I Miss You

The orange Sun melts into the deep, steel gray ocean, I miss you
A purple haze mists over rhythmically crashing waves, I miss you
The entire beach glows in the brilliance of the last light, I miss you
A light speck on the horizon, it is dawn on the other side, I miss you
A salty wind blows sensual secrets and my cheeks burn, I miss you
The woman sitting with her face half buried in his chest, I miss you
Over the deep red sand dunes, a cloud bursts laughing, I miss you
A waxing moon rises, beautifully translucent, lustily cool, I miss you
The sky to the east is a canvas overrun with pastel colors, I miss you
A Willet runs away from the water with a crab in its beak, I miss you
The child digging a trench looks up and smiles, happiness, I miss you
The man and his dog run together, and they nod, friendship, I miss you
A farmer burns some dead wood, smell of smoke in the air, I miss you

Tongues of fire flicker in the faint evening light, Oh where are you?
I miss you, I miss you and I burn with desire and with the fire!

Traces

He had strong, sun burnt forearms
they inspired a desire to be held
even if it is to white out the world.
Had long, slender and sensitive fingers
they seemed to have a gentle touch
tracing down the curves of an arm.
His voice echoed husky under tones
whispered utterly sexy, charming words
scattered reason to winds over dreamland.
His fleeting glances, Oh, damn those eyes!
they dug deep into a soul and left a scar
they made many unspoken promises.
And when he laughed; a genuine laugh
one heard a delightful, childish giggle.
His hair and his hands passing through them ..
I wonder if they are what I shall miss the most?
Now here in the small hours of dawn, wide awake
I wonder if he really existed or if I created him?
Perhaps, he belonged to a far away universe
and I happen to catch the traces in my imagination.
I am slowly starting to remember the tale ..
I think it was a sketch, which I never finished.
Funny, why did I think I could capture the impossible?
A dream is a dream but a dream and shall forever be!

Seven

There once lived a girl in a forest
sheltered and isolated from the rest
unbeknownst to most, devoid of unrest.
Her days were sunny and nights tranquil
her dreams cheerful, demeanor playful
her needs simple, desires ephemeral

She lived by no rules, obeyed no system
played with chaos summoned at random
the world was to her but a mere phantom.
She remained a total stranger to humanity
until the day she found the utter monstrosity.

She heard them call it the human heart
a grotesque creature born of pure abstract.
She was never meant to find the beast
if it were not for that one impossible feat
of a stranger who has mastered the beat
and unlocked the closely guarded secret.

Seven seas away, seven continents hence
seven stories high and seven notes apart
the seven pounds slowly began to hum
and the girl is no longer a girl but a woman
from here on she does nothing but bemoan.

Breath Of A Cobra

I still wonder what made him look up
at the same instant I looked down
before taking that one further step.
A brief moment frozen perfectly still ..
fatal, composure, frenzy? Many a possibility.
We looked into each others' eyes deeply
intent on calculating the imminent danger
to our worlds and our very own existence.

A chance encounter? A predestined rendezvous?
He, coiled in the cool, dank shade of the orange tree
seeking respite from the harsh Indian summer
safe from nocturnal predators and hidden
from the menacing eyes of the high fliers.
I, out to excavate lost childhood memories,
to relive a lazy afternoon, inhaling the aromas
of the dripping water droplets melting into
the deep red earth parched under the midday sun.

All I remember was the intense darkness of the eyes
a pair of sapphires sparkling against the landscape
black like the night, like a dream devoid of emotion.
I return the gaze oblivious to the silence around me
we engage in a dangerous dance for just a brief moment
appearing to hold our grounds and then unexpectedly ..
he withdraws .. a brisk slither across the plain
and a slow hiss resonating in the absolute stillness.
A few yards away, he pauses, turns his head around
shoots a fleeting glance before fading into the bushes.

I was left standing in the middle of vast emptiness
marveling at the incredible grace of the movement
no other soul in sight except for the dizzying heat
and the shifty songs of the ever moving mirages.
I still wonder sometimes why he turned to look
was he taking the imprint of the image for a revenge?
Don't they say that snakes hold grudges for years?

