Aananda

  Maybe I didn’t do it all. But I did do some.  Maybe I didn’t do it all right. But I did do some.  And for the places I didn’t do right, I apologize.  And I hope when given another chance, that I would do differently.  I could only pray for the support of my mother,  that when given another chance, that I would do differently.

I didn’t think I’d live to see this year.  But wait, this piece is not as dark as that sentence claims it to be. Let me explain. This is more a critique of another than a confession of the self.   'Living in the moment' comes highly recommended by our very own eastern spiritual gurus, who have gone to the west, and I believe, sensationalized quote-unquote ‘living in the present moment’. The argument is that all that we have in our hands, is the present moment, and only that is certain. Seems like a straightforward idea, coming straight out of Buddha himself, right?  Well Buddha, after this year, I now believe it is an incomplete proposition. Hear my rebuttal, Buddha!  Well, with all due respect to your well-acknowledged wisdom, I would like to place a caveat that my claims could stem from a flawed execution of ‘living in the present moment’ from my side, which had me looking down at the ground while I walked, keeping my eyes on the next few steps -because what i...

  At 9 years of age:  Ofcourse, Mrinalini, you don’t have to deal with my disgusting self. I will be in my shell. You don’t have to go through this because of me. I can make myself small. I can stay away Mrinalini. Don’t worry about me. I’m not going to be an inconvenience.  [She’s right. I don’t need to take up space. I am annoying for her.] But maybe I could quietly have strong achievements, and maybe you’d like me more then. I wouldn’t chase you. I wouldn’t impose myself upon you. I would just make myself worthy of your attention. Maybe you would like me better if I had a better handwriting, like yours. Maybe you’d like me if I had better grades. Maybe you would show me some attention. And not be disgusted by me.  We could have fun. Maybe? I could make you laugh. I could praise you. Maybe get you food from home. Maybe I could write your class notes if you need me to. Or I can cover for you with the teachers, or your parents, if you need me to. I could, you know, d...

My fear speaks of doom. My fear exaggerates.   My fear speaks of haste and hurry. Restless, at best.  My fear speaks in judgment and shame.  My fear is not all seeing and all knowing.  It knows very less and sees very less.  Calmness and Fear  My calmness is non-verbal.  It speaks through a beat. Through the movement of my feet.  My calmness is slow and deliberate. My calmness is careful.  My calmness is restorative, and restful.  My calmness is content. My calmness breathes deeply.  My calmness does not judge, does not criticize, does not have an agenda of its own. When I bring my fear in front of calmness, it only notices. It sees the nature of fear, as it is.  Courage and fear                   My courage is playful. My courage is creative.               My courage learns. It improvises; opens possibilities.  ...

When I am angry, I fully flame up There is no calming down. Shiva’s body under my leg allows me my dance of fury Shiva’s body is the boundary Shiva’s body is the limitation That the destruction not be so much that nothing is left at the end. Shiva’s body allows for a tomorrow to take place Allows for matter to be I would completely dissolve the universe if it wasn’t for him Blood thirsty and angry With no stop to my fury No stop to my fury.

Mother I do not know what to do with myself  Shall I shave my hands and legs, and all parts of my body? Shall I wax myself clean  inching closer to what femininity is supposed to look like?  Do I sculpt my body like Uma Devi herself?  Do I spend effort to look pristine and perfect like Uma Devi herself?  Can I ever be as perfect as her?  I don’t believe I can, mother.  I am sickly, and hairy.  and detestable to look at. I am made of hairfall, and dandruff  And hair growth everywhere  I am made of broad shoulders and back acne tan lines and double chin love handles and a pot belly I am made of the features of a man, a monkey.  Mother I am all this and more. Where am I anywhere close to you Uma Devi? You have bewitched me with your beauty  And held me at a distance from it yet the same  Impossible to reach, impossible to emulate  Mother, you who have made me  Why not show me more grace, mother? All this I shall acc...

  How do I explain This drive  To be seen  To be able to say - ‘this is all my bad. handle it’  And to hear a response that says ‘gladly’  When I hear that I would not eat. Not cook. Not have a bath.  Not get out of bed. Not watch anything.  I would smoke. And smoke more.  I would get mad, and be petty.  I would get irritated by everything.  I wouldn’t allow my own nurturer to step into every   crevice she sees. She ruins me sometimes.  If I could I would let the bad be bad  And the worse get worse  I would breathe and do nothing  I would allow for destruction right in front of my eyes  What I look for is someone that says  “This is okay. You can fall apart.” What I seek for myself, Is me saying.  “You are ok. You can fall apart.”

