Alzheimer’s day

It was not a wish,
Nor to remind her of anything
When I called my mother to say
Today is Alzheimer’s day.

And all she said,
In voice that was low.
Oh!
Yes, I know!

For when you look at one ,
Some one you love
Struggle for words:
Those never come.

Then today becomes
A day for prayers
To become aware
Not grieve, nor celebrate.

(My mother is a lady of great and admirable courage who takes care of my father , cheerfully and lovingly)

Make Innocence Last !

Dreams don't Last

(A poem dedicated to the death ofAnju Illyasi)

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Dreams don't last ,

they don't even come true.

A place to hide for a while,

and then come back to life.

The stark reality of facts,

facts so unnerving,so fearful,

that again you want to hide

in the dreams.

Dreams so pleasant, so caressing,

but you find yourself all alone.

Everyone you love disappears,

Everything you want vanishes.

Buried in the thoughts of the past

you start again- to dream.

To lead a few a moments of hapiness,

followed by the dark ages of loneliness.

Everything so artificial and near

yet so far.

Eatable but poisonous,

sucking the treasured moments away

leaving everything unwanted .

Until one day:

When everybody but you know,

that times are in for a wanted change.

Something strikes your monotonous mind,

to do something to change the view.

And the next day,

people are yearning for you.

You are the news.

They come tc meet you,

but you can't feel them,

you can't even reach them.

You are altogether in another world

'A world created by a kitchen knife.'

With every suicide, innocence dies some where else.This poem was written by Pallavi when she was in class nine soon after the unfortunate suicide of Anju Illyasi - the young wife of a celebrated televison star about eight years back . A leading newspaper published the poem at that time. Pallavi is a studying medicine and is in her final year now and this poem could well be labelled " Anatomy of a Suicidal Mind "if she had written it now.

In retrospect I wonder now, how deeply her innocence must have been hurt by this event. Did I bother to find out what she was thinking then? Did I spend enough time with her on this topic ? Did I watch carefully to see how she was impacted. Did I take pains to shield her innocence? Nay! I think my face was turned towards the media and what it broadcasted incessantly. Today, I think I should have looked at her - more deeply. After all I am her mother. Thank God , I found this poem in my archives- --for the realization what more mothers need to do-- make innocence last !

.

Dhoop Chhaon

Blessings!

Bless the roads my father walks on!
So pavements are smooth and traffic slow.
And every turn that he takes
is to home.
Bless the people on the roads!
so they turn and look ,
and smile and nod as he goes.
Bless the doors of my mothers home!
Through which naught else ,
but light and love flows.
Bless the people around my parents home !
so they are watchful
of their neighbours who are old.
Bless my parent's daughters,
their husbands and their children-
by blood and law!
So they can love from deep within
and forgive each others flaws.
Bless my parents in their sunset years!
so they can cherish their love's labour
and be with peace and calm.

( I was deeply dissappointed when my old parents chose to continue living independently, despite my husband and my earnest pleas that it was now time for us to serve them.Both of us deeply believed, and still do, that we could offer them a more comfortable and safe life with us , and also perhaps more happiness.

For a long time I could not understand my mothers refusal- even though I know it is ultimately Gods will that prevails. Why was I not accepting Gods will?

This morning I read in TOI about Irish Blessings- the Celtic tradition of Ireland , Scotland and Wales . It said that blessing is a spiritual act where we acknowledge and remind the ones who are blessed of the connection between them and divine.The author ,Marguerite Theophil says " The true beauty of blessing is how it affects everything-by the fact that we live we are blessed;we have the power to bless others and they reflect love back to us . In the very act of blessing we are blessed".
On a sudden inspiration I wrote the above Blessing for my parents . I am already feeling more at peace . People who know me will understand more clearly that each line in the "Blessings "that I have written points to the very reason why I want my parents to live with their children now.)

Quiet Flows The MeKong

Verses for my very dear Dipu

Should I wait?
Will my words cause pain?
No this is not the aim.
In its place
I pray for grace,
to touch your life
in every way.
Nay ! just take -
Its every where.
Have faith!
for truth is there
for all to see.
Be Aware.
I await to see
the cheer on your face.


Rest my friend
Sleep deep!
so deep , you reach
your first year
on earth.
When all rejoiced ,
for you shone so bright
and all knew
its Gods light.
Then wake up
New!

And the river flows
There is no last
no middle , no first.
just this .
A point where old and new join.
Same love,
in new places
new faces and spaces.
There is no pain,
but incessant rain of change.
Be strong with us .
O friend
Welcome home.

(And Dipu I wrote this haiku for you a long time ago when I was going through a bad patch)

Your words combed
my tangled thoughts
then poured
down the slopes
and I rested
as if after
a warm
oil bath.





.

The Spirit and old age

Old age is the balance sheet of how we have lived, loved ,resolved and evolved. When the body is frail and sick, kith and kin far away,the environment unfit and unsafe; it is our spirit that keeps us " whole".

Spirit is that part of us which is God, and its nature is pure, pristine, emanant, and self sustaining.It does need nourishment from a job , status, money, or those hundreds of things we hanker for all our life---- and because it does not ask for anything, has no wants , it lies often undiscovered and ignored within us. Often under a heap of hurts and grudges that we accumulate through life.

In old age when the body is weak and cannot stand on its own,the props of material life have gone away , and number of friends and relatives decresae every year ,then it is the spirit that holds us.

And thus :

I pray for myself and on behalf of all humanity : "God ! guide me to take all those steps today , that keeps my spirit pure and strong , so that in my old age it is fully revealed and holds me in splendour."

amen

Slanting Rays

Every day we meet
on this table , to dine.
In bed we sleep
together, on each side.