Me? Yes, I do dream of him on some nights
especially the ones that are most turbulent.
A forked tongue flickers; a coil around my head
and I find peace in those deadly pair of eyes
staring down into my own from a magnificent crown
and I hear the whisper of divine secrets in my ears.
Of course, I ask myself now and then the questions
Does he still remember that fated after noon?
Does he dream of the slender female figure
for whom he decided whether she lived or died that day?

Looking Over The Horizon

How far, how many years, how many hurdles ?
But memories persist, they are always there
just a tap away from flooding the conscious.
A brutal night of fire, death and mayhem,
many were lucky. A shot through the back or
a stab through the heart and there was peace.
But hers was a struggle. A fierce, lost battle.

Do not dare ask her about human rights
they have all died that night and no one cared.
Who gave you the right to pretend to understand?
Get the hell out of her face and let her live.
There is one place she can trust and believe in
despite the deep betrayal and devastation .
It is her motherland, do not take it away from her.
It is all she has ever known, loved and respected.
Do not take her away and imprison her in your
cold, lonely, isolated self!! Let her live and love!

His eyes smile full of hope and glinting dreams.
The city could not rob him of those precious gifts
Sleepless nights whiled away on the pavement
the bone chilling cold and an everlasting hunger
the sturdy police boots kicking in the rib cage
empty streets, kerosene lamps and rainy days
the street urchin found happiness amidst turmoil.

I suppose, he does dwell in poverty, yet is he truly poor?
He has a purpose, a plan. Poised to take on life,
he stares into the future with a determined frown.
There is a hidden challenge in that look
he is challenging you, me and the rest of the society.
Dare you try and stop him? Beware, Chaos ensues!

Let them realize their dreams, let them look back over their shoulders., let them find their own happiness. Please stay away from your Robinhood instincts. It never worked, it never will, you can never model a human being after you. The fledgling always finds its own way. Enable them and sit back to see what wonderful beings they turn into.

Quest

It feels like forever, a lifetime.. my own to be accurate
I have been searching. Searching for a time and a place.
Perhaps an undefined place and a perfectly still moment
that is ephemeral, abstract, transcendental, unreal
yet full of potential of bursting into concrete existence.

A tiny hole in the fabric of the universe that is modeled after me.
It has been the target of my quest, of the eternal crusade
against norm and normalcy, boredom and humdrum.
The sobering, prosaic tales of happiness and complacency.
Contentment, peace and serenity.. what in the hell do they mean?

How does one find that place? Perchance, I am already there?
How do I know? What is that supposed feel like? Does anybody know?
Is that happiness I see in the smiles or a non-questioning conformity?
Is a smaller world much better a choice? Unchallenged bliss?
One size fits all! Now, why do I fail to imagine that?

After all, it is feasible that I am the one that has not learned.
Others have already passed through this and I am still here ..
lost in the ways of the world and its monotonous mysteries.
An adolescent revolutionary with a childlike wonder and full of questions.
Is it time for me to grow up? Please tell me, 'No'. Cuz I really don't wanna!!

I Lost My Name

It was the man who took it away
the one with the blue solitary smile
He won the game, clean and effortless
the trick was simple and I was willing.
It had to be that easy, after all ..
the man himself knows how to lose
A little basil leaf, and the scales tipped.

It is his heart that beats the golden rhythms
in my veins, a dark violet passion flows
into the jasmine scented starry nights.
A beautiful, sweet intoxicating flute song ..
he invented me through his deep cherry lips.
I am his creation, modeled after his deepest
desires, darker destinies: I have to give in.
Perhaps it is my choice, it is hard to tell
where my will ends and his own begins.

Besides, I am tired of the constant battles
of knowledge, resistance, strength and will.
What is good and evil? Does anybody even know?
Now people forget the ways to conjure me.
Without the name, the song does not know
to whom it belongs, nor does it have a meaning.
Anonymity, I shall embrace it for a while
I will let the truest seekers to find me
the sacred symbols are everywhere
one must know how to look for them.

The river Yamuna still flows in my laughter
moonlit rainbows flare in the corner of my eyes
Marigolds in my hair make the tune of the wind.
In the land of brilliant sunsets and emerald dreams
I will be hidden between the layers of mist and dawn
seek me through the heart wrenching notes
and truth forever shall be yours and only yours!

