Wardrobes don’t just house clothes, They are a time machine that can bring forth, Smiles, laughs and emotions in drove, Some items are a treasure trove, Recently, while rearranging dresses, tops and shorts, I recalled a shopping trip where we bought, A dress for a prom an year, And shoes to match the gear. These reminiscences are not unique in their plot, Yet, lived differently for each parent and tot. A red coat that we together got, Hangs in my closet with the lot, Celebrated its 10th without a spot, My teen had said-“this looks hot", A deluge of memories of worn and wear, Even amidst some torn and tear, Makes ordinariness of life- special and dear, And in hindsight without a peer. So if you wonder, "does time truly fly?" Isn’t it a relative phenomenon that goes by, Open a drawer, a closet or a chest, A find might open a memory door-the very best.
I remember as a child losing a favorite toy, Nothing said could bring back the joy. After tears, tenderness and time, I accepted the loss, And learnt a vital lesson of acceptance and moving across. Letting go is a complex art, Attachments are like sweet and sour tart, Detachment is not something for which we have a draft, Yet, life and living demands that we embrace this craft. Though generations before us have walked this path, Yet, each individual is on one’s own swath. Slowly we learn not all lost can be restored, Sadness and sorrow have also to be endured. Loosening some chords can cut sharper than a knife, Yet, holding on is against the natural order of life. Since losses in life are rampant and rife, It does not help to put up a strife. The sojourn of acceptance, Is not bereft of inner agitation, Can challenge many a disposition, But eventually leads to affirmation and personal evolution.
Someone new asked who are you? Tell me more about you. This question set me thinking, More like deep data linking. I have varied identities, And all are my realities. There’s not one me, But many in me. Working from home has further complicated this equation, Mishmash of tasks, duties and relations, Sometimes within minutes I have to change roles, And report with precision like someone on parole. From work meetings to household chores, The list miraculously grows evermore, Everyday seems to be a delicate game of juggle, I wonder if you also feel this struggle. Mindset shift from a work problem to one at home, Makes me feel going against human genome. Our minds work best when we focus, Not when we keep shifting our locus. So to who are you? Multiple answers are true. A mother, a daughter, a writer, a sister, So many identities are in one me, mister. Which one would you like to meet? Each is unique-some a bit more sweet.
Inter generational conversations are an art, Topics and exchanges are a discrete craft. Older folks have a tendency to get preachy, Younger ones loathe anything that too teachy. Good conversationists find a middle ground, To keep chats going around, Is give and take necessary in every round? For all to feel valued, without feeling bound. One learns, good talks start with trust, And are carried forth with shared interest(s). Cemented with understanding multiple pretext(s), And honoring mutual context(s). Interactive dance of experience and youth, Can flow like a well rehearsed tango-clean and smooth, And the dialogues can really calm and soothe If effort is made and honored with courtesy and couth, Topics and talks mould as children and parents grow, Conversations are a boat that all have to together row, Good-bad, pedantic.didactic, comic-tragic with high-low, Beautiful moments and memories emerge from this flow.
A sari box got opened, And a revelation got made- Definition of a sari in a dictionary is wrong, Its not just a garment that’s about six feet long. It’s a harbinger of memories, A drape in its weft, weave and wrap carrying stories. My saris are not just cottons, silks, georgettes and chiffons, Each one carries memoirs-soirées and songs. A grand mother’s advise, An aunt’s surprise, So much in guise, And then-conjectures and surmise, These old saris have opened a floodgate of sorts, Pouring a deluge of memories- an entire lot, Taken me back to the place of my youth, An upbringing of caring, culture and couth. New fashions and fabrics may come and go, Some old ones are like a seasoned pro, Shapes and styles mold as one grow(s), Yet, a few can still make you gleam and glow, Reminding that though life’s like a river in continuous flow. Sometimes it’s better when you stop, savor and slow.