In sleep you touch
to caress my face,
But not when I am
wide awake.

You ask why?
I do not reciprocate
But when asleep,
How can I?

You write mail
to communicate,
but remain quiet
when face to face.

Your pain?
mine?
ours?
all pain is same?

Our hair is grey
Let us say grace.
With your hand in mine
it is thanks giving time.

Though there were thorns,
the nest was warm.
See how they have grown
tall and strong.

They stand together
like pillar and beam ,
for us to lean ,
and sleep beneath.

At the dawn of love
we remained unawake
and later the glare
was hard to bear.

Now , in evening
the air is balmy
come let us rest
it is home coming.

Joy of Living

All street children look busy, energetic and happy. You have to just observe their behaviour on traffic signals where most of them are- selling , begging or just hanging around. Even the most forlorn looking one will break into a smile if you make eye contact and look long enough.

But this child was different -did not have the " happy go lucky" demeanour of a street child. With a bag on his shoulders he had a cultivated appearance ; but he was crying - silently to himself. I was standing outside a multiplex near the main road waiting for my car to pick me when I saw him standing near by.

Unable to ignore , I moved closer and asked him what was wrong.

It was a book that he needed to buy and he had no money. The school teacher had warned him of dire consequences if he did not bring the book to school the next day .Looking at the disbelief on my face he opened his bag and showed me his class exercise books. I found he was a student of class six and exceptionally good in his school work.

He told me initially he was in a school meant for poor children but because of his good grades he was nominated to a bigger English medium school where the fees were not charged but he had to pay for the books. I found the boy could speak English well.

Encouraged by my interest and the appreciation that must have shown on my face he asked if I could give him eighty rupees for the book. He quickly added that his father was a watchman in a building across the road and he could take me there to prove he was not lying.

I gave the child eighty rupees , more because of the impression he had made on me and less due to pity. He thanked me profusely and promised to study well and had happiness writ on his face.

I was about to go when he tugged my hand and with a gleam in the eyes asked if I could give him twenty rupees more. Pointing towards Mc Donald's he told me he had never gone inside and really wanted to eat something from there . He had also found out that the cheapest item in Mc Donald's was for twenty rupees.

As if hypnotised I gave him another twenty rupees and and saw him run inside McDonald's . He was out in five minutes with a burger in his hand , and seeing me still standing came running and pressed a five rupee coin in my palm. He said " It cost only fifteen rupees" and ran away before I could say anything.

I stood there - looking after him---for how long I don't know ---- wondering where my car was ----it was hot , the pollution was unbearable ----

The Heart Knows !

When death came home to her first born son she knew it before anyone else did. All day she panicked - shouting and urging them to close all the doors and windows . "Dont let them in, the bad ones are trying to come in ". she kept repeating .But they hushed her. Afterall the son was so ill . The same evening he died---only then they realised that she knew that death was coming today.

- much before her son went she had been diagnosed for dementia and then the doctors had proclaimed Alziemer disease. Though she could not hug and console her son because the disease had made her bed ridden and in articulate --- but she knew when the hands of death were entering the house ---to take away her son. She only wanted them to close all the doors .Stop death from taking her son away.But they never closed the windows and doors.

Now five years later , the doctors have pronounced her condition to have worsened. --a vegetable like existence they all say it is . Two attendents do all the chores for her.

Now her husband has gone , but she bid him goodbye . While he was battling for his life in the hopital she was at home in delirium ( so the attendents agreed) .She was goading them to go and open the back door " Babu ji wants to come in". They did nothing but reassure her, told her babuji was in the hospital and could not come.They did not know he had died --but she knew .He had come to say good bye.

The heart knows ! even if the brain cannot tell.

And the Flowers Bloomed!

A garden is meant to be green ,colourful and fragrant. Mine has always been green and would be sometimes colourful , specially in spring when flowers bloom- both invited and uninvited. But for seven long years there was no fragrance-despite the bela and mogra shrubs that I had planted - brought from even far off places like my village which is aflush with flowers ,of all types all year round.

But my bela and mogra unlike their rural counterparts ,definately did not have a profiligate temperament and would be content yielding a few token blossoms - two or three at the most every season , for my supposed satisfaction,which was really a dissapointment.

Then Jasmine died.----last year in March ----- after a protracted illness of diabetes.

We had nursed her lovingly, even when we knew she was on her last lap- after all she had lived her full years . After the vet told us he could do nothing more we had brought her home.

On the last day, and all of her last night , she wanted to remain outdoors .We kept the vigil with her.

A night of grief, the mind and heart choked with emotions not experienced before- we knew she would not last the night - we did not want her to go --we did not know what life would be after she went.

Throughout the night she circumambulated the garden--a hundred times she collapsed on the grass seeking water , which she drank in deep gulps from the chalet our hands proferred . And as if there was nothing more she wanted from this world she would immediately diurate or throw up all she had taken in.

She did not give up , I think because of us. She could have just lay down and rested forever, but she did not ---she kept drinking from our hands - she kept the vigil with us all night .

Next morning she died -we could not part with her --still , so buried her close by , in the shaded green area just outside the boundarywall of our house- the boundary along which my bela and mogras grow.

And then the miracle happened .

A month later -when the season came , the flowers bloomed- hundreds of them--- on my bela and mogra shrubs - so many you could see only white - and the fragrance -- was heavenly .

At last my garden was scented . All season we embraced , nay, inhaled Jasmine's essence .

It is another year since Jasmine died and the flowers have bloomed, in abundance-- on my bela and mogras shrubs. The garden is fragrant.

The miracle continues!