Dreaming of past and future

A strange thing happens when I sleep upstairs. My dreams are more personal and often reassuring. Two days ago I dreamed of my guru who came and stood very close to me. I could see the weave of his coarse cotton long shirt. He put his hand in his tin pot and took something out and before he could give it to me, I woke up. The whole things was so vivid and I felt enthralled. He is dead but I remember his path, from his little garden to the small dilapidated mosque where he spent his time. That was what he was on, he stopped , saw me standing there to have a glimpse, stopped and gave me something. A blessing, a boon , a reassurance. An encouragement that I was on the right course.

Yesterday I dreamed of my two older brothers, both dead now. They were walking down the corridor towards me. The eldest asked me, Is the food ready and I said Yes and showed him the way to the dining room. As they walked by me, the younger brother patted me gently on my head, as if saying Good Work!

Many thoughts come to me, some far out, some bizarre. All these people that I dream of have been dead for some time. Yes, they appear now, specially when I am having specially trying time and am full of uncertainty about my future. Is it  my unconscious throwing up what I want so desperately, affection and reassurance that things will work out and this bad phase will not last. Or is there really a connect between the departed souls and the living and they do try to contact and convey a message.

These are questions to which I have no answers. In the meantime I hold on to the feeling of joy these dreams have created. 

cooking for fastidious people

grass today

The grass today is very green. And no wonder after the severe thunderstorms of last evening. Lights out, lightning strikes, trees broken,destruction everywhere.

But out there, in Bombay it is hot so is Delhi. I think of my apartment, empty, closed up. Waiting, for me to return, for rains to come. Planes landing at the airport every minute. I can see the logo from my large window while still lying in my bed. The bed is now empty. The room is locked. In my cupboard my clothes are also waiting. By the time I will return they will be out of style, moldy, useless. Yet I will keep them. Declutter! the mantra these days. But one can not throw out the six yards of material that makes a sari. It is just not fabric, it is much,much more. it is being a woman.

ruminations about life

My preoccupations: the emphasis on decluttering is everywhere. When I try to do that, it turns into something else. For example, sorting out papers, I came upon Illustrated Weekly of India, 1959. I read it from cover to cover. It had a photo of Lady Mountbatten with her dog, looking very elegant. Jokes that didn't amuse me and on the last pages, pictures of newly weds. Where are they now I wondered. There was also an indignant review of some Colonel Kesri Singh's account of killing tigers and other wild animals. Apparently he knew his tigers well and talked about their personalities, brave, timid, circumspect but they all fell to his bullets. I didn't know that the tigers had personalities. and Why not? The magazine also had a picture of widely beaming Spanish ambassador with the tiger he had killed with the help of Maharaja of Rewa. I wonder if it was a white tiger. Looked like that. At least to me.

I decided to keep the old magazine, maybe that is why I saved it in the first place. It made me angry and sad.  Once I met a Pakistani army officer who invited me to Sunderban so that I could witness tiger hunting. I turned down his invitation. I believe in truth and nonviolence and love all th wild animals dearly. Ask the racoon who feasts on tandoori chicken from my garbage can. But please don't tell my neighbors. They would hunt and eat tha pair of my mourning doves living in my hedge of Japanese yews.

a crisp day. Bright sunshine. Birds on feeder.

Spring is coming.

Do I care? yes, I do.