The barren branch

 In the cold misty morning the barren branch amongst the blossoming trees looked

so dark, so grey, so rough , so hard, so unwelcoming and lifeless

Until a peacock flew and perched upon it.

By the time

By the time I reflected,

pondered about, worried for,

became cynical or criticized a bit, regretted an action and 

loved something deeply, immersed in tomorrow's thoughts and yesterday's expectations

A Scarlet Knight Plumeria bloomed. 

Which me I enjoy?

 

For the past few years, I have stayed in places which many would envy. Big sprawling houses with a lawn, might be twice the size of the house. I am still very much inclined to gardening, I know the names of various flowers, and this at times gives me an edge when I visit the plant nursery. They see me as a pro! I adore this life but when darkness descends, an occasional owl hoots, chirping of the crickets and katydids only stirs the mind other than the kids' screaming, and in such times the city girl in me tries to scrape out, tear apart the Mother India cover and run away and breathe in the chaos and noise of the traffic.  There are people who know me as a perfect homemaker, devoted mother, gardener, cook, and someone who can arrange for sumptuous dinner for guests at a resplendently laid-out table with translucent porcelains, pristine linens. and a tidy platter. Nothing is untrue, but do I weigh heavier with those tags and I should embrace a part of me who would live every day not by smelling roses but the smell of fresh bread and coffee or the stench of bus diesel or even enjoy the fog of unpleasant aroma created by industrial waste and dusty roads. Which me I enjoy? A slice of both (would be a perfect answer) or at times just coming out of the cocoon of perfection or perception?  

The Dragonfly and the Lizard

The dragonfly and the Lizard

“Look, look Mumma I caught a dragonfly,’ panted my boy in anticipation of cheer as he showed me a rudderless dragonfly flapping its wings hysterically to get out of the plastic jar. I showered praise for his effort and courage and my eleven year old gleamed with joy. His eyes glistened with pride. Catching a dragonfly might not be the greatest achievement for you and me, but a child lives for the moment and at that moment he felt like a winner.

When he was looking intently at the desperate dragonfly and describing all its body parts vividly, I quietly asked him if the fly looked happy to him. He looked at the fly closely, “Mumma, I think it is afraid and looks sad.” He paused for a moment and looked at me with curiosity wanting a road map for the next action. 

I felt the euphoria ebbing away in his tone but at the same time wanted his new pet to be happy. It was twilight, birds were chirping faintly as most of them flew back home, peacocks squawked and pigeons cooed distantly. Perhaps it was time for the dragonfly to go back home. “Well, go to the verandah, and set the dragonfly free,” I advised my boy. “Are you sure, Mumma?” He glanced at me and then at the fly. Little boys have this ability of instant affection towards a thing, insect, animals or toys.

“I am sure, see, how impatiently he is fluttering.” 

“Okaaaay,” said my boy as he dragged his tone and feet. 

I got back to my work and forgot about the dragonfly for a while. 

“Mumma, Mumma, see what happened!” His voice was layered with excitement and remorse.

 I scurried to the verandah. My boy stood at the entrance of the verandah with the open jar in his right hand. The lid of the jar rolled to the left corner of the verandah.

The moment he saw me, tears welled up in his eyes. I could not fathom what could be so regretful between a trapped dragonfly in the jar and setting it free!

“Mumma, the moment I let the dragonfly out of the jar, the next moment a sly lizard gobbled him,” he blurted out in anger. “I could not stop the lizard from catching the poor fly,” he dropped the jar on the floor and darted out into the garden overlooking the two hundred and fifty-year-old neem tree. I understood his pain. Perhaps he understood how nature works. 

The empty jar still oscillated on the floor. With a fixed gaze on the inanimate object I thought, who was right? Was it my boy as he wanted to keep the dragonfly, probably he decided to name it too or me, as I wanted the fly to be free or the lizard who ate up the fly as his primary instinct to satiate his desire for food? Were we all correct from our own perspectives or all wrong? As I debated with futility, it was dark outside. The birds stopped chirping. A couple of frogs croaked nearby. I saw my boy walking back with downcast eyes. I realised whatever my conclusion is about who is right or wrong, the dragonfly is still gone. 

When Heaven is here...

