Caresses

My hair caresses my neck
My smile caresses my lips
My heart beat caresses my chest
My pulse caresses my toes
My breath caresses my whole body

What need do I have for your caresses my love?
When all the caresses are within?

Heaven

I was in Heaven, all was light
The mountains and deserts were all bright
Even the deer I rode was pearly white

Though pretty as hell, I tired after a while
I called on the Angel and asked for my colorful delights
The colors returned, I found myself in my own earthly lights

Space

I am a tiny speck
in this limitless space

yet i carry the weight
of this limitless space

Breathe

I tell her Mama teach me to breathe
She teaches me about religion

I tell her Mama teach me to breathe
She teaches me about society

I tell her Mama teach me to breathe
She teaches me about education

Many years later, I am gasping for breath
Dying a slow death
Having learnt all about religion, society and education
But not a thing about breath

Jahanum

zindagi bhar jala jahanum ki aag mein
aakher rihayee mile aur janat mein pahunacha mein,
peechey sey awaazen ayi
"beta tumhey bhakaya jaaraha hai janat nahi dozakh hai yeh"

Last week
They laughed at me
Making fun of my wimpiness
I went home and weeped and weeped

This week
My wimpiness had the last laugh
as it refused to join the drunken drive
that led to the fatal accident

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. 

There is no end to the Pain

My feelings are more emphasized than before.. the urge to smoke, the desire to spit out venomous stuff, the anger at my mother, the immense irritation with her.. it is all back, the anger and hurt with someone, the feelings of victimization and loneliness are all underlined today. Gone is denial and my stark reality stares me in the face, and this time the reality is not about the environment or the characters that populate that, this reality is about the script that is playing in my head, this reality is about how I am chosing to look at life; the anger at myself, the pessimistic attitude towards others.. it is all coming out... the truth, my truth.

And the intense need for intimacy, and the question as to why I feel that need. Can I not feel the wind brushing against my cheeks, can I not feel the rising and falling of my own heartbeats, can I not hear the whispering of the birds in the trees; do I not wake up  inhaling the wonderful fragrance of my own skin; do I not see my mother looking at me lovingly while I am in deep sleep;  is it all not too intimate? or is it too intimidating?

Someone yells at me, someone cuts me in traffic, a mean child, an abusive boss, an unsympathetic friend, a detached partner or simply losing the car keys, or forgetting my mobile at home, or being late for an appointment... the reasons to be a victim and to feel victimized are many; the reasons to feel powerless, hopeless and trapped are too many. I don''t even have to look for them, they populate my world. When something does not work my way, it appears that suddenly nothing seems to be working my way; a bad day; a bad week - just acronyms for the lights turning off one after the other.. the vicious circle of life, the Domino effect.

I stare at myself in the mirror and smile at my own foolishness. I understand this truth about life, but day after day I invariably keep falling prey to it. Is it the pleasure of the game? Is it the comfort of its embrace? What is it that keeps me glued to it?

I write.. I write not because I want to write. I write not because I love to write. I write because I need to channelize these energies that have taken hold of my soul's fortress.. to keep them in check, to stop them from ruining me. I write. I write to save myself. I write to see the face of truth. I write to see me.

Lets play hide and seek. I think of this ridiculous situation that I find myself in . A part of me finds it hilarious. A part of me feels angry, hurt and irritated. Why the anger and hurt? Why? How does it matter if that person responds to me or not? Is that person important to me? Really Pearl? Think over it? Is he really important or is it just my ego that is clasping on to him. What is it? Do I want to get enmeshed in the situation or would I rather prefer to be the interested observer.. understanding, observing and watching at the ripples of emotions generated by this new tide. Do I want into the ocean and feel its freshness permeate my being, or do I sit by its side working out the equations of the tide

I keep shying away from the ugly face of my own truth but there is no denying its existence; it is there very much pronounced when I sit still in the shadows of my own existence.I miss him .. there is no denying that.. i miss his laughter and his touch. I miss feeling cocooned in his hug. I miss that..I miss him terribly. I have not grieved that. The tears are back rolling down my cheeks. The wounds are back to being green. I feel a victim again. I feel powerless again. Here was I a little child playing by the side of the brook and then the skies turned dark all over again.

Where is he/ What is he doing right now? Has he found someone? Is he lonely and broken hearted like me? Or is he happy being where he is in life. I want to know. I very much would like to know.

I Seek what I AM !!!

For most of my working life, I have been afraid of public speaking but three years of sabbatical spent on peace and introspection seem to have taken their toll on my ego.

