A great tree that stood in the premises of our building will soon be felled. Decay has set in but its time isn't up yet. However, where man lives much else can't, for we didn't plan it that way. Little do we know...
I published this post first on November 26, 2020. Two days later, I removed it. A friend raised a question about the intellect's capacity to understand Truth, and I realised then that my words were falling short of communicating what I intended to. This time the post in more true to my own experience and understanding. It will be wonderful if you read it and maybe even share your own beans of truth.
Gora revealed to me the brilliance of an insightful mind in its delicate ability to untie the strings of complex inner journeys, with a natural simplicity that brings humility and therefore joy to the mind of the reader. I found myself surrendering to the beauty of an honest narrative that conveys insights beyond the grasp of the intellect.
Finding the feminine. For me this search began in my forties, when appearance, definitions, and notions about motherhood were all being tested. In trying to understand the feminine in me, I discovered the freedom of being afeminine (not in the dictionary yet, but it should be).
Hindi Reconstruction of Brothers of kin by Nandini Patodia. A sensitive representation of the original poem. I thank her for wishing to spread the message in the poem across India.
Brothers of kin is a short poetic expression of love and solidarity. We women trust in the men of this world. We look to you as friends, brothers, partners. Stand up to the honour. Stop this victimising brutality of rape.
When I read UK-based artist Banksy's note to activist, Pia Klemp, I was inspired to write At Sea. The line in Banksy's note that made an impression on my mind was: "I've made some work about the migrant crisis, obviously I can't keep the money." These words of solidarity and responsibility spawned the wish to research the migrant crisis in Africa, and to weave experiences and personal stories into the story of a migrant girl, Ngozi, and her journey from Nigeria to Libya, and from there to Italy. Do read and share it, as an act of generosity towards all migrants. Maybe, like Banksy and Klemp the story will inspire us to extend a heart-shaped buoy.
By the bay is a short story, a modern-day fable. At first, my voice sounded like an echo--I was repeating what the scientists had to say, then as I started to feel the heat of a speedily warming planet, I started to sound like those who were tirelessly trying to remind others of what's important and urgent. And then I grew silent, because neither worked to change anything around me. From silence came this short story. Through a mix of non-human characters--aquatic, avian, terrestrial, and even celestial, I have tried to focus on the innocence of life, while exploring its diversity. It's a bittersweet story, accompanied by a long and interesting fact sheet.
When I noticed how wrapped my mind is in views, I began to see that the cause of disharmony lies therein. I am not interested in asserting a view point, especially when it compromises harmony. I have laid down the stick, or at least I am attempting to, and I feel the ease.
I met someone on a train ride, and we got talking. We were not strangers really, though we had never met. We had both just completed a thirty-day Vipassana meditation course. Maybe that's what connected us, subliminally. We chatted for three hours, and there were many things he said that were very wise, one of which was:'These are not stories, they were real people.' We were speaking about the lives of people 2600 years ago. Whether we refer to the past, present, or future--lives of people (and all living beings) are not stories that can be heard and forgotten. We are sharing experiences in an interconnected reality. Let's settle our quarrels.