Wear my shoes, will ya?

Wear my shoes, will ya?

Black, white, red, tan...

They twirl, tap and trot

They pinch, tear and bite.

Sandals, flip-flops, flats...

Walk a mile in them

Kick the moon, touch the stars.

May be a little jig on the streets?

They are nice you know, my shoes.

They've walked on beds of roses

And ruffled many a golden autumn leaf.

They've felt the chill of seeping rain

And the dull numbing of life from snow.

Wear them, won't ya? My shoes?

They've climbed haughty mountains

And roamed meadows green.

They've hopped through scarring battles

And loitered on days clean.

Wear my shoes damned!

They'll take you there.

Conquering fear

"Faith, indeed, has up to the present not been able to move real mountains... But it can put mountains where there are none."
~ Neitzche

Tonight as I fumbled my way through butchering a chicken, my very first, my eyes feverishly trailed the blood and sinew till they could no more tell which was what. Despite the plethora of recipes and my reputation as a cook (okay, I can't help but be a narcissist here!), I had never ever dared touching raw flesh. That was always Sam's job. But tonight I had to, for the husband was 'busy'. Making my way through the wobbly carcass, I realised it's no big deal. What was I so afraid of? It's just meat and it's dead. There!

And so sprung up a string of incidents that have remained singularly unforgettable in my inconsequential life thus far...

I was barely ten then, when I had once returned home from my regular evening recreation before the helplessness of 'homework time' would kick in. How I had straight gone into the bathroom to hide the gaping wound on my thigh that had resulted from a bad bicycle fall. Lest the parents see it and give me a good piece of their mind, which I was anyway quite used to in those days. Lest I am rushed to the hospital for that much dreaded shot. But like all mothers do, mine too discovered the wound after a day or so and what followed should better be left out. Let's just say the lesson thrived well inside me, for years. Because the next time I had tumbled off and bruised myself, I had just cycled on briskly with a bleeding knee to the hospital. Shot time!

Three winters back during a rafting adventure, when almost drowning in the glacial waters of the Teesta, I had seen it looming large like a green monster. Fear. Little did I know that the life jacket would fail me when the then daredevil in me had decided to take an impulsive plunge into the tempting Himalayan waters. I was already doing the goodbyes in my mind, and all this when I was just a month-old newly wed. How supremely unreal the moment felt! Suddenly, something inside me had silenced the howling tears and strangled that sneering monster. And there I was, streamlined (what if a creature from the deep pulled me into the fathomless depths!), holding on to the boat and actually using my head. Of course, I was rescued back into the boat. Of course I cried, wailed in fact, but not before I was snug and secure in one of the changing huts.

One afternoon, when words had been whispered and blames had been hurled inside closed doors. When judgement was sung callously, the notes of which still ring deep in my ears. When I learnt that it takes only a handful of days for some people to stab you right in the heart. Just like a spell, the mirror of illusions had broken. And how I was reborn, stripped of doubts and fear. And a little respect, too. Fate lets you have only one choice (which I proudly have) and keeps the rest for herself - perhaps the most important of all lessons I've learnt.

It starts from some point. How we carry some fears with us all along and then one day we just drop it, like clothes from a tired body. One fine day, just nothing matters. Absolutely nothing.

My green star

I had found you sitting abandoned, tucked away in the corner of a horticulture isle. You had no expectations, except the tag on your neck that read, "water once a week". This tempted me, your no strings attached demeanor. I brought you home and you seemed to love it. Sitting by the living room window, you feasted on plenty of unadulterated sun. The mountain air of the countryside suited you well. Plump and pretty, you soon outgrew your old container. Here's a guilty secret - I never really liked that brown thing much. So there you were, happy in your new home - green and transparent - just like you. Religiously, I would feed you, keep your home clean and photograph your blossoming loveliness. You were my green star.

They call you the 'lucky bamboo', the fate-driven mortals. But I had no expectations from you. I loved you in my own way, proud and attached. And every time we would leave you alone (sometimes for months) you proved my pride - you flourished and sang, all by yourself. With time you became self-sufficient and basked in the glory of a perpetual solitude, just like me. When we moved to a new place, I took you along and there you were, sleeping soundly in a zip-lock bag throughout the two-hour flight. Like me, you quickly adapted yourself to your new surroundings, irrespective of the jarring ugliness of the place. But there was the sun, and there was love. And they say love conquers all.

Then crept in the cruel winter with heaps of pompous snow. Undaunted, you kept a brave front and cheered me up every morning when the chill would seep into my bones, sawing them mercilessly. As all nomads must, we were on the move once again. And once again you battled the odds alone and thrived spectacularly.

Unfortunately, the winter was rather long and severe. This time when we returned, your smile had withered. You looked wasted, perhaps tired of keeping a constant vigil and being pretty at the same time. I don't blame you. To please, is a monstrous responsibility and one that often has wretched ends. But at the end of it I, too, had fallen into the smelly worldly trap of expectations. I hoped for miracles from you. Even when I left you deserted and alone, to rot in the filthy slimy water. How could one survive this continuous barrage of impossible expectations? You could, because you were mighty brave. Much more than I could ever be.

Thank you for everything, my faithful Greenness.