Category Archives: Healing

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

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

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

ss-161216-yip-28_fc1ff00bd6f7d6da69a5d2d5bae4d037-nbcnews-ux-1024-900
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.

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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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Recieve

Two Universes

touched

and diamonds turned,

from dust

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Dreams & Prayers

I build on dreams and prayers, have done it for so long, the two have become

one –  somewhere, there is a sieve, 

  filtering out the word impossible. Which was how I learnt to walk. Left to me,

I’d still be in a Walkie – chair !

 

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Aroma of Life

innerdialect

innerdialect

English: NASA image of Mahanadi River

English: NASA image of Mahanadi River

Some of my worst and best memories are flavoured with the same scents… funny na ? At least 10,000 known ‘smells’, in this shared space we call Life. 

I have lived in some extreme places – coastal, jungle, urban, mountain, island ;  through a Mumbai riot stuck in  first floor Kebab-Korner.

Kebab Korner was freshly painted, new enamel and incense sticks mingled with the seasoned masalas,  crushed pineapple..

A mob had gathered outside the restaurant. Mumbai riots, and it was late night. No one knew there would be a riot ; I would have stayed home !

Match Box hai kya… pooch raha hai..”,  ( do you have a match box, they are asking ) , our restaurant- waiter whispered to the five or six of us, in that tiny eatery. The mob outside were asking for matches to burn down this Joint. Was that a joke, was it real ?

Kebabs cooled in our plates…. then like they had come, the mob left. ( There was no smell of petrol or kerosene, or diesel. “Mumu tailors’ in the same street was burned, with three other shops.The riot and the silences that followed were never forgotten, there was that smell of fear, no music in the streets, no street pedlars, no vada pav, or lassi – wallah. Just the importance of water, milk, the morning papers). When the sun came out the next day I sat in our 1st floor balcony savouring the aroma of our sun-dried linen, as if It had pushed away the bad..

As I write this, the feelings  are real. They bring in Scents, trails, and I am unable to sort them out neatly. They’re like too many perfume bottles in one shop  : my mind ! Childhood and the in between years mingle, tangle, with surprising ease. Hey I didn’t know our noses and minds, worked together this much….

Odour Amour

Odour Amour

at a Farm last week,traces of yester- year re-visited like old mates  whom one recognised immediately. We kicked off  shoes, settled into the room and that familiar fragrance of sun dried- sheets filled my senses….

Jungle queen ‘ ( flower)  scents  sharp – pungent blew in from trees outside along with smells of a drying lake –  rain- thickened mud, mosquitoes. Lamps hung over tables in the open air misty with monsoon. ..

..Ghee rice and curries.Pickles seasoned in mustard oil ( ah the cook was from Orissa!) ; curd,sliced onions and minced green chilies, Kebabs. A bon- fire

Memories ran in on barefeet,  such a Tsunami of childhood memories.  Here now, at Morritt’s Farm ( near Bangalore), among geese and rabbits, there was a fun -bullock cart ride, bright yellow painted cart and happy bulls! Oh it brought back, as if real close up, my young fisher- friend Thandala ; we were 8 years old. ..

she  reeked of mustard oil and the sea. Of Jasmine flowers . Cow dung dried cakes burnt in an oven at their stove, there was pokhalo rice  – soured rice soaked  for days in rice water and served with onion, green chilly, a heap of salt, dried fish, or  coriander spiked curry .Ay, aromas  and associations are fantastic mates!   

I never really understood how I got to go on a yellow and black pug-nosed bus to school but Thandala stayed back and helped her mother sell fish.Sometimes we drew water from the well, sweet cool water when the water tanks went dry . Oh there were shells to pick – sometimes stinky shells sheeeeeesh! 

There was Chakrapani, Dad’s attendant who chewed paan : the lime, and tobacco in it  could hit you if you stood close, but he wore a  loud local village perfume ” Rojh !” ( Rose ). The night the mad dog bit him, Chakrapani was so drunk on local arrack he called it a  ‘ Mad Jackal ‘ ( the dog) .  Weeks after that he soaked himself in Antispetic lotions and dettol ;                                                                      Thandala’s mother, Achamma found it very funny ; she never drank but smoked bidis inside her mouth, oh she could talk with that clenched bidi, its acrid smoke drugged the air  as she helped my mother in the kitchen ;  they ground at a small round grinding stone, baked, made pickles and ghee …

English: Ripe & Unripe fruits of the Curry lea...

fruit of curry leaf

ummmmm…

home made ghee in horlicks bottles ( recycled !:),seasoned with curry leaf, roasting to molten  gold in the kadai, as we ran back in from school.  Sometimes Achamma brought us  toddy to drink, wrapped in a cone shaped out of coarse areca leaf…

English: Crayola Silly Scents

Dear God, how many flavours sift in. They say we can recall 10,000 easily, but here am flooded with things I forgot I remembered.

Paper….

fresh printed books. Old books in the library, the pages buttery thick with older prints and dust. My first box of wax crayons : what words can even say what that was like. Almost as good as rain on hot dry mud. Like grass heavy with dew.