Dreams

Dreams, are not they the funniest of things?
They morph themselves into sticky thoughts
throw your rationale down into the depths
take you for a blissful ride in silver chariots
across the never ending plains full of rainbows
to a place that does not really exist but does.
Uncertainty principle? Heisenberg is proud.

Dreams, are not they the most powerful?
They show you a different, a parallel universe
set you up in a impish trap of useless musings
demand you to question, rebel, and fight.
Lure you to cross into the land of unknowns
from a perfectly fitting contemporary scene
make a wanderer out of your once content self.

Dreams, are not they the cruelest of all?
They are made of most delicate, fragile crystal.
At the slightest touch of the wind, they collapse
a mere reasoning with reality, they shatter
into a thousand, million, billion different pieces
and they grip your heart tightly and crush it
until there is none of it left and whatever remains
vanishes into a deep, emotionless black hole!

Beyond Invisible

Yellow October moon shines on clouds of steel gray
wind ripples through the silent mist of blues
strange creatures weep big deep red tears
darkness swirls around in concentric circles
the willow yawns, white wings stretch across
restless pacing, honey scented breath, impatient
at last, the cavern whispers softly, a crypt, a secret
and everything listens in absolute stillness.
And a fate forever is sealed, fairly unnoticed!

Dull dappled play of leaves and light
chimerical shadows on strings of night
a dangerous sparkle, raw umber eyes
burnt sienna colored dreams dance alive
entwined naked bodies glisten with desire
passion, pure lust, carnal, stifled vacuum
a flash of nails, a droplet, lascivious war
the past dissolves into a place beyond reach
questions don't matter, future does not exist
pure, absolute wonder, a cry of intense melancholy.

The wings flutter, eyelids open slowly, sleepily
harsh neon lights glitter eerily through the window
damp air carries the present back into the room.
A lapse in memory, a barren landscape
time dissipates into the arms of oblivion.

Musings of a runner.

These past ten days I had been in Chennai have been very interesting. I never really spent much time in this city but I suspect I am inclined to liking it this time. Chennai is an old old city, part of it strongly resisting the change while the rest is eagerly embracing it. All in all, a charming city bustling with throngs of people. Strangely, every individual seems to have a strong sense of purpose, they have a determined look on their tanned, strongly southern featured faces, and move with such ease through the web of small alleys and gullies. Every few yeards seem to bring you a by-way, a short cut. The natives know how to blend in them and emerge on one of the major streets and successfully avoid the horrendous jams in peak traffic hours, while you are taking in the details of the ineresting setting. If you ask them, "how did you figure that out?", they don't have an answer but they simply look at you and smile, which seems to say, "you just have to be one of us". I grew up in India in a rural setting: with wide open spaces and a serene sense of existence, then moved to a country and continent so distant that it may very well be a different planet. So this stay in Chennai for me is a lesson about the Indian city life.

And, if you ask me to tell you the story of Chennai, I would choose the one of my early morning observations while running in the park. So here it goes. My brother-in-law and I set out in the morning around six to a near by park for an hour long run. Each morning brings me more excitement but the first day was most definitely a sensory treat. As the hour drew to a close, drenched in sweat from head to toe, I was not ready to go home, even with the hot Indian sun beating against my back.

The park is full of intersting flowering trees, most native to India, some showing off their blooms and others in their full, unabashed glory. I specifically mean the old banyan tree, that is sending beautifully tangled roots down to support its widespread branches. That was probably the first thought that occured to me, how different the growth pattern of these trees is from that of the North American trees... Nature in its ever elusive manner, adapts... ever changing, ever more magical!