Back at a job for the last six months, I have been catching myself feeling nervous and shaken when meeting new people, or in meetings of more than two people. While I give myself all kind of affirmations, and furnish my grey cells with historical evidence of my good work, the feelings of fear seem to gush forward from an unknown and irrational fountain. I seem to have no control over these feelings.

Filling me with panic, they threaten to diminish me to nothingness. I have done everything in my power to deal with them. Surrender to the feelings, change the script in my head, share with another person, say a Prayer and handover, write about it, ground myself, or turn the situation comical in my head. But the feelings return!!!

Last weekend as I was lying down, I caught glimpses of my ownself from the past – glimpses of me from my younger days – a confident, vibrant, dynamic, outspoken, rebellious person. It suddenly dawned upon me that I was already that person that I was seeking or wanting to be. I was that person, but the veneer of fear had stopped me from accessing that person. I decided to stick to that vision of myself, those glimpses of myself that reminded me of who I really am!!!

And it works ……………

Ode to The Date - Not of the Palm Tree

I was getting ready for a date after a men-sabbatical of two and half long years. My heart pumped bubbles of anticipation as I felt like a teenager going out to meet a boy for the first time in her college days.

To my dismay, there was a power cut just as I got back home from office, which meant that I had to continue being in my office attire.

To add to it, his good looks, money and age (younger than me) were perfect ingredients for diminishing my being to that of a 5 year old child. I grounded myself – reminding myself I am beautiful, successful, energetic, dynamic and a creative human being – and it would be an honor for anyone to spend time with me.

Stay Calm, you are just going out for dinner. And that is the end of it. However, stay Open. 

He picked me up from my home in his flashy C Series Mercedes. I bent down to adjust the seat, fumbling for the seat adjuster. When he pointed out the seat adjuster to me, I immediately retorted, “Thanks but I was just scratching my itchy leg. Do you have a handler for an itch?”

We drove down to Funky Monkey in Vasant Kunj. Now for the socially ignorant, Funky Monkey is ex-Sound of Music that happened to be a raving nightclub once upon a time. 

All the seats on Level I were taken, so we had to settle down for a table right in the center of the domed restaurant on a raised wooden platform – probably the ex-dance floor of the ex-nightclub.

He ordered beers, I ordered Red Bull. Over our drinks and amidst the loud music, we started discussing spirituality since both of us have a strong interest in the subject.

“We are not our feelings and thoughts” resonated during our conversation over beers and Red Bull. Our spiritual conversations were interjected by cracking of jokes and the loud laughter that ensued.

He shared his experiences with de-conditioning himself. As a biker, his rides took him into uncertainty and new experiences that forced him to overcome his fears and think fresh. He wanted to change his name as that was also part of his conditioning. I argued about life throwing new experiences and challenges at us serving the same purpose; that chasing these experiences was part of a craving and obsession process.

Half-way through the evening, it amused me to realize that we were both gently trying to convince each other about the righteousness of our beliefs.

In the middle of it all, I put a napkin on my head to test his embarrassment. He quoted from Carlos Castenada, I brought John Bradshaw''s Healing of the Shame into our world there.He told me about his father, I shared about my wild hippie days.

He had recently gotten his heart broken after being in a relationship for one and a half years, and I was coming out of my two and half years of self-imposed virginhood after breaking up with my 8 year old sweetheart and love.

Despite factors funny, I still could feel stars. Two hours later, I was done with the place, its boorish music and the idea of discussing my personal life and beliefs in the center of pandemonium. Luckily, by this time, we were in agreement over quite a few things, and the argument had transformed into communication and exchange.

Outside, we argued over whether it was the full moon. I felt like kissing him, but did not have the courage to ask him. We discussed Wicca instead.

Inside the car, he said the next meeting would not take so long (this dinner had been pending for over a year), and offered to take me on a long planned "Unplanned” ride on his BMW bike on coming Sunday. He promised me the seat of the bike offered comfort for long rides.

I waited all Sunday. There was no call or message. I was tempted to message him, but my wizened old friend warned me against it, saying “You don’t do that with a monied guy. They are used to having their way in life, and are insecure about people chasing them.”

I wondered to be spontaneous or not. 

I ended up spending time with my time-tested friend – my blog - relieved in the revelation of my heart’s secrets to it.

Glimpses of Myself

I see glimpses of myself
Laughing, screaming, reaching for the stars
I see glimpses of myself
All worry abandoned to the skies
I see glimpses of myself
Child-like and full of love

Then the fog returns
Blurring my vision
All the mirror reflects
Is a heart full of splinters

I reach for that child, for that joyousness
I ache for that self, that dream of freedom

Slippery sand - I try to hold it
Rainbows - I try to catch them