Thoughts

taken me a lifetime to discover my own innocence

taken me a lifetime to reclaim my own brilliance

Fear was my education

Shut my doors, lest someone may steal

Tune off my mind, lest someone may intervene

Close my heart lest someone may break it

A lifetime spent in wanting to belong

In wanting to look like you,

talk like you, walk like you

A lifetime spent in trying to be smart

To appear as the wise old man

So you could dole me some more respect

So you could give me some more attention?

Now finally as I face the mirror

As I remove the layers of wisdom

All I catch is a glimpse of the child's innocence?

hope glimmers, doubt persists

could it be, no it couldn't be

Just as the white light produces a multitude of colors

when passed through the prism;

the light of the human soul produces multifarious effects

when passed through the body

Searching for my own light, i traveled the world

I searched everywhere till i found it within

In forms multiple, in shapes diverse

 

Radiating my light in ways multiple - 

unknown to me, known to me

through my silence, through my action

through my anger, through my compassion

As I found my light, I found it reflected on all sides

In the maid silently sweeping the floor

In the old man looking out of his window

In the bird perched high on the tree

In the child gleefully breaking things

In the politician playing power games

All radiating their light in ways multiple, 

unknown to them, known to them

through their silence, through their action

through their anger, through their compassion

Insignificance is not a choice for me

I matter, unknown to me, known to me

Whether on the road or on facebook

My existence triggers thoughts and feelings

There is no way you can see me and ignore me

Inside and outside, I witness the matrix

- of experiences, feelings and beauty

I say a prayer for this body

For this body allows me to experience this matrix

New Connections

She was 35 years old now. Her mother had divorced her father when she had been barely 6 years old young. She had no recollection of her father. Just one or two faint, hazy memories. One of the memories was her father visiting her at school for a brief 5 minutes. Another memory was her father visiting her at her home when her mom had not been around. She had heard the doorbell ring. She had opened the door to find her father standing there with polythene bags full of knick knacks. He hugged her tight, planted kisses all over her face and handed over the bags full of knick knacks to her. He told her how much he loved her. And then he left as suddenly as he had arrived, fearing that her mother may return.

Many years later, she heard about her father's death from her cousin in school. No one at home discussed it. Her mother did not tell her about it.

All her life she had attempted to dig information from her mother, grandmother and her relatives about her father. But they had made excuses or offered tit-bits of information.

She knew her father was her mother's paternal cousin. That they had been married at a young age. He had been a brilliant engineer who had turned into an alcoholic, and had finally died of liver failure. She had also learnt that he had re-married.

And now at 35 years of age, she was itching to know more about her father. To connect the dots. To weave together the strands of history, to understand her own genes, background and childhood.

She wrote to her father's sister, and received a prompt response. After a few weeks, she flew down to her hometown to meet the sister. The sister was friendly and showered her with affection, telling her how much she had missed her. And then she handed over her father's few remaining belongings to her - some certificates, employment history, and her father's diaries. Her father had been a prolific writer and had maintained a daily record of his time.

The diaries were full of her father's expressions of love for her in addition to his daily recollections. And then she took out the diary from the last year of his life. He had been diagnosed with liver failure. Each page in that diary spoke of his pain due to liver failure, his incessant battle with alcohol, his pleas to Almighty to forgive him and help him. And then the pages became blank.

It took her a lot of courage and tears to absorb that.

She then visited her father's grave for the first time, and cried her heart out.

Next she went to meet her father's other siblings. He had a brother and four sisters. One of the sister's husband told her, 'Your father wanted to meet you on his dying bed. We tried talking to your mother. She refused to send you." It broke her heart to learn this.

Later when she confronted her mother with this, her mother told her, 'I was just trying to protect you from the pain and trauma."

Years later, she enjoys a great bond with her mother. Both mother and daughter have worked painstakingly hard to develop this bond. They have gradually learned to communicate - talk and discuss more openly and freely, accepting each other as they are. To unravel the past, and reinterpret it. It has been a continuous effort to try be honest and transparent with each other, to unlearn hiding things from each other and being afraid of each other's reactions.. The past has been dealt with. It no longer bothers.