Healing

Poetry and writing have been the earliest forms of healing for me. They have helped me put into word-pictures what I was feeling, because I couldn't really fathom what is it that I wanted to say.

I am better at it now, there is more clarity and directness: so there are more written observations now than poetry. Poetry is relegated more to beauty of what and where I am at, instead of a translation service for my feelings that want to become words (not ruling it out completely though)

I have realised there are so many ways to heal: poems, writing down observations, grieving (blameless grieving as a dear one puts it at), feeling all your feelings, and finally just laughing it all out. 

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Marination, sunsets and silence

As I am back at my parents' house, (albeit for a while), I realise that the four years away, on my own, soothed and calmed my nervous system. 

I love the folks, but I do know that they don't have regulated nervous systems, or even regulated emotions. 

Dad is prone to extreme emotional highs and lows and outbursts of yelling (not targeted at someone); in general, his emotions are not regulated or moderate. Mom can come across as someone cool, calm and collected; but I do know her system is in shutdown. Frozen.

So, I am guessing, we all have nervous systems that are in need of regulation, soothing and calming (all is probably a generalisation, most of us is I am guessing)

Coming back to my four years away, that I spent sharing with two other female flatmates: it had me spending time by myself (insert 2 years of COVID here). It however remains the most beautiful period of my life, as I marinated myself in silence. 

The silence of the skies: of sunsets and sunrises. The silence of my balcony in the moonlight and the way jasmine perfumed that silence. Watching the roses bloom and colouring my balcony red, matching the red of the sunrise. Toasting my feet in the winter sun. The silence of the house, as the afternoon-tea-coloured-sunlight spilled itself all over the walls and the floor. The silence of roasting rava in ghee, and wishing I could bottle that aroma. The silence of long hot baths. The silence of watching tea brew, while letting the fingers of cool breeze from the kitchen window, run all over you. The silence of reading books. The silence of watching clouds move-ever-so-slowly, revealing the deep blue of the sky. Watching birds, shot like arrows out a bow, unseen. Watching the full moon, over a city twinkling with lights. 

Thankful, is all that I am. 

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Kajal of appreciation, and a spritz of gratitude

When wearing kajal,
to apply one stroke 
full, black and bold,
of appreciation, too,
o that everything 
the eye sees that day
is softer, and beautiful

When spraying perfume
one spritz of gratitude too
That then is the
fragrance you wear
A note of thank-you
on everything you touch

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Exercising my no, among other things: Back at the gym

So I am back at the gym; back at the same gym, where I started working out, some 15 years ago. I had a personal trainer for a good 4-5 years during that time, and as I went back to the gym, I bumped into him.

After working out on my own for a day, (in which he stepped in to help quite a lot), it felt comfortable going back to taking training from him again. 

He seemed as meticulous as usual; making sure he sent me reminders to come for my cardio. He also made sure he called me in the morning, so that I woke up on time for the session with him.

The only thing that I hadn't accounted for is: change. How much he hadn't changed, and how much I had.

As we started our second session this morning, he was his usual sarcastic, mocking self; but this time around I noticed it for what it was. What was okay around 5 years ago, no longer felt okay. 

It didn't feel good working out with someone who was overall dismissive and not considerate. Just 30 mins into the session, it just felt like we weren't the right fit (pun, yes intended), and what then ensued was a 'no' from me. A no that felt just right, and the realisation that as an adult, saying 'no' to what doesn't work for you is perfectly fine, and that there are no hard feelings, just a knowing that this isn't how you want it to be.

I asked him if was open to me, looking for another trainer. He looked taken aback, but I really am looking forward to working with someone who partners with me by being supportive and encouraging and not disparaging and dismissive.

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Feels like home

What did your home feel like growing up? 

In Musing Mode is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.

Light during the rains and it is also raining birds

The light during rains is usually indescribable. It has that soft quality of a muted yellow that somehow just gladdens the heart. I think I had previously called it butter-popcorn-yellow and yes it is, it somehow becomes a background against which everything stands out, beautifully. The yellows look yellower and the reds look redder. I think I also had a poem on it. 

rain-grey skies
the red of the gulmohar 
even redder

Now let's come to the part about birds. Where I live right now, (having moved in back with the parents for a while), there is a small water body behind the house, and yes dense greenery as you can see, right in front of the building. So which means I get treated to different kinds of birds (water birds essentially).

So far I have been treated to a brown-breasted kingfisher, several milky-white-rin-washed egrets, and also a plethora of parrots! 

I didn't realise there were so many sub-species in parrots. There are the ones with a blue tinge to their wings and tails: they are the Malabar Parakeets. Then there are the ones with large red-bindi spots on their wings as they take flight: those are the red-winged ones and there are ones with a tinge of yellow too (need to find out what those are called)! :)

There is also the fan-tail with her sweet song, prancing around; there is the magpie robin, with its repertoire of sharp, clear whistles that echo across the skies. 

Then there are the barbets, masters of disguise, with their bright green plumage and red beaks, who camouflage themselves amongst the red and green of the banyan usually (banyan has red figs, fruits that match the red of the barbet's break). You can usually hear their puk-puk before you can spot them. They are not called coppersmith barbets without a reason, they run quite the smithy :)

Then there are the hawks, a crow pheasant, (also called a bharadwaj or called as the great coucal), they have a beautiful auburn-chestnut plumage and so pretty to spy.

A symphony it is: visual and aural... :)

And that's it from me for now :)

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Zindagi mere ghar aana....zindagi: A realisation on a rainy Thursday afternoon

Today, the bai didn't come. It was my task to sweep and mop the whole house. Mom was listening to the radio as she was washing the bartan (vessels somehow jamta hi nahin hain) in the kitchen. 

I was making sure I capture all the kachra in the adjoining room, pushing ahead all the sofas and chairs and I heard a song wafting out of the kitchen...

"....zindagi, zindagi, mere ghar aana, aana re....zindagi, zindagi..."

And that made me realise (I realise, thinking is different than realising...realisation is just like the song, something that wafts along and you catch it, it comes to you unexpectedly)

Anyhow, the realisation is....that zindagi cannot come to your house, much less love, or success. The idea that love, success, zindagi, (here to me zindagi simply means aliveness and vitality)

are all out there and we need to chase them or invoke them or yearn for them or work for them....now feels like nah, it probably is us: let's just be love, be success, be aliveness and be vitality and then when we are it, well we are it. 

On that note, you should listen to the song though, it is beautiful :-)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtYND8LoVYo

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