missing something...

She got there early…helped her aunt set up for the pooja…it was going well…she had dressed simple yet suitable for a special pooja…it felt good to be around people who had known her since before she even knew herself…old friends kept pouring in and though she did not know them, she smiled and spoke to them as best as she could…kept thinking that her parents were probably doing the same thing so far away and her heart ached to be with them…but she had to be tough and not let her emotions take over…and then it was time for the arti to begin and the singing began…and she closed her eyes tight and hummed along…and they started appearing…she saw the many times they had done the pooja as a family…ma and pa’s voices mingled so sincerely that it always made her choke with tears…her brother’s attempts to ring the bell to some beat and miserable failure at it…it made her smile and cry all at once…and she slowly opened her eyes, hoping that she’d find her ma and pa and brother standing right there…but they weren’t and all she saw were strangers and the tears streamed down uncontrollably and she tried to hide her face and hoped no one saw her…
At the end of the pooja, she rushed to her uncle…asking to be excused cos she was not feeling alright and he just had to take one look at her to know what he had to do…took her in his arms and kissed her head so many times…she thought that it would make her feel better but it just made it worse…she was now trembling and crying into his shoulder…it probably felt good to be engulfed in arms that really cared…it had been a while since she'd felt cared for in this way...and she stood there for the longest time…unwilling to let go…and then slowly, she stepped back…trying to be in control and she kissed him and her aunt and ran and ran…like she wanted to escape…escape from how badly she was missing home…
In the auto…the cold air hit her face and helped her become numb…numb enough to reach home and crawl into her quilt…and she cried some more…
Its strange how the combination of the right song, people, fragrance can take you right back to another time…the mind plays so many games and emotions just spur that on further…till you’re at their mercy…and yet how can you live without feeling strongly... its the only sign of being alive...

clay is...

Clay is the story of pure submission…of letting go and letting someone mould you…someone you trust…someone you love…
Clay is about the mind…so easy to let it take on any shape…the effort you put is the result you see…
Clay is about capturing and yet letting go…sculpting a bird out of earth, giving her wings and yet grounding her…
Clay is about learning to feel with your fingers for the first time…to really feel the matter that makes my life...

...Clay modeling with class today!
As one of my fellow teachers remarked ‘oh boy, this could get ugly!’…
:) all set!!

unreal…

I stepped out of the train…tired…and then the music began to play and I felt myself dissolve into it…and as I put my first step onto the platform, it was a different feeling…everything seemed to look more beautiful…almost like in a slow motion…it was unreal…people around me walked more elegantly…I stepped forward on toes and almost floating above the surface…my skirt swishing about and everyone moving a little away…out of my path as I literally did a lil turn and a skip…I didn’t see the crowds, just colours in waves…felt my hair unravel and fall to my shoulders…gripped my umbrella lightly and felt my fingers do their own little dance…as I approached the stairs, I lifted my skirt ever so little…I could have been a pretty girl from another century going my a flight of carpeted grand stairs, I could almost smell the waxed woodwork and smell the mustiness of antiques…felt my toes arch as I made my way up…and then the long wide bridge…almost like a ballroom…lanes and lanes of people moving in set directions…a grace and beauty in the way they moved…I stepped in and it all slowed down…I found myself gliding thru the crowd…unaffected by the aggression and the rush…down the stairs and into an auto…an ‘unreal’ experience for lack of a better word…
I can easily call my trip back home the hardest part of my day…I’m tired, hungry and just dying to get into my cosy little home…and the train is full of pushy aggressive people who I have to hold back from snapping at…and I usually have to keep telling myself ‘be the change’…’be the change’…don’t let them get to you…
And yet last evening was incredible…all it took was for me to play ‘felista’ and submit to it and everything changed…I was completely cut off from the world…my hearing was the only sense that was on, the rest just tuned into that and turned inward…usually that one hour is a sensory overload so it was so good to have everything switch off…I heard no one, felt no one…what I saw were just shapes around me…I was gliding past with chiffon dupattas flying in the air…a lovely blue lighting…and a touch of mist…oh it was unreal…

heartbeat…

She heard the heart beat…faint…but growing in strength…like the gentle tapping of a single lonely raindrop…a repetitive rhythm that’s comforting… with a louder protective echo following it…
what music it must be to hear your unborn baby’s heartbeat…can there be anything more magical!!...and to then hear yours mingled with her’s…can there be anything more mesmerizing… oh i get all gushy and crazy about these things… can anyone not??
It makes you believe in god…it makes you look at yourself and marvel at all the beauty you hold within… and it always gives me goose bumps at the thought of it…

raindrops...

