G is for Gardens and the Gates of Shambhala #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the second week of the #Blogging from A to Z  April Challenge 2021. My theme this year is based on the Japanese concept of Ichigo Ichie which means--"What we are experiencing right now will never happen again. And therefore, we must value each moment like a beautiful treasure."

I've put together a collage of such moments which can be seen as chance occurrences, coincidences, pre-destined or random (depending on who you ask) for this month's challenge.

Thank you.

Arti

***

As a gardener, I can think of no better therapy than being one with the soil: the digging and the sowing, the tending and the growing can overcome anxiety and any and every stress. Gardening's healing powers, I feel, are especially effective in these uncertain times of enforced sequestering.

I've been watching episodes of 'Gardener's World' at night and spending every moment I can  in my garden this year.

In The Book of Ichigo Ichie, the authors illustrate the concept of now or never with the help of a  Tibetan legend called 'The Gates of  Shambhala'. In it, a hunter, while pursuing a deer in the snowy Himalayan peaks, comes upon a narrow opening just wide enough for one man to pass through. "On the other side of the opening was a fertile garden, bathed in sunlight... children played happily among trees laden with fruit.." Despite being awestruck by the sight, the hunter decides to go back to his tribe to share his discovery with them. He's warned that "the gates of Shambhala open only once in a lifetime." But, he leaves. He would keep looking for the 'other side' for the rest of his life.

As a gardener and a photographer, I can completely relate to this legend. 

Every day, the garden changes. 

A bloom that was thriving yesterday may be gone today.

Thankfully, the camera lets me capture these precious glimpses for posterity or for as long as my backed up cards and drives work so that I can look back at the 'gates' that had opened up for a few precious minutes and  revisit the magical world on the other side.

I photograph my garden regularly and am amazed at how different it looks every year, every month, even every day. A sudden dust storm or the cold northerly winds can change everything in a matter of hours.

I know it's cliché but I'll say it anyway: do stop and stare and pay attention to beauty all around you. It's transient like breath. Here now. Gone now.

Today, I invite you to peep into one of the most beautiful gardens I've ever visited. 

The day dawned clear and the sky shone blue on the 8th of June, 2019 when we drove out of Cape Town to visit this garden that lies "nestled at the eastern foot of Table Mountain".

"Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden was founded in 1913 to 'preserve the flora native to the South Africa's territory". According to Wikipedia, part of a hedge of wild almond and bramble planted in 1660 still exists in the gardens. You can find more about the garden here: Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden

(Source: Wikipedia)

An autumnal sky made the perfect backdrop for these crimson blooms.

Tree Aloe so vast, I'd call is Aloe-city.

Can you spot the thirsty sunbird?

They call it the tree canopy walkway. To me, it looks like promise of magic.

Heaven on Earth

Tree branches are antidotes to phone screen addiction. You'll miss out if you don't look up!

How can I resist these? One last shot--I promise.

It was time to leave the garden. 

I rubbed these rose-scented pelargonium leaves on my wrists so that I could  carry the scent of this garden with me, for the rest of the day at least.

Luckily, I have this fragrant plant growing in a pot at home. So, all I have to do is rub its leaves and like the proverbial magic lamp, its scent teleports me to a happy place.

Why Garden?

Whenever you feel sad or blue

step into a garden or two.

And if there isn't a garden near you

no worries

don't fret

sow a seed in a broken teacup

instead.

Place it on a sunny window sill

and let it show you 

how to be still

and deep.

Gardens are forests for the soul.

When bodies dwell in cities and concrete blocks,

our ancestral spirits and evolutionary codes

beg us to explore

a patch of green

any patch of green

even a geranium in a pot will do

so when you witness a seed spiral twirl, 

unfurl down and shoot up

or watch a bud uncurl,

stare in awe

for it'll be gone

soon.

******

What are your thoughts on the 'gates' that open only once? 

Do you have a favourite scent that teleports you to magic?

You know I'd love to hear, if you'd like to share.

This year, I'm participating in #BlogchatterA2Z  powered by theblogchatter.com 

E is for Escape like an Earthworm #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the second week of the #Blogging from A to Z  April Challenge 2021. My theme this year is based on the Japanese concept of Ichigo Ichie which means--"What we are experiencing right now will never happen again. And therefore, we must value each moment like a beautiful treasure."

I've put together a collage of such moments which can be seen as chance occurrences, coincidences,  pre-destined or random (depending on who you ask) for this month's challenge.

Today's post is all about getting lost in time; of timelessness, of when moments morphs into nectar.

I hope you'll enjoy reading it. 

Thank you.

Arti

*****

"Listen to presences inside poems, Let them take you where they will.

Follow those private hints, and never leave the premises."

Quote borrowed from 'The Essential Rumi' Translations by Coleman Barks

The word escape, I feel, has had a bad rep ever since it started associating with 'ism'. Escapism sounds like cowardice, like one is avoiding ones role in human form. 

