Brimming with hope, starting the journey of a thousand miles

To a new mother transformed by love profound-

As I looked at them all, something within me unwound

And a silent tear escaped the corner of my eye

As I reminisced over the time that had passed me by

Moments of joy captured perfectly in still frames

Reminding me of things that had changed, those that were the same..

In taking a walk down the proverbial memory lane

I relived the good, the bad and the ugly once again

I was broken out of my deep reverie

By my child who came and sat next to me

We went through the albums again, together

As my husband snapped our pictures to capture forever

These precious moments of sharing old stories

Of our past, while creating new memories..

Since then we have made it a sort of family tradition

To celebrate indoors the first snow of the season

By sorting through old photographs and retelling

Our notable stories from the past, always marveling

At how far we’ve come, how many more blessings we’ve acquired

To accomplish more as a family, we feel newly inspired.

Stress buster

Stress busters we all need, and they tend to be

As varied as people themselves, probably

Some run, exercise or practice meditation

For others, painting might be the solution

I tend to find paper and pen when stressed

Usually I write, that’s something I do best

But once in a while, when writer’s block appears

And no words I can think of to calm down my fears

I start doodling, creating abstract shapes of all kinds

Filling them in meticulously, clearing my mind

Of all other worries because drawing seems to take

More effort , more concentration for me to make

Something meaningful, or aesthetically pleasing

Gradually I feel my artistic muscles unfreezing

Soon I am in the flow and all thoughts negative

Have disappeared from my mind, I silently give

Thanks to my stars for calming me down

As I proceed with my work, I lose my frown

Now I realize why the markets are inundated

With adult coloring books, it is estimated

That slowly coloring in intricate designs

Can be an excellent way of relaxing one’s mind

So, as the holiday shopping stresses me out

I shall resort to my sketching, without a doubt!

The Magic of the Holidays

“Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.”Hamilton Wright Mabie

Holiday lights twinkled all around
Powdery snow was sprinkled all over the ground
The stores were lit brightly, music wafted through the doors
She waited for the holidays to take their course
Knowing that the gaiety pervading the air
Was not something that she could share
Somehow life had taken a turn so destructive
Leaving her homeless, unemployed, unproductive
And all alone, within a span of few days
For the broke and the lonely, difficult were holidays..

She stood in queue at the shelter awaiting her turn
For some food provided by a good samaritan
Before her was a woman who seemed paralyzed
Unable to put food on her plate, she stood, as if mesmerized
She nudged her and broke her out of her reverie
Then they sat at the table together silently
She stole glances at the other woman , who appeared
Roughly her age, but her face seemed aged by tears
Her eyes were indescribably sad, she thought
She debated whether to talk to her or not
Eventually, propelled by the holiday spirit probably
She said hello, introducing herself politely
After an initial flicker of hesitation the other woman
Replied in a timid voice, that of a woman
Who had, by life’s vagaries, been badly shaken
Soon they were talking long after dinner was done
Her horrific story she recounted without emotion
Maybe the holidays worked their charm somehow
They felt better than their circumstances would allow
And slept in the shelter soundly that night
The demons of their pasts did not give them fright

Over the next month both of them were there
For each other as they navigated their way everywhere
Looking for food, lodging and employment
They helped each other deal with the resentment
That they had towards life, healing they found
In their friendship they found comfort profound
They struggled some more, but in the end
Broken pieces of life were on the mend
Work they found, basic needs were met
To lead normal lives, both had to sweat

Twenty years later with families of their own
They still think about that night each felt alone
What happened thereafter they gladly give credit
To the magic of the holidays, that had made them sit
Next to each other for dinner that fateful night
That led to everything turning out right
And over the holidays you would hear them say
“We promise you good things are coming your way!”

The bride and her henna

(The Mehndi event is a fun celebration held the night before an Indian wedding, traditionally celebrated by the women on the bride’s side of the family. Generally, a professional mehndi artist applies henna in intricate designs to the hands and feet of the bride and other women in the family. These intricate designs symbolize joy, beauty and offering. There is music and dance as well.)