The love I give - sparse and scattered, are rare occurrences. Incomplete, with many unanswered bids for love  and many silences left unfilled.  I don’t know if I’ve been told how to love  Or receive when I've been given.  The cup is empty both ways.  But moments do occur when love acts through me.   It’s not me doing the deed of loving someone,   but love itself, taking matters into her hands  and pouring love in crevices she finds; on dried  grass waiting to be reminded of the freshness of water.  I have no say or claim on those acts. My love has been conditional and difficult  But the love that pours through me has been  freeing and complete. I don’t think I know how to love. Nor do I know where love comes from. All I hope is that love flows through me more.

Pretty coffee mugs,  With many flavors  of tea and coffee,  Donuts and waffles,  sugars and sugars!  To drive cars, and hold hands  (P.S.: My hands yearn to be held, always.) Honoring all the other loves of my life who've settled in the ballroom of my heart.  To remember them, and say their name out loud  This is the way to love me.  A silent spectator To laundry being folded  To coffee mugs being washed  To the paperwork being filled  To the maintenance of it all.

  If I could tell you one thing to make you feel better,  well, who am I kidding, I wouldn’t stop at one.   I’d make myself home in your misery to humor you with metaphors and analogies I'd blurt stupid jokes that’ll hold the weight of the difficulties.  I’d place my palm  or maybe just the tip of my fingers  on your chest,  or head,  or back to remind you you’re not alone.  I’d give you hugs that feel like you’ve finally arrived  And I’d apologize that love wasn’t around all this while. I’m here now;  A makeshift work-in-progress version of love  that’s insecure and smells like weed sometimes;   a love that can’t stop munching and asks you to repeat yourself 17 times  because the network is too bad, and love doesn’t want to let anything go.  A love that misses your play; A love that writes below-average poems but sends them your way; A love that reads too much self-help and rants about the same. A love that...

As I step into adulthood, this slow and unwished  crawl; I yearn for conversations  that focus on the ‘it-ness’ of it all. Where you calmly say to me  ‘It’s been a rough week and I yearn for more peace  where I can walk beneath the trees without a rush’.  And I say “I feel like I’m getting pulled from all sides,  although all of this is my choice.  I am grateful for my life. To have a job,  and a family who loves me. But I am tired.  And I can’t be grateful when I’m tired.”  I yearn for conversations at the end of the day,  or in the middle, when days have ceased to exist,  and we count our lives as the breaks                 between   work.  And I ring a reminder of the truth that ‘I  love you. I’m glad I have this love that provides a respite  from the chaos and the hurry-ness of this world.”  Although we both know, that we will rush  this convers...

“Do you want to see a counselor? I’ve been watching a show where a counselor ruins a marriage and brings it to the brink of divorce. We need to be careful. We’re putting our lives in their hands. I will come to one session as well. I think that would suffice. I don’t want to spend that much money on it. What expenses do we have anyway? I know why you’re sad. It’s because you’re life is going nowhere and I’ve been asking you a lot of questions, and you have no answers. And you don’t know what to do or where to go. I’m sure at least one of them rings true to you. I could be a counselor. A counselor does nothing but listen to you speak while you find your own answers. You don’t need someone outside for that. Why is it that people didn’t need counselors 10 years ago? Why now? Why can’t you just marry now? What is happening with that course you were going to apply? What are you wasting your time on? If only you stop…no, listen to me! Did anyone say something to you? Why are you sad? Do you ...

This is an ode to all the poems I’ve come across that  reminded me of you. The ones that I’ve carefully saved to share  on a rainy day, or when we bid farewell And I can finally be vulnerable. A section of my wall filled with those reminders and I guess I’m giving myself the privilege of love  although all of reality calls against it.  There are no consolations to be done here. I have found something magical in the air that I cannot grasp. A beautiful flower  that I did not pluck. And I let it live its natural course.  And when it leaves, I hope it creates space for something new.   

I don’t want you far away;  While I sit here, reading one book after another  pondering how I've had to delay  every conversation for another day  since you haven’t been around.  But you’re unhinged; indifferent; still the same.  You’ve met women the likes of me,  and you hold an ambiguous interest in everybody.  And I’m here; opting disconnection as a form of protection  creating clear demarcations of what you can and cannot see;   creating limitations to my vulnerability.  I’m here; holding my suspect edifice upright in the air, as atlas did the sky.