Passion…unbridled

Growing up, the importance of neatness had been drilled into me

So I worked hard on my penmanship, tried to write neatly

Tried to draw symmetric figures, and to color within the lines

Tried to keep my desk organized in order to align

The virtue of neatness with achievement and success

Over neatness and organization I continued to obsess

Throughout childhood, into early adulthood

Later, in medical school I understood

That neat surgical incisions I was less likely to make

And that trying to be a surgeon would be a huge mistake

At the same time, I finally came to terms with the realization

That I would never be the poster child for organization

*

While I can be neat and organized when needed, neatness

Does not come naturally to me, I actually thrive in relative mess

When things are too organized, I feel uninspired

To stir my creativity, a little disorderliness is required

I don’t want my books stacked in a corner neatly

A book scattered about us more likely to be read by me

When I paint, I smudge color outside the lines

(I would rather not paint than remain within lines confined)

If in an orderly sequence I was forced to write

Writer’s block I would have to continuously fight

*

For some people cleanliness equates clarity

and brings calmness

For me, excessive organization leads to anxiety and distress

I feel the pressure to be perfect in that case

Challenging imperfection that I’ve learnt to embrace

*

In the midst of mild disorderliness let me thrive

Let me think, be creative, feel alive!

A while ago I decided I would be

The most authentic version of me

I would live life on terms that were my own

I would reap the fruits of seeds I had sown

So I worked hard on shutting off external noise

Tuned in to myself to find my authentic voice

Tried to distance myself from herd mentality

And started living life with intentionality

*

I seemed to be making the right moves, and yet

No reward for my efforts I seemed to get

I had thought being authentic would be the key

To my being successful eventually

But that was definitely not the case

The disappointing reality I had to face

Was that success was continuing to elude me

I was stuck in my own bed of authenticity..

*

One day it finally dawned on me-

That even though I was living life differently

My expectations were the same as before

I craved for recognition more

And therein the problem did lie

I wanted my work to be in others’ eyes

My “authenticity” was not authentic after all

In the same old trap I had managed to fall

*

If I am on a path of authenticity

My measure of success should not be

Judged by a yardstick others have applied

Both progress and success, I myself should decide

Sometimes staying on the same track means

Letting possibilities, better or worse, remain unseen

Sometimes the path itself is telling you to step away

How do you resolve this dilemma anyway?

*

The familiar route feels comfortable, you do not

Want to rock the proverbial boat, it requires some thought

To wade bravely through waters unknown

You know this decision you have to make alone

*

You can ask others for opinion and advice

But you know in your heart this would not suffice

You know that the ultimate decision

Hinges on your gut feeling , your intuition

*

So take the leap if it feels right

There is always a battle to fight

Whether you amble along the old path or take

A brand new path, both are tough choices to make

When most news around you is nothing but depressing

I wish there would be more people stressing

The more positive news from our skies-

The astronomical phenomena that take us by surprise

And a sense of awe- like the news that the earth is going to acquire

A second moon for nearly two months- would this inspire

Some storytellers to weave new stories around it

Or give old romantic fables and ballads a new twist?

They say the borrowed asteroid would be

Too small to be seen by the naked eye unfortunately

But astronomers would certainly have some fun

Documenting the course of this one..

*

The skies have put up spectacular shows lately

Northern lights in our backyards we’ve been able to see

Before that a total solar eclipse made a rare appearance

Witnessing these astronomical phenomena has given me pleasure immense..

*

My child is exposed to distressing news every day

Therefore I want to bring to his attention the larger forces in universe at play..

(The book in question is “There are Rivers in the Sky” by Elif Shafak)

I am that hopeless bookworm who can get

Lost in the pages of a book and forget

The passage of time and the world around me

I can get transported to a world imaginary

In an instant if the story holds my attention

Breaking that spell needs extraordinary intervention

Until I have turned the last page of the book

Outside the confines of the pages I hardly look

I can read to the exclusion of food and rest

Unlimited time in reading I can invest

If I find a book that has the potential

To touch my soul- it becomes a need essential

To read the book cover to cover in one session

My zest for reading morphs into borderline obsession..

*

When I read a book that has such power over me

I cannot help but feel a sense of melancholy

As I reach the last few pages signaling the inevitable end

Of the book, I find myself wishing I could extend

The book by a few pages so I would not

Have to leave the world in my current thoughts..

*

I have finished reading the book and I find

Myself with a hangover, the book still occupies my mind

I congratulate the writer in my head and proceed

To post my review categorizing it as a five-star read

It is hard to put your head down and wait

When you’ve become used to gratification immediate

When the lines between need and want blurred have become

Having to wait for another time seems cumbersome..

*

I had always been an impatient person

Hungering for results as soon as I’d begun

When the desired results I did not see

I would abandon the path totally

Of course it got me nowhere and my life became

A series of abandoned projects for which my impatience was to blame

*

Maybe it was age, or the unpredictable world around me

That taught me the importance of waiting patiently

For life to unfold, while I kept working, improving my skills

With the hope that someday my goals would be fulfilled

I have not reached any goalposts but at least I have not

Given up projects started, I think I have progressed a lot..

*

It takes time to arrive at the right moment

When you can strike the iron that is hot, fulfill your intent

If you have patience, and work steadily towards your goal

At some point you may witness your ambitions unfold

But if you are impatient, that moment might stay

Perpetually elusive, never come your way..

*

I do not know what tomorrow has in store

But patiently let me work on my goals some more

What is it that you plan to do with your one wild and precious life, this quote

Brings me to the verge of tears, it’s almost like Ms. Oliver wrote

This specific line with my existential quandary in mind

I examine my life, ponder deeply, I still cannot find

That one thing that I would be able to claim

As my mission in life, that one purpose I would be able to name

As something to strive for- I am living from day to day

Waiting for a revelation to present itself along the way

A eureka moment that changes my life’s course

A realization that hits me with a sudden force..

*

In my one wild and precious life I continue to live

Like an observer, watching life happen to me, not being proactive

In trying to bring about a change around me

I sit back and watch the world passively..

I put in honest work for a living, pay my taxes that are due

I care for my family- in a perfectly ordinary way too..

But is it enough to live my precious life in this manner predictable

Am I realizing the full potential of which I am capable?

*

These questions sometimes keep me awake at night

In this wild and precious life, I want to find and shine my light…

“Is there nothing else that can be done?”

I hear the plea in their voices, I see the desperation

In their eyes as I try to have this difficult conversation

In this miserable, tragic situation

I am not the treating physician but I happen to be

The one medically literate person in the family

The prognosis given by the treating team is dismal

It is hard for loved ones to grapple with this reality abysmal

I have tried to reach out to experts that I know

For my efforts, I have nothing positive to show

My medical training also tells me their physician is right

Unfortunately there is no tool left with which they can fight…

*

I feel torn between reason and emotion

I wish there existed a magical potion,

An experimental drug, a novel therapy

A medication that could work serendipitously

But I know we are just in the bargaining stage of grieving

Desperate to ensure no stone unturned we are leaving..

*

Dealing with impending death of a loved one

Is the hardest thing to do, knowing that a hideous disease has won

The battle in a young person causes excruciating pain

It feels like all efforts and prayers have been in vain

There is no alternative but to come to terms with reality in the end

A grim reminder of the limit to which human influence can extend..

Language has a rhythm, words have a flow

When you substitute prose with poetry you know

The cadence of each syllable, the symmetry of rhyme

Words find expression in a manner sublime

In a harmonious sequence that mimics

Cleverly arranged notes in music

With rhythmic brevity, a poem conveys

Its message in an oblique, circuitous way..

*

I love the underlying cadence

Of words arranged in a rhyming sequence

A poem read out loud all my senses does engage

Amalgamates the best of rhythm and language

Each word, each syllable has an impact

It is an immersive experience in fact

I know I can soak myself thoroughly

In a lyrical poem’s vivid imagery..

Well-written prose nourishes my mind

But my soul is nourished when a beautiful poem I find

(I read about a Yupik mother creating alphabet coloring book for her children in Alaska because she could not find one, and came up with this idea. There are Indian entrepreneurs who started their businesses because they could not find what they wanted within the United States.

I wanted stuff that represented my roots but I could not

Find anything suitable despite searching a lot

All the stuff available catered to the dominant culture alone

There were many people like me around, but for reasons unknown

My culture appeared to have minimal representation

In books, artistic objects and fashion..

How could I pass on our cultural heritage to my son

If appropriately themed objects I had none?

*

I never thought a businesswoman I could be

But in the lack of cultural representation I saw an opportunity

If you want something that is not available to you

Then creating it instead of fretting about it is the best thing to do

So I collaborated with other community members to create

A series of products that my cultural heritage would incorporate

My vision was audacious, my experience non-existent

But to bring my idea to life was my sole intent

Because there was a market demand, my business

Despite a modest start, soon became a success

From clothing items to home decor to toys, coloring books and more

Contemporary functionality blends with cultural aesthetic in my store..

*

Where there is a need and a will

There appears a way that allows you to fulfill

That need- my business on this principle was created

Now my cultural heritage is on display to be celebrated

I tried to tell my healthcare team something did not feel right

My concerns were dismissed as a consequence of sleepless nights

As a young mother- I was told it would not last long

I was a mother, and mothers were supposed to be strong…

But I was dealing with exhaustion extreme after a year and some more

It was not something I had heard before..

I pleaded for some tests to be run on me

And was found to be anemic profoundly

Finally I was able to get the treatment I needed

Because I was persistent, my body’s signs I had heeded..

*

Approaching my sixth decade, I was feeling bad

Most days of the week, weird symptoms I had

I saw my doctor but my symptoms were attributed

To menopause, I wish I could have more forcefully refuted

The insinuation that my chest discomfort was “functional”

Because my estrogen had plummeted to a level dismal..

That feeling in my chest turned out to be

Due to near-total occlusion of my main coronary

Thankfully it was found before I had a heart attack

It was not hormones but blood supply that I lacked..

*

Even in this age and day, women’s complaints are not taken

As seriously as those voiced by men

From hormones to anxiety to multitasking, everything gets blamed

But the actual complaint of a woman is ignored all the same

Unless a woman happens to be persistent

In advocating for herself- or there is a catastrophic event..

In healthcare all of us including women

Are guilty of listening selectively to men..

*

I am ashamed that such biases exist in medicine

When a woman voices her complaints, we must learn to listen

To her concerns, and not dismiss them as “in the mind”

Many illnesses much earlier we would be able to find

I read a post then compulsively scroll

Through the comments, go down a rabbit hole

Of never-ending fear-mongering and negativity

Almost as if under a spell, forgetting my proclivity

Towards anxiety as I continue to consume

All the toxicity online, through scenarios describing doom

Most of the time I am completely unaware

Of my self-destructive behavior when I should be practicing self-care

Until I have stopped scrolling and have had time to reflect

Upon what I have read- once I have had time to dissect

The post, related comments and their effects on me

I realize how I have subjected myself to needless misery

All the negativity, hate and vitriol

Have left me angry- I must not doom-scroll

If I want to stay level-headed and calm

If I want to avoid self-harm..