Today’s events turn to tomorrow’s stories, Tales recalled of shared experiences and soirees. Build today that you’d want to reminisce as you age, Many remembrances can be relived as you turn a page, Fill your life with a legacy of love and grace, not hate and rage. Construe memories that bring smile and satisfaction at any stage. As you sit back and remember events from the past. A melting pot will emerge of people, travel, work, and talks that you hast. Moments we cherish are not just special occasion. But ordinary turned special by a kind word, a thoughtful action. Best are days filled with shared goals, collaboration and rejoicing, Small and big achievement that are enriching and enticing. In the book of life, some days are happy, others sad, Some good and others bad, No one escapes life unscathed-lass or lad. Your reactions determine an overall card of glad or mad. No one has only a happy yesterday, Love, longing, losing-are all served in life’s tray, Consciously choose positive. Nip in the bud, the negative. Simple lessons of life include to be proactive, Not just reactive. I cherish time spent with special and simple people. Honest, humble, humorous, not sitting on a steeple. Many have helped lighten my load. Gratitude is due to many special mentors on life’s road. Books, paintings, travel, sculptures and show, All compete and complement mind’s space in tow. Recollections are random, don’t flow in a row. Many remind of riches of creation, to which I bow. Thank you Lord for all that you teach and bestow. Life’s a game of catch and throw.
I am becoming more like you Ma, I fear less and feel more, Sulk less and smile more, Judge less and juggle more. I am becoming more like you Ma, I say yes more and less nah, I am becoming more like you Ma, I cook patiently to bring out the flavor, And eat slowly to taste and savor, Hear more and easily ask for favor. I am becoming more like you Ma, Trying to seek the good and let go of the bad, I am learning not to stay for long mad, Look for the best in all-lass and lad. I am becoming more like you Ma, I can enjoy my own company and space, I do not need to follow anyone’s pace Or attach happiness to any person or place. I am becoming more like you Ma, I am learning that life is richer with grace, It does not have to be a perpetual race, Peace and contentment can be found if I brace. I am becoming more like you Ma, I stop more to smell the roses, See through pretentions and poses, Understand that happiness and sadness come in regular doses.
Pure, unadulterated silence of early morning is mesmerizing. The quiet all around is energizing. My prayers are uninterrupted. Observations of my surroundings-undisrupted I can feel more keenly. Sip my chai serenely. Sun will soon rise without a din. Sounds and sights of the day will begin. Chirps of birds will fill the air. And morning will be announced with flair. Soon, my home too will wake. One by one, the members will rise and shake. Quiet kitchen will stir and take, A new avatar- a fresh make. Appetizing aroma will announce a bake. My gals might wonder- is it muffin, bread or pancake. Morning tea will flow. Several times in a row. Outside, an early riser might mow. Another one may tow or stow. Humdrum of the day will start. Nothing new, yet an art. To feel and appreciate with a full heart Gratitude towards life-gifts and darts.
As our children grow, One wishes time would slow. Yet, like a river, in a rapid flow, Time takes no holiday to halt or know. To its wishes we can just bow, Memories and moments are all we can stow. As parents, we slowly learn to let go, Though, this field is not easy to plow. Since no one can slow or cease time, And cannot buy or barter with precious dime. One learns-every day is prime, The unknowns are too sublime. Every year, as the candles on the cakes rise, And milestones mold and surprise, I flashback from infancy to toddlers to teens and more, Years have had pleasures and pains, like any story and lore. Since many events are without a reason or rhyme, Happiness is not for another season or clime. Here and now is the only time, Before the game ends in grime.
Some say a marriage is all about compromise, Successful ones require a lot of sacrifice. How is success defined and at what price? Is there a meter to measure or a number on a dice? No easy escapes around these queries, That have been ongoing for centuries. Like an individual, each union is unique in degrees. Each couple surviving or thriving finds their potpourri. No one principle or preamble works for all, Living, working and nurturing together are a tough call. Though one of the oldest institutions of human wherewithal, Yet, not without its perils and pitfalls. Is I to be surrendered on this altar of we, In this union is there a place for me? In an us, one can never forget me, Only with a happy me, can there be a happy we.