सपने

कल सुबह जब उठो तो सुनहरी धूप की गर्मी में कुछ पल नहाना

नमी में डूबे गीले पत्तों को सहलाना

नए दिन की शुरुआत का गीत गाते परिंदों को सुनना

बदल रहे मौसम के इशारे समझना

गर्म दिनों में सुबह की मंद शीतल पवन से अंतर्मन को पुलकित करना

पतझड़ हो तो गिर रहे पत्तों की बारिश में कुछ पल खो जाना

शिशिर ऋतु की ठंडी बर्फ से देह और मन को चकित करना

वसन्त में नन्हे पौधों से थोड़ी बातें करना।.....

जानती हूँ तुम्हारे सपनों की तालिका बहुत लंबी है

बहुत दूर तक जाना चाहते हो

सितारे छूना चाहते हो

पर उन सितारों को देखने वाला भी तो कोई होना चाहिए

वो ऊपर आसमान में टिमटिमाते चाँद और तारे यूँ ही तो नहीं बने

अस्पष्ट अँधेरी रातों में जाने कितनों को राह दिखाते हैं

अपने अस्तित्व को सार्थक बनाते हैं।

अकेले भागते रहे तो कभी थकोगे भी, कभी गिरोगे भी

कोशिश करना कि कोई हो जो तुम्हे थाम ले, उन पलों में संभाल ले

तुम्हे टूटने से पहले समेट ले, तुम्हे बिखरने से पहले बटोर ले

तुम्हे याद दिलाये फिर से मुस्कुराना

कुछ पल ठहरना

फिर से चहकना

फिर से खिलखिलाना

सपनों की वजह से पीछे छूट रही ज़िन्दगी को

फिर से थामना

फिसलते जा रहे ख़ुशी के लम्हों को

संजोना

याद रखना कि सपने कुछ पूरे होंगे

कुछ अधूरे रह जाएंगे

पर ज़िन्दगी के गुज़रते लम्हे फिर वापस नहीं आएँगे।

Image Source

Linking to Write Tribe's  #FridayReflections prompt

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” – J K Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. Use this quote in your post or as an inspiration for one.

One Amazing Thing

"I screwed up my life big-time, a lot of ways. Did a lot of stupid stuff. But at least I saw one amazing thing."

------One Amazing Thing by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni


2013 was a blow. It was a year that filled our lives with much sorrow. It was a time of emotional ups and downs. Two deaths in the family and a birth. My father-in-law's sudden death was followed by an unexpected calamity - the departure of my only brother. I was expecting my second child, my daughter, whose arrival I could not in any way celebrate. I became cold in many ways. I started forgetting people's birthdays, something I had been very particular about since I always liked to wish them on their special days. I would hate when someone remembered mine, because all it reminded me was the last surprise celebration my brother had planned for me. I stopped praying. It seemed futile to sit with folded hands and eyes closed when there was no one out there to listen. I looked around and saw death, loss, grief, pain everywhere. I wasn't the only one to suffer. I would look at a solitary cloud floating in the sky and that would take my back to my brother. It was as if he was in it, flying freely while I stood on the ground searching for him, in vain. When on the road, I would be lost in the deep woods that bordered NJ freeways. They would beckon my spirit silently and I seemed to follow, hoping that he was there, calling me, waiting to talk to me.

But he was not there. He could not be.

I had to come back, empty-handed, always.

Life was utterly hopeless.

I had to find a way out. But I did not know how.

Image Source

Then one day, a close friend of mine called me. She was feeling very low. I tried to cheer her up on the phone, Later I wrote something for her. It was my first blog post - For You, My Dear Friend. It was from here that I named my Blog, When I Stopped to Smell a Rose. I did not know what would happen next. It wasn't as if all my agony had swept away. No, I still felt that void. I don't really thing it can be filled in any ways. But it did touch my core in an inexplicable way. My heart ached to write.

I had started on a journey almost unawares. I was clueless as to where it would lead me. But I was willing to be led. Some unheard voice guided me along. Some unseen hand nudged me gently and I started walking.

It was later that I realized a strange thing. I had posted my first poem, my first writing on my grandmother's birthday - October 15.  It was a strange feeling, an astonishing realization, a sign I willingly acknowledged as a blessing. It was an amazing thing to see that tiny speck of light amidst the bleakest, gloomiest part of my life.

