Autumn Rains

I stop a while to feel the wind
to savour the music as it sings
to dance in the falling rain
to sculpt my soul in the snow

I stop a while to hear the birds
to feel the magic of spring
to drench my soul in the glowing yellow
before the gloom autumn brings

Then comes the day of grey and gloom
When the flowers are gone and the warmth is too
The tired ageing leaves now red
Fall on the ground in the slightest breeze.

The withered trees do pain my heart
with a mundane sense of raging death
but the memories of summer makes me walk still
And with the hope of white the snowy winter brings
I tread my path and rake the leaves

I sit and watch the now bare road to my house
Hoping some warmth would find its way
In the long shadows of barren autumn
Perhaps the chirps of the last leaving flock..
would stir the silence in the air.

But the breeze turns into a raging storm
and scatters the pile of the raked dead leaves
And the cleared path which held all hopes of joy
is littered now with autumn filth

I sit and stare embittered and sullen
Not knowing if I should rake again
My duty, I say, and I make my mind
That the road be cleared for the hope to bide

Yet just before I stand up and sigh
The greying skies do stall my way
The sullen heavy clouds of autumn
now scatter their freezing loan from the ocean.

This autumn rain all dull and icy
now halts my self set call of duty
And till it stops will I vaguely know
if the road to let new hopes come by...
would flood or lay messy still.

Yet a another part of me would think
Perhaps the flood would wash away the litter
And clear the path for my hopes to come
Yet all I do is wait for the rain to stall
and hope my road isn't still scattered with death.

CLOSURE...

So came the dusk in her saffron veil

bespeaking the fall of darkness

the stalking night came winding by

and the stars filled up the empty sky

I craned to look as far I could

the deep end of the ocean lay still and calm

yet the waves broke the impeding silence

denying my need for solace

I heaved up the box of unspoken memories

Brushing off the dust to be sure

That shattered relics from the distant past

Shouldn’t be stored or held dear

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to look

a last glance perhaps, few silent tears

I sensed I had wasted enough years

Brooding over tattered books

I saw the shards of wood shatter

On the rocks beneath the rugged cliff

The waves engulfed those that remained

Leaving nothing but the essence of a new beginning

As I walked away too proud to linger

I felt a weight lift off my shoulder

All I waited for was the advent of dawn

For new beginnings with the past forgone.

OF DUST AND LIFE

It was all but an urn with dust in it, 

which I held on to and looked on for hours. 

It probably had some color on it, 

some artists impression from the far east. 

Some imprints probably, a shiny varnish maybe,

 But all I looked at, was the dust inside it. 

Grey, white or brown probably,

 Resembling so much the dirt on the streets 

or maybe the stuff masons worked with 

or perhaps the dirt kids brought home from play 

maybe the remnants from a sandbox

 or the dusting off an ash tray 

I looked on and wondered if I could tell 

Or place the dirt somewhere it may belong....

I looked on the shelf lined with urns 

Standing grim and silent with no answers to give 

All looked the same but with a label on it 

And I wondered if the dust looked the same in them 

Probably the stuff you swept off floors 

Or the dirt from a dry summer storm

The memoirs of a camping fire

 Or shavings from a sculptors desk 

I wondered if I could tell 

Or place the dirt somewhere it may belong

In my heart somehow I knew the truth

 My fingers felt the writing through 

A label with a familiar name 

They probably had told this to me and was I supposed to believe? 

This dust aint my brother I know 

This isn’t the end of life somehow 

Somehow years and years of life 

Memories, voices, deeds and might

 Laughter, people, friendship and strife.. 

Its all dust you say and I wouldn’t believe... 

So I looked on and wondered if I could tell

 Or place the dirt somewhere it may belong.

Tears probably or maybe not 

I tried harder but couldn’t fight the blur 

This ‘dust’ is the truth of human life? 

Of all the years of togetherness 

Of the sibling love, fights and friendship 

Of games we played and laughter shared

You tell me this is all I’ve left... I wouldn’t believe! 

No way .. So I looked on and wondered if I could tell 

Or place the dirt somewhere it may belong.

SEASONS OF CHANGE Part 9

How much of the past do we actually remember? How many people have been forgotten and faded?
Do we remember the happier memories? Some to be cherished and some maybe eclipsed by an event which hurt us?  Or maybe there comes a time in life when you are to busy to be dwelling in memories.

So thats how it was. I was working to fend for my family, or whatever was left of it. A mother who wouldn't remember us and a young sister who never spoke of dreams or needs, since we were so busy in keeping alive. Conversations had turned into budget maintenance, the cost of medicines, the rota of being at home, the planning of daily routine. I no longer knew what went on with Payal or Arjun or anyone for that matter. None complained..sometimes you are too busy to address emotions...or maybe you're too scared to face them!

My work involved travel, loads of it at times. It wasn't taking me any closer to my dream of being a writer some day nor did it make me a better journalist. I ran behind money, grabbed every opportunity that came my way. Payal handled evening tuitions for the neighbours kids, Arjun  would watch Maa when she was away. I would go to work early in the morning and wouldn't come home till late. I didn't get any more interviews to do, but there was lots of running around, scripts to be written, meetings to be done or even arranging snacks and lunch for superiors and getting it to them on time. Literally anything that may or may not contribute monetarily, but sometimes maybe stop me from thinking.

I remember when in college, Baba used to tell us that the body has its own stop clock, it can slow you down when you need to rest. In the frenzy of life we lived in, rest came just in the form of the few hours of sleep I grabbed everyday. Something was supposed to slow me down too...

I was on an assignment in Madurai for a week covering a conference and had just checked into the guest house. Those were the days without internet or mobile phones . A fear of losses got me into the habit of calling my sister whenever I went out of town for long. So it had been raining all afternoon but I decided to walk out anyway to the nearest STD booth.

