Poetry about how art and kindness have the power to heal both the creator and one who draws pleasure from it. Inspired by the visual of Paul Barton playing Beethoven’s Sonata Pathetique many times over to Romsia, an old blind elephant in a sanctuary in Thailand marked for turning increasingly aggressive and volatile and a threat to humans and members of his own kind. Paul played the melody part repeatedly as “he(Romsia) seemed to like it”.
The phone reminder alert sat back and
quietly watched me slip.
I double check
it just now and find the year had been pre-set for the following one.
The post-it note
to self on the wall put up five days ago, had fallen off like a bored leaf unannounced,
and got swept off during the perfunctory daily room clean up before it served
its due.
I hadn’t accessed my e-mails the last couple of days and missed the reinforcement of the numerous inbox calendar alerts I had set with determined diligence.
I had all notifications on my phone
muted as I was out attending a daylong event yesterday.
While I was out, the diary where I made a note in ALL CAPS and circled the designated date had got unceremoniously tucked away at the bottom of a stack at the pro-active hands of my Mom, -who decided to take charge of the perpetually busy-looking but largely idle scatter of books -taking advantage of my absence.
I had, in fact, experienced an intermittent itch about something being amiss –my sharpness is my spot of pride- during the day; but I returned to a room that appeared way too much in order for anything to have been misplaced. Just the way one expects a well-sorted person’s space to be, I thought approvingly.
It was late and I was exhausted. I drifted off with a smug reassurance lining my mouth imagining the look on your face as I make my impression tomorrow to over-write the precedent of my callous misses in the last three successive years. My first carefully plotted manoeuvre to win your favor to get a step closer to asking you out so you will finally see me for the sensitive charmer I am.
Since
the past one week, I have been patting myself on the back in secret elation for
the surefire way I had got it all covered to finally join-in the league of the
‘How Can-I-Ever-Forget-Yours’ from this year on.
This morning, I make myself all shiny and dapper and make my way to your house with confident swagger as I hold onto a carefully picked gift and flowers in my hand.
As I approach your front yard, I begin to take in the signs and feel my heart sink in horrified dismay!
The remains of torn gift wrap twirling
in the air;
Slowly deflating balloons still hanging
at your entrance;
The cluster of tired flowers and confetti strewn on your porch from yesterday’s revelry,
and a few late deliveries still trickling in.
I feel my fizz leave me ashore as I now find myself standing lame and tentative at your door trying to rehearse the most coherent and convincing explanation of just how I got blind-sided at my game…Again.
I settle down with my early morning smoking cocoa swirl in a mug with a determined pen in hand and pour over the daily mind-joggers spread out in front of me:
Dining area
conversation at 6am on a near freezing January dawn in a mountain surrounded
wilderness just before setting out on a forest trail hike.
Me: Be done with that glass of milk already. Been nearly 10 minutes
and you are holding everyone back.
Little Buddha (LB): I will, once I have my gloves on.
Me: You can wear them later. The gloves may loosen your grip
and cause the glass to slip.
LB: But the glass feels
too hot against my palms and it is freezing otherwise.
Me: I get that. I thought of leaving my gloves behind but am changing my mind about it. I think I will wear mine as well on the hike; but only after I finish my tea. Meanwhile, I can feel my fingertips freezing.
LB: That
will teach you!
Me: I know. I learnt while there is still time.
LB: Ha ha ha ha ha!
Me tad peeved: That
wasn’t soo funny!
LB: Yes, it was.
Me: How’s that?
LB without missing the blink
of an eye: Be-cauzzze…theskyissohigh!
(More ripples clearing up my morning-vision)
Me deliberating on the new found wisdom: Ah, I see. Now get on with that milk.
” A state of being happy whilst travelling and everything feels great.”
Image : self-clicked
On some days I set out for a long long walk around the city with no specific destination in mind.
Today I set out early. My first stop is the Museum where I take my time reading up the tiniest detail of the exhibits; takes me a few hours.
Then I proceed to walk some more till I come upon a street musician strumming his guitar and singing country songs. Leaning against the railing around the adjacent park, I continue to listen to him perform till he decides to stop for the day and putting his instrument back in the case, walks away.
Time for me to move on as well. This time I trace the promenade along the river the city looks over. A path lined with tall trees kept alive by the humdrum of busy birds, the low murmurs of star-crossed lovers and a motivated flow of fitness enthusiasts tracking the measure of the path with their steps.
As darkness falls and the streetlights, lamps and neon signs of shops and the billboards begin to get turned on, the river turns a mystical grey throwing back the shimmering lights trying to cheer her up. She has undergone a change of mood transitioning from the earlier peaceful shades of blue. The cityscape begins to morph too.
I can feel my calf-muscles ache and stomach rumble with its fill of the sights, sounds and breeze gathered from the day’s trail.
At this time I look around to find a quaint cafe that looks to promise a quiet repose to re-fuel and settle down in a cozy corner.
I proceed to take in the surroundings feeling quiet gratitude for the generous serving of a cup brimming with all that this moment has to offer: food on the table, a steaming hot cuppa to warm the palms; twinkling lights cheering on the conversations and a thoughtful arrangement of books to browse.
To the casual on-looker, I appear to be alone at the table while I raise a toast smiling into the eyes of this moment…
'Shoshin At Play' hosted by Shyamsree Lahiri 
