Z is for Zikr #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the last post 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."

Today, we wrap up with a reminder.

I hope you'll enjoy being here.

Thank you.

Arti

There's a Peanuts cartoon that shows Snoopy and Charlie Brown from behind, sitting on a jetty beside a lake, having the following conversation:

"Someday, we will all die Snoopy!"

"True, but on all the other days, we will not."

The above extract is from  The Book of Ichigo Ichie.

The authors go on to say:

And "all the other days" are made up of encounters and moments that we either allow to slip away or make unforgettable.

According to Wikipedia, Zikr (Urdu) is the same as Arabic Dhikr. Zikr literally means "remembrance, reminder" or "mention, utterance". They are Islamic devotional acts, in which phrases or prayers are repeated.

What better way to complete a series inspired by Ichiego Ichie than to remember this April of bonhomie we managed to nurture despite the world crises; to mention all those whose paths crossed with mine, to utter words of encouragement and gratitude to those who visited and commented, and above all to remind ourselves that we are all one.*

I once heard a wise person say: the air that you think divides us actually holds us all together as one big family. In a dark and twisted way, Covid-19 has proven without a doubt that we are all one race--the human race. We are all in it together. We all suffer the same. And yet, we refuse to accept this simple truth.

That which binds us also divides us. It has many names, many theories. Some doubt its existence and some are ready to die to prove their interpretation is better than the rest. Some call him God while others see her as the vast Universe. 

Whenever I lean into my kind of belief system: poetry, nature, music and books, I find that all of us are, after all, seeking the same. 

We are all sitting with Snoopy and Charlie Brown on that pier. 

So, let us live and let live. Let us indulge in Zikr and recite any name, sing any song, dance any which way because in the end we are pigments of carbon housing a light that can light us up as brightly as the sun, if we have eyes that see and hearts that are willing to be open and welcoming.

"Sufis believe you must empty yourself of all egocentric tendencies before you can experience the divine. Only once the flute is hollow, can it produce music. The story Rumi tells is of a reed separated from the reed-bed so that it can be formed into a flute. The reed flute bemoans his separation, and cries out."  

says the author of this post: Drunk in Zikr (worshipping through the arts)

I urge you to stop and listen to Rumi's Ney Name before you read on.

How do you feel? Hollow? Full? At peace? Not quite?

No worries, let the hills of Khasi in Eastern India bathe you with their story water for a few moments. You will see that despite different centuries and different continents, the flute and the duitara sing the same song. 

If you want to stay on for a bit, you can click on: Mawphlang: of sacred groves

I'll repeat and repeat and like the Sufis get drunk on this zikr--we are one. We are one. We are one.

But, we have to pay attention. We have to pay attention to each other. 

It's not my intention to preach. Please forgive me if in my excitement I become entangled in the yarn of repetition. 

Those of you who heard the poem, Yesterday is not alive I posted yesterday, know how I feel about phone screens. The Hindi word I used in the poem is called virah which means a longing. My longing for my husband's attention may sound petty and needy but if we are all carrying the Divine light in us, then doesn't paying attention to each other amount to paying attention to the Divine? 

This short film is called Virah. The producer of the film is Raman Iyer, an amazing story teller and mandolin player who has been telling a story every night for the past 387 days on Instagram under 'Midnight Musings with the Mandolin'. 

Zikr can be done in any form. 

I choose to remember the kindness, generosity, knowledge, beauty and love I have felt in this place, in this space with you all this month. I choose to be in Snoopy's camp and live, live, live my moments of breath so fully and fabulously that when the time comes to draw my last, I can say--I lived.

I hope to see you all soon. We shall reflect more fully in May.

Till then, take good care of yourselves and each other. Wishing you all a wonderful, peaceful, restful weekend with my favourite Ramdas's words, "We are all walking each other home." 

*I hope to thank everyone properly in my reflection post in May.

***** 

Last year, I wrote about the Light in Zarraa, Zarraa

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

X is for X #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the last 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."

Today, we look at a section of the book titled: 'The Cracked Pots."

I hope you'll enjoy being here.

Thank you.

Arti

In The Book of Ichigo Ichie, I came across an old Indian parable that I've heard before.

This illustration of 'A Water Carrier or Bhestie', however, 

is borrowed from www.oldindianarts.in

to help me with the retelling.

According to the parable, a water bearer carried two large pots of water to his master's house every day. One pot was perfect while the other had several cracks. As a result, the amount of water delivered by each pot was unequal. 