Under one of these huge, ancient trees is a statue of Shiva. Lord of destruction, the liberator. Yes, there is a sense of freedom in the act of destruction of existing order, is not there? His skin blue in color, sitting in the lotus position on the tiger skin, crescent moon in his matted hair, the third eye mercifully closed, a smile of content adorns his silent lips, holding the posion that would have consumed the world in his throat, right hand raised, making the gesture of assurance.. with his posessions that amount to nothing but a few bone fragments and heaps of ashes. A symbol of sorts to remind the living of the insignificance of one's existence. When it is time to cross the river of Vaitharini (River Styx of Hades?), all that remains behind is a bowl full of ash and bones. His weapon is the Trident and his instrument is the Dhamaruka. In the beginning there was Chaos and then Shiva danced the dance of creation and the drum created the first form of life.. the word... the first syllables uttered, 'ay', 'un', 'ru', 'luk', 'ae', 'om'.. the drum roared life into existence! Of course, many other sects of Hindu religion tell you the creation story very differently but I like this one. The speakers are playing a slow gutteral chant of the Panchakshari mantra. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gEx3ldOUBs . A few people are already praying to the deity, I can't help but wonder what is it that each individual is asking for..

I start to zigzag through the crowd in order to keep up my pace and happen upon the shacks: they must be the living quarters of the construction workers or squatters, I can't say for sure. Some residents are still asleep on the ground under the huge monkeypod tree completely oblivious to the noises of the city, their beds are made out of rags and old sheets. When kind Morpehus pays you a visit, you obey and follow him into his realm. There is not a question of comfortable mattresses and pillows, nor is there the question of pills. Three young men are sitting with their backs leaning against the mud walls, their heads thrown back, half closed sleepy eyes lost in thought and their naturally curved arms hanging by their sides. I see the woman sitting on the sand pile with her little girl in front of her. She is applying coconut oil and making pleats out of the girl's hair, what a beautiful scene! There is a quizzical look on her face as she gazes in my direction. Perhaps she is trying to understand the need of this insane act of walking in circles.. after all, what is the use, it only uses up your energy.. of course, she herself is in amazing shape. These few minutes she spends with her daughter before she goes back in the Sun for a day long incredibly deamnding work are so precious to her that she fails to understand why we are not all doing the same. Must we not spend time with our family before the day really began? Instead we are here walking off the fat, sweating, heaving and sighing.. Being a farmer's daughter, I think I understand her.

I now turn my attention to the people walking and jogging by my side. Men, women and children of all ages, some wearing traditional garb and some in stylish western clothes. If you ever want to witness a society in transition, you want to go to a park like this one for a morning run. Whatever does she mean? you must be wondering.. here is a striking example: I saw an older getleman walking with a transistor radio tuned to a station that was playing old Tamil songs, and an older woman walking barefoot with her anklets softly tinkling. Meanwhile, the younger generation is listening to their iPods and a couple of girls who I could not help but overhear were discussing 'boy friend problems'. But they all are here, there is an elevated awareness of health and exercise. So, the old generation has not stopped listening and adapting and the newer generation is learning.. Old and new waters flow into each other, together they move toward progress..

The noises.. how do I describe them? I shall probably leave it for you to discover them but describe to you the chatter of the birds; ravens, crows, sparrows, finches, mynahs, and the cuckoos. Crows are amazinly communal, I think.. This particular day, they were either bemoaning a loss or ostracizing a member.. I could not clearly see but there was great agitation in the branches higher up. And there was the song of the cuckoo bird.... I never heard such a beautiful song. It was so very different from the songs they usually sing.. it was not the call to the skies for rain nor was it a song of pursuit.. it was more like a song of stillness, a song of absolute happiness and lament, a song of immense pleasure and pain.. it was slow, deliberate and amazingly mellow. Wonderful, ethereal!

I was lost in the song of the bird of paradise when I thought I heard a mythical animal roar, I jumped out of my skin, quickly checked around to see what it was that was making the noise.. To my utter amazement, it was a group of people practicing Yoga.. It must be the 'Lion's face' pose, they are letting out a deep, guttural sigh.. A little stray dog was asleep next to the pavement, it awoke with a start, failing to understand where this threatening animal would materialize from, started to run for its life. After realizing it was only the harmless human beings, it slowed down to a jog and weird enough.. the dog actually ran with me for a couple of laps before it looked at me dismissingly and walked away. I wonder how I failed to play my role, how could I have entertained him to keep him a running companion? It was a cute dog with a healthy shiny black coat and a streak of white on his breast. I wish him well.. the life of a stray dog in a city is not very kind.