I remembered all the birthdays I had celebrated with her, the cards I had made for everyone special to me, the happy moments that had given me so much precious memories to hold on to. Do you think I cried then? No, I cleansed myself of the heaviness of the sorrow that was crushing me.

I got up, and I decided to walk around, with others, to lighten them up, to cheer them up.
To smile.
To make them smile.

Through the foggy blindness of my pain, through the blurry denseness of others' misery, a hope sprung inside. And I decided to write.

I have continued. Somehow, despite occasional setbacks, I have continued. What started on October 15, 2014, has completed two years.

My blog has survived.
My hopes have survived.

The lone distant cloud still fills my heart with yearning and the deep woods still intrigue me.
But something stays put. Something holds me together. The healing continues.

All I need to do now is to extend a Big Thanks to all of you, my family, my friends, my fellow bloggers, who have tolerated me despite my irregularity.

I never thought I would be here. But who can, really, even if one plans. Do we ever have any absolute knowledge of even one moment of future. No, I don't think so.

But then, if we had the knowledge, would it be easy? The answer is again NO.

As I end the post, I want to share one more thing.
Last night, we dined outside. It would have been just like any other moment of eating outside but for one thing. Our table was next to a family who was celebrating an occasion. It was a very special one. The eldest member of their family, their mother-in-law, had turned 90! It was amazing to be part of this celebration although we were not part of the family. As we extended our wishes to the birthday girl, my heart was filled with amazement. I felt after a long time that birthdays are special!



Linking to Sanch Vee 's #FridayReflections  prompt

Did you think you’d be doing what you’re currently doing in life? Write a personal essay.

Simple Wishes.....

 

"What is that boy doing?" The little eager eyes were looking at a boy standing near a fountain in the middle of the park.

"He is throwing coins", her mother replied.

"Why?", she asked.

"It is a wishing well, dear. Some people feel that by throwing a coin in the fountain, your wish will come true."

"Can I have one, please?" The little girl started jumping restlessly. Her mother fumbled through her wallet and took out a penny. The girl grabbed the penny and rushed towards the fountain and threw the coin aimlessly. As the coin plopped into the water, she squealed with joy. She ran back to her mother. 

Image Source

"Did you see that, did you?" The look of pure delight in her eyes was priceless.

"Can I have one more coin, please?"

The reluctant mother took out another penny. Her daughter snatched the penny and grabbed her mother's hand. She pulled her close to the fountain. Then, again in a casual way, she tossed the penny into the fountain, waiting to hear the plop, as if that was all that mattered in the world.

Unmistakable laughter - pure and hearty - filled the air.

"One more, please.....one, only one.....please", she pleaded to her mother.

This time, her mother took out a handful of coins, and started giving them to her one by one. And she couldn't resist smiling at her simple pleasure. With every plop, there was a moment of a bellyful of laughter. After sometime, both the mother and her daughter were laughing their heads off.

"No more coins left, dear", Mother said. "Let's go."

"My wish came true Ma", the little girl confessed as they walked away from the fountain.

Mother stopped. "What wish?", she asked.

"I wanted to see you laugh, and the fountain fulfilled my wish. You were sad today. I didn't like that."

Mother was stunned. She was so little but she observed so much.

"You did not laugh at first Ma. But later, as I kept throwing the coins, you started feeling happy too. It is a wishing well Ma. We will come here often."

Mother hugged the little one tightly. She had never realized how much her daughter understood. As for the wishing well, perhaps, some wishes were meant to come true. Or perhaps, for wishes to be fulfilled, all you needed was a simple heart that never stopped trying.

Linking to #FridayReflections with Write Tribe and Sanch Vee

Brick Wall that disappeared......

When I was little, I used to have a dream. It was recurrent. In the dream, I would be walking on an unknown path and in front of me stood a red brick wall. It was shaded with beautiful trees. It would beckon me with its mysterious beauty. I would try to reach it but before I could cover the entire distance between me and the wall, the dream would end, and I would wake up. I don't remember when I stopped having this dream. I did not discuss it with anyone since I believed that if I do that, I would stop having the dream. It was as if I wanted to face that wall in its alluring charm again and again and again. 