To me, escape is essential for self-preservation. It's time travel. Let me explain with an example:

When I was six or so years old, time was a cloud that came rolling in without making a sound. I'd be lost in Papaji's garden for hours (according to my mother) which felt like minutes to me.

Everything fascinated me: plants, flowers, bees, leaves, soil, twigs, branches and climbing trees. 

Often, my sister and I and a few other children from the neighbourhood would congregate behind the rose bushes, under Papaji's big mulberry tree, far from adult eyes, to prepare wedding feasts for our dolls. There used to be one communal doll and its groom was usually present in proxy for no one could ever find him. 

The magic of preparing the feast lay in the pots and pans we would sculpt out of garden soil. We'd carry water in palms of hands, bottles or mugs from the grey, cement water tank next to the metal gate. Mixing water with soil and patting  pateele, tawe and karahian (pots and pans) of varying shapes and sizes would absorb all of us all at once. Six inch wide pans, uneven looking pots would start appearing on the patch of sand where the ginger plant fronds erupted. It got the most sun so the pots dried quickly. 

We'd run back and forth (stealthily and swiftly) from our kitchens stealing a potato or two, a tomato perhaps, some salt and haldi and sometimes even spoons and an odd knife. We'd will the fires to burn with scarps of stolen newspapers and twigs gathered from the garden, going phoo, phoo, phoo at the embers to get things going. 

We escaped into play with such abandon and enthusiasm that when an adult voice called out to announce that the sun would be setting soon and it was time to get back indoors, we'd all be taken by surprise.

Hastily, the half-cooked feasts in half-baked pots would be distributed by the oldest in the group who'd take charge. We'd extend our palms and relish the raw potato cubes swimming in lukewarm salty water like they were the tastiest morsels we'd ever eaten before wiping our hands on our frocks and shirts and promising each other to be better prepared for the next 'gudde-gudiya  ki shaadi' (doll's wedding).

Those tunnels of fun we travelled into when we lost ourselves in play brought us back to the surface of reality refreshed, enthused, bubbling with ideas. Like earthworms, we dug deep into our worlds and churned our energies, our imaginations, our friendships, our abilities into fertile ground for growth. 

I do it still--

escape, evaporate. 

I haven't made any pots 

with garden soil 

recently 

but losing myself in a book, 

a poem, a plant, birdsong, a bloom, or

an inefficient teapot 

teasing to be reused,

brings me back up:

refreshed, rejuvenated.

These portals of everyday, ordinary things

suck me in.

I like to indulge in time travel, I do.

And I do it as often as it pleases me.

You could say, I'm a pro

at the art of getting lost

disappearing into lines and words and the spaces left blank on pages.

One day, if I practise getting lost in tunnels of time, often.

I may find I've smudged my edges on a dragonfly's effervescent wings.

 

O! How magical that would be!

*****

The etymology of the word escape suggests that it was used to mean, 'free oneself from confinement'. 

Covid-19 may have confined us to our homes but we all have an escape route or two at our disposal. Of course, any addiction of any sort does not qualify for the kind of escape I'm talking about:) 

What's your escape route? When does time morph for you? If you'd like to share, you know I'd love to hear.

 Horizons melt 

Sun escapes 

ocean waves

Photos taken in June 2019, South African coast.

*****

This year, I'm participating in #BlogchatterA2Z  powered by theblogchatter.com 

C is for a Cypriot honeymoon and other Coastal Curiosities #AtoZChallenge

"...expectations are like the wrapping that prevents us from seeing the gift. Once we've freed ourselves from them, the present offers itself to us in all its splendor."

-Quote borrowed from The Book of Ichigo Ichie

When I planned my honeymoon (using Fodor's Travel guide book) in 1994, I  jotted down every detail  in my diary. I was 23, he was 25 and we'd saved up for six months to afford our honeymoon in Cyprus.

Our ideas of what a honeymoon should look like matched perfectly, too.

He was thrilled to drive a 'foreign' car in a 'foreign land' on smooth, smooth roads which were free of traffic for the first time in his life. I was ecstatic to visit all the places I had underlined in pencil in my well thumbed Fodor's copy. 

He drove. I enjoyed the sights.

However, after visiting monastery number 2 on the 2nd day, he stood by the parked car, under an olive tree and told me clearly: "If there's anything unusual in there, describe it to me when you come out. I'll wait for you here."

The sky was cerulean blue and I didn't mind leaving him with his Subaru.

As a 23 year old, I couldn't bear to miss out on any 'sights'. Planning was crucial and following the planned itinerary was imperative for a successful holiday, honeymoon included. The holding of hands on beaches, stealing kisses at sunsets and the lazy mornings could be achieved at home, when we could do it all for free. We'd paid for this holiday and I was going to get the most out of it. Plus, his love for his rental Subaru helped a lot.

