Passion…unbridled

I need only one accessory for accompaniment

That can provide sufficient entertainment

When I am stuck somewhere and have to wait

My appetite for reading I satiate

I take out my book and place it in my lap

Or bring up an e-book on my phone app

And start reading, sometimes to my detriment

Even in places where I should remain vigilant..

*

I must take a book with me everywhere

I cannot imagine having a moment to spare

And not having a physical or electronic book to read

A book is a comforting companion indeed

When I am among strangers, in a new place

And the awkward glances of others I don’t want to face

In the book I am carrying, my face I immerse

To making small talk I am quite averse..

*

Sometimes my obsession with carrying a book

Somewhat strange and ridiculous does look

To carry a book while running errands may seem futile

But it is just a quirk of mine, my unique style

I had been wronged, of course I was upset

That is all I could think about, I could not forget

I wanted retribution, or reparation maybe

Or at the very least, a sincere apology

I would tell everyone about the injustice I had faced

People usually agreed that my anger was well-placed

Most extended empathy, some counseled me to let go

But the hurt ran deep, whether I could forgive, I did not know..

*

I carried the grudge in my heart for years

I poured my sob story into every willing ear

Slowly it dawned on me that I was being shunned

On deeper self-examination, the realization left me stunned

That holding on to the grudge had left me full of bitterness

I had let myself decay slowly in this process..

The person who had wronged me was no longer around me

It was time to forgive and move on finally..

*

To let go of anger required a ceremony

I wrote a letter forgiving my (mostly imaginary) enemy

And set it on fire, letting my grudge burn down

My burden turned considerably lighter, I found

*

So many years of my life I had spent

In futile bitterness, but from now on my intent

Was to forgive freely, so that I could set

Myself free from anger, even if I did not forget

It was difficult to bridge the generational divide

Between grandma and me, there was a chasm wide

Raised in two different eras and two different continents

Communication was stilted despite our best intents

Language and cultural barriers were quite vast

We wished to create memories that would last

But I could not imagine her world, mine she could not comprehend

We shared little despite the time together we tried to spend

*

She had uprooted herself at her age to come live with us

She had tried to adapt to our style of living without a fuss

Gradually she had made the kitchen her domain

Serving us gourmet food instead of meals plain

Although I admired the delectable food she prepared

To attempt something as complicated I would not have dared

*

Fate had to conspire to make our worlds collide

Where else, but in the kitchen, we bridged our divide

One day she asked me for assistance in opening a can

The aroma in the kitchen made me wonder what was in the pan

It was a grain I had never heard of or seen previously

I found its description online when she told me its name in Hindi

Apparently it was a ceremonial food meant to be consumed

During ritual fasting- my grandmother resumed

Cooking the dish with a beatific smile

And I just stood there watching her for a while

Until she asked me to get involved too

And despite being sure this was something I could not do

I started following her instructions to prepare

The first of many dishes that we would come to share..

*

From that day onwards, every opportunity I took

In learning from her how to cook

Traditional Indian fare, in doing so we bridged our divide

I learnt about my culture through food, I learnt to take pride

In the rich culinary tradition of my ancestral land

The language of food prepared with love, I began to understand

*

Food is an expression of love, they say

It became evident to me that day..

No one knows my wanderlust better than my devices

Planning imaginary trips is one of my vices

So the tailored and filtered content that I see

Of exotic travel makes me go green with envy

As if gloating over friends’ travel pictures weren’t enough

Seeing travel vlogs and instagram travel reels is much more rough

On my psyche because I start wallowing in self-pity

I am stuck making a living when there is so much to see…

*

Getting sucked into social media consumption is terrible, I realize

But from breathtaking pictures and videos, I cannot avert my eyes

So I get drawn into consuming travel related content

For hours at a time, despite this not being my intent

I try to tell myself that I am expanding my knowledge of geography

But the truth is that I am just wasting all my time that is free..

*

One day I shall travel to exotic places too

And let me just admit what I’m going to do-

Take pictures with the singular intent

Of creating watchable social media content…

You tell anecdotes, stories you narrate

To your family and friends, you integrate

Fact and fiction, history and folklore

You read to your children tales that you have adored

Since childhood, you bequeath cherished traditions

Through storytelling, with some omissions and additions..

*

The most important story lives within you

You are hesitant to tell that tale, but it is true

That the greatest story you can narrate

Is your own, the one in which you can integrate

Your past, present and future, your values and motivation

To weave a story as unique as you in your situation…

*

You may think that a very ordinary life you live

But you are still a cauldron of interwoven narratives

That deserve to be shared with those close to you

When you tell stories, share your personal tale too..

*

And if you are a writer or aspire to be one

Write down your story, let your struggles and achievements unsung

Find expression, because your masterpiece would be

Your own story, narrated with authenticity

Sometimes it is necessary to retrace

Your steps, go back in time and face

Who and where you were decades ago

That younger you would be overjoyed to know

Where you are in life today, you would see

Her eyes shining with pride invariably..

*

You may not be satisfied with where you are now

But meeting your younger self would allow

You to see how far you have come

Even if unrealized dreams there are some

It would make you more hopeful about

Your present and your future, no doubt

*

You want to look to the future but once in a while

Revisit your past, and visualize the smile

On the face of your younger self when she meets you

You still represent her dreams that have come true..

