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

*****

W is for Wells #AtoZChallenge

WELCOME to Wells, Somerset.

It's the smallest city in England.

Wells Cathedral is the reason that this tiny medieval city is called a city.

Every inch and nook of the city is picture perfect.

So, it was hard for me to choose just a few pictures to post today. 
I tried. But, I didn't succeed. 

We stayed in Wells for a few days last August.

Let the tour begin.

Let the pictures do the talking (with a few words for company)

Wells High street: so quaint and small that by the time you've said high, it's over.

Wells Cathedral: Gothic and poetic

Ha! Do you see a W or two?

Spotted in August'17 in Wells. 

Who would've thought they'd appear in a W post in April 2018?

Such treasures come by when we keep our eyes open to see. Right?

We picked a couple to munch on. They were delicious: crisp, slightly tangy and very juicy.

The Vicars' Close

This extract has been taken from somerset-life.co.uk:

"Adjoining the Cathedral is Vicars’ Close, believed to be the only complete medieval street left in England. The houses were built in the 14th century to provide accommodation for the Vicars Choral, who sing the daily services, and this is still the case today."

The Bishop's Palace
somerset-life.co.uk tells us that its...
"Home to the Bishops of Bath and Wells for over 800 years, the palace is surrounded by a moat, complete with resident swans trained to ring a bell for food." 
We were exploring the caves in Cheddar gorge that morning, so by the time we got back to Wells, the palace was shut, but we managed to walk in its beautiful grounds.

We didn't see any swans. Perhaps they'd eaten and gone to bed by the time we arrived.

The Sew Vintage shot that featured in V Post was taken in Wells, Somerset.
*****
Well, that's it folks. 
Expecting to see you here tomorrow. 
Where are you planning to be this weekend? Any place special?

M is for Mawphlang: of sacred groves, monoliths and promises. #AtoZChallenge

My apologies in advance for sharing an older post (written in November of 2017)in this challenge today.

My weekend has brought with it some unexpected plans which means that the time I'd assigned for writing the M post has been reduced to just ten minutes or so.

So, instead of marking an absence, I thought I'd continue with Meghalaya and share some more magic with you:)

Here goes...

But before you enter the sacred grove,

Take off the cloak, the mask, the camouflage.
Bring in the real you--
bare and brilliant
single and sufficient
older than time
younger than the last breath
timeless
formless
no body
no mind
no iffs
no buts
no good
no bad
no likes
no dislikes
no memories
no plans
no past
no future
no family
no friends
no ties
no loose ends
no laughter
no sadness
no highs
no lows
still
calm
eternal

a drop in the ocean
an ocean within a drop

Like a ripple seeking its shore

Come ...

meet your shore

He's been waiting for you all his life too.

More than four weeks ago, I found myself in this sacred grove: 

an old and protected forest in the East Khasi Hills district of Meghalaya, 

standing guard to the village of Mawphlang--

maw means stone, maw phlang: grassy stone.

A village, like many in this region, named after monoliths.

"Our Ancestors promised the Guarding Spirits of this land that we'd never build any houses near this forest, that we'd never take anything from the forest, that this piece of land is for the Spirits to roam and live. This is the promise our Elders made and we keep."

Basha, our guide, our soft spoken Khasi guide tells us.  

"This is where everything is prepared for the coronation.

Only the King and the Elders go on to the coronation from here.

The rest of the people wait here.

If the Elders forget to take anything they need for the coronation, they can not come back to fetch it. This is the place they must prepare before they carry on."

Basha continues.

I feel like I've stepped into the world of the Round Table and any minute now, King Arthur will appear.

This is where the coronation takes plays, says Basha, our guide with soulful eyes.

He speaks so softly, I have to still my thoughts to hear his words.

His pools of honey eyes gaze upon the trees, the moss, the mushrooms, the branches and the stones

like this is the first time he's stepped inside this scared place.

Listen...

The lime tree with his regal spikes

And its fruit that the birds ate...

Basha seems to know every inch of this almost 80 hectares of forest --
a sacred place: you take NOTHING from this forest
and even when you enter, you enter with good intentions.
No trees are cut, no branches felled, no fruit is picked, nothing is taken
but somehow the forest gives and gives.

There's a presence in this grove:
Ancient and Wise--
like a portal,
He beckons you
to step into the forest
and leave the jungle behind,
move towards a stillness
and cast the mad rush aside.

Basha, like many Khasi youth, is always there to show you around the Sacred Grove.
This symbiosis of man and earth:
of promises made and kept--
protected trees
 and sacred souls--
makes me wonder
why the rest of the us can't be more like the people of Mawphlang?

Step into this reminder of what we were really meant to be,
and how far away we have wandered.
Are we lost?
Is it time to head home?
Let's take the first step.
To be home.
To be.
Have a beautiful weekend.