The Altercation

(On witnessing ; or being called to arbiter ;a nasty spat amongst expatriate neighbours; usually calm and serene)

He paced up
and
down
humiliated
angry
red-faced
and
shamed
stammering
in
vernacular
staring
at
the door
that
had been
slammed
on him
containing
volcanic
lava
of
wrath
about
to spew
forth
burning
all
in
its
path.

Inside
air
thick
with
dreadful
portend,
stank
of
putrid
long
standing
grievance.

Accusations
counter
accusations
threatening
gestures
turned
gentle
humans
into
fire
breathing
dragons
each
trying
to
burn
other;
branded
with
the
red-hot
tongues
of flame
old
hurts
wounds
resurfacing
bubbling
into
ugly
scum
fetid
disgust
disrepute
abuses
flying
thick
and
fast

in
mercifully
foreign
lingo
incomprehensible
to most



Curious
tongues
started
wagging
relaying
gossip
even as
they
saw a
 violent scene
of domestic
disagreement
(as
the
police
termed
it; thereby
taking
cover
;so to
speak;
behind
long
incomprehensible
officialese)
in a
foreign
language
movie
as it were


the subtitles
of which
were
thankfully
missing.

The Birth

(In memory of Violet, a first time mother(primigravida-in medical term;who had precipitate i.e., sudden labour;)who endured cervical tear during birthing;and could not be saved despite best of efforts)

Heralded
via
hazard
and
clamour
chaos
shouts
screams
building
up
to a
pitch
incorrigible
unstoppable
life
inching
closer
like
a
wrecking
ball
the
head
descends
first
expanding
all
narrow
passages
tearing
muscles
ligaments
tissues
(that
will
probably
take
years
to
heal
and
repair
or will
never
as
in
her)
in
a moment
of
frozen
stillness
morbidly
fascinating
wet
head
with
the
detritus
of
its
existence
within
and
parasitism
still
stuck
black
sleek
hair
eyes
tightly
shut
against
all
light
and
reason
you
were
born
against
all
hopes
of
you
not
living
upto
their
expectations
of
you
remaining
unborn
and
unmentioned
with
a
final
wrenching
twist
of
your shoulders
you
emerged
awake
roused
from
your
dark
blissful
slumber
with
an agonised
scream
from
your
mothers
chapped
lips
you
began
howling
even
as your mother's
life ebbed
away
in
dark
red
spurts
of
pain

Jagannath Puri

Finally,the massive iron doors creaked open ,after ages.moving slowly on its huge,ancient, hinges.A volley of shouts rose from the priests(pandas)gathered within and without the sanctum-sanctorum.
"Joi Joggonnath"
The mammoth cry rose from the swollen crowds, waiting patiently , all this while, now beginning to surge towards the open gates.
Several pandas, saffron dhoti clad,with trademark thread of brahminism around their chests,and broad stripes of chandan on the forehead, shaven headed,with a residual tuft tied into a knot behind their heads swung from massive ropes, like trapeze artists, pushing back the crowds, snatching the offerings from the pilgrims, flinging it at the huge well at the foot of the deity, and shoving the people back,all in one swift motion, all the while screaming directions in unintelligible oriya.
My panic stricken elder one clung to her father's arm, her eyes big with fear. I held the hand of the younger one,trying to make an ineffectual human chain against the incorrigible sea of faithfuls. Next moment we were all swept into the vortex of shoving, surging, uncontrollable flow of  bodies pressed so tight together, as to suffocate the very breath of life.I lost the grasp of my younger ones hand. Terrible fear welled up in my heart. I must have screamed, for a young panda,who was accompanying us,came to my rescue. Skinny and slightly built, the teenaged panda, hit out at the crowd that had just swallowed my baby, with sharp jabs of his pointy elbows.With immense relief, I scooped up my bewildered baby.
We never got to see the Gods(Darshan).All we saw ,even after tiptoeing,was the moving mass of  black heads of people, moving in and out in a totally amorphous pattern.
The air inside was decidedly stuffy. It reeked of burning ghee lamps, incense, stale flowers and belpatras(a holy leaf), tulsi and above all sweaty bodies.The cold stone floor was sticky with milk/sweets and slippery with the water and muck brought in by thousands of feet everyday.
We decided to beat a hasty retreat. My husband carried my elder one(a big child of eight) on his back, despite an ankle fracture , as the stone floor outside had heated up to scalding temperatures in the noon sun.
The younger one wouldn't let go of me, after what happened inside the temple.
Hopping, skipping, we made our way to the prasad counter, where I was in for a pleasant surprise. A flaky sweet from my childhood(called khaja) made an appearance, albeit under some other name. .
The panda insisted on performing a short, abbreviated version of pooja, for the sake of our souls, in the holy precincts. He, very predictably, hit a roadblock,when he came to the 'gotra' bit. As we are not hindus ,but sikhs, and my maiden gotra wont apply here,the problem seemed unsurmountable; and the pooja threatened to be undone, my resourceful husband came to the rescue by suggesting his family name-Ahluwalia's.
The priest happily recited rest of the mantras, appeased the various multitudes of gods,by patient turns, asking for prosperity and bounty for my husband, numerous sons and wealth("may you bathe in milk and bear several sons" goes the traditional blessing)for me (having been in total ignorance of my tubectomised/perimenopausal  biological state)and good husbands/lots of sons for my daughters (who have professed staunch aversion to both matrimony and parenthood ).
At a short distance away, I saw another panda , engaged in performing a similar phony pooja for a group of barefooted, white tourists, assiduously applying red tikas to their white foreheads, while vociferously chanting unintelligible sanskritic verses, propitiating, Gods and Goddesses which the poor hapless souls had never even heard of.
Wonder what name did they offer as their" gotra"?

Wilderness

She waved her arms;
animatedly
to drive home
her pointless points


her voice raising
her pitch quivering
I had to hastily
stop myself


from listening
to her
rant/rave
fret/chafe


For I have been
there
before
and I didn't like it


The untamed
wilderness of
her thoughts
the unchecked


quicksand
of her festering
grudges
she lived


in a world
where innocuous
remarks
became


monolithic
behemoths
of destruction
where


she was the prey
and
everyone else
a vulture.


Over reacting
to
people/situations/
remarks/events


she lived in a world
of isolation
peopled by
her thorny


deductions
and
psychotic
neuroses.

Renunciation

What possessed you to
shake yourself free
like a wet dog
shaking drops of water


from the bonds/relations
shackles/chains/snares
and other
ties


that tied you down
stopped you from
soaring
heavenward


onward to the land
of your
dreams
aspirations



where you
dwelt
in the splendid
isolation



of solitude
repose
quiet
overbearing silence


your thoughts
reigned
supreme
therein



your ambitions
nascent
naive
were loud enough


to cross the
sound barrier'
and be heard
here



in the clamouring
noisy
chaotic
bizzare world



it silenced
bazaars
put an
impossible lid


on material
chaos
and
hushed


voices
listened
to you
speak



the language
of
overpowering
silence