Napowrimo- 11


I LOVE YOU AS CERTAIN DARK THINGS ARE TO BE LOVED
BETWEEN THE SHADOW AND THE SOUL:

 
I loved you for the raw fleshy glory

of forbidden desires, the hazy languor in your eyes,

bodies fading into fusion, a frightening compulsion,

sometimes a sweet surrender, mi amor, mi amor !

 
My inside is full of a hollow

that grows inside me

filling that secret space

where only you could enter

and the hope of true love seeded

now the pregnant silence of the soul

speaks of stillbirth.

 
Dark things overshadowing past shadows,

awaken my dark feminine, but this dark medicine

cannot be drunk this sunlit morning

although I hate to say this, I am obsessed

as I call out to you, my long lost lover.

 
You left me at a place of no return

with wounds on me that need healing,

the love I harbor for you saddens me

my tears falling into life’s darkness

as I carry on loving you

torn between the shadow and the soul.

Copyright@ Dr. Sunil Kaushal12/04/2018

 

 

 

 

 

                                                 THE SPEAKING TREE

                                                               

                                 

I’ve been here, since, God knows how many years. Time, I do not understand- I have no need to. Does it matter how long I stand here - that’s all I’m here for – to just be – yes, stand here and just be, unless some cruel government rules or callous people choose to uproot me. Some years ago a part of this winding road, going up to the fort, was widened and many of my kith were sacrificed in a so called beautification drive. I also was shorn of my long, ground kissing aerial roots that would otherwise have ensured that my tribe keeps proliferating.

 I’ve seen, heard and felt so many stories unfolding under and around my branches that I’ve become something of a story-teller. True stories lived by real people.

 Now take the story of this woman in the colorful sari, Parvati. She came here long ago as a young girl, married to a much older man, who died after a few years, leaving her to bring up two children alone. The spunky young woman picked up the threads of her shattered life and started coming here to sell snacks and savories, mostly ‘papads’ and roasted gram, for a living.  Being the sole woman in an all men domain was intimidating in the beginning but she stoically persevered.What a sad figure she looked in widow’s whites.

 Ram Prasad came from Bihar, looking for work, around the same time. He set up this ‘chaat’ and juice stall. When tourists come from long distances and have to walk up this steep road in the summer heat, to reach the fort, they are mighty grateful for a delicious glass of fresh juice. The women folk gorge on his delicious ‘chaat’ – they say it is spicy and delicious.

 Over time Parvati and Ram Prasad stopped being hostile towards each other, as there was no competition between them, each selling a different food item. Gradually they even started sharing their problems and small joys with each other. Then came a day when Parvati stopped coming to sell her ‘papads and gram’. We all missed her but no one knew what happened. Only Ram Prasad seemed to be mighty pleased.

 Then after a week, Chip and Munk, my two squirrel friends, who live in this bole in my trunk gave me some juicy gossip. They had heard Ram Prasad talk to the security guard at the entrance. You know how inquisitive squirrels can be – scurrying up and down tree trunks listening to people’s secrets.

 After a few days I heard the tinkle of anklets as a beautiful young woman, dressed in a colourful sari with silver and red bangles glinting on her slender arms, walked up with a pile of crispy ‘papads’ and a bag full of roasted gram. I forgot to wave my branches with the wind, as I stood rooted, recognizing our very own Parvati, looking gorgeous, with the coloured clothes offsetting her beautiful dusky complexion. She and Ram Prasad had got married some days before. Of course after that my leaves flapped and clapped gleefully, as I danced waving my branches with great joy, seeing Parvati so happy. I even doffed my highest branch to Ram Prasad who braved his community to marry a widow. Both worked in tandem, raising their three children.

 Parvati still comes to sell her wares although her eldest son is working at a good post and both daughters are teachers in a nearby school. She says coming here is like a pilgrimage for her.

                                                         

Ampat Koshy shared Kaafiya's post.