I lay completely still in bed…lights off…fan off…and just as my silence begins to make me uncomfortable, it begins to rain…and all my senses focus on it and it’s a beautiful sound…every rain drop seems to live a life of its own and you hear their story…is a raindrop, a raindrop only for the duration of time it takes to leave a cloud and fall on a surface…that’s kinda sad na…how long does it take to fall from a cloud to the earth?...isn’t it sad that even though it existed before it was a raindrop and it will exist after it stops being a raindrop, it will lose its individuality?...so it has to make its raindrop-ness as memorable as possible…that must be tough in a world where no one wants to be touched…where we run for cover…pull out our umbrella…and shake off the drops…where celebrating their short lived life is the last thing on our mind…
How many raindrops end their life on a face that was upturned and yearning for them...
How many raindrops rest on hands that were outstretched for them...
How many raindrops touch a smile...

This morning I made many raindrops happy…!

embroidery…

Was trying to put the people in my life and the relationships I have with them in perspective… feel this need to be emotionally stable in an atmosphere that is so charged with my feelings… need to stay sane and yet retain my insanity…
Here is how I tried to make sense of it all…
If I was to look at my life as a swatch of fabric…a cross stitch fabric whose weave is loose and there are many little holes…a blank piece of fabric is all I am given to start with…I’d really see myself as the little shiny silver needle…such an incredible delicate piece of work…with all the people we come across as strands of coloured thread…that we let into our needle…some threads are single…some come along with many others…some are plain…some in shades…some in silk and some in coarse cotton…each beautiful and desirable in its own way…
With the needle, the threads leave little crosses on our fabric…filling in the holes and making us beautiful and full…some stay for long…some just disappear, maybe never to return again…and there are some that we don’t allow back…some that we want back but won’t have us…
There are some threads that maybe leave only two crosses but stand out among all the others…
There are some threads that compliment the colour of our fabric and enhance us….
And there are also those that clash with the rest of the threads or simply merge into the background…
And really while the pattern in forming, line by line of randomn crosses, gaps, colours…it makes no sense and we have to keep saying ‘don’t kill yourself over it dear needle…’
Its only later when the pattern in nearing completion that you look back and see what has emerged and realize that those three black crosses on the 28th row, hole numbers 4, 5 and 6 that troubled you so so much at that time, were actually necessary and how much they’ve added to the pattern and yet your fabric was not all about just that…you needed each of those crosses to make your life a life well lived…well felt…
I don’t ever want to be a fabric that is untouched, letting no thread pass my needle…leaving no crosses…tight or loose…matched or mismatched… I don’t think it matters if my pattern makes no sense, I want to live and feel every cross I stitch…want to give to each thread all that I can…not thinking of whether they will return to be with me or not…that’s simply not in my control…

only you...

