Moving And Being

Plastic flowers in a cream porcelain jar with painted flowers
Tarred roads…smelly, smooth, jet-black.
Dusty brass lamp…dust is brown….gold is a shade of brown too.
Wooden bookshelf piled high with books to be displayed and yet to be read…atop a cupboard locking away the ones I have read and will never part with.
Discarded silk saree and kundan jewellery…a wedding invitation crumpled and tossed into a corner…
Spam mail, discount coupons, bills, notices…
Calendar stuck on January because I hate the picture on the February page.
Can’t find “Bulla ki jaana” online but there’s “Jaadugar” playing instead.

Life is what’s falling short of perfection…the rest is just aspiration.
Dissatisfaction. Dejection. Disgust. Degradation.
Every second I was one kind word away from tears.

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Woke up early this morning. The ‘mixie’ was churning coconut and chilli in an insistent, guttral rhythm. The washing machine keeping time with a belly dance of the dryer. It was cold but not as biting as yesterday.

I washed the vessels and as I held each one up to drain out, it caught the morning sunlight. Washing vessels is an almost meditative experience for me. I understand silence within only in moments like these, when all of the noise is outside me. Closest to me are the sounds of water splashing…that is always music…and inside of me is still…as silent as only peace can be.

I stood on my balcony and stretched into the day…the warmth of the almost-here day spread over me, filling me with its golden light. We are creatures of light.

And when I switched on the radio, Rabbi Shergill was singing his soul to me.

There is a place for me in this universe.