Category: Blog

Recalling Minutes from the Walk: A Wonderful Self-Discovery

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One blog that I enjoyed writing thoroughly.

Deeya Nambiar's avatarIn Knowing

Englischer Garten, Munchen

Walking is a favourite pastime for me. Long walks into the forest pathways have often been therapeutic.

One evening, on a sunny afternoon, I chose a path I never tried before. Each step I took, shaped into the famous poetic lines from Robert Frost’s poemThe Road Not Taken.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

I felt no different. It was the most beautiful day. Deeper into the woods, I was welcomed by a stream flowing unidirectional, and the mallard ducks swimming in the opposite direction.

The light wind tousled my hair and the sun-kissed leaves of the huge tree sizzled. And then I heard a wild calling. It was suddenly deafening to my ears. My courage took a U-turn and I stood searching. “Where am I in the woods?”…

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Flash Fiction- Life Blooms

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Last year, mid-September, I had seeds from a neatly scooped bell pepper.

The amateur gardener in me, ensured the seeds were buried deep in the nearest pot that was once a home of a spring onion.

The size of the pot was no match for the number of seeds; and the mud was a poor version of its original self which had obviously seen better days.

However, I had been sincere to my duties of watering the pot.

This year, March-end, I am counting tiny bell peppers in the jungle of plants, standing strong through the moody weather.

“I guess plants adjust better to circumstances than us.” I murmured.

“Where there is love, life blooms.” He said thoughtfully.

© 2021, Deeya Nambiar

Remembering Tagore

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Today is the anniversary of birthday, of Rabindranath Tagore, poet-philosopher and many more talents to quote.

My eyes moist and heart fills with pride when, I sing and listen to Indian National Anthem.

My humble salutation.

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Music To Heart and Soul

decipher

Some days I sit long hours glaring into the computer screen. I know what I want to write. But, the words simply refuse to come and thoughts vanish into oblivion.

Here I am in one such boundless moment where, the mind is behaving meditative and I sense an absolute blankness.

However, somewhere deep within, I hear one of my favourite Rabindrasangeet play. “Aaguner parashmoni chhnoao praane E jibon punnyo karo……….” The lines literally mean “purify my soul”. And blessed I feel.

I do not remember the ‘first time’ when I got to listen to this song. But I do remember the ‘every time’ when I listen to this song, I’m overwhelmed with emotions.

The lines written in Bengali with its in-depth meaning, spoke the universal language. It touched my heart deeply.

It is then that I picked up an English translation of Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore’s Gitanjali (Song Offerings), a collection of poems.

To me, the precious creation is an honest heart’s journey of life in communion with the Almighty, and the spiritual connection in every simple thing that makes them the most extraordinary beings in life.

This year marks Gurudev’s (as he is fondly called) 154 Birth Anniversary (May 7, 1861). His creative endeavours are still refreshing.

To quote one of my dearest friends from West Bengal, “Meaning changes with each passing phase of life….That’s the magic of Gitanjali.” “That’s the magic of Rabindrasangeet too,” I added.

Little wonder, my mind plays his music therapeutically. And I write, the words from my heart.

Originally published, May 7, 2014

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Anniversary

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ring

Thirteenth Wedding Anniversary. “How has been your journey so far?” Asked a well-wisher.

The question took me directly to the day we were married. No! It took me to the day we first met. A typical arranged marriage set up in a traditional family household. A check on horoscope and family background was the only research taken up by the members of the family. Date was fixed for a formal meeting. One country but two different states.

The boy’s flight was delayed. He was to reach around lunch time. The assorted memory  of mother rushing through the kitchen, planning a lunch for a total stranger and his family; and the repeated commanding tone to “tidy up your hair and face” echoing  in the hallway is etched forever .

Short hair, what could be done was a bigger issue. The boy’s rejection may be just on those grounds “you see”. “Oh. Please smile. It enhances your features.”  “Chose a lighter colour, it will improve your complexion.” To quote and unquote some concerned family members.

The bell rang. One last minute scrutiny on my surrounding and me. Father opened the door. Brother stood next to him and nodded; the code between brother and sister, a reply to “He should be a few inches taller than me.”

I stood behind, watching.Our eyes met over the many heads.

Fifteen minutes of get-to-know family business and 10-minutes of boy meets girl separately.  He began to speak. “I want you to know….” There, he listed his vices first, including his workaholic nature. I chose the same order to introduce myself. He laughed and I fixed a smile. No typical questions and trained answers. Expectation none. Demands none. “Just be yourself.”

Waiting for their response was the longest.  “They’ve to reach home, speak to their people and then they will call.” My father told my grandparents.

The phone rang….  The senior family members began to congratulate each other.  Their delighted eyes turned to me. “Tell us about the meeting. What did he ask you? How did you behave?” “I was being myself. There were no conventional, regular questions.” I left them wondering.

Yes. That’s the answer. “Journey has been the same so far. Nothing has changed post marriage. We’re, what we would say, “just being ourselves.”

As for conditions apply, love, respect and understanding just followed the course.”

Copyright © 2018, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar