Like many others, clad in pyjamas and freed from black socks, shoes, and trousers, I too am waiting for that phone call to change everything back the way it was before this pandemic nightmare began.
Inspired from this pic I clicked on 18 June 2020, I wrote a poem. Read it below…
You may forget me, dearest,
And I may forget you too.
Our children, friends
Have all slinked away
And we’re the only ones
But don’t you worry, dearest.
We’re going to stay.
Grow old, dearest.
Through torrid rain,
And the chilling winter.
Till death pulls us apart…
For plants too, I think, just like humans, leaving home must be a traumatic event; filled with anxiety, nervous excitement, and the tension of leaving a familiar, cloistered life for an uncertain journey ahead…
But in God, they trust, and keep moving on…
Now that I am temporarily freed from the fetters of a hectic job routine, I spend all my spare time these days in observing how my potted plants lead their lives…
See below the photos of the different stages of my Adenium plant…how its gorgeous flowers change into feathery, winged cream-colored, unglamorous seeds that float away to fulfill their different destinies.
Some land on hard, callous concrete floors and some on moist, kind, and welcoming soil…
I wonder how the Adenium plant propagates itself though, because I have never seen Adenium seeds germinating into new Adenium plants in any of the other pots placed nearby, like the periwinkles. This particular Adenium was planted on our terrace by our gardener…
In March 2020
In May 2020
June 2020, first week
In June 2020, 2nd week
All four, the dog, the leaf, the door, and the window are looking out…
Three years ago, I spotted an extremely enigmatic one-word tattoo behind the neck of a pretty girl while traveling in the Delhi Metro. I wrote about it in my blog. URL:
https://jasbirchatterjeephotoblog.wordpress.com/2017/06/16/a-pretty-tatoo/. The pic is on top.
What struck me most about the tattoo was its profound meaning expressed in just one single Hindi word ‘musafir,’ meaning traveller. And for a fleeting second, I wondered if the wearer was a poet or a writer or a philosopher or all of them together.
Today, as I recall this incident, I feel more concerned about the tattoo’s owner. I hope and pray to God that the girl is safe and healthy, staying at home, and no longer a musafir…
There are so many rich people on this earth who own huge houses with many bedrooms and bathrooms that they may not ever use properly in their lifetime. And in contrast, there are many who lead almost their entire lives on pavements with no roof, no walls, no privacy. But everyone ultimately has to drop everything behind and move on to the next birth. So it all boils down to one thing: we don’t really own anything. We’re all musafirs, travellers…
And now, here is a poem inspired from the tattoo.
Are you a poet?
Or a philosopher?
Or all of them together?
I don’t know.
But yes, about one thing,
I am sure.
We too are musafirs;
On our way to the other
God is, indeed, the ultimate in everything… See here, how he paints so delicately…