Rain

It is raining in Delhi like it has never rained before - at least not in the last sixteen years that it has been my home. It begins with a light drizzle, builds up to a full on thunderstorm and simply lashes itself on the poor unsuspecting delhities throughout the day. The only things that seem inordinately happy are my plants!!

My terrace is alive with potted plants that look washed and bathed and finally seem to be breathing once again after the scorch and dullness of the summer heat. They appear to be dancing to the tune of the rain dance and I am almost sure that I could hear their cheerful chatter if I would listen close enough. I found this particular bunch of leaves so eager to be captured by my camera this morning..the drizzle had not yet started and they appeared all made up and pretty as you please..couldn't resist ...ah the little pleasures of life!

Prankster

I have fuzzy memories of my childhood..long walks home from an aunt's with my grandfather..moonlit balmy nights in small town north India...the cherished ice cream cone treats on a summer afternoon..long winded fairy tale evenings with grandmom....an average Indian childhood for an average Indian girl child...

..but some memories are vividly implanted in a corner of the brain, usually reserved for thoughts best forgotten..one such is of a street urchin who chose to inhabit the locality and would play pranks on us young girls - we would run away from his mere sight..frightened and screaming... leaving him full of glee and reveling in his success!

abandoned!

Thinking about him later in life I was never sure if he really existed or was a figment of my imagination ....until...I saw him the other day at a busy intersection in New Delhi...and as if just to prove his existence he agreed to be clicked...

Perspective

I have always been shy of being a follower..more so when it comes to unraveling the mysteries of the spiritual world. I (almost) have a physical reaction to following a set of instructions that ought to raise the voice of my soul  louder than the voice of reason. Taking on a guru or a spiritual path is not my way to understand this world..neither is being completely averse to getting to know about a particular sect or a religion. I prefer to listen to everyone and sieving that information to my level of conscious being..if it makes sense for me - I am in.. if not - its a matter of perspective...as one of my favorite characters in a book says..there are points of views and then there are viewing points...

an aerial view of Ladakh

talking about points of view...here is one..

Silence

Silence is the language of God, all else is poor translation". - Rumi, the 13th century sufi mystic...

For someone who is so used to living with herself I thought I knew all about Silence. On reading this quote from Rumi, I am sitting here wondering if I have been misinterpreting silences all my life..my own and those of others?

Usually when I am outwardly silent my mind is spinning a thousand yarns all going in multiple directions. Is that God talking to me or is it I making a poor attempt at translating Godspeak?

There are silences that hurt..badly wanting to be broken but we doggedly continue the status quo and then there are the ones that cry out loud for attention - yet we refuse to acknowledge its presence.

Silence from friends mean they are preoccupied and the ones from loved one that they are ignoring us..all things getting lost in translation..and the only way to untangle the myth is let God speak to us through that another.

What do you get when you divide silence by half?

It is disconcerting to know that I have been re interpreting translations all my life..it is time to learn the language of God.