Healing Aura

He gave me a pretty one
And I asked for another
Why, I asked myself then
No reply sounds in my ear

Did its snugness allure me?
Or its deep red hues entice
Or that the beauty of one
Would just not suffice?

Did the petals’ smoothness
Imply the bloom to come?
And the thorns speak of pain
Ushering love that’s unsung

He kept them all in bunches
Well trimmed stems green
Nature’s temptation scarlet
Flooding my heart’s brim

A week has passed between
The charm has withered not
Now those two on my desk sit,
Blossoming their heart out!!

———Gauri Kanyalkar———-

It is a red-brick house at the turn of the winding road, which climbs a hillock overlooking the pristine sea-shore on its right. Anyone who stands in its tiny porch in the afternoon will have their eyes blinded by the sun, and the same sun will tease the waves at early evening to send the sparkle to your eyes. A wonderful serenity I feel, whenever I look at it! Its silhouette seems like an embrace welcoming me. It seems to talk to me, I don’t know what and I don’t know why! What is its fable?

Once upon a time, there lived an old woman in this house. An ever ready smile lit up the otherwise commonplace and dark face. Her village dialect course, but sweet to the ears all at once! This was one of the many houses she had occupied through her living years. This was perhaps the best of the lot, because she lived here for the longest time. And also because her youngest son had given his young years to pull it down and build it again in solid red bricks. How could his wife live in the old ramshackle house, whenever he married?

The old woman wanted to spend the sunset years of her life here, in her rightful house. The house now had all necessary amenities for her to lead a peaceful life at least (though it was a far cry from a five star). How would it be possible? Her husband was no more, all her girls were married with grandkids and her youngest son would have to leave the village to find a job – he had to pay off the loan he had taken to build the house. Even if the house had become habitable, she was old and there was no one to help her with the everyday chores. Against her wishes, she would have to go and stay with her daughter, who had a bustling household, with children and grandchildren. Her great grandchildren – the thought soothed her, she had seen it all and there really was some satisfaction in it.

There was another house, built by her elder son, where she would have loved to stay, but circumstances did not allow her to dream about it. And she did not spell it in words. Life had been difficult, many moves, many fields, many abodes, many falls and many upheavals later she finally spent the last years with one of her daughters and sons alternatively. And finally reached her rightful house, that of God!

Part of the house on the hillock is let out by the old woman’s youngest son. Still, whenever I pass it, it reaches out to me, waiting for someone of its own to come and occupy it, to make it complete. The youngest son is married, works in the city. Will he at least enjoy the fruit of his labor? Will the “Orphan House” beget its members? It is an abode in waiting, standing there like some elder, waiting for the prodigal son to come back.

Listening to songs gifted by you
Chanting the way of your love
The pleasure brought by goosebumps
And kept safe in my treasure trove!!

Sweet nothings whispered softly
Still sound a tinkle in my ear
As if it was just yesterday
That fate had brought us near

My senses even today pause
For a whiff of you in the breeze
Sounds of dry leaves crushed
Mysterious goings-on indeed

I miss the contact and the touch
Still nothing much is different
You are still a part of existence
I am still sane and coherent

A cherished treasure trove it is surely
With riches of your undying sensitivity
You - an immortal muse to my artist
Easily luring out the survival in me!!

———–Gauri Kanyalkar————-

Geeta still remembered the longing look on Bhargav, her husband’s face, whenever someone in the complex got a new car or changed an old one - some of them maybe twice in six months. It was always an unsolved riddle to him, how people managed it.

Come to think of it, both of them earned quite well, though not in six figures between them every month. They had an only son. Not a very socially active family, eating out, entertaining maybe only three to four times a year, movies – say three per year at the nearest Cinemax!! They had a joint family with in-laws and two brother-in-laws, who were their greatest support system.

Still they found it difficult to indulge in the luxuries of modern life. Only luxury Geeta allowed herself was giving Yug the best of education and relaxation, making it a point to save regularly. Whether the savings would see Yug through college and higher studies was a question she did not want to contemplate. Ten years hence would be another ball game altogether and they really did not think too much about it, only ensured that Yug would be well-provided. She did not want Yug to go through the ordeal of taking an education loan and worry about paying it off for the first few working years of his life.

Both of them had had good childhoods, but luxury did not have the modern day definition in their dictionary of life then. A ride in the taxi back home, when they were tired at the end of a day out was their idea of heaven. A skipped dinner at home and a stolen snack in the Udipi restaurant five minutes away from their residence was the taste of “dining out” for them. For Bhargav, spending the vacation at his aunt’s place and riding his cousin’s bicycle was the once-a-year treat he always looked forward to.

