The Age of Rude ?

She stared through my face as if she never saw me –  stunned, I waited. Maybe there was a mistake. Maybe I was expecting too much, but the woman wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t acknowledge my presence. It was as if I did not exist.

The next day we met again, this time in an auditorium. She talked to everyone else, but not even a nodding good-morning hint at me, as if I weren’t there.  These were new family friends, not even distant relatives, no histories exchanged. No I hadn’t stolen her best dress at school, no I wasn’t an artist rival, nothing. She was a mom like me, a citizen of this same earth, but she wouldn’t look at me.

Its possible she was just tired, or thought I had nothing of use to say to her, or be. Is possible she was having a bad day, is possible she was ill, is possible she didn’t like my face, or hairstyle, or work.

But the question followed me all day and night, it stood there between my mirror and me the next morning, it sat in my toothpaste and hair brush, my shoes and sandwich.

I asked my family if I was unlikable, I asked the dishes and newspapers, asked my morning tea and sadding– heart. Yeah Sadding. Like Madding Crowd. 

This morning, I looked at images from 2016, and most of them were images of loneliness. Someone somewhere was either hurtful or being hurt. Where are the dancers and restaurateurs ? The movers and shakers are all earthquake or badder news. You must pardon my grammer, its the way I feel today.

What makes a person Rude ? ss-161216-yip-18_d9b16fd06c848a2e90e3d649508758d6-nbcnews-ux-1024-900

What makes a nation Rude  ?
Why is there hate enough to birth students of Hate ? I do not know, but look at the pictures. There’s a few left, waiting for Hope


I’m ashamed to even complain of small insults …. …


What made something as beautiful as a human heart, such a refugee

We spare no one, nothing, to bless our own business

The day will come, only the dead will be envied. ss-161216-yip-17_d1a89f3c20634ba4f5070806a97c45d2-nbcnews-ux-1024-900

Are we prepared ? Sure, this isn’t about Christmas trees. Should it ?

It’s a ‘ madding crowd ‘  like T/ Harding said. 🙂 We ache for Laughter. We are thirsty for real food, we hurt for naked joys – we are beggars of joy, peace. Sellers of smiles, agents of change like never before. We do not mean to be Rude. We just dont know any other way to get through the day.  There are ravines between us. Misunderstanding. Gossip. Evil schedules, agenda. we murder with sweet tongues. ss-161216-yip-43_b9bc04da4ce709297b898c6d66a0781c-nbcnews-ux-1024-900

These are the days we should cherish though. Colours have never been this beautiful. Movies, music, books, people, speeches – they are all pretty moving.

We as a human race are more sensitive than ever before, more shaken, more privileged, more torn, more wise, more expressive, more cunning, shrewd, street smart, savvy, we are sharper, richer, faster, we are at our most beautiful, yes we are….

ss-161216-yip-14_ac305bcd00109045f2d8afa7700d200a-nbcnews-ux-1024-900ss-161216-yip-50_b9bc04da4ce709297b898c6d66a0781c-nbcnews-ux-1024-900                                                                                                                                Break through my Harsh ! God, we may not be Good enough for each other, but remind us that we as a Human Race are Indispensable ?                                                                                      424665_406549232738048_1671826253_n

Gift me a Smile, that I may give another today. I seem to have run out of Apps.



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This incredible power of Touch

In the hospital, post – operation recovery room, 3 am :  my daughter, after her minor surgery had not been prepared for more needles, tears, stitches.

She finally fell asleep. I couldnot.

Out of the ten beds in that dimly lit room now, at least four were restless with pain. A woman next to us, had glazed eyes. “Not sleepy ?” I asked, sounding stupid but what else could I do, hold her hand ?

Something made me hold her hand, the skin was rough – like sandpaper, left too long in the sun. Her words were quiet. “I never sleep, ever.” She said she had a grandson, he would be here in the morning : she was a coolie. A brick carrier ? I couldn’t ask. The moment felt sacred.

There were whirrrrs and beeps from medical machinery , groans from far end of that long room. Night nurse was in a moments semi- sleep after a hectic evening, her young neck and cotton collar shone in the pale light.

This woman ( how old was she – 50, 60? 70?) was trying to smile – they had taken out an extra bone from her ankle, it hurt hurt hurt, she said before reaching for my hand, to kiss it! To my dying day, I will not forget how that felt.

“Thank you for talking to me,” she whispered, and her long black eyes shining, will stay with me forever.

As I write this, please know I’m not used to going out of my way much. Am no nurse , or doc, I’m a self centred momma, a Wanna-be VanGogh- Maya Angelou! I cook, paint, write but I do not easily visit. I do some blog, Fb, it’s rare I call someone to dinner. I try.

We get tired easy, we Mommas with home school kids, esp if one kid is a blind boy- I’ve felt the earth owed me ! And here  this woman kissed my hand for just talking to her. How low have we fallen that a tiny human gesture is not just difficult to give, but can provoke a kiss, that too from a sick woman. It was like another universe had reached in and touched me.

“Sleep,” I tried to whisper back but my voice cracked.

