time

The wrath of the years.

Posted by

2

Do I really care?

What do people think of me? Of us?

Which landmass do I live on?

What is the weather like?

What colour is the bloody sky?

Whose child left for University?

How much money I have left?

Who is coming from where? Who is going somewhere on a holiday?

What’s for dinner tonight? Or any night.

Will I ever have a job to go to?

When will the Amazon-man deliver the stuff I ordered?

Is there any milk in the fridge?

What happens next?

The sun came up from the North-west this morning?

Do I care?

One whole decade in the world ‘after’ Saagar will be completed in the tenth month of this sort-of-new-year. Since the 1st of Jan, every time I read or write 2024, that is the singular thought that comes to mind like an unwelcome guest. How can the world tolerate this? Who authorised for all those days and months to pass? How can this even be allowed to happen? How can I still be here? Who granted permission for this kind of treachery? Is this gorge of yearning bound by any boundaries? Or is it bottomless, without any limits?

Does anybody care?

Demonic dunes.

Posted by

0

(Kolmanskop, Namibia. Photo by Emma McEvoy)

Chasing me. Haunting. It wants to swallow me. I wonder why. I am a mere witness standing by. It viciously runs to get me. Grains of sand penetrate my eyes, making me squint and blink and tear-up. But I am just a spectator. I wrap my head in a pink cotton scarf. It soaks up the water, protects my head but my ankles are now submerged in the sand. I extricate them and lunge away from it, breathing hard. Then stop. Turn around, stand still and stare at it. It hisses, plumes of sand flying off the top of it like flames. It threatens to burn me alive.

Images, echos and winds of the past. Dancing dunes of time.

It has blocked my doorway, invaded my home, drive, my garden, front and back. There is grit in every crevice and crack. All I have is sunk underneath this deadly dune. Only the slate-grey gable roof and the chimney tops breathe.

I am not running away from it. From anything. This dune does not have my permission. It may not bury me. It cannot. I know it has a weakness. It can only play in the field of the Past. It cannot enter this Present moment of mine. A silk veil of breath undulates between the damned dune and me. It keeps me on this side of the line. Here, I am safe. This side of the boundary line is mine. Here, all I need I have. The field of my presence is spacious, clear and blue, untouched by this devil of a dune. As pure as my smile. In. Pause. Out. Pause. In. Pause. Out …

Lashings of Time.

Posted by

0

What do I say to the lone black eye-lash on my cheek?

I say bring me the colours of the rainbow

The pot of gold and all

Bring me the joys of the seasons,

Most of all, the fall.

The Autumn comes,

Once again

The yellows, auburns and ochres divine.

Hidden daggers behind their cloaks

They drop

When I open these arms of mine.

Its in their eyes

The fear of stabbings of memory

The tears of the sea.

Let it go.

Let it rest.

Let it be.

All that matters is here in me.

In the green apple and the oak tree.

I have and hold the world

that was, is and will be

in the blackness of my lashes

till eternity.

We are one my love. You and me.

I feared I would forget

I wrote it all down

I panicked I’d lost you

Never again to be found

But you are here

In every word, smile, tear.

I didn’t think I could bear it

But I did and I do.

This thorn has made a home in my heart.

I do not die.

I breathe through.

Its a great surprise

To rise

each day

To the umbrellas and shoes of life

As if nothing ever changed.

But all is new.

Me and you are sweethearts.

Inseparable.

One is the sand. The other, sea.

One is the hand. The other, lines of destiny.

Dear Beloved,

I place my pettiness at your feet.

The sense of separation,

The sad longing born of it,

The seeming disappointments,

Imperfections and regrets too,

I offer them all 

To you.

Vite Vine

Posted by

3

Darling Saagar,

You learnt your English in the UK from English-speaking people. I learnt it in fits and starts from Hindi/Punjabi/Bengali-speaking folk in India. It was not a surprise that you were only 10 when you took it upon yourself to start correcting my English. All the time.

“Saagar, please would you close the vindow?”

“The parent’s meeting is on Vednesday. No?”

“Where does the best Vite Vine come from?”

You would be all over the floor. What was funny? These were simple questions. In Hindi, there is an equivalent for ‘v’. None for ‘w’. The sound of ‘w’ is learnt. I learnt it and can apply it to everything except nouns. Must be a genetic aberration. I had a huge sense of achievement when I made you laugh, given my sense of humour was nothing compared to yours.

Other words that I spoke wrongly were – rebel (re-bell), adolescence (a-doll-essence) and such.

Sometimes I knowingly uttered incorrect sentences, so you could correct me, playing with your predictable pleasures.

“Bought a really nice t-shirt today.” you said.

‘What colour?’

“Not ‘what colour’ Mamma. It’s ‘which colour’.”

‘Ah. Right. What colour?’ I asked again with a crooked smile.

Rolling-up your eyes, shaking your head from side to side.

“Parents!”

Laughter.

We’re in lockdown at present, Saagar. Long story! I can’t help thinking how fab it would be to have you home. We would have so much time together to try new recipes, to exercise and laugh, play carom and do some gardening, relax and watch funny cat-videos and so on…

Time … tic-toc, tic-toc … gone forever.

My mind plays silly monkey-tricks with me. The rascal. I watch it. Holding my own, I am not getting carried away with it. I am being the witness (vitness).

You are here, with me always.

I love you.

Yours,

Mamma.

Receiving time.

Posted by

2

I am not busy. I am relaxed. I am working but I am also receiving Time.

Feels like a renewed relationship with Time.

After decades of chasing it, I am ready to stop and enjoy it in all its fullness.

Yes. The present Time is uncertain. Even ‘interesting’.  But it is ours. Yours and mine.

To live in, live through and live to tell the tale. Live well.

Create and claim small, simple joys.

Here are some things I tried-

Candle light in every room.

Bask in the glow. Notice how you slow.

Be a hopeless romantic and

Dig out some books of poetry, old and new.

Maybe create a card or two

For someone who loves you

with silk ribbons, floral fabric and sticking glue?

Write a long love-letter to you

From your higher self, not as a ‘parent voice’,

But as a compassionate friend.

Make cinnamon, raisins and apple stew,

Have it with great dollops of double cream.

One … or two.

Find a picture of yourself when you were 5.

Look at it. That’s the real you.

Find a perfect frame for it and

Share it with those who want to know you.

Last 12 days have been a break-through.

Si and I have finally started to enjoy Scrabble,

After 10 years. And 2.

Now, we are a proper couple. Woohoooo!

Treat yourself to flowers.

Repot some plants.

Tend and nurture them

And your soul. Pay attention to sunsets.

Watch ‘Out of Africa’ again.

Or ‘Modern Love’ on Amazon.

Listen to Dido or Norah Jones. Breathe

Create a sacred space.

Yes. It may sometimes feel like the world is falling apart

But keep yourself together. Informed, connected and centered.

Enjoy your time. And your company.