The cracked pot was ashamed of its inadequacy and one day decided to speak to the water bearer: 'I'm ashamed of myself. I want to apologise to you. Because of my cracks you can deliver only half my load and get paid only half the money.'

The water bearer smiled and told the pot to notice the path carefully on their way back. The pot noticed many beautiful flowers all along the path. 

"Have you noticed the flowers grow only on your side of the road?" the water bearer pointed out. "I've always known you are cracked...I planted seeds along the route we take, and you have watered them each day without noticing...If you weren't the way you are, with all your cracks, I would still be walking through a desert."

*****

As usual, I picked up the hefty Concise Oxford English dictionary today to look for  a word I'd be able to use in the title. I wanted something that would fit with the thought I had for today's post. 

I find rifling through pages of a dictionary yields more than searching online. A flick of a page and you're burrowing in different galaxies with all the back information on how that word came to be. Nothing can replicate the lost and found feeling of holding and reading a physical dictionary.

Occupying mere two pages of this heavy edition, X looked sparse. Then it didn't.

I had hoped to find something that would fit the idea of exclusion; a word that describes something being discarded because it's not perfect. I didn't find anything.

I was about to turn to E (for ex instead of  x) when this caught my eye and I smiled. I 'd found my X. 

Lying next to each other were these two (among other) uses of a cross-shaped written symbol

¬ to indicate an incorrect answer. ¬to symbolize a kiss 

Entries starting with the 24th letter of the alphabet occupy the least amount of space in the dictionary, but X turned out to be quite extraordinary on its own. Don't you agree? 

As a photography enthusiast, I often find that the pictures I make don't match the image in my head. Nine out of ten times, it's due to my limited technical knowhow. I don't like to read manuals. Doing is the way I learn. It's not the most efficient method but it suits me. Trial and error, they call it.

A lot of the times, a lot of my clicks have to be discarded. But, sometimes, the out of focus, blurry images like the cracked pot, turn out to be more beautiful than the perfect ones.

What do you think? 

So, next time, before you mark a mistake with an X, think about the water bearer's seeds and the kiss that lies right next to it on a page in an old, loved dictionary.

Trust your creative process. Be kind. The electric bulb lit up after many wrong turns. Turn your deserts into gardens with love, grace and forgiveness.

Is there an X you'd like to share?

Has an out of focus picture, a discarded project, an unloved piece of art made you jump with joy because in its incomplete, imperfect state it illuminated your stories and myriad mysteries more perfectly?

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

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

U is for Unequal, Unique you #AtoZChallenge

 Dear Readers,

Welcome to the fourth 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. 

I hope you'll enjoy being here.

Thank you.

Arti

*****

Another Zen Lesson for an Ichigo Ichie Life listed in the The Book of Ichigo Ichie is:

Be your own friend: Rather than comparing yourself to others and worrying about what other people think, assume that you are unique in the world.

As the celloist Pau (Pablo) Casals said in a poem written for children: 

You are a miracle, and there has never been--

nor will there ever be--anyone like you.

It was the first time I'd seen her in my garden. She had enticed me with her rainbow wings in gardens, ponds and fields of my childhood. But, to see her perched on a hibiscus bud: still and contemplating, one day in May last year transported me back to the days when I was convinced I belonged to another planet.

When life raises roadblocks, the mind looks for escapes to cope with the day to day.

I was in grade six. My mother was going through a particularly dark and unsettling period. There was no peace at home. 

At some point in our lives, I reckon, we've all wondered if we were adopted by our families. I'm no exception. Except, my fertile imagination turned me into a long lost princess from another planet who was dropped (by accident) in Dehradun as a baby. My Earth parents found me and raised me. For a few years, I was convinced that I was waiting for the day when my people would find me and zoom me away to my real home.

On days when things were particularly bad at home, I'd day dream about a UFO landing in our school hockey field, where poinsettia trees bloomed red at Christmas, and whisk me away.

Strangely, I always had long flowing hair in those Sci-fi  day dream sequences.

Then, in the middle of the school year, we watched Escape to Witch Mountain, a Walt Disney film, and I was convinced I was another one of the orphan kids who had to find an escape from this cruel world. (The film is about two children from another world who must reach the mountain where their spaceship will hover for a while to take them back to their home planet.)

Her wings, that day in May, took me back to the hockey field, back to the scene when a UFO lands and a disembodied voice booms over my aghast class-mates and says: "We are so sorry Princess, it took us so long!"

