Twitterverse, safe spaces

Off-site from the conference today
I tweet your thoughts

some are re-tweeted
your excitement knows no bounds

that's mine you say
and high-5 me


I'm glad we did this
and let you see
for yourself
that your words
have worth

that you matter
that you think
that you ARE
here, learning

and teaching me
everyday

Someday, when this is over

Someday, 

when this is over...

My heart whispers

I will walk free

And stand taller

breathe easy

and smile more

laugh a lot

hug sisters

and paint with children

Giggle for no reason at all

watch the sunrise
blow bubbles
make rainbows with the garden hose

Because from

That Rashmi of the dawn

comes

the courage to break this silence

When this is over

I shall start again

I will once again 

walk with you

Silent sister, when will you speak?

My sisters are silent
we have left our roots behind
many times.

We married and
assumed new identities.
many new names
and we watch ourselves changing

we caress the silk sari lovingly
remembering who was with us
when we bought it
and who we were then

we wear these jewels wrapped
around our very souls
each strand
weighed down with memories

We shine
silently
on those special evenings
known only by the identities of
our men and children
people nod, we nod back
we speak to the sisters
that we know well
others are also like us
wives and mothers
just that

We look at every milestone
we gave birth
and were reborn in other ways.

We've moved with
the careers of our husband

We've made a home
wherever we have lived.

We've left bits of ourselves behind
and attached new parts
to our old selves.

We prepare our children
to share their poems and shlokas,

we dress them up in their cultural clothes.
we buy them journals at Dollarama

and save their drawings
lest they crumple them and forget

we witness the journeys of all
and we're silent about our own

We stir pachdi, and bake eggless cakes.
We sing with our children
as our hearts beat with theirs
willing them from afar to complete the bhajan
we had sung together last night

Yet we do not tell our stories
we are silent

We have voices too
you know
that are waiting to be heard

You are more than a mother,
or a wife
or Mrs. This or Mrs. That

You are the first born daughter of your parents
or perhaps the only one
or the youngest 'ladli' of your family

Speak then, sister
don't be shy

there is enough room for your story

the silence doesn't befit you
as you too, are the daughter
of
Shakti.

Look Amma, an A+

Lazy Sundays
and a quick peek at the York website
a paper has been returned

apprehension, a little
did I do well, asks that other Rashmee
who used to run home through the streets
of Panaji to
show Amma her marks

or even go back from Ruia to show Amma
that she had topped from
all four streams of Life Sciences

And as this Rashmee, of 4 decades and then some
reads her paper online
Ah, Moodle

She remembers that Amma is here now
and there is no more running
so she delights in the A+

and sends the paper off
to her siblings and
children
and one surviving Elder
who is her guardian, spiritual

It's okay to revel in the achivement, chelda
says Amma

And I capture this moment
for all
the Rashmees that
reside in me.

*Chelda = An endearment, means 'child' in Konkani, my mother tongue.

Yugadi Thoughts

Yugadi, the new year that we honour and celebrate far away from our roots.

Our routes have meandered as have the waters where we first lived: From the banks of the Saraswati to the banks of Lake Ontario, we have travelled.

And one thought reverberates in my mind: it's an honour to be with such wonderful positive energy.

I am standing in a circle with many who seek to commemorate the 25th anniversary. While we look back, I am mindful that the future belongs to the children we have brought with us. Whether born here or brought over with us, they are the bridge between who we are and who we are becoming.

The children are silent, they are respectful: they say their namaskaru, they recite the shlokas, they listen to the ipods on the long drive to the venue, they touch the Earth before they begin their koli dance. Our children are the future.

I look forward to work with our young people and my brothers and sisters so that we can archive our stories our ---  Ugdaas -Udgaas-Yadein for our children and ourselves. We remember that all the voices use unite our experiences yet allow us to retain the unique flavour of our special places.

To take an analogy of Indigenous knowledges, an endeavour like this is a narrative inukshuk, nhavein? It tells those who pass by later that I had passed this way and that I had stopped awhile to look around, watch the sunset and admire the ripples across the water. Yesterday, as every young person took their place in the front of the audience, as each dancer touched the Earth before starting their artistic performance, I was very thankful that we are together on this journey.

