I look up from my book
to find beams of warm sunlight
touching my face,
the chugging of the train
accompanied by its whistling,
become my aural companions
for the journey,
as I look at scenes that
unfold before my eyes :
I pass by hawkers
trying to sell their wares,
their calls mingled with
joyous voices,
of children
excited about their
first train journey,
of families
on their way,
perhaps, to attend a wedding,
or to celebrate the birth
of a much awaited child.

I see :
village belles toiling away
on fields;
shabby looking buildings
speaking of years of neglect;
temples ringing with the sounds of
bhajans being sung with religious fervour,
bells being tolled, pleading
the gods to look down
from their divine abodes;
roadside stalls filling the air
with aromas of food,
promising hearty meals.

They are all ephemeral sights, and yet,
they have become a part of me -
the smells, the sights -
they shall bring back memories
that will become my companions
in solitude.

where is my indian
is it in the way i don't use my palms as a medium to transport rice into the back of my mouth
is it in the way my face turns gloomy at the sight of spice and curry
is it in my skin color that isn't as brown as you need it to be
is it in my eyebrows which aren't as bushy as per your requirements

is it in the way my tongue twists awkwardly as i say happy diwali
is it in the way amma is the most fluent piece of tamil i speak
is it in the way i didn't know how to recite the words at my grandpas funeral
is it in the way i cannot, for the life of me, name you another tamil movie besides chandramukhi?

or

is it in the religious classes i took up until age 12
is it in the ramayana epic that i learnt, age 8
is it in the sanskrit bhajans i was made to sing, not knowing what they meant, age 10
is it in knowing that ganesh is the remover of obstacles,
brahma, vishnu, shiva - the creator, the preserver, the destroyer

is it in the eyeliner drawing a bindi in between my eyes when i
head to the temple, to present myself as indian

where is my indian
is it on a checklist, is there a passing mark?
where is my indian
please tell me,
because i am tired of feeling like a foreigner in my own skin

clay-baked women beat their clothes
clean on river rocks at dawn
cook rice and dal on an open
communal hearth
beneath a natural lantern
of Indian stars

for 20 rupees a day, roughly
half a buck
I have seen men and women tie
rags to cushion their heads
towing heavy mortar
for new construction

yet there is always a
brotherly smile gleaming
and sisterly hands eager to share
what meager provisions earned

these are no feeble folk
no fashion slaves or mere mortals
melodious bhajans mingle with
the sweat from their brows
and mantras, leelas of God
echo through the
Taj Mahal temples of their hearts

I raise my bhakti glass to the
backbone of India
Her kundalini rising
innocent, humble
village peasantry
true priests
gopikas and gopalas
who actually live
the Vedic life

Vernal breezes gently rocked
the garden jhoola
the blue sky vine looping
across the butterfly bench
created a festoon of stunning amethyst flowers
Ram Namavali was approaching
contemplating Him, Lion of the Raghu dynasty
embodiment of dharma and source of bliss
my heart and lips blossomed open
a garland of melodious Ram
bhajans perfumed the noonday air
after the sweet singing session
I did a few Yoga stretches and
decided to pick some luscious black mulberries
I approached the mulberry tree skyrocketing in the
western corner of the backyard
lifting large heart shaped
green leaves I found one or two ripe berries
“Hmm” I thought to myself I wonder what happened to all
the mulberries?
Parting another section of the tree, two orange speckled eyes
met mine exploding in innocent wonder
there seated nonchalantly on a happy branch was a
pretty lil’ brown dove
“So it’s you who’s been goggling all the mulberries!” I exclaimed
caught “red-winged” the bewildered bird took off scampering
across the sky
I gathered my meager but delicious bounty added a few frozen
blue berries squirted a heap of whipped cream
then myself and Rama (the kitty) eagerly licked the platter clean

What strange path has this extended world strayed to?

I wake with a beautiful vibrant sun glaring in my window.

Start with peace pipes and bhajans, I want to sing these hymns.

Meanwhile, the average youth can't look away from their text messages.

Woops.

David makes me a friendlier person
sometimes..... I am as aloof
as the Himalayan
mountain range
my head in the ethers
spinning in absolute
sparkling space
glassy stars
pellucid galaxies
cascading around me
my loving hubby
brings me down to earth
I feel the lush loam
warmth of humankind
and gather the world around
my fireplace
singing bhajans
chanting sweet Oms

Swami
Will you come tonight?
the gold moon hangs
full and low
a lantern beaming between
dark pine branches

I wait with a gardenia blossom
in my hand and the fragrance
of night blooming jasmine
in my hair

O Lotus eyed Lord
bhajans fall like petals
from my lips
Console us with the
sound of Your dancing ankle bells

Frogs are croaking in the garden
fairy solar lamps light a fragrant path
for you to walk upon

Frightful sounds of the world fade
away with holy hymns as the
mist sweetly parts

I wait like Radha waited for her
Krishna and Mira Bai too
only the blush of Your Love
sustains us

Perfume the world with your
Sacred Presence
Sai Krishna