After a moments’ hesitation I touched her hair, it was dank strands. Staring at me in the dark, what did she see? I saw in her my grandma Tara, and my Ma Grace who had just passed on. This one with the hair like straw was someone’s daughter, born to a soil and house I was privileged to even meet, like this;

the woman slept like a baby till dawn. There were three others that met me that night, each a reminder of the miracle of Human, not everyone just in need of money or niceties. What a terrible misunderstanding it is, to think the financially poor alone,  are needy : I see how Loneliness has no decree. It is a quiet thing. Invisible. Even ageless as a little boy early dawn, with tubes in his tummy ; his young parents walked him up and down an outer corridor ( exercise?) their faces bold with hope.

In the morning it was busy again in the room, by that noon my daughter was ready to leave, but a piece of my heart will always stay with those moments in recovery. How deep in debt I am-

another time, years ago – as my son Johann* and I got off an auto rickshaw,

this child* of ours born blind, turned to the autodriver and said loud and clear, “I love you, uncle.” I tried to shush Joh but the man looking carefully at me, said, “ my entire life no one has said those words to me, why are you stopping him?”

Our then 7 year old reached in the man’s beard, his sooty collar and pocket, his long hands and fingers.

“Why haven’t you cut your nails?” He asked the older man who replied after a silence. “……oh not since my 21 year old died last month, he killed himself.”

The auto rickshaw driver held my son’s face for one quick moment then pulled away, refusing to take the fare of Rupees 67/- “Buy him some chocolates,” his voice was rough.

I never asked his name, nor even thought to call him up for a cup of tea.  Yes, he smelt of an earth without water, as if he hadn’t eaten or slept in a long time : Invisible, in a decade of indifference like never before:

Sections of us humans, immigrants from this or that situation, silken cheeked loners, or drivers, coolies, vendors, street sweepers, ‘classes’ of society – people born in soft beds or in places some of us will not even enter, thresholds we avoid like vermin, as if blood has caste.

Loneliness is easily the worst disease ever –  it gets all of us. It tries to kill the sacred in us.

I have come away though, with a few questions –

‘Untouchable’, which kind of lonesome mouth coined that word to mean people who are ‘scheduled’ and undeserving of basic civilised lifestyle – oh wear coarse skins and build our homes, lay our brick and mortar, barefoot or in plastic bag wrap footwear across hot tar roads being built – their lime and white-washed hair with no shampoo –

their braids of human straw and eyes shining in a darkness I was privileged to even Touch, be touched by in that recovery  room,

kissed even, in the palm of my spirit. How does one walk away from that ? And then who and what are the Touchable…



(p.s. there is more to this story than I can say just yet. Through a serial act of kindness and familial care, a world famed and much loved Surgeon gave our daughter a generous, beautiful experience in healing. It’s a whole different experience and too overwhelming to say in a little post, but this I’m reminded of : the Divine touches us through each other. Gratitude).



“Take me to the secret place of your heart, Lord, where the only outcaste, is Fear.”


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My elusive power

Peace kills selfishness, opposes hate

Wants no personal gain,

peace is like a river, flowing from higher source

into deltas & seas of humanity : Peace is like a sword

smashing failure

habits of destruction, Revenge, 

is capable of generations of endurance; I have succumbed to

Hate and greed, chaos and need, but I am incapable of utter peace

Unless it is given to me, from higher power, 

Only then, only then.  

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No titles 

Anyway one day, you and I will die


Why not die for a good thing,

I’m dying for Peace.


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Weapons of Mass Construction 

In the end there will be just one big wound

we without borders, caught/ trapped in the spirit of war, blind to the fact we are fighting only humanity- we are killing brother and sister. What stops us from praying for peace, for all? 

This is not a selfishly motivated post

if I can pray for my sons eyes to heal, and many strangers have stopped to pray/ help him, me, then what stops us from intercontinental ‘asking ‘ that leaders of any kind of status, will see through schemes to divide us all –

Oh that they would receive mutual constructive peace motivated practical advise/ spirit of diplomatic wisdom for all.

I know this is more complicated than sweet words,

we all know this is deeper than the sea. But something bigger than all our weakness brings in the rain or keeps our heart ticking. What is it?

Yes War is a fact of life…. A fact we created. There is terror and violence. I know. But there is the invisible fact of peace. Love.
You and I have dear friends all over the map,

I believe in the power of prayer – unconditional love, unconditional divine intervention. The least ( and highest) we can do is in the privacy of our innermost, send out weapons of mass construction{Prayers for peaceFor all}
it’s stronger than the cleverest strategy. Pray for our leaders, all of them. For All people.



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The Privilege of not being born a Racist!

Celebrating all of us black brown deep brown deep dark blue bluish purple purplish …. How dare anyone slur colour #racial #prejudice #roast #parched #TannishthaChatterjee or anyone for that matter, #comedyshow duh!
Now I know who the underprivileged, the untouchable masses are: those of us who sectionalise each other, those of us who try make each other ‘ invalid ‘, why’d it take me this long to know the truth that sets a human free, there are no outcasts except this one- the one who insults humanity.

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vision RNoel

vision, RN

If I were colour blind, how would I see your sunrise

what if there are things beyond our iris, 

What if.


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Peace, Easy ? Nah!

But nothing can stop me praying for peace. Say it, should it?  

Published Poesy o9 border wars,RNoel




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Anthology contemporary published in Poesy o9RNOEL – Indo border invite     


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Not called to fit in

streets are people

Houses are homes

Our bones are souls, 

Each different : why

Why you asking me to fit in


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