Vinayaka Chavithi, 2014

As I type this, sitting in the penthouse (rather -- my bare, uncluttered, minimalist writing shack) on the terrace, the sun is peeking out and shining in a haze through the clouds.

The terrace itself is still wet with the last of the rain that has fallen, mostly in a steady trickle, sometimes in a din...for almost a day now -- starting as it did yesterday evening when Naana and I got Vinayaka home, along with the fruits, flowers and other offerings that he relishes.

All in all, thanks to the clouds and the rain, it has been a perfect Ganeshotsav at home for me.

What with the overcast skies almost the exactly same colour as the three lines on my brow (and arms) it seemed as if the heavens were also wearing Tripundra, the mark of Shiva -- in obeisance to his son, Guru Ganesha.  

To fit the sanctity of the occasion, I wore a Panchi and Tripundra and as Amma recited the Mantras that I couldn't hear, I could still concentrate on the Puja apart from a thought occasionally straying away -- like an unfettered bird; where would I have been today if I was in Delhi?

Would I have managed to make it to the Garhwal Himalayas (or Bharatpur) over the weekend? Or someplace closer by -- like Basai or Yamuna Biodiversity Park?

After all, technically (at least for all those who are securely and gainfully employed) this is yet another long weekend.

But then, I realize that I am not in Delhi any more.

My thoughts stray again...is it equally cloudy (and raining) at Vizag now? If I was there at Vizag now -- probably on Thotlakonda or Pavuralakonda, would the light conditions have permitted me to shoot landscapes worthy of catching Ansel Adams eye?

But then, I realize that I am not at Vizag either, that the trip I was to set out on was canceled...

As some poet said, the best laid plans of men and mice (and, the best intentions too) sometimes come to just nought...

Maybe such is life, maybe I am destined to be home and circumabulate the Buffalo Wallow (the Great Cormorants are now in breeding plumage, and the Pied Kingfishers are pairing up, looking for sites to build nests; there are also a flock of Streaked Weavers now more or less established in the reeds that flank the wallow).

Whatever Guru Ganesha wishes. Om Ganeshaya Namaha.

P.S. -- Blame it on the intense pleasure of being at home on Vinayaka Chavithi or the magical atmosphere today -- I did something that I have rarely done after my growing up (in Orissa) years. Left my pens at Guru Ganesha's feet for his blessings. And yes, seeing how I rarely write with them any more, seeing how a lens that is as long as a baby elephant's trunk is now my stock "tool of trade", I naturally asked him to bless it too.

Om Namaha Shivaya :-)            

An old woman begging in a train

Her footwear were oversize 
for her old and shrunken feet.

Her Sari looked like its silk;
her hair was a confusion 

Of odds and ends, with the dull sheen
of old silver. Also enough black

Drawn back in a decrepit bun
a little above her nape. Almost like

Another eye. In the crook
of one scrawny, twig-thin hand

She carried a faded yellow cloth bag.
What's in there? A blanket?

Two more Saris? Her remaining years?
Into the wizened palm of the other hand

I pressed down some money,
after touching it to my eyes.

Those eyes are wet now
As I cry this poem on

The tragedy that is
an old woman begging in a train.

Defeat

Four years, or are they five,
or even some more? My own
mirror of time, they make 

Gummed and then red-backed
with the dried crimson bleed of
two ears and the disquiet 

Of all the words they never hear.
There are so many riddles
I see in my face. Gathering,

The crow's feet around my eyes
seem to ask -- does loneliness age?
And how can I be both,

That silent, stolen, upraised glance
into changeless skies of lies,
(when no one's watching,)

That ritual cursing of an empty grimace;
the bird-like gaze, from up above
in my bumbling defeats,

Seeing grace?