Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Seven Hundred Shades of Brown
M looked at herself in the mirror. All she saw was her dark skin. She did not see the enormous eyes and winged eyebrows. She wanted to be fair like the others in the family---"Why am I so dark?" she agonized looking at her darkness thrown up in relief by the light blue cotton dress. She tore at the sleeve in a rage and then froze thinking of the explanations she would have to offer. Anger welled up in the small chest and she planted a few punches on the window grill, her mouth open in a silent scream.
Everyone remarked on the color of her skin--- just everyone! Even the house helps: "What a pity this one is dark," they clucked in sympathy, chucking her under her chin. "How are we going to find you a husband , little one?" they would ask as she tagged along behind them for want of company.
She was the youngest, and she was dreadfully lonely.
Her nieces and nephews were almost her age. They were all very light skinned---M saw only that. Oh the unfairness of it all! Once her niece tripped up to her in a black dress with butterflies printed on it. M loved that dress! "What a lovely dress,P!" she said feeling the silky texture with her fingers, "Where did you buy it?"
"My father's present when he came back from his tour!" sang P skipping around M. "Do you want to borrow it?"
M was in heaven. "Can I ? " she asked thrilled. "Of course!" said P and promptly peeled off the dress standing there in her slip. M ran behind the mango tree and tried on the butterfly dress.
"How does it look on me P?" she asked excitedly. P burst into peals of laughter and ran around her pointing her finger at M.
"Look at M! Look at M!" she said loudly in her high pitched voice. People came out of the house and were aghast at what they saw: M standing there wearing P's dress, all askew, and P hysterically dancing around her.
"She wanted to wear my dress! Look how it looks against her dark skin! She looks like the maid's daughter!!" P's cheeks were flushed pink and she ran up to M and stood with her rosy cheeks against M's nut brown one. "Don't I look better than her?"she asked with the cruel vanity of a child.
M's eyes filled with tears,"I hate you!" she hurled at P and pushing her down, ran sobbing inside tugging and tearing at the dress.
What a fuss they made over P!! "Why did you allow M to take your nice new dress?"
"Against her dark skin, why she looked clownish!"
"Come, let me wash you and get you another dress to wear."
M sat huddled under the cot in her room and sobbed miserably. Her mother came looking for her. "M! where are you, child?" she heard the tiny sob come from under the cot. she bent down and saw the little form all bunched up, sobbing her heart out,wearing that dress with the butterfly print.."Come my little one," her mother said gathering her in her arms, "It will all pass. Everything will be alright."
"Never! " said M choking on her words "No one will ever love me because I am so dark!"
"Hush" said mother "that is nonsense. You will know that in time"
But M , looking past her mother 's shoulder with teary eyes, saw nothing but shame and sadness.
"No one will ever love me!" she repeated to herself.
In India, I read somewhere, they recognize seven hundred shades of brown ----in skin color.
Everyone remarked on the color of her skin--- just everyone! Even the house helps: "What a pity this one is dark," they clucked in sympathy, chucking her under her chin. "How are we going to find you a husband , little one?" they would ask as she tagged along behind them for want of company.
She was the youngest, and she was dreadfully lonely.
Her nieces and nephews were almost her age. They were all very light skinned---M saw only that. Oh the unfairness of it all! Once her niece tripped up to her in a black dress with butterflies printed on it. M loved that dress! "What a lovely dress,P!" she said feeling the silky texture with her fingers, "Where did you buy it?"
"My father's present when he came back from his tour!" sang P skipping around M. "Do you want to borrow it?"
M was in heaven. "Can I ? " she asked thrilled. "Of course!" said P and promptly peeled off the dress standing there in her slip. M ran behind the mango tree and tried on the butterfly dress.
"How does it look on me P?" she asked excitedly. P burst into peals of laughter and ran around her pointing her finger at M.
"Look at M! Look at M!" she said loudly in her high pitched voice. People came out of the house and were aghast at what they saw: M standing there wearing P's dress, all askew, and P hysterically dancing around her.
"She wanted to wear my dress! Look how it looks against her dark skin! She looks like the maid's daughter!!" P's cheeks were flushed pink and she ran up to M and stood with her rosy cheeks against M's nut brown one. "Don't I look better than her?"she asked with the cruel vanity of a child.