According to Wikipedia, A dragonfly is an insect belonging to the order Odanata, infraorder Aniospetra (from Greek anisos "unequal" and pteron, "wing") because the hindwing is broader than the forewing.

She sat still. She posed. Like a ballerina, she held her poses while I adjusted my camera settings.

"Mere ghar aayee ek nanhi pari..." ( A tittle fairy has come home) I hummed lines of a Hindi song after I had finished clicking and she continued to sit on the unopened, red hibiscus bud.

While looking for information on dragonflies, I came across https://animalsake.com. Their page on 'what do dragonflies symbolise' fascinated me. The following findings are from this website.

"In Native American legends, the dragonfly is a symbol of resurrection, and renewal after hardship." 

"In the Japanese culture, the dragonfly was honoured as a symbol of joy and new light, and also strength, courage, and good luck. "

"...if you observe a dragonfly, you’ll find it delightful to watch it fly in every possible direction, and also backwards. It has a very short time to live its adult life, but it seems as if it lives its life with no regrets. It inspires us to make use of every single moment we have, and live as if there’s no tomorrow!"

Do you have a dragonfly legend/memory/story to share?

Did you escape into make believe when you were growing up?

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

Here we are at the end of week four of the A to Z, only five more letters to go. We did it. Yay!

All of us got together this month (thanks to the efforts of the A to Z challenge organisers) to participate in our own unique and unequal ways at an unparalleled time in modern memory to create a unison of reading, writing, commenting, learning, encouraging, laughing, questioning and presenting a post every day despite all the challenges/disruptions and roadblocks in our day to days.

I think we all deserve a big Hurrah! and a pat on our backs for this. Don't you?

Wishing you all a restful, healthy and peaceful  Sunday. See you on Monday with a visual  and tasty treat:)

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

R is for Rainbows on Table Mountain #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the fourth 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. 

I hope you'll enjoy being here.

Thank you.

Arti

*****

The last two days have been hard to sit and write and post and participate because of the dark and dismal news of Covid deaths and distress coming from India. There's been a deluge of  outpourings of grief and bewilderment. As if that wasn't enough, news of the fire on the slopes of Table Mountain erupted on the screen while the husband was watching cricket on Sunday.

Should I post? Should I carry on? Questions pop up.

The answer sits in front of me, spread out on my keyboard, waiting behind the sleeping screen. I see my own reflection in it as I sit and stare. Then the practice takes over. Fingers click and the screen flickers to life. I start typing and pour out my feelings. 

This  is the only anchor that's tethering me to my peace. Otherwise, I'd be fretting over things I can do nothing about. 

Like last year, the discipline of A to Z is helping me to carve out a routine that makes the sun and the moon and the stars rise and set in skies above me and in their rhythm, I see hope.

 

"If you cry because the sun has gone out of your life, 

your tears will prevent you from seeing the stars."

Rabindranath Tagore's words guide me towards this post.

I look at the draft I'd prepared a few days ago, and decide to post. 

"Beauty is simply reality seen with the eyes of love."

Without further ado, let's be led by Tagore's words and see the beauty of Table Mountain as we saw it in June 2019.

*****

Visiting Table Mountain is on everyone's agenda when they travel to Cape Town for the first time. I'd hoped for it too. The husband had travelled  to Cape Town for work a couple of times before and every time, weather gods had decreed that he would not get to the top of Table Mountain.

If you read the C post: A Cypriot honeymoon and other coastal curiosities, you may recall that our first day of holiday in Cape Town was a washout.  I hadn't put my hopes up. I was going to enjoy each day as it unfolded and that was that.

So, When the concierge at the hotel informed us after breakfast on Day 2 that a window of blue skies had opened up to let let in visitors to the Mountain, I was ecstatic.

But first, a roadblock.

There were two rainbows 

but the camera captured only one.

"The more one lives alone on the river or in the open country, the clearer it becomes that nothing is more beautiful or great than to perform the ordinary duties of one's daily life simply and naturally." Rabindranath Tagore

Listen and you will hear...

Clouds appeared out of nowhere. 

Within minutes, sky canvas drew dramatic art pieces one after another...

Yellow Margaret

sways atop Table Mountain

so clouds will bring rain

(a Haiku to highlight the water shortage in Cape Town)

The sky was blue within the hour.

For visitors like us, it was great.

But for the city, the clouds and the rain they bring would've been better.

"Let us not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless when facing them."

