Here we are. And here I am.

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.

Delicate

Today, I ponder over the delicate endeavor of life; where each step calls for the most curious concern and care towards the other. Each misstep to be re-assessed with a gentle touch. where we're delicate both in our thought and speech as we choose our words carefully pausing with each breath as we breathe meaning into the words we speak. When you’re delicate in your dealings of everyday life and everyday people; and we all make sense of the world standing shoulder to shoulder; a life well lived presents itself to you. There is no cause for concern.

A voice is here, telling me what to say. A voice is here guiding my way.

The place you once called home is now a stranger place than the outside world. And you’re wondering what went wrong; what changed that you’re having to wager so much trying to be sane. This is getting difficult, there’s no way out. But there’s a voice telling me what you want to hear. And I bring forth kindness and love, comfort food and soup that we’ll reheat and share. I’ll tell you stories of times before that I’ve heard from someone else. There’s something holding you down, but you don’t want to go there. And I’ll hold you and tell you, there’s nothing else you need to do but stay. We’ll solve puzzles together and I’ll make you hot tea or coffee. We’ll sit outside and stare at gardens, till the end of daylight. Times have been difficult and being strong isn’t easy. You’ve found ways to survive but we’re meant for more than just breathing. All essentials taken care of, what would you like more of? A while we play, and sing. A while we listen to some music. But alas I leave, ...

Chronicles of a workaholic

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...

Aananda

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