Today Kaafiya is with THE SIGNIFICANT LEAGUE. and Sunil Kaushal

https://www.facebook.com/KaafiyaPoetry/photos/a.1669542616613957.1073741828.1663510403883845/2160703880831159/?type=3&theater

                               This is such a happy moment for me.

Extremely humbled and elated at this honour of being featured by KaafiyaMilao so beautifully.

My heartfelt thanks to team Kaafiya for this gracious gesture.

I am also extremely thankful to Dr. Ampat Koshy and team TSL for making this possible.

Wish to share this joyful moment and thank my friends and readers who have all along been with me, supported and cheered me on.

 

                                             

 

Reflections of a Misfit

                                     
                                 

                               
                                            REFLECTIONS OF A MISFIT

Lidia Yuknavitch’s memoir, ‘The Chronology of Water,’ is about how being a misfit interrupted her dreams of competitive Olympic swimming and overcoming it. Her words inspired me to write about my own transition from the ugly silkworm to a beautiful butterfly soaring in freedom. I wanted to write about the painful journey of a misfit and the fire that rages in her innermost core before it sublimates and she comes out a winner at the other end of that dark tunnel, having overcome her own demons.

 Being brutally candid, I would say that a misfit is so by her own judgments. SHE is the one who does not fit in, is lonely, lacking a sense of belonging for she belongs only to herself. Although she yearns to be accepted, when accepted by others, she herself moves away after some time; she is forever on a journey of self discovery, feeling different from society’s norms. At times I wonder who isn’t a misfit in some way or the other.

As a child I was a loner, quiet and introverted. Being extremely sensitive meant getting hurt easily; empathizing with the underdog, I ran into chances of becoming vulnerable myself. I would recede into my shell, only occasionally coming out of an emotional vacuum of my own making. However, that did not stop my true strengths from blossoming. Growing up, I became conscious of my intelligence and my hidden talents surfaced, which made me a popular student. I realized there was no need for loneliness or inadequacy. I could let my true colors shine and felt that being a misfit was awesome because I had something more, not less than others.

The years spent in medical studies were years of trial by fire, as I was not mentally equipped for the cut and dried, clinically cold and inhuman atmosphere there. I was an artist at heart and yearned to dance and sing on stage, but went through grueling studies because, during our youth, it was parents who decided about children’s careers. Few women went for higher studies. Being intelligent, I was convinced into believing that I was meant to become a doctor, one of the few ‘respectable’ professions for women. Putting my own dreams and aspirations into cold storage, I grappled with studies that were not only difficult but uninteresting and dry to my artistic temperament given to daydreaming and romanticizing.

The struggle to balance the harsh educational pressures against my soft, warm hearted temperament was a tough row to hoe alone. I was sickly and delicate; living in a hostel was not easy. I felt a total misfit within those boundaries.  My spirits lifted as I turned to writing poetry when too overwhelmed. I vacillated between creative surges and attempts at studious application to academics. Needless to say it tore me, as my grades fell. Having been a topper always, it was disheartening to accept my poor results. I almost wanted to ditch the whole idea of ever becoming a doctor, but could not dare to voice it to my parents, for fear of breaking their hearts and wasting their hard earned money. I tried to find new road maps for self discovery, whence I could juggle both career orientated studies as well as my artistic leanings.

A very welcome respite came in the form of youth festivals where I could excel on the stage, being one of the rare good English speakers. I would sweep every possible award. I won the best actress gold medal year after year. I had found an outlet for my suppressed emotions. With a ferocious energy I dug deeper into myself and tapped every aspect of my multifaceted personality, honing every talent of mine. With will power, honest intensity and an explosive force, I travelled the difficult and slow process of self discovery till I shone brilliantly.