As I was finishing up my last lap, I see the old woman in one of the shacks with its door ajar, taking out marinated sun dried fish out of a bowl.. She was about to roast them on open char coal fire.. When I was a child, I hated that smell with a passion. I was utterly unhappy when I had to pass by the fishermen's huts in the village.. with fish hung, spread, gutted... there was fish everywhere.. in the sun to dry.. I almost cringed as the memories flashed but surprisingly as the smoke rose from this fire, I found myself taking in deep gulps of air, filled with the aromas of the elements.. the sea, sun, salt, water, wind and fire.. I can't help but ponder the changes within my own self.. Did the distant society teach me something valuable?? Did I grow older and wiser?

I guess in the end, this turned out to be a story about my own self as much as it is about Chennai!

Flowering trees of India

Visiting India this time of the year meant I got to see some gorgeous tropical trees in bloom. It has been a long time since I saw this flower in bloom.. My grandmother's village has this tree growing in Shiva's temple, it must be quite an old tree. My childhood friend and I used to climb the tree and steal the flowers very early in the morning before the priests came in and take them home to float them in water. The shape and fragrance of this flower is out of this world. The shape is supposed to represent the symbol of Shiva, the lingam and the snake entwining/protecting it. The eternal symbol of fertility and potency. Its common name is Cannon ball tree and the scientific name is Coupita guianesis.

Here are a few more of these beautiful trees I get to see almost daily when I go for a run in the park close to my in-laws' place in Chennai.

A Letter To Gudipati Chalam

My Dearest Chalam,

How long has it been since I wrote to you? Many months? Years? How does it matter? Time has no sense nor meaning when it comes to us, does it? And apologies don't belong in the space between us. You and I, we are made of the same material, so I dare say you would understand. You and I, we belong to the dreamland, don't we? If I did not say it enough times already, here I go again, I think of you every moment.. even when I am not aware of it.

So, this after noon I thought of you once again, sitting here in my little adobe on the river plain. I stare into the shimmering waters and I remember what you said when we were together the last time. "The misty drizzle, a hot cup of coffee, the fragrant jasmine vine and I next to you, admiring you, adoring you.. it must be what heaven is like". I sometimes wonder whether you are for real but there it is, your 'Musings' on that empty chair across the room tells me that you exist, even if we are separated by a universe. I suppose it is not a universe but a thin line that divides the living from the dead. The real question is whether we truly know which side we belong to? Did I veer off the path again? I can tell by the mischievous smile on your face. Stop that!

Another Spring came and went but dreams still continue to bloom and wilt. What is the use? What is the purpose? It is funny though how one can dream of somebody they barely know, yet these dreams feel so familiar and natural. Remember that young couple on the banks of Penna? Children of nature, Oh, how I envy them!! The intimate scene plays over and over in my head. I wish I had the courage of your Rajeshwari.. I have to ask you though, is she your favorite? After all, she comes close to being the Abhisaarika Nayaki in modern literature. She definitely is my kind of a woman and your kind I must say. Damn the world to hell, Mr. Gudipati. It can't even begin to fathom the depths of a feminine soul. Was Dali trying to say something in his 'The Specter of Sex Appeal '?

I often find myself pondering over your days at Arunachalam. What pushed you over the cliff, metaphorically speaking, of course! Has the soul no alternative? When or why does sexuality turn into spirituality? Jaydev celebrates their unity but how does Tagore manage to distinguish them? or am I misreading the latter? One has to wonder whether Meera or Godha found what they were looking for. The ideal one, what preposterous idea! Although, I have to admit, Krishna being the object, makes the whole matter a little less absurd. He is a mysterious and alluring character, yet full of flaws and mischief.

Why is the world full of questions but no appropriate answers? Is the complexity self imposed? I bet you did not find the answer you were looking for, yet why do you look so very peaceful and content in that picture? Your eyes lit with some strange secrets and your smile, that smile, I can't describe it. It has the quality of knowing.. but what is that you know? Were Buchibabu and Maugham right? Is it the journey that matters?