-Rabindranath Tagore

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

 

All the quotes above have come from this link: Rabindranath Tagore

O is for O! Cloudsmen #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the third 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. 

I hope you'll enjoy being here.

Thank you.

Arti

*****

Sharing one of the Rules of Ichigo Ichie stated in the epilogue today:

"Make every gathering a party.

Don't wait for the right circumstances--a vacation, a trip, a birthday-- to experience extraordinary things. 

With the right frame of mind, every day can be a celebration."

Quote borrowed from The Book of Ichigo Ichie           

Walks, long walks, long morning walks are my refuge. If I were to pick a physical representation of Ichigo Ichie from my life, I'd pick morning walks: solo, silent and serene.

It's no surprise then that most of my poems, writing ideas take seed when I'm immersed in the walk. The walks start the same way--noticing trees, cars, buildings, the path and the sky as they pass me by. I carry on--one foot, then another on a path I'm so familiar with that I often find myself getting lost. In the familiar and the ordinary, lives a world that takes hold of me and my thoughts. I dissolve. So that when at the end of the walk,  I turn the key to start my car, a smile grows inside and outside. I'm born again.

(note: I have to drive to a park to walk. Yes, I get the irony.)

H.G. Wells' words: "Once you lose yourself, you have two choices: find the person you used to be, or lose that person completely." put it more eloquently than I can ever manage.

Imagine losing the old self often, and discovering a new you everyday! The rooster in the film Peter Rabbit comes to mind. Imagine the wonder!

The poem I'm sharing today is an ode to The Torch, a 300 metre tall tower that is a five star hotel. I see the Torch every day on my walks.

Rainfall is rare in Doha. So, when clouds gather in our skies, we write poetry, sing songs and pray for rain. You'll find Instagram posts in Doha carry only cloudscapes when Cirrus, Cumulus or Nimbus come by.

O! Cloudsmen

O! Cloudsmen,

tell me where all you've been.

Show me sights you've seen:

lakes, rivers, puddles, meadows,

mountains, cities, gardens, ghettos.

"Rain your songs on me.

Shower me with your stories",  says

the Torch to the flock of clouds who pass him by

in Doha sky.

Says he,

"Encased in my garment of steel, I stand 

grounded and tall, occupying

space like trees, butterflies, humans and all.

Clouds, you dance.

I glow.

You travel.

I don't.

Yet, you and I are tenants of the same cosmos, tethered

to each other with stories, of course.

Tell me more.

Tell me another,

O! Vapour like brother. 

Help me fly 

with your chatter.

Although, I'm happy 

in my state of matter: solidity suits me,

but every once in a while,

your flocks' fluttery flight 

intrigues me.

So, I ask you this favour:

stories you've witnessed,

let me also savour.

And when you fly 

to your next sky,

tell the ones who are keen

that in Doha you'd once seen

a Torch who wore

an armour of steel, but housed

a poet's heart

to feel.

*****

Note:I read Namratha's poem, The world whispers - whisper back recently and was inspired to try out line breaks after the verb in this poem. 

Does it work?

Honest feedback will be handled well here. This blog belongs to a girl who's grown up;)

Are you fond of walks?

When do you feel most inspired to write?

Do you have a favourite activity to go to for inspiration or when you feel stuck?

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

As we close another week of the A to Z,

I can sense fatigue.

Noticed a bevy of typos and spelling mistakes 

in my post from yesterday!

Apologies, I say.

 

Wishing you a restful Sunday.

See you with P

on Monday.

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

Dubrovnik: A bird's-eye view

Dear Readers,

I hope you're all well and healthy.

Re-sharing an old post today.

A friend shared some photos of her trip to Croatia recently on her Instagram account. Her clicks put me in mind of the time we'd marvelled at Croatia's cerulean skies in 2017.

Here it is then--an old post with travel pictures.

The poetry in the end that I wrote three years ago put a smile on my face today:) It seems like the 2017 me knew I'd need to read these words today. This is time travel in a blogger's world. I sat down  with an agenda for the day: a tad worrisome: mired in a to-do list of sorts; but after reading the post, all I can do is smile. The birds in the garden who have been singing all morning are sounding clear and chirpy now. The fog has lifted. 

Wishing you all a sparkling day wherever you are.

Much love

Arti xx

My morning routine has adapted itself to the hot summer of Doha and the holy month of Ramadan. I don't have to drop my son off to school first thing in the morning, so I find myself in my garden at six: watering, pruning and clicking pictures (when I remember to bring the phone with me). By nine am, the mercury is shooting to reach above 44 degrees, so I cherish this short window of time in the morning when the grass feels cool.

