Raintree

This is not a monastery, a hermitage or a cave.

It is our one-bedroom house. No bellringing to tell me it’s time to go to the church hall to pray.

No fixed routines. No group meditations. No tedious chores.

This is my home. I have been here by myself for 6 weeks. Mostly silent. Listening. Being.

The wind, whispers and then howls, bashing the banana plantation outside my window, pushing all the birds back into their nests, felling trees and forcing me to stay indoors.

The monsoon makes a dramatic entry, takes over the skies.

The morning ritual of making ginger tea. I sit by the big window, drinking it, present to the light of the day. Grateful for it, I smile.

The luxury of silence and solitude!

I drive to the farm. Today is the day to plant a raintree. Early monsoon is a good time for it. The three feet tall sapling has travelled on an overnight train all the way from a friend’s garden in Goa. Known for its fifteen-meter-wide umbrella shaped canopy, it needs a lot of space. We mark the spot on a clearing, dig a hole, put the root ball into the moist soil, add some compost and cover it up. Two sticks support the young tree and it’s on its own. Good luck, Buddy.

My brother calls in the evening to inform me about the air-crash in Gujarat.

I light a candle and sit with my eyes closed. Tears streaming down my face, my chest bursting with pain. God bless their souls and their families. God bless them all.

Night arrives. Si calls up. He asks if I was aware that yet another war had begun in the middle east. I didn’t.

Why? Isn’t there enough suffering in the world already?  

I think about the raintree. I wonder if it will survive this sharp heavy monsoon. Who can say? No one.

Silence. Solitude. Surrender.

She.

(Pen Vogler by John Burke. BP portrait awards 2017)

With all her worldly wealth, she could not purchase belonging. Especially to herself. Her eyes thirsty for tenderness. Her muscles tense with want, her skin hungry for touch, her lips a straight line of dissatisfaction.

She hoped a painter might find her in his brush strokes and capture her on his canvas. She paid him a mountain, so he could help her find out who she might be … find out if she could meet her real self. After many hours of sitting still, with her hands clasped together in her lap, she was tired. She was tired of perfectly painting her fingernails bright red, for the painter. She couldn’t wait to see what he saw.

The day came and the painting was ready to be seen by her. Her eyes bulged out of her head, eager to find the joy she so wanted to find in herself. All she saw in the fore-ground, was a golden dress sitting beside a golden yellow lamp shade. All she saw in the back-ground, was the austerity of dark brown walls and furniture. That was the gist of it. The thing she was dying to find was not there. It was yet to be born. Those clasped hands held the secret. She knew what she had to do – unlock the door with those lovely hands and leave … for some place, white, blue and green.

What do people need?

Thanks for this N.

It finally got me. This wretched forced and voluntary isolation. No wonder solitary confinement is a well known punishment. Mon, Tues, Wed were very deep blue. A friend’s dad’s funeral, a very unwell teenager … but underneath it all, missing my people. The screen did not suffice any longer. It only frustrated me. The phone was a sordid excuse for ‘contact’. I wanted to be with real people in a real way. Feel the fabric of a friend’s scarf between my palms, share a pot of tea and a big slice of carrot cake at a local cafe and laugh till I cry and such simple pleasures.

For now, gotta hold my horses and know you are there and soon we’ll meet again. Thank you for being there for me, my people. I am here for you too.

“People need people,
To walk to
To talk to
To cry and rely on,
People will always need people.
To love and to miss
To hug and to kiss,
It’s useful to have other people.
To whom to moan
If you’re all alone,
It’s so hard to share
When no one is there.
There’s not much to do
When there’s no one but you.
People will always need people.

To please
To tease
To put you at ease,
People will always need people.
To make life appealing
And give life some meaning,
It’s useful to have other people.
It you need a change
To whom will you turn.
If you need a lesson
From whom will you learn.
If you need to play
You’ll know why I say
People will always need people.

As girlfriends
As boyfriends
From Bombay
To Ostend,
People will always need people-
To have friendly fights with
And share tasty bites with,
It’s useful to have other people.
People live in families
Gangs, posses and packs,
Its seems we need company
Before we relax,
So stop making enemies
And let’s face the facts,
People will always need people,
Yes
People will always need people.”

Benjamin Zephaniah