A little boy, dear to my heart, recited the Geeta Dhyaan that my Ajja used to recite with me every evening when I was 7. I chanted with him and went back in time. The beautiful daughters of my brothers and sisters spoke of their heart work through CORD and I felt thankful that we are raising a generation that gives back so much. A multigeneration family sang Sri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ramwith joy and devotion. I met a young writer whose eyes lit up when she saw a pen in her favourite colour. These are the memories we make when we stand together.

Our children and we belong to many places. Today and forever you are in my heart.

Everytime your lives touch mine, I come back richer. Thanks for being my family. And thanks for the opportunity to stand with you as you tell your stories through the 2013 souvenir.

Speak, Akka, Speak

Speak, Akka, Speak

The east sky

This day

Of shining light

Invites me to walk

With all those 

who are silenced

Speak, Akka

They whisper 

In my heart spaces

And remind me

My voice has

Their words

Woven into

Each cry

And the room fills up 

as they enter one by one

I feel their pain

Weep, taking care

not to smudge my eleliner

taught well by my daughter

And speak of them

Speak, Akka, Speak

I'm here 

with you, they whisper

Let them doubt you

Let them tell their clever tales

Our hearts know

As does yours

You were there, Akka

 You've heard them

You've pushed back the words

And you have stood strong

Don't give up now Akka

Speak, Akka, speak

Maybe the unseen scars 

On our children will get lighter

Someday

And with that we shall heal

Don't stop, Akka 

Just speak

Speak, Akka, Speak

You have the words 

that they understand 

But our skin speaks 

before we open our mouths even

Yeah?

We have come far 

from our homes, long lost 

on the promise of freedom

So
Speak, Akka, Speak

We cannot lose our children, Akka

That's all we have

Speak, Akka, Speak

Why do I speak 

some ask

Is this reason enough?

*akka=Older  sister in Tamil, Kannada and Konkani

Silent solidarity

Pray that we stand strong

and tell the truth for us all

you are the light now !

Anichcha

Anichcha ! I write

What's that asks a sister, far

 His message, my quest

Rain state

Rain yesterday, some
frost on the grass bright sunshine
Anichcha it is !

Hair Haiku

 

 

Walking in the rain

the kink in my hair is back

Monsoon Girl Returns

Baroness Thatcher

I was a school girl growing up in a country with Mrs. Indira Gandhi as Prime Minister, surrounded by nations such as Bangladesh and Srilanka who had leaders who were also women at the helm of political affairs.

It was also a time where Benazir Bhutto was taking her own place in Pakistani politics. Daughter of the East, her autobiography has made a great impression long before it was republished after her assasination.

Amongst them with Golda Meir's name a legendary beacon to many, Margaret Thatcher took office in the UK.

Blessed as I was to be born and raised in a home surrounded by critical and prolonged discussions about world affairs, this was not a novel idea but the norm: women did rule countries in my schema.
I was merely observant of that reality as it unfolded and watched it over many years. I remember the Falklands War fought far away listened to on the BBC sitting beside my father.

Last year, as I watched Meryll Streep play Baroness Thatcher to perfection, I was thankful at the impact that strong role models have upon a generation of young women.

Today, although I am far removed from the Raj as a post 1947 Indian woman, I am humbled by the trajectory of her path.

As I sent this clip to my daughter who is right now leading a meeting of the History Students' Association as its formally elected President, I have requested her to observe a moment's silence in memory of a strong leader who whether liked or not, led the way she knew her country needed her to at that time.

Baroness Margaret Thatcher, you were part of the galaxy of women who guided my younger days.

Thank you.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-22067155

To you

Shadows lengthen
as I hurtle to you
And a thought nudges

Have we ever
been apart?

Chocolate Wisdom

 

Chocolate,

Om

And memories

of marigolds

 

Knowing I can grasp

Moments

and live them

Completely

Right now

while

There's time