Mahanadi River,Cuttack,Orissa

Mahanadi River,Cuttack,Orissa

Have you lay down in grass or flat beaches till they searched for you ?

False Point Lighthouse/ island, Paradip Port. We had to cross the Mahanadi river. Fagoo Behera the boatman shiny with sweat and dried salt, dark velvet skin and pure white smile.

Where am I ? Am on an angry river/ sea crossing in a tiny boat, the sickly sweet smells of river banks wet boats and reed. Baskets of milk cans from town – and my mother’s picnic food : Dhal, hot rice, or lime rice. Or biriyani…

Are you saying we have five senses ? Kiddin, right? We must have at least seven or eight. Am sure now there are rooms in our heads like galleries where we store things we do not know we stored. Scents, images, sounds, words, feelings all live together .. see I can feel the sway of that river licking at the sides of the boat, just recalling mud smells ! Okay yes, the brain is a terrific organisation, I get that, but ..

never mind..

here now,decades later, Bangalore looks like its about rain. Am back home, Lavender fresh and stored in a little Ambi pur vial in our car …. why do I love Lavender? Why did I ask for Lavender ?  Should’ve said , ” River mud” or ” First Rains”, na , Lady Moghli that I am !

What’s with the Lavender ?

It’s working for me and our  two younger kids. We are three hyperactive monsters and highly possible candidates for road rage, so, Aunty Moa said Lavender was a good choice, it calms people down.

What am asking is, where in my village/ island/ mountain ( we once lived on a mountain called Dolphins’ Nose, Visakapatnam, that Mt. was filled with Night Queen trees…) where was I….? 

.. oh yes. Where in all my travels and travails with ‘ match boxes ‘ and riot -mobs, mad jackal and bidi – smoking village women, could I have had an olfactory meeting with ‘ Lavender”… that it so draws me to it ?

Dear God, how many smells are there – good, bad, or ugly ? Wait I just remembered.  My first airplane travel alone, KLM, I was dying, positively dying of fright. The Air hostess told me it was just air turbulence, we would live.

” Look down, that’s Finland...” she whispered and looked at me half worried I was travelling alone.

I sat up straight trying to reassure her I was a big girl now. Yes I visibly calmed down. It was not Finland’s lush coast, or the Hostess’s smile. It was her perfume, Lavender.

Now I know.

It took an Indi-bloggn’ Ambipur moment here to understand why I  insist on Lavender all the time. Not just me, my little son who is blind and lives in a world of mostly four senses. For him Smells are Key. Oh so very Key. It leads him ,warns him of danger, or good. We share so much  when we can relate to rain or flowers, even the smells of a storm, he smells out people. And smiles. Tears. Anger. Fear. And sunshine.

Yeah I better shut up now, can go on and on on this…. 🙂

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

ALL of the above Post is True, verifiable and as Unabridged as I could make it. 

Lavender

www.facebook.com/AmbiPurIndia

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Our most cruel offender…

” But you must have a good time !”  the woman said as we walked out of her little house by the dried lake, a home filled with her late husband’s pictures and souvenirs …

RNoel Pastels

Jasi Macwana knew Japan like a pet rabbit, had friends from Greece, and Canada and Amsterdam. For the first few moments you would think she was making up a few things, but Jasi had not been a Navy bride for nothing. She had also not lost so much for nothing. ( Her words).

I listened with all I had, to the pure joy of this woman.  “ No pictures please, ” Jasi added firmly ( name changed), but you must have a good time..”

Why the emphasis? Was my face sad ? Did she see pity in my eyes ?

There are somethings one will never know right away I guess. As I write this post, I know now, when things happened to Jasi : widowhood, loss of various kinds, she did the one thing human beings do when Life changes. She changed. She let go, with the Faith that she was not alone, that God was with her…

Yeah we know all these things, but to actually ” DO ” it, to activate the New things that will happen :

shift of house and address, change of friends, acceptance of current status, memories re-visited with sweetness not bitter…

” How long did it take you Jasi ? “I asked.

She was quiet. Her face filled with quiet tears,memories and somethings I have no names for. After what felt like 10 minutes, she softly said : “ It takes a while. But you decide to have a good time, you must take care of yourself too. You are that friend you’ve got, this body is a temple of the Living God. You cannot abuse it by giving up, you must not steal its’ right to a beautiful Life..”

Then she gave me a small print red leather, slightly used Bible ( I have many at home, I love the Bible, for me its Numero Uno Best Seller, but I accepted Jasi’s gfit with a humility that was new. I am knocked out by her passion for life. Her thirst for peace with herself, and the world now given to her, her love for God who is to her, very very real…); 

as I write this, one sentence stands out ” You are the Temple of the Living God… ”  ( not a sentence you can get over in a hurry 🙂

 Am stunned at our power to de-value / desecrate ourself..
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( Not in connect with what was just wrtitten here, but as I posted the above artwork in Pastels , found Daniel R’s comment and it stalled me > Daniel has passed on to the other world this year, and I salute the brave warm and wonderful man he will always be. Thank you Daniel Russell for this comment I somehow never replied to on FB> Forgive me, thank you, and a hug for being so inspiring, always…
Daniel Russell This is a very Unique Style of Art Work. Its all your own! I love it! )
.…..
innerdialects

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Thank you

Sketch pencil from Transit Series RNoel

 

 

 

” Why are you always smiling ! “

I was very young and he was being rude, but I was too young to notice. He was the postmaster, and I a 12-year-old, bare feet in the beach. on the compound walls, climbing trees or rushing to meet Almaz my friend from Calcutta for the vacations, or Melanie, who also was at the beach for the holidays..

