Window frame

The long line of coaches
the train and the track
no tall buildings
small houses
the village roads
the small roads and the bridges
all so like a painting

looking outside the hotel glass window
window like the frame of a canvas
the train must have crossed so many towns
the people on the journey
under the sun
under the stars
all have a waiting something
a waiting somebody

the train passes our window
our landscape keeps  waiting
for the next train to come
complete our picture
make the village landscape
complete

Plants

I handed our key to the maid. We were going out for two days. I called her up later and once again reminded her  to come for my plants. Water them for me. I have a small Christmas tree amongst my plants..not because I bought it for Christmas. I had gone to buy a rose plant and basil to teach my son different types of herbs and shrubs. There in the row two months past Christmas  stood this small plant in neglect. We got it home. It seems very happy in my other plants company.

Gokarna is a blue flower from my childhood garden. I saw it after many years many many years here in Mumbai for the first time in our complex garden. The creeper brought my childhood blue flowers in our garden. Every morning I walked I looked at the flowers and smiled. On that weekend my kids were playing in the garden , I showed them the flowers. Then we picked up the seed pods from the creeper. I made my kids plant the seeds with all the love young people have. 

I watered and waited. Small creepers became little bigger creepers. But for days no flowers for our creepers. I loved the plant still. We were going to be out of town for 48 hours. Like this time and every other time I called up my maid a couple of times to please come and water my plants.

Tired but after a very good trip we came back.. I opened the door as husband was carrying our bags. The first thing I saw was a blue gokarna. Our creeper's first. On our trip  we had visited a shiva temple. .. that too from my childhood place and refernce

The gate opens

Traffic jam in Mumbai is like a herd of bulls stuck in mud. The school gate of all the schools international or not international shut as per  their schedule. The walking mothers rush, driving mothers rush, mothers with babies onboard rush the older one to rush faster.

We rush in our car. We get stuck in the subway and rush our driver to rush. I was counting my numbers and everything between my numbers now. Our gate was getting shut as we were stuck in a jam because the van driver got stuck, He came in the way of one school bus.

My son eagerly waits and asks one more time if the gate would be shut now. Just then I see a mother coming towards this tangle of cars.. her vehicle is a wheelchair in which her 10-11 year old sits patiently holding his schoolbag. It is noon. The heat and the sun are at their top form. Mother son have to cross the cars crisscrossed blocking everyone's way,

My eyes are not looking at my wrist anymore. I don't care if our gate shuts. My eyes take their fill..mother's love and dedication. Son's love and dedication too. I look at him as he sits with his hands clutching the bag tightly.. hair combed neatly, shoe laces done so well. 

The end of the road was a lake
I stopped, the plant pots
ceramic gold lining and precious
I carry them with me

took my bucket
to the lakes shore
a very old friend
looked up at me

the thirst of many years
the nights dark and bright
at every turn and twist
like pebbles leading the way home
I leave pieces of me

destiny turned beautiful
when you lead me to the lake
grass and stones under my feet
bucket full of lake
my plants first bloom!