en life

Winter is melting away in Stockholm. Why are the sambo ducks crossed? Winter blues or stockholm syndrom?

A very Happy Birth day

Ja må du leva,

Ja må du leva,

Ja må du leva uti hundrade år!

Javisst ska du leva,

Javisst ska du leva,

Javisst ska du leva uti hundrade år.

May you be always blessed and protected and healthy my dear friend Beth.

Namste dear friend.

The Stockholm Sun Snow

“Take this gift, the Cup, with humility, it holds the ocean in it”

They ran a thorough check on her -- her papers, her belongings and even inside of her body --the very content of her. She shivered and found herself propelled forward. What force propelled her, she did not know. It was all mechanical. Gates closed behind her. She felt the intense ache in her right ear deafening her on one side. The officer in front asked her something. She did not hear a thing. She showed him her papers. The officer stamped the papers without any further questions. She had now officially crossed the boundaries. She was in a delicate space now. She looked back. She could see her beloved friend through the small crack. Her hands waving.
She heard her name being called. She ran towards the sound. She ran to gate 36A. There was no such thing as gate 36A. Confused in grief she wandered through the empty spaces of the hall. And she found herself again before the officer who had stamped her papers earlier. She had crossed the boundaries again. She was in a space she had left before, where she should not be. Officer was kind enough to guide her to her gate -- Gate 11. She has now reached the no point of return. She seated herself in her pre-assigned seat 36A.

She looked outside the window. The sun was setting. The golden hue spread across the sand-dune. Each sand particle shimmered gold. A Firefly twinkled before her eyes and she heard it uttering words of Kabir

Aag Jo Lagi Samand Mein, Dhuan Na Pargat Hoye

So Jane Jo Jarmua, Jaki Lagi Hoye

With the ocean set ablaze, The smoke yet manifests not

Only the one who gets burnt, Envisions the heat of loving thought

24 hours later, tens of thousands of miles apart she gazed through the window pane. Her only contact with the outside world. The tip of the earth was snow covered. The cold cold land she was to step on was hers officially. The land that, that lacks the warmth, warmth of home was hers. Her heart was heavy as the plane that carried her began its descend.

Time was nearing 2.30pm, over the horizon the sun lingered, preparing for setting, leaving the golden hue all over. At a distance clouds rose from the earth itself and touched the skies. Runway was clear of snow. And something was clearing within her heart space. Something was stirring in her heart.

Words of her friend rose from her heart to her beings. She remembered what her friend had said at the airport. She had said “Take this gift, the Cup, with humility, it holds the Ocean in it”

She bowed her head to her friend Beth in gratitude. Namaste dearest friend she uttered as she held the ocean in her cup.

Sailing Away with my friend Bechhi

फूल

Pushpa. Phul. फूल. Flower. The Best!

come

look at the flower

in my puja

--my offerings

luminous and peaceful.

The story of a Toe ring!

It was the wedding day of his daughter. All guest had arrived except his mother. He felt her absence to the core. She was not there to bless his daughters wedding. He cried the night before in her remembrance. That morning he was returning from his morning walk when he saw a shining silver ring by the front door of his living room. He bent and picked it up with his right hand. It was a toe ring. His hand trembled as he gazed at it intensly. He felt he knew the ring well. He quivered. His heart began to pound. He hugged the ring holding it close to his heart. He knew the ring well.
Toe rings are part of sola-shringar (sixteen items of adornment) that an Indian woman wares. She wares a set of toe ring, one on each foot. Husband adorns his wife with toe rings at the marriage ceremony. He slips the rings in second toe of each foot, offering his lifelong commitment and protection. These silver rings are open hoops for easy removal. These rings and all her adornment she takes with her when she goes to the other side of the existance.
He felt he knew that toe ring very well. His heart was heavy with emotions. He became tearful. With a great reverence he looked at the ring. He saw his mothers face reflected in it. Many thousand a times his head had bowed at those feet that adorn this toe ring. He knew his mother had come to bless this auspicious day. Her toe ring was the evidence -the presence of his mother. His mother had arrived. He bathed the ring and kissed it. He arranged it in his altar in front of his mothers picture. Bowed down once more before the toe ring and thanked his mother for the special coming.
That very morning of the wedding his mother-in-law was looking for a toe ring that she had lost the night before. Soon she learned from her daughter what had happened and she let go off her search and brought herself a new pair of toe rings.

Waiting for the Clouds to rain on us!

The thing -- spontaneous --head upside down. Gaze gazing inward. throat skyward. Elixir enters through the throat. Transfixed I drink through the throat. Drop by drop it cools the within. It is addicting. As if on a drug. In this case ambrosia. I sit there, cross legged, day after day --head spontaneously upside down, drinking through throat, gazing inward, I’m drenched in meditation, I’m drenched in peace, contentment and ‘wanting more of this’ -neck delightfully glued and hanging over the shoulder --upside down-- as if it is my necks natural position.
I remember. A bird that is full of adventures. A bird that never drinks water from the river or the lake. A bird that waits for months and months. A bird that quenches its thirst in the months of monsoon. I remember a bird with a hole in a throat. A bird that flies upside down at the sight of the first cloud in the sky. A bird that is undaunted by the thunder and the lightening. A bird that drinks unsullied raindrops as they drip from the cloud. I remember such a bird. I'm filled with the rememberance of mythical Chataka.
Our ordeal is same. We sit there like Chataka. Head upside down-- throat skyward--waiting for the clouds to rain on us!

Beths India

This is your India dear Sweet friend Bechhi Pituni-some shots for you.