April 20, 2014


I am in the presence of attention. 

It is that soul-moving experience of listening to someone intently, of letting them be who they are, and then, somehow you allow yourself to be who you are. 

He talks a lot. It is the nonchalant constancy of thoughts that emerge in his mind and find a way out in words-a language foreign but a language that has grown on in him. It is the only language common between us. The language that connects us to the expression of what we have to say. There is a tug of war. I have more vocabulary, I have always surrounded myself with words-small and big. He is more into the simple-words nonetheless they are. 

We carry the distinctness of two separate cultures, traditions, views of the world, the needs and wants vary. There are moments between us where Putin becomes a figure of admiration. There are times when the unavailability of ice cream in his hometown becomes a cause of worry. There is that specific moment when we stand on the sidewalk and point towards Mars-the traffic whizzing us past. 

Language. The common language between us is English. The language that the British left us with, the language which we have burrowed inside the sub-tropic earth and let it take shape. The language has gathered within us both and encircled our ideas, shaped our thoughts, and allowed us to love each other.

And, then there are moments of silence. 

A language of the loved. A language of attention. A language of resistance. A language of discord. A language of acquiescence. A language of wordlessness. A language of stillness. 

Silence between us rests in moments.

Like the presence of silence when you can hear the birds sing. 

Like the presence of silence when all noises cease.

Like the presence of silence when you lie down to sleep.

Like the presence of silence in love. 

April 18, 2014


This is a recurrent emotion. 

A deep sense of powerlessness, of vulnerability, of not knowing certainty. 

It has grown in, taken shape within. The years of turmoil, of stepping away from who I am, of dismembering the essence of being, to choose an image, an illusion of who I could be, should be, would be. I have walked away from the inside to the outside-to fix temporarily the problems which appeared momentarily. There were the problems of lovelessness, of betrayal, of sexual abuse, of not being enough, of carrying an unconsciousness that ringed in every word I spoke, that directed my actions, inactions, my indifferences, my cruelty. 

Sitting in a dark room, when the light outside is too bright not to shine through, I learn and realize that everything that I have been seeking, wanting to find, wanting to have, everything rests within me. It is a realization that carries such profound meaning that shakes me to the core-touching the first dimension of awareness, of consciousness, of the being. 

I receive a text from him.

"The more we become who we truly are we will experience love in its true sense."

I let it sink in within me. It is these words that I have been wanting to hear, I realize. Something like this. As I sit and do not move to the voice of shame and fear, of being a fake coming from within me, I grow at ease with the self. The uninhibiting, liberating, tolerant, kind, spiritual self. 

Without judgment, without the labeling of people, without the ego sitting at a corner sulking and being intolerant, it is easy to forgive. In fact, you don't feel the need to carry the load, the burden which not only dehumanizes others but keeps dehumanizing yourself. I have been carrying this load, this heaviness as a mark of my valour, of my courage, and suddenly I realize that leaving it and letting it go is a far greater measure of courage, of braveness. 

I am learning. 

At times, the struggle is debilitating. At times, it nourishes from within. At times, I just have to let it be, not wanting to find all answers in the immediate. 

At times, the struggle lessens. 

Like at this moment.

April 17, 2014

I want to get my hands dirty.

I want my hands to knead dough pastry. Feeling the dough coming into the gaps between my fingers and leaving with ease. I want my fingers to create magic while they sing to the dough. And, the dough to dance to the rhythm. I want my heart to pump in more blood to my hands, to see my veins visibly thicken, to bring in more power and energy for this cosmic dance to begin and continue. 

I want to not be perfect but just be. 

I want to have the courage within to sing a song-not within the limits of the space in my bedroom but in the vicinity of others. I want to sing, not towards perfection but towards the joy that comes in with singing. 

I want to let the curls in my hair be. Not intentionally rolled and set in place with heat or tucked away in the tiny place behind my ears. I just want them to fall on my forehead, at times resting on the wetness of my lips, or tickle a sneeze or two when my hands couldn't reach them on time. 