She was standing in the terrace of her home, awaiting Bhargav’s return from National Garage. He was to take the delivery of his car today. Every minute was excruciatingly long – never in her life had she felt so much on tenterhooks – not even on her wedding day!! She was longing to see his face and feel the pride in his smile, when he handed over the extra set of keys in her hand. It was raining in torrents today. Bhargav’s frowning face came to her mind, his unspoken fight with showers everyday while travelling to work. His drenched and tired frame, adorning the door every rainy evening!!

There he was, in the misty blue new car of his!! Yug was already out of the door and like a flash into the front seat, not minding the rain. Bhargav stepped out and raised his face to hers, wet once again in the torrent of rain, still it was hard for her to miss his tears!!

Words do not a case for rightness make

Right you should be in your give and take

Patience paves the way for centre-stage

Silence etches words in every page

Stringing words together for speeches

Without a care for the breaches

Politicians and their like - counterfeit

Use words to confuse and fabricate

A smattering of words in exchanges

The speaker do not a master establish

Nor another’s quiet disposition

Him to an empty-headed fool liken

Few words more often than not

Hit the meaning bang on the head

And reams of painstaking works

Lose their essence in just words

In matters which haunt and hurt

Words do not stand a chance to exert

Speeches and lectures help not much

Best does it with a look and a touch!!

Getting drunk and sozzled

And by success bedazzled

No time for sleep sublime

That’s how people climb

By losing ethics and face

It is all a matter of race

Against it, all values fade

That’s how a name is made

When honesty is collateral

And etiquette turns liberal

Purity subdued and shunned

That’s how riches are spun

Everyone’s doing this and more

Going astray from their chore

Even my task and path is chosen

That’s how justification is given

You’re nothing but your shadow

With time, power turns shallow

Living a cursed lie is what irks

That’s how introspection works

Rain has a way of touching me

Even when it’s not drenching me

The wind it’s faithful messenger

Bringing me satin drops of nature

It embraces me, though I be small

With my goodness and vices all

Sweeps me off my feet once again

Year after year and pain after pain

It has a devoted friend – the fog

Then vision is lost and eyes agog

My glance is forced inside of me

The mighty soul’s struggle to see

Rain floods and a gush of emotions

New roots, new life, new passions

Throbbing and living, green leaflets

Life making way in small rivulets

A promise to thirsty soul and soil

A silver lining to the cloud of toil

Rain, just like love swells my heart

A sweet ache from a blunted dart

There’s bound to be music in every person’s life, existence ceases once the music goes out. No wonder music is used by science as an efficient therapy.

There is more to music than its purely technical form, be it any genre. Did musical instruments exist at the inception of mankind? Then how come we homosapiens inherited such a variety of them? Stop awhile and imagine. A lot of imagineering is what happened.

The clouds thundered and gave reign to some person’s innate curiosity. The drums were born. The wind soothed and the flute emerged. The birds chirped and taught us how to sing. With the flow of water came the sounds of the Santoor. Have you stopped by right here in our L&T Campus and listened to the rain-water rushing down the steps of L&T’s Technical Institute leading to the canteen? The next time it rains, do it. It’s exhilarating to say the least.

Our heartbeats and breath, two basic essentials for being alive, gave us rhythm!! Does not the heart set the pace of your life? Does not the effortless breath you take weave a pattern of existence?

Music is the gurgling sound a baby makes, when it is sleeping! Music is the rustling of leaves in the wind! The twittering of birds!

The tempest at sea! The storms of anger! Cat-fights!

A lover’s exchange! A lover’s tiff!

Music, not always soothing, but always sounding! Sounding the sound of life! Strumming our life’s pain, proving we are ALIVE!!

Did you see the heavens pouring down yesterday evening? What did it make you feel? Angry, happy, sad, reflective, spontaneous?

I was travelling home from work. The rains were really rolling and the Powai lake area looked right out of a nature artist’s canvas. Dare I say “nature artist”? I think not. The Renaissance skyline, infrastructure work on in the foreground, frustrations of the fast modern life (a traffic jam) and in the midst of all this children frolicking away!! Certainly not a nature artist’s canvas, but a kaleidoscope canvas nevertheless!

There was a melee of feelings around me. Home-goers were angry, they would reach home late. The children were joyous and carefree in the rains, running, jumping in puddles and generally having the time of their lives. It made me reflect and realize, I had done all this when I was their age and more. It pricked my conscious and a resolution was made to allow my son to just let go next time it rained. Some spontaneous youngsters just got together and decided to walk, umbrellas and jackets unused, letting the soothing drops cool their burning aspirations and bring a sense of permanency and sanity to them.

The power of the supreme, does it not envelop us, wherever we go. Pity we don’t accept it. Pity we get carried away by lofty, petty material things. More pity we think, we are smart, while doing it. The reclaimed Mumbai – a tribute to what mankind can do. And the forever increasing infrastructure woes of Mumbai, a demonstration of what happens when you tamper with the supreme artist’s work of art.