March 2012

After two days quite warm weather ,yesterday morning was pretty chill. As I stepped out for morning walk the laps of strong wind hit me with a force. For a fraction of second I felt like retracing my steps and let the cozy warmth of indoor engulf me but then the better sense prevailed and shrugging off the temptation, I walked out to face the wind. It turned out to be quite refreshing.

I have always loved those wee hours of twilight when everything around you is wrapped in a dreamy silence. The harsh realities don’t stand there  glaring at you . The roads without the blaring traffic and chaos spread before you lazily inviting you to venture into the magical vista  of purple haze of dawn. Today was the first day of navratri hence the temples on the way were getting ready to welcome  goddess durga. Bright yellow marigold garlands, the fragrance of dhoop and agar, the music of devotional songs all made the morning holier and more pious.

Invig0rated by my walk as I stepped on my terrace something caught my attention. As if it stopped my movement by holding my dupatta. There midst the green leaves of my lemon plant was this small white bud smiling at me through the misty veil. The first bud of my lemon plant. Oh ..the inexplicable happiness………just like what I felt when my first born showed me his first lower tooth………..

it bloomed today.


Crumbling walls, uninhabited houses and battered doors invite you to venture into the mysterious world of lingering shadows.
Bolted doors, though aged with times cling passionately to the naked walls as if guarding secrets lying there for years. The quiet dignity of their commitment pulls a string at your heart.
In a courtyard full of dry leaves, wind walks to you with halting steps as if crossing the distance of ages. Whispering voices call you from shadowy corners. In the moist and diffused light spread across the chipping verandah, the past speaks to you with an intimacy across the time line.
Through the cracks of shriveled doors, escape the sighs of tales untold. The dusty interiors preserve the redolent presence of forgotten ones.
And just when the haunting past reverberates through your entire being, the present peeps down at you through a crevice high above the falling roof. A just born bunch of delicate green leaves smiles at you beckoning to march forward/move onward.

pictures: © sunder iyer