Life is like a flowing river.But is the river rapid or slow? Is there an undercurrent or not? Does it finally get to empty itself in the sea or wanderingly moves about before finally drying out? Even if I don't know but it's final destiny yet it is good to flow!I recently built a terrarium. A mini garden in a glass bowl. I put a tiny ceramic hut in between at the end of the mossy path. After the initial euphoria I sat down in the evening as the light from the bulb which was placed almost perpendicular above the terrarium gave the mini garden a resplendent mellow glow. It looked as if the snake plant, cactus, or miracle leaf plant, the pine fig all were bathing in divinity. Though I did not breathe life into the plants and just rearranged and created a new living space for them, I felt a seraphic presence. I longed to be in the solitary hut amidst the cradle of nature. I desired to embrace the snake plant and lie down on the moss and feel the earth.This is how it feels to be like God?

The Tamed Bohemian

 Just like a tumultuous sea, the storm inside me is brewing up. The moment I reached forty days are rolling past quickly as incessant waves and I can see the horizon and a fast fifty approaching. Confounded a bit but mostly oscillating between the role of a homemaker and a stage to put forth my creativity. Today, I am not writing about any topic, I am just going with the flow of my feelings and they are not to be tamed here now. I scratch my head where to start now! Going back to newspaper I would have to start from the beginning I suppose. Thats a torture for me now. Teaching for few months gave me good exposure, insightful experience but again that has a time bound routine. 

Writer? Thats a possibility but will I get readers? Okay self doubt is ones worst enemy, yes, I too believe so. I am 43 and I feel like I am standing alone in a deserted bus stop somehow waiting for the last bus to arrive. I can sketch a bit, write fairly, love to go for long walks and occasional run...then what? I love to strum guitar but that's in a nascent stage and now anyone reading this would ask me, woman what do you want from life? 

Can I do a cookery show? No...there are millions doing the cookery show and I cook to survive. My kids and husband might differ for due politeness and happiness but mostly I frown when I cook! I do cook sumptuous dishes , a rare show and I owe that to my East Bengal (now Bangladesh) bloodline.

The cactus and ivy are equally beautiful to be and I find music even when the crickets call in the dark. So, my point is Gardening and hydroponics can be an option but I better continue to do them a s hobby. That is great till we have a lawn or garden or a fairly spacious place..but what after that?

Then what do I want? 

Recognition? Not bad.

Some Earning? Definitely not bad.

A commitment that would soothe my soul...if that can earn me recognition, then I am all for it. But the question is reiterated again ... what work?

I feel that I should start a podcast, write and read out my stories, musings, observations or at times read stories of my favourite authors. Will it work and finally I could be gratified? Technology does not come to me easily and I have to unabashedly ask my children to tutor me about podcasts , just they ask me for an exclusive TV Time or computer time. I can bargain against that! After 17 years of marriage and two kids one can argue and  bargain a lot on their favour. And Youtube tutorial videos are always there flocking you like over enthusiastic guides in a tourist spot. 

Its a weird age that I have entered. All emotions and feelings with heavy concoction is crazily flowing in my head and heart. I am stuck in a twilight zone, want to glow once more with all splendour before darkness engulfs. I do not regret the time spent with my husband and kids, being with them at home is my decision which I cherish, but I have the residual energy and knack to learn something new coupled with a will to perform something...and be good at that something to my satisfaction. 

Now this "Something" is what I'm seeking. 

The Library, the Garden and Ruskin

If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.” - Cicero. Well in that sense I am rich;With kids, dog , trunks, cartons and lots of hope we shifted to Ahmedabad Cantt. This hundred and fifty year grand old British bungalow is now our home for the next two years. It has a good space in the wall dedicated for books in one of the rooms and the nice small library opens up to the garden. And Ruskin Bond has taken the lions share! From The Room on The Roof to The Song of India, from Dust in the Mountains to A Face in the Dark , from The Maharani to The Blue Umbrella Mr. Bond reclines on almost every available space leaving very little for other authors. My kids do endeavour to push in a few Wimpy Kid and Harry Potter books, they succeed for the time being as I am scouting to get another book shelf where only Ruskin will rule as he reigns my thoughts! The garden has just started to take shape. With my cactus plants, bleeding hearts, lilies, hibiscus and roses , palms and many other plants trying to get themselves adjusted to the new soil. My geraniums could not survive the journey, allamanda vine seem to dry up for now and the grape vine has been eaten up by bugs. I am a beginner as far as gardening is concerned and therefore become quite sentimental . But there are many plants showing some promise and promises keep you going. And I have a garden and a library...and I truly rich.