Gardening duties over, I make  my way back to the kitchen. En route, I pinch a few tulsi leaves to boil with fennel seeds and grated ginger to prepare my chai. The husband is packed off with his sandwiches and the son is yet to wake up. I am left with the gift of twenty minutes--too short to sit and mediate or practise yoga or run a wash cycle, but long enough to meet my feathered friends. I cradle my garam, garam chai in my hands and go back out to sit under the fragrant blooms of frangipani and the shade of the mulberry leaves to have tea with the birds.

A mishmash of house sparrows, Spanish sparrows, mynahs, doves and even the odd bulbul play their orchestra of notes while hopping from a branch here, to a leaf there, then to the moist ground to pick juicy breakfast. I've often thought of buying some seeds, but the birds seem content with berries and worms. Sipping tea, while squatting on the grass, trying to be invisible so that I can be part of their world for just under twenty minutes or so is the most special part of my day.

The birds gather here everyday like it's the first day. Their songs herald every day with the same magic, no matter the news, the changing temperature or the moon cycles. I sit and look at them and sometimes my heart flies around with them--free and fabulous.

It's been over a month since I've  blogged. I've been busy doing nothing--yes, that's the best kind of busy. Cleaning, cooking, reading, yoga and walks in Aspire Park have kept me occupied. I've been in a questioning mood (more about it in a later post--maybe:)

Today, after a long while, I feel like I'd like to write and share again. Birds sing, hoot, squawk and squeak.  They hop, skitter, skip and then fly off. I sit and watch and wonder what they make of what they see. So intent are they on their business of being, that they don't seem to have the need to question anything. No purpose needed other than the joy of living. Oh! how blessed are these feathered friends who have no mind to calm, no hearts to open, no chakras to align, no breath to focus on--they know how to be.

Bird's-eye view -- a term used for when you look at something from above--physically removed, detached, like an observer. Maybe that's the secret of the birds' lightness--they observe from a distance, they don't mire themselves in situations and reactions. Maybe one doesn't have to fly to detach, maybe one can sit and close ones eyes and let go. Maybe. Let's see. It's early days, but the journey to be has begun. 

*****

April, this year, saw us exploring Croatia and one of my favourite walks was: walking the walls of Dubrovnik. I urge you to do it if you're able to. The views were stunning, of course, but the peace and quiet up here (at least when we were there) takes you back in time and space. You can be a bird, an ancient warrior fending your kingdom, a princess or a washerwoman waiting for her lover, or a mother carrying a camera:) Up here, your imagination and your eyes will keep you occupied for hours 

All these photos were taken from top of the walls that surround the Old City. 

Dubrovnik: A bird's-eye view

One never knows when ones seams  may come undone;)

And here's a view that's been painted by many artists:

Back down in the old city, who should I see? 

A bunch of birds--colourful, but not free.

Summer heat and political news makes me want to read poems like this one by Emily Dickinson:

Photo courtesy: Google Images.

This is my hope for you dear readers, and in this hope lies a prayer that I send out for me.
Have you noticed how the words our hearts seek
 are the ones our fingers type so our eyes may peek?


I wish you a summer such as this.

May you smell the flowers 
and always caress the grass

May books be read under trees 
laden with summer fruit or leaves fluttering in balmy breeze

May much-too-juicy mangoes quench your thirst for childhoods gone
and may those fleshy cherries make you cherish the lands to which you now belong

May lemonade infused with mint and thyme
fill you up with still and sparkling bubbles of tender travelled time

May jamuns and black berries colour you in their darkness so deep
that you may frolic in merry mischief of those once-upon-a-time afternoons 
when you hoodwinked sleep

May cold and creamy kulfi held with both hands on sticks
melt more rapidly than your greedy, clumsy licks.

May white kurtas and cream dupattas bear stains plenty
of tumbles and first kisses when lovers had wished for public parks to be empty

May ice-cream carts ring in all your summers from before
through gates and gullies and welcoming open doors
of orange bars and shared bites
and bursting into neighbours' houses to claim reclaimed kites

May you sing with birds and fly with them too
May you remember to wear sunscreen, shades, hat 
and let not your smile go askew

But, whenever you step out
remember:

May you be you this summer
May you always be you

May you always be you: 
the sum total of memories, dreams and dew
Enjoying every now and then --
your own personal bird's-eye view

*****