Archives for the month of: April, 2016

  
It is always a collaboration between that which is lit, that which lights and that which sees. And then, it is what it is and so much more.

  

  

  
In some places, like this one, time pretends not to notice, and moves on. Picture taken this morning of a Cinema hall I frequented as a boy, growing up in Chennai.

There is a fire of desire that She enflames. In Her presence all quietens. In Her presence, I feel enveloped. I desire Her kiss, Her embrace, Her touch, Her breath. She and I rock on swings, opposite each other. She hums as She speaks with another, cradling my brokenness. I feel fleshed out. Delicately bejewelled I am, with the gentle wetness of morning dew. 

I witness a class being conducted by an inspired teacher. Gifted, devoted dancers learn a composition under his guidance. I had thought that I may join a few movement lessons if inspired. The class is already dancing intense choreographies, and so I only bathe in the sounds and movements of others, from a quiet corner in the room. Watching the sweating bodies carving space with clean lines, lining up inside neat foot work is always energising. It is also a world that I walk away from, in search of something beyond the physical discipline. I find Her. I receive many gifts after entering the softness and lightness of Her way of teaching. I miss Her today. She gifts me two beautiful years.

Watching his form, the introspections after, make me recognise a resistance in working with dance companies that strive for excellence and authenticity in their own unique manners, and also why I miss Her so.

The styles evolving in the now, are organised, well choreographed, military battalions, away from the lyrical, the poetic, the sensuous, and the lingering. There is a loss of the uniqueness of each human being, and their subtle nuances. It is a drying up and wilting of the Feminine. With Her, I return to a fullness, a grace, an ease, a silence, a gaze, a gait, a leaning, a letting go inside a beautifully balanced form. She holds the golden strings of that which I yearn to unite with, an allowing of the inner to be seen, and felt, through breath and movements of this physical body. Her physical being is no more, and yet there is Her voice inside of me, enveloping me, embracing me, cradling me. The mourning still is. I rise from the essence of Her teaching. I return to a playfulness. I allow myself my blossoming in its own time. I joyfully sprint through the mysterious, sensational labyrinths of life. Then one day, when all is aligned, just like that, a performance may happen. Letting go of ambitions, of desperation, of expectations, and relishing this beautiful life, wrapped up in the arms of my Beloved, and all my loved ones. May peace and well being be with all.

  
The world in here thinks it is looking out, when actually, it is looking at its own reflection, upon the world out there. 

  
Everything moves, making way, for space, or, intimacy, between this and that.

  
The light is right, always. It is just where we are, in relationship to it, that determines how well we are illumined. It’s quality is determined by what we have put between ourselves and the source. 

When we first met in a quaint lane of the old French town in a charming coastal city, he was driving a Fiat. In the back seat, were his two little, sparkly eyed, beautiful children. In time, I became part of their lives, and we came to call our beloved car, ‘Paloma’. My first born too joined the merry making and all of us had many a ride, and fun memories, in this cozy car.

A few years later, we got ourselves a new car. On the very same day, our friends who needed a car called to find out whether they could have Paloma. We gifted her to them since they couldn’t afford to buy her from us, at that point. Though we were attached to Paloma, we reasoned that we didn’t need two cars, and that our friends really needed one. When we surprised our youngest son with our new car at his school, he cried hysterically as he missed Paloma. He didn’t care much for our new car, and her lyrical name, Fabia. I observed, how our youngest was still unabashedly, in tune with his heart.

Six years have passed, since then. Last evening, I spoke nostalgically about Paloma to my husband, when we passed a similar looking car in the neighbouring metro city which is a few hours away from our home. Today, we chanced to take the same odd road. As we passed the abandoned Fiat, I said to my husband that this fiat had a familiar number plate, and could we turn around to take another look? He obliged. Parking our car nearby, we crossed the road. There used to be a sticker on the dashboard that had been unique to our Paloma. Walking closer, my eyes lit up with amazement as I saw the same sticker. It was our very own PALOMA!!! Rusting away, all abandoned and neglected. The sight deeply saddened me.
 

Paloma

   
When we reached out to our friends, they apologetically shared that they didn’t have enough money to maintain the car and that we could take it back, if we cared for it. My husband spoke to the mechanic at the garage, near which the car had been parked. The man promised to fix it in a few hours so we can drive her back, to the home where she belongs. It looks like she has been through some tough times and will need a lot of healing. But then, with love, she will regain her health and well being and we will get to enjoy many more years of her company.