M's eyes filled with tears,"I hate you!" she hurled at P and pushing her down, ran sobbing inside tugging and tearing at the dress.
What a fuss they made over P!! "Why did you allow M to take your nice new dress?"
"Against her dark skin, why she looked clownish!"
"Come, let me wash you and get you another dress to wear."
M sat huddled under the cot in her room and sobbed miserably. Her mother came looking for her. "M! where are you, child?" she heard the tiny sob come from under the cot. she bent down and saw the little form all bunched up, sobbing her heart out,wearing that dress with the butterfly print.."Come my little one," her mother said gathering her in her arms, "It will all pass. Everything will be alright."
"Never! " said M choking on her words "No one will ever love me because I am so dark!"
"Hush" said mother "that is nonsense. You will know that in time"
But M , looking past her mother 's shoulder with teary eyes, saw nothing but shame and sadness.
"No one will ever love me!" she repeated to herself.
In India, I read somewhere, they recognize seven hundred shades of brown ----in skin color.
Monday, April 25, 2011
The Dark Side of the Moon
Pink Floyd first burst upon my senses in the summer of '76, and then there was epiphany.
I got "the Dark Side of the Moon" as gift, and was told by the person who gave it to me, that the music was "cosmic". I thought then, very innocently, that the person was high. I settled down to listen to it only after Dylan and Santana. I settled myself on a pile of throw cushions on the floor of my room---I listened to music, then ,lying down. Believe me, it gives you a different perspective, don't ask me why!
An hour later,I unplugged my earphones and lay gazing at the ceiling "almost catatonic"----as my sister was wont to say. That was how the Pink Floyd affected me: I had never heard anything like it before: Gilmour's glides on the guitar seemed to pluck at strange atavistic emotions, I never thought existed. The power of music. Yes, for me it was palpable and physical. All music affects me this way. I flinch when someone goes off key, sheer physical discomfort.
.
I treasured my albums and one day when my son lay convalescing in the hospital after an asthma attack, he asked for some music to listen to, and I decided to slip in Dark Side of the Moon. What happened is now history. He is a fan for life. Strange how things happen.
And now it seems music recall can , to certain extent , contain the dreadful onslaught of Alzheimer's--- so say the ever increasing information on medical research.
I was jump-started into thinking about all this when I heard the Dark Side of the Moon again last week.
I have always wondered why they named the album so. I had read in Colin Wilson's Outsider that it was a necromantic ritual in China...... but the mystery still remains, and that reverberates through the music. The multi-layered, paradox of life is exquisitely woven into it and the haunting strains keep playing inside your head forever and a day! The Great Gig in the Sky is a wonderful example of pure sound, just as primal and moving as a wolf howling at the moon.The mysterious dark side of that moon, which lights up our night sky and is a standing prop for anything "romantic".
And we hear Roger Waters keening :
"Time is the same in a relative way,but we're older
Shorter of breath, one day closer to death!"
Thank you for creating the music that defined a large part of my emotional landscape!
I got "the Dark Side of the Moon" as gift, and was told by the person who gave it to me, that the music was "cosmic". I thought then, very innocently, that the person was high. I settled down to listen to it only after Dylan and Santana. I settled myself on a pile of throw cushions on the floor of my room---I listened to music, then ,lying down. Believe me, it gives you a different perspective, don't ask me why!
An hour later,I unplugged my earphones and lay gazing at the ceiling "almost catatonic"----as my sister was wont to say. That was how the Pink Floyd affected me: I had never heard anything like it before: Gilmour's glides on the guitar seemed to pluck at strange atavistic emotions, I never thought existed. The power of music. Yes, for me it was palpable and physical. All music affects me this way. I flinch when someone goes off key, sheer physical discomfort.
.
I treasured my albums and one day when my son lay convalescing in the hospital after an asthma attack, he asked for some music to listen to, and I decided to slip in Dark Side of the Moon. What happened is now history. He is a fan for life. Strange how things happen.
And now it seems music recall can , to certain extent , contain the dreadful onslaught of Alzheimer's--- so say the ever increasing information on medical research.
I was jump-started into thinking about all this when I heard the Dark Side of the Moon again last week.