Infinite universe, and infinitesimal me

No matter who I am, how can my life possibly be

Of any consequence in the time minuscule

That I would occupy on this earth, am I but a fool

To dream dreams that seem incredibly expansive

I am a tiny drop in an ocean, what could I possibly give

Back to this universe that would be unique

In a microscopic part of the world, answers I seek..

*

Because I am so small, I may be bigger than I think

Let me contemplate this a little, let this thought sink

Into my being- what I do has effects

On a minuscule part of the universe, I suspect

If all the deeds of people on this planet

Are summed, the resultant effect

Would be large enough to sway

The pendulum in one or the other way..

*

I am ridiculously small, but still a part

Of something much greater-I take heart

In knowing that what I do is consequential

When multiplied by similar efforts, the result is exponential…

What motivates me to write, I do not quite know

I wonder especially when inspiration runs low

Starting a verse, then discarding it because

The idea I cannot expound on, I take a forced pause

Still facing writer’s block, I give up, in exasperation

It appears the day is not conducive for inspiration…

*

I return to my desk, determined to spend

Dedicated time on my writing, I do not want to end

The day without honoring my commitment

To write at least a few lines is my intent

But I cannot put together my thoughts coherently

I write, and erase half-formed lines repeatedly..

*

There are days when I want to give up my practice

But then I fear, I would lose out on the bliss

That I experience when a verse comes together effortlessly

When ideas flow and arrange themselves in words seamlessly

If I stop writing, that coveted state of flow

Is something I would never reach, I would never know

*

Therefore I return to my desk, day after day

When I will myself to write, my brain finds a way

All stories draw inspiration from stories written in the past

The universal themes of human nature forever last

Many modern stories are derived from old classical tales

Some stories are such that their charm never fails

Many new stories are being retold

From a different perspective, but on the same scaffold..

*

There are so many classical stories that need

Retelling from a different viewpoint indeed..

Most of the fairy tales, fables, folktales we have read

Have been narrated from a male-dominated viewpoint, instead

We need to give the women in those stories well-known

A distinctive voice, a voice of their own

Reimagine the stories in such a way

That women are not just bystanders, but have a real say

In determining the storyline, let these stories end differently

Let finding a prince the stereotypical ending not be..

And why should only the journey of the hero be highlighted

The journey of the female protagonist would leave me more excited

In retelling these stories let women find their place

In a patriarchal world, let their ambitions surface..

The word “ritual” somehow brings to my mind

Orthodox practices of a rather primitive kind

Governed by dogma and carried out

By followers of a blind faith devout

Maybe this word I have encountered being used

Only in the context above, therefore I am confused

When “ritual” is used in reference to routine practices everyday

Apparently developing rituals is beneficial in many ways…

*

There is thought-provoking research that I read:

When routine activities are performed mindfully instead

Of being performed perfunctorily, what is habitual

Can be transformed into something more meaningful-a ritual

Rituals can imbue our lives with a sense

Of purpose, while bringing pleasure immense

*

I believe I have a few “rituals” of my own

I had thought of them as quirks, I had not known

That they could be called my personal rituals indeed

These mindful practices in my daily life I need

To keep me grounded and centered through the day

So I can confidently navigate my way

Through life’s unexpected twists and turns

I can retreat to familiar rituals when the day is done.

We learnt to store an inordinate amount of information

In our hippocampi, we learnt data analysis and pattern recognition

To synthesize a patient’s complaints and tests

Into a diagnosis, and then treat it to the best

Of our abilities is what we have been taught

No one told us that one day we would not

Be the only ones capable of doing what we do

That Artificial Intelligence would encroach upon us too..

*

Each study with AI seems to suggest

That AI is a better clinician than the rest

Of us, should we be worried indeed?

Would our expertise the world still need?

*

Would the “DocGPT” make eye contact

Would the sanctity of patient-physician relationship stay intact

What would AI do if patient management fell outside the norm

How would AI in complex situations perform?

Would AI understand cultural nuances in healthcare

In shared decision-making with patients, how would AI fare?

Would AI read every minor abnormality on an imaging study

That is inconsequential to the overall health evidently..

Some say AI would free us humans up to do more

Of talking to and examining patients, like we were trained for..

How would we compete with AI that has stored data vast

We cannot learn that much that fast..

*

Are we going to enter an era that is new

Where robots, just like humans diagnose and treat too

To do it right would require some ingenuity

So humans and AI can work simultaneously

Time is a precious commodity and in short supply

Therefore every hack to save time I try to apply

To my daily routine, be intentional with every move

I am constantly thinking of ways to improve

The length of time I take to complete any task

Hoping that in the glory of leisure time I would bask

One evening, when all my chores are completed satisfactorily

I would sit back and relax, read and sip my tea..

*

At completing tasks fast I have acquired considerable skill

Yet I seem to have more and more work to fill

The finite amount of time I possess

The imaginary leisure time over which I obsess

I have never found, work fills it up in some way

I don’t feel that productive but I am working all day…

*

I am tired of pushing myself constantly

To complete work faster, no benefit I see

To my well-being by being on this hamster wheel

Therefore today I have decided to steal

A few moments of leisure in the midst of my chores

I am sitting down with a cup of tea, I am not going to think any more

About work until I am relaxed and completely satisfied

With this little break, quite hard I have tried

To place work above my needs, but I have lost

A sense of balance, and incurred a heavy cost

To my physical, mental and emotional wellness

But now I am determined to reverse this process..