Archives for category: Musings

A few months ago, we tended to a frail cat, who walked into our garden unexpectedly. She appeared pregnant, or perhaps had already given birth to a litter of kittens. We remained unsure about the fact of the matter, that stood meowing before us with vulnerable, fiery eyes. She had a pretty demanding attitude. Her meowing had a terribly unpleasant shrill, & an aggressive and annoying tone to it. It was not welcoming to our ears. But she persisted, and we were almost forced into doing our bit for her.

A few weeks later, she disappeared. Very soon, three speckled, tiny timid kittens appeared in our garden, out of nowhere. They stealthily peep out from the thicket of cactus plants encircling our courtyard, whenever Amma puts out food into an old granite stone bowl, especially for the crows. (In the Hindu tradition, it is believed that crows are our ancestral Spirits)

Over the past few weeks, these three adorable kittens are more comfortable around us. Still afraid and cautious, but at times, most trusting and curious about getting to know us better. It is so charming and most delightful to watch them play and care for each other. It is wonderful to observe their wild cat-selves. They are like three miniature tigers growing bolder and stronger with time, blissfully safe in their surrounding wilderness …



At noon

by the Lily pond, a

Vermillion Dragonfly,

by its meditative presence,

balance, agility, grace

and focus, spreads a spacious serenity

and a quiet peace into Mother Universe …

At the doorway into our home, in the slanting, cool, morning light, she lures me and halts me in my footsteps with her delicate, ivory beauty. Bending down to kiss her soft petals with the tip of my nose, I leisurely inhale her sweet perfume.

At twilight, I step out into our garden, and glance back at her. Her tender petals are wilting with the fading evening light. I sit next to her in sisterhood, observing her frailty. Her fragrance grows stronger, as she surrenders to her dying.

Madhumalti ~ it’s delicate blossoms merrily droop like bejewelled, bashful brides. Their heady perfume inspires poetry, inspires lyrics, inspires movement, inspires this breath. There is a beautiful crescent moon on the rise in the summer night sky.

Her petals are thick and fleshy, unlike the frail petals of wild flowers in our garden. Today, one of her petals, revealed a sharp thorn.

Like a stoic, valorous sentinel with a razor sharp weapon, this petal guards her beautiful temple, from unwelcome predators. 

 Only tiny, beautiful bees, swoon and dive, deep down into her hypnotic sea of pink. In time, their furry, velvety bodies are full of her soft, lemon-white, pollen dust. They celebrate and teach, the art of lingering, and sipping tastefully, from these divine, sacred, fragrant wells … 

Last morning, I chanced upon the love play of toads in our lily pond. I am not too charmed by reptiles, especially the ones with the warts and bumps. But something about this pair, made me linger. It is hot and humid where we live, so perhaps, observing the two of them in the clear cool waters refreshes me. At first sight, I think them to be a mother toad with her baby toad. My heart fills with motherly love, as I recall the beautiful and endearing sight of fluffy, baldish, cygnets on the back of mother swans during the spring season.

​But after spending a long time watching the subtle mannerisms of the two, I find it hard to believe that the littler frog on the back of the larger one, could to be a fragile, new born, baby toad. The smaller toad has a firm, stubborn clasp, that appears faintly annoying to the larger toad. I decide to read up about toads and their behaviour, and am surprised to note that I have been observing a mating ritual of two garden toads. The greater surprise is that the larger toad is female, while the smaller toad is a male. I like the attitude of the buxom female toad. I am especially charmed by her flamboyant move at the end. After this move, both of them, sink down and almost touch the bottom of the shallow pond, like two deep sea divers, helplessly plummeting down to the bottom of a dark ocean, in an utter surrender, when in an unfortunate, unforeseen accident, the rope that holds them buoyant and safe, snaps unexpectedly!

They both remain still in the shadowy depths of the pond. A few bubbles rise to the surface in a meditative exhalation. In a few minutes, she rises to the surface of the water with him. Her eyes, remain wide open. His eyes blink, during her sudden, unpredictable dives. She is unperturbed by my proximity. I feel a bit uneasy about her direct, open gaze. She swims to the edge of the pond, almost towards me. Will she hop out, unexpectedly? I allow her, her space. I allow him, his passionate embrace. Tuning in to the animal medicine of the frog, I allow myself my cleansing. Returning home, I too enter a pool of water, and joyfully ribet, like the frog, from one lily pad to the next. Cleansed, and rejuvenated, my being now overflows with peace and restfulness.

The past sparkles like distant stars upon a dark night sky…

Moments fossilised like minerals upon a stoic rock.

Walking upon that hill, under some trees, on a floor strewn here and there with fallen leaves, at that precise moment when the sun came out from behind the clouds, I asked the question, “Should I crush the dead, or, hop across the shifting images of the living?”.

Now I know, with utter certainty, that I didn’t have to play along.

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.