Train journeys in India are my favourite. There is barely any scope for boredom or monotony. There is no telling what you may catch from the window – it could be a smiling child at a sleepy dusty station, or a boisterous family of ten people or a runaway couple embarking on an adventure.
Landscape changes every few minutes, showing distant signs of abandoned villages or brimming towns, of fields run astray with weed and scrub or of clear lines of cotton. These images are flashing through your eyes, a never ending kaleidoscope that is almost meditative. Maybe you stumble upon a secret not meant for your knowledge but you can bask upon.
A train journey in India will change you and stay with you as a palette of colours that you can never completely identify or count. It is never completely yours and is shared with hundreds of others. But you can be assured that for those fleeting breaths, it was wholeheartedly for you to consume and dive in.
Written for: Transient
Late afternoons often found her sitting alone, still and straight. Her mind would travel years back in time, when the house was full of children’s laughs and echoing footfalls. In a flash, hours and days had molded into long years of cooking dinners, attending PTA meetings and finishing yet another load of laundry.
Now the house sat quiet, reminiscing of a din long gone. The children had moved out and her husband was indulging yet another hobby. One evening, a sliver of sunshine happened to escape the curtain’s stern guard. Through the dance of dust mites, she happened upon her reflection. Her eyes and her face told stories of the years gone by and the errands they had seen through.
There were no stories of her own. There was not even a hint of the flame that once shone bright in her eyes; it was extinguished long ago.
A muted glint from a hidden corner caught her attention – somehow her old ghungru* had managed to dapple in the last light of the setting sun. It had been so long she had seen them – she had almost forgotten how they felt tied at her ankles. With trembling fingers she handled them delicately, more precious than any gem in the world.
What if….? Dare she even dream…?
The next afternoon saw her tentatively clearing a space and dusting out her old dancing clothes. As her feet slowly became accustomed to the once-familiar weight of her ghungru, the years melted away and she fell into a rhythm that was as natural as breathing. On days when she was not at dance school, the curtains were firmly drawn back as she conducted personal concerts under the sunny spotlight.
She was not a daughter, a wife or a mother then. She was a dancer. She was an artist. She was her chosen form. She was blowing at the cool embers, re-kindling a fire that had almost blown out. It was never too late to spark it back!
Written for Sue’s prompt – Flame. I took it as a metaphor and ran away with it! Hope that is okay…
*Ghungru: is one of many small metallic bells strung together to form Ghungrus, a musical anklet tied to the feet of classical Indian dancers.
You work for it. You sweat for it.
Shoot a dozen wishes to make it happen…
Yet it keeps getting out of your reach.
You chase it to a point and almost give up in exhaustion
Maybe you pause and breathe.
Take in the beauty of the low tides,
Of how the sun and its shine is a lot closer to you.
As you take in the warmth, you feel the softest touch of the waves
Swirling designs around you in the sands
The tide has turned… When it was the time.
It is coming in your arms,
All at the right time,
When you were finally ready…
Written for Thursday Photo Prompt at Sue’s.
I hate the “new beginnings” feel gripping most people. Even the most jaded lot have not been able to escape. They are playing it cool… .
I am one of those as well. Resolutely not making resolutions and stubbornly trying to stay unfazed by the turn of the calendar while furtively making plans for every month of the year, hoping to slay it big time. I even have the whole newly married tag to capitalize on as D and I go on a series of “Meester and Missus Phirsts”.
This was supposed to be my big moment to announce that I have arrived! Arriving one more time or whatever… Basically that I have CHANGED for the BETTER.
There is no change. There is no better. Instead, I am just trying to sneak in more nap time, less work time and endless food time. No difference. Absolutely none. And since I gave the prompt of JusJoJan – “tangible”, I was hoping that I actually do something tangible and start the year with a bang so that I have something to write about!
Like the last few years – I have done zilch. Jotting lines of poetry and food inspired one-liners, rants about the world and erotica inspired satire is all that I have come up with to show for my literary quests. Or I am planning gazillion trips that I sadly just have one lifetime to cover and making itineraries that will probably never happen (Having said that, two friends have suggested I become a travel agent – apparently I rock at planning out trips and itineraries)
I will say one thing though – the one thing that is keeping me going. I want to continue with my last year’s unintended resolution and see if I can do the same this year as well. I traveled EVERY month in 2016 – even if it was just one weekend outing. And half the year, more than once a month I was out somewhere! There was not a moment when I did not have something to look forward to and I feel so thankful about it.
I want to hold on to that and do the same this year. I just need to plan … Twelve trips! That’s possible right??
Third time around for Just Jot It January hosted by Linda. I do whatever she asks me to do.
It amazes me how one thought never leads to just one another. It happens almost every time, that even before one thought has materialized and taken a full-fledged form, there are already several off-shoots growing in different directions, flowering as they run along.
When I am simply an observer to my thoughts, they look like attractive maple trees sprouting within seconds and already at the peak of their fall colors.
When I am a tiny insect starting my climb up from the root, it seems to be a daunting task. To not just decide which path to tread, but also make sure that I don’t end up losing sight of the root. There are so many different passages. So many different crossings. Each with their own light and dark; each with their own beauty and wrinkle. These passages connect together forming a beautiful maze led by heartbeats. The signboards are all over the place, swiveling in the winds of change.
A passage suddenly drops down into another one or perhaps shows an explosion of graffiti left by the lingering presence of another person. They never fail to surprise me! It feels like opening a present from myself, opening a dimension I never though I was capable of.
When I do manage to find my way to the top, I get that rare sense of clarity under the expanse of clear blue skies. And maybe, in those moments if I am lucky I see someone else who has managed to poke into the serenity. It makes the myriad wanderings all the more fruitful.
Here’s to the wonderful passages of our minds – never ending and always surprising!
Written for Thursday Photo Prompt