I have always wondered why they named the album so. I had read in Colin Wilson's Outsider that it was a necromantic ritual in China...... but the mystery still remains, and that reverberates through the music. The multi-layered, paradox of life is exquisitely woven into it and the haunting strains keep playing inside your head forever and a day! The Great Gig in the Sky is a wonderful example of pure sound, just as primal and moving as a wolf howling at the moon.The mysterious dark side of that moon, which lights up our night sky and is a standing prop for anything "romantic".
And we hear Roger Waters keening :
"Time is the same in a relative way,but we're older
Shorter of breath, one day closer to death!"
Thank you for creating the music that defined a large part of my emotional landscape!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Voting in Chennai
Last week was election time in Chennai. State elections. I was beside myself because I had just received my ID card from the Election Commission. Of course, it was due a good two years ago.
2009 saw me running to and from the Corporation Office in my part of the city trying to get myself in the electoral rolls.My name till date was in the Mumbai-West electoral rolls and I was strenuously trying to get myself moved to Chennai. My son, who was just back from Leeds, had set himself up all nice and cosy for voting in Mumbai and he did it through Jagore! I tried the same, but was not very successful.
General elections arrived in the summer of 2009 and I had no voter ID no slip from the electoral rolls, nada.I do not concede defeat very easily, an irritating aspect of my personality---almost a bulldog-like doggedness once something plants itself in my brain.So the 2009 elections saw me out there checking the rolls for my name, with my driving licence and passport as IDs. No luck. I came back furious at not being able to exercise my franchise. Another trip to the Corporation office---I must add that the people in that office are extremely helpful and spent a whole lot of time checking out the lists for my name. They told me that the new voters' list ran literally into ten of thousands of new names, and they found it physically impossible to deal with it. They assured me I would have it when the next elections rolled around.
I made polite noises to them but grumbled aside.
Well, they were right and I was wrong. This time around I got it all, but hey! human error still showed its pesky face. My mother who was on the rolls these past two decades, did not receive her ID card, and her name was not there either. Well, anyway I took off from work that day, and decided to get there bright and early just in case I had to stand forever in the queue. I felt almost obnoxiously civic that morning of 13th April, as I went around asking my neighbors if anyone needed a lift to the polling booth. I was there around quarter to eight and the queue was not threatening. Everything went about quietly, smoothly like a well oiled machine. Oh yes, the police were there , holding very lethal looking guns. No, the Election Commission was not going to take any chances. There were separate lines for men and women; there were volunteers who checked our slips and directed us to our booths; chairs were set out for senior citizens who braved the heat and came to vote.
There was such a wonderful cross section of the Indian populace right there in the compound of that small Corporation school, in Thiruvanmiyur, Chennai.Right behind me was this woman from the fishing village who could not read or write, and who wanted to know if she was in the right place; next to her was a young woman talking on a cell phone; with me of course was this very old lady, a neighbor, who refused to sit down saying there wee others who needed that seat more than she did. In the line parallel to mine, where the men stood, there was sudden commotion, and the cause for it was the actor Ajith who again, is my neighbor in 4th Seaward Road. He stood smiling in the blistering heat not heeding the milling press, and his three piece suit ! A pregnant woman was allowed in first; the volunteers were polite. My finger was marked with the notorious indelible ink; I cast my vote pressing the button on an electronic voting machine. and I came out proud to be part of a system that ensured such order, at least where I voted.
This is exactly what we need and want in this country :a fuss free, efficient , corruption free system. Never mind the fact that the school badly needed a paint job; never mind that some of the benches were broken, window panes needed replacement; all's forgiven. We know the difficulty of volumes in this country. Generally everything gets blamed on the teeming millions, but this one time I saw our teeming millions as our strength. They came out in droves to exercise their right, and they did it with dignity and a keen sense of belonging. This is their country, they have had enough of people selling it down the river. They are not fools to be tempted by paper money and such trivia. It is an awakening that I see, a true democratic awakening that is exciting and bodes good for this sovereign democratic republic.
2009 saw me running to and from the Corporation Office in my part of the city trying to get myself in the electoral rolls.My name till date was in the Mumbai-West electoral rolls and I was strenuously trying to get myself moved to Chennai. My son, who was just back from Leeds, had set himself up all nice and cosy for voting in Mumbai and he did it through Jagore! I tried the same, but was not very successful.
