A STATE OF MIND.

As I look for happiness, it eludes me, like a game of hide and seek,
One moment I catch it and then that moment is gone forever.

I look at an infant who gurgles at me,
Looks constantly without blinking an eye,
It fills me with a radiance because he liked me,
With all my blemishes, warts and colour.

That moment of happiness remains in my heart as a memory,
Although that moment has gone forever.

I sit and wait for happiness to come to me,
But it evades me like my shadow as evening approaches.
Can I  be happy by myself?
Alone, forlorn, waiting for happiness to strike?

Then comes the Eureka moment when I realise,
I am that unaware musk deer,
It is my own radiance which spreads to the rainbow,
It is my own fragrance which reaches the moon,
It is the joy that I myself spread,
Which gets reflected in the eyes of that little child.

Where was I seeking happiness, looking for it?
It was all along lying within me,
I am the source of my own happiness,
The more I spread it the more I beget it.
Happiness is after all only a state of my mind.

CLUTTER

As I was cleaning out a cup board which has the curious habit of getting untidy faster than the time it takes for me to tidy it up, a multitude of thoughts went through my mind.
From where did all this clutter come up? In all these years of living all that I have accumulated is clutter?
Clutter here, clutter there and clutter, clutter everywhere!
How do I get rid of it?

My mind says throw some away, give some away, just go on with the distribution.
As now all that I need is some time and also some peace of mind,
I need to be able to rest and look at empty space.

Old clothes are just like memories stored away.
My precious sarees, my  children's uniforms with scribbles of their friends which were once such treasures lie in an almirah, which I fondly attend to. Every once in a while I take out all the clothes, sun them out and fold them back. Put some naphthalene balls, wrap them carefully so that moths stay away.

Life I feel now is all about saving memories.
Refreshing , sunning and putting them back again.

What do I do with the clutter? I do not have the heart to give them away.
What do I do?
Tell me pray!

MACABRE MUSINGS

The funeral pyre is getting ready to be lit,
The smoke engulfs, ashes get strewn,
Spectators look, jostle, pay respects and move on,
They look for shade, a place without the smoke, and wait.

As the pyre is lit and the person who now has no identity,
"Body", that is how the person is now talked about,
Is being burnt with firewood, ghee, sandalwood,
Mantras, rites and rituals.

What did the man stand for,
What was his contribution,
What was his fame and what was his name?
So many years of living is now up in flames.

The family congregates,
They talk in muffled whispers,
If you hear carefully,
The talk is inane.

The story of the man will remain,
His picture will adorn a wall,
People will move on,
Life will go on,


It seems like just another death, another funeral, another ritual,
It culminates in just another tea and biscuit session.