The Bus 1
I stand in the bus
The crowd sways behind me
My dupatta catches the flow
But oh! Now the flow chokes me.
The Bus 2
I stand in the bus.
Just behind the steps.
Two hands of different people
On either side of my neck
Grab hold of the metal bar in front
Immobility.
The Bus 3
Smelly people
With rough synthetic clothes
Rub against my skin
While reaching for support
My hand brushes past a woman’s head
And is coated with her oil.
The Bus 4
I stand near the steps
As people get in
The women hit my face as they enter
No apologies.
The Bus 5
At the back, a man,
His hand at a woman’s posterior
I glare.
He gets off at the next stop.
The Bus 6
Balancing on a bus is like
Practicing karate stances
And surfing at the same time
We become flexible, strong armed
Acrobats.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
For Now
This yellow evening,
Winds tell of rains to come.
A healthy, happy wind
That I haven’t felt for so long.
Dry mango leaves
Scrape along the concrete
Of my terrace.
Thunder from different directions
Kites dance in the wind
Koels chirp
A Monsoon song.
The coconut leaves ask me
‘How long have you been living in the
Future?
Wondering about where and
What you’ll be.’
A soft reprimand.
Thunder grows closer.
Winds are sweeter and stronger
The storm maybe coming
But for now,
The weather is beautiful.
Winds tell of rains to come.
A healthy, happy wind
That I haven’t felt for so long.
Dry mango leaves
Scrape along the concrete
Of my terrace.
Thunder from different directions
Kites dance in the wind
Koels chirp
A Monsoon song.
The coconut leaves ask me
‘How long have you been living in the
Future?
Wondering about where and
What you’ll be.’
A soft reprimand.
Thunder grows closer.
Winds are sweeter and stronger
The storm maybe coming
But for now,
The weather is beautiful.
Cockroaches
You may not have heard this story before but I’m sure if you look hard enough inside you, it will seem familiar. I knew it before it happened but I didn’t know I did, till it did.
What was it? A T.V? A silver metal box? A magical container?
I was having a shower in the fridge and when I came out and moved the fridge back, I noticed a small crack in the ground. Curious, I lifted the marble as though it were made of paper and out came a cockroach.
Now, I don’t like cockroaches very much. And this one was fatter and larger than the normal ones I’ve seen in this reality. So I quickly dressed and went out. My neighbour was smiling at me. He had given me the box just yesterday and I had accepted it because I had no clue what it was. It was interesting.
Life is busy. I went to work and came home in the afternoon. Or maybe it had been afternoon all day. I opened the kitchen to see around thirty cockroaches in four lines with the fat leader in front. They were marching carrying the corn to under the fridge.
My roommate has an old friend who lives a couple of streets away. She is a large woman with short, thick, black hair and a dimple on her left cheek when she smiles. She keeps a beautiful garden with pots hanging from the underside of her balcony. It isn’t very big but it’s teeming with grasses, shrubs, ornamental flowering plants, ponds and rock arrangements.
When I went home after my walk, my roommate was back and told me he had seen the cockroaches too.
‘Should we use pesticides? Or would that offend them?’ he asked.
‘It might but anyway don’t use it. I don’t want tumours and genetic disabilities for my children.’
‘Fair enough. Let’s ask them to move away.’
While he squatted and talked into the hole, I went to my room and checked the box. How can I open it? What’s inside? It was glowing a phosphorescent greenish white when I picked it up. And very cold.
Outside I caught my neighbour grinning at me again. ‘I came to ask you about the box. Why did you want to give it away?’ He didn’t reply but his grin had widened. ‘The cockroaches?’ I asked. He nodded. Then with a serious face he said, ‘It brings luck, the box. And the army of cockroaches will obey you if you feed them. They will protect you from everything.’ He lowered his voice and I leaned forward to hear him. ‘But I don’t like cockroaches.’
I went in to find out how the dialogues were going. ‘They will move to whichever place has enough food. They have an underground system of movement so we don’t need transportation.’
‘I found out what they do.’ I told him.
‘Well I agree with him. I don’t want luck or protection from cockroaches. Who can we give it to?’
When evening finally came, I took the box to his friend’s house. She was curious and looked happy to have it. It was glowing yellow with warmth.
A few weeks later, when on a walk, she thanked us for the box. She had placed it on a large arrangement of rocks and stones in the middle of her garden. The creepers were starting to grow over it.
What was it? A T.V? A silver metal box? A magical container?
I was having a shower in the fridge and when I came out and moved the fridge back, I noticed a small crack in the ground. Curious, I lifted the marble as though it were made of paper and out came a cockroach.
Now, I don’t like cockroaches very much. And this one was fatter and larger than the normal ones I’ve seen in this reality. So I quickly dressed and went out. My neighbour was smiling at me. He had given me the box just yesterday and I had accepted it because I had no clue what it was. It was interesting.
