They look at each other Awkwardly It’s been thirty five years Since they’d last seen each other Blood has flowed thinner, starker than water For the two sisters Now standing together
They sit down It’s in the younger one’s home The older one perches on her seat Hands clasped around her knees Knees bunched together awkwardly
The younger one makes the tea The steaming, billowing pour Softening, mollifying the tension That has stretched like taut skin Raw, painful, blue-complexioned On the surface of the atmosphere
The older one reaches for the milk She pours it into her cup of tea Hesitates and looks at her Wondering if she still drinks it The same way she did before
The younger one nods, smiles ever so faintly She puts the sugar in Looks at the older one inquiringly No, she didn’t have sugar in her tea From each other, they both look away At the steaming cups on the tray
The brews in the cups Swirl for a while Spin and beguile Then come to rest Pulling a film of whey and casein Around their hearts Hiding away from the scene Hiding away from the awkwardness
“Do you remember -“ “Do you remember -“ “You used to love the milk skin on the tea” “I used to love the milk skin on my tea”
They look at each other At last they laugh Sweet-awkwardly Eyes moist, hearts beating fast The tension is torn away Finally In the gush of warmth From the tea From she looking at her From her looking back smilingly
The older one looks at her cup The smile still playing on her lips She picks up her spoon To remove the cream Her sister never had it Today she wouldn’t too
The younger one looks at her cup Gazing down at the membrane Floating in the milky brew She picks up her cup Her sister always had it Today she would too.
She steps into the car Its gleaming surfaces Adorned with gladioli and motia* She’s the bride tonight Garlands also lovingly Entwine in her hair Their fragrance filling The nighttime air Eyes bright Face shining with expectation She glances behind her Just for a moment One last time At that spot where she stood Leaving behind her childhood Marking the end of her maidenhood She smiles Nostalgia now sits there Young, hopeful and light Eyes bright Face shining with expectation Waiting to fill the space That has been so tenderly placed Into her sacred embrace.
I feel the pull I feel the glimmer It surrounds me, it’s all around me I freeze as it coaxes me Out of the grip of my sanity I stop struggling And let it pull me in I drown Down, down In the tsunami gushing Inside my mind But only for a breath
I resurface then In my other world My secret one Where I have no anxiety Where I don’t want to run And hide I’m beside A swing in the garden And a rocking chair. I smile. They both hold the comfort And the softness of old friends They rest there quietly
I sit in the swing I push with my feet And peek through the leaves At the golden-red sky I can’t see them But I can hear the birds I think it is dusk A velvety glow wraps my world Golden paisleys and whorls Dance around my feet As I sway gently in my seat Dappled sunlight cloaks My shoulders like angels’ wings As I weave to and fro on the swing
I breathe out, my muscles untense I’m far away from cause and consequence No memories, no sorrows No yesterdays, no tomorrows It is Now and Now is everything I lean back In the swing She holds me softly In her cushioning I close my eyes I hear something Someone is calling me Voices from far away But my lids are so heavy I can’t keep awake In the tranquil buzz Of the honey bees And the gentle murmur Of the almond trees Like wraiths the voices fade away
I’m finally home, unbound, pain-free I lay my head back and sleep.
She’s not here anymore. She’s gone Adrift in the tangle of her dreams.
I look at the leaves Serrated edges, little flowers And I wonder About its identity The shrub growing under the amalthas* tree You would know You always knew As we walked in the street Outside the house You could name every flower And every tree Every creeper Even the sickness That gripped some of the leaves
You looked at these Concerned, everything else forgotten The fact that your own body Was racked with disease That ever-present pall softened By the enormity of your being Your own pain erased And at that time, in that moment I too forgot The wheelchair that you were in That you were ill; that we were grief stricken I dived right in, feeling, seeing You weaving magic around everyday things Flowers and trees grew chimerical wings
The swaying kachnar* The beskirted Ashokas* Bobbing profusions Of jasmine and phlox Fragrant bunches Of nargis* and freesias You pointed them out with happy ease And worried when any of these Were less than their perfect selves And I too smiled and looked In wonder At how joyfully you revelled in it all Holding infinity in your lit up face Offering up so much love and grace
And for those moments I too forgot The pain and the grief It was you and me Sadness free While you took me on ethereal trips Where nature in all her fullness Unfurled - beautiful, calming, brave We were carried away on a gentle wave The pitted leaves Still vital and green Were the only things we needed to save
For all the women and the men supporting them; for all those who get up every morning and despite all odds make it through the day surviving, shining, rising. For the friends and families of Sara, Mahsa, Noor, Qurat Ul Ain and of the countless nameless others like them: your grit is everything.