She opened the door to see him…in the shadows…all she saw were his eyes and they spoke more than any words he could muster…they just stood there…and then she stepped back to allow him to step in…tentative to each other’s presence yet very much at ease…his white shirt was so striking in the low lit room…he sat on the blue floor cushions as she settled on the rug in front of him…all it took was her hand to touch his knee to release the anguish and distance between them…he reached for her till he had covered her in his arms and held her so she wouldn’t tremble with her silent sobs…he knew that tremble well…how many times had she flown into his embrace when she was hurting…and how he hated what it did to her…he let his fingers skim over her hair…and then he lifted her face with both his hands…her eyes would tell him…in the light of the lamp, he waited for her to lift her eyelids to him…he keep looking at her, waiting for that big smile he so loved smiling back to…waiting to watch the corners of her eyes wrinkle with laughter…but he wasn’t ready for what he saw when she lifted her eyes…he felt his heart stop…to see her eyes filled with tears made him so mad…this was the girl who he had seen grow up with him…the girl who would open her hair, tuck a flower behind her ear and then dance like crazy…where’d she go?...leaving behind this woman he couldn’t figure out…
She felt herself dissolve in tears…a relief to find a constant when everything around her was changing so fast…at least he was still there and that warmed her up…when she had looked into his eyes, she felt the hurt there too…she saw his concern and it made her whelm up…there was no need to put him through this…his slow eyes always saw more than eyes could see…his arms that made her feel like nothing in the world could touch her…
He touched her damp cheek and tucked her hair behind her ears…wiped the kajol that found its way out of her eyes and taped her nose the way he always had…he felt his eyes trying to fathom what he was thinking…he could not look into them again…gosh it hurt him too much and angered him for not being there…he soothed the lines on her forehead…this one frowns too much, he thought…
She felt his fingers on her face…looking for his ‘mousey’ as he used to call her…the girl who used to sing terribly just for him…the girl who raced him up the college stairs to where they would sit and watch the sun hide behind the hills…she looked at him and wondered why they’d left that behind…remembered the time he’d come asking her for advice on the way women thought and all she could do was hug him and say she had no idea!! She saw him in all his beauty…this boy who had once said he’d never hurt her…who never had…but now his fingers seem to say that they could not protect her from the hurt others caused…
He kissed her nose and felt a smile creep into her face…but he knew that fake smile too well… it was just meant to make him feel better…gosh he knew her too well…

‘why don’t they see you the way I do?’ he half asked himself…
all she could say was ‘cos they’re not you and I’m not me to them….’

of combs and other little feelings...

Its funny how little objects in your life can hold together so many important details…misplaced my comb fifteen days ago…my comb of three years…and I have been grumpity every morning…
Its been a comb that seen me through a lot…and I just feel sad that it has gone…another thing that holds me close to people and moments that I loved is gone… remembered all the places I had taken it…remembered all the different people that had used it…strange how we attach emotions to people and things incapable of understanding them… I looked everywhere for it… missed many a train…left my hair tangled many a morning…my way of mourning…and then I felt I was ready to go look for another one…ready to try something new… to let go of attachments if only to build new ones… but my feet unconsciously took me back to the same old shop in juhu where I had bought my pretty ivory coloured comb with the red and green flowers… I made the man open up all his old boxes…my fingers rummaging feverishly only for the one I had lost… I gave up…and picked up an aqua blue transparent comb…a new comb… worried whether it would be kind to my hair…unsure…wishing I could just find my old one…I’ll look after it and never let it get lost again…walked away a little sad…

Its so weird…and I’ve been laughed at for this…and ridiculed and been told I just have to let go of things… I guess I do let go but only after a struggle…and I don’t want to pretend like things don’t affect me… I’d rather just show that I’m angry or unhappy or thrilled… it takes too much energy to pretend and hide…but I guess that moment does come when you look back and realize that it no longer affects you…you will always love it and remember the good times…but you are no longer prisoner to its memories…you are open to the new…more aware…more alive…because you had it even to lose it…
and then there will be other combs…that I will learn to give into and love just as much and maybe even more…

‘Vulnerable’….