General elections arrived in the summer of 2009 and I had no voter ID no slip from the electoral rolls, nada.I do not concede defeat very easily, an irritating aspect of my personality---almost a bulldog-like doggedness once something plants itself in my brain.So the 2009 elections saw me out there checking the rolls for my name, with my driving licence and passport as IDs. No luck. I came back furious at not being able to exercise my franchise. Another trip to the Corporation office---I must add that the people in that office are extremely helpful and spent a whole lot of time checking out the lists for my name. They told me that the new voters' list ran literally into ten of thousands of new names, and they found it physically impossible to deal with it. They assured me I would have it when the next elections rolled around.
I made polite noises to them but grumbled aside.
Well, they were right and I was wrong. This time around I got it all, but hey! human error still showed its pesky face. My mother who was on the rolls these past two decades, did not receive her ID card, and her name was not there either. Well, anyway I took off from work that day, and decided to get there bright and early just in case I had to stand forever in the queue. I felt almost obnoxiously civic that morning of 13th April, as I went around asking my neighbors if anyone needed a lift to the polling booth. I was there around quarter to eight and the queue was not threatening. Everything went about quietly, smoothly like a well oiled machine. Oh yes, the police were there , holding very lethal looking guns. No, the Election Commission was not going to take any chances. There were separate lines for men and women; there were volunteers who checked our slips and directed us to our booths; chairs were set out for senior citizens who braved the heat and came to vote.
There was such a wonderful cross section of the Indian populace right there in the compound of that small Corporation school, in Thiruvanmiyur, Chennai.Right behind me was this woman from the fishing village who could not read or write, and who wanted to know if she was in the right place; next to her was a young woman talking on a cell phone; with me of course was this very old lady, a neighbor, who refused to sit down saying there wee others who needed that seat more than she did. In the line parallel to mine, where the men stood, there was sudden commotion, and the cause for it was the actor Ajith who again, is my neighbor in 4th Seaward Road. He stood smiling in the blistering heat not heeding the milling press, and his three piece suit ! A pregnant woman was allowed in first; the volunteers were polite. My finger was marked with the notorious indelible ink; I cast my vote pressing the button on an electronic voting machine. and I came out proud to be part of a system that ensured such order, at least where I voted.
This is exactly what we need and want in this country :a fuss free, efficient , corruption free system. Never mind the fact that the school badly needed a paint job; never mind that some of the benches were broken, window panes needed replacement; all's forgiven. We know the difficulty of volumes in this country. Generally everything gets blamed on the teeming millions, but this one time I saw our teeming millions as our strength. They came out in droves to exercise their right, and they did it with dignity and a keen sense of belonging. This is their country, they have had enough of people selling it down the river. They are not fools to be tempted by paper money and such trivia. It is an awakening that I see, a true democratic awakening that is exciting and bodes good for this sovereign democratic republic.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Anna and the power of One.
In a sense, independent India came of age last week. I am talking of Anna Hazare's fast unto death spearheading the campaign against corruption. After 90 hours Anna broke his fast,as the government issued a gazette notification to draft an effective Lokpal Bill. The government did not know what it was that hit them. Right there on the eve of the general elections, the vox populi seemed definitely threatening. No way in hell could the present government avoid issuing the notification. They were damned anyway, and wasn't there something good old Dante said about the way to hell being paved with good intentions? I am not trying to be clever by half, just that it looks as though our very venerable Prime Minister and his men personally scripted and acted out their endgame.The writing is on the wall.
Anna's fast precipitated the simmering discontent and anger against corruption rampant in every aspect of everyday life in India. So much had it become part of local color, that the not so informed and educated, spoke resignedly of it being the the matrix itself. This after sixty years of hard won independence? A crying shame to say the least.
When I needed a death certificate for my father, the cryptic answer I got from the tehsildar's office was, that as my father passed away in America I would get the certificate if I coughed up INR 7,000! Oh yes, we then bargained and brought it down to a more user friendly INR5,000, but less than that they would not budge. The reason for such behaviour? Well, it sits on vertical thinking : if my parents had the money to holiday in the United States of America, my mother can definitely cough up the five thousand. Had my father died in India, we might have had to pay just a paltry whatever it is you pay for a death certificate. And this,dear readers is the benign face of the malignancy that has grown so huge, we literally cannot not see it!