She sat with arms stretched out before her

Helpless in the moment, expected to savor

The festivities, music and dance around

The carefree laughter drifting in the background

Surrounded by family she was, ostensibly

She felt all alone, staring insensibly

At her hennaed hands, her feet still being treated

Like a canvas by her mehndi artists, art being created

On her limbs by the very best in town, because

The most spectacular wedding in town this was

Expected to be, no expense had been spared-

Despite all this, at her hands she stared

Her movement restricted by the henna that needed

Drying, therefore with outstretched arms she was seated

She smiled, realizing all of a sudden

Her physical helplessness was a reflection

Of her mental state- caught in the rigmarole

Of an elaborate wedding, with hardly a soul

Realizing how unhappy she was, how she

Wanted to run away, to scream hysterically

“This is my life, this is not what I wish”

She wanted to say, but her desires she had squished

The day she had agreed to the marriage arranged

Like a business partnership, things could not be changed

Now, her assent inexorably bound her to comply-

As she contemplated, a tear dropped from her eye

She could not wipe it, but no one asked why

She was crying, her tears were also misunderstood

To be tears of joy, no one around her could

Guess how miserable she felt, she was afraid to voice

Her concerns, her fear had led her to make this choice

She looked down, inspecting her hands with a sigh

Waiting for her unshed tears and henna to dry..

(Image: This is not henna, but a henna design doodled on paper by yours truly)

Linguistic laments

I am writing furiously, yet words fail me

Repeatedly, my thoughts tend to derail me

As I search in vain for the right English expression

And my mind in a spirit of transgression

Jumps from my adopted language to the one

That pervades my soul in subliminal recognition…

It is true that proficiency I have acquired

In a language not my own to quench the desire

To be active on a wider platform, expand my horizons

Yet, when faced with the need to express emotions

Rich idioms and proverbs from my brain’s recesses appear

In Hindi, my mother-tongue, loud and clear..

I am faced with a dilemma, a strange predicament

Where I know how to express perfectly my sentiment

Except it happens to be in the wrong language

Literal translation does not provide the same leverage

To what I wish to say, it gets frustrating

As I navigate between the two languages, waiting

For the writer’s block to disappear somehow

To get my chain of thoughts back, to allow

Me to go back to thinking in the language that’s now mine

English is a sensational cocktail, Hindi is old wine

To be enjoyed at leisure, occasionally

While it rests in the closet of my heart subconsciously

English forms my metaphorical wings to help me fly

Hindi represents my roots, deeply grounded under the sky

My wings have taken flight in realms scientific and literary

My roots have soothed my soul troubled and weary

To describe my life completely I would need

To express myself in both languages indeed!

The Writer

In a world that often did not make sense

In a society plagued by pomp and pretense

She felt like an outsider, never could blend in

Always blurting the blunt truth, she could not win

Friends around her, so she became a recluse

The more she withdrew, the stronger was her excuse

To keep away from company unless required

A distant, cold aura she gradually acquired

Away from the chatter of human interaction

Thoughts in her mind began to take action

Shaping themselves into words she penned down

Furiously, her forehead wrinkled in a frown

She created a protagonist no different from her

In being direct and truthful, they were similar

Her character walked through her life unconcerned

About others’ opinions, living life on her terms

She made the phrase “calling a spade a spade”

Seem almost glamorous, as her escapades made

For a very interesting reading, I would say

This lead character was quirky in an endearing way.

I’m not alone in my opinion, let me make that clear

When her book was published, it became that year

The book to lead all major lists- critics raved

About the quirky way in which the heroine behaved

The author became a celebrity overnight

This time she was able to say what she thought right

And no one objected, dazzled as they were

By her brilliant book and her character singular

People jostled for her attention, tried to befriend

Her now that she was famous, tried to extend

Their hospitality, which she graciously accepted

Marveling at the irony- she had not suspected

The quality that had alienated her from others

Would be desirable in her fictitious character!