He led her by her hand…gently…she followed without knowing where they were heading…he looked so serious, she dare not laugh…this memory acquired the lovely caramel sepia tones that time allows…
She had worn her long rust skirt with a green blouse…and now as they walked, the air was filled with the clinking of blue bangles and the rustling of the leaves as her skirt swept over them…had this been a movie, she had the perfect piece of music for this moment…
She could not believe how she’d let someone she had met a day ago, lead her into what seemed like the woods…but then with some people you just know…you just kinda believe…for no particular reason…
She carried her bag along with her…heavy with her books…her feet unsteady…her face turned upward to the intricate web that the branches seemed to form over them…the chill in the afternoon air didn’t bother her…the warmth from his hand made her feel toasty…and there was a glow all around…the light bounced off leaves, livening up even the dark corners with a deep rich tone…
And then he stopped…slowly removed his shoes and lay his bag down…she followed obediently…all along looking at the expression on his face…focused and far away…he watched her…she questioned him with big eyes…he then put his hand on her eyes, shutting them…he held both her hands tightly and led her forward…she smiled at how much and how easily she could trust…her feet experiencing everything…the crispy leaves, crumbling to her touch…the cool earth…all so soft and gentle to her…and then she felt herself step into water…slowly he led her forward till the water reached her ankles… and then he stopped…
Turned her to face him and touched her eyes…she slowly opened her world to his…he had stepped back to let her look around…they were in a little clearing in the woods…with a little pool of water at her feet and as she looked up, she saw the shaft of light shine down perfectly on her…there were trees all around…in shades of green and brown…the light danced on the water’s surface and mingled with the ripples her restless feet were creating…she turned her attention to the banyan tree…the focus of his space…the many roots falling like beckoning arms…and she looked at him with delight…he came forward and motioned her to sit near the tree and she did…the scent of moss and crisp leaves hanging heavily upon them…
He pulled out his camera and captured the moment for eternity…she never had to see the picture to know how it looked…dark…only greens…and the image of her vulnerability to this newfound wonder… the tree with the pool of water at its feet remained the focus for her…and him standing behind her…and this feeling that they shared a world where no one could ever reach them…

They’d completed their assignment with more than enough time to spare…

First day at film school…first assignment in photography…task – find a partner and spend a day outdoors in silence and capturing the essence of the experience in a photograph…
When we had first heard of it, there had been a mad rush to grab onto the few people you knew…but she’d stood in the corner and looked about slowly…and was immediately taken in by his image…sitting at the back of class…busy sketching on the back of his book…and she crept closer…he looked up and smiled at her…a smile that meant he knew why she was smiling back…and they had teamed up…and she kept looking at the tiger he was sketching…mesmerized at how she’d found her peace in him, in a class full of crazy noisy disruptive people…

‘Vulnerable’ is what he named his photograph…Their photographs had many flaws and they were pointed out and absorbed…but that memory remains flawless…enhanced and touched up with every remembrance…music added…colours corrected…a title added…it would always remain him and her, caught in a moment when no one can touch them…and in many ways the equation between them remains the same…

(Y…for you my dear friend…for all those worlds you lead me into…for all the light you direct my way…for freeing me by capturing my essence with your understanding…see you soon…)

in the dark...

Hands...

She held her hand out…letting each fingertip find its match in his hand…coming together effortlessly…
And she felt herself smile cos of how it was making her feel… nothing… no wild fireworks…no crazy heart beats…just a simple coming together…just a hand reaching towards another…gentleness against gentleness…a satisfaction in knowing that when you hold your hand out, it will be there to give you something to hold on to…hand against hand…almost as intimate as heartbeat against heartbeat…just like a show of hands…a putting forward of all you had to offer being matched by all that could be offered…nothing more and nothing less…and she smiled as words he had once written ‘it’s the ordinariness of love that surprises me’…
Something about silence in a room full of two people that moves her…an acute awareness of another’s presence and yet a comfort and peace in it…the awareness that when words leave your lips, there will be ears to receive them…
He’d let her crawl close to him…shelter from the rain…found common sillinesses… laughed at them…held her when she hurt and made her believe that she was stronger than them…
Just another moment to add to who she was and all that she was becoming…
We are a collection of moments, she always said…
We are the moments that won’t leave us…enslaving us…
We are the moments that let go off…ease out of our minds…
We are the moments we choose to hold on to from a lifetime of moments…
We are, when we are open to moments…

Stick n ink!!

Waterlilies...Pouring Words...
Locked in...