Life is busy. I went to work and came home in the afternoon. Or maybe it had been afternoon all day. I opened the kitchen to see around thirty cockroaches in four lines with the fat leader in front. They were marching carrying the corn to under the fridge.
My roommate has an old friend who lives a couple of streets away. She is a large woman with short, thick, black hair and a dimple on her left cheek when she smiles. She keeps a beautiful garden with pots hanging from the underside of her balcony. It isn’t very big but it’s teeming with grasses, shrubs, ornamental flowering plants, ponds and rock arrangements.
When I went home after my walk, my roommate was back and told me he had seen the cockroaches too.
‘Should we use pesticides? Or would that offend them?’ he asked.
‘It might but anyway don’t use it. I don’t want tumours and genetic disabilities for my children.’
‘Fair enough. Let’s ask them to move away.’
While he squatted and talked into the hole, I went to my room and checked the box. How can I open it? What’s inside? It was glowing a phosphorescent greenish white when I picked it up. And very cold.
Outside I caught my neighbour grinning at me again. ‘I came to ask you about the box. Why did you want to give it away?’ He didn’t reply but his grin had widened. ‘The cockroaches?’ I asked. He nodded. Then with a serious face he said, ‘It brings luck, the box. And the army of cockroaches will obey you if you feed them. They will protect you from everything.’ He lowered his voice and I leaned forward to hear him. ‘But I don’t like cockroaches.’
I went in to find out how the dialogues were going. ‘They will move to whichever place has enough food. They have an underground system of movement so we don’t need transportation.’
‘I found out what they do.’ I told him.
‘Well I agree with him. I don’t want luck or protection from cockroaches. Who can we give it to?’
When evening finally came, I took the box to his friend’s house. She was curious and looked happy to have it. It was glowing yellow with warmth.
A few weeks later, when on a walk, she thanked us for the box. She had placed it on a large arrangement of rocks and stones in the middle of her garden. The creepers were starting to grow over it.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
No Two Sunsets Are Ever the Same
Everything passes
Good and bad,
Small and big,
Everything.
The easiest thing to do is let them pass.
Holding on is an effort.
Holding on
Drains.
Learn lessons
But prepare to relearn.
This time it may be different
No two sunsets are ever the same.
Good and bad,
Small and big,
Everything.
The easiest thing to do is let them pass.
Holding on is an effort.
Holding on
Drains.
Learn lessons
But prepare to relearn.
This time it may be different
No two sunsets are ever the same.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
The Joke
If I was constantly aware of my place in this universe- as an individual of one of the millions of species of one of the billions of planets- it would constantly strike me a little ridiculous what a big deal I make of myself.
Selfish Sorrow
I don’t know if many people realise it. I did only four years ago. When I cry for someone’s death, it’s hardly ever really for the person who passed away. It’s usually for myself. I will never see him again. I will miss him. I wish I could see him smile at me just one more time.
About Life and Death
We assume Immortality. Only a death of someone close to us reminds us of our Impermanence.
We make promises and think of ways to make our lives more meaningful, now that we’ve experienced this reminder. It’s sometimes referred to as the Funeral Syndrome. But Time flows on and we are too soon lulled back into the false impression of permanence and nothing in our life really changes.
Normally, I would think; I expect to live quite long- maybe till I’m eighty. I expect to fall in love, raise children, and watch them raise theirs. I expect to do great things in psychology, music, the environment. I expect to learn everything I want to. And make some changes in the educational system- perhaps start a school or teach.
I expect so much.
But for all I know, there could be an accident this evening in which I die. And I’ll be off…in non-existence, quite peaceful to let it all go.
But even though I don’t worry too much about my own death, I know that how I live matters. If I don’t live to my full; if I don’t love freely, if I don’t help those who need it, if I don’t do all that I want to, it could be too late for any of us, at any moment.
And then there will be tears and regret.
We make promises and think of ways to make our lives more meaningful, now that we’ve experienced this reminder. It’s sometimes referred to as the Funeral Syndrome. But Time flows on and we are too soon lulled back into the false impression of permanence and nothing in our life really changes.
Normally, I would think; I expect to live quite long- maybe till I’m eighty. I expect to fall in love, raise children, and watch them raise theirs. I expect to do great things in psychology, music, the environment. I expect to learn everything I want to. And make some changes in the educational system- perhaps start a school or teach.
I expect so much.
But for all I know, there could be an accident this evening in which I die. And I’ll be off…in non-existence, quite peaceful to let it all go.
But even though I don’t worry too much about my own death, I know that how I live matters. If I don’t live to my full; if I don’t love freely, if I don’t help those who need it, if I don’t do all that I want to, it could be too late for any of us, at any moment.
And then there will be tears and regret.
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