I never tried to read into the dream too. My dad had a book about dreams and their meanings which I would stealthily read every time I had some weird dream. But for this one, I did not want to. I wanted no interpretation of that path I was taking, of that wall that seemed to stand in between, and the color red. Now, after all these years, I could interpret it in many ways. Perhaps, my dreamy heart wanted to venture into the unknown horizon and live the adventures it had to offer. Perhaps, the wall stood for the many hurdles I would face in my journey which I would have to overcome. Perhaps the color red signified danger or rashness or aggression or passion. 

The path never appeared  uninviting. I never sensed an unease during or after the dream. I wanted that brick wall to appear right in front of my eyes so that I could cross it and see what lay on the other side.

I never met that brick wall. Or may be I didn't seek hard enough. In some shady nook, in some fanciful corner, it might still exist, waiting for me to reach it, touch it, cross it. 

तुम्हे शिकायत है कि राह में दीवारें बहुत हैं 

मुझे दुःख  इस बात कि चलने की कोशिश ही न की 

(You crib that there are many walls in the way

I regret that I never tried to walk....)

Image Source

Linking to #MondayMusings on Everyday Gyaan

Chaos.....

For this post, I have written on Write Tribe's #FridayReflections prompt Chaos — how do you feel about it?  I have done a Free Write as suggested by Suzy Que in a previous post.

Image Source

Lot of prompts have been doing a round lately, and some of them have been really good. But for one reason or the other, I have not been able to write- have been either exhausted or busy. This time, the Write Tribe prompt on chaos set me to work...What is it that attracts me so much to the word? I don't know. When I think of chaos, I think also of creation. That's how it has been, right? Out of chaos has come our universe. The universe that we are trying to kill by our prejudices, by our recklessness, by our un-satiating desires. Oceans are dying thanks to the chaos caused by our senseless use of plastic. We try to keep everything clean only by shoving away all that is dirty here and there. But we pretend. We pretend to worry. We make and watch videos. We write and read articles. We like and share posts. We crib and complain over the chaos that is ruining us. But we don't accept that we ourselves are the cause of it all. Rational beings chaotically charged!

So are our thoughts. Where is the order inside our brains? Thoughts seem to burst rather than sprout. We act rashly. We give vent to our anger. We become intolerant because we think the entire world is against us, and hell-bent on hurting us. But we end up hurting only our peace and dignity. Waves of wild anger rise high and wreck our lives. What is left is only chaos. How will we stand again? We need to calm down. We need to stop hurling abuse on others. We need to become receptive. We need to open the gates of our hearts.

Gates - refugees are looking for open gates these days. Fleeing from the chaos caused by atrocity and injustice, they are fleeing to safer places. Many make it, many don't. There are kids who die. Alan Kurdi dies. Omran's picture is trending these days. I writhe in pain at the anguish in those little eyes. My heart bleeds at the sight of Alan's listless body. We are all responsible for their fate. How will we ever be forgiven? Who will grant us forgiveness? How will kids like Omran ever recover from the trauma that has devastated their houses, desecrated the innocence of their childhood, ripped apart their families? Who will bring peace to them? 

Little ones are supposed to smile. They are meant to be bundles of happiness. They are dying - the tiny seeds which were meant to bloom in a well-tended garden - a garden which has been uprooted. I wish some gentle breeze carries them to a meadow of love where springs of love flow. I wish they can smile again.

Smile - it is so essential. It is the thing that can counter chaos. A true, well-meaning smile. Not a sly one. Not a fake one. A smile that is as pure as the laughter of a child who is popping bubbles. A smile that is as chaste as the smile of a baby cooing in response to her mother's songs. 

Why have we forgotten that smile?

Why have we become so tumultuous and explosive?

Why are we ready to burst? 

Why do we love to bring chaos in other's lives when we hate to have it in our own?

My mind is in disarray.

Chaos takes over. 

I can write no more.

Linking to Write Tribe's #FridayReflections

Photography is Truth - Is it?

This statement rests on the fact that there is one 'truth' which can be reached, comprehended. Therein lies the fallacy of the statement. Although the context in which Godard put it must have been more challenging, and revolutionary (something I cannot cover in this post), let us focus on just the statement itself.

