In Limbo 2

K yewee...its nasal call sets the crown chakra in motion. Curtains flutter. Breath focuses on itself. But, the feet, overcome by impatience,  scuttle down the stony path...Eyes search the firmament. Wings spread, there it goes, a Brahminy kite, skimming across the faint sliver of the crescent moon. A momentary splintering of the gossamer vision, and lo, a scatter of silver, and the air is astir with glinting flecks of light. Just a bit more than a dot really,  it calls again, cruising majestically. My own auditory capabilities surprise me. "How can I hear something so far away, when often enough I am ridiculed for not being able to hear what those in close proximity are saying", I wonder. The chestnut colored legendary raptor circles the heights, dispersing the blue across the deepening layers of the celestial vault. Kyewee...another call sails in from the east. A new entrant flying at a lower altitude, makes itself palpable against the splash of cerulean in my irises. Its wi...

let the burden of time be mine with its grace and its aches and pains and pardonable forgetfulness: lo i embrace the emptiness and the sound of water dripping from the bathroom tap...the buzz of a mozzy by my toes, and even the  breathless heat. i am finally here and now: the eyes take in the  leaning sky and gently  nudge the sleepy clouds stacked like pancakes: the sound of soft rains  falling on the cashew  leaves fill the ears; wet  earth and children running through the red mud: imprints of sweet laughter  2. it is the opaque silence of a passing shadow which coerces my glance skyward: lo, a flock of birds, and a leaf falling 3.  our eyes locked briefly in the early stirrings of the morn: a moment of recognition darted off in the wormhole of pale green irises: a little black cat and its  embryonic shadow.

  Namaskar, mein Ravish Kumar... Aap dekh rahe the Prime Time. Namaskar. (Greetings, I am Ravish Kumar... You Were Watching Prime Time.) 60 minutes of Prime Time Hindi news at 9 p.m. bracketed within two Namaskars held the three of us (my mother, brother and I) enthralled with its  rigorous, relatable reporting, uncluttered presentation and witty sarcasm. Here was someone who was not spitting out news at the speed of 100 items in five minutes, or reading out headlines in a couplet form, or someone who wanted to choke the audience with redundant news stories to create a fog of incomprehensibility. Instead, we found in Ravish Kumar someone who wanted his audience to wake up to reality, to learn about the actual issues, and above all to hold  the government accountable for its incompetence. Once, when asked why he seldom has a word of appreciation for the laudable work the Centre is doing, his answer was quite spontaneous, "For that, they have their own gigantic PR machine a...

The tug of the night carries my feet up to the hotel terrace. The sky has stooped and clings timidly to the parapet. Someone, something beckons quietly, across the expanse of eternity...Is it the flapping wings of the gulls on the nocturnal leg of their long journey ? Or is it a shooting star: quick, silent and fulfilling, a moment in the livery of lighthood? Surprise awaits me in the form of a host of flitting  fireflies, glinting and glimmering, albeit spasmically. The silence is heightened by the presence of  two women whispering to each other in a language I do not understand. Gratitude fills my being. Fireflies flicker burnishing the voices sussarant against  the sloping sky where the  moon needles its way across  a gold-rimmed storm cloud;  the sound of ocean, and the  swaying murmurations of sea  breeze hijack the shadowy flight of the night as it slices  the darkness into luminous bits. A memory long lost hesitantly  crosses the ...

  "The ant’s a centaur in his dragon world. Pull down thy vanity, it is not man Made courage, or made order, or made grace, Pull down thy vanity, I say pull down. Learn of the green world what can be thy place In scaled invention or true artistry, Pull down thy vanity,"                                                  Ezra Pound  With such impunity I crush the little ant rushing across the page of the book, as though it were but a couple of grains of rye. I, who pride myself in my non-violent, vegetarian, conscientious living, have no qualms whatsoever in squashing this teenie meeni formic creature scurrying across the page exultant in its existence. Mumsy says,  no problem darling, may be you were just instrumental in helping it reach its next stage of evolution...may be it would be now reborn as a Brahmin ant . Her words sound like ambrosia to my ...

" It's a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;"                                                 John Masefield The butterfly stained with velvety purple and flaunting circular blotches of gold, two on each set of the wings, had graced our porch that evening. A butterfly or a moth? Someone's curiosity needed an answer. Its slim, smooth and longish body with antennae  concluding in bulbs presented themselves as ample proof leaning in favor of the former.  The butterfly with its dazzling wings, flapped and fluttered, paused awhile on the blank wall, casting a restless shadow. An efflorescence of alienation and anxiety emitting from this winged critter held the dull evening in thrall of its stroboscopic rhythms. A fat gecko, stilled by its own innate huntsmanship eyed it intently. Someone played god and shooed the gecko away.  The cashew tree sw...

The meandering road I have traveled so far, in and out of so many worlds, both physical and esoteric is behind me, slowly receding, fading, disappearing. And lo, just a dot now,  packed with infinity; a blackhole of possibilities bracketed within innumerable ifs and thens.  The path ahead goes through dappled woods. Tangled with birdsongs and fallen leaves, an earthy whiff  of simultaneous dying and rejuvenation pervades the air. Intoxicating is this intermingling of organic decay and invincible  life sources. I stop and inhale the sudden flight of a purple sunbird: its young  shadow toppling through the shivering branches of naked trees, laughing.  There is no defeat here, nor victory. Only a sense of being, going, of breathing and listening to the footfalls of a soul paused ever so sweetly in this moment. The television nextdoor spitting out the results of  U.S. mid-term elections which swallowed up 17 billion dollars have no reality here, nor releva...