Anna targeted this. And better, the youth rose as one with him and therein lies the moral of the tale. The very young alone--- with their unclouded vision and their untarnished idealism---can take a nation forward. At this point in India's history, what we desperately need is idealism in the face of a decadent and decrepit political system. Sixty years ago, one man galvanized the nation and took us forward into freedom and independence.Like the wonderful allegorical Animal Farm we now find ourselves submitting to the tyranny of the very people ( or parties) that rode us to freedom. "All animals are equal but some are more equal than others." This is not what Gandhi dreamed about or gave his life for. We stand among the rubble of moral authority, but there's hope yet, as I see it.
There's hope in the young of India, who have chosen to remain here and fight the bitter battles, not trade it in for creature comforts elsewhere. Anna's call was to the conscience of the nation, and the conscience answered with a roaring cry that echoed in the corridors of power and frightened the power mongers. We are still alive and kicking, people, we care about this country never mind how bedeviled it may be. We still have dreams, we need the young to inherit our dreams, and "We shall overcome......."
We shall overcome, we shall overcome
We shall overcome some day
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
We shall overcome some day.......
The truth shall make us free, the truth shall make us free
The truth shall make us free some day
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
The truth shall make us free some day......
Reverend Charles Tindley of Philadelphia
Anna's fast precipitated the simmering discontent and anger against corruption rampant in every aspect of everyday life in India. So much had it become part of local color, that the not so informed and educated, spoke resignedly of it being the the matrix itself. This after sixty years of hard won independence? A crying shame to say the least.
When I needed a death certificate for my father, the cryptic answer I got from the tehsildar's office was, that as my father passed away in America I would get the certificate if I coughed up INR 7,000! Oh yes, we then bargained and brought it down to a more user friendly INR5,000, but less than that they would not budge. The reason for such behaviour? Well, it sits on vertical thinking : if my parents had the money to holiday in the United States of America, my mother can definitely cough up the five thousand. Had my father died in India, we might have had to pay just a paltry whatever it is you pay for a death certificate. And this,dear readers is the benign face of the malignancy that has grown so huge, we literally cannot not see it!
Anna targeted this. And better, the youth rose as one with him and therein lies the moral of the tale. The very young alone--- with their unclouded vision and their untarnished idealism---can take a nation forward. At this point in India's history, what we desperately need is idealism in the face of a decadent and decrepit political system. Sixty years ago, one man galvanized the nation and took us forward into freedom and independence.Like the wonderful allegorical Animal Farm we now find ourselves submitting to the tyranny of the very people ( or parties) that rode us to freedom. "All animals are equal but some are more equal than others." This is not what Gandhi dreamed about or gave his life for. We stand among the rubble of moral authority, but there's hope yet, as I see it.
There's hope in the young of India, who have chosen to remain here and fight the bitter battles, not trade it in for creature comforts elsewhere. Anna's call was to the conscience of the nation, and the conscience answered with a roaring cry that echoed in the corridors of power and frightened the power mongers. We are still alive and kicking, people, we care about this country never mind how bedeviled it may be. We still have dreams, we need the young to inherit our dreams, and "We shall overcome......."
We shall overcome, we shall overcome
We shall overcome some day
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
We shall overcome some day.......
The truth shall make us free, the truth shall make us free
The truth shall make us free some day
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
The truth shall make us free some day......
Reverend Charles Tindley of Philadelphia
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Bandini
My son sent me this exquisite music link. I had forgotten about the ethereal beauty of Bimal Roy's cinema. Thanks Manu. How could I forget?
Bandini especially: with the delicate beauty of Nutan; the haunting score of S.D.Burman; Dharmendra and Ashok Kumar; and then of course the movie being black and white it adds a focused intensity.Set in a prison,it is the story of Kalyani who must make a choice between two different men :a loving prison doctor (Dharmendra) and a man from her past (Ashok Kumar).
Whither such movies now? Where is the ambivalence, maturity and delicacy in handling very complex emotions?
I need to seriously get down to watching and enjoying them all over again. At this point in my life, maybe I have arrived at a better understanding.
A huge thanks to my son again. How did he know this song was always a bitter- sweet one for me?He did and that's the tenuous connection emotions have.
Bandini especially: with the delicate beauty of Nutan; the haunting score of S.D.Burman; Dharmendra and Ashok Kumar; and then of course the movie being black and white it adds a focused intensity.Set in a prison,it is the story of Kalyani who must make a choice between two different men :a loving prison doctor (Dharmendra) and a man from her past (Ashok Kumar).