I guess I will have to find my own answers.. Hope everything is fine and dandy for you on the other side. I don't actually care whether you choose to write back or not.

Yours,
Nimitha

A Wink Across The Room

No, it was not jealousy, nor was it anger..
It was not an emotion I could easily name
So I will tell you a story, a story of silence
a story of symbols, dreams and meaning.

I once dreamed a room into existence
across the boundaries of time, in the future
twenty, thirty years from now, or more..
Was the dream even mine? I can't recall now.

A room full of strange, familiar, distant faces
lit by faint evening light and a bluish fire
casting shadows who dance about the walls
and mingle into the crowd with friendly smiles
I can see still waters through the window
perhaps it is a lake house, I look at my toes
I see sand particles twinkle like early stars.

I peer into the dreamy faces.. some lost
some alive, some adrift, who am I looking for?
and what is it that I am looking for?
am I missing anything, or nothing at all?
I stare into silence, verses soon to follow.

Some more hours pass.. and I see a man walk in
his eyes search across the room for something
and they find me sitting by the windowsill
he starts to walk over but someone interrupts
he politely nods, listens, tries to get away..
a few moments pass, no sign of liberation
he looks up and finds me looking into his eyes.
He winks and smiles from across the room
and I know what it was that I was looking for..
it was my past, my memories, my stories..

So you see, there are stories entwined in every moment
I am proud of them and I can't apologize for them.
They are mine and I can't help but possess them.

I must let you go!

There was a time when I was complete, content in my own existence
It was before I met you; before I came to know the other dimensions.

I had a heart of liquid glass then and it echoed most beautifully
I had the sole privilege to the inner music and I simply was!
That was when I was the happiest wandering child of wilderness
I sought nothing in particular but the creation in its glory.
I made love to the moon and the wind whispered rainy secrets
the mountains and I shared a misty cloud covered reverie
and I danced with the Sun to the tunes of the northerly chill
but the Ocean, to the Ocean; to him, my heart truly belonged!

And then unsuspecting, I happened upon the fated moment
most unwittingly opened a portal in the time-space fabric..
Lo, you arrive, riding on the silver beams of moonlight
with fireflies for eyes, a knowing smile of secret hopes
and a look of daggers, of the most unkind quality
sharp and potent, they cut through the thickest of the layers,
and there sprang forth a storm, the glass burst open, so did
the latent desires buried beneath the silence of ages.

My heart, Oh my tender, fragile, clementine heart
it turned into a cherry blossom caught in a fierce gale..
with each breath, it was losing the delicate petals
and it was clear, inevitable: the eventuality, the destiny..
was there ever a happy ending in the entire human history?
So I must let you go, let you be free, because I know..
I already know.. I can see through the same fabric warp
that brought you to me, you see, I was reluctant from the start.
because I could see the future and it spelled doom, for me and for you.

But, my dearest stranger, I must thank you, thank you for
the heartache, thank you for the dreams and the possibilities.
and thank you for my new found appreciation of having wanted..
and I shall say to you one last thing: "Better to have lived" !!

Tonight

It is time! Time for me to see him again, the one I had forgotten
centuries have passed since our last meeting, perhaps even millennia.

Soon, the entire world is asleep in the arms of the night
I plunge into the depths that stretch beyond light.
With me are the fireflies; they guide me through the alley
for now I am treading the edges of ancient dreamland.

I hear in the distance a bird sing, a song so ethereal
it is filled with archaic mysteries and deep melancholy.
It transcends comprehension, it is most simply surreal
but I am capable of the secret tongue. For once, I belong.
Yet I choose not to answer, heed not its ominous call
besides, he lays in wait for me as he has been for eons.
And tonight I must give into her, my sweet caring destiny.

I sense the rage, the anger, the energy; we must be near!
I feel the strong wind raging in the canyon below
I see a shadow through the tall grass of golden yellow.
Magnetic, potent; I am drawn..I wait near the willow
I think of his hand passing down my spine. A cold shiver.
I think of that night now buried beneath the ages
I remember vividly the intense pleasure .. or was it pain?
A few incredible moments of anticipation pass in silence.
He is here I know, and the last thing I hear
is the deadly long swoooosh of the tail.