What is photography? To put it simply, it is a 'picture' taken of something - some object, or some person. In other words, it is a 'representation' of that thing or that person. 

When we speak of 'representation', we have already moved one step away from what we understand as 'reality'. Representation can be one part of truth. but probably not the whole truth, assuming that there is something called Truth. (I assume it because truth for me might not be truth for you.)

So, the context of the representation becomes important.

The context of the photograph becomes important. 

If we remove it from that context, the representation, or the truth that it represents will become irrelevant.

Consider photographing motherhood. Advertisers will hail motherhood as a period of celebration, and complete happiness. The photographs that will represent motherhood will probably show a calm and composed mother with a calm and composed child. But that is just one aspect of motherhood. This representation will hide the other 'truths' about motherhood too - the physical pain, the mental exhaustion, the bouts of depression many suffer from, the colic babies, the sleepless nights. 

Consider photographs of soldiers fighting in a war. Each warring army will represent their side as 'true', as 'correct'. But that representation will alter if the opposing army were to take the task of portraying their enemy.

Consider your own photographs. Consider your 'selfies'. Is that you reflected in that picture? Or is that you 'constructed' in accordance with certain 'shared meanings' in a society. (It would be helpful here to read Stuart Hall's essay on the politics of representation and views of post-structuralists.)

When we consider a photograph to represent reality or truth, we fail to understand that meaning circulates in a given context. To uproot it from that context would alter its meaning significantly.
Photographs are a means of constructing and imparting a certain sense of knowledge but that knowledge may just be only a part of the whole reality.

Meaning changes as perspective changes. Since a photograph's perspective is crucial to the making of its meaning, its meaning will change too with the shift in perspective.

As Ansel Adams rightly said, "You don't take a photograph. You make it."

What is your say on this? Do share your thoughts.


Linking to Write Tribe #writingwednesdays

No Child's Play

It was just like any other day. The neighborhood that was quiet in the hot summer afternoon started bubbling with the lively chatter and laughter of kids. It was just like any other evening. The bigger kids came out with their bikes, scooters, bats and frisbees. Not-so-careful-about-appearance Mommies made their presence felt on the scene as the little ones trundled behind. Gently blowing breeze managed to bring down the temperatures a bit so it was a comfortable evening to play outside or to just loiter around.

'Hey, that's not how you throw the ball." A boy shouted. Another intervened in his support. Mommies looked and ignored as this was no serious matter. All the kids who were playing were wont to play their every single day. There wasn't a newcomer on the scene.

Arguments ensued, however. In the group of the bigger kids was one non-Indian child. I wish not to disclose the racial identity of that non-Indian child because of two reasons - One, I don't deem it necessary. Two, I do not want others to hold or form any prejudice for anyone whatsoever. So, the non-Indian child approached the Mommies and told him that the other kids were being rude to him and were singling him out. Then he said, " My mom doesn't like my playing with Indian kids. She asks me not to be around Indians."

This shocked me. I was speechless for a moment. My mind was looking for something right to say. I wanted to tell the little child that he was so young to be holding a prejudice of this kind in his heart. I wanted to tell him how utterly mistaken his mom was. But I did not want to belittle a mother in her child's eyes. So I was quiet.

Then I told him that it was not an appropriate statement to make. I explained to him in simple words that they were all children and no-body harbored any ill-feeling whatsoever for each other. It was momentary anger and if they talked the matter out, all would end well. He listened and so did the Indian kids. Apologies were exchanged and the play resumed.

But we Mommies were stunned. It was a shock that would take some time to get over with.

My heart felt sorry for the mom who was not just cultivating bias in her heart. She knowingly or otherwise, was starting to contaminate the pure heart of an innocent child. This world is already ailing, do we need any more diseases? I questioned myself.

I grieved in my heart, for what I had thought was a child's play could one day take an ugly form. I dreaded that.

As parents what is our first duty to our child? Is mere formal education enough? Giving them the opportunity to study in good schools and colleges, providing them good clothes to wear, healthy food to eat, a secure roof to live under - is that enough? Who will forfend the plague of prejudice from afflicting their lives? Who will nurture in them the qualities of fairness and equality? We try to save them from the 'bad' elements around us. We try to keep them away from violence in the media. Who will save them from our own faults? Who will shield them from our own turbulent mentalities?