Whither such movies now? Where is the ambivalence, maturity and delicacy in handling very complex emotions?
I need to seriously get down to watching and enjoying them all over again. At this point in my life, maybe I have arrived at a better understanding.
A huge thanks to my son again. How did he know this song was always a bitter- sweet one for me?He did and that's the tenuous connection emotions have.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Lilacs
This day belongs to our men in blue---I mean the Indian cricket team. I cannot do anything without saying what a wonderful match it was to watch. They were magnificently contained and mature. Dhoni makes an excellent captain, Gary Kirsten as coach has done a magnificent job. It has been a long time coming this World Cup.
We have been quite impervious to the goings on in the world outside. I do keep half an eye on it though, as I glance through NY Times that lands every morning in my inbox.
"It is the best of times, and the worst of times...." all over the world. Here in India we are already into blistering summer, while half way across the globe in Summit, NJ, it is snowing, and bitterly cold. Difficult to envisage that when we are half way into melting in the heat. Being cocooned in air conditioning does the body more harm than good ---I have realized this grudgingly.
I love the change of seasons and the anticipation it brings. The lovely tender shades of green ,that initially make an appearance on trees very soon turn into lush, dark, greens. I loved that in Summit. To see the world waking up as if from deep sleep, the juices running, the sap rising, the crocuses raising their heads, the breathtaking sudden vision of daffodils, the dogwood, the robin on the lawn...I just love the joyousness of Spring in NJ!!
In the Southern hemisphere where I live there is not much of seasonal change in the landscape. North India has more variety where seasons are concerned.
But the North East of America is something else. Reading Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" in grad school I came upon, "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed" realizing thirty years later on what it really meant. The fragrance of lilac is something that remains within you mixing "memory and desire",and longing, in a way impossible to know if you have never experienced it. I did at Summit. There is one lonely lilac near the garage, and it bloomed filling the air with a sad, albeit heavy fragrance that ran like a leitmotif through the season. Dredging up memories ......
And the molly cotton tails that bob around on the grass at Easter time. They are absolutely adorable!
The quality of light is different too. A clear, almost illuminating light! I could understand then the poetry that Spring inspired after the drab, greyness of winter.
I think of all that sitting here in Chennai. This earth is such a wonderfully joyous place and time after time, periodically, we are called upon to give thanks for the privilege of being on this planet.
I give thanks to Nature, her bounty, her beauty, her harmony and the manner in which we are nurtured---unawares.
"For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."
William Wordsworth, The Daffodils
We have been quite impervious to the goings on in the world outside. I do keep half an eye on it though, as I glance through NY Times that lands every morning in my inbox.
"It is the best of times, and the worst of times...." all over the world. Here in India we are already into blistering summer, while half way across the globe in Summit, NJ, it is snowing, and bitterly cold. Difficult to envisage that when we are half way into melting in the heat. Being cocooned in air conditioning does the body more harm than good ---I have realized this grudgingly.
I love the change of seasons and the anticipation it brings. The lovely tender shades of green ,that initially make an appearance on trees very soon turn into lush, dark, greens. I loved that in Summit. To see the world waking up as if from deep sleep, the juices running, the sap rising, the crocuses raising their heads, the breathtaking sudden vision of daffodils, the dogwood, the robin on the lawn...I just love the joyousness of Spring in NJ!!
In the Southern hemisphere where I live there is not much of seasonal change in the landscape. North India has more variety where seasons are concerned.
But the North East of America is something else. Reading Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" in grad school I came upon, "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed" realizing thirty years later on what it really meant. The fragrance of lilac is something that remains within you mixing "memory and desire",and longing, in a way impossible to know if you have never experienced it. I did at Summit. There is one lonely lilac near the garage, and it bloomed filling the air with a sad, albeit heavy fragrance that ran like a leitmotif through the season. Dredging up memories ......
And the molly cotton tails that bob around on the grass at Easter time. They are absolutely adorable!
The quality of light is different too. A clear, almost illuminating light! I could understand then the poetry that Spring inspired after the drab, greyness of winter.
I think of all that sitting here in Chennai. This earth is such a wonderfully joyous place and time after time, periodically, we are called upon to give thanks for the privilege of being on this planet.
I give thanks to Nature, her bounty, her beauty, her harmony and the manner in which we are nurtured---unawares.
"For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."
William Wordsworth, The Daffodils
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