I want to be able to switch off-to remove myself from the invisibility of the internet and be with live people. I want to meet these people whose words I have been soaking in like a sponge that has had the privilege of being dropped in a bucket of water. I want to count the moles on their faces, I want to see how they use their hands to gesture when they talk, I want to see how many dimples they have when they smile, I want to accidently touch their skin and feel it. 

And, I want to laugh. 

Laugh to the point where sounds leaves and brings in a vacuum. A nullness of thoughts, of pain, of restlessness. The kind of laugh which brings in peace, stillness, the time slowing down. 

At times, all of this together. At times, just one thing at a time. 

Mostly, I just want to get my hands dirty with a cosmic dance of the pastry dough and my fingers. 

April 15, 2014


Things are silently gathering momentum. 

It has come to its end-the two-years of my masters program. I feel like I am sitting at crossroads. It is the heartbeats that make me think of the imminence of the situation that I am in. However, it has been, it finally appears to have all happened for the good. I have been down and beat. I was thrown high and kicked down in the gut. It took me a while to get myself up, dust off, and make the decision to be ready. There are times when I just want to dim the lights, pull down the blinds and lie down beside a book. In those times, I think of the crisp, flapping pages of the book, allowing me to finally take off the mask, the pretense of being happy or sad, of being competitive or fearless. I am just being in those moments. 

The crossroads keep coming up in our discussions. 

Here it is. We have been together-thick and thin-in the last two years and the growth towards each other has been so strong, so wanting, so profound that it just feels natural to want to be together. Two years is a long time, I often hear myself saying. And, then something happens which tells me, two years is still less. I need more time. He needs more time. We need more time. 

And, I catch myself calculating the moments that we have been through-together, separately-in the cheap meaningless tick-tocks of my sports watch. It is appalling. The calculation of the hours, the moments, the months, the timelessness. Nonetheless, I do it. I count our strength in terms of the years we have been together. I feel sorry at times. I rationalize too. 

In the end of it all, time does matter. But, not more than the importance of this present moment. 

There is a man who loves me, who has wanted to be with me, has struggled to be with me, has wanted to give up but couldn't. There is me who is finally becoming a little aware of the ills of her heart, her mind, her ego. 

And, on a cloudy night in the heat of April, we see the full moon and the planet Mars just stuck to the floor of the universe. Just being. He stands on his terrace and I stand in the smallness of my balcony-the wind whispering through the rustling of the leaves. We witness the moment together-the connection through the technology of a cell phone. 

In moments like these, things stop, the nervousness of the time running out, stops. 

I am being and he is being. 

The crossroads will be travelled together, that is what I understand. That is what he wants. 

That alone is enough. 

April 13, 2014

I woke up this dawn to the suddenness of an event.

It is these moments when I wake up to an unexpectation that I really understand how I live my life. I live my life in a panic. At times, it feels like there is an alarm of perfectionism ringing inside me, a shrill call evoked every time I become less than, I choose less than, I live less than. Less than what? I could never answer that question. 

I identify with this shrill call as my own. In truth, it is not. 

So, even as I sit up in a panic, even as my mangled hair falls on my shoulder, even as the sleep in my eye adjusts itself to clear my vision, I sit for a while. 

I breathe in. I breathe out. 

I think of Zen. 

I tell myself that it is this moment that I need to live, it is this moment that I choose to be conscious. It is this moment that I hold myself together-not with the fear of falling apart-but because there is beauty in being together. 

I sit and I allow myself to be. 

This moment gradually continues into another because my breathing has returned, because the shrill call inside of me demanding perfectionism, demanding an explanation for being clumsy, for being not enough, gives away. It has not gone forever. It will come back. But, at this moment, it is away. Its shrillness is limited and it has no possession of me. 

I get out of my bed. Attend to the unexpected event that woke me up in the dawn. 

The dawn continues.