Ever felt …

that sometimes a few moments you spend with people can affect you for a lifetime…
that all you need is someone to love you a bit…but truly…and with no other motives than to just love you…
that the simplest words come from the heart but take the form of gestures and stay forever…
that really your connections with people transcend space and time…
that what connects you to people is just a simple strand of a cobweb…delicately strong…
that you surprise yourself with what you say when you really love someone…
that love can be other than ‘love’…
that a ‘I’m so proud of you…’ can mean so much…
that you miss someone even as they sit with you…
that fingertips are the most sensitive part of you and connect to the heart!
that comfort with someone is just about your minds…
that you can crawl close to someone and reveal more of yourself than you ever imagined…
that everyone should know how blueberry shampoo smells…
that you can meet once in 6 months and yet feel like you’ve always been there…
that the thought that you’re gonna meet someone after a long time, can keep you excited endlessly…
that heartbeats are so soothing and their echoes stay far after you can’t feel them…
that some heart beats you can’t alter… they will always be steady in their path…
that the hardest thing to ever do is say how you feel…
that the second hardest thing to do is to be true to yourself…
that the third hardest thing to do is do that at the great cost to yourself…
that you should never settle for anything less than 101%... no matter how alone you may feel…
that you owe it to yourself to be happy…
that yes, its okay to silly… you will be loved anyway : )
that someone someday will fall for your silliness over all other qualities…
that maybe…just maybe it won’t take me 40 years, to let go again!!
that a dot will happen someday…
that a friend will come all the way to make your simple dream come true…
that a song sung badly, can liberate you…
that every strand of you can come alive when you’re with some people…
that a little touch can stay with you long after the finger has moved away…
that you can remember a moment forever…
that mp 3 players can love you too!
that you can share something with someone that makes no sense…
that its okay to take the 29 steps back and find nothing there…
that it takes courage to stay steady… so don’t beat yourself about it…
that you have more strength than you could ever imagine…

that the only way to be, is to continue to believe… no matter how many times you feel otherwise….

Jhijhak...

Bas ik jhijak hai yahii haal-e-dil sunaane mein
Ki teraa zihr bhii aayegaa is fasaane mein

Baras padii thi jo rukh se naqaab uthaane mein
Vo chaandanii hai abhitak mere gariib-khaane mein

Isii mein ishq kii qismat badal bhii sakatii thi
Jo vaqt biit gayaa mujh ko aazamaane mein

Yeh kah ke tuut padaa shaakhh-e-gul se aakhirii phuul
Ab aur der hai kitanii bahaar aane mein

- Kaifi Azmi

Was listening to some of his songs last night... and going through a book I have on him… the beauty of the language…the way the words roll off your tongue…the careful yet easy way the poem is structured…the looking for meanings of difficult words…and yet just instinctively knowing what some words mean…a beautiful evening lost in poetry…and song…and singing…

wine...

i keep my memories of you alive...

hidden from you

hidden from me too...

banished to my deep cellars

secretly aging and growing in colours aflush

unknown to any living soul

someday, i'll bring them to the surface

tentatively with trembling hands

unleash their fragrance

unleash their headiness

unleash myself and let me go...

feel their colour on my cheeks

let them play with my head

and let my heart flutter again.

drunk is how you made me feel

intoxicated by your voice

overwhelmed by your eyes

with your hand completing the trance

holding me close in flight...

but for now you'll stay deep inside...

29 steps…

You know how sometimes you’re walking down life… caught in your own self…lots of stuff rushing through your head…happy maybe…and you pass something that makes you smile…something red and shiny…it makes all your other thoughts pause for a bit…and you walk on thinking about it…twenty steps later you start wondering what it was and why you have this urge to go back…you take five more steps and think of all the reasons you should keep going on…four steps more and you decide to go back…so you take the 29 steps back…praying its still there…those steps will delay wherever you were going…those 29 steps took courage…those 29 steps were to catch onto something that made you happy even momentarily…those 29 steps where each one you take makes you wonder whether you’ll smile for a little longer cos of it…
Find it…pick it up…marvel…how easily passable that was and yet how beautiful…completely worth the 58 steps extra…

So I picked up this bright red leaf in my lane…missed my train but it made me so happy… kinda my lucky charm for the day…
My little learning…take the courage to go back to things you love…they may not be there and they may not want you…but take the 29 steps to find out…