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Back Porch Musings

It was only last week that I thought, my life was like a stagnant water pond. Just collecting algae – that my thoughts were like dead fish that even the birds would not touch … and talking about birds, I would say that they migrated to other lands and forgot the return home passage.

I felt alone and lonely for no apparent reason.

Then I hurt my ankle and my world became even more lackluster. A limping gait is not a very pleasing sight. This also bites a big chunk of one’s confidence and self esteem. A will to communicate dies. Going through Rumi thoughts didn’t help either. Reading friends old mail sent me on a guilt trip. I hadn’t replied many of those … old messages tasted stale, and what not !

Kia cheiz zindgi sai minha ho gai hai? I kept asking myself.

Reading this some might say I am a drama queen.

A couple of days ago, I hurt my ankle and now I hop around the house or just sit and mope. My night time walk is canceled and my twenty minute meditation routine is on hold and I have noticed that I have started giving a lot of my time to my desk top computer and when I am in bed, I open my tablet and start surfing or visiting. I hope I don’t make it a habit. Though I have been hinted at many times that it has already happened. I used to read and enjoy it so much but now poor kindle is buried somewhere under the clutter on my desk, holding a total of 18 electronic books I so lovingly ordered from Amazon. I have read some but most are still waiting. I was also working on a collection of my afsanai, that were published in different literary magazines over time. That too has been pushed on the back burner. Irshad sahib is not happy because I was supposed to send the promised essay … yesterday!

I am restless too. Sad? No I don’t think I am. A little ‘knotted’ – may be , but certainly not sad. For a moment I thought about ‘bewildered’ but I am not sure it applies. I am certain about one thing though. I am an ordinary person who appreciates ordinary people who talk straight, act straight and are honest in their everyday dealings. You can call me a boring person if you like. Also, honest does not always mean being honest in dealing with money. It also means being honest with yourself. Honest with others. You didn’t like something I did or said then coming forward and telling me. If it needs explaining, I will explain it. If it hurt you, I will apologize to you. But you have to step forward and say it, air it and not just keep it shut in your rib cage. If it is personal and you do not want to share it, then don’t but don’t advertise it on your mug. Just keep it to yourself !. Only, I do not like to see a scowl on your face and keep wondering.

So this is about some one? I do not know. Really , I cannot say.

Today again I started going through Deosai page and just kept going, mesmerized … watching, looking, appreciating and reading comments left by all those people who visited that place and are yearning to go back again. Deosai plains, Sheosar lake, kalapani, Barra pani, the snow clad mountains and green meadows. Wild flowers and wild life … a real wonderland. Looking at all those places reminded me my time in Skardu and all those friends who made that time memorable. With my seven month old first born in my arms, I would go from room to room, and tell him stories about what ever was there in the room – wood for burning – why we have a roomful of it. Abdullah our house keeper sitting near the fire pit cooking bread, busy and happy with a crinkled face and that serene smile when we came in the kitchen. His baby talk to my son. Some days when it was not snowing, we would, bundle up and go outside, spread a blanket under the lone apple tree and watch people slipping on the snow and laugh wildly. My baby wouldn’t know what was going on but he would look at me with those lovely baby eyes and laugh with me any ways. Some days the people living next to our house would bring kashmiri chai in a kettle and some kind of savory dumplings and order this ‘little’ mother with her baby son to get inside immediately before the cold gets to the bones to make the two of us sick. And once in the room she would stoke the fire in the ‘ bukhari ‘ call out to Abdullah to bring the cups and make me drink a hot cup of kashmiri chai. Old man Abdullah too would join us. Kashmiri chai, any time!

Last night I saw and read about nomads and their life, too. They do not belong to anywhere – or any land. Always on the move. I liked what I saw and read about them and wondered how I would love to join them. … go with them where ever they go. Could I still join them? tell them that I was left behind or got lost and could not find my way and now I was here and wanted them to take me with them. It would be tough but I know I would get used to it.

Do you think they would believe me ?

And I want to say to the one moping around … dragging his feet, that if life is tough, then face it like a man. Life is not always a joy ride or a smooth sailing. Come, I will wipe your tears and promise to be there for you, always. Believe me when I say that to you, my innocent, pure and uncut diamond that came one morning and went straight to my heart.

Sometimes there is no gender bias in love. It is just … love. Pure, sparkling, untouched love.

So do I feel any better now?

Maybe yes, maybe not.

My ankle still hurts !


( Note : this is from last year)

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