When it’s been tormenting Day after day. With no respite And I just don’t have it in me to fight To battle on When I’m war-weary When there is no end in sight And all I want to do Is sit in a dark room And let its coolness shroud me Until I can feel the hair Stand on my skin. There Is suddenly more to the day Than the heaviness in my heart And the endlessness of the grey That has been flowing, gripping choking me Keeping me doubled down on my knees There’s more beyond that malevolent mien Images, memories driving me insane
Now -
Now there is also something On the outside of me A little chill A little photo on the window sill Both pull at me in different ways One makes icicles To sear through The magma that has congealed Inside of me The other makes my blood flow warm Streaming, coursing through my veins Reminding me that I’m not alone My spirit and my fortitude Still cloak my shoulders Strong and true I sit up straight As they reverberate Through every atom of my being And they chant An age old song Of others like me Who’ve fought on Their hearts fused forever With the loved ones they’ve lost And I know That I’m not wielding my sword alone
Located in the mountains of Central Sri Lanka, and about 30 kms from the city of Anuradhapura, lies the ancient Ritigala Buddhist monastery. Dating back two millennia, the monastic complex is an epic work of mindful architecture connected via a continuous, forest-hemmed stone walkway.
The 1.2 km hike begins at the office of the on-site branch of Department of Archeology of Sri Lanka close to the foot of the Banda Pokuna, an ancient man-made reservoir with a circumference of almost 400 metres. Erected right down to the base are stone steps that circle the entirety of the reservoir. Here visitors to the monastery possibly completed their ablutions before heading on towards one of the many Padhanaghara – double platform structures made from massive pieces of granite linked together by a stone bridge; these served as meditation spaces. There are over 60 such double platforms over 120 acres at Ritigala. Among these structures are also the vestiges of what was once a “hospital” complete with root grinding stones and Ayurvedic oil baths with sophisticated drainage systems; the foundations of “floating air conditioned” rooms; and ornately decorated urinals to remind one of the fickleness of power and glory.
We began our journey at the Banda Pokuna into this ancient realm held as it was in the benevolent arms of nature herself. As soon as we started walking up the granite pathway, we felt the aura around us shift; take on an ethereal feel. The place manifests a melancholic trance in which one becomes completely cloaked, experiencing each of its elements in vivid sensory detail: The murmuring forest, the life force of its roots underfoot, the iridescent salamanders flicking between the stones and the continuous pathway like a silver beacon to venues of meditation and peace.
Trees, some old as age itself, their serpentine roots traversing the forest floor as far as the eye can see, shade the path with their green verdancy. As we hiked uphill, the atmosphere continued to thrum with their primal energy as one ancient one whispered and its murmur was carried like an undulating wave through the rest of the grove. Then all would be quiet except for the chirr of the crickets and the chorus of a songbird. It felt like we were witnesses to the sharing of a sage old secret; the trees of Ritigala retelling it among themselves and then quieting down as 21st century humans hiked up its ancient trails. Then whispering it again, until one stops to listen; and then the pulse slows down as the heart beats to the gentle rhythm of the humming trees. If ever there was a place where one can SEE one’s feelings, this mystical pathway held in the embrace of the ancients is that place.
Serenity is everywhere. The scene is mesmeric. The trees continue to tell their tales in the sun dappled patterns that shimmer on the path and on our skins; like golden runes that speak of the most profound quietude and peace.
To stand there and to take all this in is like absorbing the quiet energy of all that the monsastery once embodied; the tread of thousands of devotees; their quiet meditation, their rhythmic chants and even the ascendency of their consciousness. One can almost see the ascetics of old and the seekers of calm walk up the steps, their spirit energy conjured up again by the gentle cantillation of the trees. The experience rouses in turn, awe and an overwhelming humility; an acute awareness of the smallness of the individual and the profoundness of the collective.
We came away from Ritigala cloaked in the magic of nature that has continued to keep its erstwhile history vibrating through its quadrangles, pillars and its meandering walkway. The Ritigala monastery is truly a mystical portal through time.
The stone pathwayThe Banda PokunaThe AncientTrees of RitigalaMeditation platform cooled by the evaporation of water collected in the trough part. Wooden slats were laid over the stone columns that can still be seen today.Decorated Urinal