As I was recognized for my extra-curricular talents and achievements, I started approving and loving myself more and more, getting better and better day by day. I realized I was not a MISFIT-I was UNIQUE. I started celebrating being different, not walking the beaten track, a little on the fringes, my very own special creation. If at times I felt a fish out of water I didn’t change myself, I found a new stream and soon recognized some incredible people who felt like me. I reached out and connected, even if for a short while. I drew support from others, who were not shy being who they were.  But, after some time I moved away again, because I would find myself not really fitting into a fixed mould. I took these phases as an opportunity to keep reinventing myself and new layers of the self kept getting discovered.

 I often drew inspiration from a quote I’d read somewhere, “Any dead fish can swim downstream but it takes a live one to swim upstream against the current.” I believed in myself –I was a ‘FREE SPIRIT.’ I came to terms that it was okay to be me. Why a clone? Being different was great, being me was better.

When I set up private practice after marriage, I went through great upheavals. Raising a family, fighting for my share in a world fast changing into one based on consumerism; my ethical ways were hardly the right tools to earn my living with. After a few years of teething troubles, I carved a niche for myself in the city, based on goodwill. I built bridges with patients as a compassionate and empathetic doctor, whom they trusted like a family member. I continued to keep my inner urge for creativity alive by nurturing all my talents. I was a recognized and popular public speaker, a familiar voice on the radio and a known TV personality. Over the years I was elected as chairperson of many organizations, channelizing my love and compassion for the down trodden into social work, while my profession earned me money, and the love and respect of my growing number of patients.

I retired from active practice about thirteen years ago around sixty, not because I was unable to work, but because I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing the things I’d put on hold, while still physically active and able to enjoy being different. I’m a full time householder, grandmother and writer, happy to be myself and follow my heart, wherever it takes me. Spending more time with my family and staying in touch with myself keeps me emotionally fulfilled.

Writing is my lifelong passion and has helped me earn great friends, some awards and the joy of seeing my name and writings in some anthologies, along with some money also. With more time I can devote myself to my spiritual practice which imparts a sense of peace and equanimity. I embrace and love myself fully for who I am, rather than deal with manipulations and judgments. I connect myself to the Source and draw sustenance in the winter of my life, from that which creates and sustains all.

I may warm some hearts, others may misunderstand me. I can only control my actions and not the RE-actions of others. I feel good about doing what I think is right, being kind to others and having the courage to be me. I know I am one of the coolest and most unique citizens of this widely diverse global community.

 

 

 

                                                  WHY DO WE ALLOW THIS?


After all the posts carrying complaints and grudges against the males in our lives, I feel we women should look inwards too.

Atrocities, female foeticide, domestic abuse , discrimination at work places- everything is happening - sadly true for many around the world, but, but....there are many good men too. Not everything bad that happens to women is perpetrated by men.

Many questions beg an answer, which we women should ask ourselves before crying foul :-

- why do educated, earning, thinking, independent women still allow this to happen ?
- do we ourselves overcome the self limiting beliefs drilled in our heads since centuries.
- do we work on ourselves - stand on our own feet.
- we women are emotional sponges, that is not an asset certainly.
- we confuse love and sexuality.
- age old traditions fetter are feet.  Do we have the courage to cut them and stop bothering about who thinks what about me?
- do we respect and love ourselves above everybody else. It is not being selfish - it is being self centered.
-  do I command respect or keep demanding /begging for it?
- am I as a package above reproach or faults ? If we expect to be accepted as we are , isn't it fair that we return the same attitude for men ?

We will have lots more power when  our roots are strong - get educated / learn a skill / learn self defense / learn about money and investments/ stop playing the dainty darling and then expect to be treated as an equal. Be strong to be considered strong.

We women tend to be clingy and dependent and then demand independence - can't have your cake and eat it too !!!

I know some may not agree with me -
this is my take - not that I have had an easy life - I've been through hell's brimstone , hit rock bottom, climbed out from abyss' of gloom to great achievements, recognition, reveled at peaks of glory and enjoy a great life today.

BECAUSE -
I BELIEVED IN MYSELF AND MY DREAMS !!
DO IT FOR YOURSELF
NOW - TODAY !!  SOAR HIGH !!
WITH LOVE TO ALL OF YOU !!

Sketch by my 11 year old grand- daughter
SUHANI

                                                                            

               
रामगढ़ है जिसका नाम



रामगढ़ है उसका नाम !
दादा- दादी रहा करते थे जहाँ  ,
छुट्टियों में हम भी जाया करते थे वहां
गर्मियों की झुलसती आलसी  धुपहरि में
खा मिस्सी रोटी, दही के साथ
गटकते ठंडी लस्सी का इक बड़ा गिलास
और सो जाते दादी के चौबारे में,
बचपन की बेफिक्री का ओढ़े लिहाफ
उस भले ज़माने में
एक  छोटा सा गांव था मेरा, रामगढ़  है नाम.

खुली खिड़कियों से, हवा से होड़ लगाए
चहचहाती चिड़ियों की अंदर उड़ आती थी टोलीयां
खेतों खलियानो में सावन के गानो पे
झूमती मुटियारें, डाल के गिद्दे, बोलियां
खुशबू आती रिश्तों के प्यार की, अपनों के दुलार की
शाम होते, दादी, भटियारिन के यहाँ हमें ले कर जाती
ताज़े गर्म गर्म चने और मक्कई के दाने भुनवाती
बेरी बेर भेजती दादा के हाथ, न तोल मोल न दाम
छोटे से  उस गांव  में, रामगढ़  है जिसका नाम

बालटी पर लाल कपडा लपेट, कुल्फी वाला भी आया करता
पीपल के हरे हरे पत्तों पर, क्या ठंडी सफ़ेद कुल्फी
खुरच खुरच कर हमें खिलाता
उंगलियां चाटते, ठुडी तक  लार टपकाते
शाम से पहले थक कर, हम घर आ जाते
खाना खाते ,फिर छत पर बिस्तर बिछाते
डूबते सूरज को कर परनाम
बरामदे के लट्टू का बटन दबा कर,
दादी कहती वाहेगुरु सतनाम
पाखी घुमाती, कहानी सुनाती,ले जाती हमें परियों के धाम
उस छोटे से गांव से, रामगढ़  है जिसका  नाम.

सूरज की किरणे जब आँखें गुदगुदाती
दादी केतली में चाय लेकर, छत पर आती
चुस्की लगा खुद कप में पीती, फूक फूक प्लेट से हमें पिलाती
शुरू होता फिर एक और दिन का दौर
खाना ,खेलना, सोना, बस नहीं चाहिए था कुछ और
जाने का दिन नज़दीक जो आता जाता
बिना वजह हमें रोना आता, तब दादी बाज़ार ले जाती
कपडे, खिलौने  और माया राम की दुकान से बर्फी ,पेड़े हमें दिलाती
रेल में बैठ, हम बड़े शहर में, फिर धरते थे अपने पांव
छोड़ आते पीछे रामगढ़, छोटा सा वो मेरा गांव।

बड़े शहरों में पल बड़ कर, गए फिर बरसों के बाद
बड़ा बायपास निगल चुका था, सभी खेत और खल्यान
मेरे गांव का दिल चीरती, निकल गई इक सड़क  महान
कहीं होटेल , कहीं मॉल  और मल्टीप्लेक्स बने
माया राम की दुकान के यहाँ, इक फ़ूड कोर्ट था अब बना
फ़ास्ट फ़ूड के नाम पर जिसमे केमिकल्स का भंडार भरा
समुन्दर बन बह निकला आँखों से, पानी को मैं सकी न थाम
याद कर अपने उस गांव क़ो, रामगढ़  था जिसका नाम.

