Archives for category: Dialogue

MADIRAKSHI: My Beloved and I, like two snakes, slither away, entwined in passion, towards the golden sands upon an unending beach, inspired by your rendition of Vasanta Ritu ~ the season of Spring …


SHAKUNTALA: Slither away, my dear friend, under this sensuous canopy of fragrance and blossoms in Spring, while I languish in my aloneness …


MADIRAKSHI: You are not alone, Shakuntala. Your riyaz ~ practice, takes you to this sensuous, fullness, without needing the other!

I remain vintage, wrapped up in finery, fanning my beloved with these intoxicating eyes, silks and sparkling gold upon all my curves, spinning melodies in a private chamber of beauty and simmering desire …


SHAKUNTALA: True. Every flower is unique. It’s fragrance or lack of fragrance is devoid of thought, will, desire. Each human being, a divine flower in this garden of love …

Watching as I practise Tai Chi, she asks, “What’s that between your hands? It looks like you have something there, but I see nothing at all!”

I say to her, “All you have to do, is to put your own hands together, and you’ll know, if you’ll allow it, the answer to your question”.

Our daughter Kamakshi, just fourteen, writes, at the end of one of her poems, “It is what isn’t that matters the most, reality is forever and always, almost”. Hmm…

“I’ve just come out of retirement!” I said, to my perplexed friend. “All these years I’ve been seeking my well being and security, in family, in work accomplished, in money earned. This has been my period of retirement. Now I am at work, drawing in conscious breath, smelling the flowers, gazing at clouds and at the unborn stars of the evening sky, filled with a precious lightness, that comes from being carried, like a fragrance, flowing free, into pathless woods. Now there’s no such thing, as ‘retirement’!

20130426-173839.jpg

20130415-211447.jpg
When the light showed us what it could do, to the painting she hung upon that wall, she turned and asked, “Is there anything at all, that’s not work in progress?”

She said to him,

“I’ll have you still
By the joy you’ll feel,
When I hold you,
Where I know you’ll yield.

I’ll keep you close.
You’ll do my bidding,
By throbbing strings,
In love drenched dance.”

He said to her,

“I swoon into your will,
By a fragrant garland,
Of the softest flowers.
Whoever asked to be free,
From such captivity?!”

She said to him,

“I’ll have you still,
By the pain you’ll feel,
When I twist you,
Where I know you’ll hurt.

I’ll keep you close.
You’ll do my bidding,
By unbroken strings,
Of a simmering hate.”

He said to her,

“It’s too late for that!
I’ve lost my hate.
I’ve mourned my fate.
It’s no longer true,
That I am enchained.”

Dozing one afternoon, upon my rocking chair, I woke to the sound of a beggar’s call. He stood in front of me, this man dressed in rags, with bright eyes and a half smile upon his face.

“Where are you going?”, I asked him, at once realising, that it was hardly the question to ask a beggar, simply passing through.

He laughed, paused a while, and then spoke, in a low voice, that somehow conveyed a sense of urgency. “We arrive at the very same destination”, he said. “Working all your life to stay comfortable, what will you do when the train pulls in, at our final destination? What cosy blanket would you pull, to keep your lifeless body, from catching fire?”.

“What a spoil sport, this man!”, I thought. “He has robbed me of the pleasure of my rocking chair, this beggar, simply passing through!”

“Your hands move, like algae in the water… like floating clouds…”, my Teacher says.

“If only I moved without doing the movement, if only I could let it happen, like you say, what then?” I ask.

“Then… you’ll know it’s possible, to simply be at rest, even in the movement that’s your response, no matter the task, which moves you”, he says.

20130125-183118.jpg