Will it not be a colossal parenting failure if a strong foundation of an unbiased conscience is not laid?
What will we weep for when our kids flounder? Will we weep for our faults or their loss?

Image Source

Linking it to Day 7 of Write Tribe Festival of Words # 5

(Today is the last day of the seven-day Write Tribe Festival of Words # 5. It was my first time I tried posting every day in my blogging experience. I was able to post for seven consecutive days, and I tried to read and interact with most of the bloggers who had participated in this festival. In case I have missed you, I am sorry. All in all, the past week was very busy as I had my two kids who decided to fall sick on the very first day of the festival. But somehow, everything was managed and taken care of. With a sore back, and tired eyes, I also have a sense of satisfaction and utter joy. I wish to thank Corinne Rodrigues and all Write Tribers for encouraging me and making this a fruitful experience.)

You might also like

Darkness Scares Me Not...

Food for Goddess

I am an India - What is my Culture?

Enduring Oak...

While visiting a friend's place, I came across a majestic tree in their yard. I have no knowledge of trees, so I asked them which tree it was. It looked royal. It stood apart with an imperial presence. My friends told me that it was oak tree. And then they asked me to look closer. I didn't comprehend what they were pointing at. So I returned a blank look. Then, the owner clarified. The oak tree was split in the middle but was joining slowly. Due to some disease, the middle of the tree had died. But the stalks and the branches around it had survived and they were progressively encircling the dead midsection. I was amazed at the sight. I said to myself, "Life is choking death here." The phrase stayed with me. It was a classic example of survival of the fittest. And it was in keeping with the symbolism attached to Oak trees. They are epitomes of endurance. They are exemplars of continuity. I came home and wrote these lines:

Reeds encircle tree

True to the spirit of Oak

Choking death with life...

This is the picture of the oak tree in my friend's yard. Look closely at the split in the middle.

I dwelt some more time on these deciduous trees. And I read about the oracle at Dodona. Oak was associated with prophecy in Greek mythology. The oracle at Dodona was consulted by many warriors like Achilles and Odysseus as a guide to their future course of action. Another very interesting thing I found out about oak was that it was ink made from oak gall-nut which was used to write major works in Western history like Magna Carta and Mozart's music. Here are the lines I wrote based on these two discoveries:

Rustling prophecy

Dodonian Oak whispers to

Valiant Heroes

Seekers, Wanderers

Hearken to bronze resonance

Forward Tread in Faith

Lost in history

Bicentennial oak

Survives as Legend

----------

Larvae-laden leaf -

Did a wasp write history?

It's an Oak-bred wor(l)d

------------

Linking it to Day 2 of Write Tribe Festival of Words #5

काश ये दुनिया रंगहीन ही होती

कभी सोचती हूँ कि काश दुनिया में कोई रंग ही न होते।

न गोरा न काला न भूरा 

न गुलाबी न नीला। ... 

कोई भेदभाव न होता

संकीर्ण मानसिकता न होती

समरंगी ये दुनिया होती। .... 

आज पक्षपाती दूषित विचार

मानवता पर कर रहे हर रोज़ अत्याचार

मनोहर रंग-भरी दुनिया को मैला करते

अब कहाँ हम रंगों को पहचान पाएंगे?

सब द्वेष से ढका दिखाई देता है

कोई होता जो हमें सिखाता

इंद्रधनुष के जैसा बनना

विभिन्नता का सामंजस्य

विविधता की संगति

बहुरंगी मिलाप की सुंदरता 

कभी सोचती हूँ कि काश ये दुनिया रंगहीन ही होती

गर एक दिन सब रंग खो जाएँ

शायद सब रंगों की महत्ता समझ जाएँ

बस एक दिन बिना रंगों की दुनिया की कल्पना करके देखो

नीले आसमान ,हरे पेड़ों और रंग-बिरंगे फूलों के बिना जी के देखो 

अपने वर्ण का दम्भ भी मिटा के देखो 

रंग हैं तो हम हैं 

रंग ही जीवन की परिभाषा हैं 

रंग ही जीवन का सार हैं। ....  

Image Source

Linking it to IndiSpire #125

Linking to Day 1 of Write Tribe Festival of Words # 5