There are more photos of the car than of us in our honeymoon photo album. 

"The car isn't coming back with us." was his valid and logical justification when I asked him why.

I didn't know it then and I've only recently started realising that any kind of planning always comes with its insidious side-effect: expectation. And as soon as expectation appears on the horizon, joy tends to leave the party. Frustration and anger are never far behind when expectation is around. 

Of course, a lot of life's stuff needs to be planned but should our leisure time be bound to a time-table too? Can we give chance a chance when we're on holiday and let go of control?

Fast forward to 2019. 

Apart from picking the destination and a place to stay (sometimes that has been left to chance, too) I avoid planning my days when we are on holiday.

The internet helps with this laissez-faire attitude. We can be free because we are connected. Ironical, but true. 

And, surprisingly, the experiences we've enjoyed in open expanses of unplanned days have been beautiful and sometimes even surreal.

Early June, 2019: Day 1 of our much awaited trip to Cape Town dawned cloudy. Rain was predicted for the rest of the day.

We decided to drive up to the coast anyway. We couldn't walk in the downpour, but we could certainly drive. (Note: His love for driving on holiday continues to flourish. Yay!)

And keep our senses open to the magic that was unfolding all along the way. All we had to do was pay attention to the unplanned, un-orchestrated moments. Instead of disappointment (nothing was planned so nothing got disrupted) caging us indoors, our day (despite being wet, windy and cold) offered us many treasures I cherish even now as I look back at the photos and videos we took whenever the rain stopped or we did to breathe in the fresh coastal air.

Have you ever let the day unfold its mysterious magic onto you when you've travelled a long distance to see a new place? And has such an un-planned adventure made you smile? Leaving you with some remembrances of just such a day in June 2019.

The moody seascape was achingly romantic.
Clouds create fantasy:
shrouds and half-hidden doubts
add intrigue to any landscape.  

                                  Butterfly wings and other Curiosities we came across on the

coastal drive to Chapman's Peak,
South Africa in June 2019

On our way back we drove under this mountain ledge--how amazing is this!

Thank you for being here.

Tomorrow is Sunday, rest day.

See you with delightful 'D' on Monday.

Please keep safe and healthy.

This year, I'm participating in #BlogchatterA2Z  powered by theblogchatter.com 

My first Haiku

A warm red flower

holding on to a bare branch

waves autumn good-bye

Dear readers,

I hope you've all been well and happy and healthy.

I've been away from this world of blogs and blogging for sometime now. In fact, being away has become more frequent than being here.

Why?

There have been a lot of reasons.

I've travelled a lot this year: some journeys were about getting on planes while others involved sitting on my mat and closing my eyes. Some journeys took me to taste new food and wine in wonderful places like South Africa and Bulgaria, while others required me to prepare food in my kitchen in Doha, pack it in large containers and drive to a hospital to share with friends I've made less than a year ago.

As an empty-nester, my life is sprouting new roots and shoots and nourishing the ideas that I had put on hold while I was raising my family of a son and a daughter. As an empty-nester, my home has filled up with ideas that were once lying dormant, wrapped up under layers of excuses.  They are now free to walk in the nude in any part of the house at any time without raising grunts of disapproval or ridicule or disbelief or lack of confidence. They're blossoming now. Some are higgledy-piggledy while others are thriving with a life force of their own. Life is being lived with gusto and pauses as the heart pleases.

Departing from a grid of routine or a matrix of people/situations/habits/compulsions can be challenging at first. But hang in there. Trust me.

The song that lies in between the lines of lyrics, in the space between the end of one note and the beginning of the next, will reveal itself to you if you let it.

Four decades of life lived, perhaps a couple more to go, I find myself needing less of everything. Perhaps, it's the blessings I'm thankful for: the blessings of having enough.

Perhaps, it's the age.

Perhaps, it's time spent on travelling within.

Perhaps, the Universe has presented kindred spirits in my circle because I'm ready now.

More and more, I feel, less and less is needed.

Less of talk, more of action.
Less of sharing my words, more of listening to others.
Less of accumulating, more of enjoying what I already have.
Less of planning for the future, more of loving the living of the now...this moment...right here...this exact one...this one ...when my fingers are touching the keys of my laptop and words from my heart are pouring out on the screen...this exact moment...it's here now...gone now...

And that is all.

Lesser, fewer distractions.

More and more of birdsong, poetry, hand holding, kisses, hugs, shared jokes, tears rolling down cheeks with gratitude and/or laughter.

Hence, this today: my first haiku: a form that uses the bare minimum of syllables to capture a moment in time.

Love

Arti

***************

Wishing you all joy and good health

jokes that tickle 

daal, chawal and pickle

to make your weekend restful, happy and spicy.

Thank you for being here today and for reading this post.

photo was clicked in Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden, Cape Town in June 2019