It was almost dusk when I was walking home. I guess it was considered unnatural for a woman to be walking on her own in smaller towns as I did stir a few heads. Rain had started to fall again and I held on to my umbrella. I had been having a minor headache all day which I had promptly ignored. I was probably a bit dizzy..my steps swaying and getting slower. It was still a good ten minute walk to the guest house. I noticed an empty bench in a deserted bus stop few feet away and thought I should sit down a while. I walked towards it...I don't remember reaching it. I probably heard someone calling my name....

Musings

Because I never have been happier
Because life's finally making sense
Because things were never simpler

They say its effortless to live a perfect life. And with all fear of jinxes, we would't wanna say its perfect. I say its more about making the right choices, trusting your instincts and that pinch of faith one needs...that the everyday efforts to make things work seem invisible. Of course, its the people around you who matter most.

You push out negative energies and build in on what you believe is best. You bury the past for good and hold hands with the present to build a better future. You give your heart, mind, soul and everything you have to your belief and duty. You fuel your work with passion..not because you want it done, but because you believe in it, you're immersed in it, you are in love with it.

When efforts are to work towards a goal and not actions of envy. When you've learnt to respect and learn from your worst competitors. When you open your mind up, to learn, to bow and accept your mistakes and repair them.

When you're in love with life, with your work, with people around you, with someone special ..its human to act crazy! Normal is boring...aint it. (Note :For all my fellow scientists..we are licensed to be crazy).

Excerpts from a diary entry not so long ago

What makes it so hard to face rejection - because its a failure? because you wanted it so much? or simply because you live in denial?

How difficult is to face a ghost from the past? And maybe done over a million times in life, you still feel terrible, moments before the encounter. It shocking at times at the amount of courage you posess which lets you keep your balance- something to be really proud of if you can. I guess because you have the strength- life lets you face the dark. Embarassments, pain..one has it all. And even though you've begged a million times for it to stop..in the back of your mind you know it wouldn't - thats life, aint it?

Regardless whenever rejection is sowed in, the plant of success grows much later. And till it surfaces and you have it - its hard to face the grave of the lost.

In a lifetime, we are entitled to many such days and sometimes we do think what we did to deserve this. Acceptance yes..but a hope resides that one day things will change and that one day we face the ghosts of the past with dignity- maybe show them a finger! It has happened, isn't it? and we hope it happens again. Into that day, we know, what keeps us going is hope and a little faith in the one watching us from up above!

Rain!

I hear the bells toll far away,

lulled only by the sound of the rain.

As the breeze gives the branches a sway,

I sit drenched counting the raindrops.

Its not everyday that it rains this hard,

it feels this summer is different somehow.

Its unique and beautiful, so says the bard,
the monsoon washes your sorrow.

A Moment...

In the distance between life and death

in a moment called my life.......

I see this dusk and I see no more

Where the slanting rays of the sun sketch your portrait out for me.

I feel this wind and I feel no more

where the soothing bursts of breeze

brings your fragrance close to me
I hear your words and I hear no more

when you say love me.

I feel your warmth and I feel no more

of the time when you held me.

In this distance between life and death

in a moment called my life

I know no one just you my heart

I know no breath, no touch, no sound

I know no love than yours my soul.
And I live this moment forever.....

Immersion

And its a breezy night again..when the winds spoke to me..
told me stories of the enchanted..sang a lullaby to me..
The still waters have ripples on them today..
on them the moon light dances its way..
the leaves of fall rustle to break the silence..
and the ripples break on the shore..sharing their guilt in the offense..

I dip my feet in water...feeling the autumn grip me..
the ripples turn to waves..and judge the intruder in me..
I walk into the depths as the water welcomes me..
the breeze blows the hair off my face...reminds me this is maybe..not to be..
I defy directions..I defy words..I defy my breath..as the water touches my face...

In the distance...a lone bagpiper plays
a music just so alien..defying the rules of the night..
I open my eyes one last time...and watch the as the moon shines on me..
the words of the deep sound closer..as the wind plays the ripples..
And as I sleep the water embraces me...into the deep as I return to eternity...

Seasons of Change PART 8

Keith Hubbard, was born of English parents in suburban Miami, in the United States. He grew up as the eldest of 3 children who were educated in Florida and then Boston before moving on to attend medical school to become doctors like their parents were. To Keith, setting up his private practice in Manhattan was all he dreamt of and achieved till one Saturday night when he met his old schoolmate Stephen Roswell in a NYC pub. Stephen worked with a group called the ICare foundation which was traveling to India to extend their helping hands. Suddenly inspired Keith decided to take the trip and as he would put it ‘discovered himself’ in India. When he flew back to New York, he had donated a huge part of his savings to the orphanages he visited in India. The same year he established the ‘Edgar Hubbard Trust’ in the memory of his late father which tied up with ICare to extend financial and medical help to these institutions.

Keith managed to attract a huge number of philanthropists and other people who pooled in money to keep the trust running, which initially included his patient’s parents. Keith Hubbard MD, PhD was a pediatrician. In a few years time The Edgar Hubbard trust along with Icare extended its branches from India to other impoverished regions in the Asian Subcontinent giving life to orphaned and underprivileged children. Keith himself flew down once every year to follow up the working of the institutes. It is probably the company of children and the joy he shared by helping them, is what kept him forever young and energetic in his priming thirties, and this is what which helped him recover from losing his fiancé Marian to cancer some years ago.

Given all the qualities of the man, still, neither could I get over the ‘Mad Man’ tag I gave him from our first meeting, nor could I improve upon it in any of our subsequent meetings. Some people are remarkably molded in the first impression you have of them!