सतलुज दरिया का सूखा पानी, मर गई थी मछली सारी
फैक्टरियों के गृह प्रवेश पे, प्रसाद मिला था ज़हर भारी
बबूल काट काट सफेदा लगा था, उसे भी अब  काट गिराया
फोर वे लेन बनाने, जर्मनी से मशीने और मैनपावर भी था आया
बहरा हो गया आसमान, सुन सुन सैंकड़ो ट्रकों का शोर
बड़ी बड़ी इमारतें देखने देती, न चढ़ते सूरज को, न सुनहरी भोर
गीत सुनते फ़िल्मी, सुबह सवेरे, ऊँचे ऊँचे स्पीकरों से
न मंदिर से आवाज़ भजनों की, न आज़ान की मस्जित से
आँखें ढूंढे कोई अपना, मिला न कोई उनका निशान
न जाने कहाँ खो गया वो, रामगढ़  है जिसका नाम.

फेरी वाला अब जो आता, पॉपकॉर्न और चिप्स के पैकिट लाता
जिस में बंद बासीपन को, बूढ़ा जवान चटकारे लगाकर खाता
भटियारिन मरी , उजड़ी बेरियां , मोर भी  मर गए अब सारे
रातों को छत पर, ढूंढ़ते बच्चों को, भटकें  हैं चंदा मामा और सितारे
खिड़कियों में लगे ऐ सी, चिड़ियों को न अंदर आने देते
बंद कमरों में वीडियो गेम्स या टीवी, देखें बच्चे  लेटे लेटे
लड़के लड़कियां रात होते, सज सवर कर डिस्को जाते
मम्मी पापा जॉब से आएं, उसके बाद ही वह लौट के आते
दारू और नशों  में धुत, पहचाने न अपनी ही दलान
उसी राम के गांव में, जिसका रामगढ है बस नाम ही नाम.

दादा दादी की, अपने बचपन की,
जड़ें जुडी इस मिटटी में,
आना ही होगा बारम बार
घर तो मेरा यहीं रहेगा
चाहे घूम आऊं सारा संसार
यह शोर गुल और ताम झाम
चाहे बन गई इसकी पहचान
फिर भी, जब यादें देती दस्तक   
चल पड़ते  हैं इसकी ओर मेरे यह पांव
रामगढ जो अब बन गया शहर ,
फिर भी रहेगा मेरा गांव  ।
 Copyright @Dr. Sunil Kaushal26/02/2018





               




















 

                                                 MY TRIBUTE TO WOMANHOOD

 

                                                             KEEP LIFE ALIVE

                                                       One day cannot define me
                                                       one day cannot confine me
                                       I need the vast expanse of the unlimited skies
                                                     to celebrate my womanhood.

                                                             
                                                      My story is not only mine

                                                   in it are woven many others,
                                                yours, hers and many an other.

 

                                                 
                                        No barriers shall daunt my determined steps,
                                                   for once begun, my journey
                                                shall flow with roaring rivers,
                                                                 swallow all oceans
                                                     conquer mighty mountains
                                                    paint the skies with colours
                                            that scream of love, compassion, freedom
                                                  for soft sounds are inaudible
                                  to patriarchal ears accustomed to boorish voices
                                                  loudly proclaiming victories
                                        of war, bloodshed and suppression.

 

                                      
                                    I shall give my soul power, my soul wisdom a chance
                                         to ignite and emerge as the Divine Feminine.
                                                       a chance to break
                                            all bondages of names and labels,
                               as I bleed and bruise, scraping off my body
                                                the stinking slime of slanderous tongues
                                         as rats and vermin, with their rotten thoughts
                                              try to nibble at my self esteem and dignity.

 

                                                
                                                  I need no acquiescence, except my own
                                           to stride forth, brandishing my primal sword
                                                  bestowed on me by the Goddess
                                                   severing all self limiting beliefs,
                                                    all hurdles placed by naysayers,
                                               leading the way to a world of togetherness,
                                              celebrate life in totality, like Mother Nature.

 

                                                          
                                                        If I die, you perish too,
                                                   for you and I are inseparable,
                                                          better to live in harmony,
                                                           sing the same symphony.
                                                two halves of the same orb, together,
                                                                 keep life alive.