Publishers and readers were clamoring for more

Stories featuring the protagonist they now adored..

She continued to write, but would say this often

She still did not understand most women and men

Who, in their preferences, appeared quite capricious

Inexplicable to her, they liked a character fictitious

So she made her character the instrument

To voice her thoughts and her sentiments

Her heroine her alter-ego became

She lived life vicariously under her character’s name!

It’s the most wonderful time of the year!

black-friday-shopper

This is the time of the year when

Temptations abound for men and women

To loosen the purse strings that have been tight

And dish out moolah for everything in sight

With a sense of urgency that might appear

As if apocalypse was drawing near

Black Friday and Cyber Monday

Each one has become an awaited day

When people flock in droves to buy

Everything they can think of under the sky

Things that are needed, stuff they fancy,

Holiday gifts- are all included in the shopping spree

Prices that low are seen once a year

If you are not quick, deals disappear

Like a flash of lightning, this you know

But while sales are running, you make an excuse

To buy that item of little practical use

At 75 percent off, it is a great steal

As a savvy shopper, you shop with great zeal..

With those days over, the damage you survey

Your coffers are dried out, you realize with dismay

But the holiday season is around the corner

And your shopping did not completely cover

Gifts for everyone on your list, unfortunately

You are forced to part with more money ultimately

Next year, you resolve, holiday shopping would be

Confined to the two major sale days exclusively

Every year you hear estimates of money spent

By the US population, reflecting the extent

Of recovery of the economy, but for you

This statistic adds nothing new

As the same cycle repeats year after year

The sales lure you to part with your money dear.

(Image source: webclipart.about.com)

The Best of Everything

The Best of Everything

Why do we always look for the best?

Why, I wonder, is there a perpetual quest

To find that elusive element of superiority

In everything we own, or do- when the majority

Of our life is spent somewhere in-between

Why do we aim for perfection unseen?

Yet another question comes to my mind

How is the very best of everything defined?

The higher you look, the higher the bar

What seems near becomes increasingly far

So there’s a mirage we end up chasing

Ignoring the journey that could be amazing..

Those were my thoughts as one fine day

I spent introspecting, not content with the way

My life and career seemed to progress-

An average pace seemed inadequate, I confess

I longed to strive towards the “best”

However I could not put to rest

The question of how to define this term

The uncertainty of this answer made me squirm

I could do better, but the best seemed to be

A nebulous concept removed from reality..

After intense mental exercise I concluded

The answer to the question that had eluded

Me was that “best”was a term relative

For each individual, its aim was to give

Each individual some boost to do “better”

So, better or best, it did not matter-

While “best” is the point of satisfaction individual

“Better ” indicates discontentment residual

So the gist of all this is (simplified)-

I shall strive to be better, and once satisfied

I shall consider myself to be the “best”

Thus my conundrum is laid to rest!

Imagination

“The most beautiful world is always entered through imagination.”

Helen Keller

A pragmatic person I consider myself to be

I uphold the principles of scientific inquiry

My profession relies on a strong foundation

Of irrefutable facts, evidence-based information

I like validated facts; with mathematical precision

I can easily make most of my decisions

It keeps the axis of my earth stable

Knowledge makes my life comfortable.

Yet when in my life excitement I crave

When I decide I want to be brave

And venture out of my zone of comfort

My dormant senses become alert-

And I dive into a world of imagination

Where fact and fantasy are in amalgamation

Giving shape and form to ideas new

Some remain fantasies, others come true

When trying to solve a problem unique

Where knowledge suddenly appears weak

Imagination might come to the rescue

And furnish a creative solution, brand new

And then I remember- what’s known today

Existed only in imagination back in the day..

Thus while knowledge is the wall, dull and sturdy

Imagination is the drapery, avant-garde and quirky!

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: