Passion…unbridled

Much as I love to travel, I must confess

A trait crucial to travel I do not possess

And that is patience when there is disruption

To the planned itinerary- I still travel under the assumption

That flights would to their schedules adhere

And a delay in reaching my destination I would not fear

But that is hardly ever the case these days

Flights are disrupted in hundreds of ways

Unpredictable weather, political conflicts, cost-cutting by airlines

Any of these factors can operate individually or intertwine

With one another to cause massive delays

To deal with them, being patient is the only way

*

I was amused when an article on Thanksgiving travel I read

“Bring a healthy dose of patience and humor” it said

If one were to fly during the busiest season

This advice would definitely stand to reason

When there is a possibility of arriving significantly late

(After the turkey has been carved and there is little left on the plate)

The humor in this situation one has to be able to appreciate

In overcrowded airports as one us forced to wait..

*

Each time I fly, it seems to be a personal test

For my patience, to cultivate which more energy I should invest

And if I could learn to laugh at ridiculous flight delays

My futile outrage would dissipate away

In the waning years of my life, to what would I aspire?

Would I retain my enthusiasm for work or would I wish to retire?

*

Most of my life has been spent on the hamster wheel

I’m in a monogamous relationship with work, I feel

It’s not just about making a living, but work gives me

The most definitive form of identity

So though I think I would like to work less

Retiring completely seems a daunting proposition, I confess..

*

When I think of retirement I visualize

Myself being productive in myriad ways, but then I realize

My interests I have not cultivated enough

Without work, having an interesting life would be tough..

I hate to admit, but the only interesting thing about me

Is the career that shapes my identity

*

Then I wonder, my sharpness would I retain

In my older years, or would cognitive decline gain

A foothold on me such that the demands of my profession

I would be unable to fulfill despite my best intention..

In other words, would I be forced to retire

Unceremoniously, or worse, would I be fired?

*

The idea of being financially free

Such that you are able to retire early

And then work on terms that are your own-

This concept lately has popular grown

But it is a hard one for me to wrap my head around

Therefore unless I have an epiphany profound

I shall continue to work at a steady pace

Until retirement is a certainty I have to face

She had been hearing stories about her ancestors throughout

Her childhood spent in a bustling household, they were all about

The men in the family- their accomplishments, decisions, rigid attitudes

That were modeled for the children as positive attributes

Each time the stories came up, she had but one question in mind-

What forgotten stories of the women of her family could she find..

She saw her mother and aunts pulling barely visible strings

That ended up changing the course of things

Surely women in previous generations had exerted influence similarly

But in all the stories that were told, no evidence of their involvement she could see..

*

Many years later, she was given the responsibility to supervise

Disposal of all contents of the house, and to her surprise

She found a crumbling, moth-eaten khadi-covered diary

With entries dating from the first half of the twentieth century

The writing was mostly in Hindi with English words interspersed

The writer appeared well-educated and well-versed

In the politics of the time, and had opinions strong

She was spellbound as she continued to read along

Soon she realized the diary was written

By a freedom fighter who was a young woman

Her entries were insightful regarding India’s struggle for independence

Also apparent was her longing for personal freedom intense..

*

How was such an accomplished woman in her family

Never given a place in the family history,

As she pondered this question, she was simultaneously

Disappointed and overjoyed by her discovery

Now it was her responsibility to ensure

Her ancestor was not forgotten like they were before..

Draping a saree, donning a bindi and jewelry traditional

Then admiring myself in the mirror is a luxury occasional

While dressing up is always fun, this transformation

Quenches my soul-this is a celebration

Of my heritage, my roots, the vibrant culture of my homeland

A reminder of the rich textiles, of intricate craftsmanship grand

When I deck myself up in Indian finery like a queen

Before my mirror, I cannot help but preen..

*

I usually dabble in quick recipes that do not take

Hours and hours of preparation to make

But when the festivities start, I go the long route to prepare

In a traditional manner, traditional Indian fare

The aroma of spices from my homeland serves

To feed my soul, to put salve on my nostalgic nerves..

*

All gatherings are meant to have fun, but the communal celebration

Of our traditional festivals serves as a means of rejuvenation

For my mind that pines for celebrations of the past

This is an opportunity to make new memories that would last..

*

By connecting with my culture I heed

My Indian soul’s overwhelming need

The glass of happiness is filled up to exactly half of the volume

That it can hold, and the half that is empty seems to consume

Your thoughts, you wish you could fill it up some more

You wish more happiness into the glass you could pour..

Instead, the level starts receding as you continue

To observe it closely, happiness seems to

Evaporate as time goes by, its level goes low

You obsess over it, but your happiness you cannot grow

*

The glass of happiness is half-full again

You feel grateful because happiness and pain

Are equally balanced, you do not check it obsessively

But the level has increased the next time you see

The glass is now more full because with showers of happiness

You realize that you have been blessed

*

The glass was exactly half-full at the start

But the two attitudes were poles apart

And that determined your ultimate destiny

Whether you became less or more happy

Every person above a certain age

Tends to wax eloquent about the “good old days”

As a younger person you take it with skepticism

Life in the old days, when examined through your prism

Appears to you rather primitive

Without modern tools, how did they live?

You are baffled as picture of a utopian world they paint

While the present for them is full of complaints..

*

Fast forward a few decades, and you realize

That you’ve started talking about bygone days with moist eyes

You now see your past with a rose-tinted (presbyopic) lens

A melancholic nostalgia you experience

You too yearn for the good old days

Life used to be better in many ways..

*

Nostalgia is a strange emotion, your memories it paints

In shades so bright that your present appears faint

The good old days appear exceptionally great

You feel dissatisfied with your current state..

*

The next time your adolescents give you an eye roll

When the virtues of life decades ago you extol

Know that one day they would take your place

And the same skepticism from their children they would face

In this fast-paced competitive life, most of us desire

To spend our time productively, we aspire

To use our recreational time in such a way

That we expand our knowledge and skills every day

In keeping with this sentiment, reading fiction is thought

By some to be a waste of precious time- I say with conviction that it is not

*

When you read a story, you conjure up the scenes described

In the pages you are reading, you are drawn inside

The world of the characters about whom you read

You leave the real world behind and live with the characters indeed

This has been proven to build empathy and expand

Your sense of inclusivity as you explore stories from other lands

Reading fiction gives a boost to your creativity too

The more you read, the less cognitive decline you face

You may add some years to your life if reading fiction you embrace..

*

So if you have ever felt guilty for escaping into the fictional domain

Know that there are intangible benefits to the health of your brain

If in a compelling yarn you find delight

Know that you are doing something right-

A better person you may become

And to your life, add years some

There was a time when failure hung like a noose

Around my neck, despite best efforts I was unable to choose

To let go, every interaction with another person reminded me

Of my failure, the shame never let me be free

Fortunately on my next attempt I succeeded

In achieving my goal, the feeling of shame receded..

*

I can now talk about this experience with ease

Because the source of my shame did cease

I was ashamed of having failed, and that shame

The undercurrent of my life became

Until I found the measure of success

I was looking for, shame led to unbearable stress

*

I never felt comfortable expressing my shame

My own shortcomings I continued to analyze and blame

How would shame have shaped my world if I had not

Been able to get over it- I involuntarily shudder at the thought

*

Far too many stories remain untold

Far too many truths people withhold

Because of pervasive feelings of shame

Because of deep-seated beliefs that they are to blame..

From being unspeakable shame its power derives

When we try to bury our shame it thrives

If we can tell our stories to empathetic ears

We can break the cycle of shame, self-blame and fear

If left to fester, shame can metastasize

To all areas of our self-worth before we realize..

*

To allow others to let go of shame

To be an empathetic listener should be my aim

The soul-crushing effect of shame I’ve experienced first-hand

If someone opened up to me, I hope I would understand

Thinking of a fictional character that fascinating I find

Scheherazade is the one that comes to my mind

For the uninitiated she was the main character

The ingenious storyteller, the narrator

Of tales in “One thousand and One Nights”

She spun stories in the face of fright

Not knowing if she would live to see another day

But escaped death by leaving cliffhanger endings in such a way

That the king out of curiosity was compelled to left her live

To know the end of the story- but she would keep changing the narrative

She conjured stories within stories, and subplots devised

Creating a richly textured treatise comprised

Of stories that are known as the “Arabian Nights”

Stories that provide into human nature insight..

*

Scheherazade’s character I view as the epitome

Of storytelling, to be an engaging storyteller is aspirational for me..

(Delhi/ New Delhi, the capital of India is also my hometown. Unfortunately it holds the dubious distinction of being the most polluted capital city in the world. Still, it is a city that I love and care deeply about, and each time I return from a visit there, I feel compelled to write something about it)

Vehicles meandering through traffic patterns convoluted

The air heavy with smog, highly polluted

A sea of humanity visible in every direction

A microcosm of society seen at every intersection

Skyscrapers futuristic juxtaposed

With monuments centuries old

A storied past, a checkered present and a future optimistic

Co-exist in a manner uniquely characteristic

Where the voices of power have reverberated for centuries

This is my beloved Delhi, the most dynamic of all cities..

*

A city bearing the marks of human ambition

A city reeling with the effects of unfettered consumption

A city filled with the optimism of its inhabitants

Growing, expanding, forward-looking in its intent

A city with accolades to celebrate and monsters to defeat

A city that pulsates with India’s heartbeat

(Trigger warning- there is a tragedy..)

I seem to be in the throes of a “bad” day

There is no smooth sailing, nothing’s going my way

My hopes of something going right are dwindling now

And despite my best efforts to the contrary, I have to allow

Myself to vent or my stress levels would rise

Into the stratosphere, avoiding that would be wise..

*

My phone starts buzzing with a flurry of group texts

I stop to check the messages, and in the moment next

It appears that a gut punch has been delivered to me

It’s the kind of message you never want to see

About the untimely demise of a classmate

The tragedy is too hard to contemplate

*

My minuscule problems have melted away

After the incomprehensible tragedy today

As I grapple with the reality of this news

Over the unpredictability of life I muse…

*

Over trivial matters I’ve been wrong to fret

I should not let myself get upset

Over inconveniences inconsequential

Over things that are non-essential

When life is so fragile, so fraught

With uncertainty, I should not

Waste my energy on annoyances mild

Live with gratitude this one life wild

“Physician, heal thyself,” to this advice open your ear

Hold your own life as close, as dear

As you do the ones of your family, the patients you treat

Listen to your body, be attuned to your heartbeat

*

The culture of medicine has been drilled down in you

Insane hours of work you’ve learnt to accrue

Without adequate sleep, rest or relaxation

You strive to be available to your patients in every situation

To the point of neglecting your own relationships and needs

Your own advice you are unable to heed

*

You are human, and definitely not immune

To sickness, do not let medicine consume

Every facet of your life, to the extent that you compromise

This one life of yours highly prized..

*

You are there for others, you need to be there

For yourself, of your mental and physical well-being take care

Listen to your body, your bravado do not display

If something does not feel right, take action right away

Your patients may be waiting, but you have to ensure

That you are there tomorrow, to offer them a cure..