I Am My Relations

I am my relations

I come from
My burdens
My obligations
My responsibilities
And identities
That cage me

I come from
My desires
My needs
My aspirations
And incompletions
That fail me

I come from
My connections
And disconnections too

I come from
In me
Within me
Out me
And Other me

I come
From
The womb
The blood
And the soul
That embody me

I come from
The name
Of the family
And the caste
That birthed me

I come from
My neighbourhood
The smells and sights
The senses and noises
That shaped me

I come from
My work
My titles
My power
And the seats
That feed my ego

I come from
The streets of my childhood
The memories of my past
The food that I feed
And the body that I call mine

I come from
The grass
The flowers
And thorns
That nurture me

I, we, us
Aren't we one
Us, we, I
We are one

In oneness,
I am enough

Nostalgia

In a disturbed early morning slumber

a brewing desire 

and then it came

Nostalgia.

It's sweet fragrance

wafting into my senses

the pleasure of pain

from a time in childhood.

My senses beckoned me

I sought it out today

the familiar taste

Yum. Lemon rice it was.

The just crisped onions

the almost friend peanuts

the sweet tingling lime

simmered in a yellowed rice

ah! The lemon rice from my childhood.

It was a Sunday ritual

from our favourite joint

It had no name

like most good places.

Just known by its owner

Ranganna, he was

A balding, paunchy man

with a busy smile.

A packet of the glorious yellow

with a stingy sprinkling 

of spicy chutney

perfect for a Sunday morning.

Most times it was dad

who made the trip,

on his rickety Bajaj

sometimes, inviting me to join him.

We could never have a full packet

for we had to share, 

learnt to share

knowing to stay within our means.

Sometimes mom sneaking her share

onto a our emptying plate. 

while we savoured every bite

of the delicious Lemon Rice.

It was that kind of memory today.

While I got the lemon rice

the experience of family

on a Sunday morning

sharing the ritual

was sorely missing.

Each could have a packet-ful

and more

and yet, I sat there alone

eating my fill, amongst strangers. 

Wishing, pleading, seeking

my childhood to come back 

just for a moment

just for a moment.

so I could fret and fume

that I had to share 

and yet find joy 

in the sharing.

A silent prayer 

gratitude

to my father

for this childhood memory.

A memory

that rekindles Nostalgia

known only to someone

that still seeks.

Forgetting

A life of familiarity,
I lived for long

I had an identity
as a daughter
a sister
a wife
a friend
a neighbor
a satsangi
and much more

A life of familiarity
a home I called my own
utensils, clothes, bed et al
a neighborhood
with familiar streets and faces
shared memories of
food, smiles and sorrows

A life of familiarity
with a known loneliness
and nurtured grace
where hunger reminded me
of the passing of time

A life of familiarity
with roaches for company
and a cupboard full of memories
that I re-arranged day by day
pictures from a time long gone
belonging in the now and present

Then, one day
the familiarity
began to fade away
into dark corners
beyond my reach

Sometimes
a light would flash
and memories would come
and then the blankness again!

The streets became unfamiliar
The pictures blurry
The faces strange

I roamed the streets
of my life
lost in gaze and fear

Willed my fading memory
to flicker once more
for the final glimpse
of my loving man

Confused I lived
as chaos ruled my day
not remembering
if I have eaten a meal
or had a bath
on this fine summer morning

Once, a life of familiarity
Now I am invisible
to my own being

A care home they call it
a space for me
to feel familiar again
where I get a bed
food and some company

I had been to one
as a young girl
reading stories to them
and sharing some laughter
taking pictures to share
with friends and family
and feel purposeful and content

Those pictures had me
and many an invisible face
with a story I concocted on my own
must be a sad story I believed
How else could I feel good
about giving my time and of myself.
a sad story it has to be

Life has come a full circle
I am the invisible face
in someone else's frame

I have an identity
One more to the list...
Forgetful Ajji
with a toothless smile
and a concocted sad story