No photos of autumn this time

Sadly, I have no photos of autumn this time

I was far too busy

Watching the motion of the falling leaves

The way they sang

One last song. 🍁

I was too caught up

Walking through groves of gold

More precious than gems and stones

And so much more fleeting. 🍂

I was unable to tear myself away

From gardens cloaked in autumnal rainbows

Gently nudged by a frosty wind

To surrender to winter. 🍃

Now all I have left to photograph

Is a lone tree in a carpeted park

That refuses to acknowledge the advent of December

Like me, it was too wrapped up in nature's magic

To notice the passage of time. ⏳

Post-Shower Bliss

That feeling of contentment after a long, warm shower

When thoughts have settled and the mind has quietened

And the body feels lighter

Somehow.

And the pace of the world is

Just right.

And the silence sinks in as I lie on my bed

Listening to the sound of the traffic.

With the windows shut, it's only a low murmur

Almost a lullaby.

And if I fell asleep now, I know I would not dream

Except perhaps of a light blue sky

And thin, white clouds

Drifting along

As I drift now

Into my cocoon of post-shower bliss.

Rainy days

I do love rainy days

The way the droplets cloak my windows

In a silvery, eyelid mosaic

With the more adventurous ones careening down

To meet their watery, window-pane fate.

I like the way the sky has no gradient

An equal grey

And the sound of the raindrops means

I have no need to open my music player.

I like the way the tar roads reflect car wheels - 

Like dusty mirrors upon the earth

And the chill that stings the air

For it makes my tea feel warmer

And the day seem cosier.

Stay home, the rain seems to say

And watch me fill up the rivers.

And when you drink a glass of water,

think of me prepping for my next performance.

Not a native speaker

But I'm not a native speaker

Never mind that

The first book I

read

At 7 -

Devoured

Dreamed

Imagined

And smelled

Was in English.

Never mind that

The first article I

had to my name

At 8 -

A tale

Simple but true

Was in English.

Never mind that

When I dreamed

And thought

And wove realms of fantasy

I only used

English.

Never mind that

When hope abandons

me

And tears beckon -

I pray

In English.

I have slowly and with some measure of bitterness realized, that Indians aren't considered 'native' English speakers. This word - 'native'; it has grated on my nerves ever since I stepped out of the country. No one owns any language, even if it's your mother tongue. Languages are so complex, products of thousands of years of evolution and innumerable additions, subtractions, borrowings, and layering. And they are like babies; anyone can adopt a tongue and make it their own. The poem above encapsulates my feelings on the "official" classification of "native" English speakers, as someone who has heard, spoken, read, and written English since she was born. I do speak four other languages (three Indian, and one European) but for better or worse, English IS my primary language.

I don't want a tribe.

You talk to the opposite sex -

They say ‘Find your tribe’

You marry outside your caste –

They say ‘Find your tribe’

You go to another city -

They say ‘Find your tribe’

You go to a different country –

They say ‘Find your tribe’

But I say -

My tribe’s the whole world

And everything that walks upon it

And all that lies between the sky and the earth

And all that lurks beyond

And if not,

I’d rather stand alone.

Heimat

In German, the word 'heimat' is something akin to 'homeland'. Don't go mistaking it for nationalism - its origins and implications go much deeper than that. It's the place where you feel at home, the feeling of warmth and belonging that you carry in your heart wherever you go. Heimat could be even a person or a memory or just a fragrance that triggers a flood of sensations. But usually, when people are asked, 'what is your heimatland' - they will answer that it is the place where they were born and/or grew up in, which is normally their motherland or country of origin. Me - I've never felt satisfied with that answer.

India is not my heimat - at least not in the way that others seem to resonate with their birth countries. You see, I didn't have a lot of friends growing up. Nor was my family overtly religious or culture-conscious. My fondest memories are of going for walks in the garden with my mom and reading endlessly in the verandah on sunny afternoons. So, for me, heimat is nature. Heimat is a sunny afternoon, quiet and swollen with the fragrance of flowers. Heimat is all those countries and places and people that I read about, dreamt of, and imagined that, were perhaps living fuller lives than me.

I was never very chatty with strangers. In fact, I think, over time, I lost track of what I could possibly say to my classmates. I endured school, even if I was good at acing my subjects. College was slightly better. Working life brought with it a sense of weariness as my rose-tinted glasses were forcibly taken away. Growing up as a girl in India wasn't a bed of roses. At home, there was equality, freedom, love, and spirituality. Outside, there was noise, pollution, crowds, molestation, religious fanaticism, patriarchy, stench and squalor.

I travelled as much as I could, to escape as often as was possible. I sat alone at cafes and wrote poetry. I watched dazzling sunsets and tried to romanticise all my experiences, however little they were. But I only feel at home now that I am away from India. It is a feeling that is hard to explain to most, irrespective of whether the listener is a fellow countryman or a foreigner. But yes, my mother's voice is heimat. And now, also the embrace of my husband. Heimat is also the silly hope that someday all of humanity will rise above pettiness and self-destruction.

We are a blessed generation

The human race -

We bear the burden of many sins,

But also the gift of creation.

So much pain,

Yet so much beauty.

We are a blessed generation.

Not forsaken -

But drowning in the bounty

Of limitless possibility.