Melanie I never saw again – she had a strange and sad story about a baby she did not want. Almaz was wonderful but we grew apart and am sure she is living a wonderful life somewhere. My postmaster – suspicious of my smiles … ? Where could he be, I’ll never know, but my smile kept leaving and returning…

Joy always intruded on my scowl – heaven knows there times enough when I am far more suspicious of people than my dear Postmaster Uncle as I called him. Life isn’t as ‘ nice’ as we make it out to be. People in the street and people on blogs may not be friends… maybe all they want is to rip us off something.

This past month I had an experience with an iron rod flying right at my forehead in a crowded place – but for some reason, at quarter – milli- seconds away from my head it ( the rod) fell away like a tired sheep! It ended with a bit of noise and ‘ are you ok ?”  My sister was with me, and she ticked off some people soundly for allowing such an incident and ‘ think where it could have ended, if that rod had hit…!”

Here’s the thing – I got more time.

Then this sunday, there was another scary moment – again nothing happened, and I am left with this. I GOT MORE TIME. I GOT MORE TIME… To finish some things, to tell people I love them, to tie up whatever loose ends I can , to tidy up, to write, and paint and sing and smile, no matter what. No matter who is thinking what suspicious thought of my smile and my whatever !

I got time to write another Post on my 3 blogs that have become my personal place with windows and doors on the world I was gifted. Write about people, and visit their work and be blessed. More time to be me, more time to look at you – read you – more time to love this universe, so rich with gifts and events – that yes, can provoke, baffle, irritate, violate even –

but with each day we get just that little piece of time  – AM GRATEFUL, Oh am so grateful, am gagging for the right words here. If you are reading this, am downright honoured, that in the hum of this great big cosmos you found the time and interest to even read to this last line…

telling you the only way I know – thank you. Thank you so much, for likes and comments and follows and mail – for much appreciated friendship – something so very rare in this decade of mistrust, I truly thank you…Sketch pencil from Transit Series RNoel

innerdialects.

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Walk on Water

Leave Shore

Let Go

Know – there is more to this,

there is

More.

Walking on Water

is nothing we have learnt

before, not anywhere in this world do they teach us

how to let go – this much.

This much holds us

this much….

 

 

(innerdialects)

 

 

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Best thing I’ve read on the net recently!

I was recently told of an African tribe that does the most beautiful thing.
Visit our Page -► ツ Amazing Facts & Nature ツ ◄- For more.Photo: I was recently told of an African tribe that does the most beautiful thing.</p><p>Visit our Page -► ツ Amazing Facts & Nature ツ ◄- For more.</p><p>When someone does something hurtful and wrong, they take the person to the center of town, and the entire tribe comes and surrounds him. For two days they’ll tell the man every good thing he has ever done.</p><p>The tribe believes that every human being comes into the world as GOOD, each of us desiring safety, love, peace, happiness.</p><p>But sometimes in the pursuit of those things people make mistakes. The community sees misdeeds as a cry for help.</p><p>They band together for the sake of their fellow man to hold him up, to reconnect him with his true Nature, to remind him who he really is, until he fully remembers the truth from which he'd temporarily been disconnected: "I AM GOOD".</p><p>Share with friends and family.When someone does something hurtful and wrong, they take the person to the center of town, and the entire tribe comes and surrounds him. For two days they’ll tell the man every good thing he has ever done.
The tribe believes that every human being comes into the world as GOOD, each of us desiring safety, love, peace, happiness.
But sometimes in the pursuit of those things people make mistakes. The community sees misdeeds as a cry for help.
They band together for the sake of their fellow man to hold him up, to reconnect him with his true Nature, to remind him who he really is, until he fully remembers the truth from which he’d temporarily been disconnected: “I AM GOOD”.

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Do you know your Voice ?

Inside,

this little Voice inside, shouted, ” shhhhh” 

I wanted to scream,
311773_314133131930097_100000002373078_1377017_809217863_n.jpg

this little Voice cried, ” Be Still”

I needed to cry,

this little Voice asked, “Peace”

I fought the hug,

this little Voice whispered, ” It is I,”

………..

( obedience is the toughest thing when all I need to do is fight )

….

innerdialects.

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I see You

I see You

With eyes of Faith,

thru’ streams of tears in desert we have walked together

miles and miles of land and sea, only You could have led me

only You. Who else could have held on, watched this long , re-created

made all things new

only You my God, only You.

…innerdialects.

pic courtesy Make the World a Better Place

Make the World a Better Place

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